September 24th, 3040

It was a somber gathering in the central hall of Barren Light to remember the fallen soldiers from the ambush and eulogize Unyielding Fashav and Nozar Arin Khuvaman, Fallen Commander of Barren Light. Khuvanman's Deputy, now his successor, Commander Lawan had insisted that Aloy, the 'Savior of Meridian' as the young Nora Seeker was coming to be known be in attendance, as she was the last person to speak with Fashav before his death, which was evidently of significance to the Carja. In addition, Lawan likewise invited the Ancients to the wake, but what might to some have been seen as a grasp at bettering his social position, seemed more to be simple politeness on the part of the easy going Lawan.

The room itself was in the already repaired portion of the keep, so at least the were no elements to contend with, as yet another major storm had blown in during the late afternoon of recovery from the battle and no one wanted to take a wetting just to shave a few hours off a trek into the wilderness. As the lightening flashed through the wooden shutters of the room and thunder rumbled in the distance, the Carja, Nora and Ancients ate a subdued meal that seemed to encourage introspection and the chilling realization that there was a time when the sands of everyone's hour glass would run out.

The meal concluded, Lawan managed to convince Aloy to stand and speak of what she had said with Unyielding Fashav in his last conversation. The young Seeker was obviously unused to being the center of attention in a gathering, and her shyness was somewhat endearing as the capable, no nonsense Nora struggled to find her ease. After opening and closing her mouth several times, she turned to Lawan and pleaded, “I...I don't really know what to say.”

The Carja Officer smiled his warm, easy smile and softly asked, “What did you speak of?”

Aloy sighed and nodded. “He would want his dream to be remembered,” she told herself, then stood up straighter as if by the rise in stature she gave weight to the importance of the story she would tell. “I spoke with Unyielding Fashav for what I wanted; safe passage into the Forbidden West so that I might further my quest. But, in speaking with him, I began to realize we are far more interconnected as a people than we might see at first. Fashav marched west under the Mad Sun King Jiran, not for sacrifices, or booty, or even glory, but to restrain that Army as much as any nobleman could.”

The Seeker paused to let the weight of the claim sink in to the Carja around the room. “He acknowledged the atrocities that Army committed, in shame and naked truth. In his last battle, covering the retreat from the Carja outpost of Cinnabar Sands, he stood his ground and looked death in the face, his eyes opened to the justice of it, but for what ever reason, he was taken alive.”

While the soldiers cheered the courage of the King's Cousin, Aloy reached down and picked up a tumbler of wine from her place at the table and drank a sip to wet her throat. “He was nearly dead when he was presented to the Tenakth Chief, Hekarro, and in desperation, and delirium, he demanded what he thought was a simple rite of Trial By Combat, a ritual he had heard the other Tenakth speak of; the Kulrut. He had thought that by winning this rite, he might be granted a boon, his life, or perhaps even his freedom; but even Fashav did not realize just how mistaken he was about what he thought he had over heard.”

Travis turned his eyes to his wife beside him and she shrugged her own ignorance of the ritual. Aloy was warming to her tale now, and was much more relaxed in telling it. “While the Tenakth howled at the outrage of Fashav's request, Chief Kekarro stared them down, and for whatever reason, allowed Fashav to take part in the ritual. But this was not a trial, man to man, but of many against machines, captured and brought into the great arena in the Tenakth capital. Fashav fought with other Tenakth, against the machines and when they had vanquished the machines, only then did Fashav understand what the purpose of the Kulrut was.”

“I'm guessing it wasn't a new set of steak knives,” Tracy muttered into her own glass at Travis' elbow.

“Probably not,” Buck whispered back in agreement.

“The victors,” Aloy continued. “The Survivors, were not competing for boons, but for a place among the Marshals of Cheif Hekarro. Men and women who renounce their tie to their clan within the Tenakth and serve it as a whole; roving Law Givers, part Magistrate, part Judge, part Executioner. It was in this surprise invocation that Fashav found his calling, his dream. Because instead of restraining a marauding army, bent for blood, or walking the wilds of the Forbidden West enforcing the law of a foreign tribe, Unyielding Fashav discovered his desire to become a diplomat. He told me the Tenakth tattoo their history of deeds and vanquished foes in their skin, making a tapestry of their lives in battle. Fashav was marked only on the left side of his body, for as even he declared he had seen his share of battle. He hoped, before Death claimed him, that he might be able to write in his remaining skin the laurels of peace to finish his markings. 'Violence is the native tongue of the Tenakth,' he told me. 'But the Carja speak it too,' he was quick to add. And all of us more than we should. That dream, of peace with our fellows, falls now to us. It has given me much to think about in the Tenakth, and I hope it has for you as well.”

The applause of the Carja to the Nora's speech was slow as she sat, but it grew until the entire room save her were on their feet in recognition. For her part, Aloy blushed as red as the wild mane of hair on her head and tried to hide behind her cup as she drank.

It was late in the evening when the wake finally broke up to the point that the Ancients and Nora could excuse themselves from the Carja. In so doing, Travis was able to intersect Aloy as they left the hall, under the protection of a courtyard that could still look out over the violence of the storm. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he told her with a smile. “Catching you on the way out is making for some tiring long chases.”

Lightening flashed, revealing Aloy rolling her eyes and making a dismissive gesture. “I didn't ask for your help...” she started under the roll of close, loud thunder.

“No, I volunteered,” Travis reminded her.

“No one else can do what I can,” she countered, punctuated by another loud peal of thunder. “My...because I have Elisabet Sobeck's gene print I can access the Zero Dawn facilities...”

Travis crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down on her, not unkindly. “Aloy, I am also in those databases. And yes, you've done amazingly so far, but I have an education and a context for these places and things that you don't. Why are you making it harder on yourself?”

“Because it's my task!” she snapped. “GAIA chose me. Elisabet...This is on me!”

