Supernatural Ability
What the hell.
I tried to rub my eyes at the energy reserve that had somehow climbed past twenty percent—except I couldn't. Unfortunately, I was a suit.
But… hadn't it gone up a little?
Well, life had been stabilizing on every front lately. After clearing out the mutants roaming nearby, we'd stuck strictly to safe routes. Sera was sleeping more than before, and in shifts at that, and power consumption dropped whenever we powered down the suit. Compared to what I was drawing from her, you could argue we finally had some margin overall.
Still, this feels like a lot left over.
Whatever. It hadn't dropped—it had risen. That was a good thing. I chalked it up to a solid night's sleep and turned my attention to the plan ahead. For the expedition we were about to launch, spare power was the more the better.
"I would surmise that not all of the food stores have spoiled," Sera said.
The pencil in her hand bisected a sketch of something that looked like a tornado potato. On one half she wrote the letters ES-7F, and at once I recognized it as Hermes. E.S. stood for Ebon Square Sector—our current location—while the seven marked the intersection with the seventh bridge near the industrial works. The trailing letter designated one of the finer subdivisions running A through Z inside it, like terminal codes lined up at an airport.
"The section that took a direct hit from the stellar wind and suffered catastrophic damage is the left half of the hull."
Then the water and provisions in the even-numbered zones have a high chance of remaining uncontaminated.
"Yes. Most of it will have been looted by survivors right after the warp, or spoiled—but some will still be left."
The city had been built along the core of a cylindrical hull, so in theory you could simply keep walking the circumference. Instead, Sera drew a diagonal line across her tangled map.
"Even if it takes a little longer, we should advance gradually outward from the center of Ebon Square."
Why is that?
"To expand our secure footholds—and so we can assess the situation in the other sectors."
That we had enough breathing room for that was good news. Especially since there was no guarantee Hermes would hold together for a thousand years.
"I'll plot a route centered on locations holding supplies we can't obtain around here. We've rested enough. Once we're ready, we depart."
Sera.
"Yes?"
Looking over the map she'd drawn, I found myself with a question. Her penmanship still refused to improve—I could barely tell top from bottom—but looking closer, the direction of our destination was strange.
Why are we heading toward the Residence instead of the bow?
Head Quarter—the command sector that held every control authority over the ship. If we could restore its functions, this entire catastrophe would end. Warp again, or whatever it took, and go back to that place called the Empire.
At my question, Sera's expression darkened in a way I had never seen from her before.
"We will not go there."
Why not?
If there was one thing I considered fortunate about being dragged into this miserable world and stuck inside this miserable combat suit, it was Sera's existence. Not because she was a woman, or beautiful, or because she smelled—no, tasted—good. Because she was extraordinarily strong.
The trembling, terrified, cancerously fragile survivor from a zombie story? Or the incompetent leader who split the group with stubborn self-righteousness? The mind of someone who had survived this hell alone carried none of those defects. Sera Robini was thoroughly rational, thoroughly realistic, and thoroughly proactive. Not merely because she was a trained soldier. If I had to put it into words, what she had held onto after every hope a human being could possess had shattered was a kind of nobility.
"That is…"
It's all right. I trust the information you give me absolutely.
"I-It isn't that I don't trust you, Jin."
My encouragement only seemed to make her hesitate more. When she was troubled, she had a habit of lightly bonking her head against the inside of the suit. I waited with patience. She was not a woman who failed to tell right from wrong; there would be a reason I could accept.
"Jin… how much do you know about the mutants?"
And as expected, after roughly 23.8 seconds had passed, her sunken eyes caught the inverted horizon again and filled once more with a light more beautiful than any jewel.
"They are faster than humans. Larger than humans. Strong enough to smash through steel doors, and they endure extreme environments far longer."
In her right hand she carried a body bunker specially manufactured for emergency shipboard combat. Given the size of the powered suit, a broken gate fragment could have served as a shield—but sluggish movement would have been a liability.
"But those traits are not the standard by which a mutant's threat level is assessed. The fact that they were originally human is why they were assigned Levels."
In the other hand she took a shotgun. Loud, and catastrophic if it punched a hole in the hull by accident—but it was a firearm that could crack a mutant's skull. Opening only the arm section of the suit so Sera could feed magazines in by hand was a major advantage. Of course, the plasma sword hung at the waist as well.
You're saying humans originally had Levels as well?
"Correct. Think of it as a means of distinguishing individuals with superior capabilities—separate from differences of social rank."
