April 22nd, 3040

The Strider's gait swayed slowly beneath Aloy as she rode. The sun was beginning to set, casting the bad lands around her in sharp reds, painting the desert like nothing she had ever seen before. In her ear, her Focus beeped, letting her know it had patched the corruption of one of the files she had downloaded from GAIA Prime. “Data Integrity Restored,” the device informed her. “GAIA log: 3Febuary2065 R.”

“Playback,” she commanded as her eyes cleared the boulder she'd been riding around and it finally came into sight, right were Travis said it would be. In her ear, she heard her own voice, though from a thousand years ago when it belonged to the scientist who had almost single-handedly saved the Earth from complete extinction; the woman Aloy herself was a genetic duplicate of.

The voice was older, and obviously tired. “Ok, GAIA. Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“You were telling a story,” the AI replied. This was not the warm, confident voice Aloy had heard in the last microseconds of GAIA's existence in her first and last message to her. The character and timber were there, but none of the assurity. Somehow, if such a thing were possible, the program sounded young, and unsure of herself.

There wasn't much left of the ranch. A water tower that was only standing from force of habit and had more holes through it than not. The split rail fence was almost completely gone, but the bit that framed the arch was still there and she could just make out Sobeck Ranch in much faded paint over the lintel. “Right. Yeah, so like I was saying, it was a children's electronics kit, but I'd hacked the wiring to an auto battery and solar PV so the grass caught fire. So did a tall pine that'd stood there for, I don't know, maybe a hundred years?”

Aloy's green eyes flicked from the rusted out remains of one of the Ancient's vehicles, almost completely reclaimed by the desert to a darkened stump just beyond the fence. It had been cut level, a thousand years ago, but the char of the fire was still visible. “Query,” GAIA's voice replied. “You were how old?”

“Six.” Aloy took in the ruin of the house, it had long since caved in on its self. Only the four corners remained, with some minor piles of bricks and the stone foundation for a porch that was rotted away. “My mother was home, thank God, so she called the fire department and after, she took me out to the lawn and showed me...” The scientist sighed softly in regret. “She showed me the dead baby birds. Because there had been nests in the pine tree.”

“Query: what did you feel?” Aloy gently tugged on the Strider to make it stop and when it did, she slid off the machine, not truly believing what she saw.

“I'm not sure,” Elisabet admitted, shame in her voice even after all the years that had passed. “I, uh, remember yelling that I didn't care. And that's when my mother took my face in her hands...and spoke.”

Aloy walked cautiously forward, before her, between her and the ruin of the house, a bench had been a part of some kind of garden arrangement. There was a stone basin with water in it, and around the bench, in a perfect triangle, as if tended were purple flowers swaying gently in the breeze. But that wasn't all, on the bench, it's back to her, was a figure. “Query: what did she say?”

There was some ivy that had grown over the bench, and some over the figure itself as Aloy slowly rounded it, unwilling to step over the flowers for a moment, until she could better see what she faced. “She said I had to care,” Dr Sobeck informed the program. “She said, 'Elisabet, being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world better.'”

Aloy swallowed, for the first time in her life, she felt irrational fear. On the bench was an Ancient environmental suit. The same suit Elisabet had been wearing in the hologram she had watched at the memorial Dr Ronson had made for her sacrifice. The suit was still intact, the head slumped over as if the wearer had fallen asleep on the bench, looking at the house she had grown up in. “'You have to use your smarts to count for something, to serve life, not death.'”

The ivy had grown over the suit, almost like a blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders to ward off against the desert chill at night. Aloy swallowed again, and took a careful step over the flowers to approach the body. She touched her Focus and it briefly interfaced with the suit and over the breast, a hologram lit up labeling it 'Dr. E. Sobeck' and 'Life Functions Terminated.' “You often tell stories of your mother,” GAIA continued in the recording. “Yet, you are childless.”

The regret in Elisabet's voice was palpable. “I never had time,” she whispered. “I guess it was...for the best.”

“If you had had a child, Elisabet,” GAIA asked. “What would you have wished for him or her?”

“I guess...” Sobeck pondered after a long moment of silence. “I would have wanted...her...to be...curious.” The Focus painted an image of Doctor Sobeck's face over the helmet. The suit must have run out of air, or been commanded to stop filtering it and become a sealed system. Her body was not decayed and her eyes were closed as if she had fallen asleep from the lack of oxygen and died peacefully. “And willful; unstoppable even, but with enough compassion to...heal the world... Just a little bit.”

Aloy's eyes misted and she looked down, away from her genetic mother to see something shiny clutched in her right hand. Cautiously, the Nora Brave gently took it, finding a globe of the Earth on a necklace. She held it up against her breast, blinking back tears to finally have something from her mother, some legacy to cherish. “Anyway,” Dr Sobeck said tiredly, “that's all I've got for now, GAIA. Time to tuck in.”

“I wish you a pleasant sleep, Elisabet.”

“Thank you. I'll catch you tomorrow.”

