Chapter Text
The thing about cryo was that it was an imperfect science.
Or, for a purpleblooded aristocrat on a pleasure yacht it was probably like a kiss on the mouth from the dream fairies as they dozed in a cocoon lined in gold-studded silks with a drip feed of ambrosia.
For Karkat Vantas, he slept, and knew he was sleeping for a long fucking time. And there was nothing worse than knowing he was asleep and being unable to dredge himself up to waking. Every time he tried, every time he nearly reached the surface, it felt like something would press a hand to his forehead and shove him mercilessly back under.
It felt like forever and he couldn't even scream.
Then, the first thing he knew was that the air on Terra tasted different, felt different in his mouth, filled his lungs differently in minute ways that meant by the time he was waking up, opening his eyes, he was crying.
In a dark room, on a plasticky table, Karkat curled up on his side and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, unable to stem the tears that leaked out like someone was fucking wringing him out like a rag.
He was on Terra, on Earth, on the human planet. He was here, and safe from the Empress' armada.
He was home. Whatever that now meant.
"Oh, darling," someone said over him. "It's alright, you made it!"
A clawed hand came to rest on his shoulder. He wrenched away, catching their wrist in his own grip, ready to fight.
"Shhh, shhh shhh shhh," they went on. "Oh, this is all normal. Discombobulation and being overwhelmed by the reintroduction of stimulus are the nasty side effects to the ride, I'm afraid. Hello, Karkat, can you hear me?"
With great effort, Karkat pulled his eyes open. His body fought him every centimeter, but he managed, looking up.
"Gah! Fuck!" He tried to back away and fell off the table.
A sigh. "Well, that has also happened before." The person tsked loudly and circled the table Karkat had been thawing out on, looking down at him with their hands on their hips.
A diminutive person with emerald green skin and bright cheeks watched Karkat slowly sit up. They had a very trim vest with green and black brocade fastened tight to their chest, blooming into a flare of poofy skirt.
Their face seemed to have less mobility that a troll's, but their brows lifted dramatically enough to make up for it. "Hello, Karkat. I'm Calliope. Welcome to the Undying Umbra."
She gave him some loose-fitting clothes and a pair of slippers before leading him out of the recovery room.
The Umbra, she explained to him with a luxuriant patience, was a hotel. It was built of long hallways with carpeted floors, heavy doors with golden numbered plates, and walls draped in velvets. It was an ornate tower of thick embroidered fabrics and dark-stained wood everywhere he looked.
"I know it must be very different from what you're used to, your respiteblock, but you can think of it as a very tall, communal hive if you like," Calliope said as she opened the elevator. It had a metal safety door that pulled from side to side, gilded gate compressing like an accordion.
Karkat slumped against the corner of the elevator as his host tapped her finger against the appropriate pearly button. It illuminated as she said, "Floor thirteen will be your home for the foreseeable future, but please feel free to wander the Umbra as you please. Barring the Felt Lounge on nineteen, there's no restrictions. And you can always find me up on eighteen with the upper management offices."
He meant to say thank you, because it seemed appropriate. His attempt dissolved into coughing, his entire body feeling dry in a really worrying way he'd never experienced before.
Her face was kindly as she turned to him, resting a hand on his arm. "Bollocks, you must be near dessicated after that journey. Here." They arrived at thirteen, and she opened the door. "Dave, please be a dear and grab a drink, our newest resident can't even speak."
Calliope's cool, smooth hand led Karkat to sit. His ass hit soft, overstuffed cushions, and Karkat slumped there as he looked around.
Floor thirteen was lined with numbered doors, but the central area was open. Under a small chandelier were tables, chairs, and a small kitchen area with… frankly a lot of appliances Karkat had only seen or read about in human fiction. It looked like he was half-collapsed in a shared food area.
A human approached him, who Karkat could only assume was Dave. To his knowledge, it was a vaguely common human name. Dave held out a bottle. "Hey man, get some electrolytes in you. Assuming that's a thing trolls need. Probably call em something like liquid bloodpower restorative or something. Or power-aid, that'd be funny."
"Don't listen to him," Calliope said. "He is a liter of smart-arsery in a pint glass."