I suddenly recalled the small sense of dissonance I'd felt about Sera all along. Considering the extreme conditions aboard the ship, her body was far too healthy. Exhausted and injured, yes—but that alone wasn't enough to explain it.
"Ordinary people are all Level 0. Anyone Level 1 or above is called an Awakener—or an ability user. I wouldn't go so far as to say they cast miraculous magic… but they possess a somewhat special power."
Oxygen we'd gotten from the airlock, fine—but food and water had been nearly gone. She had held her mind together after weeks of starvation, and even now, living on liquid rations, her intake could hardly be called a normal meal. The wounds she'd taken from mutants had been serious, yet they'd closed without any real treatment. And above all, the place she'd met me had been an odd-numbered zone—supposedly hit dead-on by the stellar wind. That was strange.
"And aboard Hermes, there were two units composed exclusively of personnel Level 1 and above—ability users. One was the Spear of the Empire, Teslot. The other was…"
The Shield of the Empire.
The Crown Guard. And you are one of them as well?
"Yes. I am merely Level 1—a little hardier than most. But there were many personnel of far higher Levels. And…"
I understood why Sera would not go to Head Quarter. That place had become something far more horrific than Ebon Square or the bridges.
"When the stellar wind struck Hermes, they were all on the bridge."
So we couldn't push forward, then.
Understood. We'll move toward the Residence.
"Y-You aren't going to ask? Why I hid it until now, or—"
What would asking accomplish? I'd gotten the information I needed to support her decision. That was enough. Unless she chose to speak of it herself, I had no intention of digging further. Supernatural abilities, superpowers—whatever. The monsters were a separate problem. I was already bankrupt myself, so it felt odd saying it, but a tough body really was the greatest asset of all.
Sera, your true supernatural ability is that dreadful drawing skill of yours. Stick a map on the shield and even the mutants will cover their eyes and run.
"Th-That is not true!!"
I was satisfied with having resolved some of my questions about the strange energy that powered me. All I hoped was that we wouldn't run into high-Level mutants that had swallowed an ability user's power.
The footholds we meant to secure on the way to the Residence Sector totaled five: a clothing store, a broadcasting station, a factory, and two company headquarters. The selection accounted not only for distance but for what we might obtain from each building.
First came the clothing shopping center we reached after two full days of travel—among the lowest-risk destinations. The almost entirely glass-fronted first floor was already reduced to a skeleton, its security systems long since broken. In a crisis, clothing tended to rank last among food, shelter, and clothing, so it wasn't a place survivors would flock to. Consequently, the odds of mutants being present were low as well.
After several loud noises produced no response, Sera surveyed the interior and spoke.
"It seems quiet. Tonight we can spend the night nestled among the mannequins."
This isn't a space we can fill with oxygen. Are you all right sleeping inside the suit?
"We're leaving first thing tomorrow—that would be the greater waste. Sleeping inside is fine. Please don't worry."
We'd come to the clothing center to get clothes, of course. I had no need, but Sera did. The stockings she always wore were full of runs.
In any ordinary romantic comedy, going clothes shopping alone with a woman might have been a heart-pounding affair. Of course, this world was not a romantic comedy. We might not even be alone together. We weren't exactly shopping for clothes. And I didn't even have a heart to pound. A reality you could negate right down to every last clause—but still.
"I've finished selecting."
Sera had held her breath to save oxygen and been in and out in five minutes. In her hands were nothing but stockings and underwear—and even those were the same functional garments she'd been wearing.
Is that everything?
"Yes. Reinforced-fiber uniforms cannot be obtained in a place like this, and among the clothing I need, these were the only items in my size."
If you need them, you may take other civilian clothes as well. We have more than enough cargo capacity.
How much volume could a few outfits possibly take up? But Sera was firm.
"I'm fine. I have no occasion to wear them."
It wasn't that I had no private wish to see her properly dressed up. But the more fundamental reason was that those clothes caused me a mild discomfort. Artificially woven synthetic fibers against the inner lining felt like chewing cardboard. The elasticity of functional wear, especially, snagged when it absorbed sweat and was worse than nothing at all.
Perhaps at least a few more undergarments? These would suit you as well, Sera.
I went so far as to recommend some plain white cotton underthings nearby, though I didn't expect much. She'd refuse again—black was regulation, poor breathability, something like that.
But at Sera's next reaction, I froze as if my actuators had locked, unable to say a word.
"Do you… want me to?"