Nakoa came around her husband and gently touched her sister Nora Brave on the shoulder. “I saw the recording of GAIA in All Mother Mountain,” she informed Aloy. “She never told you you had to do this by yourself. We are both Nora, Aloy. Let us help you!” For a moment, Aloy's features were an open book of disbelief that anyone could help her, lit in ruddy torch light and the occasional flash of lightening. As the moments dragged out, time began to weigh as if Aloy was frantically searching for some reason she would continue her quest alone. The thought of that brought a frown to Nakoa's face. “The entire world is at stake! My child!” Nakoa growled with considerable anger as she took Aloy's hand and put it on her stomach. “There...there are many lives in the balance! You can not be so foolish to think only you can do this!”

Finally, Aloy withdrew her hand and sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, we'll...”

“Colonel?” A clap of thunder underscored the soft voice.

The group turned to find Commander Lawan and Resolved Furahni standing in the doorway to the great hall. “May I have a word? With all of you, if it's convenient, Savior?” The trio shared a glance, then turned to face the Carja soldier directly. “I have to send a report to the Sun King concerning what's happened today. I was hoping that I could ask you some questions about the Tenakth that ambushed the embassy. Do you know who, or what they were?”

Aloy nodded. “Their leader is a woman named Regalla,” she told him. “Fashav told me that she was once a Marshall, but evidently was cast out. Fashav felt that Chief Hekarro should have killed her. It looks like she's begun a rebellion against him.”

Lawan's face became cloudy and grave. “This...is terrible news. I don't have many soldiers to hold Barren Light, with all of it's damage if I'm facing an army. Especially not with the losses we took today.”

“What is it you're asking, commander?” Travis asked softly.

“The Nora are the greatest trackers in the world...” he started, but immediately Aloy became upset.

“This is not a time for distractions! HADES is a threat to the entire world!” she hissed, but both Nakoa and Travis urged caution with soft gestures.

“What good is saving the world if everyone you might care about in it is dead?” Nakoa asked softly.

Lawan nodded, obviously uncomfortable he'd put his foot in things with his request. “If, only a quick sortie, a single day of delay to find out if I have to abandon Barren Light and Chainscrape...”

Travis sighed and turned to Aloy. “Nakoa and I can scout for the Commander while you start ahead to the coordinates Sylens sent you. If you travel easy, we can catch up to you, hopefully before you get to Lake Mead.” He turned back and forth between the Carja and the young Nora. “Acceptable?”

“Perfectly!” Lawan assured them. Aloy sighed again and when she looked up her eyes were hard.

“I'll try to leave word if you don't catch up. But I can't wait.”

“Understood,” Travis assured her. As Commander Lawan left, Resolved Furahni stepped forward and nodded to Aloy in greeting before she turned to address the Colonel.

“Here I take my leave of your party, Colonel Murray,” she declared quietly. “My knowledge of the Forbidden West ends at the gate of Barren Light. I can be of no further use, and, the Commander has asked that I use my Strider to pull the cart with Unyielding Fashav's body back to Meridian quicker than human feet will carry it, so he might have a more dignified funeral.”

Travis extended his hand which the Carja huntress took. “I understand, Furahni. I will entrust some documents with you for the Sun King, and Blameless Marad will know what to do with them. Safe travel.”

“You as well.”

September 25th, 3040

Friday dawned with a constant rain droning against the stone of Barren Light. The sky was heavy with overcast indicating the rain would be an all day event. Again. With Varl convalescing due to his leg injury, the party was reduced to only Travis, Nakoa, Buck, Tracy and Olara. No one looked forward to the misery that a day of riding in the rain was going to be, but they had ponchos to keep them mostly dry, and the Striders had no care, one way or another for the weather.

The group set out from the gates of Barren Light after an unremarkable breakfast of boiled oats and wheat bread to fortify them against the day. Interestingly enough, a small party of Oseram left Barren Light at the same time, practically wiping spit from their lips in anticipation of scavenging the metal off the rusting hulks of Faro war bots dotting the valley down to the river. Travis watched them go for a bit, then led his team up the ridge to where Regalla had observed the slaughter she had instigated. At the edge of the clearing, the group halted so Nakoa could dismount and study the trail.

She carefully looked over the now muddy clearing, hunching over in her poncho to try to tease clues from the rain soaked soil. Finally, she stood and made her way back to the others, a grim look on her face. “What did you see?” Travis asked her, softly.

Nakoa's gaze went back over the field before looking up at her husband. “It's hard to get a good count of how many were up here,” she told him resignedly. “But I'm certain there were more than we actually saw. They went off around the ridge to the North.”

His eyes swept the ridge for a moment, then returned to his wife. “How do you want to proceed? On foot or mounted?”

“Olara?” she called, causing her fellow Nora to dismount and join her. “Give us a head start and let us scout on foot. If we find something, be close enough to come even the odds.” She turned to go, but Travis caught her shoulder and used the grip so she faced him again.

“Be careful,” he ordered softly.

Her grin lit up the rain as though the sun had broken through the clouds. “Always!” she promised, then both women strung their bows and quickly crossed the clearing and scrambled over the ridge via a path not even a sure footed Strider could match.

“They'll be alright, boys,” Tracy assured the two men as they stared after their wives, faces grim and set.

“Let's move,” Travis ordered softly. The Striders fell into single file, the riderless Snow Flake and Olara's Spirit at the end of the column. Time fell into a gray, wet eternity as the rain fell and the mechanical horses plodded along through the muck. A monotonous hour passed, with only the sucking sound of the Strider's hooves in the mud and the impact of the rain around them, until suddenly, Travis' Focus chirped once. He reached under the hood to tap it, bringing up the augmented reality around him. Now he could see Nakoa and Olara, or at least the icons the Focus marked them with, perhaps a quarter of a mile up the ridge, then a Danger icon appeared just beyond the next fold of the ridge. “Doc, you stay here with the Striders,” he declared as he swung down off Black Jack. The Medic nodded while remaining silent. “With me, Buck.”

