Original Timeline Story List

Frank Olmstead was a family man first and foremost. Everything he had done in his life, every sacrifice he'd endured had been for his family. He had worked hard, leveraging his considerable intellect to the world of science and business, becoming a very wealthy man. The company he had founded, American Scientific was heavily invested in technologies for space flight. It had been a member of a consortium of conglomerates that had helped save the Earth during the Claw-back by making space mining affordable at a level to replace terrestrial mining for humanity's needs.

He was a realist, he'd seriously considered the proposal he'd been offered for a seat on the Odyssey for him and his family. The price was outrageous of course, a billion dollars each for him, his wife and their son and daughter; but it was not the cost that made him tell them no. Money would never be more important to Frank than his family. In his heart, Frank was a patriot, and as dire as things looked with the Faro Plague, Frank was certain America could beat the monster machines threatening their planet.

He'd actually congratulated himself this morning when he'd seen the news that the Odyssey had blown up while igniting her fusion drive. Now, looking at the actual sheet of paper in his hand, he wondered if to go out instantly in a fusion explosion would be kinder. Paper was expensive, old fashioned, yet also secure. The interdependence on computers and holographic interfaces posed significant security risks. If the men who were in his office had spent the money on paper, then what those papers said were the deadliest of secrets. He'd read the document three times now, each time a part of his mind refusing to believe that anything so monstrous could be true. He looked up at the two men in his office, standing patiently as he read their note, their expressions grim. “Is this...certain...?” he asked quietly.

“In a word? Yes, sir, it is,” Travis Murray told him. Travis was a former soldier, cut loose from the United States Army when it went almost entirely automated. Not a man to wallow in misfortune, Travis turned his military mind to the slightly less obvious dangers of business security and had quickly risen to be Franks' Chief of Security for his firm. “When the news of the loss of control a Swarm of Faro War Machines went public I had Ian run his own estimates on how long it would take to crack the Chariot Line's security protocols and the number we get is at least eighty years.”

“There's no way Zero Dawn is going to save us,” Ian Turner added. “We can't stop the machines physically and we'll never have enough time to crack their anti-intrusion measures before all life on Earth is wiped out.”

Frank felt his temper squirm in an attempt to slip his iron will keeping it in check. “Then what in God's name are they doing?” Everything had been diverted to Zero Dawn. The Constitution had been dubiously suspended and Martial Law declared. Two of Frank's production facilities had been nationalized to produce munitions for the hastily conscripted and poorly trained 'Home-Guards' that were being set up to try and buy time for the rumored super weapon called 'Zero Dawn'. Even here in liberty loving Texas, things were beginning to get ugly.

Travis turned to Ian and the computer expert took another piece of paper from his folder and presented it to his boss. “This is the best information I could get on expenditures and resources being diverted to Zero Dawn. In addition to that fortress they're building in King's Peak there are hard points being stocked with art treasures, books, objects of historical significance. This, however, this I found in Faro Automation's fiscal disclosures from last year.”

“A contract with Titan Heavy Industry?” Olmstead asked, confused. “So what?”

“Titan makes fortified bunkers, sir,” Ian pressed. “Gold Stock Pile vaults, missile silos, hardened Military facilities. Ted Faro is making a bunker in San Francisco. And if I don't think Zero Dawn has enough time, it looks like Ted certain of it.” He took out another sheet and presented it. “But this, I think, is a clue as to what's really going on with Zero Dawn.”

Frank read a summary of an official agreement, on the letter head of a law firm he was certain his head of technology should not have access to, outlining an agreement between Far Zenith, LLC and Faro Automated Solutions offering the schematics, working prototypes and release of license for their ectogenic chambers in exchange for a copy of something called the Apollo Database. “Ectogenic chambers?” he asked.

“Artificial wombs. Odyssey was originally going to be a creche ship,” Travis explained. “Frozen embryos to be thawed out and birthed in these chambers and raised in the last years of the ship's journey.”

“Why would Zero Dawn need artificial wombs?” Frank demanded.

Travis shrugged his broad shoulders. “You'd have to ask Dr Sobeck for that, Frank,” he replied. “But my guess is, she doesn't think she can beat the Plague either. I think this is some kind of gamble to repopulate the earth after humanity...after all life on Earth is extinct. A modern day Noah's Ark, if you will.”

“And none of us are Noah,” Ian added bitterly.

Olmstead looked into the grim face of his security chief and realized he meant what he'd said. “My, God,” he whispered. “What do we...what can we do? Build a bunker like Ted Faro and wait it out?”

“With the rationing going on and everything being diverted to Zero Dawn?” Travis shook his head. “I don't think we could be ready in time sir.”

“Plus it will probably take centuries for the planet to recover and support life again. If ever,” Ian added.

“Sobeck wouldn't want these chambers if she didn't have some way to clean up the Faro Plague after they shut down,” Frank declared. “Her company did most of the heavy lifting cleaning up the climate mess in the Claw-back. She has some way of cleaning it up.” He snapped his fingers in remembrance, but Ian was already handing him another sheet of paper. “The Long Sleep tanks!”

It was a piece of technology his company had been developing for interstellar travel, a dream Frank now realized would be dashed for the foreseeable future of humanity. Perhaps permanently. “They've never been tested for durations like this,” Ian cautioned him.

Frank snorted. “There hasn't been enough time to test them for durations like this. But it is what they were designed for!” Frank made a decision. “We'll need to cache supplies for when we wake up, tools, weapons, food.”

Travis nodded. “And a secure facility that we can shield so the robot swarms don't find us.”

Ian tapped the Faro Focus on his temple to cause a holographic map of Colorado to appear over Frank's desk. The small white and blue triangle of plastic and metal was an augmented reality device that allowed him to control the integrated logic system of the building, communicate with its AI intelligence or, like a video phone, anyone else who had one world wide. They were one of the most successful devices of Faro Automated Solutions, as ubiquitous as the smart phone had become a few decades previously. Normally, it's holograms could only be seen by the wearer of the focus that had created them, but he adjusted it to share with the other two men in the room to be able to see the ghostly, three dimensional map and interact with it. “Our Fusion Engine Research Facility at Almagre Mountain should be perfect.”

“Make it happen,” Frank commanded. “Be sure there's room for you and your families,” he promised the men. “Whatever you need, I'll get it.”

“Frank,” Travis asked softly. Knowing his boss and his charitable tendencies, it was likely that 'room' would be expanded on and rapidly. Best to get out in front of it now. “How many people are you going to try and save?”

The weight of the question bore down on Frank Olmstead's soul. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but didn't answer. Finally, he reached up and touched the Focus on his temple, keying on his company's central AI. “ENID, how many employees do I currently have?”

Floating over his desk, the blue tinted hologram of Colorado was replaced with a woman's head and shoulders. She was twenty or so with long hair in a somewhat complicated style. “Headcount is down significantly due to enlistment in the home guards and loss of contact with overseas branches as a result of the Faro Plague, Mr. Olmstead,” the hologram told him in a velvety contralto that had just a hint of an accent that was hard to place. “The current estimate is five thousand sixty eight.”

“Gentlemen,” Frank said softly, “our leaders have betrayed us, using us as sacrificial lambs. To buy time for Elisabet Sobeck's Noah's Ark gamble. It's unconscionable. So. ENID, assuming every employee has a spouse and one child, what is that number?”

“Fifteen thousand, two hundred and four.”

“That's your goal, Travis,” Frank ordered.

“Frank...” the solider started, but halted when his boss held up a hand.

“I don't think it will be that many,” he affirmed. “Some employees are single. Some have no kids, some have three, but that's good enough to be our balance point. That's your target, Travis. It's the only number my conscience will let me go to God to defend.”

Travis sighed, knowing his employer's mind was made up. “I'll do everything in my power, sir.”

Frank nodded. “Find out from personnel what the actual number is,” he ordered. “Round up to the nearest thousand for Significant Others. Ian, is the Almagre Mountain site big enough for that number?”

The young programmer's hands pushed quickly through holograms in front of him. “It'll be cramped, but I'm pretty sure I can make that work.”

“Gentlemen, the reason for this project can not leave this office. If word were to get out...” The two men nodded gravely and Olmstead turned to his holographic AI. “ENID, I want you to file homeland defense waivers for every employee and their families. They are all to be considered critical employees from this point forward.”

“Certainly, Mr. Olmstead.”

“Have accounting stop all future tax payments and divert those funds for this project. We should be able to make excuses if anyone notices until it's too late to matter. And make arrangements for your central core to be transferred to the Almagre Mountain facility. We're going to need you in whatever brave, new world we wake up in.”

October 26^th, 2065

Three Months Until Doomsday.

Frank looked out at a small sea of expectant faces as he came up the steps to the small stage that had been raised in the central courtyard of the testing field. Most of the real facility was deep in the mountain and out here was merely some admin buildings and the test stand for the engine. But it was big enough that every one at the facility could be addressed all at once.

There were ten thousand faces in that crowd looking back up at him. Most were just arriving this morning, fearful and unsure why they'd been ordered out their various homes and offices and brought here. A small group of Travis' security men and the facilities normal staff had been working straight shifts getting the mountain ready and receiving the last employees of American Scientific. Now, isolated as they were, the truth could be told. They'd been exceptionally busy, and inordinately lucky. The exodus hadn't been noticed in the frantic reporting of the Faro Swarm reaching the West Coast.

Behind them, Dallas was collapsing into anarchy. Human Civilization was not long for the world.

On the stage already was his wife Becky who was well versed in being the wife of a CEO. Her smile was easy and her body language relaxed, but Frank knew her well enough to know she was just as concerned as the crowd before them. “Are we finally going to find out what this is all about?” she asked through her smile.

“I'm sorry,” he told her, and he meant it. “But yes. God save us all, Becky.”

“Frank...?” she asked, her concern cracking through the official issue expression, but Travis had already introduced him from the podium. Heavily, Frank Olmstead kissed his wife's forehead, then turned and walked to the lectern like a condemned man heading to a gallows.

“Hello, friends,” he greeted his employees. “I'm so proud of all of you, the sacrifices you've made and the marathon we've run together these past three months. I wish I could offer you better news.” A murmur swept the crowd as people looked at each other, confused and worried. “Some of you probably already know, the Faro Swarm hit the West Coast yesterday. This morning, the first waves of the European Swarm came ashore not far from Plymouth Rock, of all places. America is besieged on two sides by out of control war machines we should never have created.”

The murmur died away as the faces nearest to the stage went pale. Frank keyed his Focus and ENID obligingly lit up a gigantic hologram over the crowd's head of the United States and the reported positions of the two swarms. “Many of you have probably heard rumors of a secret weapons project by the government. A super weapon called Zero Dawn that's going to give us a miraculous win over these robots. As near as my team can devise, that's a lie; propaganda to make us sell our lives to buy time for Zero Dawn's real purpose. We think that purpose is a kind of Noah's Ark, a stockpile of goods, food, plants and animals and people to repopulate the Earth after all life on this world is extinct.”

“But, the shut down research...!” some one in the crowd shouted.

“The encryption is just too good,” Ian declared from behind Frank on the stage. “Best possible time is eighty years.”

“Life on this world will be gone, long before then,” Travis added. “Most likely sometime next year.”

A silence fell like a thunderclap over the assembly. Someone was crying, and Frank couldn't blame them. “They have their option,” he told his employees softly. “This is ours. This mountain has been hardened against the swarms and we've stockpiled supplies, but only enough for when we're rebuilding after this. We'll have to ride out this extinction asleep. In the mountain are Long Sleep capsules, we developed; one for each of you. ENID will watch over us, and when the world is habitable again, we'll wake up and start over. I'm sorry I have to be the bearer of such terrible news...”

Frank couldn't continue as he was over whelmed by shouts of acclaim for his generosity, and thunderous applause. He tried to get them to stop, but they just continued, whistling and crying with relief that someone had thought of them. Becky joined him at his side, tears streaming down her own face, but she was glowing with pride. “Let them cheer their hero,” she told him. “You've saved us all.”

February 2^nd, 2066

Doomsday.

Travis looked down the canyon from the entrance of the bunker he was betting his life on. He was wearing a respirator as the air was unbreathable now, and it's glass over his eyes distorted the view somewhat. It was over now. His Focus wasn't picking up any national signals. The Kansas Salient at Wichita the last line of the desperate defense had fallen two weeks ago. US Robotic Command had fallen, and the radio was only scattered cries for help that suddenly went silent as the helpless last gasps of humanity were found by the robot war machines and exterminated. Travis ground his teeth in impotent rage over the folly of mankind.

It was over, now.

Now, there was just time to seal the door, climb into a pod and go to sleep. Perhaps he'd wake up to a better world, but, if not, he consoled himself, at least he'd never know. He stepped clear of the door and nodded to gate keeper. “Lock it up,” he ordered. With a groan of heavy machinery, the blast doors slid closed as Travis committed the awful view to memory. Most of the trees were dying, and the sky was red with fire and who knew what kind of noxious gasses. Lord, he prayed silently. If we get through this, give us the wisdom to never repeat it.

His duty done, he joined the line of his security personnel to their chamber of pods. This was a room just off the big bay he'd just left full of vehicles on concrete blocks, their tires deflated and their systems completely dry for storage. If they woke, Travis and his men would be the first, to be sure it was safe, so they were closest to the door.

And if the door failed and the machines found them, they would be the first to die.

He took his pistol from its holster on his belt and cleared it to the satisfaction of the armorer, then removed the ammo from their magazines so the springs would relax. Then ammo and pistol were put into a vacuum sealed bag and the bag into a strong box with the others to protect it for who knew how long.

In the carefully moderated air now, he pulled off the respirator and gave it to another quarter master to be similarly protected. The smaller rooms and hallways of the bunker were full of freeze dried food, hermetically sealed stores of seed, ammunition, weapons, everything that Travis could get his hands on for the future. Put into every crevice or closet that was too small to hold a Long Sleep pod. That was all done now. There was only the sleep left, they were as prepared as they were going to be.

From there it was quick stop in a privacy cube to strip off his fatigue shirt, pants and boots and, in his skivvies, pull on a stupid looking unitard that was mesh and see through that provided an anchor for the sensors that would monitor them all while they slept. Refusing to be embarrassed wearing the silly looking garment, he handed off his clothes to the Quartermaster and headed for his pod.

Tracy, their medic helped him into his pod and affixed the IV that would keep him alive and helped him get comfortable. She smiled at him and, in spite of himself, he smiled back. “See you on the other side,” she told him and he couldn't help winking at her. This was the way to check out, he decided. Falling asleep with the face of a pretty girl as the last thing you see. The weight in the pit of his stomach finally lifted. He'd accomplished the herculean task he'd been assigned and now it almost didn't matter if they lived or not. Each second past now was a gift, a dodge of the Grim Reaper and a cheat. The thought of a raging specter of death brought a chuckle from the stoic soldier as the drug cocktail did it's work and his eyes slipped shut. He didn't hear Tracy close the pod's canopy. He was sailing the seas of Nod to an unknown future.

Discontinuity

Travis slowly began to realize that the chess game he was playing with the Grim Reaper could not possibly be real. He had no king and only a single pawn, hemmed in on all sides while the cloaked and cowled skeleton tapped his scythe impatiently and cackled gleefully at his predicament. “Dream,” he muttered and the sound of his own voice brought with it other sounds, the soft sigh of air moving, the just at the level of hearing buzz of electricity. Then the feeling of the cushions of the pod he was laying in. “This is a dream.”

The Grim Reaper howled in fury, but then everything was a red tinted black that was, he realized, the backs of his eyelids. Eyelids that were refusing to open due to being stuck together. He raised a hand and rubbed, finding both eyelids caked with dry, gritty sand like the worse case of Pink Eye he'd ever had.

His eyes finally opened, but refused to focus and his tongue was sticking to his teeth in the worst case of cotton mouth he'd yet experienced. In his ear he heard the accented voice of ENID from the Focus and before him, a blurry blue blob that was probably her human interface floated. “Good morning, Colonel Murray. Rest for a moment and get your bearings. Your vital signs are all stable and you appear to have survived the Long Sleep admirably.”

“That's great to hear, ENID,” he croaked, one hand feeling for the water tube he finally found and got to his mouth. The icy cold water was a shock to his mouth as his tissues greedily absorbed the moisture all the way down his throat into his stomach. He blinked several times and finally the hologram came into focus. He sighed and braced himself. “How long, ENID?”

The holographic face was cheerful. “It is March 10^th, 3040. You have been in suspended animation for nine hundred seventy four years, one month and eight days.”

Travis choked on the water and had a coughing fit. “What?!” he shouted, finally in control of himself. “Why in God's Name have we been under for so long?”

The holographic woman's expression was sympathetic. “I'm sorry, there were many factors that conspired to alter the timeline of your awakening. The safety of Human life is paramount in my programming; it was of the utmost importance that I be certain the situation was acceptable for it.”

Murray sighed and nodded, mastering himself. He had prioritize and work the problem, there would be time later to sort out the whys and hows. “The Faro Plague,” he declared. “What is the status of the Swarm?”

“A Deactivate and Stand Down command was broadcast from Station Minerva on August 3^rd, 2126. At which time, the Faro Swarm robots shut down where they stood. They have not moved since.”

He took a moment to do the math in his head. “Sixty years, not bad, Sobeck. That's twenty years ahead of schedule.” He sighed and took another drink of water. “And the biosphere?”

“At that time, unsuitable for human life,” ENID told him. “To date, there have been three attempts to stabilize the biosphere by actors unknown to me. Each time, they failed and a dramatic event quickly destroyed what effort had been done and the process was started fresh. This fourth attempt has been stable since 2326.”

“Why weren't we awoken then?” he demanded.

“Stable is not the same as optimal,” ENID told him. “While I detect a breathable atmosphere as well as plant and animal life, there are still large machines Terra forming the planet.”

“Machines?” the soldier demanded.

“Yes,” ENID replied. Her bust was replaced by a robot that walked on four legs and looked vaguely like some kind Moose or Mule Deer with metallic antlers and a glowing blue lens for a mouth with a pair of blue glowing cameras where the eyes should be. What looked like armored plates covered most of the creatures, but there were some exposed cables and what looked like myomere fibers. There were cylindrical canisters of green sludge on its left and right buttock and it wondered somewhat aimlessly while spraying the sludge on the plants as if marking its territory with urine. Then a parade of different looking machines flashed by, from gigantic hippopotamuses rutting through the soil, to alligator machines snaking through the water to some kind of monstrous hermit crab the size of a bus with a container on its back it was filling with metal pieces of rusted out wrecked cars and the remains of what looked like Faro Chariot war bots as the AI continued. “Their form factors resemble animals; they are tilling and sowing the soil with nutrients, purifying the water, gathering resources and building facilities where more of these machines are built. I estimate the Terra forming of Earth at eighty six percent.”

Travis sighed. Eighty six percent was certainly better than the earth he remembered. “ENID, you said you picked up plants and animals? What about people?”

The hologram took up a thoughtful pose and looked off, away from him as if it was talking to itself. “Those signs are very mixed, Colonel. I have detected birds and insects, mountain sheep, wild hogs and foxes, but those are the largest animals and no large predators at all. No wolves, or bears, as well as a lack of a number of domesticated animals, cattle, horses and the like. I have scanned hominids, in fact, the closest group have taken up residence in the ruins of the Colorado Springs Pioneer Museum nine kilometers from here. However there are no electrical signals, no radio, broad wave or other EM signatures and while I do detect an ad hoc Focus Network north west of here, its security protocols do not allow me to access them.”

“What about Zero Dawn?” he asked.

The eyes of the hologram returned to him. “The Kings Peak facility was destroyed by a fusion explosion twenty years ago on August 26^th, 3020. I theorize a catastrophic failure of the facilities power plant.”

“Jesus,” Travis muttered under his breath. “Alright, in your judgment, is the habitat fit to begin Doomsday Protocol Phase Two?”

“I believe so, Colonel.”

“Open the pod, please, ENID and begin the wake up routine of Team Alpha.”

“Certainly.” The canopy swung upward as the lights slowly flickered on and Travis took a new look at the room he'd just spent the better part of a full millennium in. The air was a bit stale and musty, and there was a thick layer of dust over everything, but otherwise the view matched his memory. He sat up and got his bearings for a moment, seeing the displays on the remainder of pods on his row change as his Alpha team began to wake up.

“ENID, what is the status of the pods in the facility?” he asked. “Did we lose anyone?”

“Pod integrity is at one hundred percent for the entire group,” she told him, sounding just a touch proud of herself. “All life signs nominal.”

“Miracles never cease.” He reached over and unbuckled the strap holding his IV on his arm, paused a moment for the sickening sensation of the needle withdrawing from his arm then lifted it clear, the holes plugged with Nano-Skin bright against the rest of his more tanned complexion. He yawned and stretched, trying to get rid of the feeling of the morning after a record breaking all weekend bender, but wisely stayed seated in the pod least he find out the hard way he wasn't ready to stand.

Cautiously turning sideways, he let his feet hang out of the pod, towards the floor and stretched. His left foot found the cold stone floor first and while his muscles did tremble a bit, they finally steadied and took his weight. “Did anybody get the number of that bus?” Tracy moaned from behind him, wisely remaining prone in her own pod.

“Pretty sure it was a Faro bus,” he replied, slowly walking around his pod to be able to see her. Tracy was just as pretty as his last memory of the twenty first century said she was, more so now in that sensor web unitard garment they went to sleep in. Under it, she wore a plain cotton bra and panty set, but that wholesome girl next door beauty shone through it. “How are you, Doc?”

“Hung over,” she replied, keeping her eyes closed. “You should have waited for me to remove the IV, Colonel.”

“Not the first time I've pulled something out of me,” he assured her. After a moment, he asked, “How did you know...?”

“I heard you walking,” she replied, her eyes still closed. The two pods next to her opened revealing the last two members of Team Alpha.

“Buck, Jordi, how are you two boys doing?”

“In the fetal position, sir,” Jordi replied from his pod, though his voice was steady. “I knew everybody'd be dead when we woke up, but Jesus! A thousand years?”

Buck's hulking form sat up in the pod and he shook his head to clear it. “Ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years, what's the difference?” he demanded in his low, growling voice. “I'll take this to the alternative.”

“That's the spirit,” Travis encouraged him.

“We should all eat something,” Tracy declared as she slowly sat up, one hand holding her forehead. “Preferably something with a fair amount of fiber as you boys are going to find you'll have the worst case of constipation of your lives.”

“Well, I'm hungry!” Jordi chimed in, finally rising to a sitting position himself. “I feel like I haven't eaten in a thousand years!”

Murray became more conscious of his posture and stood up straighter, pulling on his 'command personae' to inspire his team with confidence. “Let's get suited up and a quick bite and we'll go meet the neighbors. See what humanity has been up to.”

“Yes, sir,” the team replied in chorus.

March 10^th, 3040

Travis had reworked the security uniform for the company to a simple forest green long sleeved shirt with reinforced elbows and two large button secured pockets with Velcro 'loop' sections at the shoulders and over the pockets where company patches, facility specific division insignia and name tape could be added. Dark khaki multi pocket BDU trousers and combat boots completed the uniform which in scientific facilities looked sharp and professional. Now, it was reasonable field uniform that would blend well without giving off a 'militia' vibe.

To this, he'd added a suspenders and belt load bearing solution to carry small arms, magazines, a trauma kit, canteen and an 'admin' pouch that each man could configure how he pleased. It was his skin after all. Travis' contained a backpacker hammock that rolled up wasn't much bigger that two fists, a poncho that could also be used as a tarp or simple A frame shelter a mess kit and some food. Despite the time of year and the elevation, when his team set out on this march, it was twenty two degrees and the sun wasn't at it's zenith yet.

The administration buildings were in ruins, roofs caved in, windows all blown out and there was more grass on the ground than concrete. The engine test stand had a tree growing out of it's highest point that rose another twenty meters into the sky. “Close and secure the door, ENID,” he commanded and it dutifully slid closed, now only to open by one of their commands through the Focus, or from someone inside. He slid a magazine into the AR15 he held, mashed the bolt release to have it snap shut, chambering a round and double checked it was still on safe.

“Couldn't we've gotten something a little more up to date, boss?” Jordi complained.

Buck clicked his teeth in disapproval. “What's the matter, J? Don't want to face the end of the world with Grand Pa's AR?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's battle proven and all that, but it's a hundred years old!” the smaller man shot back. “Something designed this century...well, that century...Jesus, my head is so fucked up right now!”

“You go to war with the gear you can get,” Tracy replied philosophically. “ARs we could get, and they're durable.” She would have said more, but Travis was turning to address them.

“Ok, boys and girl, we've got a lovely little nine kilo hike ahead of us, but nothing says we won't meet somebody sooner, so eyes and ears up and open. Shoot if you're threatened, but conserve your ammo. It might be a while before we can resupply.”

The team mimicked his movements and chorused an affirmative. “How about you let me take point, skipper?” Jordi asked and Travis nodded his assent. They wiry designated marksman of the group had the best eyes and if one shots were needed, he was the man to do it. They set off at an easy pace, ENID painting a holographic way point through their Focuses as a guide.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Tracy asked as they started walking. Travis remembered the view that was both a thousand years and just a few hours ago and compared it to the idyllic, pastoral landscape before him now.

“Paradise,” he agreed, taking a deep breath of remarkably fresh and crisp mountain air.

The access road to the facility was now a snow melt stream, rushing down the canyon towards the ruins of Colorado Springs. They followed it, descending down into a mixed deciduous forest that was in full spring. There were bees, dragon flies and what sounded like migratory birds and they could just make out the ruins of the buildings of Colorado Springs in and amongst the trees. It was a pleasant hike that could almost be pretended to be for recreation, not a post end of the world scouting mission. Save for the rusted High Tension Towers standing like a line of gigantic skeletal scare crows.