"Don't drink too fast," Dave said, watching Karkat. He was dressed in similar fine clothes to Calliope; a taut waistcoat over a clean linen shirt and pants with subtle pinstripes.
His shoes, however, stood out: glaringly white soles with red canvas, and aggressively graffitied with what looked like black fabric marker.
Karkat tore the cap off the drink and tried not to down the entire thing immediately. The first hint of moisture filled in his body like rain falling on dusty arid earth. It felt as thought the cracks and seams in his body were filling in, and the relief was intense. So, the human's advice was valid, and he tried very hard not to drown himself like an idiot.
"Room one's open," Dave said to Calliope.
"That should do nicely. Good to be right by the elevator in case you want a wander."
After letting Karkat rest and giving him another bottle to drink, they showed him in. Through a door marked 1300, he found his room.
It was compact, but not too small. There was a human bed, a desk, and a few empty shelves. The carpet in here was even more plush, perhaps from lack of foot traffic. Compared to his hive on Alternia, it wasn't much. But it was less likely to get him killed than being on Alternia, so for the moment Karkat was feeling magnanimous.
There was a narrow wooden box sitting on the bed. Calliope plucked it up. "Let's finalize some things so you can rest and recuperate from your long, dreadful journey." She looked up at him and smiled. "Goodness me, I've been doing all the chatting here. Karkat? Do you know where you are? Do you remember the deal?"
Karkat nodded, and was reassured he could speak without croaking this time. "It was pretty simple. Umbra gets me off Alternia and I pay off the debt when I get here. You're my sponsors, I guess?"
"That works well enough." She slid open the lid of the box and took out a rolled piece of fabric. Smoothing it out, it seemed to be a rectangle of thick, supple material, felt green on one side, dark cobalt green on the other. "Arm out!"
Glancing aside at Dave, Karkat held out his arm.
Calliope fit the fabric around his wrist, stretching halfway down to his elbow. As the edges met, they melted together, knitting into an unbroken line. The felt was fully hidden inside, soft and forgiving against Karkat's skin.
"Let's see, which one is this…" Calliope murmured, her claws stroking the dark green sheen, turning Karkat's hand this way and that, examining the fit.
"Serial should be 1353," Dave said.
"He's dreadfully clever, mind like a steel trap," Calliope told Karkat conspiratorially. "Dave will be your accountant while you're here, and you truly couldn't be in better hands." She beamed, and it was a little unnerving to look at, but Karkat had not been on the receiving end of many non-murderous smiles in his life.
"Uh, thank you," he said, clearing his throat against the still-dry feeling. "Nice to be here and not culled."
"The universe would be poorer for it," she told him. "Well, I have to be off. Always so much to do. You'll have a bit before we even consider giving you a job, so rest up and relax. And, don't be a stranger, love. We're both aliens on this charming little planet."
Karkat managed to smile. He was here. On Terra. Finally safe. "Maybe I will. Thanks, Calliope."
She beamed, then patted Dave on the arm before letting herself out of the room.
Alone, with the accountant. Who turned his gaze on Karkat now, head tipped slightly to the side. Unlike her, his face seemed very still and blank.
Karkat stared back at him, wondering what he was supposed to do. "At the risk of sounding like someone who just came out of cryo sleep fifteen minutes ago on an alien planet— oh wait," Karkat said. "Why do I need an accountant?"
"I manage your contract with the Umbra," Dave said coolly. "So, you hungry? Get any in-flight meals on your smuggler shuttle?"
Oh fuck, food. That sounded amazing. "I could eat," he answered with phenomenal understatement.
"Cool, lets go grab something. We got a lot of shit to hash out."
Each level of the Umbra seemed to be full of something. There were guest rooms and an event space and apparently even a library, all interconnected through the elevators.
Up on sixteen were two restaurants and something called an Oak Bar, which from the outside just looked like another fancy restaurant. Karkat didn't get the chance to examine it, as Dave led him into one of the other archways. In the restaurant, he plucked up a menu from the host stand without breaking stride, bee-lining for a table against the furthest wall.
Karkat sat. His legs still felt weak from his time in cryo, and he let out a little sigh of relief to be off them.