“Right with ya, boss,” the big man assured him.

Rifles in hand, the pair crept slowly up the ridge towards where their Focuses promised their women were. The possibility of a Tenakth ambush near by made the rain soaked hike up the ridge line a misery filled hour of skulking from tree to bush; eyes and ears straining for any sign of combatants in the offer. Finally, the icons enlarged to red tinted thermal images of Nakoa and Olara, both crouched down next to a dead tree, right at the top of the ridge, looking over it. “Friendly,” whispered Travis, drawing the two women's gaze who motioned him it was safe to advance. “What have you got?” he asked as they joined the two trackers.

“See for yourself,” Olara told him with a gesture over the tree.

Travis eased his way over the dead tree so he could look over the rise. The ridge fell away into a small ravine, through which a snow melt stream cascaded down a waterfall towards the river below. At some point, the water had carved out the sandstone showing a cave behind and next to the waterfall. On the other side of the ravine, a stockade had been assembled, both to corral a trio of Striders as well as a significantly sized encampment. The fortifications, even hastily emplaced, were sloppy and primitive; there was none of even the Nora's ability with wood about the camp, let alone the Carja skill with stone. This was a shoddy affair, with neither skill, nor precision. Merely pylons of logs, roughly cut into spikes and lashed together with irregular rope.

Even the tents were hides of animals, crudely sewn, not canvas or any fabric.

It was obvious this was the staging area from which the attack on the Embassy had been launched. Murray tapped his Focus and instantly the augmented reality was able to pick out three men and two women, gathered around a fire. He expanded the Focus' attention to it's maximum setting, but found no one else. “Looks like this is the staging area,” he whispered to the others. “But I only count five and three Striders.”

“Same count, boss,” Buck assured him.

“Where are rest of them?” Travis asked Nakoa, but she only shrugged.

“Not here,” she whispered back. “But I'd have to get down there to see if I can find any tracks.”

“That would mean having to take out those five,” Buck added, his eyes flipping between Nakoa and Travis. “We know they won't take to us nosing around, but we can't just...can we?”

The Colonel shrugged. “Lawan made it clear nobody owns this area. Technically, there is no law here at all. It is No Man's Land, after all.”

“The Carja are our Allies,” Nakoa added. “If they attacked the Embassy from here, that would make them our enemies, would it not?”

“What?” Buck asked softly. “Just ride down and kill 'em all? You really ok with that, Nakoa?”

“Do you entertain the notion they won't kill you in a second if able, lover?” Olara shot back. “These are Tenakth. War is their way of life. And if these are rebels to the peace our Ally have with Hekarro that makes them our deadly foe.”

Travis rubbed the stubble on his chin as he contemplated five acts of cold blooded murder. “We could work our way close, maybe even close enough to take them prisoner...”

“The Carja sued for peace because they couldn't take the Tenakth alive, Husband,” Nakoa said softly. She shrugged as she glanced at the five again, then back at Travis. “Not in any great numbers, anyway. They mean nothing to me. Before I met you, had I found them in the Sacred Lands, I would have killed them without a thought. You seem to care of such things, Travis, so I will follow your wishes. If you want to try and capture them, I will try.”

Buck shrugged and sighed. “If I had to pick, boss, I'd rather cap them from up here rather than trying to get close enough to give them a fair fight.” His eyes hardened and he nodded, making up his mind. “Your call, Colonel.”

For a long moment, Travis stared at the men and women around the camp fire, trying to decide what his conscience would allow him to sleep after doing. He thought of the dead Carja and the Tenakth Marshals they had fought beside; then of how Avad the Sun King would react to seeing the dead body of his cousin, cut down on the eve of his returning to his homeland. “We need intel,” he said, almost to himself. “Buck and I will creep down with you two up here to...”

“No.” Nakoa's voice was flat and without any kind of emotion. “We will not.”

“Nakoa...” he started, then she leaned in, nearly nose to nose with her husband, her face a mask of tightly held emotion. Her voice was low, a terse whisper, but it might as well have been a canon blast.

“I know you love me,” she told him. “I know you mean well, but if we are to skulk up and slit throats, you have to know I'm better at that than you! I am not going to sit up here and watch you risk your life trying to take rabid killers alive, AR-15s or not.”

“Nakoa...” he tried again, but her gesture was sharp, slashing between them like a knife through the air.

“Husband, the Tenakth train from birth for war!” she hissed. “They are masters of close fighting and hand to hand! When was the last time you killed someone at this distance? Watched life drain from their eyes, close enough to gag on their breath? I did six months ago.” He opened his mouth to retort, but her finger snapped up between them. “The only words I want to hear from you, Travis Murray are how we will assault this compound together.”

Husband and wife glared at each other for a moment, until Buck looked at Olara, who rolled her eyes at him. “What she said,” she told him defiantly.

“I think we're out maneuvered here, boss,” he said softly with a chuckle.

“Fine,” Murray declared finally in a tone of voice that promised a conversation later with his wife neither spouse would enjoy. “Together.” With a rasp of steel on steel, he drew his M7 and clipped it over the muzzle of his rifle. “Buck, fix bayonet. Let's go.”

The click of steel locking into place over Buck's rifle muzzle was the only sound as the quartet stood and began to creep down the ridge, as quiet as death itself. For five, tense minutes, they slowly descended the ridge to an old tree that had fallen across the ravine. It was sturdy and wide enough that the Tenakth had dug their latrine on this side of the little canyon and used the fallen tree as a bridge.

Carefully, the party picked their way over the tree and crept closer to the fire and coming engagement. Travis' hands informed each who would attack who, then with a sigh, clicked the safety of his rifle off as he and Buck stood at the same moment. “Hands up!” they shouted as they advanced. “Don't move!”

