A Matter of Time - Chapter Eight
Title: A Matter of Time
Fandom: Jak and Daxter
Rating: PG13
Summary: When Jak first landed in Haven City, Erol wasn't the one to find him. Now he must face a future he is ill prepared for, and even with help from Sig and Damas, there's no guarantee that he'll survive.
Main characters: Jak, Sig, Damas
Ships: Genfic
Spoilers: Jak 1, Jak 2, and Jak 3
First chapter.
Previous chapter.
Next chapter.
-Chapter Eight-
"Again!" Damas barked. "Keep your gun up when you are firing!"
Jak gritted his teeth and did as Damas said, his arms aching from holding the unfamiliar weight for so long. The sun beat down on him unmercifully, and sand clung to all the sweat on his body. Damas, in contrast, seemed perfectly comfortable. He stood next to Jak, tall and straight, barely batting an eye when the wind tried to blow sand in his eyes.
Sighting along the barrel of his gun, Jak took aim and fired. Yellow eco blazed from the tip in a sharp, thin line, grazing the rock Damas had picked as his target.
Damas scowled. "In battle, it is better to eliminate your enemies from a distance. You must be able to hold your gun steady and aim at a moment's thought, and you must make each shot count. Aim like that will only get you killed. Again!"
It would have been easier if he could have used his goggles, but Damas had forbidden it. Such things are crutches, he had said balefully. And all too easily lost or stripped from you. It is better that you learn this without it than to have your aim crippled when you need it most. That made sense, of course, but Jak still longed to pull his goggles down. The rock mocked him from the distance.
It was very satisfying when he finally made it explode, even more so when he saw the smile on Damas' face. Jak grinned back.
"Good," the king said. He rested his hand on Jak's shoulder, but it was only for a moment before he was stern and all business again. "Metal Heads often travel in packs. They will swarm you if you do not kill them before they reach you. Take a break and drink some water. When you are finished, we will start working on multiple targets."
Guns, Jak mused as he gratefully sat down, were actually a lot of fun. Unscrewing the cap from his water skin, he put it to his lips and drank - slowly, as Damas had said. Damas was a good teacher, even if he was very strict, and his praise was rare and always hard earned. Somehow, though, that made it even more worth it.
But the gun itself... It was like being able to carry yellow eco and not worry about it fading before he needed to use it. He couldn't count the number of times that would have been useful in the past. Of course, he could still run out of bullets, but that was only after using them. I wonder if Damas will let me keep it after I leave Spargus. It was definitely something to think about asking.
Feeling a lot better after drinking his fill, Jak stoppered the water skin and hung it back on his waist. He stood up and made a halfhearted attempt to dust the sand off his clothes, but quickly gave it up as a lost cause. They were actually out in the Wastes, still within sight of the city's walls, but far enough away that they wouldn't have to worry about what he might hit. It also meant they didn't have any protection from the gusts of wind that did their best to drive sand into their skin. Anything Jak brushed off would only get blown right back on in the next few minutes. Gun in hand, he went to see what Damas was doing.
While Jak had been resting, the other man had been climbing the rocks, setting up melon-sized boulders that could probably hold up against several blasts from Jak's gun. Seeing that Jak was done, he gestured for the boy to join him. "As I said, you will be working with multiple targets, but I also want you to improve your speed. Aim and fire as fast as you can without sacrificing accuracy. I have positioned your targets to simulate an attack from all sides." He pointed out each boulder, five in total, then positioned himself on top of a tall outcropping that would keep him out of Jak's line of fire.
If this had been a real attack, Jak probably would have been dead many times over. Well, unless he abandoned the gun and resorted to his traditional tactics. Even then, with five enemies, the outcome would have been in question. But with the time it took him to aim and fire at one of the targets, the other four "Metal Heads" could have gotten close enough to chew his legs off - and his first shot didn't even hit dead center. Jak grimaced and forced himself to continue, shooting one rock, then another, then whirled around to face one of the rocks behind him. His next shot missed completely.
