March 12th, 3040

Nakoa awoke the next morning alone, confused and muddy headed from some of the deepest sleep of her young life. All but one of the candles had burnt out and the smell of them, herself and his sweat hung in the air. She rose up, finding his clothing and gear gone as well and a single candle burning behind a screen that gave the room a pale gloom. She touched her Focus and it's light considerably brightened the room for her to find her clothes and dress herself, then she ducked under the flap and strode out to the portal.

The first hints of the sun were glowing on the eastern horizon, cutting out his shape in shadow as he stood by the night watch fire, something in his hand as he waited for the sun to rise. She walked out to stand next to him, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable, she snaked an arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he greeted as his arm came around her shoulders to hold her against him. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept like the dead,” she admitted. “And my stomach is sore from the dance of your tongue last night.”

Under her ear, his body vibrated with a deep chuckle. “Are you complaining?”

“Goddess, no!” she assured him. “Where...where did you learn that?”

His face looked down at her, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “As a younger man of loose morals I watched and read things that a gentleman does not discuss in polite company.”

“You and your politeness,” she chided him, squeezing him in a one armed hug. “I think you're obsessed with politeness. You could use some vulgarity in your life!” He rubbed her shoulder.

“Have I violated some Nora taboo and must undergo some ritual of atonement?” That she found funny and chuckled.

“Yes,” she told him. “You have condemned yourself to preforming that dance upon me for the rest of your life.”

“The horror!” he teased her and drank something that steamed from his cup he held in his other hand.

“What is that?” she asked, reaching for the cup. “I saw many of you drinking it yesterday at breakfast.”

He handed her the metal cup that nested under his water bottle in the carrier on his belt and she found the metal warm in her hands. She let the metal handle flop as she cradled the cup to relish in its warmth. Inside it was a brown liquid that steamed and smelled like nothing in her experience. “It's called coffee,” he told her as she took a deeper sniff and brought her other hand to warm it by the metal. “I'll warn you it's an acquired taste.”

“Acquired?” she asked.

“Most people don't like the flavor at first,” he explained. “They have to drink it over and over to learn to like it. Like, uh, beer. Beer is another acquired taste.”

“Oh,” she replied as she brought the mug to her lips and carefully took a sip. “It's...different,” she admitted as she swallowed the first mouthful. As she savored the flavor and tried to suss out how to describe her reaction to it the early morning fog in her mind began to lift. “Bitter at the back, but a little sweet and creamy at the start. It's nice and warm and...goodness, suddenly I feel very alert and my heart is beating! What is this?”

Now his chuckle was a full on laugh as he watched her. “There's a chemical in the beans we make this from called caffeine. Our body reacts to it like...realizing you're in danger.”

She nodded and took another sip. “Yes, I see that. That tense feeling of 'do I run or stand and fight'? Though, a very mild version, still...I think I like this.” She offered the mug back, but he waved at her to finish it and she smiled at him and took another sip. “Why did you let me sleep?”

“You looked like an angel so I couldn't bring myself to wake you,” he told her as he picked up the plate of pork next to him and offered her some of it. “I've always been an early riser, so I thought I'd come out and watch the sun rise.”

She took a morsel of meat and chewed on it thoughtfully. “So, in these unspeakable things you read, did the women dance upon men the same way?” she asked him slyly. She wasn't sure if the red in his face was him blushing or from the fire. She decided to be bold. “Oh, they did, didn't they?”

“I won't deny it,” he admitted.

“Hmmm,” she hummed to herself and gave him a knowing glance. “I don't suppose you brought any of these papers with you?”

“Knowing how many teenagers are in the group, I'm certain of it,” he muttered. “Why the interest?”

She smiled a coy smile at him and puckered her lips as if giving him a kiss. “No reason,” she teased him coquettishly. She took another sip and sighed, deciding the time to be playful had ended and the time to be serious had arrived. “Do you know what this HADES is?” She asked softly.

He sighed and chewed thoughtfully on the morsel of pork. “The name is a reference to ancient gods that my people used to worship many thousands of years before my time. Hades was the god of the Underworld, the place of the Dead. Gaia, on the other hand in this pantheon of gods and goddesses, was the personification of the Earth itself, the grand mother of these gods. Based on what we saw, Gaia, in this instance is the AI that Doctor Sobeck and the Zero Dawn project created to oversee this terraforming project. Hades, in this instance, is a sub function of Gaia, probably with some kind of specific task. So, more complex that just a part of your body, like your hand, but not a full person like Gaia. Based on the references, as well as what it immediately began to do when released from Gaia, I'd guess that Hades was to judge if the terraforming effort was viable or not, and then reset the world if not.”

“How can you know that?” she demanded.

“ENID tells me this is the fourth attempt at a biosphere and that something wiped out the other three,” he replied casually. “I can't say for sure it's what happened, but it does fit the facts on hand.”

“How do we fight such a thing?”

“We help Aloy find this master override, or, if it doesn't exist, we think of something else.” She cocked her head to one side as if the change in perspective would help her understand him better.

“Are all of your tribe so...optimistic? Feeling that every problem has a solution?”

“That,” he told her with a grin, “is the most basic trait of Americans. It's what got us here,” He paused and his gaze became meaningful. “What brought me to you.”

“Nakoa?” She turned at hearing her name to find Varl coming up the hill, four Braves with him. He nodded at Travis respectfully. “Good morning, War Chief. I was sent to wake you, but I see you are already up...”

“Yan!” Nakoa shouted and embraced one of the Braves who was beaming and hugged her back. She latched onto his arm and pulled him up to Travis. His hair and eyes were identical to Nakoa's, though his full beard put him at least a few years older. “Travis,” Nakoa declared beaming. “This, is my brother, Yan. Yan, this is Colonel Travis Murray, an Ancient, member of the army that fought the Metal Devil in the old times.”

Yan's eyes flicked between the two, seeing much and his beard twisted around his mouth. “Ancient is right,” he declared, causing Varl to grab his shoulder and snatch him around to face him.

“You would offer insult to the guest of the High Matriarch in front of me?” he demanded heatedly.

“It's alright, Varl,” Travis replied with a smile. “Don't hold it against the young man.” Yan went to turn back to Travis, but Varl prevented it and pushed him back in a manner that was forceful, but not quite a shove.

Varl put his finger on the disk shaped badge all of the Braves were wearing on their left shoulders. “Dishonor me again and see what comes of it,” Varl hissed, driving home his point with his finger. Finally, Yan mastered himself, nodded and stepped back. Satisfied he'd won the exchange, Varl turned back to Travis. “We are ready to depart at your order, War Chief. I and my Braves are placed under your command.”

Nakoa punched her brother in the arm. “Don't be such a fool!” she ordered him. “You have no say in my choices!” Yan's eyes glared at Travis.

“We'll speak of this later,” he told his sister.

Travis sighed and gripped Varl's shoulder. “I'm honored, Varl. Have you all eaten? Alright, let's get under way.”

The group made excellent time, getting back to the wall of the Embrace and Mother's Rise by mid-day. If Travis was heartened by the signs of the Nora reclaiming and rebuilding the town, Nakoa was ecstatic. She greeted other villagers warmly, obviously happy to have something of a homecoming she'd been denied when they arrived the day before. Upon hearing of their mission, the tavern keeper insisted on providing lunch. He'd roasted a turkey from the size of the bird he brought out, along with dishes of fruits and even what tasted like Russet potatoes, which had Travis wanting butter and sour cream, but he made due with salt.

There was a lot of cleaning going on, both in the tavern and in it's environs. But, you couldn't help but notice the smoke from the bonfire where the bodies of the Shadow Carja were being burned, thankfully, well down wind. This complete disregard of the siege, the death that had followed it, and the frank disposal of the fallen as if autumn dead fall was disconcerting for Travis, but the last thing he wanted was to lose the confidence of the men he'd been given, and so kept a stoic silence as they laughed and flexed bravado amongst themselves.

It was only natural that Yan would pick that moment to dig the hole he was in a bit deeper. “Tell us, great Warrior of the Ancients,” he sneered. “Tell us what battles you have fought?”

“I don't feel the need to boast over the lives I've taken,” he replied softly, but Yan immediately took insult and leapt to his feet.