Before sitting, his accountant put on his glasses; they were hanging around his neck on a golden chain. He set them on his nose, draping the chain over his ears. The lenses were pale red, dyeing him a pink hue. Over his right hip was a bag, attached to his belt. He removed a black-bound book and a golden pen before finally settling down across from Karkat.
As he did, someone walked up, a troll with curled horns framing her head. She set two glasses of water on the table. "Hi, Davey. Usual?"
"'Radia, picking up a shift?" Dave asked. "Yeah, usual's fine. Showing new contractor the ropes."
The troll grinned broadly at him, her eyes fully rust-toned. "Oh, we caught another one, huh?"
"Fresh import from Troll World," Dave said. "Vantas, this is Aradia Megido. Aradia, Karkat Vantas."
"We have a lot of trolls on contact here," Aradia told Karkat, "so the food is probably best you'll get in town."
Karkat looked at the menu and found a whole column written in Alternian print, with human English under it, explaining each dish. "I'll have some meat fritter then, that'd be great." Then he started draining the water. Fuck, he was so thirsty.
"Comin' up. Go easy on him, Davey."
"I'm always easy," Dave replied swiftly. Looking back at Karkat, his smirk faded, back to neutral. "Right. So." He opened his book and flipped to a point fairly far in. Clicking his pen twice, he started writing. "Just going to grab the bandaid and rip it off with all the grace and temerity it deserves. You know what you're gonna be doin' here, Vantas?"
He was. Putting down the water reluctantly, Karkat said, "I have an idea."
"Okay but brass tacks, how vivid is that idea? We talking technicolor here or you still in greyscale?" He blinked. "No offense? On account of you being, uh, grey?"
Karkat furrowed his brows at him. "Really?"
"I have no idea actually," Dave said, pushing up his glasses with the end of his pen.
"I'm pretty sure that's not a fucking thing but also I've been on your planet for an hour. There's probably a whole new pantheon of verbal wreckage I have to learn. Thanks for the reminder."
Dave's jaw twitched. "Welcome. Here to help."
"And…" Karkat sighed. "I know. Getting me off planet wasn't exactly a completely legal undertaking. I couldn't even fill out a fucking visa because my blood color isn't listed." He stared down at his glass, at the ring of water on the table, and remembered again he was on another fucking planet now. "I'd be culled now if not for this deal, so."
"So you understand the whole killing thing," Dave said.
He did. He nodded.
"Okay. Sorry about the whole culling thing. It's pretty heavy stuff, having to do all this shit just to get free. But that's how they all getcha, right?" As he spoke, he continuously wrote in the book.
When Karkat looked, the page seemed blank. "What are you writing?"
"Numbers, mostly."
"In, what, invisible ink?"
Dave pointed his pen at his tinted glasses. "To you, yeah. Don't worry about it yet. Here's how shit works around here. You're on contract for a specific weregild debt. Hold your questions 'til the end," he added as Karkat started to ask. "The Umbra will supply you with jobs regularly that are worth some amount of weregild. We also will track some of your expenses that may eat into your profitability. You'll stay here in the Umbra until such a time that your contract is paid. Then you will be free to go, or stay and freelance. Whatever." He circled something then flipped the page, continuing to write. "Armband is removed when your contract is complete. Jobs range from courier shit to enforcement to bodyguarding to," he drew a quick line across his throat. "You can refuse any job but that's a bad idea if you want to pay shit down." He paused and looked up. "Okay, go."
"What's a weregild?"
Dave nodded and flipped to the first page of his book. There was a little sleeve there, and he slid out of it a gold coin, perfectly round, perfectly shined. He set it down between them. "Weregild. Standard currency of those who work Under The Table."
Karkat picked it up with his claws. It was heavy, solid in his hand, and cool to the touch. There were letters embossed along the outer edge: Ens Causa Sui.
"How you doin', Vantas?"
"I'd fall into a fucking coma if I hadn't just woken up after being sleep for who even fucking knows how long," he muttered. "Am I supposed to wrap my head around all this now?"
"Nah. Look." Dave plucked the coin from him, putting it away. "This one? Is mine. I get to keep it once I have filled this book. You might have to drop off a dozen illicit packages to get one. Maybe you'll kill someone important and get one. Point is, these are the important thing. They're how you buy your way out of this place. No amount of US greenbacks will help you."
