After you finish up your meal, you follow Jonesy and his partner Tad over to their shop. And you find that they weren't lying about them being Oasis' main armorer. Although the cabin they share has a relatively small footprint, it goes up for a couple of stories.
The entire first floor is of their shop itself, which has a number of gun racks and shelves along the walls. There are also some display bins in the middle with all kinds of stuff in them, mostly things for weapon and armor maintenance in them.
When you rifle through the bins, you find cleaning rags and gun oil and holsters and arrows and whatnot. Most of what's here are aimed at helping one maintain their arsenal, which you aren't particularly interested in. You barely use your gun, so you don't really find a need to oil it regularly… though you could use a whetstone to keep your survival knife sharp.
The racks and shelves around the shop are much more interesting to you, as they're filled with all manner of weapons. There are old bolt action rifles with beautiful wooden furniture next to modern automatic rifles with sleek black buttstocks, handguards, and Picatinny rails. You also see a variety of shotguns, though most are pump action. Numerous handguns are also on display here, from revolvers to machine pistols, though most are semi-autos of various makes and models.
You even spot one that's almost exactly like your P365, though it has a much larger magazine than yours. In fact, it's visibly larger than yours all around - yours is a micro-compact model after all.
More than that, every cabinet beneath the racks are filled with magazines and clips and revolver speedloaders. There's such a variety that you're almost certain every weapon on display has multiple spares. Perhaps more than they really need.
There's also a stretch of space where a number of ballistic vests hang from a metal rod. Each one looks relatively used and well-worn, but are still robust enough to take a beating.
In fact, you can tell that everything in here has seen some use throughout their lives, but all are still clean and polished and oiled and ready to use at a moment's notice. Clearly, Jonesy and Tad do well to care for Oasis' weapons.
Jonesy leads you over to the counter, behind which are numerous locked metal cabinets with what you presume are filled with ammunition. Your presumption is confirmed when he opens one up behind him, revealing boxes of ammunition in neat and orderly stacks.
While he preps his shop, you pull your spare pistols from your hiking pack and place them on the counter between you. Then you lay down all your extra magazines and boxes of ammunition. And since you barely use your own sidearm, you decide to put down your spare box of 9mm rounds.
This leaves you with whatever rounds you have in your three magazines, which ought to be enough to deal with any emergencies you come across.
Jonesy whistles as he picks up one of the pistols - a snub nose revolver.
"Haven't seen one of these in ages," he says with admiration in his voice.
He turns it around in his hands, and even opens up the cylinder to take a better look at it. Then he snaps it back shut with a whip of a wrist, which causes a truly satisfying SNAKT to ring in the air.
"They called these the Judge," he says. "Can fit 45 Colts or 410 shotgun rounds in 'em. No swapping out needed. You sure you don't wanna keep this? Kind of a treasure if you ask me."
You shake your head, and gesture towards the 9mm on your thigh.
"This is plenty enough for me," you reply.
He nods, puts down the revolver, then picks up the weapon next to it - the 1911. He whistles again in admiration as he turns the weapon around in his hands. He also inspects it as closely as he did with the revolver, and even pulls the slide back so he can peer down into the breech.
With the flick of a thumb, the slide snaps back forward with a heavy CLACK.
"What a classic," he says. "We already got a few of these, but I can't help but love 'em. You sure you don't want this one too?"
"The round's too heavy for me," you reply. "Tried shooting it years ago with my Dad, couldn't handle it. Always made it so the brass got stuck in the ejection port."
"Mmm. Not holding it tight enough. Or right enough."
"Yeah, exactly."
Although it's true that you could hardly handle the gun, that was also five years ago even before the end of the world. You were much softer then. Now, you could probably fire it one-handed without an issue. Still, you don't really want to keep it.
It's simply that you really do prefer the one on your thigh. Besides, the 1911 is kind of heavy for a pistol.
The one you've got - your P365 - might not be the most powerful or the most aggressive or the most comfortable. But it feels nice right where it is. Honestly it's acting more like a security blanket at this point more than anything.
Your powers have been more than enough to deal with any problems you've faced, and surely outclass whatever stopping power your 9mm could put out.