“Not under my roof!” the tavern keeper shouted, even before Varl could take offense.

“What lives have you taken, old man?” Yan shouted, turning back, and though Travis knew the danger he was in, and had one hand discretely on his belt, right next to his pistol, he kept his seat.

“Son,” he declared and the other man stiffened and his face went red at the slight. “Before I tell you what being a man is like, why don't you tell me what kind of a brother lets his sister go and sacrifice everything she had to avenge your father?”

“I wasn't a Seeker,” Yan bellowed, and Travis casually clipped the retention strap on his holster off. “Leave the Embrace? Have my soul written out the All-Mother's book? That wouldn't have brought our father back!”

The other Braves sat silently, in deference to their new commander, and Murray knew there was much more on the table than what a hot headed brother thought of him. “Your sister was alive,” he shot back, “and you let her face a danger you wouldn't risk your self. There's a word from my time for a man like that; coward.”

Yan's teeth flashed in a snarling rage and his hand went to his belt and it's knife, but Travis' pistol slipped free of the leather and was leveled at him before he could do more. “I can kill you where you stand, son,” Travis warned him, hyper focused on keeping his breath and voice calm. He was aware of all the eyes on him, but kept his own on Yan. “Now, maybe you feel you have something to prove since you let your sister go off alone. Maybe you don't like the cut of my jib, and quite frankly, I don't give a damn which. Varl accepts you into his party and that's good enough for me. But if you think I'm going to take an ounce of petulant shit from you, you're woefully mistaken. So, you have a choice...”

“I...”

“Close your mouth and listen,” he commanded harshly. His thumb clicked off the pistol's safety and he felt the tension in the room rise. Perhaps they knew more about firearms than he thought. “I won't warn you again. So. You can sit down and prove whatever you have to to your fellow Braves or yourself, and you can fight the real enemy of this world, but! If you sit, you will keep your opinions behind your teeth, your tongue civil and you will obey my orders. Or, you can walk out that door and go home. I don't care which, but if you stay, you will obey or I will end you, boy, so choose carefully. Now, what's it going to be?”

Finally, the tense silence was broken by a soft voice. “Yan,” Nakoa growled, “sit down.”

Yan's eyes finally left Travis to flick over to his sister, and he saw the embarrassment on her face, flush with suppressed anger as well. Slowly, he turned back to Travis and took his hand off his knife. “I have the right to know what kind of leader I am submitting to,” he declared vehemently. “I follow Varl because I know Varl! Every brave here knows Varl's skill. “Who are you, Ancient? Why should I submit to you?”

“You don't have to know me,” Murray replied. “All you have to know your Matriarch put me in charge, that's how the chain of command works, Yan. I don't have anything to prove to you. Now make your choice, sit or leave, I don't care which.” The Nora's fists clinched and released a few times until with much abused dignity, he sank back into his place on the bench, his eyes burning with humiliation and murderous rage, until he finally lowered them to his plate and began to eat again.

With deliberate care, Travis clicked the safety back on and holstered his pistol by feel, his eyes never leaving Yan until the safety strap on the pistol was snapped back into place. “So,” he said to break the pregnant silence that had fallen on the table. “Because I understand my ways and yours are different, let me introduce myself. My name is Colonel Travis Murray; Colonel was my rank in the United States Army. That is one place below General, which I trust everyone knows what a General is?” He paused to take in the nods. “I graduated from The United States Military Academy at West Point, class of 2035. The twenty thirties were a particularly turbulent decade that we collectively refer to as The Die Off.”

“What is a United States?” asked Varl.

Travis nodded and keyed on his Focus. There was a gasp about the room as a holographic globe appeared over the table, which first highlighted North America, then blinked their location. “This is a map of the North American continent as seen from space. That area there that's glowing was the United States. We are where that blinking light is.”

“All of that land, one kingdom?” a female Brave who hadn't been introduced to Travis asked in awe.

“We weren't a monarchy,” Travis corrected her. “We were a Constitutional Republic.”

“What does that mean?” Nakoa wanted to know.

“A Constitution is a written document of laws that state how the government is formed and what it's powers are, and what that government is not allowed to do. A Republic is a form of government where the people elect representatives who go to the nations capital to debate and vote on laws.”

“No king? No Matriarch?” asked a confused Varl. Travis shook his head.

“No King. We elected a person to the office of President, who spoke for our country as a whole. You'd probably think of him as a King, but there were laws limiting his power. And he only served a term of four years and could only be elected twice.”

“What was The Die Off?” asked Nakoa softly.

Travis sighed. “The Die Off was a series of natural disasters, some we had no control over, some our actions made worse. At the time the world wide population of humanity was about nine billion. By the end of the twenty thirties, the population was about six billion.”

“I don't understand that number,” Varl admitted.

Travis made a gesture and the globe disappeared to be replaced with a number one. “This is our symbol for the number one. This is the number zero. Do you understand the concept of zero?”

“A number that means nothing,” Varl replied, and Travis nodded.

“Exactly. Now, I put a zero behind the one and this means ten.” He held up both hands, fingers splayed. “We all have ten fingers. Now, I add another zero and this represents a hundred. Everybody know how much a hundred is? Great. Now, I add another zero, this is a thousand. Ten groups of one hundred. Then another zero is ten thousand. Then another zero is one hundred thousand. Everybody with me? Now, if I add another zero that is a million. One thousand thousands.”

“That's a lot,” the woman Brave declared.

“Yep. Now I add some more zeros I get ten million and one hundred million and then I get one billion. One thousand millions. Three billion people lost their lives in the Great Die Off.”

Even Yan was stunned by this. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Lots of things,” Travis admitted. “There were volcanoes, and severe storms, but the worst of it was the melting of the glaciers from this country here, Greenland. This ice was extremely thick, three kilometers in places. Due to vulcanism, it all melted in less than a decade. The seas rose, and well, here, I'll show you. This is what the world looks like now.” A vast inland sea or gigantic bay rose up the Mississippi River, half way to Lake Michigan. Florida was consumed by the Caribbean Sea and the San Fernando Valley flooded. The Braves gasped as they watched what would have been a series of disasters of Biblical proportions. “This is the world I learned to be a soldier in, and with these calamities, you can imagine there was plenty of business for a soldier.”

“But the Ancients gave over to the Machines to fight for them?” Varl asked.

“Some,” Travis corrected. “Most, even, but not all. I left the Army in 2055, when human combat arms, soldiers whose primary job is to wage war, not the logistical or technical specialists who give support, was abolished. I have the benefit of having studied the campaigns of some of the greatest military minds in human history. And while the basics of war don't truly change, the weapons do. I note that you all carry weapons that are not just bows and spears, so yes I want all of you to help educate me on the state of the art of weaponry in your era. And I will get to open a bag of tricks in soldiery that go back thousands of years which the commanders of your era likely have never seen before.”

He sighed and looked them all in the face. “So, you know who I am. Now I'd like to know all of you. Why don't you start, young lady?” He turned to the inquisitive female Brave. She was in her late twenties, with a chocolate complexion and her hair hung in dreadlocks down to her shoulders, but had been partially gathered into a braid of sorts mostly on one side of her face. The blue woad the Nora favored stood out on her brown skin in a complicated curling sigil that began on the center of her forehead and wrapped around her right eye.

“I am Olara,” she declared. “I volunteered to come with Varl when I heard he was going to the assistance of Aloy. She helped me find my brother who was lost in the wilds. I owe her that much.” Travis's gaze then slid past Nakoa who was sitting next to her to a bull of a man with a full beard and his own dread-locked hair gathered on the top of his head. He also wore a knot work design on his forehead and a triangle on each cheek under his eyes.

“Jarm,” he labeled himself around a mouthful, and seemed content to let that stand.

Next to him was Varl and between Varl and Yan sat a slight looking youth, probably about nineteen or so. He was pale skinned and his chestnut hair was worn in a high top pony tail with both sides of his head shaved. The only weapon he carried was a spear, but his clothing, while excellently put together, lacked the metal armor pieces the others had on their clothes. “I...I'm Teb,” he introduced himself with a soft tenor. “I'm not a Brave,” he added quickly. “But, Aloy saved my life. I fell from the trails years ago into a herd of Watchers. She rushed in and saved me.” His eyes looked down at his plate. “I just want to help.”