Damas observed all of this from above, his brow furrowing deeper into a scowl with each of Jak's mistakes. "Again!" he snapped when Jak finished the first round. "Concentrate! One glance is all it should take to know where your enemy is, and in battle you will have only a moment to act on that information. You must be fast!"
But going for speed turned out to be an even worse mistake. Four of his five rapidly fired shots went wild, and the fifth only hit by luck. Jak winced at the disgust in Damas' next shout of "again!", knowing he deserved every bit of it. Concentrate, he told himself, unconsciously echoing Damas' command. If I was channeling eco, I'd have no problem aiming and firing quickly. This isn't that different. Irritated at his poor performance, he lifted his gun and took aim.
The next few runs were better, but part of that Jak knew was because he was memorizing the locations of his targets. Finally, Damas called a stop to the exercise.
"That's enough," he said, dropping down from his perch. "I have other duties to attend to inside the city. You have done well, Jak." He paused, giving the teen a stern look. "For a first lesson. You still have much to learn."
Jak rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, trying to keep sweat from trickling into his eyes, then nodded and patted his gun. I'll practice, he promised. He hesitated, then pointed at Damas, then at the rocks. Can we do this again sometime? Maybe it was childish of him, but Damas' teaching meant something to him, something more than just learning how to use a gun. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He just knew that it felt right.
Damas was silent long enough that Jak began to wonder if he'd been clear enough in his question. But the man didn't ask him to clarify, either. Jak shifted uncomfortably as he waited for an answer. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.
"Tomorrow," Damas said suddenly. "I will arrange some time tomorrow for another lesson. Now, come. It is time we returned to Spargus." Without waiting for Jak to respond, he turned and headed for the city's gate.
Tomorrow. Jak couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips. It didn't matter that he was tired, dirty, and possibly even sunburned. Even as he followed after Damas, his thoughts were already on what they would do the next day.
-o-
"Yeesh." Daxter grimaced as he scooted past the remains of another Metal Head corpse - freshly gutted courtesy of Kraven's knife. "These things're even uglier on the inside than they are on the outside. I didn't think that was possible."
"You want to see ugly?" Kraven snarled. "Touch my gun again and it'll be your belly I slit open."
"Hey, it's not my fault you dropped it!" the furball retorted. He'd lost a lot of his fear since his first encounter with the two Wastelanders, and now he had no problem with back talking either of them. "I was just tryin' ta help!"
"Help, my ass! You nearly took my head off with your so-called 'help'!"
"If you hadn't moved-"
"Would you two pipe down?" Sig snapped. "In case you cherries have forgotten, we're on a mission here. Daxter, shut up. Kraven, ignore the talking rat."
"Hey!" Daxter's fur spiked with offense. "The term is ottsel. Ott-sel! I am not a talking rat!"
"You'll be dead if you don't do as I say." Sig scowled and jerked his thumb in the direction of the Metal Head corpse. "Makin' noise like that, you'll bring every Metal Head in this temple down on our heads."
Wiping his blood-slicked knife on a scrap of cloth, Kraven shot the ottsel a poisonous look. "I still don't see why we're taking him with us in the first place," the Wastelander growled. "He's loud and useless."
"We're takin' him 'cause I said so, an' if that ain't reason enough, then try this." Sig jabbed a finger into the other man's chest. "Damas is gonna want to talk to him."
Kraven knocked Sig's hand away, looking like he'd bitten into a lemon, but even he couldn't argue with something like that. "Fine. The rat stays. But keep him away from my gun."
"For the last time, I am not- Hey! Put me down!" The ottsel flailed as Sig hoisted him up by the scruff of his neck. "Ow ow ow! Watch the fur, big guy!"
Shoving his face so close to Daxter's that their noses nearly touched, the Wastelander glared. "Let me get one thing straight, chili pepper. This ain't no game we're playin' here. Keep. Your trap. Shut. I got no qualms about tying you up, gagging you, and strapping you to my back, if that's what it takes. Am I clear?"
Daxter swallowed audibly, hanging limp from Sig's fingers. "Crystal," he said meekly.
