152 Phoebe's little trip

"Fal'Herim?" Phoebe repeated, considering.

Should she go? There was still a lot to be done here. The new hospital (at the Farm) and the new, new hospital (in Kara-Goth) were nowhere near fully operational. The work of emancipating the slaves was only a little bit past half-done.

But Lydia did not require Phoebe's help specifically any more. She had a half-dozen assistants to provide her mana and run about fulfilling her every need and every whim.

Remian, on the other hand, clearly did need her especially. His condition was consistently deteriorating and he still insisted on trying to live his life, flying around from country to country trying to finish some vague dream before his time ran out.

Well. At least, he was interesting. To put it in simple terms, Remian was weird.

Phoebe liked weird. Weird was far better than boring. At first she'd thought Remian was boring, but now she knew better. Remian was flat out the weirdest guy she'd ever met.

So, yeah, Phoebe was interested in the Fal'Herim trip. It would very likely be more eventful than another week of helping Lydia and trying to fix the hospitals' endless issues and yet another Beast Wave. Between Remian's crazy ideas and Fal'Herim's justifiable hostility toward a guy who'd attacked them with Wilds before, all sorts of chaos could erupt.

Chaos meant opportunity, and Fal'Herim was a place with both slaves and the Iron Legion in place.

"Fine. I'll come along." Phoebe nodded.

Phoebe packed clothes, food, medical supplies, and lots of water. Mindy packed clothes, food, water, mana crystals and books. The members of her crew likewise packed clothing, food, water, and some minor entertainments.

Remian just brought two lynxmice and a wolfcat and tried to hide them in his private cabin.

See? Weird, right?

***

Upon reaching Fal'Herim, Phoebe descended from the airship in her full glory, wearing a traditional Sand People robe, but keeping it tight in certain places and not quite fully covered up in others.

Oh, she knew how it would affect the guys. Three steps off the airport, and already men were bumping into things. Ten steps later and the first explosions started.

The dock officials, those who weren't staring at Phoebe, gave Remian a dark look as if it were his fault.

Remian, however, didn't even seem to notice, much less return their hostility or try to appease them or anything. He just walked right past, completely oblivious.

Also, he was wearing Sand People survival gear, hardy leather complete with sheltering layers. Hello, Remian, we're actually in a city here, didn't you realize…?

Plus, while Mindy was looking for an inn, and her crew were looking for restaurants or taverns, Remian went around looking for a secluded spot in which to release his lynxmice. Really, what was up with that?

Everyone noticed him, of course. The dock officials, the guards, the police, the military… every eye in Fal'Herim was on him and entirely willing to pounce, stab, or shoot him at first opportunity, and smuggling a crate into dockside corners was suspicious enough to warrant such 'emergency actions'.

But Phoebe went along with him. A boy and a girl slipping into a secluded corner together… guys tended to forget about the crate entirely, turn away sheepishly, and think about much more pleasant situations in which they were the ones in such corners with girls…

Of course Remian hadn't a clue. "Phoebe! Um… what brings you here?"

He didn't even try to explain the suspicious crate in his hands or make excuses or anything. It was as if he expected that nobody noticed what he'd been trying to do.

"I just came to tell you; the air here is especially dry, and hot. You need to keep hydrated. Always keep some water on you." Phoebe advised with a straight face, quite an impressive feat, if she could say so herself. She offered him one of her water gourds.

"Ah. Thank you." Remian took it and drank a few gulps immediately as if to appease her.

As if appeased, Phoebe nodded and walked away nonchalantly, deliberately making no sign that she noticed six different accidents taking place in the dockyard as she walked past.

Behind her, she distinctly heard Remian ask, "Why are those guys looking at me funny?"

Mindy, somehow, had popped up beside him, and answered, "I think that gourd you just drank from is the same one Phoebe's been drinking from."

"Ah. I thought it tasted funny… OW! What was that for? OW! Not again!"

Was it, though? Phoebe thought back and nodded to herself. Right. Indeed, it was. Remian didn't seem to think too much of it, though. Not like Mindy, whose face was like a tomato on the verge of popping.

Poor Mindy, she never understood anything about Remian, not now, not ever. Hadn't she realized by now? If Remian were concerned about such things, he'd have a whole harem catering to his every whim already, much like the kings of Fal'Herim. He even had a slave-girl contracted to him. And what did he do with that slave-girl in the end? Outright freed her and left her to fend for herself in Ashdale, that's what!

Speaking of slaves, there were quite a few at the docks. Phoebe eyed them and nodded to herself. They seemed to be in better conditions than before. Better fed, less whip-marks, even decently clothed. But they were still enslaved, still suffering, still hopelessly without freedom or opportunities.

Phoebe smiled to herself.

If she had her way, they would not be enslaved for much longer.

***

Phoebe casually walked right into the Iron Legion camp at Fal'Herim, the one with piles of road construction material stacked on the south side.

"Hi, I need some advanced medical supplies." She requested openly. "You're from Itarim, right?"

"Yes, yes… you'll want to talk to the quartermaster…" the busy legionnaire said, with a yawn, and then had someone take her to the quartermaster's office.

There, she asked about medical supplies for perhaps ten seconds before she added, very casually, "Operations Code: Aquila-Nine-Four. Amber Range."

The quartermaster choked, almost dropping something on his own foot. "You… you're…!"

"Busy and strapped for time. Please confirm." Phoebe added.

"Confirm, Aquila-Nine-Four. Yellow Range." The quartermaster gave her a discreet salute. "There is a tavern on the north side of the main bazaar. Speak to the barkeep named Myrissa. Her code is Aquila-Five-Three. Yellow Range."

"Understood." Phoebe nodded. "Now, about those needles…"

She got her supplies, she got her contacts, and she got out of the Iron Legion immediately after.

***

Myrissa was a brown-haired lady who kept her hair in a high bun. She was one of two bartenders running the evening shift at the Moonlit Oasis Bar.

Upon hearing Phoebe's code and identification, she stared. "Amber? Wow. You're young…"

"Please confirm." Phoebe requested.

"Confirm, Aquila-Nine-Four. I am Aquila Five-three. Yellow Range." Myrissa said formally, while hunkering around a lightly alcoholic iced drink as if she and Phoebe were gossiping.

"Macro-info?" Phoebe requested.

"Five major holders. Well-policed, but not very strong." Myrissa informed.

Phoebe frowned. That meant that there were five big slave-traders in Fal'Herim, and they had a lot of manpower. Not very professional or very powerful troops, but plenty of them.

"Legion readiness?" Phoebe asked next.

"Dismal. They really do want to focus on the road."

Phoebe grimaced. So much for Iron Legion support.

"External intervention?"

"Unlikely. Unless you have contacts?"

Phoebe considered. "Maybe. I'll have to get back to you on that."

***

So it was that Phoebe went over to Remian as he and Mindy were having dinner at night and outright said, "Let's free the slaves in Fal'Herim. All of them."

To which Remian, weird as always, simply nodded and said, "Okay."

Mindy almost spilled her tea.