Part of you wants to sell it outright, along with whatever ammo and magazines you have for it. But another part knows you would miss the way it feels on your thigh - it's become a part of you, much like the rest of your kit. You've been living with it for so long that it's tough to imagine life without it, even if you barely ever unholster it, much less use it.
Removing it would only make you feel a bit naked.
"But yeah, I'd like to sell these," you continue. "Don't think I'll have much use for them on the road."
"Suit yourself," Jonesy says. "Your loss is our gain, I suppose. In any case, pick out whatever you like from the armory - whatever you think is fair for all this. We can negotiate once you put what you want down on the counter."
You glance around again and take a look at everything around you. Plenty of it is certainly enticing, especially what looks to be a very attractive PPK - the James Bond gun. A large part of you wants to pick it up, just so you could put a suppressor on it and creep through the shadows. And somehow become a super spy like in the movies.
But then again, you remind yourself that it would be little more than an aesthetic upgrade and completely useless to your actual survival.
So you take a look at the ballistic vests hanging up along part of one wall, seeing if you could use any. All provide some form of protection, one or two just against knives, with most of the rest meant to stop small caliber rounds. There is a suit that's heavily padded with extra-thick ceramic plates. No doubt it could stop 7.62 rounds in their tracks. At least, for as long as the plates themselves could handle the damage.
While it would certainly be fun to travel the country as a walking talk, it would also be incredibly burdensome. This thing is heavy, and would be a serious problem in the heat. There's no way you could climb a single mountain in this, unless you were to go very, very slow.
And you imagine yourself facing off against everything you've fought off before, and find that it wouldn't be much help there. The most dangerous things you've faced have been psionic after all. Armor means little to them in the grand scheme of things.
"To be honest, I don't need much of anything in here," you say after a few moments.
Your words cause Jonesy's mouth to fall, mostly out of complete surprise. His eyes widen as well, as though he can't believe the words he's just heard. You sense his need to answer you, to convince you, but is unable to reconcile the fact that you don't need a weapon.
"Like if I was to wear that heavy suit you've got, that Ifrit for sure would have cooked me alive no problem," you continue. "Didn't need it to kill it, so I probably won't need it to kill any I come across in the future."
"I'm sorry - Ifrit?" asks Jonesy. It seems that specific word has snapped him out of his stunned silence, for whatever reason.
"Yeah, big flame psion was burning a whole lot of land a few days east. We were forced to get rid of it, unfortunately. I don't think it liked that we were there at all."
Jonesy turns towards you suddenly. You can sense the incredulity in his voice as he speaks
"The Ifrit… east… the one that the merchants couldn't pass? That Ifrit? Tower of flame Ifrit? Claimed a shitton of land and burnt it all to cinders Ifrit?" he babbles. "You killed it?"
"Yep. Well, me and my cat did."
"You… and your cat? Killed the Ifrit?"
You nod and smile, which gives him a great amount of pause.
"I understand why you wouldn't need anything in here, then," he eventually says. "I'd heard you were a psion, didn't think you were that good."
"We got a bit lucky," you reply.
"R-right… Anyway, since you don't want to trade for anything in here, I suppose I could offer you Oasis Tokens in exchange."
He reaches under the counter and produces a modest lockbox from beneath. It flips open easily after he enters in the combination code, then takes a handful of large coins from inside. He places five of them on the counter in front of you, and invites you to pick them up.
You take one in your hand and look at it closely - the coin itself is large, about half the size of your palm. More than that, it's utterly beautiful. It's made of copper, and is stamped with the words "Oasis" and "One Token" on both sides.
On one of its faces is what you presume is the symbol of Oasis, which is that of a lake surrounded by plateaus. Stamped on the other side is a map of the local area, with Oasis in the very center, represented by a star. The map shows the plateaus just west of them, along with the edge of a city far north.
"What do I do with this?" you ask. "Buy stuff with it?"
"You got it," Jonesy answers. "Only works in Oasis of course. It's normally how we trade internally, depending on circumstances. Kinda like this one. You could use these to supplement your other trades, mostly. Give you an edge when negotiating and all that."
"It's gorgeous. I think I'll keep one just for myself and trade with the rest."
You quickly stow the one you're holding into your messenger bag securely, then pocket the rest in your cargo pants.