September 16th, 3040

It had been a busy six months since Travis Murray, former Colonel in the United States Army, now the head of security for the Aerospace Firm American Scientific, had survived Doomsday. Six months ago, Colonel Murray and the rest of humanity had faced the extinction of all life on Earth, thanks to a rogue swarm of self replicating war robots manufactured by Faro Automated Solutions; a modern day Faro Plague. Fortunately, Travis had chosen well in his employment when he had switched careers from soldiering to security guard, because he had managed to find employment with a moral man. A man who, when informed he faced the end of the world, spat in Death's eye and fought. Not only for himself, or even just his family; Frank Olmstead, the CEO and Founder of American Scientific had been offered a golden ticket. A place on Humanity's first interstellar space craft, the Odyssey; for him and his family at the low, low price of one billion dollars each.

Frank Olmstead, however, had never run away from a fight in his life.

Not only that, Frank had proven time again he took care of his people. When many would have taken the cowards way out, Frank thought quickly and found a way to save himself, his family, and all of his employees still in the United States. In the remote Fusion Engine Research Facility at Almagre Mountain, Frank Olmstead had spared no expense turning it into a bunker, stocked with everything that even might be remotely needed to survive the coming apocalypse. Finally, he then provided a suspended animation capsule of his company's own design for every one of his employees and their families. And so, American Scientific had gone to sleep on Doomsday, and woken up a thousand years in the future.

It had been everything, but easy.

They had woke to find a world that had been renewed by the desperate long shot gamble of Elisabet Sobeck and her terraforming miracle, GAIA, but there had been mountain sized speed bumps along the way. The largest of which, by unspeakable treachery the witless architect of the End of the World, Ted Faro, had purposefully erased the repository of human knowledge that had been meant to teach these new humans in their new Earth. They had been released into the wild with what amounted to a mere kindergarten education and left to fend for themselves.

In short order, they, and their descendants had devolved into a primitive, tribal state like something out of Lord of the Flies. That made the twelve thousand some odd employees of American Scientific the best educated humans on the planet, but it was a planet full of danger; dangerous machines and dangerous, feral men.

Colonel Travis Murray and his party had returned from Meridian and the Battle of the Alight where the rogue sentient sub-routine of GAIA, HADES had been stopped from destroying this brave, new world. But that didn't mean there wasn't a great deal of survival to do. The Colonel had intended to start back out immediately, to catch up to the Seeker Aloy and assist in her quest to reboot GAIA and take back control of the terraforming system, but there had been many conspiracies to keep that from happening.

While the borders of the land the AmSci tribe, as their neighbors had taken to calling them had been formalized, that land still had to be sown with crops, border markers emplaced, livestock and farm animals raised from stored embryos to full fledged animals and then protected from privation and the terraforming machines themselves.

Not to mention the re-founding of hundreds of new industries.

All of this knowledge and by comparison, wealth, brought out raiders. Banishment was a favorite punishment of this new era of humanity; to be denied the protection of the village wall was practically a death sentence in and of itself. Some, however, learned to thrive in the wilderness. Many of these outcasts banded together into little sub-tribes of bandits and outlaws and it hadn't taken long for news to spread of the new tribe and their mountain city full of treasure beyond the dreams of avarice.

The first dedicated attack had come the night before. A group of forty men, in various, patchwork armors and clothing had charged the still under construction wall at dusk. They ignored both commands to stop and warning shots from Travis' security men wielding AR15s the group had brought with them.

Two of his guards had taken arrow wounds in the defense, one was only just clinging to life, but they had managed to gun down the bandits. Travis had stewed for a long time before he finally had given the order not to bury the bandits, but to have scaffolds erected for the bodies to be tied to and placed at the edge of the AmSci land as a grim warning.

Those coming looking for trouble would find it.

Frank Olmstead had been appalled when he'd heard what his head of security had ordered, but was enough of a leader that he'd only said, “Colonel, can I have a word please?” Frank understood that the most basic tenet of leadership was you never undermine a subordinate's authority in front of their subordinates. Praise and reward were always public affairs, but correction was always done in private.

“Certainly, sir,” Murray had responded and led the way to his new office. The Engine Test Stand which had been a prominent construction at the old facility; a massive thing, five stories tall and made of steel reinforced concrete pillars that were square braced at each 'story.' It made a box, one hundred feet on a side and was one of the few structures outside the blast doors that had survived the intervening thousand years largely intact, had become a bulwark of the new defensive wall that had been built, making the third anchor between the mountainside itself on either side of the blast doors that protected the inner portions of the facility.

Over the years, a massive oak tree had taken root at the base of the stand and, over the centuries, grown up and around it like something out of J. R. R. Tolkien. The remains of the stand and been been enclosed to house the security force and had somewhat whimsically become known as 'The Tree House.' Travis' office, and quarters had been moved out into the Tree House and, as water and sewer piping had been run out to it, he'd finally gotten his private toilet. Now the original wood stockade wall was being replaced by a concrete one as fast as they could manufacture the cement. Once behind the office's closed door, Travis had invited his employer to sit, but he'd chosen to remain standing. “Colonel, I trust I don't have to explain my objection to tying bodies to what amounts to a cross and posting them at our borders, do I?”