Yan elbowed the slight young man in the shoulder, nearly knocking him from the bench in what he would doubtlessly have called good humor. “We'll make a Brave of you, Teb,” he promised the boy.

“It's my honor to meet and lead all of you,” Travis assured them. “Now, as I'm the one coming in late, perhaps one of you would be so kind as to bring me up to speed on the political situation?”

“What do Politics matter?” demanded Yan.

“Diplomacy is exercising political will to bend an adversary to your desires,” Travis replied softly. “And a wily old Prussian once taught us that war is diplomacy by other means. Know why you fight, and you know what your enemy's objectives are. So, as you'll eventually discover, all human interaction is politics. So, I know of three powers in the area; the Nora, the Carja and the Oseram. Why are they fighting?”

The group of Nora looked at each other, then, as if they'd rehearsed it, at once declared in unison, “The Red Raids.”

Travis nodded and took a sip of his cider the Tavern Keep had provided to drink with the meal. “So I've heard Nakoa mention that before. What are or were they?”

Jarm, who was the oldest of the Nora, cleared his throat, to which, the other Braves immediately deferred. “When I was a boy, the machines were only just beginning to suffer from the Derangement. My father could remember when the machines would run at the sight of a man. When the herds were unprotected by Watchers, before the Machine Hunters began to appear. As the Machines went mad with their derangement, Jiran, the Thirteenth Sun King took the Army his father had built and at first attempted to protect the Carja from the machines. But as the years pressed, it took more and more blood to defend against the Machines. And then, the Machine Hunters began to appear and began to actively hunt humans.”

The big man shook his head. “The Sun King declared that the machines were mad because humans had hunted them for parts and metal. That they sought blood in retribution. And so he began to offer blood sacrifice to appease them. First with Carja criminals and the condemned. Then prisoners taken in the boarder scuffles that always happen between people. Then he provoked war just to claim captives to sacrifice to the machines. The Red Raids.”

“For years the Carja brought sword and terror in their never ending thirst for blood,” Varl added with a glance at Jarm, who conceded the floor to him. “Until Jiran sacrificed his own first born son. It was then that Avad, his second son fled to the Oseram. There, he organized a mercenary army and loyalists from the Carja that realized the Sun King was mad. They attacked Meridian and Avad killed his father and became the Fourteenth Sun King.”

Travis rubbed his chin in thought for a few minutes and then asked, “Who are the Shadow Carja?”

“Patricide is an unforgivable sin to the Carja,” Varl told him. “The nobles of the Carja demanded that Avad abdicate in favor of his younger brother Itamen. Avad however had the sense to see that Itamen was just a boy and that loyalists to Jiran would control him. He tried to win the other Nobles to his side as a temporary regent, until Itamen could come of age, but the loyalists kidnapped Itamen and his mother and they fled Meridian. They are the Shadow Carja.”

“So, where does HADES fit into this?” Travis asked to himself. “And why do the Shadow Carja have Focuses?”

Varl shrugged his ignorance and shook his head. “Perhaps this machine demon HADES offered the Shadow Carja aid to depose Avad?”

“The Shadow Carja are desperate,” Murray reasoned. “Desperate people are easy to manipulate. But what does HADES get out of the deal? That's the missing piece of this puzzle, ladies and gentlemen. When we know that, we'll know what the real target is.” He sighed and finished off his cider. “If HADES is working with the Shadow Carja, that explains how they can control machines. So, if everyone has finished, let's thank the Tavern Keeper and be on our way. It's only more critical that my people get a look at these Focuses.”

There were storm clouds gathering from the east when they reached Propulsion Proving Lab and it was evident the Ancients had been busy. There were a pair of heavy demolition robots under the supervision of a gang of humans that were knocking down the ruins of the administration buildings. Meanwhile, thirty or so were working on turning the Test Stand for the engines into a fortified watch tower, though they were doing so without removing the tree that was growing out of it.

A stockade was about half finished and had several hundred people and a dozen more robots assisting with it. Some wit had carved 'Fort Carson' over the blast doors and two young men, likely the original pranksters, were in the process of painting in the letters to make their joke official. Beyond that a huge contingent of people were plowing the fields and planting, urgently, but with good order. A few waved at Travis as they passed, which he returned, but it was obvious the Nora were wary of the robots and the ease the Ancients had around them.

Nakoa leaned into Travis' shoulder and asked, “I thought you said you couldn't control machines?”

“We brought these with us,” he clarified. “We can't control your machines. Yet.”

Further conversation was put on hold when his Focus beeped and a bust of ENID appeared in the air before him. “Good afternoon, Colonel. Welcome back. Mr Olmstead is requesting that you check in with him at his office at your earliest convenience.”

“Thank you, ENID,” he replied. “Please inform Mr. Olmstead I'll be there shortly. Also, if you wouldn't mind, please ask Ian Turner to meet me there as well.”

“Certainly.”

In the distance, thunder rolled, causing Travis to stop and look back down the slope of the mountain and out onto the Great Plains beyond. He saw lightening strike the ground and he began to count to himself until the peal of thunder reached them. “Looks like we have some weather coming in,” he told the Nora. “We'll stay here tonight and set out in the morning.” There were murmurs of consent from the group so he turned to Nakoa. “Would you mind showing them to cafeteria? I'll join you there once I'm done with the Boss.”

She smiled and winked at him. “I'll look forward to it.”

Guests taken care of, he checked in his rifle with the armorer and made his way up to Frank's office. The door was standing open when he arrived, which showed the power situation had been sorted enough that his office back wall had a holographic projection as if a window had been cut through the mountain for him so he could keep watch on the goings on outside.

Ian was in the office as well. Travis wrapped a knuckle on the door frame. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, come in, Colonel,” Frank replied with a welcoming gesture. “Glad you're home safe. What did you need Ian for?”

Murray entered the office proper and took the bag of Focuses from a pouch on his LBE, that he handed to Ian. “These were taken off the Shadow Carja soldiers that attacked the Nora. When I woke, ENID mentioned a Focus network to our north that she detected, but couldn't access. I'm guessing these are part of that network. I need any useful intel off them, specifically if they hold the info on how the Shadow Carja control some Terra forming Machines as well as any information on the name HADES.”

Ian took the bag with a nod. “I'll get right on it, Travis. Oh, did you bring that Bot Brain?” Murray grinned and pulled out the case he'd removed at the younger man's direction. “You're the best, big guy! I'll have us in their brains in no time.” He rushed out with his treasures and a gesture from Frank had his office door slide shut.

“Sit down, Travis, I know that was a long hike,” he ordered, and his security chief sank into one of the over stuffed chairs that faced the desk.

“Thanks, Frank, my dogs were barking.”

The CEO was all business. “Alright, Travis,” he declared gravely. “Give me the straight skinny. You have a handle on what's going on?”

“Not the whole picture, boss, but it is coming into focus,” he replied. “Here's what I know so far...”

Yan watched the Colonel leave for a moment, then shook his head turned his gaze back out to field. One of the humans was talking, talking, to this great, hulking orange machine that was bending down like an adult might pay attention to a small child. The human pointed and the machine shifted slightly, then reached out with one of it's massive arms and took a hold of a metal beam somehow embedded into the stone the way the ancients had, then pulled it free as casually as a man might pull a stick from the mud. Then the orange monster followed the man over to a pile of beams where it began to cut the stone from the steel to place it in the pile with the others. “Unnatural, isn't it?”

Yan turned to find Jarm standing by his elbow, his own eyes on the machine and it's keeper. “That isn't the word I'd use,” he replied, spitting onto the stone of the courtyard in disgust. “What kind of people have the matriarchs treated us with?”

“Powerful people,” the older man grunted. “Devious? Unnatural? But powerful.” He turned to look Yan in the face. “Your sister is gone to you. She's been seduced by this, and the sooner you realize it, the less grief you'll have over it. Just know, if it comes to you or her lover, she won't pick you.” He nodded as if he'd just dispensed the wisdom of the ages, then turned and began to follow the other Nora into the building.

Stunned, Yan nevertheless quickly mastered himself and caught up with the other man. “You truly think blood won't out?”

