Elbow Grease

[Huela]

February 24^th, Year 1

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To say the project hadn’t been a big one would be a vast understatement. While Huela did deal in habitation systems, this was on a whole other scale. Literally. The little Geck had every intent to deliver what she’d promised. And so far, she’d been true to her word.

What was coming up was no simple fish tank.

A stunningly-sized subterranean habitat, buried under the soil of the Freedom Fighters’ camp. Large support beams held the weight of the camp with stunning efficiency, blending into the freshly-printed coral that now surrounded by and was growing against them in specifically designed bubbles. Most of the structure spanned completely underground, while there were a half-dozen or so ‘spy hop points’ that allowed interaction with the surface world. There were even points that allowed for a view up, but didn’t allow any terrestrial sorts to look below. Lights were provided from both above and below, in the form of sky-mirroring screens and strange, glowing plants (despite the original concern, the little creature had ensured their safety). Some points dipped deep, others went shallow, and even one point allowed the resident to enter an underwater cave of sorts. Slots in the walls made way for filters and pumps, thermal vents and all sorts of technologies. When completed, it’d certainly be a sight to behold.

But for now, most of it sat dry, while the deeper pools had been filled to allow The Gourmand (or ‘Sir’, as the Geck has taken to addressing him) to finally leave the muddy puddle he’d been damned to. The little creature scrambled this way and that, darting into slots and reappearing elsewhere. All the while, she mumbled quietly to herself, occasionally stopping to jot down notes into a small, holographic tablet. A week or so into the project, and she was still hard at work.

The Gourmand has undoubtedly been subjected to a full demonstration of the Geck’s metabolism while working with Huela. For three days, the little creature worked nonstop. No sleeping, no eating, nothing. On the fourth day, she had stopped somewhere around noon, consumed what might have been her weight in food, and then crawled into a panel in the pool’s wall and passed out for an entire day. The next morning, she was back at the project again. This was apparently normal, and nothing to be concerned about.

There’s a short grunt as Huela pulls a large toolpack out from her tentatively-claimed wall panel, dragging it over to the merman with some effort, “Ah, Sir, you got a second?”

[The Gourmand]

The Gourmand never really understood what he’d done to deserve special treatment. As he’d made abundantly clear, the African sun made him uncomfortable, but it certainly would not kill him. Unlike many of the villainous ilk, he wasn’t an egomaniac and was not so easily tricked with flattery. He was only left to assume the Freedom Fighters saw him as some kind of great asset and merely wanted to ensure he remained theirs. He entertained that perhaps they didn’t trust him, and catered to him so he would be less tempted to defect. But the construction, he felt, was excessive if that was their true goal. He was only left in confusion about motivation.

This wasn’t to say the Gourmand wasn’t an active participator in the hard work, least of all when he finally got his pod to float again. Now mobile (or at least mobile wherever there was enough space for his girth and his large vehicle), he was now a fairly common sight at camp whenever he wasn’t in the tunnels. And the Gourmand made nothing if not an impression; hulking but clearly guileful: eloquently-spoken but brimming with underlying fury: all and all, not very Freedom Fighterly.

Today he and his pod were sitting only partly submerged in a small pool near one of the portholes to the surface. He seemed… about as content as content got with the Gourmand. He was busily at work with something, though it didn’t immediately appear to be related to the current project. What he had was a long hunk of metal which he was sharpening into what was very obviously a blade. The sharpening device was little more than a light blue crystal that glowed at the end. It appeared to be the same material as the enigmatic pearl that powered his pod.

He wasn’t so consumed with his craft that he didn’t hear a voice from behind him. His hand stopped working at carving. The blade was glowing a faint blue, similarly to how hot metal would glow orange. He brought the blade out and turned his arm before sticking it in the pool, causing it to hiss as it apparently quickly cooled down. The pod whirred as the seat portion of it turned around so the merman was facing the Geck.

“Yes?” was all he said.

[Huela]

The Geck can’t help but observe curiously as the merman cools the weapon he’s forging, tail turning upwards ever so slightly. Though, it seems she’s getting a mite better with her curiosity, turning to face The Gourmand fully when he replies to her question.

“I’d like to raise the water to the next level, but I need to draw an insulating sleeve through that shaft there before I do,” she hums, motioning to a hole sitting just above the waterline. “It’ll be housing a temperature node, and I’d like to keep the ambient climate from throwing off any readings. The thing is, I forgot to pre-adjust the tension on the coil when I printed it out, so I might need your help screwing it into place while I draw it. Or, for you to hold it while I screw. Either or works... Ah, if it’s okay to pull you from your project, that is! A weapon, I assume?”

Curiosity may be slightly curbed, but it still seems she’s a little chatterbox.

[The Gourmand]

The sea creature’s hand remained tight around the shaft of his weapon well after the hissing and bubbles stopped. The carving tool he had in the other hand began to fade into a non luminous opaque blue, before he placed it below him into a side hatch under the armrest. If not for the fact that he’d put the tool away, it would be hard to tell if he was even considering the small alien’s words at all, given that his expression barely faltered from one of weathered unamusement.

After a few seconds, he blinked, looking ahead of him and widening his eyes slightly. His hand removed itself from the hilt and reached into the pod, grabbing a rusted handle and yanking it back with some force. The break released with a puff of steamy air and a low rumbling sounded from the center of the pod. It began to rise, as if by magic, into the air and hover. The Gourmand’s hands loosely gripped the throttle on his right, and the steer handle on his left.

“Let’s see it then,” he stated, debatably politely.