Travis sighed and nodded. “Believe me, sir, I find it just as distasteful as you, but these people are still coming to understand the concept of the Rule of Law. Might Makes Right here, and I have to protect our people.”

“Do we even know who these attackers were, or who might take offense at our defense?”

Travis nodded. “According to Nakoa they're a mixed bag of renegades. Outcasts from the Nora, and criminally condemned to banishment former Carja and Oseram. There's evidently a nest of them down in Colorado Springs based out of the old Pioneers Museum, or it's ruin, rather. She assures me we don't have anything to worry about from the Sun King or the Matriarchs of the Nora.”

“What about the Oseram?” Frank asked.

Travis shook his head. “The Claim, which is what they call their territory, is north of the Carja lands, somewhere in what was Wyoming or Idaho. She doesn't think word will even get to them, or that they'll care if it does.”

Frank drew in a breath and sighed. “How are your men?”

“Tom will have a nasty scar, but he'll be fine,” Murray replied stiffly. “Jordi took an arrow to the guts. The doctors give him fifty/fifty odds.”

Frank's expression changed to one of sympathy and reached out to clasp his Chief of Security's shoulder in consolation. “I understand your thinking with this, Travis, but, we're better than that. We have to be.”

“Sir, if we don't show that we will not be fucked with, you're guaranteeing more attacks.”

Olmstead's face became grim. “Colonel, I want you to ride out to Daytower. First, make sure with their garrison commander they won't take offense to what I'm about to order. Nakoa is certain the Matriarchs won't care if we move against the bandits in Colorado Springs?”

“I'll double check, sir, but that's my understanding.”

“Alright. As these people use a different alphabet, I want to get a warning translated into Carja and Oseram lettering. Something suitably dire, I'll leave the specifics to you.”

Travis raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What if I'm too...aggressive, sir?”

Frank looked at the other man askance. “I trust your judgment, Colonel. Once we have their glyphs, I want signs erected that proclaim it and leave the raiders belongings at it. Let people see we don't care what they have, but we'll protect what we have.”

“Yes sir.”

The older man's face became harsh. “Then I want you to take a force to the Pioneer Museum and clean out that nest of thugs.”

The declaration gave Travis a moment of pause. “A...punitive expedition, Frank? Is that..?”

“Wise?” Olmstead asked, then shrugged his own ignorance. “Perhaps not. But you make a valid point; we have to show we won't be fucked with. Do you have better council, Colonel?”

Travis thought for a long moment, then went over to his desk. From the drawer, he took a bottle of Glenlivet he'd packed carefully against the calamity they survived. He was honestly surprised when he'd opened the bottle to find that the source he'd read on the internet proved correct; that the sealed bottle would last indefinitely. Or, at least, the thousand years it had endured. Of course, it had stopped aging when it had been bottled, so it was literally a thousand year old bottle full of twelve year old Scotch. He didn't ask if his employer wanted any, he just poured a pair of drams and presented the other to Frank. “I don't know if I have better council, boss. But I do know that such a raid will eat a lot of ammunition. Ammunition we haven't got a way of replacing easily.”

“We've got, what ten thousand primers?” Frank asked around his first sip.

“Ten thousand each in small, large rifle primers and pistol primers,” He corrected absently. “That said, Boss, bringing someone up to proficiency takes nearly five hundred rounds. We're well stocked with weapons and replacement parts, and the machine shop can manufacture replacements as we need them, but we don't have a powder or primer industry.” Travis took a sip himself and sighed. “You want my honest opinion, Frank? I think we need to investigate this 'Cauldron' ENID found out at Black Mountain. We know some of these machines are being armed with twenty millimeter cannon. I've seen those rounds myself. We've heard that some of the smaller machines have machine guns. If GAIA was using NATO frequencies and NATO standard cannon shells, chances are really good she also was using NATO standard small arms.”

Frank rubbed his chin. “You think you can find them at Black Mountain?”

“I'm going to Daytower anyway,” he replied with a grin. “It's only another two hundred miles, right?”

Olmstead raised his glass. “Have a safe trip, Colonel. When do you leave?”

“Why am I learning from Buck that we are going to Daytower? And not from my husband?”

Travis winced at Nakoa's voice from behind him as he was packing his saddle bag for the trip. He sighed and stood to turn and face her. She was wearing the denim jeans she'd discovered in central supply that she'd fallen in love with, and Murray had to admit he loved seeing her in them. They did amazing things for her figure, and while Travis was well familiar with her body by this point, there was just something about seeing her legs and ass with a tight layer of blue denim over them that was somehow better than seeing her naked. His former Nora Brave was wearing one of her leather corsets as a top that lifted while presenting her breasts in their best possible light. She had never been particularly busty, but the leather stretched over her skin as it supported her had a similar effect as a push up bra, an effect she delighted in teasing him with. Over the corset she had added one of the skillfully worked wooden bead necklaces the Nora were somewhat famous for, though her hands were on her hips and her expression was one of annoyance. Despite how comfortable she had become with the 'Ancients' as they were known, she still wore the blue 'C' shaped woad marking around her right eye as a kind of memory of her tribal heritage.

