‘Who runs this place’ turned out to be a tall, intimidating woman of the eyeless elfin species, a specimen who looked like she could crush metal with her bare hands. She wore her hair trimmed to the scalp, the fuzz razed away in a circuitboard pattern, with a thin strip of dark blonde allowed to grow out tall, coming forward above her tattooed face in a curled pompadour. Three lines of dark blue descended from the edges and middle of her lips.

She sat sprawled in a throne, in a rig of leather harnesses over a plain white shirt and sack-cloth pants. A framework of pistons and skeletal metal rigging attached to the harness, a crude kind of power-suit terminating in thick iron pads over her knuckles.

A black serpent wrapped around her neck.

The would-be queen held court in the command tower of the titan, an ancient structure that had once been the heart and nerve-center of the moving foundry. There was something sacrilegious about it being reduced to a medieval brutality, war-banners hung from the walls and slaves serving candied fruits to dignitaries of every race.

“It’s good to see you up and about, honored machinist. I worried you were crippled after your little show in the market.” The room came to a stop as he entered. Guards stamped their feet, producing a metallic echo - they wore salvaged, scrapped together armors. “I am Lady Maeve, of the High Vigil.”

None of which Pike would have understood except for his arm around Hesperid’s waist. Having her at his side was useful - beyond useful - but it was also getting rather distracting. Especially since she insisted on leaning against his, her hair tickling at his neck.

And considering he was trying to follow the conversation and Hesperid’s translation at the same time, the sheer amount of things going through his head was likely to leave him cross-eyed.

“Greetings. I’m Pike Usman, of Earth, Kansas-System. I know you’ve never heard of it, because it’s a long way away, but I’m looking for a way to return.” He held himself stiff-backed and tall, like he was a cadet doing drills again. In his sleek black socket-suit, he stood out from the noble crowd, and it helped that a steady diet of synthetic hormones had given him a head of height on the tallest of them.

What he needed, Pike thought, was a nice cape to go with his giant damn sword. He could swish it about and be the fanciest lad at this party. Hesperid giggled, breaking her translation for a second.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” He finished. “Is there any way I could repay you?”

“Come to think of it…” Maeve tapped a finger against her lips, feigning consideration, then nodded to her guard. “Get the rabble out of here.”

The armored sentinels swept out, forming an orderly cordon and pushing the party-goers back through the double doors as they shouted protests and ineffectually slapped against steel bodies.

As they were swept away, what remained was an image of the past. Behind the streaming banners, blown-out windows. The throne, a command chair. Control consoles still rose from the floors, their switches and levers rusted to stubs.

“We’re looking to raid our nearest neighbor, Kapheon, for parts. We want you aboard, to help us strip the place proper.” A slim eyeless man in red velvet clothes brought her wine, slowly taking a sip before passing the jeweled goblet to his lady.

She slurped it down in one go, and belched. “There’s just one question.”

Pike tensed, sensing it coming before she finished speaking-

“Can you fight?”

A man behind him drew his sword, and Pike pushed Hesperid away, turning, trying to draw the enormous, unwieldy cutlass at his side. Too slow. The man had a quick, slim rapier, and jabbed for Pike’s shoulder as his sword was still slowly rasping free of the scabbard.

So he turned, stepped into the blow, and let it glance off his nanoscale, opening a shallow rip but not cutting deeper than the surface of his skin. Clearly, this guard wasn’t up to the level of the eyeless archer, who’d punched right through.

Skills. They were wonderful things.

And Pike hadn’t taken the chance at sword lessons when Kadra had been offering. Ripping the cutlass free, he stepped back as his opponent did, the man smirking. He had a generally dislikable face, weaselly and thin, with a long golden chain extending from the tip of his pointy ears to the side of his nose.

If that sword wasn’t in the way, Pike would have liked to punch him right there.

Lifting his cutlass over the shoulder as Kadra taught him only provoked laughter, the guards chuckling, money changing hands, a ring forming around him- as if he might run.

Pike’s opponent was in on the joke, glancing to his friends, letting his guard slip down slightly…

But Pike knew a feint when he saw one. The moment he moved in, that sword would dart up again and skewer him through the guts.

So he played the fool, rushing forward, preparing for an obvious, clumsy stab - and then snapping his jump-jets on and turning it into a blazing fast leap. The moment the man had to counter suddenly narrowed to nothing, and Pike was on him, swinging down, a decapitating chop.

He barely, barely got that flimsy rapier up in time, the thin blade bending under the weight and momentum of Pike’s charge, the ring of steel filling the hall as they locked blades. Pike suddenly twisted, going up, kicking off of the ground and driving his knee in a rocket-propelled fury into the man’s guts. The cocky idiot folded over, a spit and wheezing breath coming hacking out of his mouth as his lungs briefly collapsed.

The sword rattled to the floor, and Maeve shouted something that probably meant ‘stop’.

But he was a foreigner, so they really couldn’t blame him for hitting the guy a few more times before he got the message.