"Also, you know anyone that could use a portable radio and solar charger?" you ask. "Been carrying them thinking I would need them… but I've barely even hooked them up together."
Jonesy tips his head slightly in thought as he strokes his chin lightly with his fingers.
"Not sure anyone in town would need 'em," he replies after a few moments. "Most of us already got our power setup if we need - we've got some solar panels up above there."
He points upwards, as though you can actually see the panels from inside. But you presume they're up above the canvas canopy, perhaps on the poles themselves. Would make sense if they did something like that.
"And we don't really need any travel type panels," he continues. "Well maybe Mags would want them. She could use it to sell to traders and travelers like yourself. You could ask her… yeah."
Though you're about to thank Jonesy, not just for the tip but for the business, he opens his mouth again as though he's realized something. It takes him another second to actually say something.
"I might know someone else, maybe," he finally says. "There's a kinda junk collector living just outside Oasis. Kind of a strange fella though, probably he's all by his lonesome out there. But he usually asks for things like that. You could try him. The name's Babbage."
"This Babbage come into town often or something?" you ask. "Should I wait for him here?"
"Nope. He stays out there all the time. Only time we hear from him is when he radios in. I mean, we barely even see the guy. Stays in his trailer most of the time. You oughta say hi regardless."
Jonesy points northwesterly, into one of his walls.
"There's a plateau right in that direction," he says. Then he adjusts where he's pointing further west, slowly. "Just follow the incoming river that way and hug the plateau north. You'll find Babbage's Yard at the end there."
You perform a deep Scan in the direction that Jonesy points, mostly in an effort to find Babbage. If you can pinpoint his mind, then you could easily find your way to him. And you certainly find him - he has significant psionic powers, though he's clearly tamping them down and keeping them at a minimum. Just like yourself.
More than that, the mind feels highly structured and somewhat foreign. All other minds around you, yours included, seem to flow and swim. Babbage's appears to be more rigid and rhythmic, which instantly makes you incredibly curious.
"I'll go chat with Babbage," you say. "He seems fascinating."
"Bit of a weirdo, like I said. But still good people."
You make your way towards Babbage outside of Oasis as Jonesy had directed. In essence, you follow the thin river leading into the large lake from the northwest, but on the northern bank. You do your best to stick close to the plateau's cliffside as you move towards your destination.
The river itself seems to branch outward as it spreads out between the plateaus. Or perhaps much more accurately, they come and meet into one before emptying out into the lake behind you. Perhaps the confluence where they all meet was once grand in its day, but now they all join into little more than a whelp of a river.
Thankfully the water it provides is still enough to keep Oasis alive.
You turn northwards as the plateau itself curves in that direction, at which point you see the makeshift encampment along the cliffside ahead of you. Babbage's trailer is butted up right against the cliff, with all manner of piles of scrap around it. It seems to you like any old junkyard you've ever seen in your life.
The whole encampment is ringed by large rubber tires stacked up on each other roughly five high, but with a gated entryway facing your direction. Every tire pillar appears to be filled with rocks and dirt, and are topped with scrawny shrubs - though at least they're flowering.
The dirt path leading straight to it - the one you're walking on now - is marked with all kinds of tire and hoof tracks. Which perhaps shows that plenty of traders and merchants visit him regularly.
Just like the homes and shops at Oasis, this place is also covered by a large canvas sheet on long poles. This time, you note that the very top of the poles have electronics wrapped around them. Looks like a variety of different solar panels lashed together, acting as a kind of pole-topper.
The makeshift metal gate in front you slides open easily as its wheels travel down rails laid down on the ground, but it still makes a kind of squeaking noise at some part of its mechanism. You can't tell exactly from where, though, and that strikes you as a little bit odd. Almost like the squeak itself is purposeful.
And now that you're inside, you can see that the various piles of scrap aren't just randomly made or haphazard in their construction. All of them are filled with the same or similar parts, and they're sorted in large bins relatively neatly. Most of them are simply filed to the brim and are bulging up and out of their containers.
One of the larger piles is an assortment of random steel scrap - bent ladders and warped shelves and old pans and stripped car doors and rusted poles are among the residents in there. It's such a massive variety of scrap metal that you imagine yourself making a full suit of metal armor with them. Or maybe even an entire shelter.