“Sweet heart...” he started, but she immediately crossed the room and speared his chest with a finger.

“You were going to sneak off without telling me, weren't you?” she demanded.

“Nakoa...”

“Weren't you?!” she demanded again. Frustrated, he grabbed her shoulders, picked her up and silenced her accusations by kissing her. Instantly her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands grabbed his head to hold him into the kiss as her tongue pressed its way into his mouth to twine with his own. She actually gasped as the kiss parted, but her mild fetish of being manhandled this way was one of the reasons he did it. The other being she wasn't angry any more. “Just because you can turn me on won't let you sneak off into the night!” she declared breathlessly.

“Nakoa, you're pregnant,” he protested, which caused her eyes to roll.

“Yes, I'm pregnant, not an invalid,” she told him, touching the tip of his nose with her finger tip. “Women have been having babies for a very long time on this planet and it hasn't kept most of us from continuing to live life in the meantime. Even Doc says I can't be more than a month and a half along.”

His hands slid down her back to cup her buttocks to be a bit more comfortable as he held her off the floor of their apartment. “Do you think I want to risk...?” This time she silenced him by leaning forward and kissing him. It was uncharacteristically gentle of her, especially after this particular gambit he'd played. Normally, picking her up like this would start a serious lovemaking session that would rise to anyone's level of intense cardio work out.

“What risk?” she asked softly as their lips parted again. “I won't even start to show before New Years. That's plenty of time for us to go out, do this mission and be home before the worst of the winter sets in.” She laid her forehead on his and her hazel eyes stared into his blue ones. “Besides, you need me out with you.”

“Olara...” he started, but she puckered up her lips and looked at him askance.

“Oh, so Buck can have Olara at his side, but I have to sit and wait and worry while you're gone? And what will that do to my pregnancy?”

He frowned at her. “That's dirty pool,” he objected. “And who taught you to be so emotionally manipulative?”

Her grin became impish. “You think I haven't learned by watching you and all the other AmSci in my time here? I see what your women use on their men, what works and what doesn't, and I know you very well indeed!” She reached up and ran her hand through his short hair. “Now, you know you won't sneak away in the night. Are you just going to accept it and let us enjoy our last night at home, or do you want to have a fight?”

“What good would that do me?” he wanted to know. “You win all our fights.”

The impish grin spread from ear to ear. “He can be taught!” She unlocked her ankles from around his back causing him to gently return her to her feet. “Come, while we pack you can tell me why we are going to Daytower and then...” She bent over at the waist to pick up her saddle bag from under their bed, grinning over her shoulder at him as she did so. He playfully slapped the ass she had presented him with, making her wink at him. “Mmm, I do love it when you're forceful!”

“Shameless!” he accused her, making her shrug her indifference.

She tossed her saddle bag on the bed next to his and made a broad gesture. “Are you complaining, father of my child? I didn't think so!” she quickly added before he could answer. “So, why are we going to Daytower?”

“Frank wants a warning sign to post on the road approaches to Fort Carson,” he told her as he crossed the room to their wardrobe and took out his war belt to check it's pouches for missing items. “We'll need samples of Carja and Oseram glyphs so it can be read locally. Something along the lines of, 'Come in Peace, or leave in pieces, if we let you leave.'”

She took her favorite bow from it's pegs on the wall and quickly strung it to test the string and bow for defect. “Frank Olmstead said that?” she demanded. She plucked the bowstring and it's thrum filled the room like a musical instrument.

“No, I did,” he corrected her as he made a mental check list of the war belt's items laid out on the bed and, once he was sure nothing was missing, began to repack them. “He said, 'I trust your judgment,' when I asked him what he wanted the sign to say. What he did say was he wanted me to take a force down to Colorado Springs and clear out that bandit camp.”

That gave her pause and she sat down the bow to come and face him. “There are a lot of bandits in that camp, husband. We will lose people, even with your weapons...”

“I raised that objection,” he reassured her. “In addition to the drain of expendables as well as people. So, he authorized me to go up to that Cauldron ENID found and see if GAIA makes ammunition our rifles can eat.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “There are easier ways than that,” she replied. At his questioning look, she spread her hands as if she was surprised her thought hadn't occurred to him. “There are other machines than Thunderjaw's that have distance weapons. We can track and hunt a Stalker for it's dart gun or mine launcher and you can see if it is the same. No sense going all the way to Black Mountain if we don't need to, right?”

He grinned at her and drew her into his arms. “I do love you, you know?”

“I know,” she assured him. “Now, come show me,” she invited as she swept their bed clear of bags.