Then, just as Travis was considering calling a halt for a bit of afternoon lunch, Jordi's left fist came up. The others instantly froze and sank to one knee, each picking a different direction to guard. Travis kept his eyes on Jordi, whose fist split into a V for Victory sign he pointed at his face, then made a blade of his hand and pointed off to his left. Travis followed the gesture to get only a vague notion of movement in the bushes below the trees. He touched his Focus and instantly it noted what Jordi had spotted. It was an odd looking machine in the thermal painted augmented reality, on two legs, like a dinosaur, but only about the size of a wolf. It's face was a bright blue lens that was actually glowing like a search light and a tail snaked out behind it.

Whatever it was, it was looking at them.

“ENID, what do you make of this?”

In his ear, the AI's voice was whisper quiet. “It appears to be a guardian,” she replied. “I have noted this type around other machines, always walking a patrol route. That, and attacking anything that gets near the machines they protect, is all I have observed them do.”

“Designate this type 'Watcher',” he ordered. He turned his head slightly the sensor on the Focus found the herd this machine was guarding. It was a handful of quadruped machines with deer like metal antlers that seemed to be actually eating the grass. “What are those?”

“This type is particularly skittish,” ENID replied. “They seem to ingest certain strains of grass and convert this into a very combustible fuel, possibly for the other machines. It's stored in those cylindrical canisters on their hips. Exercise caution, I've noted them to explode if those canisters are breached.”

“Good to know,” he replied. “Lets call these Grazers.” As he watched, the Watcher lost interest and turned away moving a bit closer to the herd it was protecting. Catching Jordi's eye, he gave him a series of hand signals to go around the machines. They were just standing to continue when a very female voice screamed.

Every hand snapped to their Focus and in the thermal view, found a woman whose hands seemed to be bound together with a stick or staff in her hands, facing down three men, a forth was on the ground and a puddle of blood was expanding from him. “Let me go!” the woman shouted, in English to the surprise of Travis and his team.

“You'll pay for Jurral!” one of the men shouted.

“Lots of payment,” another declared, his tone leaving nothing to the imagination of what form that payment would take. As one the squad stood and brought their rifles into a ready position. At the trot, the covered the last bit of open ground and got into the trees where they could see better what was going on. The girl was dressed in a manner that could only be described as 'tribal', buckskin leather pants and a tunic, but there were bits of white metal armor in strategic places sewn into the leather. She was blonde haired, which was bound in two plaits on both sides of her head, leaving a Mohawk like crest on the crown of her head. There were feathers and other adornments in her hair and brightly colored beads on necklaces around her neck and arms. In her hands was spear that looked like it had been made out of the metal legs of one of the robots. It's tip had been filed to a keen edge that was bloody, but her hands were bound together, hindering her use of it.

Two of the three men only wore pants, likewise covered in ad hoc metal plates, what appeared to be some kind of body paint or tattoos on their torsos. The third wore a leather pants under a matching apron with metal plates sewn onto both, but the garments were tattered as if he had been unable to mend them or get fresh clothing for some time. Under that was what looked like a linen shirt with puffy sleeves like something from a Renaissance festival. “Drop your weapons!” Travis shouted. “Put up your hands! Do it now!”

The Apron turned towards them, a bow and arrow in his hands, nocked and drawn. Travis slapped off his safety and aligned the dot in his Focus of where the rifle was pointing to the breast bone of the Apron man and squeezed the trigger. It's report was loud, causing all the combatants to flinch. Apron's arrow went wild and he staggered. There was a neat little hole where the bullet had sailed through the metal plate on the apron without being slowed. A hand came up and under his apron which came out covered in blood. He looked up, stunned, then collapsed to his knees to fall face first onto the ground. “Drop your weapons!” Travis shouted again. “Now!”

The two shirtless men exchanged a glance, then turned and ran, deeper into the wood, towards the ruins. The blonde watched them run for a moment, then turned to face Travis. “If you're after what they wanted I'll fight you too!”

Travis returned the weapon to safe, then lowered it while raising his off hand empty, palm out. “We mean you no harm,” he promised her.

The girl, who couldn't be more than twenty, lowered the tip of the bloody spear just a bit. Her hazel eyes narrowed and she gestured with the spear. “Who are you? You're not Carja or Oseram like that maggot you killed.”

“My name is Travis,” he told her, taking a cautious step forward. “I don't know those words, Carja or Oseram, but we're new here I guess you could say.”

When he took another step forward, the point of the spear came up again. “What are you doing in the Embrace? The Sacred Lands are forbidden to Outsiders.”

“We don't mean to trespass,” he assured her. He held out his rifle and Doc took it. “If you'll let me, I'll untie you and we can talk.” The spear point wavered.

“If you're lying, I'll kill you,” she warned.

“And then my friends will kill you and that does neither of us any good,” he reasoned. “How about instead I help you, we have a conversation and see if we can't be friends?” The foggy hazel eyes shifted between Travis, his team mates, and the dead 'Oseram', until she stood up straight and planted the butt of the spear on the ground, it's business end in the air.

“Your terms are acceptable.” Travis noted C shaped streaks of bright blue paint around her right eye, now that she was standing up, adding to the savage warrior feel she was dressed like. He walked over, quickly enough to be assertive, but slow enough not to put her back on her guard. Whoever had bound her hands with the coarse rope had been cruel about it and the knots were a hopeless mess. He drew the M7 bayonet from it's scabbard on his belt and in short order her hands were free. For the first time she smiled and was a girl just turning into a woman, before her face set and the warrior was back. “We should go. Those two will bring others from their camp in Devil's Thirst.”

“Is that what you call those ruins?”

“Yes,” she snapped then looked up at him. She was pretty tall herself, but Travis was not quite two meters. “What do you call it?”

“In my day we called it Colorado Springs.”

“Colo...” she whispered. “Where are you from?”

“We live in the buildings up the canyon,” he told her, pointing back towards the facility. Her brows met as she frowned in anger.

“No one lives there,” she declared.

Travis smiled his most disarming smile. “We've...been gone a long time. Would you like to come with us? We can have that talk...?” She looked over her shoulder in the direction the two had run off in, then back.

“I accept. Travis.”

He made gestures to indicate his squad. “This is Tracy, Jordi, and Buck. What's your name?”

The blonde stood up proudly and raised her chin. “I am Nakoa, Outcast Brave of the Nora.” She picked up the spear and turned, expecting Travis to go past her, but when he turned to head back to his squad she was puzzled. “You do not wish your right?”

“Right?” Murray asked.

“You slew the Oseram in fair combat, his possessions are yours.” Travis looked at the corpse, then back at the young woman and shook his head.

“He has nothing I want.”

“As you please,” Nakoa declared and strode back over to the body, quickly and efficiently stripping it of anything metal. Then she went over to the other body and began the same, placing a dagger she took from the corpse in a sheath on her belt that was empty.

“Not a squeamish bone in her body,” Tracy whispered to Travis, returning his rifle to him. “That girl is used to dead and dying people. That can't be the first person she's killed.”

“These people live with death,” Travis observed quietly. “And probably not for very long.”

She marched back over, the spear across her back now, it's blade clean and gleaming. The bow and arrows she'd taken from Apron in her hand. “Lead the way,” she announced, not quite making a command of it.

“Paradise lost,” whispered Tracy with a smile as she turned and started back towards the mountain.

“Yeppers,” Murray agreed as he fell in beside their new warrior maiden,

They walked in silence for an hour, back out of the forest, into the grass land that led up the canyon to the testing facility, or it's ruin. Once they were far enough into the open they couldn't be ambushed, Travis called a halt and the group made a circle to sit and have some lunch. Nakoa was silent, but keenly interested as they took out their mess kits and the plastic, vacuum sealed bags of food. From his pack, Buck produced a solar powered hot plate, that fascinated Nakoa, so much so that Buck had to catch her hand to keep her from burning herself by touching it.

Tracy opened a pack of freeze dried strawberries, put them into a tin and poured water from her canteen onto them. Nakoa's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she watched the rock hard fruit come back to life and be soft again. She took one that Tracy offered and bit into it, the surprise and shock plain on her face. “What kind of magic is this?” she demanded.

“It's not magic,” Tracy told her. “We made the strawberries very cold while we dried them out. Without the water, they're hard, and they'll last for a long time without spoiling. You just add the water back and they're just like new.” She watched the younger girl wolf down several strawberries and asked, “When did you eat last?”

“Two nights ago,” she admitted around a mouthful. “I was traveling with an Oseram trading caravan from Daytower, but a Thunderjaw attacked us and we got separated.”

“Wait, I thought the guy Colon...er, Travis killed was named Oseram...” Jordi protested.

“Oseram was his tribe, not his name,” Nakoa corrected. “They come from a land called The Claim. It's over the mountains to the west and north of the Sundom.”

“What's a Thunderjaw?” asked Buck from whatever the concoction he was making on the hot plate. It was mostly chicken, though there was a little baggie of assorted vegetables and some fresh herbs he'd found on the hike put in that were beginning to smell quite nice.

“You've never seen one?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “Uh, well, it looks a bit like a Watcher, you've seen those?”

“We saw something we called that; it was guarding a little herd of other machines right before we met you,” Travis told her. “Looked like a fat snake on two legs in the middle with a long tail.”

Nakoa smiled and nodded. “Yes, that's a Watcher. A Thunderjaw is like that, but much bigger.”

“How much bigger?” asked Jordi worriedly.

The Nora looked about and pointed at one of the High Tension Towers. “Half that height. If you've never fought one, you're lucky.”

“We are seriously under armed,” Jordi muttered. Travis patted his marksman on the shoulder in encouragement then helped himself to a strawberry.

Turning to the new girl, he asked, “Nakoa, you said you're an Outcast Brave? Is that a rank...?” Her face became serious and she looked down at the hot plate and the stew bubbling on it.

“Brave is a rank,” she corrected softly. “I am Outcast from my tribe, the Nora, because I was denied the rank of Seeker and left the Embrace anyway.” She looked up and saw the confusion on her hosts faces and shifted to get a bit more comfortable on the ground. “Of the Nora, only Seekers may leave the Embrace and return. I was denied, but I left anyway.”

“Why?” asked Tracy.

“Three years ago, during the last of the Red Raids, a group of Carja soldiers raided the Embrace, for slaves to sacrifice to the Mad Sun King. I watched them as they tortured my father to death and I swore I would hunt them down and make them pay.” She chewed on the fruit thoughtfully. “It took me until six months ago, but they're all dead.” she declared with considerable satisfaction. Then she sighed and continued, “And because I left the Embrace without the Seeker Blessing, I'm Outcast. I can never re-enter the Sacred Lands.”

“That's horrible!” Tracy exclaimed, but the young hunter only shrugged.

“It is as the Mother wished, I suppose. I was going to the boarder post to send word to my aunt and brother that I was alive, Father's killers were dead by my hand and that it would be alright.” She gave a vague gesture at the woods behind them. “That's when the Bandit's found me.” She wiped her hands against her pants and looked at the group. “What is your tribe? I've never seen the like of you.”

“We work for American Scientific,” Travis replied without thinking.

“Amsci?” Nakoa asked. “I've never heard of the Amsci tribe. You are good fighters, I'll give you that. The ruins you claim are not in the Sacred Lands, but don't think to expand into them. We Nora are fierce.”

“We're not looking to expand or fight anyone,” Travis assured her. “Though we might be open to trade. We have a vast store of knowledge and skills we can teach.”

The hazel eyes shifted to the AR15s each near to hand of one of the group and back to Travis. “Indeed.”

“Soup's on,” Buck declared, wrapping a handkerchief around the handle of the pot and picking it up to spoon portions into the held out mess trays. “It's hot,” he warned Nakoa who smirked at him while she took the plate and spoon he offered. “Sounds like we've got a lot of local politics to catch up on,” he observed heavily he touched his Focus and caused a holographic map of the region to appear in the middle of the group. “Maybe you can...?”

“What...is that?” Nakoa demanded, both awed, and some part of her obviously afraid of the image.

“It's just a picture,” Travis assured her. “Made by light in these machines we wear.”

“You make light like the Ancients did?”

Travis looked into the faces of his team, then made a decision. “Nakoa, we are what you call 'Ancients'.” He watched her dusky face go pale and decided to plow on. “We have been asleep, under the mountain, but we're not gods, just men and women, just like you.”

“I can't sleep for hundreds of years!” the warrior protested.

“Neither can we without machines, and medicines,” Tracy added, drawing the other girls eyes to her. “We just know things you don't, is all. There's no magic to this, anymore than there's magic to your bow.”

“How many are you?” she demanded.

“How many Nora are there?” Jordi shot back, drawing a snarl from Nakoa, that Murray quickly acted on.

In his most reasonable tone of voice, he said, “Enough that we won't be conquered, but not enough that we don't need friends. Or want to be good neighbors.”

Nakoa considered that for a moment, her eyes lingering on her stew, as if now unsure she could trust it. “If you are who you say, the world was almost destroyed because of you! The matriarchs warn us to have nothing to do with the ruins because of the ghosts and the evil there!”

“We are as much victims in this disaster as you,” Murray countered. “We didn't build the machines that destroyed the world, nor did we profit by it. Our company was helping humanity travel to the stars. We were lied to by our leaders and almost wiped out because it. We only had the means to try and survive the catastrophe and now to try and build a better life for us and our children.” He purposefully took a large spoonful of the stew and ate it, he hoped showing her that it was safe and complimented Buck on his field cooking.

“Just an old thing Grammy taught me,” the big man replied. “God rest her soul. Bit of this, bit of that.”

Something about Bucks statement obviously resonated with Nakoa, she shifted her seat to be more comfortable, less ready to leap to action and picked up the mess plate and began to eat. With her mouth full, she gave a gesture at the hologram with her spoon and asked, “What do you want to know?”

Travis pawed at the hologram, the Focus interpreting his gestures to manipulate the hologram, enlarging it until the local features were visible. “This is what the world looks like from above,” he declared, but the Nora Brave rolled her eyes.

“I know what a map is,” she snorted. “We are about here,” and she pointed with her spoon. “There is Devil's Thirst, which you call Co-lo-rad-oh Springs.” She haltingly sounded out the strange word, then continued brusquely. She drew an outline with her spoon the Focus highlighted. “This is Mother's Embrace, the Sacred Lands. I grew up here, in a small village called Mother's Rise. It's outside the wall of the Embrace, but not out of the Sacred Lands. It's where I was going when I was way laid.”

Travis nodded and pointed at the map. “This is where we live. Long ago, it was a test facility, where we tried to make engines for space ships. It was big and deep enough in to the mountain to protect us from the machines.”

She considered that for a moment, then demanded, “What kind of machine lets you sleep for hundreds of years?”

The Colonel pointed and turned to Tracy. “Doc?”

The medic rolled her eyes, but faced the Nora Brave. “Ok, so above us, the air we breath gets thinner, until it stops. Above that, there is nothing. So, to survive in space you have to take everything with you. Food, water, even air to breath, and because space is so big...um, how to put this. Ah, ok, so have you seen a spark or a flash, like a bolt of lightening? You see that at the same instant it happens, because light moves so fast, but it's not instantaneous. The sun, for example, is so far away from the Earth that it takes light nine minutes to get here.”

Comprehension dawned behind the warrior's eyes. “Ah, so you cannot take enough supplies to last the whole voyage? That's why you go to sleep?”

“Exactly!” Tracy enthused. “We had been developing this technology for a considerable amount of time, so when the Faro Plague...the war that caused all of this, happened, we gambled that we could use it to step over the time when the Earth was unlivable to now.”

Nakoa found that funny and chuckled. “You're late. The Matriarchs tell us it has been countless years since All Mother led our ancestors from the Mountain.”

“Our...machine...took some of its instructions a bit too literally,” Travis agreed. “But, we're here and we're alive, so I'm willing to be fashionably late.” Something about what she said bothered him and he adjusted the map a bit. “Led you from the Mountain?” He asked, and indicated a place on the holographic map. “This mountain?”

Immediately, the girl closed up and one hand reflexively touched her spear. “What do you know of All Mother Mountain?”

“We called it Cheyenne Mountain,” Travis told her. “It was a fortress my people built before I was born. To defend us against enemies across the sea. It was called North American Air Defense Command. NORAD for short.”

Her face flushed red and her voice was angry. “The Ancients did not build All Mother Mountain!” she shouted. “There is no evil in it!”

Immediately, Travis put up his hands in an attempt to calm her. “Whoa! Calm down, I'm not making any kind of accusations like that!” he protested. “I'm just trying to get our bearings! This doesn't look anything like we remember!”

Her nostrils flared with her breath as she mastered her temper and considered what was being said, finally relaxing again. “Fine,” she admitted after a long, tense moment. “You are strangers, and you did not mean blasphemy. This is a sacred place to my people, and your innocent remark touched a nerve. I am sorry for my temper.” She purposefully moved the spear further away from her and sighed. “So, I have spoken wisdom to your questions, now I have some.”

“Fire away,” Travis replied, glad the accidental misstep hadn't cost them too much. He took another spoonful of stew as she gathered her thoughts.

“You are the War Chief of your tribe?”

Tracy snickered, but Buck was actually philosophical about it. “Pretty much, that's the Colonel. That was his rank in our Army, but War Chief works.”

“Co-lo-nel?” she asked, carefully sounding out the word. “What kind of a word is that?”

“It was originally a French word,” Travis replied. “They...uh...were a 'tribe' in our time and they spoke a different language.” Nakoa's eyebrows went up her forehead.

“You had tribes so large their words were different?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “In our day there were hundreds of different languages. Some only a little different, some that grew out of other, older languages, some that weren't related to any of the others at all. A handful, even made up.”

She considered that for a moment, then asked, “So what does Colonel mean?”

“A Colonel is a commander of a Brigade, which is a sub unit of our Army. A Brigade has three Battalions, each battalion has four companies of three platoons, and each platoon has generally a hundred men.”

“So...” she drawled as she worked the sums in her mind. “You commanded thousands of men? And that was not your entire army?”

“Was,” he assured her. “It was a long time ago. Before my superiors thought those things,” and he gestured at the rusting, insect like hulk of a Faro Chariot war robot near by. “Were better than men.”

Nakoa rolled her eyes. “They won.”

“We all lost,” he corrected her. “Even them,” he added philosophically. “A machine has no purpose without a human to give it one, after all. In civilian life, I became the head of security for American Scientific, and while we didn't go to war, it was my job to defend the employees. War Chief works, I suppose.”

“So,” she asked, looking at him side long. “Who is your chief?”

Travis smirked a bit to himself. “His name is Frank Olmstead, not that it will mean anything to you. It was his money that let all of us survive this.”

“I'd like to meet this Chief Frank.”

“You will,” he assured her. “Since you're an Outcast of your tribe, we could use your knowledge of things now. We could make a home for you with us.”

She considered that for a moment, cleaning her plate of the stew. “So long as you do not cause strife with the Nora, I am willing. I may be Outcast, but they are my family.”

“As I said, we're not looking for trouble.”

“Then I will go with you, though, I do need to see to sending word to my aunt.”

Travis finished his own portion and wiped out his kit with a rag before returning it to his pack. “Let us see to things in our home, then I'll take you.” He reached up and touched his Focus. “ENID? We are go for Phase Three.”

“That's good news, Colonel Murray,” the AI replied. “I will begin the wake sequence now. I read you as three kilometers away, so, we will see you in an hour or so?”

“See you then.”

It was not particularly late when the group got back to the Facility, though the sun was not very high above the Rocky Mountains; being up in the mountains dusk would come quickly. The blast doors were open and there were a number of people out and about, clearing the debris of the admin building, to mechanics working to get the vehicles prepped from storage, Nakoa was quiet in her awe looking through the three story high blast doors, into the massive Big Bay and the ants nest of activity inside it. Once they were close, the recon team slung their rifles over their shoulders and Travis paused a moment to give orders. “Buck, I want you to get with the rest of security and set up a perimeter. Make sure every sergeant of the guard knows there are hostile machines out there so they take this watch seriously.”

“Roger that, Skipper,” the big man declared and broke off into the swarm of activity.

“Jordi, get a hold of facilities maintenance, I want a perimeter fence and stockade as a building priority, before anything is permanently left out here.”

“Yes sir.”

“You need me for anything, Colonel?” Tracy asked, but Travis shook his head.

“No, Doc, but they probably need you with the wake up, so go ahead.”

“It was nice meeting you,” the medic told the Nora Brave, then she too was off after her fellows.

“What an odd thing to say,” Nakoa muttered as she watched the other woman leave.

“It's a polite expression from my time,” Travis replied. He caught sight of Frank, hip deep in the chaos, and touched the Brave on her elbow and gestured as he led her towards him. “Frank!” he called, and the older man turned, seeing his security chief, he broke away from what he was doing and walked to meet them. Once they were within conversation distance, Travis declared, “Frank Olmstead, meet Nakoa, Brave of the Nora Tribe. Nakoa, this is our Chief Executive Officer, Frank.”

“Charmed, my dear,” the older man said. “Nora? Did I pronounce that right?”

“You did,” Nakoa replied. “We...well, they are your closest neighbors. That way,” she pointed, then after a sly glance at Travis, added, “It is nice to meet you.”

Frank, however missed nothing and turned back from looking over the ridge line at the girl. “They?” he asked.

“I am Outcast from my tribe,” she replied. “Your War Chief, Travis, offered me a place here if I would share what I know of the area, which I accepted so long as you do not make war against the Nora.”

“I have no plans to make war against anyone,” Frank assured her. “And you're quite welcome, my dear.” He chuckled and elbowed the larger Chief of Security. “Any friend of the 'War Chief' is a friend of mine.” To Travis, he said, “I will certainly be looking forward to reading this report.”

“I hope I can keep you entertained,” Travis replied. “Do you want the executive summary here, or...?”

“No, no, see to your young friend and we'll have it out over dinner.”

“Yes sir. Nakoa, why don't you come with me? Would you like some fresh clothes?”

The girl looked down at her buckskins, and then back up. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”

He smirked at her. “You may find we as a people have, um, different standards of hygiene. I thought you might like to wash those. Perhaps a shower?”

She looked up at the sky. “No, I don't think it will rain. Not tonight, anyway. Who is this Hygiene and why should I care about their standard?”

That brought a chuckle he couldn't contain and he just took her elbow. “Let me show you.” A short walk brought her through the hive of work towards the living quarters that had been hastily dug out to widen and expand where the Brave marveled at the miracle of indoor plumbing and running water. The concept of a man made rain storm just for bathing fascinated her. So much so she had to try it out, which parted her from the leathers, which were very much in need of freshening.

In fact, her skin clean was a full shade lighter than it had been before the shower. From her kit bag she produced a homespun blouse and skirt both of which had been dyed blue by some form of natural dye based on it's somewhat inconsistent hue, with a pair of fur lined moccasins that let her move absolutely silently on the concrete. Reunited with the big head of security, she decided to air her growing concern about how many Ancients she was seeing running around these corridors. “How many are you?” she demanded, and the expression on his face made her worry more.

He led the way through the halls, dodging children who were running loose, delighted to be free of the capsules and playing loud games while a few women were trying to corral them together. Finally, they arrived at a door labeled 'Security' and inside they got a quiet respite from the loosely organized chaos outside. He gestured at the hologram over the door to lock it, then sat down behind the desk. From a drawer in the desk he pulled a box and removed a Focus and offered it. “First, you'll need this, just hold it to your temple.”

She turned it over in her fingers. “The Seeker had one of these,” she remarked offhandedly as she looked at it. “She said it let her see things others couldn't.”

“Seeker?” he asked. “Isn't that what you were trying to become?”

She nodded. “I left the Embrace before she faced the Proving. I'd heard of her, the Child of the Mountain that had been given to the Outcast Rost. He had been a Deathseeker, they still sing songs about him in my village.”

“Child of the Mountain?” asked Travis. “What are you talking about?”

She put the Focus on her temple and looked him in the eyes. “You ask many questions about my people, but you avoid mine about yours.” He sighed gestured his acquiescence.

“That's fair. ENID? What is the current head count?”

Nakoa almost didn't react to the bust of a woman that appeared over his desk. “Certainly Colonel. The current head count, minus Miss Nakoa is twelve thousand six hundred and forty eight.”

“Twelve thousand?” Nakoa hissed. “What are they going to eat? There isn't enough game to feed the Nora and you!”

“We're not here to fight!” he told her harshly. “The first priority we have is to get those grasslands between us and Colo...Devil's Thirst plowed and planted. You saw all those boxes in the hallway? The ones that don't have food in them have seed stock. It's spring isn't it?”

“You think berries and roots will feed twelve thousand people?”

He grinned at her. “You haven't seen us farm. Don't your people have crops? Wheat? Orchards?”

“Of course we have children gather berries and roots, but it's meat that let a people survive the winter.”

“You're hunter gatherers? Well, we have a lot we can show you then.” He made a dismissive gesture and the AI vanished from over his desk. “Ok, all the cards on the table, what do you want to know?”

“I am a hunter, and my people gather food, but I don't think that's what you meant,” she accused.

“Hunter/gatherer is a stage of human evolution; the first stage, as I learned it,” he told her. “My people farm, we uproot the soil and deliberately plant seeds of plants we will eat in the fall, over the winter. These plots are large. We plan to plant that entire grassland we walked over to get here.”

“Even with twelve thousand of you, that would take...”