“It's not your blood she's thinking of,” Jarm remarked without looking at him. “You are her past. This is her future. A powerful man of high place, among an entire tribe of wizards? She's not Nora any longer.” Finally he turned to face Yan and his eyes were dark and smoldering. “You might curry favor with her if you submit to this War Chief. Play the lap dog Uncle to the pups he'll sire on her.” He shrugged expressively. “The only question is, will you kowtow to your sister, or be a man?”

Yan couldn't respond because Nakoa at that point announced, “Hungry? This way.” Then she set off into the cavernous maw that was the opening of the mountain. Yan followed the rest of the Braves, clinching and unclinching his fists. It was unnerving to see Ancient children, to find them not so different from the children he was used to; loud, boisterous and too full of energy. This entrance way was a din of activity, flying sparks from tools he had no names for, bangs, the rattle of chains and the shouts of men. It was obvious the Nora would continue to exist only at the pleasure of the AmSci and that thought bothered Yan deeply.

A week ago he wouldn't have thought twice about killing a stranger in the Sacred Lands. Why should these Ancients be any different? Didn't all the stories tell of what fools they were? That there was no depth to their evil? They'd brought Metal Devils from their time and were already at work mastering the machines of now. And when they did, surely the Nora would be the first victims in a new set of Red Raids that would make the memories of old blush.

Yan cast a final glance in the direction his sisters lover had gone and wondered how best to defend against evil of this magnitude. Perhaps the Ancients were like serpents, dangerous, venomous, but harmless once you cut off the head? It was as good a place to start as any.

Finally, they came to a great hall, filled with tables and chairs, most made of metal and some other material he had no name for. Nakoa took them to a smaller table where they could lay down their travel packs and then join a line of people going through the servery. The smells of the food were amazing and strange to Yan, none more so than when he finally came to the serving line and could see the food. He stared, slack jawed as women cheerfully filled his plate with items that put to shame the finest festival feast of his memory. Now it made sense why these Ancients were so large, they ate like kings the lot of them.

Back at their table, he carefully picked up a huge ball of bread, still hot from the oven that, despite it's size, weighed nothing in his palm. Wincing with his fingers from the heat, he pulled it apart and took a hesitant bite, amazed that something as simple as bread could be so foreign and novel. “Goddess, this is amazing!” Olara declared around a mouthful. “Have you ever seen the like?”

“I've heard,” Jarm declared darkly. “In stories. Stories of the sins of the Ancients and now here they are before us.”

“Don't be so literal,” Nakoa snapped at him, causing Jarm to share a significant glance with Yan. “They're just people who know things we don't.”

“Evidently we know things they don't!” Jarm countered evenly, refusing to rise to her heated admonition. “And we are likely better for it.”

“Live in the dark if you prefer it,” Nakoa replied, with a dismissive gesture.

Jarm chuckled at that began to eat. “Now you sound like a Carja.”

Nakoa's face pulled into a frown. “Maybe there's a great deal of wisdom we can find outside of smugly thinking ourselves superior. It's no secret the Carja are the finest stone masons in the world! Just moving through their minor outpost of Daytower puts to shame every village in the Embrace! Outposts whose families are safe from the machines behind stone walls, lit by oil lamps that are warm in the winter and cool in the summer! What do the wood hovels we lash together with rope have to answer to that?”

“Yes,” drawled Jarm. “The learned Carja who have awakened a Metal Devil and beg forgiveness and warriors to save them from their folly. What can we, who march in aid of them, learn?”

Olara contemplated the bread as she chewed it thoughtfully. “We don't know that one has anything to do with the other. If you prejudge unseen, you blind yourself to the Truth.”

“Aloy is the Anointed of the All Mother,” Teb added. “If the Goddess put our feet on this path, who are we to question it?”

Narrowing her eyes, Nakoa leaned in and pointed with her fork. “If you're so certain of the evil of the people we go to aid, Jarm, why come at all?”

Jarm coolly matched her gaze until Yan turned to his sister and declared, “Undoing the evil of evil people is still good. Whether they benefit or not.”

“Your fervent prayers to the All Mother didn't avenge our father,” she snarled at him. “I did that! And it wasn't a Goddess that kept me from being raped by bandits, Travis did that!”

“Fighting amongst ourselves will only weaken us against our enemies,” Teb reflected into his plate. “Do we have so few enemies we need to find more amongst ourselves?” That struck Jarm as funny and he laughed.

“Trust a Stitcher to mend rents of people like garments!”

Yan glanced away from the table, his eyes falling on another table close by taken completely by young women whose full attention was on him and his table mates. They blushed at being noticed and quickly returned their eyes to their plates. “The women are pleasant to look at,” he remarked, drawing a grunt and shrug from Jarm and glares from his sister and Olara.

“I thought these people were evil and you disapproved,” Olara told him scornfully.

Yan gave the other table another glance, then shrugged as Varl finally made his way from the servery and set his plate down on the table. “Just observing,” he soothed Olara.

“Observing what?” asked Varl as he sat down, taking the measure of the table and having his face pull into a frown. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Jarm assured him. The older man's dismissal of the previous conversation held, and the Nora ate the remainder of their meal in silence. As the last bites were being savored, a hulk of a man who even out shown Jarm's size walked up, a strong looking woman with brown hair around her shoulders with him.

“Nakoa!” the woman greeted. “Welcome back.”

The Nora stood and hugged the new comer in a shameless display of pleasure at seeing her. “Doc! It's good to see you! Let me introduce you, this is Olara, Teb, Jarm, Varl and my worthless brother, Yan.”

“Welcome,” the big man declared like the voice of the Earth itself rumbling up from the depths. “I'm Buck and this is 'Doc' Tracy Williams.”

“Doc?” asked Varl, the confusion plain in his voice.

“A doctor is a title for those who heal others from our time,” Doc informed him. “The Colonel asked us to see you all got comfortable. Olara? If you'll come with me, I'll see you and Nakoa to the Women's dormitory.”

“Travis isn't...?” Nakoa started, but that made Olara laugh.

“Let your man rest!” she chided the younger woman.

Yan smirked and sneered, “At his age, he needs it.” He considered saying more, but Buck loudly cracked the knuckles in his hands, not so much a threat as a challenge. One Yan decided to pass on.

“You fellas come with me and I'll get you settled in the men's dorm.” The Nora gathered up their gear and broke into two groups. Tracy led Nakoa and Olara away from the boys, across the cafeteria and out into the very back of the large bay. Now the men and a few stout looking women were pulling things back into the bay from where they'd been moved outside in preparation of closing the blast doors for the night. While the stockade was coming along well, it wasn't finished yet.

“Is this some tradition of the Ancients to keep men and women apart?” Olara asked.

Tracy found that funny and chuckled. “No, just practicality of keeping the number of mouths to feed down while we're still getting up on our feet. These dorms are just for unmarried people. As much as we can, we've tried to keep families together, but this facility is only so large and we were very rushed when we came here.”

Nakoa and Olara looked about at the fortress and were obviously confused. “You didn't build this to escape the machines?” Nakoa asked.

“Oh no,” Tracy told her. “This was a test facility for...hmm, how do I explain a rocket motor?”

“The Oseram use signal rockets,” Nakoa answered. “Though, I'm not sure what you mean by a motor?”

“They're probably solid rockets, maybe some kind of black powder,” she mused. “A rocket motor basically brings together two liquids which explode when they come together, then it contains that explosion and channels it so that it's used as thrust. Dangerous business, that's why we tested them out here, away from everyone.”

“It is good this place of testing was so solidly built,” Olara commented.

“It worked out well for us,” Doc admitted. “Though, it's cramped. Still, small complaints to be alive. Here we are.” They arrived at a long room with double bunk beds lining both sides with lockers between them. In it were about two dozen women, though there were beds for many more than that number. Some were lounging on the beds, talking with neighbors, others reading or interacting with their Focuses, based on the gestures they were making.

“Welcome back, Nakoa,” greeted a woman in her early thirties from a desk by the door. On seeing her, the Brave blushed a bit and waved sheepishly.

“Hello again, Ms. Channel.”

“I trust we won't be having any other surprise partings?” she asked archly, then turned to the other Nora. “Janet Channel,” she declared, putting forward her hand.

Olara arched an eyebrow. “Olara,” she replied taking the woman's hand.

“We'll get you two settled and Nakoa can show you to the showers.”