September 17th, 3040

Thursday dawned overcast as Travis and Nakoa left the Tree House to cross the courtyard it's wall created between it and the mountain. Along the far wall was a corral that the Striders that were the first machines the Ancients had managed to hack were kept. “Black Jack!” he called, and immediately the artificial horse with 2121 painted on left hip raised it's head and trotted over to the gate of the corral.

Next to him, Nakoa whistled a shrill call and immediately Snow Flake, her Strider turned from it's trough and trotted over to stand next to Black Jack. Nakoa had extensively painted the Strider in a bold white wash, giving the Strider it's name, then swirling, almost Celtic designs in blue the Nora favored. Behind them, thunder rumbled, causing Travis to turn and behold a massive, super cell out over the plains of what had been lower Colorado and Kansas. “Look at that,” he amazed, drawing his wife's gaze. “Have you ever seen a storm like that?”

Travis knew his wife enough to hear fear in her otherwise carefree voice. “No,” she replied, exchanging a glance with him. “Should we delay...?”

“We may not have a choice,” he admitted, but they continued over to the Striders. Buck and Olara were already there, securing their own bags as they did so.

“Morning, Boss,” Buck called with a wave at their approach. “Sorry if I got you in Dutch with the Mrs.”

“He's not complaining,” Nakoa shot back, proving her hearing was still quite remarkable.

Travis indulged in rolling his eyes where his wife couldn't see, while Buck was careful to keep his snicker to himself. “No worries, Buck,” he commented. “The boys get the grist taken care of?”

The question instantly sobered the larger man and he gave a vague gesture to the saddle between this mountainside and the one adjacent to it. “Yes sir. The bodies were stripped, then we took them over to the burn pit. What was...left...was bulldozed over, well clear of the water shed.”

“Buck, there's probably a lot more of that kind of work in our future.”

Simpson shrugged his broad shoulders and ran a hand over his bald head. “At least we've got a future, Boss. No shortage of stupid in our time; it's only natural they'd be well stocked with it here.” He sighed and put his back to the pit and its memory and waved at the blast doors. “I had Jenkins lock the effects up in the old office until we get this sign the Old Man wants.”

“Doc on her way?”

Buck pointed. “Here she comes.”

“Good, if we ride hard, we might get to Daytower before that storm hits. I'd rather weather it under a stone roof than a tent.” In short order, the little group had their rides prepared and were trotting out the gate down the track that had been worn into the bank of the creek that had once been the access road to the facility.

The wind began to pick up by the time they'd arrived at the remains of the old US Highway 24. They were able to pick up speed as the road was in relatively good shape, but it seemed the faster they could canter, the worse the weather became. The sky was dark and angry, lit by bolts of lightning down on the plains, but the storm was quickly drawing close to the mountains. Just as Travis was thinking to up the pace to try and beat the storm with a last, hard push, Nakoa sharply drew in Snow Flake and raised a fist.

Immediately the group came to a halt, and Travis touched his Focus, but it's augmented reality failed to pickup whatever his sharp eyed wife had seen. “What...?” he started, but her attention was fixed ahead and she sharply gestured for silence. Finally, by feel, she selected an arrow from her quiver and laid it over her bow. It was one of the odder weapons the Nora had come up with; that she called a 'Tearblast arrow'. It had a two pronged broad head that she honed to a razor edge with a small battery at the back end, wired to the prongs. When they sank into a machine, it completed the circuit, setting off a paste explosive, strapped to the shaft, behind the head. With a well placed shot, it would blow off a machine's armor plates, exposing vulnerable spots underneath.

After she'd nocked it, she pointed at her eyes, then down at the arrow and finally off in the direction she'd been intently staring at. Travis slowly got his AR15 off it's sling and up to his shoulder, his eyes looking in the direction she had been, but he saw nothing. He clicked the safety off right as she drew and released the arrow. It streaked right across his vision and embedded into something right before the base of the tree he'd been looking at.

There was a flash of a small explosion, which set flying a piece of armor plate and suddenly there was a panther like machine that was reeling from the hit of the arrow. Travis pulled the trigger, causing the rifle to bark, once, twice and a third time before the machine fell over in a shower of sparks. “Damn, I didn't even see that thing through my Focus!” Buck declared.

“Stalker,” Olara informed them. “They have a way to blend in with their surroundings. Almost invisible.”

“Damn good camouflage,” Murray admitted as they trotted over to the machine. They slid off the mechanical horses and poked around the wreck.

“This is the dart gun,” Nakoa said with a slap of the part.

“Son of bitch,” Buck muttered as he got over to it and began to manipulate it. “Are you seeing this, Colonel? It's a damn SAW.”

Olara watched her man open up the machine's weapon like he'd handled them before. “What is a SAW?” she asked. “Other than the wood working tool?”

He didn't look up from his work until he had the thing open, revealing the darts, linked together under the protective cover. “It means Squad Automatic Weapon,” he told her. He clipped two of the darts off and held them and their links up. “Colonel, I do believe we're in business. Tell me that's not M193 on M27 disintegrating links.” He tossed the darts to Travis who removed the magazine from his rifle and compared the two cartridges. “Jesus, it's even got FN roll marks on the receiver!”