The discipline of the Tenakth shocked Buck and Travis. They went from good natured grumbling about a meal in the rain to reaction of a threat instantly. Two of the men lurched towards bows, one catching an arrow in his throat for his trouble, the other in his chest. “Stop! Don't...!” Travis shouted again, but the two women screamed a war cry and charged, yanking knives out of scabbards on their make shift armor as they did so.

The AR15s roared, Buck's round struck one of the women in her stomach on the left side, which pulled her off balance to fall to her knees. Travis' own round struck the woman in her left shoulder, spinning her about, but both women, despite the wounds, got back to their feet and charged again. Two additional shots rang out, Buck's round finding his attacker's heart that knocked her onto her back and she died coughing up blood.

Travis' second shot struck the woman in her forehead. Her eyes, a cold clear blue went wide as the bullet destroyed her brain, causing her body to cartwheel to a heap at his feet. The rifles sought the final member, who had an arrow in the meaty bit of his left thigh, fortunately on the other side from his femoral artery with Olara standing over him, her spear at his throat. “Don't you fucking move,” Nakoa hissed at him.

The man's dark eyes flashed in hatred out of his red and black face paint as the two women bound his hands, stripped him of personal weapons and only then gave some treatment to his arrow wound. Once he was all but hog tied, Travis could take a good look at him.

He appeared to be about twenty, with an odd complexion that was hard to make out under the tattoos and face paint. There was a black streak that crossed his face just under his eyes, then some kind of red ochre had been smeared over both cheeks over a yellow mud that gave the effect of a sideways maw devouring his mouth and nose. Travis took his measure as he replaced the magazine in his rifle with a fresh one, then letting it hang on the sling as he fished replacement rounds to top the mag up to full once more. “What's your name, son?” he asked, finally.

The young man sullenly looked away until Nakoa drew her knife and used the flat of the blade to return his gaze to her husband. “You can answer his questions, or mine,” she hissed softly. “I ask mine with this.”

“Rakkar,” he spat as if a curse. “My name is Rakkar, Red Hawk Squad, Desert Clan.”

Travis nodded as if in introduction. “Alright, Rakkar. Where is Regalla and the rest of your band?”

“Not here,” the boy replied sullenly.

The Colonel nodded as if that was the answer he expected. Turning to his wife, he asked, “How is that leg?”

“I'll bet it hurts,” Nakoa assured him. “But he won't be dying tonight because of it.”

“What kind of weapon is that?” Rakkar demanded. “I've never seen a Stalker Dart shaped like that.”

“I'm asking the questions,” Travis informed him sharply. He leaned down and took a hold of the boy's chin to turn his head to the side. “No Focus,” he observed. “How are you controlling those machines?”

The boy's face came set and he snarled, “Rakkar, Red Hawk Squad, Desert Clan.”

“Name, rank and serial number?” asked Buck to Travis with a confused expression. Murray shrugged and returned the now topped off magazine to the carrier on his belt.

“Their version, anyway,” he replied. “Son, you can answer my questions, or I'll turn you over to the Carja and let them get information out of you. Your choice.”

“Rakkar, Red Hawk Squad, Desert Clan.”

“Husband!” Olara's voice drew both Buck and Travis' gaze to where she was standing over a chest that was open, holding up papers. “Come see this.”

Travis looked at Nakoa who winked at him to indicate she was up to keeping Rakkar on his best behavior, so Travis walked over with Buck. “What'd you find, babe?” Buck asked her.

She brandished the papers and smiled. “These are Oseram documents, so is this chest. And look what's inside.” Nestled in the box was something taken off an Ancient device, but parts of it were obviously of recent manufacture to repair it.

“Why does that look familiar?” Travis asked himself. He touched his Focus. “ENID?”

The AI's avatar of a young woman with a complicated hair style appeared through the terraforming machine's network she had hacked some months ago allowing instant communication, even this far from Fort Carson. “Good afternoon, Colonel Murray. How may I assist you?”

“Scan this device for me, please,” Travis ordered her. “Can you tell me what it is?”

The Avatar turned as if to 'look' at the contents in the chest, then held up her hand so a ghostly representation of a Faro Scarab could appear in it. The Scarab was a scorpion like machine on four legs with a whip like tail behind it. “Corruptor,” breathed Olara.

“This is a Faro Automated Solutions network I/O node, Colonel, off a FAS-ACA3 Scarab,” ENID declared. The Scarab in her hand enlarged to show where the node was located on the drone, outlining it in red. “This module communicated with other Chariot-Class combat drones in it's swarm as well as allowing the Scarab to remotely dominate and slave other, enemy drones to it's swarm.”

“We call these Devils Corruptors,” Olara informed the men. “They take control of the machines and drive them mad, making even docile machines deadly.”

“This is how the Tenakth rebels have machine mounts,” Buck said to himself. “It's got to be.”

“I note this unit appears to be damaged,” ENID added. “My scans indicate several components are missing.”

“ENID, I need you to override those Striders and slave them to our Focus, please.”

“Certainly, Colonel,” the AI replied and made a gesture at the Striders in the corral. Their nose eyes flashed from yellow to red, then returned to blue. “Done. What else can I do for you?”

“One second ENID,” Travis replied as he took the documents Olara handed him. “Translate this, please.”

“This document is addressed to the Commander of Red Hawk Squad at a location named The Deadfalls. It informs him his request for repair of his 'Pacifier' has been received and that a smith will be dispatched to preform this repair. It is signed 'The Sons of Prometheus'.”

“Prometheus?” asked Olara. “Who is that?”

“Was,” corrected Travis. “Prometheus was a Titan, part of a religion thousands of years before even my time. There was a legend that it was Prometheus who gave the knowledge of how to make fire to men and was punished for it by the King of those gods, Zeus.” He folded up the documents and stuffed them into a pouch on his belt harness. “Let's look around, see if there's any other intel. Buck, you help me get our guest tied to a Strider.”