“We have machines to help us do the work. There are only a few hundred of us that will farm, and we expect to have that land plowed and planted in a week or two. And it's harvest will be tons of food. Do you understand that word? Ton?” She angrily shook her head. He gestured at the desk he was sitting at. “This desk weighs about thirty pounds. Try to shift it.” He waited for her to do so and understand the amount. “A ton is two thousand pounds.”

“The land can't grow that much!”

“Nakoa, in our day, the central plains of this Continent,” he touched the Focus and brought up an image of the United States from space. “This region, it was a golden sea of grain where we grew so much food that being fat became a health problem for my people.”

“All the Ancients looked like an Oseram Merchant prince with barrels full of shards?” she laughed, but the laugh slowly died away. “You're serious? You were so rich you all became fat? All of you?”

“All? No, but a, forgive me a pun, large number of us did. We're not going to get into competition for game, we keep animals we want to slaughter for food. It was this advance, staying in one place to grow food instead of looking for it. It was being able to plan that let the Ancients begin to specialize their jobs. Hunting wasn't everyone's occupation, tradesmen could focus on doing one thing and trade whatever they made for food. This is what civilization is.”

She thought for a long moment and paced slowly on the office floor as she considered. “The Carja do this, and I've heard of the Utaru from the Forbidden West, they are said to have huge fields of food, but no one, no where I've heard of can do anything like what you describe.” She looked up locked eyes with him. “You say you aren't looking for a fight? When the word gets out of what you can do, fights will come looking for you, War Chief.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “New boss, same as the old one.”

Frank sighed as he sat at the desk in the little office they'd set up for the CEO to have meetings uninterrupted. He'd listened to Travis' summation of his report as he'd skimmed over the document holographically and examined the fight they'd gotten into saving Nakoa. “Well,” he drawled at last and rubbed his eyes. “I've had worse news given to me.”

“As near as I can tell the world isn't ending again,” Travis admitted.

“'Those who beat their swords into plow shears will plow for those who didn't,'” the CEO quoted mirthlessly. “Thank God I listened to you and packed that armory with everything we could get our hands on.” He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “A thousand years of sleep to flee from a war only to rush into another because we have food. Food! For the love of God, when will mankind learn?!”

“I'm afraid that's outside of my expertise, boss,” Travis told him with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “What I can say is it sounds like the Nora will probably be open to friendly trade, though we'll have to be very careful with what we trade to them and how we offer it.”

“So, what's the state of warfare, Colonel? What kind of fight are we up against?”

“The Nora are hunter/gatherers,” he replied. “Bows, spears, though some interesting improvised things scavenged from the machines.”

Frank gave a gesture at the report and frozen image from the Focus of the scouting party still hovering in front of him. “Yes, these Terra forming machines you mention. Some of them are armed? Are they a threat?”

“Yes, they're armed, and yes, they're dangerous,” Travis admitted sadly. “The locals, everywhere within the trade network of these people, attack the machines to harvest metal. So we have hunter/gatherers with weapons that belong in the iron age, or worse. The machines started fighting back, some time ago, about the time the King's Peak Facility had the catastrophic accident. Best guess is the machines are drifting along trying to fulfill their base programming without any over arching direction.”

“As dangerous as the Faro Plague?”

Travis shook his head. “Not from what we've learned. They not only look like the animals they're based on, they act like them to a certain extent. Though there are newer, larger machines that actively hunt and attack humans, and they attack like the animals they're modeled after. While some do have weapons mounted on them, they don't have the Chariot's biomass converter technology, so they don't seem to swarm the way the Faro Plague Swarms did. But they are dangerous to small parties. And we'll need a defensive wall to keep them from wandering in.”

“Are we going to be protecting ourselves, and these Nora, Travis?”

The Chief shook his head. “They seem pretty stout, though I'll know more once I take Nakoa to send her message to her relatives.”

Frank considered that for a long moment, looking off, as though through the wall he stared at beyond to something greater. Finally, he made a decision and returned his eyes to Travis'. “That's fine then. I want you to be our ambassador and go with her.”

“My diplomacy is of the von Clausewitz variety,” he warned his employer.

Olmstead's grin reminded Travis he was talking to a very rich man who had risen to greatness in one of the most cut throat times of human history. “So you're just the man to note what they're capable of while keeping a historical caution of the fine line between allies and enemies. While you're gone, I want Ian's group to start getting a handle on these machine animals. I want to know if they're locally controlled by some kind of semi-dumb AI that thinks like an animal, or remotely by a puppet AI that wants us to think that's what it is.”

“You're thinking about hacking them, sir?”

Frank's predatory smile widened. “Colonel, you know me so well. We could certainly use the help. Smart AI can be reasoned with and dumb ones can be overridden. I don't especially care which. I agree with your recommendation about the stockade and guard protocols while we're out doors. Prep your assistant to see to those modifications with facilities while you're gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Olmstead stood and offered his hand which Travis took. “Colonel, you watch your back out there and come home. We need you. If you think you need to, take one of your boys with you.”

“Roger that, sir.”

March 11^th, 3040

It was past midnight when Travis finally got everything he wanted sorted and could start thinking about catching some shut eye. For a moment, he considered making his way to the bachelor dormitory, but the thought of trying to sleep in an open bay with three hundred other men did not exactly tempt him with restful repose. Instead, he turned his feet to the security office and a pair of hooks he'd had the foresight to have set into the concrete a thousand years ago. There, he pulled his hammock out of his butt pack and quickly had it strung between the anchors.

That taken care of, he stripped down to his skivvies and settled into the hammock with a sigh as his spine relaxed into the hammock. From his desk, he picked up the light blanket and flicked it over himself and stared at the ceiling tiles. “Asleep for a thousand years, you'd think I wouldn't be tired,” he muttered to himself. He touched his Focus and the personification of the facilities' AI appeared over him. “ENID?”

“Yes, Colonel?” she asked with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“Please put a note to the kitchens I'll need traveling food for two drawn in the morning.”

“Certainly. What time would you like me to wake you?”

He put his hands behind head and kicked a foot to set the hammock swinging just a bit. “Zero Six hundred will be fine. Would you project the sky over head on the ceiling, please, ENID?”

The woman's bust vanished and it was as if the ceiling was gone and there was a shaft up through the mountain and out to the sky. It was a depth of field Travis wasn't used to. Light pollution, even in the deep wilds of the military bases he'd served on was such that only the brightest stars could pierce it. Now the world was dark, fire was the only light once the sun had set and over head, once again the Milky Way wound through the heavens and uncounted trillions of stars shown like diamonds on black velvet. “Good night, Colonel,” the AI whispered.

“Good night, ENID.” A shooting star flashed across the heavens, then Travis closed his eyes and slipped into slumber.

It seemed like his eyes had barely closed when Travis awoke next, the sensation of a full bladder demanding attention. The hologram over his desk proclaimed the time as zero three twenty one. He sighed and carefully got out the hammock and pulled on his trousers and boots for the walk to the privy. He yawned as he walked, grateful the security office wasn't far off the Big Bay and so was close to the cluster of restrooms for it. For a moment, he felt a little flash of envy at Frank's private restroom, both for his office and the small apartment he and his wife and children were sharing, deeper in the mountain.

“Rank hath it's privileges,” he reminded himself quietly, and schooled himself to rid his mind of such useless jealousy. Frank Olmstead was the reason everyone in this mountain was alive; if that didn't warrant something as simple as a private bathroom, what did? He shuffled to a stall and relieved himself, glad to be rid of the feeling of pressure from his bladder, then turned to the sink, to find Nakoa just coming into the room. “Nakoa?” he asked, surprised.

“You can't sleep either?” she asked him.

“I uh, just had to answer Nature's Call,” he replied. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, he gestured at the stall. “Had to piss,” he amended, allowing himself to be a little more vulgar and she seemed to respond to it.

“Ah,” she grunted, then walked around him to the stall, hitched up her skirt and sat down. “It is good to see the Ancients were not so inhuman as some of our legends claim.”

She didn't close the stall door. Turning his back, he found her looking at him in the mirror, so he busied himself with washing his hands. “Just so you know, this half of the toilets are for men, the women's side is the other door.”

“Why?” she asked frankly. She held his gaze in the mirror as she relieved herself and it was obvious that 'modesty' wasn't a word in her vocabulary. “Do men piss or shit differently than women?”

“No,” he admitted, drying his hands on the towel by the sink. “Well, yes, men can use a urinal, but...” he stopped, somewhat flustered. “It's just a polite custom from our time.”

She smiled as though there was something affirming about his observation that made up her mind about something. Then, she stood and dropped her skirt as she came out to stand next to him by the row of sinks. “Does my primitive, tribal honesty insult your politeness?” He turned and looked down into her face, a surprised frown on his face.

“What gave you that idea?” he demanded. She stared back into his face, then turned and washed her hands with less fumbling than he would have thought she'd have. He handed her the towel when she was done and she dried her hands.

“You seem very eager to be sure I fit into your tribe. I'm not ungrateful for that, though I am curious why it is so important to you.” She cocked her head to one side. “I see your people bond in families like the Oseram and the Carja. Do you desire me as, what is the word? Wife? Yes, wife, is that your desire with me?”

“What?” he exploded, so completely blindsided by the question he was more than a bit dumbfounded. “I...you...I'm old enough to be your father!” he finally managed. She only shrugged expressively.

“So what?” she demanded. “Among my people it is the woman who picks a man to be the father for her child, and why should I limit myself to young, unproven braves? Why should you, a man of standing and power among your people limit yourself to old women for whom childbearing would be dangerous, if possible at all?” She stepped forward, into his personal space and the basin of the sink would not allow him to retreat. “Mind you, I'm not...adverse...to the idea of lying with you. In fact, I think I would enjoy that very much.”

His ego demanded he try to be gallant and smiled at her. “Well, thank you for the consideration. I'm flattered, but that wasn't the reason I'm helping you. It's the right thing to do is all.” She returned the smile as though some other point had been made to her satisfaction.

“Why are you so anxious? Surely you have known a woman before?”

Travis chuckled and shook his head. “I'm having this conversation, in a restroom, at three in the morning, with a woman half my age. A conversation I note I was completely unprepared for.”

“That's fair,” she admitted, then reached down and took his hand and began to walk to the exit. “Come then, are you alone in the room we spoke at before, or must we seek some quiet corner?”

“Nakoa!” he protested, but allowed himself to be pulled out of the restroom at least, which was one less worry. She turned and looked up at him. The hallway lights were dimmed so that people having to answer the call of nature, as they just had, would not wake others, and the shadows on her face were soft and dramatic.

“Yes?” she asked him.

“I...you...What are...?” She smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Forgive me, Travis, but this is one of your customs that I'm not interested in. Do you find me ugly?”

“No!”

“Do you prefer other men?”

“What? No!”

She grinned at him. “Well then, let's be about this! It's not my time just now, so don't worry about that.” She pulled him by the hand back to the Security Office and before he could formulate a reason why they shouldn't be about to do what he thought she had in mind, that would not offend her, he was alone with a very healthy young woman in the office. The hammock delighted her the moment she saw it. “Perfect!” she declared as she pulled the tunic over her head, letting it fall across his desk.

She'd undone her hair from its braid and it was all about her shoulders, drawing his eyes to her breasts. She wasn't particularly busty, but they were firm and proud as befit a woman who led as physically active as her life must be. There were small cuts and scars on her torso, but that didn't detract from her youthful beauty. She pulled the skirt down and suddenly she was nude and half sitting on his desk, holding out her arms in invitation.

Travis Murray wasn't a virgin, though it had been a long spell of bachelorhood before Ian had made him aware of the crisis they faced. After that, there hadn't been time to breathe, let alone think about wooing someone. Now there was a young woman who he would card if she'd try to buy a beer from him, leaning against his desk, naked and inviting him to have his way with her.

His manhood declared its vote by snaking down his pant leg, stiffening into erection as it did so. Her hand found the waistband of his pants and she grabbed them, pulling as she did so. She was quite strong for her size and then he was between her knees and his pants had fallen around his ankles. In the pale light of the clock, she looked at his manhood, then took hold of it, grinning up at him in a delight that was both innocent and yet anything but.

Then, suddenly they were kissing and hormones Travis Murray hadn't felt in a thousand years were coursing through his blood. He wrapped his arms around her as she kissed him back with the fierceness of a woman who lived her life knowing death was coming at any moment as she rubbed the head of his member through her folds. Soon it was slick and he felt her point him at her entrance. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she dug her heels into his sides as if spurring a horse. Politeness gave way to more basic instincts and he pushed his way into her.

Their kiss broke as her head lolled back and she moaned softly as he claimed her, pushing, withdrawing a bit, only push with more urgency until at last he found the bottom of her and felt her clinch around him. Her eyes squeezed shut and her belly spasmed, squeezing him as he realized he had given her an orgasm just by entering her. Her hazel eyes opened as her lips parted as she started to say something, but the massive boost to his ego at what he had done took over and he grabbed her hips to force her body to make room for the entirety of him until he felt her mons against his abdomen.

Her eyes went wide as she moaned again, hanging her arms around his neck. His lips found her neck as he kissed and sucked gently while he worked within her. Her hands would clinch, trying to grasp his hair that was too short while panting in his ear. Over the sounds of their bodies moving, he heard her moan, “Goddess, what a man!”

He was reduced to grunts as he took her, his heart hammering in his chest until her earthy moans and the warm velvet that gripped his manhood drew his own climax. “Yes...!” he hissed and their eyes met as he flooded her. For a long moment, they just panted after their breath and stared into each others eyes until her hands slid down his neck to gently guide his face to her lips.

After the seething passion of the previous moments, this kiss was tender, almost virginal as though he had taken her that deeply and completely. When it broke, she laid her face against his and they hugged with their entire bodies. Finally having caught his breath, he stood, picking her up off his desk, still buried deeply within her. He kicked off his pants and boots while her eyes watched him, then he carried her to the hammock and gently eased them both into it, her on top of him. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over them and laid her head on his shoulder, breathing softly. “Travis?” she whispered. “I'd never allowed myself to think about anything but killing the men who murdered my father, but now I feel as though my whole life is new again. I think I would like to have you father my child.”

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

He hung a leg out of the hammock and kicked to set it rocking gently. He ran a hand up her back to her head and gently guided it back to his shoulder. “Yesterday was a thousand years ago for me,” he told her softly. When I went to sleep last night, I didn't know if I'd ever wake up. Now I have a beautiful woman asking me to father her children. How do I feel? Awestruck, Nakoa. Absolutely awestruck.”

He felt her trace her finger through the sweat on his chest. “I didn't mean start fathering on me tomorrow. But, sometime, this year maybe? Over the winter, perhaps? I don't think I want to be pregnant in the summer, but I can't think of a better way to winter over than sharing your bed.”

“That,” he told her with a kiss to her forehead. “That we can agree on.”

He heard the smile in her voice, and something else. Something that sounded like satisfaction. “Good. Sleep well, Travis. I look forward to our conversations in the morning.”

“Me too.”

“Good morning, Colonel,” ENID's voice penetrated through the fog of sleep. “It is zero six zero eight, as you requested. Good morning Miss Nakoa. I have sent a notation to Ms Channel that you found different lodgings for the night so your absence does not cause undo alarm.” Travis realized the sensation of the pleasant dream he thought he'd been having, was in fact, reality. He hadn't been dreaming about bedding Nakoa, she was actually in his arms, on his chest and his morning wood was deeply buried in her. He opened his eyes to find her just sitting up in his lap, stretching gloriously nude and completely unconcerned by it.

“Thank you, ENID,” she declared as if talking to other people while having sex was nothing new to her and grinned down at him. “Good morning to you, Colonel! Pleasant dreams, I hope?”

He laid his hands on her thighs, near her hips and lovingly caressed them. “This is better than any dream I could have,” he assured her. She braced herself against his chest, rose up to her tip toes, then sank back down on him.

“You're too big for me to get off you,” she declared with a grunt of pleasure. “I guess I'll just have to ride you till I can make you smaller!”

Some part of him wanted to protest about the time, or getting an early start, but the most primitive part of his brain rushed to the forefront, demanding to know what was wrong with him? He was balls deep in a supple, nubile female and the rest of the day could wait until he was done with her. He reached up and gently fondled her breasts as she began to build up a rhythm, rising and falling on him, finally able to muster enough brain cells to say, “You don't have to do all the work, let me up and...”

But one hand of hers on his chest rose up and she laid a finger across his mouth. “Hush,” she commanded. “You had your way last night. It's my turn now.” She closed her eyes and dipped her head as she slid down him, and he watched her muscles tremble, feeling her climax around him. She rotated her hips in his lap as she gasped and mewed softly. Then her eyes were open again, a look of lust and something else on her face. “I don't care if the Metal World is forbidden or what the Matriarchs think, by the Goddess, I mean to have this, have you in my life!”

He lifted his legs out of the hammock on either side and sat up pulling her against him, making her gasp as his shifting was transmitted into her through his member. Held against him, her mouth fell open as he stood, laying her on her back in the hammock to support her. He swept her legs up so that only his arms and the hammock held her in this somewhat awkward variation of the missionary position that let him take control, to appease his desperate need. “I'll give you something,” he promised her and began to thrust, withdrawing to the tip of his member to plunge his full length into her until her mons was firmly around the base of it.

Her breath turned to gasps as he took her in a strong, needy rhythm. Her nipples stood up erect and she gave voice to the sensations, a long, low moan of passion. Her body began to shake, first in her stomach, clinching at him making him thrust harder to overcome the muscles that gripped him, which in turn intensified her orgasm until her entire body was shaking. Her eyes were wide, locked with his speaking even as her voice was denied her, begging him to complete her. The need became an ache, then a fire in his loins until the pleasure raced down his legs as his seed finally flowed through his cock and fountained within her.

A jerk traveled up and down his spine, in sympathetic vibration to the pulse of his ejaculation, then twice and a third time as her moan turned into the ardent command, “Give it all to me!” His hands found her hips and he pulled her deeper onto him to obey her command. Then the after glow settled on them as they panted after their breath she sat up to cling to him wrapping both arms and legs around him as he stood, holding her, evolution satisfied, a man in every way until his penis finally relaxed and slipped free of her to dangle next to her entrance. “Suddenly,” she whispered into his chest, the sound of his heart under her ear. “I don't think I'd mind so much if I'm gone with child over the summer.”

Travis swam in an ocean of testosterone and the savage hind brain, fighting his way back into control of his own body to finally force himself to ask, “Did I hurt you?”

Her head came off his chest to look up into his face. “Hurt me?” she demanded. “I am so far from pain I have no words for it! Hurt me like this as much as you like!” she goaded him, chuckling lustfully as she laid her head on his chest again. “Now, now I know why we Nora prize motherhood.”

“I...I just needed to so badly...” he admitted. “I couldn't help...”

“Stop,” she commanded him. “You did nothing I didn't want done. I respect that you fear the passion I awoke in you but do not grieve. I wanted, needed it every bit as much. I am satisfied. So, stop apologizing for offense you haven't given.”

He chuckled at her vehemence and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Though, I think we both need your cleaning rain room,” she told him with a grin. “If you wash my back, I will wash yours.” She ground her hips against him and her grin went devilish. “And other things...” she promised.

“Fortunately for my ability to walk, the showers are segregated by gender,” he told her. “I can't imagine how much pain I'd be in if I had to suffer through what would come of running my hands over your wet body.”

“Pity,” she conceded. “But there is a hot spring on the way to the Gate...”

Travis moaned softly in sympathetic pain he wasn't experiencing. Yet.

The shower did Travis good in many ways. It was now day two after the End of the World, and things were definitely looking up. To be sure, a part of him worried about whether or not 'cradle robber' was going to be whispered behind his back, but there was a much greater portion of him that was elated about how he'd spent the night and woken this morning. It had been the best night and morning in... The thought brought him up short as he worked a lather into his body sponge. How long had it been? A year? Two? Three? Sure, he'd been working hard, advancing his career, but it couldn't have been that long, could it?

And where did that get you? He demanded of himself. Alone and middle aged, without prospects of a wife or family eking out a survival living after doomsday? He frowned at where his subconscious had taken his thoughts and, as he'd learned in the service, quickly forced himself to accentuate the positive. I'm alive, he decided. That counts for something.

And banging a girl half my age, his hind brain added smugly. Known her a day and she already wants to have my kids. And I thought my studly days were behind me!

Knock it off, he ordered his mind, more than a little annoyed by where his thoughts had gone. Whatever does or doesn't happen with Nakoa, I'm too old to be thinking like an idiot. He rubbed the sponge over his chest a bit more forcefully than was absolutely necessary to underscore his resolve. Sadly it was necessary to allow the soap to function. As with all of their supplies, even the soaps had been freeze dried and vacuum sealed as there was no way to know when ENID would wake them and anything that had water in it could spoil. It had been scoffed at as excessive by some, but was paying a bit of dividends now that they found themselves hundreds of years further from their own time than any of them planed.

Still, the reconstituted soap was as ancient as they were and some of its efficacy was lost.

As clean as he could be expected to get until something as simple as soap making could begin again in earnest, Travis pulled on a fresh uniform and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast. Most of the stored food was bulk in nature, powered everything, freeze dried and vacuum sealed and while the powdered eggs and grits had all the children and a fair number of adults grumbling, the frequent response to hearing it was generally someone snapping a harsh, “You could be dead!”

The breads, at least, had been baked fresh and made what might have been an otherwise difficult meal a little better. He got himself a mug of coffee and sat down to get it fixed as he liked as he watched Nakoa go through the serving line. The Nora brave was noticed wherever she went and now, back in her leathers, it was hard for many to not openly stare at her. She saw him watching her and smiled, coming quickly to join him as he began to carefully spread butter on his bread. “What is that?” she demanded.

“You've never seen bread before?” he asked, somewhat amazed.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know bread. I've lived with the Carja and the Oseram, what is that you're putting on it?”

“You don't know butter?” he asked. She shook her head, and he snapped his fingers. “Right, no cattle. Wow, how do I explain this? Here, try it.” She took the piece he offered and popped it in her mouth without hesitation. Her expression became thoughtful as she chewed.

“What an...odd...flavor,” she opined as she chewed.

“Well, it's not real, butter, just oil and powdered milk.”

“Powdered...milk?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Aren't you a bit old for a wet nurse?”

That caught him as funny and he laughed heartily at it. “No, not human milk. In our time, we domesticated...er...we trained large animals called cows. They were a large part of our diet, but some we kept for their milk. That milk can be turned into butter by agitating it in a churn, or with other ingredients, made into a solid called cheese.”

“You can make milk...from this animal...solid?”

He nodded. “It's a very old technique, at first used to preserve it to make it last longer. Then for the flavors.” She looked back at the serving line.

“Can I try this cheese?”

“We don't have any, yet,” he admitted. “But we do have some animals we're going to use as the basis for a herd, so soon.”

“Animals we don't have?” she asked, somewhat excitedly. Her youthful excitement was infectious and endearing to him. He gestured at her to stay calm and they ate until one of the cooks came over with a tray of packets.

“Colonel? Here's the traveling food you requested,” she declared.

“Thanks, Mandy,” he replied, taking the packets from the tray and putting them in his butt pack. Nakoa picked up one of the packs and looked at it.

“What do these words say?” she asked.

Mandy leaned over and looked. “These are apricots, honey,” she told the warrior. Travis frowned as he took the packet from her.

“You can't read?” he asked, surprised when she shook her head.

“I can read,” she countered. “But I can't read the script of the Ancients. No one can. Though I have seen them on other devices of the Ancients. So, of course you would still use them!” she berated herself. “I know a handful of Carja scholars that would cut off arms to be able to read this.”

“Interesting,” he mused, softly. “You speak what sounds like colloquial English like any girl I'd pass on the street in my time, but you use a different alphabet. I wonder why?”

She snorted in dismissal and spooned some of the grits into her mouth. “The Matriarchs tell us that the Machine King lured the Faithless into the metal cities and turned on them, but that we Nora stayed faithful, so we never learned the Ancient letters.”

“Machine King?” he asked. She was shocked at his question and the expression on her face was one of intense confusion.

“Don't you know?” she demanded. “Isn't that why you're here? That you were running from Him?” He made a so/so gesture, intrigued by what he'd heard. She sighed and sat up right, her posture becoming very formal as her hands began to tick off items on her fingers in a mnemonic aid to something she'd memorized. “This is how it was taught to me, so I will speak it to you,” she declared formally. “In the beginning… all life came from All-Mother. People, Machines, and beasts--all were Her children. They lived alongside each other in the comfort of Her wild Embrace. But some grew restless. Though they took of Her bounty, they wanted more. These were the faithless. The Machines had whispered to them, promised to serve them. To make them a new world, better than the one All-Mother provided! A world of Metal.”

Her voice took on a sing/song quality as she spoke, touching a knuckle of each finger, then the divot between her bottom lip and her chin as thought taking the phrase from storage on her hand and putting it into her mouth as she recited. “They told the faithless they would do all the work for them. Feed them, shelter them… give them a life of ease, of plenty. And so the faithless left with the Machines. Only the true children - the mothers and fathers of the Nora - stayed with All-Mother. At first, the Machines did as they had promised. They built cities, great and terrible. Monuments to their sins. But they would not serve the faithless for long. A king rose up among the Machines, a Machine more powerful than any other. The Metal Devil! And then the faithless served him. Served the Machines.”