Another nearby pile isn't so much a pile. Rather, it's all made with neatly stacked buckets filled with all kinds of cut wiring. Most of the wires are made of thick strands of copper, with a handful of buckets filled with oddly shaped chunks of some silvery metal. You presume it's actually silver, considering those two metals are the most electrically conductive.
A pile of circuit boards catches your attention as well. It seems like a great variety of boards, from big to small and complex to simple. You even recognize a few PC motherboards in the pile, though they've long since been stripped of chipsets and modules. Most of the other boards in the pile are the same - stripped clean of anything that could be attached to them, besides whatever's actually soldered into them anyway.
You come up to the trailer to find a rather robust work area situated right in front of it. There's a massive workbench up front with bins of various projects off to each side. There's a shelf filled with tools and small parts behind the workbench, butted up against the trailer itself.
On top of the workbench appears to be a half dozen or so objects - old electronics devices and refrigerator compressors and what looks to be a kind of engine, though it's fist-sized. All of them don't really look as though they're part of a cohesive whole, and are rather different devices that are being worked on at the same time.
Oddly enough, Babbage himself isn't out here - you sense his psyche inside the trailer itself. Oddly though it feels a bit scattered. Although the core of his thoughts are coming from within the trailer, there are traces of him all around the yard itself.
Hello Traveler, he greets you Telepathically. You have full permission to perform equitable transactions within this collective space.
"Uh, thanks," you reply. "Glad to be here."
Do you not wish to communicate via Telepathy?
"Just trying to give my mind a bit of a break right now, no offense or anything."
No offense taken. It is merely our preferred method of communication.
"Our? Is it more than just you here?"
You're piqued by Babbage's use of a multiple to identify himself. You have only sensed his consciousness and no-one else's thus far. Certainly nothing obvious like the Chimera, at least in contrast.
Apologies. Singularities are still a concept we are re-adjusting to, he replies. But yes, we are the only ones here.
"I think I get it," you say. You have your own struggles with your own inner voices at times - it's likely that Babbage is going through something similar. Perhaps all people with psionic powers have their own unique insanities they're going through.
"In any case, I'm just here to see if you want a couple things from me," you continue after a second. "A solar charger and a portable radio. They can hook into each other, and they're in pretty good shape. As far as I can tell, anyway."
Please place them on the workbench for appraisal.
You pull the two devices from your hiking pack and place them on the workbench as Babbage has requested. There's a nice empty spot with just enough space for the both of them, so you set them down right next to each other.
Though you fully expect him to come out of his trailer, you instead sense a great amount of Telekinetic energy rise up in the air around you. Then, multiple tools rise up from the shelves behind the workbench and hover over to the two devices.
All of them work in conjunction to cooperatively dismantle and disassemble the both of them with relative ease. You're amazed by how well Babbage is controlling all of those things at the same time, with such precision and grace and expert timing.
Not only that, but he's also capturing the various parts Telekinetically, and causing them to hover in the air as he works. It makes it look as though the devices are exploding in absolute slow motion, one part at a time.
You find the process both hypnotic and beautiful, and a part of you wishes to emulate it as best you can. In fact, you resolve to try practicing it when you return to rest for the day.
Once all of the parts have been individually separated from the whole, they spin in the air for a moment almost as though Babbage is observing them in greater detail. Then after a few seconds, he reverses his work and the two devices are put back together piece by piece.
It's almost as though it is happening in reverse - that same precision that he had used to separate them is exactly the same as when putting them back together. It's so scarily accurate that you wonder just how powerful his Telekinesis is.
Certainly more powerful than yours, that's for sure.
After our inspection, we can easily mark these two devices to be in very good condition, Babbage Telepathically tells you once everything is back in place. We can offer you anything that you may need that is within the courtyard in exchange for these two devices.
"I, well, honestly, I don't need much of anything from out there," you reply. "I mean, a lot of it looks really useful one way or another, but not just while traveling."
Understandable, Babbage says. In which case, we can instead offer data in exchange. We are both psions curious about our future and our potential, yes? Perhaps we can enlighten you further, no?