The pair had barely gotten the youth to his feet before again Olara's voice called, from the cave she'd entered to explore. “Colonel! There's a sink hole in this cave, and a destroyed Bristleback at the bottom!”

Nakoa gave her husband a knowing look. “Now we know where the Bristlebacks come from.”

Travis turned back to the Avatar of the AmSci computer system. “ENID, contact Varl's Focus please. He should still be in Barren Light. Have him ask Commander Lawan to summon Javad the Willing. I believe we just solved his Ulvund problem.”

The Avatar smiled. “Certainly, Colonel.”

“To be summoned, like a blasted ale wench!” Ulvund groused to himself as a pair of Carja soldiers escorted him into a room of the repaired portion of the Barren Light fortress. He started seeing not only Javad waiting for him, but the Commander of the Carja garrison as well as the little clutch of Ancients with amused smiles on their faces. On his back foot, he decided to puff up his chest and go on the offensive. Pointing a thick finger at Javad, he declared, “You'd best be meaning to put pen to parch...” The weedy Magistrate smiled, which had a marked reaction to Ulvunds posturing. “What?” he demanded angrily, then turned towards the Ancients. “Why are they here?”

Javad's grin widened as he stepped forward confidently and cleared his throat. “Thanks to skill and ability of the AmSci Tribe, and their Nora trackers, the Sun has shown the truth about the Bristleback incursion! Tenakth rebels were keeping pens of machines on the other side of the mountains. A sinkhole swallowed them, releasing them into the underground tunnels that led east and out into the Daunt.”

Ulvund pulled at the goatee that framed his large, chubby mouth. “So it was an accident! But, let us not forget it was the Carja...”

“I'm not done,” Javad interrupted him in a markedly cheerful tone of voice. “The sinkhole only formed due to your unauthorized blasting in the Crimson Deeps Mine, Ulvund. You are responsible for the machine rampage, the workers we lost, the destruction the Bristlebacks caused. All of it.”

The big Oseram chuckled to himself and shared a knowing glance with the two 'bodyguards' he'd brought with him. “My dear Magistrate, has your precious Sun baked your senses? I would never give such an order without first consulting you!”

Javad's laugh was dark and low as he reached into his cloak and produced the documents from the mine. “Evidence says otherwise. Our worthy heroes from the Battle of the Alight found the shipping manifests in the mine. You skirted the laws of the Sundom, Ulvund! All for a few extra shards!”

The color drained from the big man's face as he saw the documents the magistrate was holding. “I...I demand an official investigation! I won't be the victim of some Carja scheme!”

“Certainly!” Javad agreed. “We'll conduct a through investigation into everything. The Bristlebacks, your mining operations in every stake you hold shares. In fact, we'll investigate every business deal you've ever put your name to!”

Ulvund suddenly found it very hard to swallow. “Well, that...that's not necessary is it? What if I just return to The Claim...?” Javad laughed.

“Well, that would save the Crown the cost...”

“Of course!” Ulvund agreed, jumping on what the took to be his way off the petard he was being hoisted on. “I...I'll be on my way as soon as I've wrapped up some previous commitments...uh, tie up some loose ends...After all the welfare of Chainscrape's people, in a transition like this...”

“Nope,” Nakoa taunted him. “You're leaving right now. Chainscrape will be just fine without you.”

“Who do you think you are?” Ulvund demanded, then Javad stepped into his personal space and despite having to look up into his face, towered over the big Oseram.

“She's a Friend of the Sun King, a Heroine of the Battle of Meridian,” the magistrate informed him. “And not under a cloud of suspicion for the pile of offenses you are. Now get out of my jurisdiction.” Ulvund's face contorted into a grimace of rage, but he knew his welcome was well and truly worn out. One of the soldiers took him by the shoulder and all but frog marched him out of the fortress. Javad's arms spread as he looked up to the ceiling and his smile became more genuine as he turned to the Ancients. “As the Sun burns away shadow! Thank you for that, my friends.”

Travis smirked and shook the offered hand of the Carja Magistrate. “Well, he had it coming.”

“Please, what can I offer you in gratitude for what you've done?”

“We don't need...” Travis started, but Olara tapped him on the shoulder.

“We could certainly use some fresh supplies for the journey out west, Colonel.”

“Done!” Javad declared enthusiastically. “It's the least I can do. We're in your debt. You've done the Sundom, and my sanity, a great service! Commander?”

Lawan nodded sagely. “Not to worry, Magistrate. I'll see they're well supplied.” He smiled as the administrator left the room, practically giddy at the results of the meeting. “And I'm grateful you were able to let us know those Rebels seemed to have moved off. I already have a request for reinforcements riding back to the Sundom with Resolved Furahni. We should be able to hold out until they arrive, even if the Rebels decide to turn back.”

“The tracks I saw showed them all moving west, away from Barren Light,” Nakoa assured him.

“Good news,” the commander agreed.

“What about the Tenakth we brought back?” Travis asked. “Anything out of him?”

Lawan shook his head. “Just name, squad and Clan,” he replied. “We'll hold him until the next Embassy and see what the Marshals want to do with him.”

“When is the next Embassy?” Buck asked.

“A year, or so,” Lawan informed him. “I imagine he'll be a bit more talkative before then.”

“I suppose now it's my turn to ask you if we're going to have a fight,” Nakoa said softly once they were alone in their rooms once more in the Chainscrape tavern. Travis made a point to remove his rifle and the pistol that rode on his 'war belt' as he called it before turning to face his young wife.

“I'd rather have a conversation,” he told her in an even tone of voice. “But if we have to fight, I can do that too.” She looked at her bow, then purposefully unstrung it, removed the knife she wore on her belt to place on the little table in the room, before joining him in the center of the room.