"Good." Without another word, he dropped the ottsel and turned to his partner. "C'mon. I wanna be done with this place by nightfall."
Things after that proceeded more or less smoothly. For the most part, Daxter kept quiet and out of their way. It was only when Metal Heads managed to ambush them that things became hairy.
"Get down!" Sig shouted as dark eco blasts blazed over their heads. He dove to the side and whipped his Peacemaker around to shoot the motherless son of an egg sucker that had come up behind them. Daxter, who had been trailing behind him, nearly got fried in the process.
"Gyah! Watch where you're shooting!"
Sig ignored him. He had more important things to worry about than a little singed fur - like the fact that his shot had missed. "Kraven!"
"Already on it!" Blaster fire ripped through the air, but while the Metal Head squealed in pain, it wasn't enough to kill it.
The distraction was all Sig needed, though. "Let's see how you like a taste of this!" Adjusting both his aim and his grip, he pressed down the trigger that would charge up the Peacemaker.
Unfortunately, he didn't count on Daxter being underfoot. As he stepped forward and raised his gun to fire, his boot came down on something soft and round. Startled both by the unstable footing and by the ottsel's sharp cry of pain, his aim went wild. Unfazed by the miss, the Metal Head lunged forward, razor claws extended to tear Sig's throat out. With no time to charge a second shot, Sig slammed the butt of his gun into the thing's face. It shrieked and staggered back, momentarily dazed.
Seconds later, it was dead.
Slowly, Sig released his hold on his trigger. Man, that was close. Out loud, he murmured, "Big son of a bitch." And it was. It was probably the largest Metal Head they had encountered yet, easily twice as tall as Sig.
"You all right?" Kraven asked.
"Just peachy." He eyed the corpse, debating whether or not to try to harvest the Metal Head's gem. On the one hand, it would make an excellent trophy to bring home. Too large to carry, though. We'll have to leave it for later.
"What, nobody's gonna ask about me? See how I'm doing?" Daxter glared at the both of them from where he sat on the ground, nursing his wounded tail. "I'm the one who just got stepped on!"
Sig snorted. He had absolutely no sympathy for the creature, not after nearly getting them both killed. "Quit complainin'. You're alive, aren't you? Next time you might not be so lucky."
The words earned him a baleful look. "Ooh, no. There isn't gonna be a 'next time', buddy. You wanna know why?" Drawing himself up to his full two feet of height, the ottsel angrily stabbed a finger in Sig's direction. "Because from here on out, I am riding on your shoulder. There will be no more ottsel stomping, ya hear?"
Sig opened his mouth to verbally disabuse the animal of that idea, but a second consideration made him stop. Being underfoot was exactly what had caused the problem in the first place. Short of following through on his original threat and tying the creature to his back, there really wasn't a better solution. He glanced at Kraven.
"Don't look at me," the other man said flatly. "You brought him along, he's your problem."
Sig grimaced. "Fine," he grated out. "But you yell in my ear, I'll skin your furry little ass. Now get over here."
Not needing to be told twice, the ottsel grabbed hold of Sig's extended arm and scampered up his armor. With an ease that spoke of a great deal of practice, he settled into place on the Wastelander's left shoulder. "Geeze," he muttered. "You're a lot taller than Jak. I feel like I can see forever."
Ah. That was why he was familiar with sitting on shoulders.
"Look, just sit down and shut up. The sooner me an' Kraven do our jobs, the sooner we get out of here."
Though he couldn't see it from where Daxter was perched, Sig could practically hear the ottsel's eyes roll in his head. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Don't worry, Siggy-baby, my lips are sealed for the rest of this ride."
Sig's good eye twitched. That was when he realized that it was going to be a long, long night.
-o-
Jak sighed as he set the last map aside. After the two had gotten cleaned up, Damas had left him to keep looking while he did whatever it was that king's did. The task was a lot more boring without company to talk to. Not that Damas really talked all that much, but he had a presence that kept the room from feeling empty. And now Jak was finished and still no closer to finding Sandover.