“What does that mean?” asked Nakoa. “M what?”

Travis compared the dart to the cartridge in his magazine. “Everything in the Army had a letter number combination to 'name' it. M193 was a specification for a variety of these bullets. It described the bullet weight, the powder load and the cartridge size. M27 means these things, they link the cartridges together in what was called a belt.”

“This,” Buck added, holding aloft the belt he had stripped from the wreck. Travis cleared the cartridges from the links and snapped them into the magazine.

“Let's see how this works,” he declared after he'd stripped the round from the chamber and seated one taken from the Stalker. “The bolt is in battery,” he commented after a glance at the ejection port before he shouldered it. “Fire in the hole!”

The AR barked twice as the two rounds he'd gotten from Buck were flawlessly fired, extracted, fed, fired again and extracted again without incident. With a grin, he tapped his Focus. “ENID?”

The holographic interface of the company's AI, that of a twenty something young woman in a complicated hair style appeared before him. “What can I do for you, Colonel?”

“Put me in touch with Frank, please,” Travis instructed her. “We have good news already.”

The rain had begun to fall just before they reached Daytower, causing everyone to dig out ponchos against the spatter of the weather which, now that it had started, was quickly building up. The guards only waved them through the open gates as the AmSci rode past, now used to such things from their closest neighbor, giving them access to the bailey of the fortress. They were more concerned about staying dry at their posts than humans riding machines. The Striders themselves were weather proofed and stood without complaint in the down pour as their riders dismounted and ambled into the Inn that was a central part of the fortification that was farthest east of the Carja Sundom.

Hanging up the rain gear to dry by the fire, they sat at an empty table, glad to be indoors as the wind outside began to howl. The innkeeper brought over pitcher of beer and mugs, promising food in a moment, before he withdrew. Despite the weather, Travis was in a fine mood. The Stalker had produced a SAW and four hundred belted rounds of ammo in addition to a complicated looking launcher that was roughly designed around a forty millimeter Mark 47 Striker system, but lacked the manual controls. It had been installed in a micro turret with a set of air burst smart grenades and, interestingly white smoke grenades, a dozen of each with a selective feed system that would let the machine pick between them. Both weapons, and the Stalker's robot brain had been removed for study, the brain already downloaded and beam cast back to the AmSci's tech genius Ian Turner to begin work on hacking this type of machine.

After a long drink of the beer, Buck quietly asked Travis, “Any idea why GAIA would stamp ID marks on the receiver of a company that hasn't existed in a thousand years?”

“On a guess?” he replied, taking a drink himself. “That was on the specification design sheet she had access to. She didn't bother to think about why, all she knew was that was the blue print to follow, so she followed it.”

Nakoa leaned in to be discrete. “But, we didn't start seeing Stalkers and Sawtooths and the other hunter killer machines until after the Derangement, twenty years ago. GAIA had blown herself up by then.”

“Something is making new machines at these Cauldrons,” Doc added. “And since they're new, it's something with purpose.”

Travis rubbed his chin in thought. “We know that the HADES sub-routine gained sentience from GAIA's last transmission. And she did say that it had affected all of her other sub-routines.” He paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “ENID sent me a recording at the celebration at Meridian after the Battle of the Alight. One of the people in it was Margo Shen, which ENID said was the 'Alpha' of the HEPHAESTUS Sub-routine. Hephaestus was the Greek god of blacksmiths, it is probably the architect of these new machines.”

“And it evidently had access to DOD databases and the patent office before Doomsday,” Buck remarked darkly. “Or GAIA did and HEPHAESTUS took the records as a parting gift. Either way it's the same thing. So now we know these 'Cauldrons' are making M193, twenty mike mike and forty mill grenades. Wonder what other toys HEPHAESTUS has been playing with?”

“Colonel Murray?”

Travis looked up to take in the broad face and some what muddled ancestry that belonged to the commander of this, the furthest east of Carja outposts. In the six months since Travis saw him last added miles to his vaguely Asian features and there was more gray in his dark top knot than Travis remembered. “Captain Balahn!” he greeted, rising to take the Captain's hand in greeting. “Won't you join us?”

The Captain shook his head and there was genuine regret on his face as he did so. “Not while I'm on duty,” he replied and gestured at a woman standing next to him that shared enough of his features that it was possible they were related. She stood boldly, in an silk outfit made of a combination slash sleeved doublet and bolero jacket of dull yellow over deep red with white and gray armor pieces over the silk for protection. Interestingly, she wore pants and sturdy looking boots in place of a dress or skirt and across her chest she wore three leather pouches that looked like a STANAG chest rig that a Special Forces Operator from Travis' own time might have sported. Her black hair was cut short, off her collar and above her ears, but fuller on top and tied back with a red head band with three additional machine armor pieces like a tiara. Around her eyes were the lined makeup pencil marks that went to circles at her temples that the Carja favored though the meaning of the variations was lost on Travis. “This is Resolved Furahni,” Balahn declared by way of introduction. “She has been dispatched by the Sun King to seek out your people, you specifically.”