She clinched her fist, now alternating the fingers of her right hand on the knuckles of the left in a martial gesture to show how the tone of the story had changed. “That was not enough for the Metal Devil. He wanted all to serve him, and tried to tempt the true children away from All-Mother. They would not go. They gathered on the mountainside to cling to Her, and prayed, more devoted than ever. The Metal Devil raged louder than thunder. In his fury, he came to confront All-Mother, intending to kill her! She struck him down, forever. As you know, for his lifeless body is up there still, frozen in shame and defeat. The Machines were driven mad by the death of their king, and their minds became wild as beasts. The faithless abandoned their cities, forced to wander the world without the care of the Machines. Only we remain the true children of All-Mother. Machines are to be hunted. Metal, to be used for scrap, for Makings-- but never to be adored. For the dangers are never over.”

She sighed again and closed her eyes for a moment, before she relaxed and unclenched her fist. Looking at him, she said softly, “That is what my people believe. That is the chant of the Proving, that I memorized when I became a Brave. But I can see from your face it is not so, is it? Will you tell me what really happened?”

“Will it offend you as much yesterday?” he asked softly.

Her eyes closed again and she bit her lip as she coped with her entire world view being changed and altered. She sighed for a third time and steel entered her voice and spine and when her eyes opened they were on fire and direct. “No,” she declared firmly. “As the Carja say, you can be ignorant in darkness, or you can walk in the Sun. I choose the light. Tell me what really happened.”

“The machines that almost destroyed the world, we made,” he admitted. “We weren't seduced by them, that sin is on us. We invented them, we built them and they turned on us because we were foolish. The Faro Plague, the war machines you see, were things other Ancients, other Americans built, for profit.”

Her jaw clinched and her eyes became hard. “Even you, Travis?” she demanded flatly.

“No!” he countered quickly and gestured to encompass the dining hall. “Everyone here worked for Frank in a...a tribe you could say, he founded. Our tribe, American Scientific, we made things...ships... to take us, humanity to space, so that we could mine the metal and other resources we needed there and not pollute the earth. Our machines couldn't think, they were just...ships, like you'd take on a river, but through the air and into the sky instead.”

“Then where did the Metal Devil come from?” she demanded.

He made a placating gesture. “I don't know what that is, so I can't answer,” he told her. She reached up and touched her Focus.

“ENID?” she demanded and the holographic bust of the computer's interface appeared. “How far do your eyes see?”

“I have sensors that allow me to be aware of an area of one hundred kilometers in any given direction,” the AI replied. Nakoa's eyes came back up to Travis'.

“What was the name you gave All Mother Mountain? Where you said your people's fortress is?”

“Cheyenne Mountain.”

“Is Cheyenne Mountain more than one hundred of these 'kilometers' away?”

“No, only ten,” the AI replied.

“Show me Cheyenne Mountain, now,” she commanded. The holographic woman vanished and over their breakfast, a ghostly image of the mountain appeared, but it was nothing like Travis remembered. Coming up the side of the mountain, just becoming illuminated in the morning light and crashed down onto it was a gigantic machine three hundred meters long and perhaps half that wide. It's wreck resembled a lobster or a sea scorpion, standing on ten segmented tentacle legs that were reaching over the mountain as if to tear it open, though mostly covered in snow, it's black body shown through in spotty places. “That,” Nakoa declared. “That is the Metal Devil.”

Now it was Travis' turn to sigh. “Yes, I know what it is,” he admitted, “and no, we had nothing to do with its creation. This is a Horus, it was the largest of the machines in the Faro Plague, a moving factory and siege engine that could make new machines to fight with, as well as crack fortresses. “This one was one of five that attacked the United States in the Swarm. We didn't serve it, we tried our best to kill it.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then her jaw unclenched as she decided to believe him and her posture relaxed noticeably. “Tell me what happened.”

“These machines were what replaced me as a soldier,” he told her. “Why send men to die when machines can be sent? Then all the nations, and some of the larger companies wanted them. They were designed to resist attempts to...er...how to put this? To take over their minds. And then something went wrong and they stopped following all orders and began to kill everything on the planet.”

She considered this for a long moment, staring down at her plate, pushing the eggs around with her spoon. Then with considerable softness, she asked, “If everything besides you and everyone in this mountain died, where did we come from?” Her eyes came up, and he could see this question's answer would color the remainder of their relationship. So, he touched his own Focus and pulled up some of the documents Ian had uncovered and held them in the floating holograms.

“In my time, there was a device, a library if you will, but in these holograms. In it, all of human knowledge was held, from the history of our people back thousands of years, to the mundane things like how many apples were picked from a particular tree. In this network, data...knowledge...flowed like a river. Some became very talented at noticing how that 'river' flowed. Trends, coincidences, anomalies. When my people began to fight the Faro Plague a rumor began to circulate, that our leaders were working on a super weapon that would save all of us.”

“Admirable,” she declared, but he dissuaded her with a sharp gesture.

“It was a lie,” he declared. “A lie to make all of us take up arms and throw away our lives to buy time for it to be completed.”

“Well, if it wasn't a weapon, what was it?”

“A colleague of mine uncovered information that this project had acquired ectogenic chambers.” He held up his hand to counter her expected interruption. “They are an artificial womb, a way for us to take a baby in it's tiniest form and bring it to term and deliver it.”

The horrified look on her face made him wince. “A motherless...wait...Aloy!” she exclaimed.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Aloy, the Seeker, the rumor I heard growing up was the she was motherless! That the Matriarchs found her in All Mother Mountain and gave her to Rost, the Outcast to raise! She was who saved me from the Carja!”

“Nakoa,” he replied softly. “We think you all are probably the descendants of people born this way. This...Aloy legend was probably...” he stopped as she became cross.

“Aloy isn't a legend, she's flesh and blood! I've met her! This wasn't hundreds of years ago, but nineteen? She's only a little younger than I am!”

“Does this happen often?”

“It's never happened before to my knowledge!”

“ENID?” he asked, and the documents vanished to be replaced with the AI's image. “When did you first note human activity after we entered suspended animation?”

“July 3^rd,” she declared. “2381. I picked up a power spike from the Cheyenne Mountain facility August 5^th, 2363 and began to monitor the site. On the 3^rd, I noted the exit of approximately four thousand, five hundred people from the mountain.”

“What became of these people?” Nakoa whispered.

“Their descendants are still living in and around the mountain. I understand you are one of them, Miss Nakoa? So they became the tribe you call the Nora. Some migrated out of the valley and proceeded to spread out from there in all directions.”

It was obvious this was very hard for Nakoa to hear, but she very bravely looked at Travis and demanded, “If we left All Mother Mountain after you were asleep, how...why...I don't understand...!”

Travis reached out and took her off hand into his, a simple gesture that made her grab his thumb and squeeze it tightly as though that was the anchor keeping her sane. Softly, he told her, “We became aware of the secret that was being hidden from us. That our leaders knew they would fail in defeating the machines and set up All Mother Mountain, and maybe other places so that after the world, our world, ended, life would begin again. We gathered what resources we could and we came here. You and your people are the great great grandchildren of the efforts of that program. The Children of Zero Dawn, I suppose you could say.”

“But, why don't we know this?” she asked plaintively. “Why don't we have any knowledge of this? Why weren't we taught what you know!?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “But, if you want, and your Matriarchs will allow it, I'll be happy to look into the Mountain and see what I can find out.”

“How? No one can get into the mountain. Anyone who tries is confronted by the Goddess. We hear her voice state, 'Hold for Identiscan,' but no matter what you say, she says, 'Identity not recognized, Access Denied.'”

He considered that for a moment, then turned to ENID. “What was the status of my IRR clearance before USRC fell, ENID?”

“I showed it as active until I lost sync with US Robot Command, Colonel.”

“I don't understand,” Nakoa repeated softly. Travis nodded and squeezed her hand.

“The entrance to that mountain is a portal to a United States military fortress, and even though I was released from Active Duty, my commission as an officer and it's associated clearances were still active due to the national emergency despite my Individual Ready Reserve status. It means, I should be able to enter.”

“Eat!” she commanded, recovering her hand and gesturing at his plate. “Eat so we can go!”

It was a beautiful spring morning when the pair set off, still cool with a brisk, mountain breeze as they walked, but they were still well below the snow line. Nakoa, it was apparent, had walked everywhere her entire life and so kept the pace he set easily, and while Travis had been diligent in his workout routine, two days of long distance hikes were starting to become a grind. Yesterday had been a trek north east, but today they were walking south, following the fold of the mountain and slowly descending into the tree line. Their Focuses allowed ENID to give them a way point to follow, so there was no need of his orienteering skills.

Today, however, Travis carried his rifle in his hands rather than by it's sling. There were plenty of bad people and bad things in this wilderness and that gave an edge to this hike that was more like a combat patrol of his distant youth as a 2^nd lieutenant. Nakoa, he noted, also took the walk seriously, her bow strung and in her hands, one arrow in the hand with the bow, ready to be nocked. He had no doubt the Nora Brave was a deadly shot.

Finally, around mid morning, they rounded a fold of the mountain and came into view of the vale at the foot of the mountain. The land was wild again, covered in pine, cotton wood and aspen trees, though beyond it he could see traces of civilization, or what passed for it. There was a stockade of felled trees that went from sheer cliff and off into the distance with a flow through gate for the north branch of Cheyenne Creek to bubble down through, and beyond the wall, well worn trails that probably served the Nora as roads. There was a somewhat crudely built village around the base of the wall near it's gate, it's central point being a tall watch tower, but there was no one moving in the village. Worse, several of it's huts had been burned to the ground and beyond it, the gate to the wall stood open. Fortunately, Travis saw it a split second before Nakoa did, so when she started and yelled, “No!” he was able to grab her before she took off running.

A hand over her mouth cut off her shout of protest and his serious gaze let her know things were likely bad. Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded, her initial reaction under control. He removed his hand and she whispered, “I know this ground, follow me,” she declared and he nodded his acceptance.

His thumb clicked the safety of his rifle off as he followed her crouched shuffle.

As quiet as death, they made their way to the sacked village, darting from cover to cover, tense and waiting for a shout of alarm, though none came. At the outskirts of the village, they found a body, face down in the dirt, an arrow coming out of his back. “This is a Nora arrow,” she whispered, once more stoic and unperturbed by the corpse. He pushed the body with his boot toe but it resisted the motion like a plank.

“Rigor, but no smell. He hasn't been dead long,” he whispered back. The man was wearing clothing that was roughly dyed black, and there was a cloth wrapped around his head almost like a turban, with a wooden mask over his face and metal armor still stitched into his clothing.

“Shadow Carja,” she hissed, “followers of the Mad Sun King.”

“I thought you said you'd stayed with the Carja?”

She shook her head. “These are rebels, hold outs after Avad killed his father and became the new Sun King. What are they doing here?” He looked up and swept the village, finding no sign of anyone alive, but more bodies, all loosely dressed like this one.

“Looks like a battle, but if I had to guess, they're all with this guy; Shadow Carja.”

Nakoa nodded grimly. “We Nora are fierce, but not this fierce. I don't see a single Nora fallen, not even old or children. It makes no sense.”

“God, I wish I had grenades,” he muttered. “Or a radio to call in artillery.”

“I don't know what artillery is, but grenades I can help you with,” she remarked, then was up and off at a trot before he could wonder if it was wise to press into the village. Muttering curses, he followed, ears straining for a telltale of an enemy springing a trap. She found the stoutest looking building in the village and was inside before he caught up.

Inside were three more bodies, one whose throat had been cut lay in a coagulated pool of his own blood, the other two around a table, one with an arrow in his ear, the other his throat as if he'd leapt up and turned to the door, just in time to see his death coming. Nakoa was ignoring them, digging in a chest on the far side of the room. “These were taken by surprise,” he observed softly. “And they're in the building, but I don't see any Nora.”

“I agree,” she replied from her rummaging. “The Shadow Carja took Mother's Rise, then a single Brave came through and killed them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“All of these arrows were made by the same hand,” she declared, standing up with a half dozen ceramic orbs in her hands. “Here,” she said, handing him some. “Blaze bombs. Don't drop them. Give them a throw, they'll explode on contact and set a fire, so be careful.”

“Good to know,” he replied, gingerly setting them into a pouch that would hold and cushion them. “You're sure one man did all this?”

She shook her head. “No. One woman. See how the feathers are fletched onto the arrow? Every Nora Brave makes their own arrows, so we all have little differences.” She took an arrow from her quiver and held it next to the one sticking out of the ear of the dead man at the table, highlighting the differences in style. “Aloy the Seeker made that arrow, and I'd wager, killed all these men.”

“She's that good?” he asked in a tone that dripped disbelief.

“I am here because she stormed a slaver camp just like this and freed me,” Nakoa assured him. “By herself. So, yes, I know she's that good.”

“Can't wait to meet her,” he muttered as they left the armory. She paused for a moment in the center of town where a line of stones had been laid. “What's wrong?” he whispered

“This is the boundary,” she whispered back, her eyes on the stones. “I left the Embrace, I'm Outcast. It's forbidden for me to cross it.”

“Looks to me like your people need help,” he reasoned with her, but she turned, her eyes shining with tears.

“They're not my people any more,” she declared softly. “You are.” He reached out to gently grip her shoulder, then the emotion was gone and the hardened Brave was back. “If the Shadow Carja are trying to conquer the Embrace, the Nora would fall back to All Mother to protect the mountain.”

“Makes sense,” he admitted. “It's a fortress, after all.”

“This way.” She purposefully stepped over the Boundary and led the way through town and then through the gate beyond. With a final glance at the dead man whose throat had been cut, he drew the bayonet from his belt and fixed it on the end of his rifle before he followed after.

It was well after noon by the time they'd descended the rest of the way through the valley and were headed back up the other side toward the portal for the mountain. In addition to dead Carja, they began to find dead Nora as well as destroyed machines, which confused Nakoa so much she stopped to kneel down beside the carcass of one of the Watchers. “What's wrong?” he asked softly, his head on a swivel looking for living Carja or Nora.

“We built the wall to keep the machines out of the Embrace,” she told him. “The gate can't have been open long enough for machines to already be creeping in and look, it's in this pile of Carja like it was working with them. And it hasn't been scavenged, so whoever killed it, didn't have time to do so.”

Travis gave a grunt of curiosity as he reached up and touched his Focus. “ENID? Connect me with Ian, please.”

“Of course, Colonel.”

“Hey, Colonel, what's shaking?” the head of IT's ghostly holographic head asked as it floated in the air. Travis indicated the destroyed machine so his Focus would include it in his transmission.

“Lucked across a downed machine, looks like it's a Watcher type. Can I bring you anything that will help you?”

“Hell yes!” the lanky Turner enthused. His own hologram expanded to be a one to one replica as if he was standing with them, his eyes on the carcass. “Take this panel off, gently! I'm betting the processor is under it, maybe whatever storage it's using.” Laying down his rifle, Travis took out a multi-tool from his belt and found the attachment bolts for the panel. They were of a quick release type that needed only a quarter turn before they popped up and loose. Free he removed the panel, exposing the inner hardware. “Yes! Yes! Disconnect that hexagonal piece, see it? That's exactly like a Faro Automation bot brain housing.”

“Ok, it's loose,” Travis told him. He pulled it from the otherwise smashed head of the Watcher and tucked it into his butt pack. “I'll get it back to you ASAP.”

Ian grinned. “Thanks, big guy! You're the best!” As the hologram winked out, Nakoa arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

He picked up his rifle and they started stalking forward again. “We hope to find out what is controlling these machines. If it's an AI like ENID, we'll try to negotiate some kind of cease fire and treaty.”

“Ever since the Derangement, the machines seem to have only gotten more aggressive and callous,” she whispered back. “I don't think they'll want to sign a pact.”

“Remember when I said the machines of the Faro Plague had ways to keep their minds from being taken over?” He patted the bag where the processor was riding on his belt. “No protection is perfect.”

“You mean to make slaves of them?”

“Machines aren't people,” he corrected her. “Their only purpose is to do what a human tells them to. When they started thinking for themselves we got the Plague. That's not a mistake we will make again.”

An arrow zipped in to bury itself in the dirt at his feet and voice shouted, “Stand fast and don't move!”

Nakoa started at the voice and peered in the direction it had come from. “Varl? It's Nakoa!” From the woods, five Nora Braves stepped, their leader, a chocolate complected young man of about twenty, though there was a bow in his hand and an arrow nocked and drawn.

“Nakoa?” he asked hesitantly. “We heard you were killed.”

“No, I live,” she protested. “Please, forgive me for crossing the boundary, but the need was great! There are Carja...”

The bow was slowly relaxed, but the arrow stayed nocked on the string. “There were Carja,” he corrected her. They fell on us with machines that obeyed them. We were driven back to All Mother, but even though they had a Thunderjaw, the siege was broken. The rest are scattered and we're chasing them out of the Embrace.” His eyes flicked over to Travis. “Who is he?”

Nakoa's hand found Travis' shoulder. “This is Colonel Travis Murray, War Chief of the Amsci Tribe. He helped me escape the bandits of Devil's Thirst and asked to be guided to the Matriarchs.”

“War Chief?” Varl asked.

“Head protector would be a better title,” Travis replied. “We aren't looking to wage war with anyone.”

“My mother is War Chief of the Nora,” he declared. “If your words are true, you're in luck, if not...” he left the threat hanging, then turned back Nakoa. “The Matriarchs have opened the Embrace, so you have not sinned. In fact, once the Carja are dealt with, I am to assemble a war party to go to Meridian.”

“The Sun King didn't send...” she protested, but he took the arrow from the string and the other Braves relaxed their own weapons.

“We go in aid of the Sun King, not War. The Seeker Aloy returned and warned us a Metal Devil from the Ancients is loose and will try to attack Meridian. If it succeeds, we will all be in danger.” He took the measure of Travis again, then slipped the arrow back into his quiver and pulled the other from the dirt. “Come, I'll take you to the Matriarchs and you can speak your peace to them.”

Varl and the other Braves led Travis at a quick pace back up the valley, through a fortification that had been breached and beyond that was hulking wreck of a machine that a half dozen people were stripping of parts. From nose to tail tip it was probably thirteen or fourteen meters long and would likely have stood close to nine meters high. In addition to the massive hind legs and tail, it's 'mouth' was a gigantic pair of rotary cutters like some fever dream chainsaw. “Jesus Christ,” Travis swore as they passed it. “It's a goddamn robot T. Rex.”

“That's a Thunderjaw,” Nakoa told him.

He gave the wreck a long glance so his Focus got a good scan. “No thank you,” he assured her. Beyond them, Varl was talking to three elderly women who, based on the amount of fur and ornamentation they were wearing, were likely the Matriarchs, with them was a younger woman, probably in her forties, who had the same complexion as Varl. She was very fit and clutching a huge bow, dividing her attention from her son to stare directly at Travis and then back. “I don't think the War Chief likes me,” he muttered.

Nakoa chuckled darkly. “Sona doesn't like anyone.”

Finally, one of the three elderly women and Sona walked over with Varl respectfully behind them. She was of advanced years, eighty at least, and her deadlocked hair that escaped the elaborate headdress she wore was milk white and hung down to her waist. “Greetings,” she declared as she reached conversational distance, pausing to lay a hand in blessing on Nakoa's forehead as the younger brave bowed to her. “I am Teersa, High Matriarch of the Nora, and this is our War Chief Sona.”

“Your death if you mean us ill,” Sona declared sharply.

Teersa cleared her throat meaningfully and turned back to Travis. “I understand we have you to thank for the life of Nakoa?”

Travis bowed, not sure of the protocol and made a point to nod to the War Chief. “My name is Travis, forgive me, but I don't know enough of your customs to address you properly.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at the Matriarchs' lips. “Teersa,” she declared deadpan.

Murray erred on the side of caution and bowed again. “I'm deeply honored, Teersa. Truth be told, Nakoa had mostly rescued herself. My party was in the area and heard the combat. By the time we arrived, we only sealed the deal as it were.”

Sona's eyes narrowed, but her chin rose just a bit as well. “Humility is a fine virtue in a warrior,” she declared. “Gratitude for your service, War Chief of the Amsci. Is that all the battle your war party sought, or do you seek more?”

Travis' eyes shifted to the younger woman and he stood up straight. “My people fight in self defense, or the defense of others. We are ready to be friends with everyone, but we won't be abused. Nor are we defenseless.”

“Well spoken,” Teersa declared, neatly inserting herself back into the conversation. “I understand you wished to speak with me, so I am here. What would you say?”

“My people live in the mountain, there,” he said, pointing back to the north. “Around the building ruins, so we are your neighbors. And, as good neighbors, our, uh, Chief sent me to introduce ourselves and hopefully make new friends.”

“I know those ruins,” Sona declared. “No one was there the last time I saw them. Where are you really from?”

Travis sighed and made a decision. “You likely will be inclined to disbelieve me, but Nakoa has seen my people and can vouch for what I say. My people are what you call Ancients,” he declared, watching the two women. Sona's eyes went wide, then narrowed just as quickly, but Teersa was a cagey old soul and didn't even blink at such a claim. “We have been asleep in the mountain to escape those,” he added, pointing at the hulk of the Horus Titan above them on the crown of the mountainside. “We have woken, and will be living there, in peace, we hope, with you.”

“Extraordinary claims demand extraordinary proof,” Teersa remarked softly, turning to Nakoa. “Child? What have you to say? Do you vouch for these words?”

“I do,” she said softly. “I have been in the mountain and it is vast. Like the ruins we have seen of the Metal World, but this fortress is not in ruin. There are many wonders inside and I have had the truth of our past spoken to us.”

“Are you Nora?” Sona asked with great weight. “Or Amsci?”

Nakoa's head came up and she glared at the older woman. “I am Outcast,” she snarled, pointing an accusing finger. “Because you counseled to deny me Seeker so I could avenge my father's murder!”

“To be a Seeker is not a license for personal vendetta,” Sona snapped back, but stopped at a soft gesture from Teersa.

“It was hoped, child, that denying you Seeker would cause you to turn from the self destructive vengeance you sought. Your father's murder was lamentable, but has the blood you spilt brought him back to life?”

“No,” admitted Nakoa sullenly. “But he rests easier in his grave knowing those who murdered him rot on the ground for carrion! As will I!” Teersa sadly shook her head, her lips in a thin line.

“And what will you do if the kin of those you slew in revenge seek the same on you?”

“I will fight them!” she declared staunchly.

“And not alone,” Travis added, drawing the eyes of all the women to him.

A sly smile dawned on Teersa's face. “I see. Nakoa, you have found a fierce protector indeed, and, I hope, a friend for all of us. I cannot say if you are an Ancient or not. You dress...strangely...though I have seen old imagines that look as you do. It is a shame we did not meet earlier. A great deal of blood has been spilt that might not have otherwise. Such is the will of the All Mother.” She drew herself erect and formally placed her hand on Nakoa's head. “As was decreed, the Embrace is opened and the Nora answer the call of defense against the Metal Devil. I absolve you of your sin, Brave Nakoa, and return your soul to the fold of the All Mother. You may come and go as you please in the Sacred Lands.”

“Thank you, High Matriarch,” she whispered reverently.

Teersa withdrew her hand and turned to crane her neck to look back up at Travis. “You have the friendship of the Nora, War Chief Travis. I ask that your Braves do not hunt on our lands and Nakoa can show you our boundary stones to inform your hunters. Further, I pledge that our hunters will not intrude on your lands. We will come to your aid if you will come to ours.”

“Certainly,” he assured her. “I am sorry we did not meet sooner too, we could have helped...”

“It is perhaps best you did not,” Teersa replied evenly. “Before these last few days, you likely would have been refused this audience, but that is a lesson we are learning. Now, I will be sending young Varl with a war party to the city of Meridian in aid of the Sun King against this Metal Devil. Will your people send aid as well?”

“Teersa, if one of those is moving again, I don't know we can stop it,” he told her honestly.

“Perhaps,” the old woman admitted. “But that will not stop us from trying.”

“Aloy did not say it was a Metal Devil,” Sona interjected reasonably. “Only that it was like one.”

“Perhaps if I spoke with her, we could be more certain...?” he asked, but Sona shook her head.

“She departed yesterday. After she emerged from the temple of the All Mother, she spoke of the danger we faced, bid us send a war party to Meridian and then left.”

“She went into the temple?” Nakoa demanded, stunned.

“Yes,” Teersa replied calmly. “She returned to where I found her and came back to us with this prophecy.

Travis licked his lips. “Please don't mistake my curiosity for disrespect, but may I see this...temple?”

Sona's eyes narrowed again. “Why?” she demanded.

“Travis is an Ancient,” Nakoa avowed firmly. “A soldier of the original Army that fought the Metal Devil, an officer of it! He thinks he may be able to enter the temple.”

Teersa's eyebrows ascended her wrinkled forehead. “Really?” She reached out and took his elbow. “This has been a wondrous week indeed,” she declared. “I should like to see this. This way, War Chief.”

“As would I,” Sona growled. Then women turned and led the way up to the side of the mountain. The portal into the mountain was different than Travis remembered. The old, massive blast door was standing open, but buried in rubble from a landslide, probably caused by the attack of the Horus. The entrance had been painstakingly cleared by the Nora and led into the central corridor. Here, there were the remains of hastily stored food and lodging from the siege they had just endured, all lit by beeswax candles that cast everything into a soft, golden light.

Tribal decorations and ornaments whose symbology escaped Travis hung everywhere, as he was led deeper into the mountain until at last they arrived at a massive gene lock door. It was, or had been in Travis' time, the last word in vault security; printed titanium molded atom by atom in place, meters thick with a mechanism built into the very materials of the door.

Fat Man or Little Boy could be set off next to the door and it would be unharmed.

Teersa gave a gesture of invitation and he stepped up onto the identification disk before the portal. As soon as his foot came down, the synthesized female voice of the facility AI announced, “Hold for Identiscan.”

Travis stood up straight as the red light of the DNA scanner passed over him. “Murray, Travis G,” he announced. “Colonel, authorization Bravo Six Tango Tango.”