“I'd rather have a talk, too,” she agreed.

He sighed and purposeful uncrossed his arms from his chest so as not to appear so confrontational. “Do you know why I'm angry?”

Her brown eyes met his, clear and openly. “I overstepped myself on the ridge. I was...angry, and I was afraid for you. That doesn't excuse what I did.”

“Nakoa, I am in command of this mission, that means I will sometimes make decisions you don't like...”

“I know,” she admitted. “I've been in a war party. I saw you put my brother in his place for questioning you.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I was wrong, I went too far, and I'm sorry for that. You are my War Chief, not just my husband. It was your wife that wronged you, not your Brave. I will not shame you again.” He reached out and pulled her into an embrace.

“I've gotten so used to being alone,” he admitted. “It's hard to separate what my wife is doing from what teammate is doing. This was supposed to be just a quick run to Daytower for translations and a diplomatic heads up to our Ally about a bandit incursion. Now we're on the other side of the Sundom and going who knows where.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “And you're pregnant.”

“Do you think anyone will be more vicious in the protection of our children than me?” she asked into his chest. “I trust you, Travis, both as my Husband and my War Chief. I need to remember that, as you remember that I'm not injured or so delicate I can't walk.” She sighed and rubbed her face against him. “And I swear I will remember that I did choose you and to trust that you seek only my betterment. Lead, Travis, and I will follow. I swore it before, and I affirm it now.”

“I knew my life changed the moment I laid eyes on you,” he told her kindly.

“Only for the best,” she promised him. “Forgive me?”

“When could I stay angry with you?”

September 28th, 3040

For three days, the party had ridden hard from Barren Light, through the wilds of No Man's Land. They had followed what had been known as the Virgin River, though, this late in the year, it was barely more than a stream down a shallow bed that would not be navigable in even the best of times. However, what had been cactus and scrub brush desert, without the interference of man was actually now much greener than it had been and the eco system was thriving with small game under the blue glow of machines that were tending to the wilderness.

While it had been hard going, all of the party were experienced riders by now and able to make excellent progress with long days riding and only short rests at night. The group had been frustrated in their hopes to catch up with Aloy, but now, there was a new concern. They had finally reached the Overton Arm of Lake Mead where the Virgin River joined the lake. The lake itself wasn't the issue, but standing over it, tentacles down into the water, was a massive Horus Siege Weapon. The Metal Devil as the Nora called it's swarm mate, forever entombed above Cheyenne Mountain, was a mobile factory, repair bay, and siege weapon was nearly ten stories tall, and easily a hundred meters long; resembling a gigantic metal lobster on eight massive tentacle legs. Below it, there were signs of building, a shelter had been constructed and crude wooden scaffolds erected to reach the Titans underbelly. “Why am I not surprised your mad scholar chooses to live under this thing?” Olara muttered as the group drew close.

“Keep sharp,” Travis ordered as they pulled to a stop. No one, neither the reclusive Sylens, nor Aloy was home. In the center of the camp was a depression in the sandy mud with a grove that moved out, away from the lake, and under the Horus. “These are the coordinates Sylens broadcast.”

“Looks like nobody's home,” Nakoa opined as the group dismounted and began to move through the camp.

“Look here, boss,” Buck called, standing by a hand print holo-projector that had been scavenged from somewhere else. “This is working, and has power.”

Travis nodded. “Let's see what the man had to say for himself.” Buck touched the projector and immediately, the dark complected, bald Sylens appeared, standing next to the Horus' Processing Orb which was sitting in the sandy depression holographically, but was gone in real life.

He was standing with his hands behind his back, a slightly smug smile pulling at his lips. “Aloy. Consider this message a beacon to help guide you out of the fog of ignorance.” He wandered closer to the Orb and gestured above it. “Using explosives, I've detached the Processing Orb from the Titan overhead. A perfect cage for our mutual friend, HADES. In order to render it...cooperative.”

“Thank God he was smart enough not to give that monster a Horus to play with,” Travis muttered.

“You are a sinister son of a bitch, aren't you?” Buck demanded of the recording.

Sylens' smile broadened a bit as he gestured to the orb, and then out into space where he imagined Aloy might be standing when viewing the hologram. “Tell her what we've discussed,” he ordered it. “About the mysterious signal that gave you life.”

The speaker on the orb had been damaged after a thousand years exposed to the elements, but it still worked. If anything, the reverb gave the deep, artificial voice even more menace that it would otherwise already have. “Signal...” HADES proclaimed as if trying to think through a mental fog. “Only meant...for me,” it rasped. “Signal...was received...for one seven point two two years...then ceased. Cannot compromise...GAIA reboot...But...entities...will still fail.”

That made Sylens cross and he scolded the orb. “Back to that, are you? Perhaps you need a reminder that you have failed.” He shrugged and made a gesture of dismissal. “So, you see, Aloy, GAIA can be safely rebooted. As to where find a backup... Well, you'll need to trot along after me to find out.”

The hologram vanished, evidently played out. “What do you suppose that meant?” demanded Olara.

Nakoa walked over to the depression where the Orb had been resting and gestured at the track marks. “She went this way,” Nakoa declared confidently. “Something big and heavy dragged that orb towards the ridge line, there.” Travis got his binoculars from the case and scanned the ridge.

“There's a cave in that ridge, with some more platforms.”

“These tracks of Aloy's are fresh, too,” Nakoa informed him. “A couple of hours at most.”

“Let's go see what's down the rabbit hole.” The group mounted up and trotted over to the ridge line in a leisurely pace. A wooden deck had been constructed for a stable platform and off to the right was a spall pile from where the entrance had been dug out, revealing a pair of bunker doors that stood open. The drag track terminated into the bunker.

