Jeb cautiously approached the flickering campfire, his senses on high alert. The figures around the fire were engaged in conversation, their voices low and tense. He kept to the shadows, using the uneven terrain of the dunes to stay out of sight. As he drew closer, the smell of smoke and charred meat filled the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and sand.

  His footsteps were almost silent, but the desert betrayed him. A sudden crunch of sand under his boot alerted the group. Twelve heads turned in unison, their eyes narrowing. Weapons were drawn in an instant—long blades glinting in the firelight, the dull gleam of makeshift clubs, and the sharp edges of spears.

  Jeb raised his hands, trying to convey that he meant no harm. But the look in their eyes told him that words would not suffice. These were men hardened by survival, suspicious of any outsider.

  One of them, a tall man with dark skin and piercing eyes, stepped forward, a massive blade in hand. The others formed a tight circle around Jeb, cutting off any chance of escape. The leader barked something in a harsh, guttural language.

  What language is that? Jeb thought to Jeebz.

  I am still trying to translate it. I'll need to see and hear more of what he says and does to fully translate it, Jeebz replied.

  The tension was palpable. Jeb knew he had to act quickly. He could either fight his way out or try to earn their trust. He decided on the latter, lowering himself to one knee in a gesture of submission. The leader's eyes flickered with curiosity but did not lower his weapon.

  As the men closed in, Jeb felt a strange sensation—a spark of interest, a challenge. It had been too long since he felt anything other than the monotony of his existence. The leader gestured to Jeb's sword, indicating that he should place it on the ground. Jeb complied, unbuckling his belt and setting the blade down carefully.

  The circle tightened, twelve men with weathered faces and wary eyes, all watching his every move. Some were draped in rough leathers, others in tattered wools, but all shared the same hardened look of those who had seen too much. Jeb's mind raced as he tried to think of a way to communicate, to bridge the gap between him and these strangers. The leader spoke again, and this time, Jeebz began to piece together the words.

  Translation is broken still, but he is indicating silence, Jeebz noted.

  Jeb nodded slightly, showing he understood. The leader seemed to appreciate the gesture, though his grip on the blade remained firm. Jeb had no choice but to play along, hoping that his actions would speak louder than words.

  The men all started talking, which brought Jeb's attention back to the group. One man raised his hand to silence the group.

  Anything on that language yet?

  Translation is broken still, but he is indicating silence. Jeebz loved to point out the obvious.

  Jeb looked at the man with the raised hand. Obviously, this was the authority here. A short man with solid, large muscles. He had two blades, one on his back and a shorter one on his hip. He held a large curved stick with some kind of string from tip to tip in his hand, which he used as a walking stick. Wooden shafts stuck up over his other shoulder. This man had seen combat and expected it at any time.

  Jeb slowly rose up again, taller than all of them. He didn't lose eye contact.

  Jeebz, I need that translation.

  It is compiling, Jeb. Just another few minutes. But Jeb had seconds. Things were going to get messy really fast unless he sorted it out now.

  Stepping forward to the leader, Jeb knelt down in one motion, bowed his head, and then stood up and returned to where he had been. The motion was fast enough to catch them off guard. On his return, they all drew their weapons, save for the leader with curious eyes.

  It had been a swordsman salute he used from his home world. It was a salute to someone who had shown honor. Hopefully, the sentiment would convey itself.

  It did. The man started to laugh, and the others slowly put their weapons down, looking at each other cautiously. Their swords were not sheathed, just not pointing at Jeb.

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  The leader slowly stopped laughing and then waved at Jeb's blade, uttering something to the air. The men sheathed their weapons and kicked his sword back over to him.

  I have the translation now.

  About time! Install it.

  He could feel a small, tiny amount of voltage pass through his brain, which was an odd sensation. His vision got hazy. Then he heard a whirring noise in his mind from Jeebz. It was a high-frequency sound signal within his skull. A few seconds later, and one headache gained, it was done.

  Jeb cautiously picked up his sword. The leader was looking at him again. Putting his attention back on his body, he noticed he was sweating and his face felt strained, as though the muscles were taut. More sensations came from the body, more pain than just his head hurting. His body was tight and rigid. The electricity had an effect on this body. That was odd. Dolls didn’t particularly feel pain, just pressures from sensors and other perceptions. Pain was somewhat new. And a Sac seemed to have all kinds of sensations, with pain being the least usable one.