“Showers?” the Brave asked, but Nakoa's enthusiasm bubbled over.

“Wait till you see this!” she enthused. The two women barely had a moment to lay their things down on a pair of bunk beds before Nakoa was pulling Olara down the short hallway and into the restrooms.

“A privy? Indoors?” she asked as she was led through. “Why doesn't it stink?”

“They have water that pulls it away,” Nakoa told her. “That's not the real miracle. Look here.” She gestured into the tiled room with little privacy walls, but no one was using it just then. Olara shrugged her confusion, which caused Nakoa to roll her eyes. She reached over and slapped the closest shower on and water at once began to spring from the faucet. “Feel it!” she enthused.

Olara reluctantly put her hand into the spray then snatched it back. “It's hot! Is there a thermal spring here?”

Nakoa shrugged her ignorance. “I don't know, but isn't it amazing? Water on command!”

“What's it for?”

“Bathing!” Nakoa pulled her tunic off and waved at Olara to do the same. “There's cloth over there to dry on.”

“That water's too hot,” Olara protested, which made Nakoa fiddle with a knob on the wall. Olara put her hand into the stream, surprised to find it cooler, but still warm. She quickly shed her own leathers and took the stall beside Nakoa's. “These tiles are slick,” she complained.

“Yes, watch out,” the other said as she got her hair free of its braid, sighing with contentment with the water on her back. “There aren't words for this kind of luxury, eh?”

“It is nice,” Olara admitted. With a sly glance at the younger woman, she discretely asked, “Do their men have as much skill with women as they do with moving water?”

“I can't speak for all of them,” Nakoa replied from soaking her hair. “But I have no complaints with mine.”

“Hmmm,” Olara thought to herself.

March 13th, 3040

The coffee hadn't yet begun to lift the fog of Travis' mind when a very rumpled looking Ian sat down at his table a mug of his own in his hand. “God, what I wouldn't give for a Mountain Dew,” he muttered around a massive yawn that he chased with a gulp of the liquid, winching at the heat on his tongue.

“Have you slept?” Travis asked, noting the younger man was wearing the same clothing from the previous day.

“Plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead,” the head of IT replied as he laid a gadget of some kind from his other hand onto the table. “I suppose it was high time we caught some luck and hacking the code of an AI is our big break.”

“Can you say that again, but in English this time?” Murray demanded as he made a pile of powdered scrambled eggs on his plate to attack with his fork. Turner smirked at him.

“Human written code is sloppy,” he expanded. “Its part of how we create, haphazard, out of sequence as inspiration strikes. AI, on the other hand starts with a goal, then takes nice, logical steps to achieve it, all in order, right when they're needed, tidy. Makes hacking them easy once you clue yourself into their logic, which, having this bot brain is a huge leg up, so thanks for that big guy!”

“You're welcome,” Travis muttered around his mouthful of eggs. “What did I do?”

Ian sighed and took another gulp of coffee. “You gave us the key, my guy! I'm all up in GAIA's toys!” Travis glared at the younger man and he made a placating gesture. “Ok, ok, so I've spent all night and most of yesterday with that bot brain you brought and it's code structure. So first, the machines are all in independent mode. They can be given external commands, which was how your GAIA managed them. That gave me the opening to slip in the back door. But, because GAIA took herself out, they're all just kind of keeping on to keep on, and they're not strictly speaking AI. Just semi-autonomous drones that can modify their activities to react to stimulus.”

“Ian,” Travis interrupted in a remarkably calm voice. “It's zero six fifty eight. This is my first cup of coffee and, as you can see, most of it is still in the cup, not me. Now, based on your inability to sit still and the fact you've been up all night, I'm gonna guess the better part of a pot is in you. So, take a breath and dumb this report all the way down to 'grunt' level.”

Turner shrugged an apology, then, unable to mask his excitement any more, grinned from ear to ear. “I can take over machines.”

Murray's cup paused mid trip up to his mouth. “All of them?”

“No,” he admitted. “Each subset has variations on the code framework. I'll have to have an example of each type to custom craft an override, but I did find out the Watchers are keyed to specific classes of machines they're assigned to watch. Between that, and looking at how this brain was overridden gives me a great starting point. Your Watcher was originally assigned to a herd of horse like machines, so it has a sample of their code as a kind of Friend/Foe signal. With that, I was able to make an over ride that works on the horses.”

“Huh,” Travis grunted. “How do you know it works?”

Ian's grin went from ear to ear of his long face. “I tested it! Come see!” Ian leaped to his feet and Travis realized his breakfast was essentially over. He dumped his dishes in the dish pit, but kept his coffee and even refilled it from the urn as they passed it, out the door and into the big bay.

The blast doors were standing open, looking out onto an improvised corral that held about two dozen mechanical horses, all milling around the corral, occasionally lowering their heads to look for grass, but the entire herd raised their heads at the approach of Travis and Ian. They were uniformly the size of a draft horse, about sixteen hands high, with thick necks and a pair of blue tinted spot lights in an over/under configuration at the bottom of their face where the mouth should be. The plates and myomere muscle fibers were uniform, though each a number printed on the left hip where a brand would normally be that seemed to be sequential. The oddest feature was that the back of the machine had a hollow place in the shape of a saddle as if they had been intended for human use.

“I will be dipped in shit,” Travis breathed as he followed Ian over to the corral. The herd clustered over next to the humans, even making little vocalizations that sounded like whinnies. “Ian, you've just earned your pay for the Millennium.”

“Heh, glad to help,” he admitted, though it was obvious he was blushing at the praise.

“How did you get an entire herd?” Murray demanded.

“Oh, I had ENID find them, then point a broadcast of the over ride and a 'return home' command after she changed their 'home' coordinates to here. They all trotted up at four, ready to work.”

“Home coordinates?” Travis demanded.

“Yeah, just the good old GPS LAT/LONG grid. I guess GAIA kept using it...”

“No, what was the value before ENID changed it?” Ian blinked in confusion.

He touched his Focus. “Uh, I don't know. ENID? What was the 'home value' of the herd before you over rode them?” The animated image of the AI appeared before the men from their Focuses, a smile on her face.

“Certainly, Mr. Turner. The initial coordinates were thirty nine degrees, fifty three minutes and thirty eight seconds north and one hundred five degrees, forty minutes and seventeen seconds west.” The image changed to the side of a dark mountain with a triangular edifice carved out of the side, the tell tale of a massive gene lock portal. “This appears to be a facility that creates these machines, created inside Black Mountain. This portal is eighty nine kilometers north and west of here, almost due west of the ruins of Denver.” The image paused for a moment, then returned to the interface of the AI. “Colonel, Ms Nakoa is asking for your location. Shall I provide it?”

“Go ahead, ENID,” he allowed. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure. She informs me she will be with you presently. Good morning, gentlemen.”

Travis turned back to Ian, enthused. “Ok, so, what do we have to do to keep them overridden?”

“Oh, nothing,” he assured him. “I changed the authorization command structure, so they won't respond to anything else, even if GAIA were to come back on line.” He turned the closest of the machines with the lowest number on it's flank and touched his Focus again. “Twenty one twenty one, you will recognize command by Colonel Travis Murray.” Twenty one twenty one whinnied and tossed its head in a very horse like gesture. “Pull up your Focus, Colonel and I'll sync you.”

Travis complied to find a new device awaiting sync and touched the hologram to authorize it. It blinked, and a new interface came up with a list of simple commands, a map with a pathing program and even a window to look through the cameras on the horses head. “They can't speak?” he asked.

“In English?” asked Ian as he shook his head. “No, the program of the drone isn't that sophisticated. It does understand the commands you can read there, so you can use your Focus or the voice commands.”

“Travis! Get back!”

The shout brought Travis' gaze around to see Nakoa and Olara advancing quickly, their bows nocked and drawn. He quickly put his hands up and shouted, “Don't shoot! We control them!” The two Nora paused, obviously confused to look at each other, then they lowered their bows to walk cautiously over.

“You've conquered Striders?” demanded Olara. “When did this happen?”

“You can thank Ian for that,” Travis told her. “Thank God too, I wasn't looking forward to walking from here to Kings Peak.”