“I'm honored,” Travis declared, taking the hand she offered.

“Likewise,” Furahni told him. She had a clear, unambiguous voice, of full grown woman, none of the modest low tones and averted eyes that had been Travis' experience with other Carja women. She considered herself an equal to everyone she met and it showed. “And glad you happened to be here. I wasn't looking forward to the walk between here and Devil's Thirst. I understand it's infested with Bandits.”

Travis chuckled darkly. “Not for long. In fact, Captain, I had intended to stop by your office once the weather cleared. My Chief Frank wants to be sure His Radiance won't take offense when we move against these bandits.”

Balahn's face brightened. “By all means, do what you will!” he declared. “Those criminals have no loyalty or place with us. They were tried and sentenced, so their fate is sealed in our eyes. May the Sun curse their eyes! We have no objection.”

“And, what is your opinion of the Oseram on the matter?” Travis asked him. Balahn snorted and made a dismissive gesture.

“They will be more concerned their ale mug is in want of a refill.”

“Good to know,” Travis replied and then turned his attention to Furahni. “What can I do for you, Resolved Furahni?” He gestured at their table again. “Won't you join us?”

Her serious expression brightened a little and she took a chair from the near by table and added it to make a place for herself with the AmSci. Once Travis was settled, and he noted, she made sure the Captain was beyond earshot before she turned her attention to the table. With a brief glance at the others, she fixed her gaze back on Travis. “May I speak freely in confidence?”

“You need have no fear of loose lips here,” Murray replied, and she leaned in and kept her tone low.

“I am sent to you by way of Blameless Marad on the authority of the Sun King,” she declared, opening one of the pouches on her chest and removing a document she handed across the table. Travis opened it, finding it in the flowing gliphs of the Carja, and thus unreadable, though the heavy wax seal that hung from the document was quite impressive. “I had returned from an embassy of the Sun King to the Banuk tribe, north of here, in The Cut.”

“Banuk?” asked Doc. “The Cut?”

Furahni nodded. “A mute, stubborn people; tight as a closed fist and caring only for survival. Their land is a wide valley dotted with hot springs with boiling water and steam that erupts from the ground through vents, lined with yellow minerals and the stench of rotten eggs.”

“Sounds like the Yellowstone Caldera,” Buck mused to himself. Furahni shrugged her indifference.

“I was sent as a part of Avad's continued diplomatic efforts to make amends for the Red Raids with the people who share our borders.”

“Admirable,” Olara declared. “To become friends with the Banuk is no small feat.”

The Carja woman laughed without mirth. “Oh, I made no friends, believe me. But I have all of my limbs and my life, so there is that success in failure I suppose.”

“You'll have to forgive me,” Travis told her. “Alas, my people do not use these modern gliphs, so I'm afraid this is a closed book to me,” he said, returning the document to her. “In fact, one of the reasons I am here is to retain a Carja Scholar to transcribe a sign for our borders.”

“The bandits?” she guess and he nodded grimly. “Whenever you like, I can write out your sign in both Carja and Oseram gliphs, though I'll have to defer to your women as far as the Nora goes. I don't know their writings.”

“I'm grateful,” Travis assured her. “Now, what can I do for Blameless Marad?”

Her demeanor became grave again. “On the Summer Solstice there was an...incident...on the Alight. For a brief moment a red light came from the sphere that the Metal Devil HADES occupied, then it rose up the Spire and flashed away to the west.”

“You saw this?” demanded Buck.

Furahni shook her head. “No, I was still in The Cut. A messenger from Blameless Marad sent me this commission,” and she gestured at the document on the table, “and charged me to come here with all haste to seek out this new tribe, AmSci and their Colonel Travis Murray, favored of the Sun King. It is said you and your people are knowledgeable of such things. I saw the Striders awaiting you outside. The Sun King has charged Marad to discover what the meaning of this event was and he sends for you.” She paused long enough for the Innkeeper to present her with a mug of beer and set a loaf of bread with oil and herbs on the table. “I understand such a journey has it's dangers and hardships. I am authorized to promise tribute and treasure sufficient to make the journey, and your aid, worth your whiles.”

Travis pulled at his chin as he thought for a long moment, then finally looked up. “I'll have to discuss this with my chief.”

She sighed. “So we journey back to Devil's Thirst before we may travel west?”

“No,” Travis replied. “I can speak to him from here. Once I have my orders, you'll have your answer.”

The woman's face pulled into an expression of disbelief, then awe when she realized Travis wasn't boasting. “I see Blameless Marad was right to call for you, then.” Murray smiled and tapped his Focus as he turned the document back to her.

“Could I trouble you to read this out, pointing at each word?”

“Why?”

“I wish to learn your manner of writing,” he told her. “If you'll indulge me.”