"Got it," Karkat said, rubbing his face slowly.
Aradia returned and dropped off two plates of food. It was like Karkat had never smelled food before, it was so good. He dug in immediately, with such gusto Aradia laughed. "Yeah, I remember that feeling. Let me know if you need anything else."
She left, and Dave removed his glasses before picking up his sandwich, dunking the corner of it into a cup of sauce on the plate. "Okay, Accountant mode deactivated, hi, sup. You just flew in to an alien planet and boy are your arms tired, you good? Any questions?"
Oh. Karkat looked at Dave again, and immediately there was something new, like he'd been hiding a candle under a cup and how Karkat could tell where the heat was coming from. His posture loosened as he chewed, a slouch pulling his body into new shape, his eyes still focused but maybe not as cold.
Looking at people and gauging how afraid he needed to be was a very very old habit of Karkat's, his personal dangermeter probably better tuned than any other sorry troll on the homeworld. And it felt like the dial had just turned way down.
"Usually I can barely put food in my protein chute because I'm too busy running my fucking mouth at the slightest provacation and eviscerating fools from all angles, but," Karkat said, "I think I'm kind of overwhelmed and the chances I'm going to have some kind of meltdown over all this shit are rapidly approaching one."
"Makes sense," Dave said. "We get a lot of trolls through here because, surprise surprise, no one wants to live on your shitty murder planet, especially the, like, red and orange peeps. So you're in good company at least?"
He thought about the rustblood, and wondered who else was here. Maybe… He blew out a full-lunged breath and pressed his thumb against his brow. "I've spent almost my entire life avoiding literally everyone because I didn't want to be culled. It's… even just living with other people is going to be fucking weird."
"Oh, you'll get sick of everyone soon enough. Especially me, since we're stuck together."
"Yeah?" Karkat wanly smiled. Anyone being stuck with him was new. It was probably idiotic that the thought was so novel.
"Yeah, like, accountant also means handler, basically? I'll touch base with you pretty often, and I'm up on seventeen if you need me. So." He took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed before sipping his drink. "Right, okay. You'll get jobs. Some slid under the door, some from me, some from someone else in the Umbra. You gear up however you need, keeping in mind that gear costs money to borrow, and you go do your job. Come back, and I'll let you know where you're sitting."
"Sounds simple enough."
"Says the lucky fucker not running the numbers, sure," Dave said. "Most jobs are third party requests. Rarely the Cherubs will want something. Don't turn those down."
"The Cherubs?"
"Calliope and Caliborn." He frowned for a second, then put the expression neatly away. "Calliope is manager of the Umbra itself, the hotel, and is everyone's boss here. Caliborn is the big head boss, runs the Umbra as, like, an institution. Most likely he's never gonna know your name, and you wanna keep it that way. He's got an executor to do all his errands and murders and shit, but I'm just saying, if he asks, do it. No matter how you feel, alright?"
"I got it."
"Awesome. Let's wrap this up and I'll show you back to your room. You can crash and have that totally justified cry session and chill."
Everything was really catching up with Karkat by the time they went back downstairs. Dave pulled the golden fence of the elevator open and looked sideways at Karkat as he propped himself up on the wall.
His claws itched with the urge to defend himself against the cool, calculating stare. It was a relief when Dave looked away, humming under his breath, pressing the number for 13. "This is the staff elevator so if you ever need a place to bleed out for a bit, try to do it here and not the, like, big one in the lobby that the normal people use."
Karkat scoffed. "You get many normal people here?"
"Only a few because Calliope sets the prices real fuckin' high, but there's always those loaded bored millionaires and billionaires who don't care." He tilted his head. "Or they're actually in the know about the Table so… I mean, anyone with that much money has to, I figure."
"The Table is… what, a shorthand for all this shit?"
"There's an actual Table," Dave said, looking back at Karkat with a wry smile. "Up to you to decide how much I'm fuckin' with you."
"At this point, I don't know what would even seem unbelievable. Tell me that the hotel also has wings and migrates depending on the perigee, why not, sure, I'll put it on my fucking calendar."
Dave laughed, and Karkat had the slightly giddy thought that hey, he could make people laugh. He could communicate like a fucking adult instead of a wriggler going off on anyone unlucky enough to be on his chumproll.