What if I never find it? It was also a lot easier to have sobering thoughts like that when there was no one around to distract him. Jak bit his lip as he thought the possibility over. What would he do if he couldn't get home? Maybe Damas would let me stay in Spargus.
That... actually didn't sound all that bad. He didn't like the idea of never seeing his friends, but if he had to pick someplace to be stuck in, he could do a lot worse than the desert city. He could get used to the heat, he was sure, and there was something about the open nature of the desert that appealed to him. He hadn't really interacted with any of the people here, besides Damas, Sig, and that disturbing boy in the infirmary, but from what he'd seen, they at least had a better general attitude than the people of Haven. People here didn't look constantly miserable or terrified.
But what did people do in Spargus? In the desert, you are either useful or dead weight. That was what Damas had said to him. That meant that everyone here did something, and they couldn't all be warriors, even if they did all have guns. Were there farmers in the desert? Were some of these people carpenters and stone masons? Maybe there were fishermen who fished in the ocean. What else was there, though? More importantly, how would Jak fit in if he asked to stay?
I don't know enough, was his inevitable conclusion. He glanced at the door. Damas hadn't told him not to leave, and he hadn't given Jak any idea of when he would be back. He probably has a lot to do, he mused. The mayor of Sandover was always complaining about how much work it was to run the place. Spargus was a lot larger than his village.
But as busy as Damas must be, the king was still taking time to help him find his home and to teach him to use a gun. Suddenly, Jak felt even more grateful to the man. If I live here, I want to be useful to him.
Resolve firming in his mind, he pushed himself away from the table and headed for the door. If he wanted to be useful, he needed to know more about this place. The best way to do that would be to go out and wander the streets, to watch the people and see what they did. It would help him get a feel for the city and, if he was lucky, he might get an idea of what he wanted to do.
Besides, he thought wryly as he stepped outside. I did tell myself I was going to explore. And with plenty of time on his hands and nothing else to do, now seemed like the perfect time to do it.
-End Chapter Eight-
Next chapter.
Fandom: Jak and Daxter
Rating: PG13
Summary: When Jak first landed in Haven City, Erol wasn't the one to find him. Now he must face a future he is ill prepared for, and even with help from Sig and Damas, there's no guarantee that he'll survive.
Main characters: Jak, Sig, Damas
Ships: Genfic
Spoilers: Jak 1, Jak 2, and Jak 3
First chapter.
Previous chapter.
Next chapter.
-Chapter Eight-
"Again!" Damas barked. "Keep your gun up when you are firing!"
Jak gritted his teeth and did as Damas said, his arms aching from holding the unfamiliar weight for so long. The sun beat down on him unmercifully, and sand clung to all the sweat on his body. Damas, in contrast, seemed perfectly comfortable. He stood next to Jak, tall and straight, barely batting an eye when the wind tried to blow sand in his eyes.
Sighting along the barrel of his gun, Jak took aim and fired. Yellow eco blazed from the tip in a sharp, thin line, grazing the rock Damas had picked as his target.
Damas scowled. "In battle, it is better to eliminate your enemies from a distance. You must be able to hold your gun steady and aim at a moment's thought, and you must make each shot count. Aim like that will only get you killed. Again!"
It would have been easier if he could have used his goggles, but Damas had forbidden it. Such things are crutches, he had said balefully. And all too easily lost or stripped from you. It is better that you learn this without it than to have your aim crippled when you need it most. That made sense, of course, but Jak still longed to pull his goggles down. The rock mocked him from the distance.
It was very satisfying when he finally made it explode, even more so when he saw the smile on Damas' face. Jak grinned back.
"Good," the king said. He rested his hand on Jak's shoulder, but it was only for a moment before he was stern and all business again. "Metal Heads often travel in packs. They will swarm you if you do not kill them before they reach you. Take a break and drink some water. When you are finished, we will start working on multiple targets."