“You said...” started Nakoa, but Travis just chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“Ian's been up all night working on it,” he assured her. “See? Every problem has a solution.” The two Nora exchanged another glance, then took the arrows off their bows and returned them to their quivers. Olara was more reticent than Nakoa.

“They're...safe?” she asked guardedly.

Ian reached up to pet the drone on the side of its head which the machine allowed without complaint. “Perfectly!” he declared. “Once everyone gets here, I'll sync you all to a mount, and...” he paused to let lose a huge yawn. “...I think I'll go catch some sleep! Oh, speaking of, Colonel, here you go.” He lifted the bag of Focus chips and presented them to the big Head of Security. “I've cleaned and backed up all of them to an off line box so I can go through the logs. They're all slaved to ENID's network, and with their protocols, I have ENID taking a look into that network to the North.”

“Did I say you were a genius?” Travis laughed. “You're a Rembrandt, Ian! Any info on the points I requested?”

The young tech yawned again. “I was hoping to give you and the boss the skinny all at once, Chief. Just waiting for the big guy to wake up.”

Travis touched his Focus. “This rates a lighting a fire under him,” he assured Ian. “ENID? Connect me with Frank please. Morning, Boss! You decent? We've got some good news for a change!”

“I could use some,” Frank enthused. “You're out front? I'll be right there.”

'Right there' for the CEO was actually pretty fast. In just twenty minutes, he was striding towards the little clump of people and mechanical horses. In fact, catching sight of those machines put a jaunt in his step. He couldn't have eaten yet, but, despite the cold call wake up, he was as bright as if he had gotten his entire morning routine done and was merely strolling into the office at nine. “Bless me if sights like this don't let me think we'll get back into space before it's time for me to shuffle off this mortal coil!” he declared by way of an enthusiastic greeting. “Ian, whenever we get money going again I'm giving you a raise!”

Turner chuckled and shook his head. “Thanks, boss. So, these first ones I was going to give to the Colonel and his party...”

“Yes, absolutely,” Frank agreed.

“...And I can replace them as we need more,” Ian finished. “We'll need samples of code of each type to make a new over ride, but I'm working on scanner program I hope I'll be able to upload to your Focus, Colonel, so you'll be able to pull those at range.”

“I'll see what I can do about getting you some more bot brains while we're out,” Travis assured him.

“Well, that's the good news,” Ian told them glumly. “The bad news is ENID is a bit into this network north of us. We're not sure who's in charge, we've identified a couple of people who seem to be high up; there's a Lucent Bahavas who has a fair amount of clout, he seems most concerned about the welfare and future of the Shadow Carja. He makes a lot of references to the Sun, kind of religious references. Weird; anyway. Another is Helis...” Ian stopped as both Nora women swore and spat into the dirt. “I'm guessing you've heard of him?”

“The Terror of the Sun,” Olara declared with considerable disgust. “The former commander of the Sun King's Kestrels and a fanatic follower of Jiran. He led the attack on our Proving last year. You can bet he is the real leader of the Shadow Carja.”

Ian scratched his head. “Really? The impression I got was that it seems to be that the guy on top is some one or something that calls itself the Buried Shadow.”

“Is that a proper name in this new world?” Frank asked.

“No,” Nakoa told him as she stepped into the conversation. “But there were rumors of something by that name at Daytower. The Carja soldiers were whispering about it, some god that was giving power to the Shadow Carja.”

Travis's lips pulled into a thin line. “If I were a betting man I'd lay odds that is HADES.”

“You are a betting man,” Frank snorted. “We're all alive thanks to the odds the two of you laid out and I'm certainly inclined to let my chips ride on your number!”

Murray chuckled darkly and gave a weak salute off the brim of his cap. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, boss. If HADES is what set up this network, Ian make damn sure it can't get at ENID.” Despite his obvious fatigue, Ian was serious.

“No worries, big guy, HADES won't even get a sniff of her skirts behind the fire walls I have set up,” Ian assured him. “I'll keep you in the loop of what I find out. Now where are you going?”

Travis sighed and called up a map of the region to float holographically between them at waist height. “Eventually, we'll be trying to catch up to this Aloy on the way to Kings Peak, that's where this 'GAIA Prime' facility was located. Though we do need to make a stop at this town 'Meridian.'” He turned to Nakoa. “Do you know roughly where this Meridian is? Can you show me on the map?”

She nodded, stepping up to the hologram, she pointed in the mountains where several roads met along the folds of the mountains. “Here is the fortification of Daytower, eastern edge of the Carja Sundom. It's two days walk from Devil's Grief up into the mountains. There is a stone passage through the mountains and out the other side.”

“Eisenhower Tunnel,” Ian added. “And I'm guessing Devil's Grief is Denver.”

“Two days?” demanded Frank. “It's got to be, what? Fifty, sixty miles and a mile up.”

Travis grinned at his employer. “These people walk everywhere, boss. They're very fit. Go ahead, Nakoa.”

She nodded and pointed at the tunnels on the hologram. “It is thought that Ancients dug the tunnel, but the Carja claim credit for it,” Nakoa replied. Though the fortifications they've added to the portals are stout enough. On the other side is a good road west out of the mountains that passes Meridian to the south. It's about here.”

“That's I70,” Travis declared mostly to himself. “Or what's left of it. Have you ever been to Meridian? How big of a city is it?”

Nakoa shook her head. “Not I, but it's capital of the Sundom, a wonder of the world to rival the old ones, or so the stories claim.”

Travis pulled at his chin. “We can drop off the war band, and resupply, then head north to Kings Peak. Do you think Aloy would have gone this way?” Nakoa shrugged her ignorance. “Well, either way she'll probably go through Daytower. That's going to be the easiest way through the Rockies and over the Continental Divide. Maybe we can catch up on the Striders.” Travis' expression became grim as he turned to Frank. “Are you sure you want to send...?”

Frank held up a hand and shook his head. “You can consider they're going with you or just going to Meridian, which ever makes you feel better, Colonel, but you're not riding out into what is admittedly going to be a war zone without more people. Doc and Buck volunteered and that's that.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, his disapproval obvious, if unvoiced.

The CEO nodded, then turned to Ian. “You, get some sleep. If I know you, you've been up all night.”

Ian yawned again. “As soon as I have the Hor...Striders, synced to the Colonel's party, I'm hitting the sack, boss.”

“No detours,” Frank ordered. “I'm gonna grab some coffee, I'll see you off in a bit, Colonel.”

“Eat breakfast,” the big man countered. “We'll be a bit getting ready.”

Buck arrived a few minutes after Frank left, the Nora men in tow. They started to see the Striders docilely allowing humans to touch them as some of the machinists were taking measurements to manufacture a pack saddle. “What sorcery is this?” demanded Varl as he got to conversation distance with Travis. “You told my mother...”

“That we couldn't do this,” Travis admitted. “That was true when I said it. Ian here has been up all night working this particular technological miracle. And! As promised,” he held up the bag of Focuses to Varl. “They've all been scrubbed clean. You'll each need one of these...”

“No!” Varl declared. “That's not for me to distribute.” He took the bag from him, and tied it around his belt.

“You'll need one to be able to control the Strider,” Travis protested.

“We're not getting on those,” Jarm declared with finality. “And we're not going to have anything else to do with Ancient evil.”

“What evil has been done?” demanded Olara sharply. “People have mastered machines before! Our enemy has done it. Why should we not use a weapon against those who won't hesitate to use it against us?”

Varl faltered, then stood a bit taller. “I don't have the authority to do anything but take these back to War Chief Sona.”

“Not all of them you won't,” Olara declared, holding out her hand. “I killed Carja in the battle. More than one! I claim one for me and for any who will keep their oath and ride with War Chief Travis! Teb? Yan?”

The young tailor faltered and looked at the larger men around him. “I...”

“Where is this coming from, Varl?” Travis asked the younger man in a tone on conciliation. He noted Nakoa grab her brother by the arm and march him off to talk, quietly, but with great animation out of hearing. Knowing he couldn't help her, he kept his attention on the young Brave in front of him. “Your mother knew I was trying to accomplish this. I told her myself. What's really going on?”

“I...I wasn't expecting...” he started. He sighed, collected himself and met the older man's gaze. “Many have tried to conquer the machines, I won't deny it. It's like people thinking they can fly. You can't be prepared to actually see it.”