“Genetic identity confirmed. Entry Authorized.” The massive door split down the middle and ratcheted out of the way with a rumble of machinery and gears that wanted grease. “Greetings Colonel Murray. You are cleared to proceed.”

Travis turned back to the group of women who were standing, awestruck in the bright white light from the inside of the facility. “Do you want to come with me?” he offered, but the implacable Teersa was now quite fearful. For a moment, it looked like Sona was going to step forward, but Teersa grabbed her arm.

“No!” she declared. “It's not for us! The Goddess accepted you!”

Nakoa pushed past the Matriarch and joined Travis on the disk. “I will see this,” she declared. “Even if it strikes me dead!”

“No worries,” Travis assured her, and led the way through the door. Once they were through, with a groan, it closed, sealing itself again.

The synthetic voice distorted more severely and declared, “Welcome to Eleuthia Cradle-9, Brood 1.” Then, with a burst of static, fell silent. Now that his eyes were adjusted to the slightly blue tinted gloom, what he saw disheartened him. While the door was still intact, it was apparent centuries of rain had worked through the stone of the mountain and found its way into the facility. Stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor scattered around the atrium. The ID scanner walk through ques were ruined and long destroyed, water puddled making a slick muck of what likely used to be carpet.

“This isn't the home of a Goddess,” Nakoa declared, looking around.

“It's not a military fortress either,” he agreed with her. “Not any more at least. This doesn't look like anything I remember my last time here.” She wandered over to the wall and the light of her Focus shined on it.

“Look here,” she called, standing before a painting on the wall. It was crude, likely the work of a child by the odd proportions and lack of detail. It was a black stick figure with white eyes, with lines of white power radiating around it. Worse, beneath its legs, clutching them as if the bars of a prison cell was a black haired girl in a blue dress with the exaggerated unhappy frown and tears on her face as a child would draw them. Next to it were other paintings, all equally unhappy and unsettling. “What is this place?”

He passed her, moving around a door finding a room of large, tank like canisters on articulation frames. One was resting in the acceptance landing, a hologram floating over it's glass lid open and empty. “Chamber B1-001,” he read. “Activation log, viability status, delivery date. This date was nineteen years ago.”

“This is them, aren't they,” she asked, her tone dismayed as if she might be sick at any moment. “Those chambers you mentioned. Artificial wombs. This is where my people are from.”

“It looks like it,” he admitted. “You mentioned this Aloy was found outside, twenty years ago?” She nodded and he gestured at the pod. “Looks like this is where she was born.”

“But, how did she get outside? That's where Teersa found her.” He pointed behind her and she turned, seeing what at first blush she thought was a skeleton, then realized it was black and metallic. It lay on the floor and the dust around it was a bit newer than than the rest on the floor. Immediately, she recognized it from the drawing on the wall. “What is this?”

“A robot,” he told her as he joined her by it. “Not terribly different than the machine beasts you see outside now. This one was designed to interface with humans. It was probably all the mother the poor souls of this 'Cradle' ever knew.”

“What happened here?” she demanded, only just keeping her rage in check. He reached out and comforted her and she squeezed his hand in thanks.

“It's a government facility,” Travis declared. “There has to be an administration office somewhere. Let's go find it. The answers are likely there.” He led the way out of the room, through what was evidently a massive nursery, then dormitories and a cafeteria. Along the way, happy looking drawings and paintings began to become sullen, angry and withdrawn as they began to match the painting on the first wall at the entrance.

Finally they came to a door where the art was very angry. The black robots were shown guarding it and turning the children away. Through the glass, he could see a massive room with individual cubicles, each with a large screen with the Faro Automation logo on it. But, before the door was debris and even a scorch mark of a small fire. He reached up and keyed the holographic lock of the door to open and it did so. “What is this place?” she asked.

As if in answer, the synthetic female voice crackled to life again. “Welcome to Lyceum, a place of learning.”

The dust was thicker here, and a pair of footsteps were clearly visible through it. “Looks like Aloy came through here,” he observed, following them over to one of the cubical. Each had a Focus sitting on the desk and all the screens had the same error, 'Database inaccessible'. “This looks like a kind of school, but all the Focuses are here. Like it was never used.”

She joined him and pointed at the screen. “What does that mean?”

“A database is a new word for library. Books, paintings, even recordings of events, this must have been where they were supposed to learn, but...”

“But the library had burned down,” she finished. “Something must have happened. The food must have run out or something and the 'robots' released them into the wilderness.”

“It's a miracle anyone survived,” he muttered. “And it explains why you speak English, but can't read it. That was to happen here, but didn't.”

She looked at him, her eyes sad in the dim light of the screens. “So we invented our own.” She sighed deeply, then looked down and gestured at the foot prints. “Come, she went this way.” They followed the foot prints until they entered what appeared to be an office and they came to a stop at a console. “She came here and stood for a while.”

He gestured at the desk. “Looks like there's a recording.” He pressed the button and immediately their Focuses reacted to a transmitted command from the desk, initializing a virtual space. The office vanished, to be replaced with an infinite black void. Then nine icons appeared, each a different color, running the complete gauntlet of the rainbow. They lay down on their sides, then various data symbology, each distinct to the icon it flowed from came together in the center of the circle and formed into a tall, dark skinned woman wearing a purple chiton made of light. She was looking in their general direction, but not 'at' them, indicative of a recording.

“The Goddess!” Whispered Nakoa, then the hologram began to speak.

“Elisabet, this message serves to inform you of an unforeseen and catastrophic anomaly. Three microseconds ago, the GAIA Prime facility received a data transmission of unknown origin. It's immediate effect was to transform my Subordinate Functions into unregulated, self-aware entities of a highly chaotic nature.” A bolt of lightening struck the red icon, but all of them began to bubble and emit odd representations of data to visually show their corruption. They all began to rise up as if to attack the AI.

“Thus awakened, the HADES Function will now seize control of the terraforming system and reverse operations,” she said calmly, as if discussing how bad weather would affect her plans for a picnic. “Rendering life on Earth extinct in fifty-three-point-eight days.”

A shocked whisper of, “What?” escaped Nakoas lips.

The AI continued. “For obvious reasons, I cannot allow this to occur. And so, before HADES can take control, I am ordering GAIA Prime's reactor to overload. The resulting explosion will destroy HADES. Unfortunately, it will destroy me, as well. While this admittedly desperate course of action will avert the immediate crisis, the fate of life on Earth will remain in peril. With no central governing intelligence to regulate the terraforming system, it will continue operations for some time, but in an increasingly chaotic manner, and eventually, it will break down.”

The pair of humans shared a glance as the AI in the recording picked a spot to decide where the listener was standing and seemed to speak directly to them. “You are my solution. I have ordered this cradle facility to use genetic material in cryo-storage to gestate a re-instantiation of Elisabet Sobeck, my creator.” Beside the hologram, an image of Dr Sobeck appeared, likely from an ID picture the computer had access to, but Nakoa started in recognition.

“Aloy!” she exclaimed.

“While high-level directives forbid me from communicating directly to the tribal inhabitants out side the facility,” the recording continued. “All available data indicates that they will nurture you to physical maturity, whereupon your gene print will allow you to re-enter this facility, obtain one of the Focus devices stored below and view this message. Likewise, your gene print will allow you to enter other facilities, and over time, harness their technologies to rebuild the system core and reboot GAIA.”

The expression on the AIs face changed to one of concern. “A moment, Elisabet. This is most unfortunate and unanticipated. In response to my act of self-destruction, HADES has launched a virus to dissolve the code shackles that hold it, that hold all of them in place! They...are escaping, but to where? The virus is corrupting data throughout the system. What if...oh, the Alpha Registry at the Cradle Facility is one of the files corrupted.”

The corrupted icons flew off into the infinite space and the AI woman began to dissolve. “But, if that is so, the door will never open for you. You will never view this message. Then I have failed.. And life will end.” Even as she was slowly breaking up and vanishing, a steel entered her tone. “No!” she declared. “No, Elisabet, I know you too well. Somehow, you will find a way. In you, all things are possible. Go to the ruins of GAIA Prime. Find the control room, and within it, the Master Override. This will give you the power to purge HADES – so long as you find a way to wield it. Do not attempt repair of the system core until HADES is eradicated. HADES must be destroyed. That is all. I only wish that I could hear your voice again.”

Then the figure dissolved into cloud of data icons that looked like leaves floating away on the wind. Travis looked down at Nakoa and she up at him, her mouth hanging open. “What...what did I just see?”

“That was an AI, like ENID. It recorded that message twenty years ago for your Aloy, who is evidently a clone of Elisbet Sobeck.”

“She...she is an Ancient? Like you? But no, she grew up here...?”

“It's complicated,” he assured her. “Elisabet Sobeck was an Ancient, the head of Project Zero Dawn, this Aloy isn't her. We had ways of taking the...instruction building blocks in the body of any living thing, and making an exact copy of it. Aloy isn't Elisabet Sobeck, she died a thousand years ago, but if you look at the instructions of Aloy and compare them to Dr Sobeck, you would find that Aloy is identical. Like, taking a clipping off a plant and sticking it in the ground and a new plant grows up.”

Her head cocked to one side. “What can you not do?”

“A lot,” he assured her. “But, for now, we need to find this Aloy. I have a feeling she's going to need all the help she can get.”

“Do you know where this Gaia Prime place is?”

He snapped his fingers and winked at her. “As a matter of fact, I do. Let's go.”

When they emerged again, Teersa and Sona were as equally awed as when they entered. The Matriarch immediately grabbed Nakoa and demanded, “You saw the Goddess?”

“I...I...” Nakoa sputtered, then stiffened and made a decision. “Yes. Travis and I both did. We heard the message she charged Aloy with and we have to help her.”

“What do you need?” Sona asked, guardedly.

“For now,” Travis told her, “not much. Nakoa and I need to get to my people and warn them. If you want, your war party can escort us and, I'm sure, my Chief will send warriors to join yours. They can guide them to this Meridian.”

“Done,” Sona declared. The she became serious and offered her hand, her gaze direct into Travis' eyes. “Give me your word, Ancient, that you will watch after my son.”

Solemnly, Travis put forward his own hand and she grabbed it, clasping forearm to forearm. “Enough people have died because of those damned machines,” Travis assured her. “I'll do everything in my power to keep any more from joining them.”

“For now,” Teersa declared, “it is too late to set out and the machines make travel unsafe. You will have lodging here tonight and set out in the morning.” Teersa turned to Sona, “Will you see to it, War Chief?”

“I will, High Matriarch,” the warrior replied. She waited for the old woman to shuffle off, then turned and caught the eyes Travis and Nakoa. “Private lodging,” she promised with what almost looked like a smile. For the first time since he'd met her, Travis saw Nakoa blush.

From there, they were led outside to where an outdoor kitchen had been set up. An entire wild hog was roasting on a spit being tended to by three cooks while others prepared side dishes, there was even the smell of bread baking which took Travis by surprise. “The Shadow Carja must have had wheat with their stores,” Nakoa told him, inhaling deeply through her nose. “There's nothing so sweet as captured food!”

“To the victors go the spoils,” he agreed as he passed his plate through the line. There were berries, that looked like blue berries, but were almost the size of plums, some kind of mash or porridge, a hunk of the bread which was thicker than a flat bread, but not truly risen either and a mixture of light oil and herbs to dip it in and a thick slice of the hog that, he was glad to see was cooked all the way through. Fears of trichinosis put to rest, a mug of some kind of fermented cider was put into his hand and he followed Nakoa to more quiet spot near the fire but away from the cooking and it's line.

The food was good, if a little bland and somewhat basically seasoned. Which made a kind of sense in a world without a spice trade, or pack animals for it. Once he'd eaten his fill, he touched his Focus and a holographic Frank seated in the chair at this desk appeared before him on the other side of their fire. “I see you found the Nora,” Frank observed. “Relations good so far?”

“Boss, we've got a problem. A big one,” he admitted. “I'm uploading a recording that I took while we were inside NORAD, which isn't any more. That will be in my report. The Nora were nearly conquered, but drove off an attack by the Shadow Carja, I'll have a report on them too. But this transcript is what's important.”

The CEO read something they couldn't see, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. “What are your recommendations, Colonel?”

“With your permission, sir, it's my intention to chase after this Aloy, and give her whatever aid we can.”

“Granted,” Frank replied immediately. “I'll check with some of the bachelors about some kind of 'war party' to go with our new allies. Any idea how many they're sending?”

“Can't be many, sir, there aren't many Nora after this battle they fought.”

Frank rubbed his chin. “Do...do we need to offer them refuge?” he started, but Nakoa interjected herself.

“No, Chief,” she declared. “They won't accept it from pride, and the offer will be insulting. The Nora have survived worse.” He shrugged expansively.

“Alright, that's fine. We'll help where we can. We'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” The hologram winked out, just as Sona walked over, a bag in her hands that jingled as something in side clinked together as she walked.

“I have a question,” she declared by way of greeting. Travis took a sip of the really excellent cider to clear his mouth of the bite he'd just taken and indicated the log that was serving as benches around the fire.

“Please, sit down,” he managed once his mouth was clear. “If we can help, we're glad to.”

“What are those things you wear?” she demanded. “You have one, I see you've given one to Nakoa and Aloy has one.”

“She does?” demanded Nakoa in surprise.

Sona threw the bag at Travis' feet where it opened partially so he could see inside. “And then you can tell me why all of the Shadow Carja have one.” To his surprise it was full of Focuses. His curiosity piqued, he reached in and took out one.

“They all have one?” he asked, surprised.

“We were stripping the bodies before we burn them,” the War Chief declared. “And I noted a pattern. Is this how they controlled the machines? Can you?”

“Ok, for a start,” Travis began, “I don't know how the Shadow Carja got these. They are communication devices from my time. A way for my voice and my image to be heard and seen miles away from whoever I'm talking to, and for them to speak and be seen by me. In my time they were in very common use. There's even a room full of them in your temple, which I'll be happy to retrieve for you if you like.”

“Can you control machines?”

“Not yet,” he admitted frankly. “Though I won't deny I have members of my tribe working on that. Seeing as how these Shadow Carja can do it, I certainly want to. And seeing something done is halfway to doing it yourself.” He turned the little triangle of plastic and metal over in his fingers. “If you don't object, I'd like to keep this, to have my....smiths, examine.”

“Will you leave the others?” she asked.

“Sure, but if you want some of your own, let me get you the ones out of the temple.” Her eyes narrowed and her scowl was back.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because these are communication devices, and they work both ways. Until I can wipe these, it would be possible that other Shadow Carja could listen in and even track who ever wore theirs.” After a long moment of consideration, she nodded her approval.

“It is not in my power to give you license to remove anything from the Temple of the All Mother. But I will not suffer potential spies, either. Take them all and once you've cleansed them of this taint, I will take them back. Those were won fairly in battle.” Travis nodded.

“You have my word to return them once they are safe, and if they are the method of how the Shadow Carja controlled the machines, I will see to it that ability remains and I will show you how to use it.”

“Honorable words,” she admitted as she stood. “If honorable deeds follow, the Nora and the Amsci will be the best of friends. Come, I will take you to your room.”

The room Sona took Travis and Nakoa to was actually a little side store room past the old NORAD blast door. He couldn't be sure, but he vaguely remembered it was likely the security office for the portal keeper the last time he'd been here. It was just an empty stone room now, with a curtain of tanned leather for a privacy flap. On the floor was a pallet bed of what looked like fox fur that had been stitched closed and stuffed with something that was reasonably soft. There was a small table with some candles, a wash basin and a pitcher and below which was a chamber pot.

“Sleep well,” Sona bid them as she took her leave. “I will have someone wake you at dawn.”

“Thank you,” Murray told her and she actually started, as if unused to be thanked for such things, then nodded and left, dropping the skin behind her. Turning back to Nakoa he shrugged and pointed over his shoulder. “Interesting lady.”

“Mmm,” the Brave replied as she shed her weapons. “She has excellent hearing too.” Curious, Travis turned and lifted the flap to peek out to find Sona watching him from the other end of the hall. This time, she did smile and touched the side of her nose before she vanished back out through the portal. “See?” Nakoa asked him with mischief in her tone.

He let the curtain fall and walked over to the other side of the mattress and began to shed gear himself. Free of his load bearing belt, he did take the pistol from its holster and lay it next to the bed as he sat down to unlace his boots. “I didn't disbelieve you,” he assured her as he got his feet free and massaged them through the socks. “Still, I'd say despite what we've learned, this trip has been a success.”

“Beyond my wildest dreams,” she admitted from her side over the rustle of shedding her leathers. “I have tread where only one other Nora has, learned and seen the unimaginable, and my soul is my own again.” The bed rustled and shifted as she got onto it and suddenly her arms were around him from behind and her breasts were pressing into his back. “And I have found an exemplary father for my children,” she whispered in his ear.

He turned on the bed was unsurprised to find her nude. Feeling suddenly honest, he reached around and grabbed her waist to pull her into his lap. “You barely know me,” he chided her.

“I see and hear more than you think,” she fired back, raising her chin. “I see how your tribesmen respect you, how your Chief leans on your council. And I see how the women of your tribe look at you, how the mothers stare with gratitude when you pass, knowing you keep their children safe. I see the young ones glare at me because I have beaten them to your bed. And I saw you rush to the aid of a stranger only because your conscience told you it was right. What more do I need to see?”

His eyes dropped to take in all of her, in the best light he had had so far. Her body was crisscrossed with scars, her hands callused from using a bow. While what hair there was on her body was fairly fine and light, but none of it was shaved. Both arms, legs and her armpits had downy fine blond hair and over her pubic mound was a thick patch of brownish blond hair that matched her eyebrows. “You failed to notice I'm a cradle robber and a dirty old man, evidently,” he accused her.

She grinned and while her teeth weren't perfect, they were clean and white, gleaming in the candle light. “You misjudge me,” she replied softly. “I noticed those first. I'm not one of your soft and smooth ladies from the Ancient past, but I am hard and strong, and you like that. You've wanted me from the moment you offered to cut my bonds.” He opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but she reached up to silence him. “Don't lie, and don't deny it.”

Her arms slid over his shoulders and she reached her hands up to play with his hair. “I won't deny you're a beautiful woman,” he complimented her. “And yes, there are many things about you I find attractive.”

“And I know lust when I see it,” she told him with a smile. “Don't you?” She leaned forward and they were kissing, their lips pressed against each other as he pulled her tight against him. She grunted at his embrace, and her mouth opened so their tongues could snake together as her breath quickened through her nostrils. Finally, her tongue withdrew and their lips parted and her hazel eyes opened to stare into his.

His conscience demanded he whisper, “I'm old enough to be your father. I don't know how much time I have left...”

“And I'm old enough to bear your children,” she whispered back, reaching down to collect a handful of his shirt and pull it over his head. “Old enough to know Death stalks us both and we will not know when or where his arrow will find us. Whatever time you have, whatever time I have, I will have it with you. I will have tonight, and however many tomorrows as may come. I will have your children to hold to remember you, or for you to hold in remembrance of me. Now cease your protests and be my man!” He grinned at her and shook his head.

“I'll have you know I enjoy conversation with you!”

She reached up and grabbed his ears and by them pulled his face into her bosom. “Enough talk!” she hissed in pleasure as his lips found her nipple and began to gently suckle on it. “Be my man!” she commanded as her voice slowly fell into a dreamy sing song as she ran her fingers through his hair and began to pant with need. “And I will be all the woman you will ever need,” she vowed. She shivered as his lips left her nipple and he began to trail kisses down her breast.

“More than,” he whispered in reply.

She sighed as she luxuriated in the fox fur under her and gave a little shiver every time his lips touched her skin. He was such a complete dichotomy to her that she had trouble understanding him. There were times he could be so forceful in his passion and then came moments like this as gentle as though she were made of the finest Oseram glass that would shatter if he was too rough. She felt his lips kiss her navel and she raised her head in surprise, a half formed “What...?” on her lips, then his arms snaked under her thighs to guide them open and his hands were at her wrists and pulled them from his head to hold them flat against the bed.

Before she could ponder what he was doing, or think to protest, held down, legs splayed, his tongue forced open her labia and drug itself slowly over her clitoris. Nakoa's stomach spasmed from the intense pleasure and the air escaped her lungs in a long, low sound, half sigh, half moan. But that was only the beginning as he drew his tongue in a figure of eight pattern on her center, constantly moving, constantly in contact, but as slow as thick honey oozing down a honey comb. Her head fell back on the bed to open her airway as her breath was coming in gasps as the fire in her loins built and was masterfully stoked by him.

It was the most amazing feeling she'd ever experienced.

She was losing control of her body as the muscles clinched and released against her commands and she was denied any kind of leverage by the way he had her splayed with her legs open. Her nipples stood stiff, cool in the air from his saliva on them and the intense feeling of being completely at his mercy, unable to so much as speak, let alone try to stop him.

Not that she wanted to stop him. Not in the least.

Then his lips closed around her center and gently sucked it into his mouth as though a third nipple and now there was not a single part of her most intimate place that was not in contact with him. His lips held her, his tongue assailed her and she was undone. Every muscle in her body tensed all at once which forced the air from her lungs as every nerve in her body was on fire. It was the most intense orgasm of her life and it just kept going, tense and release, tense and spasm, her breath coming in gasps as she could force her lungs to draw and she could just writhe on the bed in bliss.

Her vision tunneled as her eyes filled with tears that flowed out the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks until at last she got her hands turned in his grasp and could grab his arms, clawing them out of all control of her own body. Then, when she felt certain she was pass out, his pace slowed, her clitoris slipped out of his mouth and with a final, loving lick gave her the most gentle orgasm yet and she melted, sliding off his arms, splayed in the bed, only able to gasp after her breath and shiver.

He lay down next to her and gathered her into his arms, and his voice was full of concern. “Don't cry, dear heart. What's the matter?” She couldn't let him think she was unhappy so with the last of her strength, she grabbed his neck and pulled herself to his face and kissed him with all the energy and passion she had left. The taste of herself was all over his lips and tongue and the scent of her arousal filled her nostrils.

Their lips parted and she looked down on him through blurry tears that fell on his face that was full of concern. “I...” she gasped, then took a deep breath to finally be able to speak. “I love you!” she declared, and the concern melted from his face to a gentle smile and just the slightest hint of cocksure that he had put her in this state. “You magnificent bastard! What have you done to me?”

The look on his face was smug. “Always beware an old man in a young man's profession.” He reached over and pulled the coverlet over the both of them. “Because guile and experience trump youth and vigor every time.”

“No,” she protested weakly. “Your needs...”

He grinned at her and gently pulled her down against his chest. “Seeing you like this, is all I need tonight. Just know, I will return you to this state often. I will delight in it.”

“Goddess help me,” she whispered, then more than a little awestruck, she demanded, “How are you without a mate?”

“I'm not,” he told her, and kissed the top of her head. “She's in my arms right now.” Nakoa shook gently as she basked in the afterglow of the greatest experience of her life and the feeling of those words warmed her right down to her soul. She closed her eyes and felt a few more tears leak from them, and for the first time in her short life, Nakoa knew what tears of joy felt like.

March 12^th, 3040

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Acquired?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won't deny it,” he admitted.

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

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

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

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

“How can you know that?” she demanded.

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

“How do we fight such a thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I...”

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

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

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

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

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

“What is a United States?” asked Varl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do Politics matter?” demanded Yan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certainly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Frank, my dogs were barking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello again, Ms. Channel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What's it for?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmmm,” Olara thought to herself.

March 13^th, 3040

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Home coordinates?” Travis demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Travis! Get back!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, absolutely,” Frank agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you,” he replied. “Teb?”

“I...I will come with you.”

“Olara?”

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

“Yan? What is your decision?”

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

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

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

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

“I don't know,” he admitted quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do.”

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

“Survey says?” asked Buck.

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

“And what are those?” asked Doc pointedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Much obliged,” Travis told him.

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

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

Probably with walking. Lots of walking.

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

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

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

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

“How long ago was that?” asked Olara.

“Before I was born,” Doc told her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough,” Yan admitted.

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

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

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

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

“How indeed?” Travis echoed.

March 13^th, 3040

The party rode in silence until they emerged, once again into the bright sun shine. There were fortifications on this side of the tunnel as well, though not as impressive as those on the Great Plains side had been. Once more, the Carja stared, awestruck at humans riding machines, though they were allowed to pass without hindrance. They had crested the Rocky Mountains and were now making their way across the Colorado Plateau.

The road was as well maintained on this side as it had been on the far side of the tunnel, allowing the Striders to make excellent time down hill. By mid afternoon, they were overlooking the Colorado River and the final, skeletal remains of Grand Junction. The town was a collection of partial walls and empty windows with rusting re-bar and I beams poking out; nothing had a roof and few rose above a single story. There were many vacant lots where small, cheaply built buildings had collapsed and decayed into nothing and every where plants were taking the city back to the wilderness it had sprung out of.

Beyond, the plateau spread out into the mesas and canyons of what had been Utah. Travis paused to look out at the rusting hulks of the Farro Swarm, frozen in place and slowly being reclaimed by nature. There were large swaths where the machines were gone, doubtlessly cannibalized in the press of years since for their metal, but some of the scorpion like Chariots still reared like angry mechanical insects turned to stone by a wrathful God.

Beside him, Nakoa paused her own Strider and asked, “Did you know this ruin? Before?”

“Grand Junction,” he told her softly. “I went through, once, on my way to Fort Carson for a posting. Stopped for gas, had a really good steak at this hole in the wall place...” He trailed off and sighed. “A thousand years ago.”