She shrugged and read aloud while her finger moved across the page. The Carja, at least, also aligned their documents top to bottom, left to right, which he found interesting. “Be it known,” she read. “By Order of the 14th Sun King, Avad, by the Hand of Blameless Marad, Hunter Furahni is raised to the rank of Resolved and is charged to act as Our Voice to the AmSci Tribe in specific to Colonel Travis Murray, that she may open his eyes to the secret the bearer of this charge shall speak, and to treat for pains of travel and any inconvenience as may arise that the Colonel, and such lieutenants as he deems worthy shall lay aside all other matters to come at once to Meridian to assist in our understanding of this secret. Signed in the light of the Sun by the Hand of Blameless Marad on the Solstice of the twelfth year in the reign of Avad, 14th Sun King of the Carja.”

“Thank you,” he told her as the Focus chewed on the symbols, numerically comparing them with the American English it knew, then holographically overlaid the document in English. He touched it again, then stood. “Please excuse me for a moment. I'll have a word with my chief, and let you know his will.” Furahni nodded as Travis stood and left the common room of the Inn, seeking a quiet corner which he found. “ENID?” he asked as he touched it again. “Would you connect me with Frank, please? It's urgent.”

“Certainly, Colonel. One moment.”

The light from the Focus flared and a life size image of Frank appeared in the little alcove Travis had secreted himself into. Olmstead was leaning on something, probably his desk and his expression was one of pleasure. “Colonel! Yet more good news? I should send you out more often!”

Travis chuckled darkly and shook his head. “Boss, we've got a problem. I'm here safe at the Inn of Daytower, all hands present, but we've run into an Emissary of the Sun King. He's requesting, forcefully, mind you, but requesting me and whoever else I deem ok to come out to Meridian.”

Frank frowned. “Meridian? What for?”

“It seems, at the solstice, a red light rose up from the processing orb that housed HADES and shot off to the West.”

Olmstead was aghast. “That psychopathic AI is loose?” he demanded. “I thought we stopped him six months ago!”

“That's the going agreement,” Murray agreed with him. “Evidence seems to imply there's a wrinkle. I'm not sure HADES actually made good his escape, other wise it seems like we'd be dead by now. But we can't rule that out from here, either. I want your approval to follow our Emissary back out to Meridian and find out what's going on.”

Frank only thought for a moment. “Absolutely, Colonel. And with the Focus network Ian and ENID have set up, I want you to stay in touch.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Godspeed, Travis,” Frank wished him. “And watch your six.”

“Roger that, skipper.”

The storm howled all night, working itself up into a frenzy that Travis watched from the sheltered balcony of the Inn where he and his party were spending the night. True to her word, Resolved Furahni had written out the sign he dictated to her in both Carja and Oseram gliphs. The Colonel had made sure to include words in the warning that had every sound in English so, it was hoped, the Focus would be able to store and translate when needed.

Ian had been contacted, via Focus to receive the translation as well as a request for a Strider to be sent to Daytower for Furahni so she could keep the pace the party would set. Though the machine, and a Focus to control it, wouldn't be here until morning. Now, Travis drank coffee and watched the storm through the flashes of lightning, which were frequent, nearly unnaturally so. His Focus picked up a quartet of Storm Birds that seemed to be trying to mitigate or augment the storm, the difference was hard to tell. Though when one was struck by lightning six times in rapid succession, and crashed, the others evidently decided discretion was the better part of valor and flew off. “Quite a storm,” Nakoa observed as she joined him on the balcony and slid her free arm around his waist. Without thinking about it, he draped his arm over her shoulders to protect her from the chill in the air. “Glad we're not out in it.”

“Mmmm,” he replied around his sip, then offered her the metal canteen cup that she happily accepted and sipped from. The Nora Brave had quickly become fond of coffee and savored it as the metal cup warmed her hands. “This is unusual for the Denver area from my time. I'd be more concerned with snow storms rather than super cell thunderstorms like this.”

“I've not seen anything like it either,” she admitted, at least, not when I was a little girl, though for the three years I walked the war path to avenge my father, I remember the weather seemed to get a bit worse each year. Perhaps this is another problem caused by the lack of GAIA managing the terraforming system?”

“There's a cheerful thought,” he muttered. “Well, we'll hope it breaks by the morning, but even if not, we'll be dry enough in the Eisenhower Tunnel, and the storm won't make it over the Rockies to give us trouble on the other side into Meridian.”

She handed him back his canteen cup, minus a good portion of the coffee and favored him with a salacious grin. “We have that wonderful Carja bed and this private room, it would be a shame not to put it to good use,” she opined, her tone dripping innuendo.

“I've married a sex fiend!” he teased her and she arched an eyebrow at him in response.

“I know my husband isn't complaining,” she accused him. “Besides, the deed is already done and I'm gone with child. Why not take advantage?”

He finished off the cup and flung the last drops out the balcony. “I can't argue with your logic, my dear.”

“I thought not,” she purred.