Travis reached out and grasped the young man's shoulder. “Varl, part of being a leader is being able to adapt to changes on the battlefield. No plan survives contact with the enemy. It's how we deal with those changes that make all the difference.” He stood up and spread his hands. “You do what you think is right. I'm happy to share these Striders. If you'd rather, we can ride them back to the Embrace first and...”

“No,” he interrupted quickly. “And don't think I'm ungrateful. I'm not. There is just...” he trailed off and looked into the open bay as it's workers were coming out from breakfast to begin the day's work. “This is so much to take in. I thought I was ready, but I need to speak with my War Chief.” He tapped the bag on his belt. “I swear I will speak the truth of what you have done and offered. If she sends me back out, I hope we'll see each other at Meridian.”

Travis extended his hand and the younger man took it. “Safe travels, Varl.”

“And you,” he replied. “Teb?”

“I...I will come with you.”

“Olara?”

The older woman's eyes narrowed. “My word means something,” she growled at him. Varl winced, but nodded, then turned back to Yan and Nakoa who were walking over.

“Yan? What is your decision?”

Yan ground his hand and looked sidelong at his sister. “I will go with Nakoa,” he said finally. “At least as far as Meridian. Look for me there.” Varl nodded and took two Focuses from the bag which he then handed to Olara.

“Stand firm,” Varl saluted her, raising his spear as he did so and she nodded gravely.

Jarm laughed darkly and punched Yan in the shoulder. “Safe travels, Uncle.” Yan glared at the other man but stayed silent as he, Varl and Teb slowly walked away, down the slope.

“Can't help but think we just got done a favor,” Buck rumbled behind Travis as the security chief watched them depart.

“I don't know,” he admitted quietly.

Finally, Olara broke the silence of the remaining Nora by holding up her Focus. “So, how do I use this?” she asked.

“I'll show you,” Doc assured her. “To start, just hold it up to your temple.”

The sun was well risen over the Great Plains when the group was finally ready to depart. The fabrication guys had very quickly done up a pack saddle that was well compartmentalized that came down on the Strider's back. It was then discovered the animal like machine had electromagnets in those panels, allowing it to grab onto the metallic frame of the saddle. Yet another feature that implied human use of the device had been intended in its design. To the surprise of all of the Ancients, it was discovered that the machine ran on Rama5, the biofuel invented in 2025 that could be made of fermenting almost any kind of plant matter. It had quickly replaced gasoline and diesel even in engines made before the fuel had been invented and it burned orders of magnitude cleaner.

Which explained why machines 'grazed'. They were busy making the fuel that Nakoa and her people called Blaze.

The armorer equipped Buck, Doc and Travis with rifles and pistols with an additional ammo can for each rifle. Along with a stern invocation that the magazines were precious and not to lose them. Travis was in the process of ordering the pack Strider to follow his own when Frank came back out, curiosity written on his face at the missing Nora. Travis forced a smile and mostly for Olara to save face, told his boss about how the group had decided to split up to allow the Focuses to be returned to the Nora in the Embrace.

Frank's eyes flickered over to the corral and if he noticed that the supposed split had one group still on foot, he chose not to say anything about it. The entire work gangs paused to wish the party well and they rode out north, hoping to find the remains of US24 to be passable to get them to what was now called The Carja Road; the former Interstate 70.

Travis and Doc were both experienced riders, and Buck had some Dude Ranch trail experience, so the Nora were able to be taught fairly quickly. It obviously wasn't the most comfortable of transports, but it was certainly better than walking and the Striders kept a trot pace that ate the ground quickly.

By mid day, just as Travis was about to call a halt for a meal, they crested a ridge and Daytower came in sight.

It could be nothing else. The cut through of the old Interstate 70 had been carefully maintained and up-kept. Where winter snow had covered the lane, they been dug out, where the roadbed had failed down the mountainside, the fall area had been packed in with soil, gravel and large stones, then bricks paved over to join up with the old black top. Brick and stone retention walls shored up against the mountainside, but all of that paled to Daytower itself. The portal to the Eisenhower Tunnel was just visible behind a thick wall of red stone that had been set three stories high and even out off the mountainside over the ravine below. A massive gate stood open with a wrought iron portcullis hanging up and above it.

On either side of the gate were guards in great gray coats and white gauntlets that, to Travis, looked something like a cross between Russian Cossacks and the guards of the Wicked Witch of the West's castle. In side the wall, a fortress had been built up around the tunnel portal with a high tower that climbed up into the sky. Nakoa's Strider stopped next to Travis', a grin on her face. “Daytower,” she declared.

“I see what you mean about their talent with stone,” he admitted, then turned in the saddle hallow to the rest of the group behind them. “It's about two miles, I'd guess. Shall we stop for lunch or ride on?”

Olara was grim. “Let us eat. Best we have a discussion about the Carja before you meet them.”

On the crisp mountain air, the toll of bell in the tower rung as if to underscore the Nora's words. They had been seen. “Sounds good to me.” Travis allowed. The Striders were freed to graze and did so contentedly while the group ate the cold sandwiches of their small supply of 'fresh' food that had been prepared. The slices of wild hog weren't exactly ham and they had no cheese yet, but the freeze dried mustard had reconstituted quite nicely and almost tasted normal. “So,” Travis declared around a mouthful of bread and wild hog ham, “What do we need to know about the Carja?”

“They're arrogant, for a start,” Nakoa grumbled.

“Despite their personal failings,” Olara interrupted smoothly, “they are a fierce people and it is obvious that the acts of contrition Avad has forced on them rub the wrong way. Despite this, they can easily take offense and have the numbers to back up their imagined slights.”

“Do they have some kind of Code Duello?” Doc asked.

“What?” Yan replied, as confused as the rest of the Nora.

“A formal set of rules for personal honor duels,” Travis explained.

Olara laughed and shrugged at that. “The Carja's have rules for everything, but they mostly boil down to 'those with shards and swords can bully those without'.”

Nakoa turned to Doc and warned, “They don't have a high opinion of women, so expect to be ignored at best. I don't think anyone will be grabby with our men around, but if we get all the way through the tunnel without some roving hand pinching our asses, it will be a rare thing.”

“Anybody pinching my ass will draw back a stump,” Doc growled.

Nakoa shrugged expressively. “I do not argue, but to grease the wheels of our moving through Daytower, we should led Travis speak for us, and we should defer to the men. Less chance of them taking offense.”

“It's the end of the world and there's still sexism, nice,” Doc muttered. Travis unscrewed his canteen cap and took a drink of water.

“Well, when in Rome. No sense making things harder on ourselves.”

“Avad has outlawed Slavery, but there is a long gap between saying and doing,” Olara continued. “And of course, prisoners don't count.”

“The garrison commander was shocked his lieutenant was the murderer I outed him as,” Nakoa declared softly. “But he was quickly apologetic after I'd avenged my father's murder. Of course, Aloy exposing that same lieutenant as a secret slaver helped. I think the Captain played at ignorance, but I have no proof of it. Still, we are few and they are many. Travis is right, we shouldn't piss in our own bed.”

Travis returned his canteen to his belt and wiped off his hands on his pants. “Every body done eating? Alright, let's go say hello.” He whistled sharply and the Striders immediately abandoned their grazing and trotted over. “I imagine us having these machines will kick up a fuss. If they think we're amazing, don't rush to correct them.”

“What if they think we're Shadow Carja?” Lakoa asked slyly.

“Definitely rush to correct them there,” he replied.

The group mounted and set out, seeing a dozen men depart the gate which closed behind them and begin to walk purposefully in their direction. They carried halberds and swords on their belts and marched with a discipline that hinted at trained, professional soldiers. Within fifteen minutes they had gotten close enough to speak, but not fight when the soldier in front with the most braid on his coat held up a white gloved hand. “That's far enough! Speak quickly and the truth or suffer for it! Are you Shadow Carja?”

“No!” shouted back Travis. “My name is Travis and my...tribe...are called AmSci. These three others are Nora. None of us are with the Shadow Carja.”

“You know me, Captain Balahn!” Nakoa shouted as she urged her Strider next to Travis'. “I vouch for the AmSci, none of them are Shadow Carja!”

“There's no forgetting you, Nora!” the Captain shouted back. “Who's blood have you come for this time?”