"Hey, wake up, we're here."
Karkat blinked his eyes open, not realizing he'd shut them. Dave opened the grate again, and they stepped out. Calliope was right, thank fuck Karkat was the first door.
There were keys in the handle. Dave turned them, opened the door, then handed the little ring off to Karkat. "These are yours. You don't get housekeeping like the normies, but upper management does have your key. And me, because I'm your numbers guy."
"No privacy, great," Karkat muttered.
Inside, he sat down on the bed immediately, rubbing his face.
Dave closed the door and leaned back on it. Glasses back on, he opened his black book again. "Lemme finish this up and I'll leave you be." His pen made soft noises as it worked against the page.
Karkat looked around, trying to keep awake. He had a television in here, though it looked weird. Human technology was so thin and atrophied, Karkat hadn't been shocked to learn it wasn't bioelectric. The chair they gave him looked comfy, if in the same weird costume-y style that dominated the entire Umbra. He also had a huge wardrobe instead of a a closet. There seemed to be an ablution room through the darkened doorway, but that was it.
He wondered how long he'd be here, if it was worth accumulating shit. There was room for it along the blank wall. He would never manage to rebuild his collection of movie posters and on some level that felt correct. Maybe he'd find something new to obsessively gather like a feral nutbeast. It could be part of this new chapter to his life. He'd grown now, from a dumb starry eyed wriggler who thought he could be the Exception to the culling rule. Then, from terrified adolescent running from each abandoned hive to his next hiding place, trying desperately to get off the fucking planet without winding up in the armada.
And now… shit, he'd gone and grown up and accidentally become an assassin. Go fucking figure on that one.
Dave clicked his pen and neatly tore a page out of his book. "So, do you know what a weregild is?"
"Ostentatious secret underworld currency," Karkat answered.
"Heh, no I mean… do you understand what they're worth?" When Karkat shrugged, Dave said, "Okay, do you know any human currencies?"
"I learned your stupid language, you think I didn't look up how much a dollar is worth?"
"Okay okay," Dave held up a warding hand. "Easy does it. Did you learn our stupid German language?"
Karkat sighed. "No. English and Russian."
"Russian? Huh, neat. I only speak two, good English and bad— nevermind, dumb movie."
Karkat brightened up. "I liked that one actually. The ending was really powerful."
Dave's entire body froze, except his eyebrows which slowly rose. "Uh. Huh. Duly noted. Anyway, I did have a fucking point, Vantas, and if we're to be workin' together, you have got to learn not to let me go on tangents, I swear to christ. Rein me in or we'll be here all fuckin' night. Point is! Weregild is the 'man price,' or the 'price of a life.' Old concept, updated and now minted into these coins."
"Alright, so."
"So." Dave gestured expansively. "How much does a life cost?"
"I have no fucking idea."
"You better get a fuckin' idea because this is your life now, dude. Anyway, weregild is a stable currency, the Table monitors it, you can't actually exchange for it, but the common wisdom is that if one of these shiny bastards is worth a life, then on the lowest end of the spectrum, we say that's…" He paused, his pen in hand, seeming to write in the air. "Median salary for a human right now in the U-S-of-A is a bit under 35k. Average age is, uh, 78.8 years. Sweep is 26 Earth months, 12 months to a year."
"I know how many—" Karkat bit his lip and crossed his arms.
"So in theory, which doesn't really line up for a lot of reasons but I sense you're not really interested in my lecture on Under The Table contract negotiation, which is a shame because I was voted hottest professor of the university of crime three years runnin'," Dave prattled on. "One weregild can be at least imagined to be 2.7 mil, okay?"
Karkat's glare faded slowly. "I follow that."
"Good." He folded the sheet of paper in his hand over once, then handed it over. "Here's your invoice. Have a good night, and… sorry." Dave's lips twitched up, and he quickly left the room.
Taking a breath, Karkat opened the little piece of paper.
There was a lot written out, this time in a visible ink. It was crisp black handwriting, professional in the legible way instead of illegible. There were numbers on the cost of his paperwork, of the shuttle that smuggled him, of a lot of things he didn't really have context for at all.
At the bottom, the cost of his life was 50 weregild.