Travis took his flashlight from it's keeper on his belt and shined it into the bunker. Beyond was a steel reinforced hallway that went straight into the hillside, then dog legged to the left. There were destroyed cobwebs that had been disturbed by the orb and whatever was pulling it. “'Come into my parlor,' said the Spider to the Fly',” he quoted mirthlessly.

The party dismounted and Olara began to poke around at the barrels and chests that were out on the platform deck. “Anything, Babe?” Buck asked her.

She held up a bit of plastic and metal from the chest she was rooting through. “Isn't this one of your 'memory cards'? Like ENID uses?”

“It is,” Travis declared as he walked over. “Looks intact.” He keyed on his Focus and flipped through the screens that projected holographically in front of him until he found the communication protocol and had it interrogate the chip. “Interesting,” he declared to himself. “These appear to be notes Sylens kept as he tortured HADES.”

“How do you torture an AI?” Tracy demanded, somewhat incredulously.

“You're not going to believe this,” Murray warned her. “And I quote, 'Success. The irony is delicious. Various forms of data produce discomfort in the 'subject', but non more so than natural imagery. Holographic representations of plants and animals work best, the more vivid the better. The effect appears to be excruciating. One loop in particular, of rabbits hopping though a field of flowers produced paroxysms of agony...!'”

“He showed HADES pretty pictures as torture?” Doc demanded.

“Evidently it worked,” Travis assured her. “And, oh, wait, what's this? 'Finally... the revelation I've been seeking has revealed itself. Astonishing. And Terrifying, even to me.'”

“What?” Buck asked. “What terrified him?” Travis flipped through the notes, becoming more and more frustrated.

“He doesn't say!” he lamented. “He goes off on a tangent about his master plan. Looks like it was what led him to leave that broadcast to the Spire we intercepted.” With a gesture, he downloaded the rest of the notes and pushed them at ENID for archiving and study later. With a tap, he clicked off his Focus and pulled his rifle around on it's sling and into his hands. “Let's be on guard. Who knows what is waiting for us.” Buck nodded and copied his movement and both men crept forward, taking the lead. This time, there was no argument from the women, two of whom nocked arrows and followed. Crossing the threshold of the bunker caused the overhead lights to flicker on again and an obviously artificial voice with much static and distortion clicked on.

“Welcome, Colonel Murray. Please remain at the information desk for personnel to escort you and your party.”

“How does it know your name?” Nakoa whispered, obviously worried.

“Some part of the facilities computer must still be working,” he whispered back. “It polled my Focus for my ID.” The group edged up to the corner, then Buck went wide, slicing the pie out and around it, rifle up and seeking a target. With a gesture, he informed them the way was clear and they crept forward. The corridor widened into a larger space where a monstrous machine was laying on it's side. It resembled a Triceratops, with three long, angry looking horns, two on a wide metal shield at the back of it's head and one on the 'nose'. Fortunately, it was permanently off and obviously missing large and important parts. Down another hallway, in front of a massive GeneLock vault door that was stuck half open, was the Horus Processing Orb. “HADES, I presume,” Travis declared. A quick poke found them the only ones in the room and the corridor beyond the GeneLock door were slick with mineral deposits and stalactites, which was not a good sign.

“No Aloy or Sylens,” Buck observed.

Travis walked up to the Orb and tapped his Focus. Before him, a log appeared:

“No HADES, either,” he declared with a sigh. “At least, this time, it's finally gone. But, where is Aloy?”

“Colonel,” Nakoa called from the little dais up to the GeneLock Door. “You should see this.” Frowning, he walked around the orb and up the steps to where she was crouched down by the stuck GeneLock Door. “Aloy entered here,” she declared, pointing at a soft soled print of a Nora boot clearly pressed into the muck. “And so did four others, after her. See how the new prints walk over hers? And this,” she indicated a swiping furrow. “I've never see anything like this.”

“Sylens, maybe?” asked Olara as she came up to look at the marks.

“Not unless he's decided to dress more upscale,” he muttered, pointing at a print that clearly read Ferragamo.

“Ferragamo?” asked Nakoa, who had been diligently studying how to read the 'ancient' letters and writings. “What does that mean?”

“Who, not what,” he corrected softly. “A thousand years ago, they were a very expensive shoe maker in a country called Italy.” He exchanged a glance with his wife. “Let's not speculate. Let's find out.” He rose and returned to the Orb. After a tap of his Focus and rooting about in the icons, he clicked something. “Here we are.”

Beside him, a holographic Aloy appeared and suddenly next to her, a holographic Sylens. “Aloy,” he greeted. “I see you've dealt with HADES.”

The Nora Seeker was only just keeping her temper in check. “Yeah. Think maybe it can stay dead, this time?”

“It will,” he assured her. “You can trust...”

Aloy wheeled in anger. “Trust?” she demanded, her outrage palpable. Sylens was unperturbed.

“Yes,” he drawled. “Trust. As in since I did what you could never do and extracted all of HADE's priceless knowledge, you can trust that I was willing to actually let you destroy it this time.”

“So, back to holograms instead of face to face?” she demanded of him. “What? Afraid I'd stab you or something?” She keyed on her Focus and began to quickly swipe through the icons.

“There's a reason I...” he started, but she found a red icon and purged it.

“And using the same spyware, I see.” She dismissed the icons and turned back, her expression tightly controlled. “So, all those times I called, you could've just answered? But I guess you just preferred to go on spying all this time.” Sylens looked away in disinterest, unable to even feign embarrassment at being found out.

“My world stopped revolving around you months ago, Aloy,” he told her dismissively. “I've had work to do. Countless hours of research, as demanding and time intensive as it has been critical to the fate of this planet.” Aloy found that humorous and mock laughed at him.

“Right!” she agreed, sarcasm all but dripping from her lips. “Of course you're just trying to save the world too!”

Sylens refused to rise to her bait. “That's right. The difference, of course, is that, unlike you, I've produced results.”