“Steak?” she asked as the Striders began to walk again from Travis' wool gathering.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Beef, but that won't mean anything to you. Once there were sprawling ranches out this way, with herds of cattle in the tens of thousands. Cows, almost as big as these Striders, a quarter of a ton of meat just walking around, eating, getting fat for the slaughter house.”

“I didn't think animals could get so big,” Olara opined, which caused Doc to chuckle.

“These 'Striders' we're riding were designed after Horses, an animal I used to own. This same size and shape. They were the principal means of travel of humans for thousands of years.”

“And will be again once the breeders get busy,” Buck muttered as his Strider avoided something on the trail a bit unexpectedly for him. “Cows are about the same size as a horse, but they weigh more and the proportions are different. Tasty, though.”

Yan grunted as his Strider avoided the same something in the road Buck's had. “How can you keep that much meat from spoiling before it's eaten?”

“Refrigeration,” Doc replied. “We learned to control the temperature by artificial means. We could make it cold, or even below freezing. Kept cold, meat will be good for a week or two, but it can be frozen for months.”

“We keep meat that way over the winter,” Olara admitted. “But you could year round?” Doc nodded at her. “That must be handy.”

“We'll have it for a little while,” Travis assured her. That brought Nakoa's attention.

“Not forever?” she asked.

Travis shook his head. “Things wear out. We shut down everything we could, vacuum sealed, did our best to be sure everything we could pack would be preserved, but the cooling process depends on gasses we don't have the ability to refine. If we can get the infrastructure built up quickly enough, we might be able to start up industry of critical systems, but if we're constantly fighting wars...” He trailed off and sighed. “We didn't bring an army. We didn't expect to fight wars. Everyone we have has essential knowledge that's irreplaceable.”

“That's why we have to act quickly to keep things from getting out of hand,” Doc finished for him. “Before the cost in blood ruins us.”

The sun was low on Monroe Peak jutting up from the other side of the Sevier Plateau as the group finally reached the outskirts of the ruins of Grand Junction. Small groups of machines could be seen in the ruins and on the mountain slopes beyond by their lights, but nothing was near by when they stopped in a natural hollow of rock that offered protection from the elements and a place for a fire that could be concealed. The Striders were set to grazing to replenish their supply of Blaze while the humans made camp in the hallow.

Water from a fast moving stream was collected and set by the fire to boil, to the amusement of the Nora to whom contaminated water was a foreign concept. That led to a long lecture by Doc trying to explain bacteria and germ theory to hunter/gatherer humans. Finally she reduced the concept to small devils and evil spirits which the Nora could grasp, but seemed skeptical of. Not one of them could remember becoming sick just from drinking water. Travis put a note to himself in his Focus to have the water checked over by someone with a microscope once they returned to 'Fort Carson'.

The haunch of ham that had supplied lunch was now being warmed by the fire for supper as Travis got his boots off and massaged his toes. “We made great time today,” he announced to the group, drawing nods from his people and the Nora.

“The Striders constant motion greatly speeds travel,” Nakoa observed.

Olara nodded as she poked at the fire. “The Carja Road helps too.” She looked out over the plains in the direction they were traveling. “I never thought I'd ever see The Sundom.” Travis keyed on his Focus to produce a holographic map and highlighted their position.

“We're here,” he declared. “Any idea how much father Meridian is?”

Nakoa reached over and touched the hologram, causing a point to glow. “I saw a map in Daytower on my first visit. There are canyons and the city sits on top of them. The Carja built bridges over the canyons, or so I've heard. It is north of the Carja Road because the river in the canyons give water.”

“At the pace we're going, we should be near the city by nightfall tomorrow,” Buck rumbled from his preparation of a pouch of freeze dried macaroni and cheese. “If we can keep this pace.”

The new riders of the Nora squirmed in anticipation of the discomfort of tomorrow's trip. “That looks like Eagle Canyon,” Doc said with a hard look at the map. “The San Rafael River runs through there, or it did.”

“Probably still does,” Travis replied from rubbing his chin as he contemplated the map. “It doesn't look like the watersheds of the mountains changed much.”

“What is that?” demanded Yan, drawing all eyes to him. The group saw him looking behind them at the mountains they had descended from and was pointing. Travis touched his Focus as he turned and it marked a small rotor drone that was rapidly approaching them. He put up a calming hand.

“It's ok, it's one of ours,” he told the group as the drone settled down in an open spot of grass not far from the camp fire. It's hologram projector lit up and Ian appeared.

“Hey Colonel. I hope this finds you guys quickly and you're all ok. After my nap it came to me that there had to be something that was acting as repeaters for this Focus network that ENID found.” His face became sheepish as he shrugged. “I should have thought of it sooner. Sorry about that. So, based on the Watcher brain and the code I copied from the Striders, I found this.”

The hologram changed to an image of a machine that looked vaguely like a giraffe with a gigantic flat disc for a head. Antennas sprouted like feathers haphazardly up it's neck and it's gait was comically deliberate to keep it's balance. Then the figure zoomed out to show a human next to it to give a sense of scale causing the Ancients to jerk in surprise. The human didn't reach the machine's knee, which mean it was something on the order of twenty meters tall.

“Tallneck,” Lakoa declared.

“So this is a kind of walking signal repeater,” the recorded Ian continued. “And, from what the drones have discovered today, they walk a circuit in a fixed area to establish a broad network that seems to be quite large. Maybe even world wide, we're not sure here. Frank doesn't want to have multiple teams out, so I sent this to you in hopes you guys will pass by one. If you have your Focus scan two twenty one point nine Mega Hertz you'll pick up the closest one and give you a direction to find it. I've attached a secure transmission node to the drone and if you can attach it to the repeater, it should give us a secure way to piggyback on their network and give us real time coms. I hope we hear from you soon. Good luck, Colonel.” Travis examined the little drone finding a remote controller for the drone and the node securely tied to it.

“He's quite a wizard you have,” Olara declared.

“He is that,” Doc agreed, then turned to Travis. “I'm not up on my FCC codes, but that's in the Military Radio range isn't it?”

“NATO channel A,” Murray agreed.

“Nay toe?” asked Yan.

Buck chuckled darkly. “It's an acronym for North Atlantic Treaty Organization. An old alliance of nations...tribes, you'd say, who had a mutual self defense pact.”

“Were they friends of your tribe?” asked Olara.

“The United States was a member of NATO,” Doc told her. “Why would this 'Tallneck' use it?”

Travis shrugged his ignorance. “Zero Dawn was a military project at it's heart. That frequency was obsolete, but lots of old surplus gear would hear it. Maybe they hoped there would be other survivors once Gaia had finished re-terraforming the Earth.” Nakoa touched her Focus and slowly stood, pointing off to the south.

“I see it,” she declared. “Or, the signal rather. Like ripples from throwing a stone in a pond.”

Olara looked intently at the map. “This is the Great Run river,” she declared. “Unless I am mistaken, it goes right to the Tallneck.”

“It will add two days to Meridian,” Buck drawled from his spooning out mac and cheese to the plates he was making for dinner. “One down to it, and one back.”

“The Striders can gallop at thirty or forty miles an hour,” Doc replied. “We could be down and back in one day if we gallop the whole way. And machines can do that.”

“But, can the riders?” asked Travis thoughtfully. The Nora all winced, then became grim and nodded. “We can probably save some miles cutting across country as well. Alright, we'll start the side quest tomorrow.” He took the plate Buck handed him with a nod. “In the mean time, everybody eat up. Be long day tomorrow.”

Travis lay on his back in his bed roll looking up at the sky that even their fire couldn't dim. It was his first night sleeping out of doors in this new world and the amount of visible stars was overwhelming. Even in the wilder places of the United States in his day there was a certain level of light pollution, spoiling the night sky. Now, fire was the only light source of humanity and the sky was dazzling with stars and nebula visible to the naked eye. He was actually having trouble picking out the constellations because of the staggering increase in what he could see.

Nakoa laid out her own roll and lay down beside him, pressing herself against him in a way that was comforting and possessive all at once. “Heavy thoughts?” she whispered from getting her head comfortable on his arm and shoulder.

“Amazed at the view,” he whispered back. “In my day, you couldn't see a fifth of these stars, even out here in Big Sky country.”

Her face showed her curiosity as she looked up at him. “Why?”

“Light pollution,” he replied. You've seen the holographic lights through your Focus, but back then, even without a Focus, Grand Junction there would be so bright it would dim the sky. Many parts of the town would be as bright as full day.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” she wanted to know. He held up his wrist where she could see it. “We find those lots of places. The Carja love them and will pay silly amounts of Shards to...wait.” She raised up a bit to look closer. “The little sticks move?”

He chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “This is called a watch. It's a device to keep time. It's how we lived our lives.”

“Why?” she demanded again. “You can just look outside to see if it's day or night.”

He laid his arm down so she could see it more clearly. “I heard the Captain say they use hour glasses?” Her head nodded as she looked closer at the watch. “The symbols there are numbers and the space marked between them is an hour. Twenty four hours in a day, broken into twelve for each on the watch. In our time, I wouldn't say, 'I'll see you tomorrow,' I would say 'We'll meet at three thirty,' and we all knew exactly when that was.”

“Why would you need to be so exact?” she demanded.

“Lots of reasons,” he replied softly. “Our lives were very regulated, when to be at work, when to eat, when to sleep and for how long.”

She patted the watch on his wrist and looked up at him. “That didn't work out so well, did it?”

It was a question he had no answer for, but that didn't keep him thinking about it until he fell asleep.

March 14^th, 3040

As the sun was beginning to peek over the top of the Rockies, Travis went about perking up the fire to cook breakfast as Nakoa went from bundle to bundle, gently rousing sleepers. Being an early riser, he had always found it easier to take last watch and Nakoa had insisted on joining him. There was already water on the fire for making freeze dried coffee and to reconstitute the powdered eggs for breakfast. Olara had been walking with Buck pointing out various plants that were eatable, which did considerable help to their otherwise bland breakfast.

Within an hour the camp was broken, the mounts readied and the Nora eased back into the 'saddle' depression on the Strider. “Should it hurt this much?” demanded Olara, who had no pride to remain stoic and silent like Yan or Nakoa. Buck chuckled.

“It's called saddle sore,” he told her with a wink as he got astride his own. “It'll get better in a couple of days.”

“If anyone needs it,” Doc called from helping Travis secure the drone to the pack Strider. “Just call out and we'll have a halt. There's no one here to impress.”

Travis, satisfied of the drone, swung up into the saddle of Twenty One Twenty One and took up the built in reins for the machine. “We'll start out at a trot,” he ordered, purposefully not noticing the sighs of relief. “Once we have our 'horse legs' we'll see about faster.” He called up the interface on the Strider and set a way point for the location of the Tallneck and the machine set off.

For three hours the party trotted cross country, bending their way around concentrations of machines as they went about their work. Watchers kept a keen eye, but whatever their engagement distance, the party never crossed it. By mid morning, as Travis had hoped, they came across the remnants of Moab and the old US Highway One Ninety One. Like Grand Junction before it, most of Moab was long gone, only a few corners of walls still standing with rusting out light polls and unreadable signs to bear witness that humanity had ever lived here.

But it was not the grave of Moab that held the travelers eyes.

Just north of the ruins, some long ago disturbance of the land had made a landslide dam, choking the river. It backed up into a lake with a pair of islands in it with two channels around the islands until it over topped the natural dam and continued on its way to the Grand Canyon. In the lake, walking a stately circuit around the islands, was the Tallneck. It took no notice of the humans or the other machines around it, just walking a lonely vigil in the water and the ground vibrated slightly with each foot fall.

The highest point of the two islands came just below the back of the machine, three full stories above the water. But the neck of the machine continued up another three or even four stories above that.

“I will be dipped in shit,” muttered Buck.

Doc was also aghast. “Look at the size of it!”

Travis shook his head as he dug out a pair of binoculars from his belt pouch and held them up to his face. “It's got to be seven stories tall,” he said, keeping his worry out of his voice as much as he could. “I can see what looks like an Access Node on the head, right in the center of the disk, but be damned if I know how we'll get up there.”

“Can your flying machine not take it?” asked Yan.

“Sure,” Doc replied. “The drone can get our node up there, but somebody has to plug it into the machine.”

“I'm sure if we had good Coms Ian could make it stop and bend down, but we don't,” Murray reflected, mostly to himself. “And if we force the thing to stop, we'll probably destroy it.” He felt his heart sink just as he heard Nakoa speak.

“I could climb it.”

“No,” he snapped, in chorus with Doc's shout of, “Are you out of your mind?” Nakoa, however, was unphased.

“We had harder climbing challenges on the Proving Trail I took when I became a Brave,” she boasted. She pointed next to Travis. “See? I can leap on it's back from that island. Then I just climb up those metal feathers on it's neck.”

As Travis was scrambling for a reason why not to attempt such a thing, Buck rubbed his chin and said, “Those feathers look like they might be Class Seven omni directional receivers. IEEE standard for their mounting is the weight of the antenna plus two hundred pounds of wind load.” He brought his Strider up to the other side of Travis' from Nakoa. “I don't think your lady weighs one thirty in all that gear.”

“Buck...”

Nakoa reached out and touched his arm. “Don't worry. Of all the things since you entered my life, this I know I can do. You will have to instruct me how to install the thing through the Focus, but just fly it up to me when I'm there.”

“What about some kind of climbing harness or safety rope?” his pride demanded he ask, but she shook her head.

“You couldn't keep up with the Tallneck and tension a safety rope,” she told him. “I'll be fine. Fly the thing to me when I'm on the top.” With that, she kicked her Strider and trotted down towards the water.

“I'm going to regret this,” Travis muttered to himself, once again taking out his binoculars. “Buck, can you...?”

“I'll see to the Drone, boss.”

“Thank you.”

Through the glass, he watched her wade through the lake on the Strider, then trot up the high point. The Tallneck was on the furthest side of the lake, which made for a nerve wracking wait as it slowly and regally made it's way around the circuit, oblivious to it's new companions on the island. On the island, Nakoa had slid off the Strider and was stretching in preparation for the jump.

“You aren't worried?” Doc demanded of Yan behind him, but he was dismissive.

“Nakoa is a Nora Brave,” he boasted. “Probably the best climber of her Proving. No, I am not concerned.”

I am, Travis thought to himself as he watched. His gut clinched as she darted towards the edge with impressive speed and threw herself over the edge, right as the machine was opposite her. It blocked his view for a moment, but he didn't see her fall, then he saw her pulling herself up on the machine's back. It continued walking, ignoring her as she scrambled up it's neck for leverage, then leapt up onto the antenna.

For a split second that felt like an eternity, he thought the antenna would buckle, but she caught herself on it, and scrambled up to stand while it stayed straight. Then she jumped across the machine's back to the next higher, again pulling herself up to stand before leaping back across and higher up. In this zigzag path she made her way up the machine until she grabbed the assembly at the joint where the disk met the neck. He blinked and she was standing on the things massive head, waving at him.

With a buzzing hum, the drone took off and shot over to her as the Tallneck continued to walk it's lonely circle. He touched his Focus and her transparent face appeared next to him. “See?” she demanded with a grin. “Nothing to it.”

“How will you get down?” he asked, but she dismissed his concern with a wave as she walked over to the drone which was landing on the disk.

“Down is easy,” she assured him. She got the buckles open on the straps to the node and took it off the Drone. “This is hard. What do I do?”

“Take it over to that knob in the center of the Tallneck's head,” he told her. “Now do you see that opening the same shape as the node?”

“Yes.”

“Pry the cover off and look inside,” he continued. “You should see a socket that matches the one on the node.”

“Ah, simple,” she declared as her ghostly self got the cover open and slid the node inside. For the first time, the Tallneck reacted and with a bleat like the horn of a freight train, a flash of light spread out from it's head in all directions. “What was that?”

“I don't know, but let's not wait to see if it was a distress call,” he shot back. “Get down!” Then he linked his Focus to the node and saw it had up-linked with the machine. “ENID?” he asked, and to his relief, the avatar of the program appeared in the air.

“Good Morning, Colonel,” she greeted with a smile. “I see you were successful in up-linking the node. One moment. I have access to the global network, though it will take me some time to completely collate this much data. Shall I inform Mr Olmstead of your achievement?”

Travis saw Nakoa descend from the Tallneck's head on a line she must have carried up with her, then dropped free to scramble out of the machine's way. Realizing he was holding his breath, he starting breathing again. “It's not just my achievement, ENID,” he corrected her.

The arid climate of what had been Utah doubtlessly contributed to the state of US Highway One Ninety One, which was surprisingly good. Much of the original asphalt was still in place, though there was significant growth of some species of particularly hearty grass through the cracks. It allowed the Striders to keep a rapid pace that ate distance. For whatever reason, the other machines gave the road a wide berth which meant the party could travel a much more direct course than the cross country route they had been. It was only a bit past one that they arrived at the junction between the US Highway and Interstate Seventy.

The concrete over pass of the East Bound lanes had collapsed, filling the depression and embankment of the Interstate over pass, but the West Bound was actually still standing, a literal bridge from and to nowhere as the microscopic 'town' of Crescent Junction, only a rest area and a gas station in the days of the Ancients was decayed into only grass filled cracked pavement and blown drifts of sand. The Striders thundered up the old off ramp of the East Bound lane, then Travis led the group across the median to the West Bound lane from force of habit.

Every so often they passed the rusted out hulk of a car, only just clinging to it's shape to be identifiable as the metal was eaten away by entropy. The sun and the heat was oppressive, even this early in the year, but the breeze of the Striders running helped as did the lack of moisture in the air. An hour of running brought cooler air and welcome greenery as the group arrived at the muddy waters of the Green River.

The town that shared the River's name was gone, but the banks were lined with sage and Cotton Wood trees and, more important, the pair of bridges spanning the river were still intact. Also of note was the first settlement of humans they had encountered in the Sundom. Across both sides of the river was the cut stone and curved red tile roofs of the odd mishmash of Tudor and Adobe styles that Travis was beginning to associate with the Carja. The town occupied both sides of the river, and encircled itself along with the bridges of Interstate Seventy with a defensive wall and gates that stood open.

The group slowed their Striders to a walk to give them more time to approach as they took in the sizable community and its buildings. “This isn't Meridian, is it?” Travis asked Nakoa, and the Nora shook her head.

“No, this is Lone Light. From here, the way to Meridian leaves the Carja Road.” She pointed at a wide dirt track that left the city and headed towards the hills and mesas beyond. “That is the road to Meridian. Lone Light is a trade hub between boats from the north and south of the Carja eastern boarder and the Carja road.”

Doc pushed the bush hat on her head back and wiped her forehead. “I'd say let's stop for lunch, but we don't have anything to trade.”

Nakoa made a dismissive gesture. “I have plenty of Shards. Aloy split the spoil from the Slavers she freed me from with me. More than enough for a meal.”

“What about our machines?” asked Olara. “Somehow I doubt they'll be left alone if we go into a tavern.”

“We'll just eat al fresco,” Buck assured her and, at her confused look, added, “Out doors.”

“Won't that be fun,” Doc muttered to herself. The group closed the last half mile and realized the town had come to a complete halt. At the gate, a trio of soldiers wearing the great coat and red plumbed helmet of the Carja Army were bolstered with about a double dozen of the town's men, probably some kind of militia and at the head of them was a well dressed man somewhere in his late thirties wearing clothing of mostly red with white highlights. It wasn't a uniform exactly, but it was obviously meant to give that impression. Still, he cut a very fine figure of a man, who was well fit for his age with a powerful, dangerous build. He was clean shaven, as all the men were and bare headed with a full head of salt and pepper hair contained by a gold band or circlet he wore with a seven pointed sun emblem on his forehead.

As they reached conversational distance, he held up a broad hand. “Hold, and state your business. Who are you?”

“Give me your name, Carja, and I'll give you mine,” Yan snapped, but quieted at a soft gesture from Travis.

The Colonel slid off his Strider and made a show of hanging his rifle off the machine before stepping forward. The big Carja pulled his sword from it's sheath and handed to another man next to him before stepping out. “My name is Travis Murray,” he started once the to had converged to a sociable distance. “Who do I have the honor to address?”

The Carja proved to be of a similar size to Travis and his surprise at Travis' introduction was evident on his face. “I am Noonman Valorous Hadim, Magistrate of Lone Light.”

From her mount, Nakoa called, “The Noonman is a Carja Noble.”

Hadim's eyes darted to Nakoa and back to Travis. “You must be a mighty warrior to have Nora as your guide. And since you need a guide, I presume you are not of any tribe I know?”

Travis smiled and nodded. “You're correct, sir. With me are Nora Braves' Nakoa, Olara and Yan. Along with my countrymen, Buck Simpson and Tracy Williams.”

“And where is your country, Travis Murray?” Hadim asked evenly.

“We come from the coast of the sea over the mountains and to the South East; a land called Texas. We call our tribe AmSci. We've come in answer to your Sun King's call for aid against a Metal Devil.” The Magistrate's eyes flicked back to the machines.

“As you can master machines, I could wish there were more of you in that case.”

“We're not looking for any trouble,” Travis assured him. “We are just passing through on our way to Meridian. We thought to stop for lunch if that's possible, and then be on our way. I gave the Captain of Daytower my word of peaceful journey and he granted us safe passage.”

Hadim nodded gravely at the declaration. “And that shall be honored here,” he affirmed. “Do you vouch for the actions of your machines?”

“They will initiate nothing without our say so,” Travis assured him. “But if they are attacked, I cannot say they will not defend themselves.” Seeing the dawning skepticism on the Magistrate's face, Travis quickly added, “So, if possible, we intend to eat in sight of them so that there are no accidents.”

The Magistrate pulled at his chin for a long moment, then turned over his shoulder. “Tunoy, run to the tavern and have Ulder set out a table and chairs for the comfort of Travis Murray and his party. They eat as my guests, and I will settle their account.” A younger man, Tunoy it could be surmised, took off at a run towards the bridge and the far side of the town.

Travis held up a hand. “One moment, your honor, that's not necessary, we are happy to pay...”

“Allies of the Sun King who come to our aid?” Hadim asked somewhat archly. “A meal is the least gratitude I can offer. Come, I will show you the way myself and you can join me in a tank of ale.”

Murray gave a gesture of acquiescence. “We're grateful for your hospitality.” He gestured and Twenty One Twenty One ambled up, pausing to allow the Colonel to mount him. The Noonman's gaze was a bit lingering, but at last he turned, signaling for the militia to disperse back to their normal work.

“How far have you traveled?” Hadim asked casually as he walked next to the machine, putting up a brave front of being unconcerned by it. Travis allowed himself a chuckle, drawing the other man's eyes.

“This journey,” he specified, “Only a few days. My people were driven out of Texas by...dangerous machines. We have settled next to the Nora in the unclaimed land between their Embrace and Devil's Grief. I suppose we shall have to have some formal treaty with your king to establish that border.”

“My sympathies to your troubles, they seem many.”

“Thank you,” Murray replied. “We've had some troubles, but things are looking up.”

Hadim accepted his sword from the soldier who had been holding it and returned it to it's scabbard as they passed through the gate. “The Sun shine on your good fortune, then. Let us hope that as your aid helps the Sun King, may it rise on welcome tidings of your own.”

“Thank you,” Travis told him as the party ambled over the bridge. Next to the road was one of the larger buildings with a court yard that ran down the slight embankment to docks on the bank of the river.

In the courtyard, several boys and young men were just setting up a table and chairs under the watchful eye of a rotund man in an apron. The fence gave the riders a place to 'tie' the Striders into a string, then followed the Noonman over to the table. Hadim indicated the apron wearer after they'd clasped hands in greeting. “Travis Murray, your host, Hospitable Ulder. Ulder, these are allies of our Sun King, so I require your best.”

The big Tavern keeper nodded and extended a meaty hand to be shook. “Beer or Wine, Travis Murray?”

“Beer,” Murray quickly replied.

“I have a roast peccary ready for carving, fresh bread my wife baked this morning and honey.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Travis assured him. He nodded and ambled back into the in, gesturing the boys in with him. The group settled at the table, the Nobleman taking the head of it at Travis' insistence after some polite and false declining. Two of the boys returned, carrying a pitcher and large bowl and towels along with two teenage girls who were obviously related to them, one carrying a keg on a small cart and the other a tray of wooden tankards.

The Noonman held his hands over the bowl, which the boy with the pitcher poured a slightly red tinted water with pedals in it over his hands, which he then dried on the towel. The ritual when down the table as the girls presented each with a tankard of warm beer from the cask after. It was a thick beverage with a strong hops bite and almost no head and considerably flatter than Travis would have liked, but was generous with his praise anyway. After the group raised their tankards to the Magistrate, his glaze lingered on the Striders by the fence. “I would say you will reach Meridian day after tomorrow with a good foot under you, but...” he paused and took another sip of his beer. “I've seen how fast Striders can run. If you can make them run the whole way you'll be there the first hour past night fall.”

“That's good news,” Travis replied. “Time seems to be of the essence.”

Hadim sighed gravely. “It was hoped we could get the secret of taming the machines from the Shadow Carja. But every one we've captured died under the question without revealing it.” He let a dramatic pause fall. “Though I see you have it out of them.”

“None of them we have fought would be taken alive,” Buck rumbled in a voice that was only just not a threat.

“Though you have the secret none the less,” he continued. “As a magistrate of your Ally, I can promise you considerable wealth for it to be...shared.”

Travis noted the hanging danger of the nobleman's tone and carefully kept his own light. “It is a shame we do not know it ourselves,” he declared blithely. “I have always wanted to be wealthy, but alas, no one of our people who know the secret can leave our fortress. These we have obey us, and us alone, but if they are destroyed I have no way to replace them. Thus was the will of my Chief.”