Guns, Jak mused as he gratefully sat down, were actually a lot of fun. Unscrewing the cap from his water skin, he put it to his lips and drank - slowly, as Damas had said. Damas was a good teacher, even if he was very strict, and his praise was rare and always hard earned. Somehow, though, that made it even more worth it.
But the gun itself... It was like being able to carry yellow eco and not worry about it fading before he needed to use it. He couldn't count the number of times that would have been useful in the past. Of course, he could still run out of bullets, but that was only after using them. I wonder if Damas will let me keep it after I leave Spargus. It was definitely something to think about asking.
Feeling a lot better after drinking his fill, Jak stoppered the water skin and hung it back on his waist. He stood up and made a halfhearted attempt to dust the sand off his clothes, but quickly gave it up as a lost cause. They were actually out in the Wastes, still within sight of the city's walls, but far enough away that they wouldn't have to worry about what he might hit. It also meant they didn't have any protection from the gusts of wind that did their best to drive sand into their skin. Anything Jak brushed off would only get blown right back on in the next few minutes. Gun in hand, he went to see what Damas was doing.
While Jak had been resting, the other man had been climbing the rocks, setting up melon-sized boulders that could probably hold up against several blasts from Jak's gun. Seeing that Jak was done, he gestured for the boy to join him. "As I said, you will be working with multiple targets, but I also want you to improve your speed. Aim and fire as fast as you can without sacrificing accuracy. I have positioned your targets to simulate an attack from all sides." He pointed out each boulder, five in total, then positioned himself on top of a tall outcropping that would keep him out of Jak's line of fire.
If this had been a real attack, Jak probably would have been dead many times over. Well, unless he abandoned the gun and resorted to his traditional tactics. Even then, with five enemies, the outcome would have been in question. But with the time it took him to aim and fire at one of the targets, the other four "Metal Heads" could have gotten close enough to chew his legs off - and his first shot didn't even hit dead center. Jak grimaced and forced himself to continue, shooting one rock, then another, then whirled around to face one of the rocks behind him. His next shot missed completely.
Damas observed all of this from above, his brow furrowing deeper into a scowl with each of Jak's mistakes. "Again!" he snapped when Jak finished the first round. "Concentrate! One glance is all it should take to know where your enemy is, and in battle you will have only a moment to act on that information. You must be fast!"
But going for speed turned out to be an even worse mistake. Four of his five rapidly fired shots went wild, and the fifth only hit by luck. Jak winced at the disgust in Damas' next shout of "again!", knowing he deserved every bit of it. Concentrate, he told himself, unconsciously echoing Damas' command. If I was channeling eco, I'd have no problem aiming and firing quickly. This isn't that different. Irritated at his poor performance, he lifted his gun and took aim.
The next few runs were better, but part of that Jak knew was because he was memorizing the locations of his targets. Finally, Damas called a stop to the exercise.
"That's enough," he said, dropping down from his perch. "I have other duties to attend to inside the city. You have done well, Jak." He paused, giving the teen a stern look. "For a first lesson. You still have much to learn."
Jak rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, trying to keep sweat from trickling into his eyes, then nodded and patted his gun. I'll practice, he promised. He hesitated, then pointed at Damas, then at the rocks. Can we do this again sometime? Maybe it was childish of him, but Damas' teaching meant something to him, something more than just learning how to use a gun. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He just knew that it felt right.
Damas was silent long enough that Jak began to wonder if he'd been clear enough in his question. But the man didn't ask him to clarify, either. Jak shifted uncomfortably as he waited for an answer. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.
"Tomorrow," Damas said suddenly. "I will arrange some time tomorrow for another lesson. Now, come. It is time we returned to Spargus." Without waiting for Jak to respond, he turned and headed for the city's gate.
Tomorrow. Jak couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips. It didn't matter that he was tired, dirty, and possibly even sunburned. Even as he followed after Damas, his thoughts were already on what they would do the next day.
-o-
"Yeesh." Daxter grimaced as he scooted past the remains of another Metal Head corpse - freshly gutted courtesy of Kraven's knife. "These things're even uglier on the inside than they are on the outside. I didn't think that was possible."
