There is, without any warning, a bandaged figure with solemn eyes standing opposite the hammock, swaying gently on his feet as if he is not entirely steady, not a scrap of exposed flesh showing through the bandages.
She's actually surprised this... whatever it is deigns to speak with her.
"I'm Sara," she says. "And I think I'm either lost or I got taken here. You're the first... assuming you aren't human you're the first thing like you that actually wanted to talk," she says.
Aha. That's one thing confirmed. It raises more questions, but at least they're actual questions instead of general confusion.
"More like you than like human," she insists. "If you live in this... no, it's not really a dream, is it? Realer than a dream but not as much as being awake."
She actually laughs at that. "Very real to me. You can reach out and touch it and changes stick around. It might not mean as much as the Dream does back home - but there are people there that mean enough that you can cut someone on it."
If Don Orlea is asking, clearly he's alien enough to need a real and meaningful answer.
"The world doesn't care, which is why someone has to, right?"
That statement gives her pause: Sara heard the caps.
"Is that why I'm here?" She says. "Because I care about the small w 'world?' Cause I have people back home that need my help. And I don't know how much you know about my home, but I need their help too."
The nonhumans she's met previously were not reasonable beings, but Don Orlea has proven to be very different from those assholes.
"There will be others on this Journey who will help you," he says. "But I cannot return you until it is complete. There are too many worlds, and no-one has the power to open a hundred doors to a hundred worlds and return you all."
Sara folds her arms and considers, but not very long.
"Fine. If my friends and squadmates won't miss me till I'm back - if I wake up the next morning as far as they know - I can live with this. Cause a world that cares about the people in it is worth fighting for. But what happens if you lose? If we lose?"
"That depends entirely upon who wins. SAGE, Mortimer, and myself can place you back at the point from which you were drawn. Others can replace you, but perhaps not at the same point. Still others... you would never return."
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Sara has three immediate questions, two shouted in anger: "Who are you? What do you want?!"
Followed by another, wary, but more sheepish one: "...Are you hurt?" She lowers her hands, but not her guard.
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"I'm Sara," she says. "And I think I'm either lost or I got taken here. You're the first... assuming you aren't human you're the first thing like you that actually wanted to talk," she says.
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"More like you than like human," she insists. "If you live in this... no, it's not really a dream, is it? Realer than a dream but not as much as being awake."
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If Don Orlea is asking, clearly he's alien enough to need a real and meaningful answer.
"The world doesn't care, which is why someone has to, right?"
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"Is that why I'm here?" She says. "Because I care about the small w 'world?' Cause I have people back home that need my help. And I don't know how much you know about my home, but I need their help too."
The nonhumans she's met previously were not reasonable beings, but Don Orlea has proven to be very different from those assholes.
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"Fine. If my friends and squadmates won't miss me till I'm back - if I wake up the next morning as far as they know - I can live with this. Cause a world that cares about the people in it is worth fighting for. But what happens if you lose? If we lose?"
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"Can I ask why you work with Mortimer?"
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"What else do you think we'll need to know?" she asks.
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She does a passable impression of a stern, clipped commander: "Keep my eyes peeled and head on a swivel."
Then she laughs. "Wish me luck, and show me where I need to go?" she asks.
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Somewhere in the middle of the turn, the island seamlessly becomes the interior of a wooden horse, and the strange bandaged figure is gone.