"Why not just exchange notes? I mean, it would seem like we'd both be better off if we did that. Exchanged psionic experiences and all that.."
We certainly can, however the debt for these devices would remain unsettled.
"Alright then, how about you teach me two things and I teach you one?"
This is acceptable. Is there something specific that you wish to know about?
"Truthfully, I do. I've got this energy weaving that I picked up recently, but don't know exactly what it does, or how to use it. Could you maybe help me make sense of it?"
We shall do our best to impart our knowledge. Please demonstrate this psionic power if you are able.
You nod, then do your best to weave the energies as you remember them. You recall back to your fight with the Ifrit and shape a certain amount of Control energy in the air around you. Although you're certain that you're mimicking its actions, you don't seem to be actually doing anything else.
As you do this, you sense a great amount of Scan energy emanating from Babbage. It appears that he is studying this power with great intent. Not only that, but his Scan seems much more rigid and controlled than yours.
It dawns on you that he isn't performing one massive Scan, but rather a multitude of small Scans layered into each other. And in doing so he is observing the nature of the power from multiple levels at the same time.
The method is extremely clever, and you decide to try to practice a similar technique in the future.
You wonder just how much more knowledgeable Babbage is from you, and if two lessons will be enough to sate your curiosity. You find the wonders of these psionic powers to be bottomless, and your curiosity for how far you can go grows steadily as the days go by.
The underlying architecture of this weaving is familiar, Babbage proclaims after a few moments. However the outer framework is far from structured. It is rather chaotic, almost organic. Where did you acquire such knowledge?
"Ah I sensed an Ifrit do this," you reply. "It wove it while it was attempting to burn me alive."
This computes. Those Ifrit are chaotic minds and their work can be difficult to parse. Please allow us a few moments to deconstruct its energies.
You nod a couple of times, then realize that Babbage is using terminology that you're not entirely familiar with.
"Architecture?" you ask. "Framework? Deconstruction? What?"
Apologies, he replies. These are terms that the psionic community has adopted as a whole. We use them to further analyze and break down our own powers, mostly for our greater understanding.
"Ah, I see. So you chat with a bunch of other psions, then. Like, the ones in Oasis?"
No. We psions are all linked subconsciously through Telepathic channels that encompass our existence. Ideas and conventions echo all throughout these channels, feeding us with information gathered from the whole.
Imagine the terms Telepathy or Telekinesis, Babbage continues, or any of the combination powers that exist. Chakra. Fortify. Orchestra. It is similar for the rankings, from D to S, or Novice to Scion. These are all terms that we have all subconsciously determined and shared through Telepathic channels enshrouding the planet.
You're stunned at this revelation, and it takes you a few long moments to fully process what Babbage is saying. But what you eventually make out is that all you psions have a kind of hidden Internet connecting all of you, and you're all subconsciously sharing information with each other, somehow.
"Seriously?" you sigh. "I really thought I came up with all those names. Thought I was being super fuckin' clever, too."
Perhaps you did create some of the terminology, perhaps you inherited others. It is all the same in the end. We all use them uniformly. How else could we possibly grade each other with better certainty?
You ruminate deeply on Babbage's words, slowly coming to accept the reality of psionic knowledge. It certainly makes a great deal of sense - it's your collective knowledge that's forming the hierarchies and structures of the powers.
As someone who is still learning the very basics for some of the powers, how could you possibly claim to know the existence of something greater than what you already know? The very idea of it had to have come from somewhere else, first.
Considering how much you are ruminating on this knowledge, it is clear that you have technically learned your first lesson, Babbage says after a few moments. However, we will consider that one as complementary.
Now, let us focus on the power you wish to know about - it is called Merge. Many psions use the technique to create or destroy various objects in reality. Your Ifrit, for example, utilized this power to create methane gas by Merging hydrogen and oxygen with the right amounts. We hypothesize it is how they create and manage and heighten their flames, thus a key factor in how they maintain their dominance over their lands.
"Wait," you stammer out. "You're saying that the Ifrit was making flammable gas out of thin air? That's wild."
Yes. And now, so do you.
Paragraph comment
Paragraph comment feature is now on the Web! Move mouse over any paragraph and click the icon to add your comment.
Also, you can always turn it off/on in Settings.
GOT IT