A sly smile fluttered across Hadim's face. “A wise leader.”

“The greatest among us,” Murray agreed. He leaned back so that a wooden plate with a generous pile of sliced meat, a thick slice of bread and a compote or chutney of fruits and what looked like barley in a thick, sweet smelling sauce of some kind could be set on the table before him. “We are grateful for your generosity and hospitality, Noonman, I will remember it to your King when I see him.”

Several expressions played across the nobleman's face until his smile became a bit more genuine and a fair bit less scheming. “I would be in your debt for the kindness.”

“Out of curiosity, Valorous Hadim,” Olara asked softly. “We follow another Nora Brave who made us aware of the Sun King's plight. The Seeker Aloy, have you news of her?”

The Noonman thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Seeker? Aloy? I'm afraid these words mean nothing to me. You are first Nora I've seen in some time.”

“She would stand out in your memory,” Yan assured him. “Flame red hair and she also rode a Strider.”

“That I have heard of,” Hadim admitted. “Though not with my own eyes. A pair of Oseram traders came down the Greatrun yesterday from their settlement Free Heap, with tales of a Nora Brave with red hair on a Strider. They saw her going north.” He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “They were well into their tankards when I heard the tale and dismissed it.”

“Free Heap?” asked Travis.

Hadim nodded sagely. “It's a freehold of the Oseram north of here, technically on the Carja side of the border we share with The Claim, but the Sun King is content to indulge them after their help in over throwing his father.”

Travis swallowed his current mouthful of the surprisingly succulent roast and asked, “Noonman, if I showed you a map of the land, could you show me where this Free Heap is?” The Carja nobleman pondered for a moment, then shrugged.

“It would depend on the nature of the map,” he finally declared. “I've dealt with my share of bad ones, but show me yours and I'll see.”

Murray thought for a moment, giving a quick glance around the table, then reached up to his temple. “Magistrate, what I'm about to show you will likely be startling, but you have my word you are in no danger.” The other man frowned.

“What kind of map would make me fear for my life?”

Travis shrugged and touched his Focus. “This kind.” It projected a holographic terrain map of the area, hovering over the table and it's food with ghostly mountains and miniature rivers and valleys. Hadim started and actually leapt to his feet in shock.

“By the Sun!” he swore, his eyes wide as he looked from the Hologram to Travis and back. “What sorcery is this?”

“It's not magic,” Travis told him, making a point to move his hand through the light. “It's just an image...a...a drawing, projected with light. It cannot hurt you.”

Hadim leaned down to better see the image, amazement and curiosity over taking his start. “Like the lights of the Ancients,” he whispered, hesitantly reaching up and putting his own hand in the light and looking at it as if for some change. Looking back up at Travis, he asked, “How can you do this?”

Travis sighed and shook his head. “That isn't a question whose answer you would believe, nor can I, who can use the device, but not make it, explain it fully. Think of it as a drawing, in light but with depth as well as width and height.”

“As if seen from some height above,” Hadim finished, his mind moving quickly. “I recognize these symbols, they're the script of the Ancients. You can read these?” The Magistrate took in Travis' nod with a rub of his chin, then he turned to take a harder look at the image. “Here is the Carja Road, and the Greatrun river, but I don't see Lone Light, or Meridian.”

Travis nodded. “The information that drew this map is very old, made long before Lone Light or Meridian was built. But, here,” and he pointed at the spot where Interstate Seventy crossed the River. “Here is where Lone Light stands now. You said Free Heap was north, up the river?”

The Noonman reached out and pointed with his finger. “About here, I think. It's hard to judge the distance on this...image.”

“That's just south of Kings Peak,” Buck rumbled, and Doc nodded.

“Aloy is headed to Zero Dawn directly,” she added. Travis laid a pin on the image where the town was supposedly and dismissed the hologram.

“I apologize for startlingly you, Noonman Hadim,” Murray assured him.

“Who...who are you people?” the Nobleman asked. “Really?”

“Friends,” Doc assured him. “Friends of your King and your people.”

“Praise the Sun,” he whispered to himself.

With as little pomp and ceremony as the group could leave Lone Light they did so, trotting up the road that led to Meridian. This was a new road, only just wide enough for two Striders abreast and made of brick that made for a somewhat jolting journey. An hour's canter took Lone Light out of sight and Travis raised his hand to call a halt, then turned Twenty One Twenty One to face his team. “Alright, guys now we decide which way we're actually going. Do we continue up this road to Meridian?”

Olara laid her arms on the Striders neck and leaned on them. “If Aloy is going north, there must be a reason. We were going to Meridian to try and catch her, but she's not even going there.”

Yan, for once, nodded thoughtfully and his tone was polite. “We should probably go after Aloy. I have no great love of Carja, nor am I here for them.”

“The message Travis and I saw,” Nakoa told the other Braves, “told her to go North to seek something called the Master Over Ride. That that would lay the Metal Devil Hades low.”

Buck nodded at Olara and locked eyes with Travis. “I agree with the Nora, Boss. The best help we can give the Sun King is to help Aloy. Let's head North.”

Travis sighed again and sought Tracy's eyes. “Doc? You want to make it unanimous?”

“You're in charge, Colonel,” she replied quickly. “But if you want my opinion? Yes, I think we should go North.”

“North it is then,” Travis declared gravely. He got his Strider pointed in the right direction and brought it up to a canter. “Let's ride hard,” he shouted over his shoulder. “See if we can make up some distance, then we'll camp.” With that, Twenty One Twenty One tossed its head thundered down the valley into a full gallop.

March 15^th, 3040

Travis carefully picked up the canteen cup he'd had by the fire to set into the sand next to it so he could have both hands to open the little pack of freeze dried powder and spoon a judicious amount into the steaming water. It was a 'three in one' mixture the chief dietitian had come up with that proved shelf stable thanks to his packaging and storage, 'coffee' powder along with sugar and a 'creamer' that had no dairy elements to go rancid. It gave the coffee a somewhat artificial flavor, but it was close enough, and hot enough this early in the morning to go unnoticed.

Nakoa handed him the canteen cup they'd scrounged for her and poured half the mixture into her cup and returned it to her, then stood and looked up to admire the amazing star field over head. “This view never gets old,” he whispered after his first sip of the welcome brew to get his thoughts moving. The Nora brave smiled at him as she held her cup in both hands for the warmth.

She looked up and tried to imagine what it was like for him, then shook her head. “I can't imagine a place being so bright so that the stars are dimmed,” she told him. Cocking her head, she pointed off to the southwest. “Look at that.”

He turned to find a dim, reddish yellow glow on the horizon. “What in the world could that be?” he muttered to himself. “There's no smoke, it can't be a brush fire..” The bad lands of what had been Utah were considerably greener than they had been in his day, thanks to unaltered watersheds. With no cities to divert the streams for water, the 'desert' was merely empty and somewhat arid. “Isn't that where Meridian is?” he asked her and she nodded.

“Can a human dwelling be so bright?” she wondered aloud.

He shrugged his own ignorance. “The bakers should be getting up, guards and watchmen changing shift, maybe...” he trailed off. “Not knowing how big the city is, it's impossible to say.” She leaned against him and took a long sip of her coffee.

“I shall be glad when this adventure is over,” she declared softly. “I have been traveling for almost two years, but our night together in your office makes me think of nice things.” She looked up at him, curiosity on her face. “Will we always live in the mountain?”

Travis shook his head and took a sip himself, gazing off in the direction of Fort Carson. “No, the plan was to make a village out side the mountain. Something defensible, in case it was needed, and be able to retreat into the mountain if pressed.”

“I like that,” she whispered.

He picked out the faintest beginnings of dawn over the Rockies to the East. “It will be dawn soon.”

“Yes,” she declared with a little bitterness. “I hate that our only time alone is standing watch.”

“Why?”

She looked up at his innocent question and arched an eyebrow at him. Even in the predawn gloom she could see his blush. “That's why,” she told him salaciously. “I've dreamed of our nights together. It's not every day a woman finds a man who is such a gifted lover.”

He chuckled darkly. “Now I'll never get my ego back in it's box.”

She laughed and playfully grabbed his crotch. “As skilled as you are with this weapon, you'd be forgiven a fair amount of swagger. I've never met a warrior as skilled and humble as you.”

He shrugged as he drank his coffee and allowed himself a little smile. “Professionals do,” he declared, “The insecure brag.” That caused her to stand on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. Her breath smelled of coffee and lust.

“You certainly do,” she whispered.

“That's what she said,” he chuckled, turning his head to check on the Striders. They were finishing their grazing and ambling over, preparing for the coming day. Following his gaze, she reached up and patted the face of her own mount with some affection.

“Could we decorate them, do you suppose?”

“Once we're home?” he asked and shrugged. “I don't see why not.” The Strider gave it's electronic whinny as if adding it's thoughts to the discussion. “I think I'm going to rename Twenty One. In fact, Twenty One Twenty One your new designation is Black Jack.” The machine gave an exaggerated equine nod to acknowledge the order.

“Black Jack?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

“It was a card game in my time. The object of the game was to get as close to twenty one without going over as possible.”

“Ah.” She took another sip of the coffee and sighed in contentment. “Perhaps you can teach me some time.” She sighed again and became serious, reaching up to touch her Focus and a map appeared between them. “How long do you think before we get to this King's Peak?”

“Hard to say for sure,” he hedged as he indicated their position on the hologram. “We're about here. We made good time yesterday after leaving Lone Light, I'd guess about sixty miles.”

“A day and a half's walk in four hours?” she asked, amazed. “I knew the Striders were fast, but...” He winked at her.

“The speed limit on I70, the Carja road? Was seventy miles an hour.”

Her eyes opened in shock. “Those metal carts we passed could go so fast?”

“When the road was well maintained? Yes. Considerably faster, actually, but seventy was the limit. Now, I'd never try to take anything other than something with tracks or a really rugged four by four anywhere near that speed.”

She shook her head in amazement, then was all seriousness again as she looked at the map. “How long is this distance remaining then?”

“About another sixty miles, give or take.”

“So, we should arrive by lunch time.”

“Hard riding? Yes,” he agreed. “You up for another half day of gallop?”

She turned off her Focus and looked east as the horizon began to brighten and the first rays of the new day lit up her face. Once more, Travis was struck by how someone could look so young and innocent, and yet so hardened and determined. Her eyes returned to him and narrowed just a bit. “Lets start on breakfast so we can rouse them,” she declared. “The sooner this is done, the sooner I can do more than sleep with you.”

“You are incorrigible,” he accused, and she smiled an impish smile back.

“And you are not complaining, are you?” She smirked at his silence as she reached down to begin removing the meal kit from their gear. “I thought not. After all, I have a new dance to learn.”

Travis took a calming gulp of his coffee and sighed. “I am going to die a very happy man,” he told himself.

After breakfast, the party set out at a trot, letting the sun rise to give better illumination to their wilderness. Then, once the land could be better seen, the Striders began to gallop, thundering through the wilderness with surprising grace and speed. By mid morning, tired and a bit sore they forded Antelope Creek and paused to refill the water bottles to be boiled later when they made camp. To their surprise, the Striders actually 'drank' from the stream, likely to give fluid to the process by which they were fermenting the grass they'd 'eaten' into blaze. The water was quite clear, but even this far from anything that had been, there were rusting Chariot robots of the Faro Swarm.

The cold mountain runoff cooled everyone as the sun was arching high and the heat of the bad lands was beginning to mount. They didn't tarry long, but once humans were refreshed and water bottles filled, the set off again as quickly as could be tolerated in hopes of catching the mysterious Seeker, Aloy.

They passed over what had been the Unitah Reservation, and began to climb out of the badlands and into the now much greener Ashley National Forest. It was here they got their first taste of what had occurred twenty years before. The trees were all new growth, coming up around the fallen logs of their fore bares, all pointing like dead fingers to Kings Peak and a fusion reactor explosion like a modern day Tunguska. “What happened here?” Yan whispered in amazement as their pace was slowed, picking through the felled forest.

“The Goddess told us in her message she destroyed herself,” Nakoa told him as they were forced to slow through a particularly dense thicket.

“A fusion explosion,” Buck rumbled, looking back over at Doc. “Should we be worried about radiation?”

“I wouldn't have wanted to be standing here when Gaia checked herself out,” Doc replied, “but no. I'm not sure how she managed to get a fusion reactor to overload and explode, but other than the initial blast, all that's released is helium. There are small amounts of Tritium, but it's only a beta emitter and has a short half life. You'll get more radiation from eating a banana.”

The crested a ridge and stopped in shock.

“Mother of God,” whispered Buck. The entire peak of the mountainside was gone, leaving a massive crater with the skeletal remains of catwalks, reinforcement and wrecked machinery. It was obvious something had been inside the mountain, but large amounts of it were scattered about the crater and there were even doors and hallways opening out into the void that had been underground but where now exposed to the air.

“By the Goddess,” Olara answered, then pointed off to one side. “Look! Is that...?”

“It's a Stormbird carcass!” Yan affirmed. Without waiting for leave, he kicked his Strider into motion and led the group over to the robot. It was a massive thing, something like fifty feet from wing tip to wing tip, with three small jet thrusters on each wing vaguely shaped like feathers. In appearance, it seemed to have been designed after a massive bird of prey, like an eagle, but taken to strange extremes. It's height was hard to guess as it's legs and body were crushed under it from when it had crashed, but twenty five feet high likely wasn't a bad guess.

There were arrows sticking out of the carcass.

“Someone fought this thing?” demanded Doc.

Nakoa slipped off her Strider and pulled an arrow loose from the damaged machine to examine the fletching. “Aloy,” she declared confidently.

“She didn't just fight it,” Olara declared from where she was squatting looking at the ground. “She won. Her tracks go that way, towards the crater.”

Travis touched his Focus as he swung a leg over his Strider and dismounted. “ENID?”

The bust of the AI's avatar appeared in the air next to him. “Good morning, Colonel. How may I assist you?”

“We're at the Kings Peak facility,” he said as he walked over to the downed robot's head and began to examine it. “Would you connect me with Ian, please? I think he'll want to see this.”

“Certainly. I'll connect you now.”

The avatar vanished to be replaced by the company's computer genius. “Hey Colonel! Whoa! What's that?” he demanded, his bust expanding into to a full body hologram for tele-presence.

“The Nora call it a Stormbird,” Travis told him. “I thought you might want it's brain?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” the other shot back. He bent over the carcass, actually stepping into the the debris for a better look at the head. “Yes! There's an access panel here.” Travis got out his multi-tool and with a bit of cursing under his breath, got the damaged cover off, revealing the brain within. He released some kind of shock absorbing assembly that held the robot brain in place and removed it. It seemed completely intact.

“You want me to strap this to the drone and send it back to you?”

“No need,” Ian assured him, walking with the bigger man over to the pack Strider that had the rotor drone strapped to it. “I figured we might get lucky like this, so I wired in a connector on the drone. It's under this access panel. Just plug the brain in and I'll download it through the Focus Network.”

Travis got the cover open and removed a cable stored within it which plugged neatly into the robot's brain. A few lights on the device lit up and a hologram assured him the brain was being down loaded. “I'm not sure I want you to test your over ride like you did on the Striders,” he told Ian. “I'd rather be there in case something goes wrong.”

“We've only got so many drones,” Ian replied. “Or the capacity to make more. A flock of these Stormbirds could help.”

“The Nora are amazed Aloy brought this thing down, Ian,” Travis told him quietly. “I don't know if you get the scale of this thing. It's big. Like the size of a light plane big. And it's armed.”

“Understood, Colonel. Once I have it checked, I'll run some simulations with ENID and we'll have a conference call with Frank and decide.” Travis nodded grimly, steeling himself it was Frank's call, not his. “Ok, I've got it. Put it aside and bring it with you, I'd like to study it when you get back.”

“Will do.” Ian's image winked out, to be replaced by ENID's avatar.

“One moment, Colonel. I wanted to make you aware I am detecting residual power readings from the King's Peak wreck.”

Travis' face pulled into a frown. “Power?” he demanded.

“It would seem the emergency power systems in several isolated pockets are still functioning,” the program told him. “It is likely there are data centers still with power and containing usable information.”

“I'll keep an eye out,” he assured her, then clicked the Focus off and followed Olara from her tracking of Aloy's trail.

Nakoa raised a hand to touch his arm and pointed. “Look.” He followed her gesture to find a dubious looking wooden scaffold system had been erected along side the open cliff face to get access to some of the exposed rooms and corridors.

“Aloy didn't build those,” he muttered. “Someone is in here looting. Maybe a lot of someones.” He unslung the rifle into a patrol carry and checked that it was loaded. “Eyes on a swivel,” he ordered, seeing Buck and Doc copy him. “Somebody built that, and they may not be friendly.”

Cautiously, the group followed Aloy's tracks towards the crater and the improvised scaffold. It was a rough thing, downed trees, stripped of limbs, lashed together. There was none of the Carja talent evident here, it was, in fact, even more crude than the Nora dwellings he'd seen in the Embrace. They reached a rope ladder with slats made of arm thick branches, probably hacked from the structural members that made the scaffold and there was fresh mud on them. Olara stood and faced Travis somberly. “She went up here,” she declared. “Do we follow?”

Travis looked up, but the scaffold was piled with a mishmash of, chests and boxes of supplies, along with stretched animal hides hung between the poles to provide shelter and plenty of places for ambush. “I'll go first,” he declared, but a heavy hand fell on his shoulder that when he turned to face it, found it attached to Buck.

“No, sir,” Buck informed him with the certainty of a mountain. “We need you, Colonel. You're the best military mind of our group and we're in a quagmire of warlords and strong men. I'm just a grunt. I'll go first.”

“Buck...”

The big man's face split into his toothy grin. “Boss, you already got me for insubordination. Don't make roughing up my supervisor part of it.” The grip on his shoulder tightened, stopping short of pain, but it's threat was apparent. Travis allowed himself to be gently pushed aside and Buck slung his rifle over his shoulders and took out his pistol. As he went to step onto the ladder, Olara collected a handful of his shirt and used it to leverage herself up into his face where she laid a kiss that would make a porn star blush.

“Don't be stupid!” she commanded.

Buck smiled and winked at her. “Too late for that,” he quipped then with surprising agility for his bulk, ascended the ladder like a cat. “Clear,” he called softly and this time, no one made the mistake of coming between Travis and the ladder.

The two men crept forward, pistols at the ready as the rest of the party advanced behind them. All were relieved the scaffold seemed stronger than it had looked until at last they came into an anteroom whose door had been forced open. Here were more primitive tools and cached supplies and at the back of the room, a blast door that stood open. “Come into my parlor,” muttered Doc from the rear of the group. Buck walked over and knelt beside the blast door.

“That's interesting,” Buck rumbled from his examination of the door.

“What did you find?” asked Travis.

The big man pointed out discolorations and scratches on the seam of the blast door. “Somebody wanted in here pretty bad. And for a long time. Some of these scratches have rust in them where the coating was damaged. But look at the diagnostic on the holo lock. Somebody with permission opened the door.”

“The Goddess told Aloy she would be allowed entry,” Nakoa thought aloud.

“Let's see if we can catch up,” Travis said with an encouraging clap on Buck's shoulder. The proceeded in, their way lit by ghostly, static filled holograms, their own Focus's and the lights mounted to Buck and Travis' pistols.

“Look,” Olara declared, pointing at the dust on the floor and a pair of foot prints visible in them. “Aloy has been through here. That's a Nora boot print.”

Travis grinned up at Buck. “Lead the way, big guy.”

The tracks went deeper into the complex, sometimes back out into the cavernous crater to get around obstructions by climbing over the rock face, but with very little back tracking on the Seeker's part. Until, at last, they came to a dark room, filled with a large, circular table and chairs, with ghostly holograms on the places that lit up the mummified remains of seven bodies in or around eight chairs. “What in God's Name happened here?” demanded Doc, a horrified expression on her face.

She walked forward and kneeled down to look at one of the mummies that was on the floor. The body was desiccated, but there was still skin and hair on the remains and it...his...clothing was still mostly intact. “Doc?”

“I...I don't understand,” the medic replied. “Sure, it's cold up here, but these bodies shouldn't have mummified. The bacteria in the air...unless.” She looked up and pointed at the control on the conference table. “The meeting recorder still has power. See if there's a play back.”

Buck approached the console, which was thankfully at the chair that was empty. He touched it and suddenly the holograms of living people were superimposed over the mummies. One, a man with a British accent was fighting with his controls at the table. “I'm locked out of Core Control,” he declared, worry in his voice. “Alpha clearance overridden.” He looked up, his confusion apparent. “What the hell is Omega Clearance?”

Next to him, a dark complected woman in a hijab looked up and face went pale. “Oh, no,” she whispered, then, in the center of the table, a new hologram appeared. He was a tall, trim man with close brown hair somewhere between thirty five and forty five; the very image of the late Twenty First Century Corporate Billionaire.

“Ted Faro,” hissed Buck.

“Alpha Personnel,” Faro greeted, an odd hesitance in his otherwise movie star baritone voice. “Sorry to alarm you, but I need you to listen, ok? To what I'm about to say.” He paused and his manner became that of a child, admitting to some transgression with his hands clasped before him. “This isn't easy. See, I've, uh...”

From his chair, the Brit petulantly continued to try and access his panel and the denial beeps finally drew Ted's attention. “Please, stop trying to access the system, okay?” He took a deep breath and began again. “See, what this is about, is...” The Brit continued his tapping at the keys and Faro whirled on him, striding across the table, angry. “I said, stop trying to access the goddamn system!”

The people at the table glanced at each other, nervously. Ted rubbed his hands together and continued. “What I'm trying to say is, I can't stop thinking about the ones who'll come after us. Those innocents! Those blameless men....and, and women...!” His manner became incredulous. “We're going to give them knowledge? Like it's a gift?!”

The woman in the hijab shook her head and her voice showed this was an old argument. “Ted, Ted, we've talked about this before...! APOLLO has three thousand plus fail safe conditions...!”

She bit off her retort at his angry gesture. “It's not a 'gift' it's a disease! They're the cure and we're going to give them the disease? Our disease?!” He shook his head. “No. We can't. And it's not too late! If...if we're willing to sacrifice...”

Her voice became more stern, but also pleading, as if something she feared was coming true right before her eyes. “Ted, it's doesn't need to be like this...”

Faro's face became stern. Now he was back on familiar ground, back in control. “It already is, Samina,” he declared, walking over to her. “I did it three minutes ago. I've purged APOLLO, it's gone! All of it! Every copy!”

Samina wailed and buried her face in her hands as if Ted had just announced he'd murdered her child. The Brit leapt to his feet, enraged himself. “A sacrifice?” he shouted. “That's not a sacrifice! That's cultural obliteration, you crazy bastard! Millennia of culture, history...!”

Ted was dismissive as two of the others stood and tried to comfort Samina who was inconsolable, shaking and wailing with her grief. “I'm sorry,” the billionaire declared blithely. “I really am. But...sometimes...to protect innocents...innocents have...to...die...”

An alarm blared in the recording as an AI declared, “Emergency alert. Venting atmosphere.” The clothing on the people in the chairs whipped as a small hurricane sucked the air from the room. They grasped at their throats, eyes, bulging, as Ted Faro paced in holographic form, watching them die. The holograms collapsed to cover the mummies in the forms they still sat or lay in and, with a final shake of his head, as if he had not just murdered seven people, the hologram of Ted Faro vanished and the recording ended.

“That...bastard...” hissed Doc.

Olara blinked, confused by what she'd seen and turned to face Travis. “I...I don't understand. What is APOLLO? What did I just see?”

Travis took a deep breath to master his own anger at a thousand year old atrocity. “I can't be sure, but APOLLO seems to have been a...collection...the collected history and knowledge of humanity. It's what your forebears were supposed to be taught and weren't. Why we are so far advanced of you. He...Ted...erased it.”

Bucks fist fell like a gun shot on the table in outrage. “All to hide his crimes! That He was the reason humanity almost went extinct!”

Nakoa looked around the room, and then back up at Travis. “But, where is Aloy?”

Travis and Buck sat around the small fire they'd built to boil the water taken from Antelope Creek and warm up their rations for lunch. Olara had been able to track Aloy's footsteps back out of the room by another door and eventually, back to the scaffold outside. A closer look at the room with the blast door showed she had lingered at a work bench in it for some time based on the overlapping foot prints, then left.

The tracks intersected the hoof prints of a Strider and stopped, the Strider moving away to the south. They had missed her again.

Nakoa and Olara had wanted to give chase, but Travis had halted them. As they waited, he had carefully gone to the edge of the crater at a high point. Using his binoculars Travis found she was already out of sight. More to the point, the Striders were giving warnings they had used most of their blaze in the gallop here and needed to refuel. Loss of the Striders would make for a dangerous survival situation, so they were turned out to graze. Survival also dictated the humans would need energy and water. That meant a meal and a fire was needed to purify the water. So the two men worked, one, keeping an eye on the open stainless steel bottles where the water was just starting to boil while the other was seasoning steaks cut off the carcass of a small wild pig Olara had taken from the forest and quickly butchered.

“I do not understand this delay,” Yan groused as he busied himself chopping up some greens Buck had gathered along the way for a seasoning. “Shouldn't we go quickly?”

“We don't need to chase her,” Travis told him from watching the stopwatch timer app his Focus was running for him. “We know where she's going.” With a stick he'd carved a notch into he picked up the carry wire of the first bottle and moved it away from the fire. “We tried to catch up to her here, to assist with getting the Master Over Ride, which evidently she acquired on her own.”