"You want to see ugly?" Kraven snarled. "Touch my gun again and it'll be your belly I slit open."
"Hey, it's not my fault you dropped it!" the furball retorted. He'd lost a lot of his fear since his first encounter with the two Wastelanders, and now he had no problem with back talking either of them. "I was just tryin' ta help!"
"Help, my ass! You nearly took my head off with your so-called 'help'!"
"If you hadn't moved-"
"Would you two pipe down?" Sig snapped. "In case you cherries have forgotten, we're on a mission here. Daxter, shut up. Kraven, ignore the talking rat."
"Hey!" Daxter's fur spiked with offense. "The term is ottsel. Ott-sel! I am not a talking rat!"
"You'll be dead if you don't do as I say." Sig scowled and jerked his thumb in the direction of the Metal Head corpse. "Makin' noise like that, you'll bring every Metal Head in this temple down on our heads."
Wiping his blood-slicked knife on a scrap of cloth, Kraven shot the ottsel a poisonous look. "I still don't see why we're taking him with us in the first place," the Wastelander growled. "He's loud and useless."
"We're takin' him 'cause I said so, an' if that ain't reason enough, then try this." Sig jabbed a finger into the other man's chest. "Damas is gonna want to talk to him."
Kraven knocked Sig's hand away, looking like he'd bitten into a lemon, but even he couldn't argue with something like that. "Fine. The rat stays. But keep him away from my gun."
"For the last time, I am not- Hey! Put me down!" The ottsel flailed as Sig hoisted him up by the scruff of his neck. "Ow ow ow! Watch the fur, big guy!"
Shoving his face so close to Daxter's that their noses nearly touched, the Wastelander glared. "Let me get one thing straight, chili pepper. This ain't no game we're playin' here. Keep. Your trap. Shut. I got no qualms about tying you up, gagging you, and strapping you to my back, if that's what it takes. Am I clear?"
Daxter swallowed audibly, hanging limp from Sig's fingers. "Crystal," he said meekly.
"Good." Without another word, he dropped the ottsel and turned to his partner. "C'mon. I wanna be done with this place by nightfall."
Things after that proceeded more or less smoothly. For the most part, Daxter kept quiet and out of their way. It was only when Metal Heads managed to ambush them that things became hairy.
"Get down!" Sig shouted as dark eco blasts blazed over their heads. He dove to the side and whipped his Peacemaker around to shoot the motherless son of an egg sucker that had come up behind them. Daxter, who had been trailing behind him, nearly got fried in the process.
"Gyah! Watch where you're shooting!"
Sig ignored him. He had more important things to worry about than a little singed fur - like the fact that his shot had missed. "Kraven!"
"Already on it!" Blaster fire ripped through the air, but while the Metal Head squealed in pain, it wasn't enough to kill it.
The distraction was all Sig needed, though. "Let's see how you like a taste of this!" Adjusting both his aim and his grip, he pressed down the trigger that would charge up the Peacemaker.
Unfortunately, he didn't count on Daxter being underfoot. As he stepped forward and raised his gun to fire, his boot came down on something soft and round. Startled both by the unstable footing and by the ottsel's sharp cry of pain, his aim went wild. Unfazed by the miss, the Metal Head lunged forward, razor claws extended to tear Sig's throat out. With no time to charge a second shot, Sig slammed the butt of his gun into the thing's face. It shrieked and staggered back, momentarily dazed.
Seconds later, it was dead.
Slowly, Sig released his hold on his trigger. Man, that was close. Out loud, he murmured, "Big son of a bitch." And it was. It was probably the largest Metal Head they had encountered yet, easily twice as tall as Sig.
"You all right?" Kraven asked.
"Just peachy." He eyed the corpse, debating whether or not to try to harvest the Metal Head's gem. On the one hand, it would make an excellent trophy to bring home. Too large to carry, though. We'll have to leave it for later.
"What, nobody's gonna ask about me? See how I'm doing?" Daxter glared at the both of them from where he sat on the ground, nursing his wounded tail. "I'm the one who just got stepped on!"