“No one's!” Travis assured him. “We ride in answer to the call of aid from your King, against the loosed Metal Devil.” The Captain relaxed noticeably at that news and gestured back to his men to relax. The halberds went back to pointing at the sky and he beckoned Travis come forward. The Colonel dismounted his Strider and walked forward to met the captain a neutral distance from both groups. Balahn extended a hand that Travis took.

“It seems everyone is mastering the damned machines!” the captain growled. “First the Shadow Carja then that red headed banshee Nora girl...”

“Aloy?” Travis asked, surprised at what he'd heard.

“You know her?” Balahn asked. “She came through two nights ago, riding one of those damned Striders, telling me Nora would be coming to aid the Sun King and now here you are! Will you sell the secret to it? I can make you a rich man...”

Travis raised his hands in assurance. “It's not my secret to sell. A...learned scholar of my people discovered it. I was just given these to come to help your King.”

“Pity,” the captain growled, then the look on his face changed as something occurred to him and his tone became remarkably mild. “Did your Learned Scholar give this secret to the Shadow Carja?”

“No,” Travis assured him. “Part of my mission is to put a stop to them.” The Captain, a normally open faced and friendly man with slight emphatic folds to his eyes that hinted at Asiatic ancestry pulled at his soul patch and considered for a moment. “We just ask passage through the Tunnel to Meridian. We're trying to catch up to Aloy.”

Finally offered his hand again. “Alright, draw your weapons only in self defense and pass in peace and you may proceed. You'll be subject to the Laws of the Sundom. If you want a full inquiry of them, there are barristers in Meridian, but suffice to say do not kill, steal or rape and you may pass. Have I your word?” Travis took his gloved hand and shook it.

“You do.”

The Captain sighed and rubbed his nose. “Walk in the light of the Sun then.” He turned and made a gesture and he and his soldiers walked back towards the gate. Travis walked back to his group and clamored back up onto the back of his Strider.

“Survey says?” asked Buck.

Travis sighed as he urged his mount to a walking pace. “We have free passage so long as we obey the laws of the Sundom.”

“And what are those?” asked Doc pointedly.

“He tells me there are lawyers in Meridian who can give me the full crash course, but for this bit of between here and there, employ your common sense. Don't start nothing, won't be nothing.”

Buck rumbled darkly from the back of the group. “Yeah, no wiggle room there at all.”

Inside the gate of Daytower was a medieval fortress of timbers and dressed stone, with everything one might expect of one, with the notable exception of a barn or working animals. There was a chicken hutch with a rooster jealously watching a flock of hens, even a rafter of turkeys with a big Tom stepping between the hens and puffing out his feathers in a fine display.

There were a handful of vendors who had push cart stalls who paused to watch, awestruck, the party ride through slowly. No one but the soldiers had the courage to come close. Captain Balahn led them to the portal of the tunnel, and gestured into it. Beyond, they were surprised to see the lights of the tunnel still working and even the holographic displays of things like local weather and telephone numbers to call to report accidents that hadn't been manned in a thousand years. “Yes, he declared, seeing the shock on their faces. “The lights of the ancients still work. No, we don't know how. They also had machines to keep the air moving, so have no fear. Though we normally recommend you rent a lantern in case, but the Striders have you covered I suppose,” he trailed off as one turned to look at him, it's blue light on his face.

Travis kept a chuckle behind his teeth. “I think we'll be alright, Captain. Thank you though.”

“It's half an hour glass journey from end to end, though, you'll likely go faster. It never has, but should the lights fail, touch the wall and walk. The tunnel is free and clear, no falls, no debris. Just keep walking and you'll come out the other side.”

“Much obliged,” Travis told him.

“Walk in the Sun,” the Captain replied by way of dismissal, and he walked back towards the buildings on this side of the defensive wall, likely where his office was. That out of the way, Travis lightly kicked the Strider in it's sides, exactly as he would have on a live horse and it obediently began to trot towards the tunnel portal.

Here on the dressed stone and asphalt remnants of I70, the ride was both easier and harder on the humans. The Striders gait was more uniform on the smooth, level surface, but as it was hard, the impact more easily transferred into the humans. The little grunts of pain from behind him told tomorrow would need to be a much slower pace.

Probably with walking. Lots of walking.

Breaking into his ruminations, Nakoa pointed to the letters over the portals and asked, “What do those say?”

Travis looked at them, and even with their missing letters, read out to her, “That one over there says, 'Johnson Tunnel 1979' and this one we're entering says, 'Eisenhower Tunnel 1973.'”

“What does that mean?” demanded Yan from the back.

Buck chuckled and indicated the tunnel portals with a big hand. “They're names. The tunnels were named after US Presidents, Lyndon Johnson and Dwight Eisenhower. The numbers are the years when the tunnels were completed, 1973 and 1979 respectively.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Olara.

“Before I was born,” Doc told her.

From the head of the group, Travis answered, “The current year by that dating system is 3040. So these tunnels are very old.”

“Could they collapse?” asked Nakoa as they crossed the threshold, out of the sunshine and into the artificial light of the tunnel.

“It's unlikely,” Travis assured her. “The stone of the Rocky Mountains is very hard, that's why it took us, well, our grandfathers, so long to bore through them, even with our technological advantage. That makes the tunnels themselves strong.”

“And why do the lights still work?” asked Olara.

“They're LEDs,” Buck told her. “It's a very simple tech, with no moving parts so they last. As you can see.”

“Did you see the black panels up the mountainside?” Doc asked her. “They collect the light of the Sun and use it to power these.”

Nakoa found that funny. “How perfect for the Sun worshiping Carja!”

“They worship the Sun?” Buck demanded. “Literally?”

“Oh yes,” Yan assured him. “They left the Embrace of the All Mother long ago. For all their skill in stone, their souls are lost. The light of the sky leads them astray.” He heard the big man try and fail to stifle a chuckle. “You think being lost for all eternity is funny?”

That brought out Buck's philosophical side and he looked at the other man side long. “I think an ocean's worth of blood has been spilt over things one man shouldn't care about in another. It doesn't concern me if another man's faith brings him comfort. Who am I to tell him he's wrong? Or that I'm right? So long as he leaves me alone, what do I care who he prays to?”

“The United States,” Travis added, “was founded on the principle that all of every creed could worship whoever they saw fit so long as they did so in peace. In our day there were many faiths on these shores. And yes, some were evangelical and proselytized, but there was never the force of law behind them. Only reason and debate.”

“How do you debate faith with reason?” demanded Yan. “One either believes or doesn't.”

“Well, that was actually my take on it,” Travis told him and the startled look of shock on the other man's face that he and Travis agreed on something was amusing to say the least. Amusement Travis wisely kept off his face. “No point debating faith, but there were plenty of scholars who loved to debate each other on meanings of words in old languages, the finer points dogma and theology. Oh, they could go on and on. Not my cup of tea.”

“Oh?” asked Nakoa from next to him. “And what do you believe, Colonel?”

For a long moment he rode the Strider and said nothing, the internal battle of his thoughts plain on his face. Finally, he turned to her and said, “That's not an easy question to answer. I believed in God, and I still do, but as you might have gathered, I'm not a theologian. And as you were to ask me about my beliefs, I would want to be exact and correct in what I reply, and I would need resources we don't have here on the trail.”

“So your faith is weak?” asked Yan. “Or is it too complicated for you to explain?”

“I could tell you the name of the God I worship,” Travis replied. “Then you would want to know where He came from, why I believe in Him, what proof I could offer to sustain my belief, things I care enough about to be exact, but not have at hand.”

Olara elbowed Yan as she rode next to him. “Can even you find fault with that answer?”

“Fair enough,” Yan admitted.

“And,” Buck added, “there are those in America who believed in no gods.”

Olara looked at him sidelong. “How do you believe in nothing?”

Buck's smile was coy. “As an atheist, I'd tell you that's my line. The world is, where it came from, how it got here were questions science and theology both try to answer. You say your All Mother created the world, scientists say it lumped together from the junk floating around in space after our sun ignited. I wasn't there, were you? Who can really say what happened?”

“That sounds like a lonely way to look at the world,” Nakoa observed softly. “Considering how much my life has been turned upside down, how can anyone be certain of anything?”

“How indeed?” Travis echoed.