  “Hello, I am Jeb.” He looked back at the leader. The language, so far compiled, had been implanted into Jeb's mind. Though the physical reaction in his body was odd, he still got the communication. Normally there is no brain, directly to the mind of a being, which was separate from the being itself.

  The leader replied. “I am Kevo. And what are you doing out in the desert all alone?”

  “I seem to have gotten lost.” He smiled at Kevo.

  “Ha! Lost! I'll say. This is one hell of a place to get lost. You have nearly fifty miles to the nearest village, in that direction.” He pointed in a direction that Jeb had not been going in.

  “And that way?” Jeb pointed in the general direction he had been going in.

  “Nothing! Ha! Not at least for two hundred miles. You would be dead by the time you got there.” Kevo started to head back to the fire. Jeb followed.

  “Tell me, Jeb. Where do you come from?” Kevo continued. The others did not talk until they started to sit down, and even then, quietly and with each other.

  “Oh, many miles from here.” Only way he could put it without putting it correctly.

  “Your clothes,” Kevo indicated Jeb's odd clothing. A skin-tight jumpsuit made of material that this planet would not have access to. “I have not seen that type of clothing.”

  In the middle of the story everyone seemed to be listening. Near the end of the story, they all were at least chuckling. They made it to the fire and Jeb sat next to the leader.

  Two men sitting across from Jeb were clearly staring at his sword.

  Kevo noticed the attention. “Don't worry about them. They like swords. Yours is very unique. I heard them say it's the lightest one they have ever held.”

  “Oh, yeah. My uncle was a blacksmith. He crafted this one for my father. But he never liked it. So, he gave it to me. The village said he was one of the best. I've never really used it.” Jeb hoped the lie came off as believable.

  Kevo seemed to take no notice, though did ask to inspect it.

  “Sure, of course.” Handing him the hilt first, along with the rest of the scabbard.

  The man drew the blade. He seemed to be quite surprised. “It is light!” Kevo stood up and swung the blade about in a few arcs. From the controlled motions it showed that he knew something about a blade.

  Handing the blade and sheath back to Jeb a few moments later he spoke to Jeb. “Be careful with a blade like that. Around these parts, only two people have nice blades of that caliber. Blades-men, and dead-men. I would suggest you learn it quickly, or get rid of it. You could get a fortune for that.” Kevo picked up his metal cup and drank from it.

  Putting the blade back Jeb continued the conversation. “What is the nearest city like?”

  “It's a small city. Maybe a few hundred people. It's mostly a pottery town. They make clay and glass.” Kevo sat back on his bedding which was still rolled up. “About fifty miles further is a city. It's maybe a few thousand people. Mostly drunkards and mercenaries.”

  “And where do you come from?”

  “Ha!” Jeb looked around and noticed that all of them had weapons, and all of them were drinking.

  “I see. Well. Do you know where I could get my hands on some maps?”

  Kevo seemed to be confused by this. “Maps?” He scratched his head. “Hey, Jeddy. Maps?”

  After a few moments Jeddy answered. “I think the King might have one. But good luck seeing it.”

  Kevo shrugged. “Most of us don't need maps. Either you go in a direction that you are familiar with, or you have a guide.”

  “Who’s is this king?” Jeb asked.

  “Bah. He is no king.” Kevo began to speak slightly lower and looking about him as though the king were right there. “Though, he does pay well. It's said he has a gold mine. And slaves mining it.”

  “What would he need mercenaries for though?”

  Kevo scrunched his face as though the question were obvious. Though the look on Jeb's face indicated it was an honest question. “Well, to protect the gold, of course.”

  “But you said that it's a rumor that he has a gold mine.”

  “No. Not many would know something like that.” He leaned back on his bedding again and closed his eyes. “But it's late, and it's time to sleep. We have one hundred miles to cover in the next several days. And with the odd sand storm that occurred today, we have been delayed several hours.”

  The sand storm, the one that he caused.

  Jeb leaned back and moved a mound of sand under his head. The suit would keep him mostly warm, and the fire would handle the rest.

  Jeebz. Power down and charge.

  Are you sure, Jeb? With company like this?

  That's the point, I may need you tomorrow. Jeebz was now was powered off of Jeb's electro-kinetic motion. Sleeping would drain Jeb's body and the computer would power off.

  After some time, the exhaustion kicked in and he soon found himself sleeping.