Sig snorted. He had absolutely no sympathy for the creature, not after nearly getting them both killed. "Quit complainin'. You're alive, aren't you? Next time you might not be so lucky."
The words earned him a baleful look. "Ooh, no. There isn't gonna be a 'next time', buddy. You wanna know why?" Drawing himself up to his full two feet of height, the ottsel angrily stabbed a finger in Sig's direction. "Because from here on out, I am riding on your shoulder. There will be no more ottsel stomping, ya hear?"
Sig opened his mouth to verbally disabuse the animal of that idea, but a second consideration made him stop. Being underfoot was exactly what had caused the problem in the first place. Short of following through on his original threat and tying the creature to his back, there really wasn't a better solution. He glanced at Kraven.
"Don't look at me," the other man said flatly. "You brought him along, he's your problem."
Sig grimaced. "Fine," he grated out. "But you yell in my ear, I'll skin your furry little ass. Now get over here."
Not needing to be told twice, the ottsel grabbed hold of Sig's extended arm and scampered up his armor. With an ease that spoke of a great deal of practice, he settled into place on the Wastelander's left shoulder. "Geeze," he muttered. "You're a lot taller than Jak. I feel like I can see forever."
Ah. That was why he was familiar with sitting on shoulders.
"Look, just sit down and shut up. The sooner me an' Kraven do our jobs, the sooner we get out of here."
Though he couldn't see it from where Daxter was perched, Sig could practically hear the ottsel's eyes roll in his head. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Don't worry, Siggy-baby, my lips are sealed for the rest of this ride."
Sig's good eye twitched. That was when he realized that it was going to be a long, long night.
-o-
Jak sighed as he set the last map aside. After the two had gotten cleaned up, Damas had left him to keep looking while he did whatever it was that king's did. The task was a lot more boring without company to talk to. Not that Damas really talked all that much, but he had a presence that kept the room from feeling empty. And now Jak was finished and still no closer to finding Sandover.
What if I never find it? It was also a lot easier to have sobering thoughts like that when there was no one around to distract him. Jak bit his lip as he thought the possibility over. What would he do if he couldn't get home? Maybe Damas would let me stay in Spargus.
That... actually didn't sound all that bad. He didn't like the idea of never seeing his friends, but if he had to pick someplace to be stuck in, he could do a lot worse than the desert city. He could get used to the heat, he was sure, and there was something about the open nature of the desert that appealed to him. He hadn't really interacted with any of the people here, besides Damas, Sig, and that disturbing boy in the infirmary, but from what he'd seen, they at least had a better general attitude than the people of Haven. People here didn't look constantly miserable or terrified.
But what did people do in Spargus? In the desert, you are either useful or dead weight. That was what Damas had said to him. That meant that everyone here did something, and they couldn't all be warriors, even if they did all have guns. Were there farmers in the desert? Were some of these people carpenters and stone masons? Maybe there were fishermen who fished in the ocean. What else was there, though? More importantly, how would Jak fit in if he asked to stay?
I don't know enough, was his inevitable conclusion. He glanced at the door. Damas hadn't told him not to leave, and he hadn't given Jak any idea of when he would be back. He probably has a lot to do, he mused. The mayor of Sandover was always complaining about how much work it was to run the place. Spargus was a lot larger than his village.
But as busy as Damas must be, the king was still taking time to help him find his home and to teach him to use a gun. Suddenly, Jak felt even more grateful to the man. If I live here, I want to be useful to him.
Resolve firming in his mind, he pushed himself away from the table and headed for the door. If he wanted to be useful, he needed to know more about this place. The best way to do that would be to go out and wander the streets, to watch the people and see what they did. It would help him get a feel for the city and, if he was lucky, he might get an idea of what he wanted to do.
Besides, he thought wryly as he stepped outside. I did tell myself I was going to explore. And with plenty of time on his hands and nothing else to do, now seemed like the perfect time to do it.
-End Chapter Eight-
Next chapter.