Rast tore the hood from his hazard suit to escape the acrid reek of vomit. He felt like he’d just been turned inside out. Gulping cold air, the dry heaves subsided—and were replaced by panic.

Not in the bunker. Where… Did I black out?

NO.

Rast shrieked, a vise of agony crushing his mind.

The pain was gone an instant later. A figure knelt before him, its wrist touching his forehead. Rast felt something pulsing there—a crystal of some sort.

Even cradled, your mind is still too fragile. This device should suffice to protect you for necessary dialog.

Like a surge protector, Rast thought. It wasn’t words so much as understanding. The crystal imparted clarity and awareness of sentience from the figure before him, with more

...others…

at the fringes of thought. Yet beneath the crystal-imparted calm lurked terror and wonder that threatened to suck him under.

Rast strove to focus, his critical faculties serving as a kind of psychological life vest. Who are you? What do you want?