Buck scratched his chin and declared, “I really don't like this guy.”

Finally, Aloy mastered her temper and in a remarkably even tone asked, Did you find a backup of GAIA or not?”

“Oh yes,” he answered benevolently. “I believe I did.”

“Where?”

With a grand gesture, Sylens indicated the GeneLock door they were standing next to. “Voila,” he told her smugly. “Why do you think I summoned you here? Behind that gene-locked hatch lie the ruins of the ancient facility where the HADES Extinction Protocol was perfected. A testing process that ran hundreds of trials; each of them using a back up of GAIA.”

Surprisingly, that calmed Aloy considerably and she asked, “HADES told you this?”

He smiled darkly. “It took some convincing, but yes. So, are you ready to go get what you've been searching for for the last six months...” The smirk returned to his face. “Or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open?”

Instantly, Aloy was angry again. “You mentioned you've been busy...”

“Exceptionally busy,” he interrupted, but she plowed on without stopping.

“But not so busy you couldn't find time to teach Tenakth rebels how to over ride machines? Ride them as mounts?”

He turned from gazing at the Processing Orb to give the young Nora his full attention. “Aloy, the only issue you should be concerned about is obtaining a GAIA backup. Perhaps if you focused more, you might actually see results?”

“That's not exactly a denial, Sylens,” she hissed.

“Take it any way you want,” he told her.

Aloy's mouth clinched as she literally chewed down her anger before turning back to him. “Just to...confirm. HADES said that there are backups of GAIA? In there.”

“Yes. Or were, anyway. A thousand years ago.”

She began to pace to keep her temper. “Backups that didn't get purged when Ted Faro wiped every copy of APOLLO?”

“May he burn in Hell,” muttered Tracy.

“Correct,” Sylens assured her. “According to HADES, this facility could not be accessed by remote signal. Not even Ted Faro could touch the data here.”

“That tracks for a Black Ops site like a super AI proving lab,” Travis thought aloud.

“Backups,” Aloy whispered to herself, as if trying not to get her hopes so high they would be dashed again but unable to fight the urge to do so. “Data complete GAIA and her subordinate functions... Everything needed to reboot the system, restore control over the terraforming system, save life on Earth...” She stopped and looked up at the door. “In there.”

“So HADES said,” Sylens cautioned her. “So, what are you waiting for?

Something in his tone must have triggered renewed suspicion, and Aloy turned from the door back to Sylens. “Did HADES reveal the source of the Mysterious Signal?” she demanded. “The one that woke it and tried to destroy life on Earth?”

“Yes,” Sylens replied matter-of-factually. “It did.”

“Care to share?”

Sylens gave a dismissive gesture and turned away. “In due time. First things first, Aloy. Last I checked, you still had a super intelligent AI named GAIA to reboot.”

“Yeah,” she growled. “The same GAIA who had to destroy herself twenty years ago because of the signal?”

“It stopped being transmitted years ago. It's no longer a threat.”

Aloy frowned. “What if it repeats?”

“It won't” he assured her. “Even if it did, well...” He sighed and shook his head. “The details are complicated, but the signal required HADES to take effect. Simply delete HADES from any backup you reboot and GAIA is safe. Now, stop wasting time and go get a backup.” She rolled her eyes and sighed before evenly meeting his gaze.

“Alright,” she declared. “I'll search the facility for a GAIA backup.” Then her posture hardened and her finger came up in warning. “But, just be clear, Sylens. If this ends up being another one of your tricks...”

That finally got under the man's skin and his impatience shown through his careful facade. “It's a GeneLocked hatch, Aloy! You're literally the only person who can open it. How could I set a trap inside?”

“Trick me again, Sylens,” she said slowly and with palpable menace, “and our next conversation will be face to face. Though you won't have much to say, on account of my spear being buried in your throat!

That returned the smug smile to his face. “Aloy,” he drawled. “Thanks to me, everything you've desired, everything you've been fumbling about unable to achieve for six months is now within your grasp.” He gestured at the hatch and smirked at her. “Now, I know you didn't learn much about manners, growing up a Nora outcast, but in a situation like this, you say, 'Thank you.' And I say, 'You're welcome.'” With that final barb, Sylens vanished.

Aloy stewed on that for a full minute, chewing her lip and nodding to herself, obviously imagining all manner of mayhem she would employ on her next meeting with the enigmatic shaman. Finally, she swallowed her pride, turned and approached the door. It scanned her, then groaned to it's current, half open state and she went through.

The video then skipped, it's time stamp showing several hours passed and then four new people appeared. The man in front was bald, wearing a double breasted silk suit in an interesting shade of green and yellow like a stone ground mustard with muted yellow pin striping with a gold ascot in place of a tie. Next to him was a taller man in a look that suggested 5.11 Tactical Chic, khaki bush shirt, matching thigh pocket pants that were even bloused into combat boots. His white hair was in a high and tight, though he didn't look old enough to have white hair naturally. Then came a dark haired woman in a pure white jump suit that showed off her figure and was accentuated with a high wing collar that reached the back of her head in the rear giving an almost regency period look to the skin tight garment. Around all of them was a shimmer of some kind as if the light was catching on something just above their skin.

There were a pair of odd machines behind them, that moved in a jerky, but smooth manner as if they wanted to be able to dart in any direction at any moment. They were nearly five feet high and their angular bodies twitched like stalking cat looking for prey.

And behind them, was a young girl of no more than sixteen. She wore a white and gray shirt and pants that resembled nurses scrubs, save for their color. Her bright red hair was cut quite short, almost a boyish style with a pronounced wing to her right. Her manner was timid and unsure around the adults, who chiefly ignored her as they passed the processing orb and followed Aloy into the facility.

The girl was identical to Aloy, such that she could be her twin sister but for her age. “What the fuck?” whispered Travis to himself.