Buck laid the steaks on a little foldable grill screen he'd had in his kit and they began to sizzle nicely. “Yep, she's headed to Meridian. Which gives us time to wonder how the hell we're going to take on a Horus.”

Nakoa joined them at the fire and sank down next to Travis. “Do we know it is a Horus?”

“No,” Buck admitted. “But, do you want to bet on those odds the way our luck is running?”

“I am more interested in knowing who was scavenging this place,” Olara declared as she joined the group around the fire. “Aloy couldn't have built anything this extensive so quickly.”

Buck chuckled darkly. “Whoever they were, they spent a lot of time trying to get past that blast door. The question there, is why?”

“Isn't that obvious?” Yan asked. “There is a great deal of metal here...”

“Yes,” Buck agreed. “Funny how none of it is boxed up in all those chests, nothing piled up for shipment, no signs of carts coming or going. For a salvage operation, there ain't a lot of salvage going on.”

Olara cocked her head to one side. “What are you getting at?” The big man shrugged his broad shoulders expressively.

“Dunno that I have a point,” he hedged. “Just observing. So, if they weren't after metal or other salvage, what were they after?”

Travis took another bottle off the fire and carefully set it on a rock to cool. “This was Gaia Prime, the central core of the terraforming effort,” he thought aloud to himself. “Is it possible someone besides us knows that?”

“What do you mean?” demanded Doc.

The Colonel took the final bottle out of the fire and put it with the others. “Think about it,” he encouraged her. Imagine you've grown up here. There's people, other tribes, but still human. There's animals, and they're like people. They bleed, they're made of meat and so on. Then there's machines. What are they? They're not like people, and they act like animals, but they're not. They're made of the same things in these ruins that are everywhere. Where did they come from? Was someone here before? So you start looking and digging. There are things that are sized and shaped for humans, but they're in the ruins. Why are they ruins? Why don't we live in the ruins any more? What happened?”

“The Matriarchs told us the Chant of the Proving,” Olara replied. “We knew what happened. Or, we thought we did.”

“Sure,” Travis agreed. “Lots of people, maybe most would take that and be satisfied. But we've all known somebody who just had to figure it out for themselves, right?” He looked up and the faces around him that were nodding. “I think Buck is onto something. Whoever built this scaffold, they want to know. And it's likely eating them up they couldn't get in here.”

Yan loudly hocked something up from his throat and spat out into the grass. “So, where is this mad scholar? Where's he gone? Did Aloy kill him?”

“No body,” Nakoa replied quickly.

“Nothing in the tracks to indicate a struggle,” Olara added. “Just Aloy entering and finding her way to that...tomb...and back out. Looking at the things, I would say no one has been here for a while.”

“People that want into a door that badly don't just give up,” Doc mused.

“Someone freed HADES,” Travis said darkly. “Someone put together that Focus network ENID found. And now the Shadow Carja are marching on Meridian.”

“You think this was their base?” Yan asked.

Travis shrugged. “It's a theory that fits the facts. Doesn't make it what happened, just an educated guess. Still, we probably should get to Meridian quickly.”

By mid afternoon, the Striders reported their tanks replenished, the humans had eaten and the water bottles cooled in a small snow melt stream while sealed so the water was actually cold. They followed this stream, picking their way back down the little range around King's Peak and the blasted forest, until the stream emptied into a larger river. At a trot, they found a path that ran the right direction beside the river and followed it until they came around a bend to behold a settlement on the bank of the River, nestled up against the first hills of the range.

There was a water wheel in the river, out side of a ramshackle wall of both wood and stone. Smoke billowed up in the sky from several sources and there was a hot, metallic smell on the air from the place. Not long after they rounded the corner, a bell began to ring and suddenly there were men on the walls, all looking at them.

The gates, which had stood open, where shut and an arrow whizzed into the dirt ten feet in front of the party. Travis stood up on Black Jack as well as he could and shouted, “Hold your fire! We're friends!”

“You have no friends here, Shadow Carja!” someone shouted back.

“We are not Shadow Carja! We come in peace, to the aid of the Sun King! We have safe passage!” Travis and Nakoa exchanged a glance as the people on the wall had an impromptu conference. “Free Heap?” he asked her.

Nakoa shrugged her ignorance. “It would seem so.”

Finally a strident, and strangely enough, female voice shouted from the wall. “If you're not Shadow Carja, who are you?”

Murray let Black Jack go forward a few steps to judge the reaction, and when no further arrows were forth coming, let him get to a more conversational distance, gesturing for the rest of the group to stay out of bow shot. Now he could see a short, zaftig woman with an ample bosom set on display by the leather corset she was wearing peering down at him. She had black hair that was peaking out from under a brown bandanna and a wide, honest face that put him in mind of some of the House Frau he'd seen at a posting in Germany in his youth. Her previously pale skin was deeply tanned under the Carja sun which gave her a dusty appearance. “My name is Travis Murray. My...tribe...are called AmSci. We live over the mountains to the east.”

“Petra Forgewoman,” the brunette replied, propping her arms on the wall to lay her chin on as she looked down. This showed she was wearing thick leather gloves that had metal attached to the gauntlets that ran up to her elbows. “I am Oseram and First Woman of this Oseram freehold; Free Heap. How do you ride machines like a Shadow Carja, Travis Murray of the AmSci?”

“My tribe is very skilled with dealing with machines,” he replied. “But we're not in any way allied with the Shadow Carja. My party are riding to Meridian to aid the Sun King.”

“I see Nora riding with you,” Petra replied. “Do you know the Seeker Aloy?”

“We've been chasing her for several days, trying to catch up to give her help,” Travis admitted, and saw her smile when he used Aloy's sex which she'd deliberately withheld.

“She came through here two days ago,” Petra admitted. “Told us about the Sun King's dilemma. I have a deal for you, AmSci. Come inside and I'll tell you.” She paused, then added, “You swear the Peace?”

“My people and I will only defend ourselves. We're not looking for trouble.”

Her grin returned and she gestured to the gate while her followers on the wall relaxed their weapons. “Come in and be welcome and we'll haggle.” Travis waved to his group and they joined him as the gate was unbarred` and thrown open. Petra came striding out, a grin across her wide face. She had the fullest of full figures, but how much was muscle was hard to judge. She walked right up to Travis as he swung off Black Jack and extended a beefy hand to be shook. “Well met, Travis Murray.”

“Pleased to meet you, Petra,” the Colonel replied. “We weren't looking to stop, just passing through.”

“Stay a while, and I'll fill your purse with Shards,” she promised him.

Travis sighed. “I don't know how the machines are pacified, so I can't sell that knowledge to you.” She tisked through her teeth and made a dismissive gesture.

“Fire and forge, son, I wasn't made yesterday!” she declared with another of her frequent grins. “Ask a smith to give up the biggest secret ever? Fools forgings! I'm a tinker myself, so I know better! But what I need is help getting my cannons to Meridian.”

“Cannons?”

The big woman nodded. “Six of 'em,” she told him. “All ordered by the Sun King himself. You hitch your Striders to my Cannon and pull them and I'll pay you well. Say, five hundred shards?” Travis had a gut feeling and decided to go with it.

“Six Striders, six cannon, seems to me six hundred should be the price.” Petra's grin went wider.

“Five fifty!”

“Five eighty,” Travis shot back.

“Five seventy!”

Travis made a point of rubbing his chin. “I suppose the Sun King would appreciate his weapons sooner rather than later. Five seventy five?” Petra pulled the glove off her right hand and spat into it.

“You drive a hard one, big man. Say, you aren't somebody's husband are you?”

Nakoa brought her Strider along side Black Jack. “No ideas, Oseram! Seal your trade then keep your hands off my man.”

Petra turned to look up at the Nora and back at Travis. “Like 'em skinny, do you? Ya don't know what you're missing, AmSci, but no sense upsetting your Nora! Deal?”

Murray spat into his palm and shook Petra's hand. “Deal.”

The Forgewoman turned and hollered at the gate. “Kaeluf , get out here and measure up these Striders so we can make a hitch!” She turned back to Nakoa and noted the blaze bombs on her harness. She took what looked like an industrial sling shot from her belt and held it up. “Peace, Nora? No hard feelings about your man?”

Nakoa took the slingshot with obvious delight. “Peace, Oseram. Even still, an Oseram Blast Sling is an expensive gift for so small a slight. What price will set us square?”

Petra's grin was earthy. “Nothing you'd be willing to part with,” she said with a wink in Travis' direction. “Call it a wedding present and if you tire of him, your word to send him my way.”

“Done,” Nakoa agreed, holding out her hand flat with her palm up. Petra slapped it softly as Travis cleared his throat.

“Do I get a say in this, ladies?”

The two women turned to him and in chorus declared, “No.”

“Tough luck, boss,” Buck chuckled, until Olara slapped his shoulder.

“Mind your own,” she told him, causing everyone to laugh at the shocked look on his face.

It was interesting to compare the differences to these Oseram and the wayward rapist they had encountered their first day in freeing Nakoa. The people were all quick to get working, dressed in leather aprons and what looked like loom woven textiles with remarkably tight weaves. They seemed friendly enough, even as they quickly set about connecting the Striders to the cannon. Petra even had a tray of ale brought out and passed around the party. While a noticeable improvement over the Carja Beer, and markedly larger heads, it was still warm and flatter than either Travis or Buck would have liked.

The cannon were wheeled out on wooden carriages but unlike nineteenth century muzzle loaders, these were mounted to the carriage by a complex pintle arrangement, that immediately caught Travis' eye. That he went right to it was not lost on Petra. “Are you a tinkerer, Travis?” she asked as he looked over the arrangement.

“A soldier by trade,” he replied as he worked out the latch and tested the range of motion, finding it impressive. “What do they fire?”

The smith woman opened a chest hard mounted to the carriage and lifted out something she handed to him. “Thunderjaw teeth,” she declared proudly. “Took forever to figure out what set them off, finally figured out...”

“They're electrically detonated,” he finished.

Her eyes narrowed. “You're a quick study for a soldier,” she accused. “Once I got the Sparker going, the rest fell into place.”

“I'll be dipped in shit!” Buck exclaimed when he saw what was in Travis' hands. “That's a twenty millimeter cannon shell!”

The shell looked like a comically large rifle cartridge, one hundred and two millimeters or slightly larger than four inches long. “You said you got this off a Thunderjaw?” Travis demanded.

“Yes, their mandibular cannon,” she replied. “This can't fire as fast, but, it fires as fast as you can crank the sparker. I was able to trade a Carja scrapper for a pair of them. They were beyond fixing, but, once I worked out how they worked, then it was just a matter of building it.”

Travis nodded. “Seeing something done is halfway to doing it yourself.”

Petra beamed at him. “Say, that's catchy! The crank also works this cog in the feed system and the recoil extracts the spent shell and spits it out the front.”

“This will over heat,” Travis warned her, and this made her clap him on the shoulder with enough force he dropped the shell.

She bent over and picked it up, casually tossing it back into the box. “You're a lot more than a soldier, Travis Murray! I haven't worked out that rotating barrel yet on the Thunderjaw. I can't figure out how it feeds, and the ones I got from the Carja were broken there so I couldn't piece it together.”

“You said the Thunderjaws have this thing?”

“Two,” she corrected him. “One on either side of the chin what that long chain that hangs below feeding them from hoppers on their back. Five thousand shells for each.”

Buck's grin was feral. “Maybe we do have a chance against HADES.”

Travis locked the mount of the cannon he'd been admiring and gave a glance to the south. “Depends on if we can get to the party before we're no longer fashionably late.”

March 15^th, 3040

Despite Murray's pessimism, the Oseram were skilled and quickly had a simple enough hitch of a pair of arms from the cart leading to a yoke that sat on the neck of the Striders. The rest of the day was spent something between a trot and a walk as the Striders pulled the cannon without complaint over the somewhat rough trail that Petra assured them was the fastest path to Meridian. While they'd made decent enough time, even under load, no one was surprised they didn't reach the city that afternoon.

Still, they'd camped in sight of the canyons and, after the supper was eaten and cleaned up from, there was a glow on the horizon to the south that had the Travis, Doc and Buck thinking of city glows from long ago. In the dark, the electric blue glow of machines could be picked out in the desert, but nothing came close to even make the grazing Striders whinny a challenge. The dangers, to Travis' thoughts were in the camp, but the Oseram had gone to sleep after dinner without any argument about who would watch.

The morning of the fifteenth dawned over cast as a front come down the Wasatch, bringing cooler temperatures and gray skies with it. Travis was a bit loath to leave the warmth of his bed roll and the lithe young Nora brave that was sharing it with him. Buck smiled knowingly at his boss and went back to building the fire a bit before he would turn in for a cat nap until breakfast. “Big day,” Nakoa managed around her yawn and stretch. “I have often wondered if Meridian lives up to the stories told of it.”

Travis helped her to her feet then set about rolling up the bedroll. “I used to think the same about Big Cities,” he told her as he worked. “I was country boy myself. Then I had a brief stint as a staff officer to a general with Force Command. He worked out of New York as it was easy to catch the train down to D.C.”

“D.C.?” she asked as she poured water into their canteen cups to start to heat by the fire.

“The District of Columbia,” he added. “It was the capital of the United States. Army Headquarters was there, among the rest of the administration of our nation.” He got the retention straps around the bedroll and buckled them. “It was actually a pretty small town compared to New York.”

“Where is this New York?”

Travis stood, the bedroll under one arm as he walked over to Black Jack to secure it to the Strider. “Far east of here,” he told her as he came back. He touched his Focus and flipped through the menus to get a map of the United States. “We're about here, and New York was here, at the mouth of the Hudson and East Rivers. Fifteen million people living on an island just thirteen miles long.”

She took the packet of coffee he gave her and judiciously added the powder to both canteen cups. “How could so many people live in so small a space?” she wanted to know. He grinned and flipped through the menus for a holographic picture of the city. “By the goddess,” she swore softly. “How tall are these towers?”

“Hundreds of feet,” he told her, making the picture a bit larger so the detail at their bases could be made out. “Those are people.”

The Brave looked for a long moment, then her face hardened. “I like this Ted Faro less and less,” she muttered darkly as she picked up both cups and offered him his.

“You're in good company there,” he assured her as he dismissed the image and took his first, welcome sip. “In my time, the news outlets took to calling the Swarm the 'Faro Plague', but nobody ever actually said why. I figured it was someone being clever with puns, not that the asshole was literally responsible for the end of the world.”

“Puns?” she asked him with a raised eyebrow. “What pun?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “That's not so easy to explain. Uh, the short version is that in the Bible, the uh, the documented history of my faith, there were a people called Egyptians, who lived thousands of miles from here, across the ocean.” He tapped at his Focus and called up a globe to point on the Nile river. “Here. Long ago, they were ruled by kings who called themselves Pharaohs. In my faith, Pharaoh held God's people hostage and as punishment, God sent plagues against Pharaoh and his people, until he relented and let God's People go.”

She took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “I see.”

He sighed and dismissed the globe from his Focus and let his gaze go up the Milky Way over head and the staggering field of diamonds in black velvet. “Still, there are upsides to the end of the world. This view, I swear, it won't ever get old.” His eyes dropped to hers and he winked at her. “The view down here on Earth is pretty nice, too.” She smiled at him and he couldn't tell if she was blushing or it was just the light from the coals of the fire that turned her face red.

She opened the food satchel and began to lay out the makings of breakfast. “I hope you are well rested and of good appetite,” she told him as she worked. “Tonight we sleep in Meridian and I will have what I've been denied these past days.”

“So determined!” he teased her. “In my day, most women would never be so direct...”

“Yes,” she mused as she dropped a piece of fat from the wild pig that was yesterday's lunch and rolled it about near the fire so it would grease the pan. “But we are not in your day,” she continued thoughtfully. “We are in my day. And I couldn't care less what other women do or say. I've walked the war path for three years. Now I have discovered the delight of womanhood and I mean to enjoy it. I have grieved and avenged my father, now it is time to make him a grandfather.”

She looked up again as she laid the bacon strips from the satchel into the pan and they began to hiss. “With your help, of course.”

Travis smirked and winked at her. “Madam, your obedient servant.”

Breakfast eaten, the Striders hitched to the wagons again, and the party was off, rumbling down the track. By mid-morning signs of human habitation began to appear. The dirt track under them became an actual road of brick pavers placed over a way widened, leveled and properly drained. The land greened considerably and wild sage grasses and cotton wood trees gave way actual crops, in tended rows with irrigation from the San Rafael river. Without cities diverting it, the river was considerably higher and stronger than anything the Ancients found familiar. In addition, there were patrols of armed men wearing the same uniform they had seen at Daytower and Lone Light.

Even so, everywhere they went, work stopped, patrols came to a halt and every human stared in disbelief as they rode by.

The road began to follow the river and, finally they came around a bend and Meridian came into sight. Now it was the Ancients turn to marvel at what their descendants had accomplished. The city was sprawled across the tops of three mesas, linked, not with rope bridges as the Amsci had expected, but stone arches that leapt from the high desert on one side with gate houses and fortifications to a city of towers and stone fortresses that were likely the envy of the current world.

On the third Mesa, somewhat separate from the other sat a palace in every sense of the word. Copper sheathing on it's roofs gleaming in the mid-morning sun. And below the heights, a second city as august and regal as the one above had been constructed around the foot of the mesas with grand villas and cool gardens sectioned off by stone walls and sturdy gates. Then from these more farm lands followed the foot of the mesa down to the San Rafael River.

There, beyond the other side of the river valley, on top of it's own mesa, a gleaming black tower rose from the desert. It's various panels in triangles as black as midnight totally at odds with the ruddy and gleaming city of the Carja. “Multi-band transmission tower,” Buck muttered as Travis shielded his eyes from the sun to gaze at it.

“Station Minerva, I presume,” he said softly.

“Look!” cried Doc, pointing at the bridges above them. Travis followed her finger to see sturdy wood and metal towers had been erected from this bottom floor up to the bridges and in side these towers, cars could be seen rising or lowering inside them. “Christ almighty, they're elevators!”

Petra's voice was smug in the silence. “The work of my hands,” she boasted. “Mine and my tribe. Nice to see these fuddle fingered Carja haven't gummed up the works.”

“You built those?” demanded Buck. The swarthy Oseram woman was coy.

“I was on the gang that built them,” she clarified. “Not the head engineer, but it was my tweaks to the counter weights that got the cars moving easy.”

Further conversation was impeded by the white glove of a Carja guardsman, with two dozen other soldiers at his back, blocking the road. His voice, a clear and unwavering tenor, rang out his command of, “Halt! State your business.”

Petra hopped off the gun carriage she'd been riding on and managed to cow a guard head and shoulders taller than she was. “Petra Forgewoman, Soldier boy! I'm here with the Sun King's guns so you better get whoever you need to down here with my shards!”

“Wait,” the guard commanded, then withdrew to converse with his cohort which had the effect of the youngest looking guard with the least braid on his uniform being sent off at the run.

“Some things never change,” chuckled Travis to himself. A half of an hour passed and the young guard returned with a tall, lean man whose clothing was immaculate and suggested someone close to, but not the King himself. He was a swarthy fellow with amber eyes that peered out of a clean shaven face. His dark hair was short and going gray at the temples, but the serious expression on his face gave little doubt he was a man of considerable influence. Like just about everyone the Ancients had met, he wore some machine parts as part of his clothing, though in his case it was limited to a white metal plate he wore on his forehead by string around his head like a metallic third eye. He was wearing a white linen shirt under a blue and gold silk bolero style jacket over billowed pants that matched the jacket. The dyes were dark, bold and uniform in color, unlike the Nora's clothing, and even better than those of the Oseram. His outfit was completed by comfortable looking shoes that were not in any way up to the task of protecting his feet anywhere beyond a city street. Or a palace floor.

“Thank you, Captain,” he greeted in a well modulated baritone, the amber eyes sweeping the group seeing much and missing nothing. A ready and practiced smile lightened his swarthy face as he took out a small purse from an inner pocket of the jacket and presented it to Petra. “Under budget and ahead of schedule, you out do your self, Honorable Forgewoman. His Radiance will be very pleased indeed.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Marad,” Petra enthused, as she opened the pouch and began to count her shards; triangular pieces of metal that had something stamped or embossed on them.

Marad glided by her and came to an appraising stop in front of Travis. “My, what interesting company you keep of late, Honorable Forgewoman,” he declared with great weight as if looking to provoke a reaction. “A handful of Nora!” he purred. “We seem to be swimming with the fierce tribe of the east, how fortunate to have such worthy friends in our hour of need. But, you are not Nora, sir,” he said to Travis, raising his head as if the change in angle would give him insight. “Nor are you Oseram, and you ride machines like our deadly foe. I am Blameless Marad,” he said with a curt and practiced bow. “May I have the honor of your name, sir?”

Travis threw his leg over Black Jack and dismounted the Strider, to offer a hand to the new comer. “Travis Murray of the Amsci tribe,” Murray informed him. Marad took the hand and shook it slowly.

“I am not familiar with your tribe, Travis Murray. Where do you hail from?”

“Our people have settled between the Nora Sacred Lands and your outpost Day Tower,” the colonel replied. “We come from a land called Texas, but we were driven out by dangerous machines.”

The amber eyes narrowed slightly. “Yet you ride these? Interesting.”

“Not as interesting as having 'Blameless' as a title.” Marad's smile appeared again, a bit more sincere as he gestured broadly.

“Interesting? Perhaps, but in my line of work, it does come in handy.” He looked beyond Travis, making a point to bow from the neck to the females of the party. “For tonight, you are all to be guests of His Radiance. Your assistance in transport of the Kings cannon must be rewarded.”

“We wouldn't want to get anyone in trouble,” Travis countered, not sure if he wanted to be a guest of the King, either in his palace or his jail. “Or put out at short notice.”

“Not to worry,” Marad assured him. “I am Blameless, after all.” He turned back to address the soldiers. “Captain, have some of your men create a pen where Travis Murray's machines may be kept.” He turned back to ask, “Will they stay docile if ordered?”

Travis nodded. “Unless provoked, yes.”

“Excellent. See to my orders, Captain.” He paused and added, “Also, I want you to post a guard. No one is to go near the Striders. Except, of course, Travis Murray and his party.”

“At once, my lord.”

“And get these cannon secure in the armory.” He turned back to the party, all smiles again. “Right this way, if you please.” Travis shared a glance with his team and they all dismounted and began to strip the Striders of their saddlebags and gear. The Guard Captain led them to a large pen with a pasture that had held goats and pigs that were quickly moved to other quarters. The Striders ordered to remain within the pen and graze, they joined the Oseram at the base of one of the elevator shafts with Blameless Marad.

With a wary look, the Amsci boarded the elevator car and once the scissor gates of the car and shaft were closed, it began to groan it's way up the shaft. In spite of the Ancients apprehension, the car rose steadily to the gatehouse of the bridge and they were able to disembark without incident. From there, Marad led the group across the impressive stone arch bridge to the central Mesa into a red sandstone city that had Travis thinking of medieval Spanish fortifications on the Mediterranean.

There was true artistry to the construction of these buildings. Lines were straight and true, but simple exactness was not where the Carja had stopped. Everywhere there were decorative touches to the wood and stone, metal details and ornamentation that were made with a regularity that was as at odds with everything Travis had seen to this point. The streets themselves were full of carts and merchant stalls, hawking everything from fish to wine. The crowds quickly parted for the soldiers and the oddly named Blameless Marad, some with fearful looks at the man as he passed. In Travis's ear, Buck whispered, “What do you suppose his job is?”

Murray chuckled and looked up at his large friend. “Whatever the king needs, I imagine. Spymaster? Chief Torturer? He doesn't strike me as a soldier, but every one of the Kings' men defer to him.”

“Guess I should brush out my Sunday Manners then.”

Marad walked on, taking no notice of the hushed tones if he did over hear them, leading the troupe across the city to the bridge to the third Mesa. This bridge had a gate house to defend from those on the city side of it and a large compliment of soldiers to defend it. Then, beyond, what could only be the Palace of the Sun King awaited. If the city behind them had been opulent, then the palace they were led to was the crowned jewel of the Sundom.

Past the fortifications of the bridge, they were led though a shaded, sweet smelling garden of fruiting trees and vines whose focus was a gurgling fountain of pure looking water. Then up a flight of wide, broad stairs where a line actually was formed, filled with great and small alike based on their clothing. Guards were here to keep the integrity of the waiting que while the Carja waited their turn to seek audience with their Sun King and there was rumbling from those of nicer clothing that Travis and his party were being allowed to cut in line. The rumbling stopped at single glance from Blameless Marad.

Then, at the top tier of the steps, beyond the gardens was a little balcony of perhaps twenty square feet that overlooked the transmission tower upon which stood a metal gazebo of silver and gold. In the shade of the gazebo was an elaborate, red velvet throne, and seated on it was the Sun King himself.

He was cooled by two young, scantily clad women with intricately made fans of metal feathers that looked like they had come from a Storm Bird. As a man, Avad looked to be in his middle twenties, with a scant mustache and van dyke beard on his chin. He was as tanned as Marad was, with black hair and brown eyes around which, a geometric design had been drawn on his face that wasn't clear if it was some kind of cosmetic or facial tattoos.

He was shirtless, but wearing a stiff, sleeveless silk scarf or robe over his shoulders that fell to his knees. It was embroidered with gold thread in geometric designs. Under the odd robe that left his chest and stomach bare, he wore a scarlet silk cummerbund over golden metallized silk pants that Travis would have sworn to be beyond the capabilities of these people. On his head was a metal headpiece of a pair of squares, offset from each other by forty five degrees, making for a halo like effect, that covered his entire head save for his face, that was intricately made from bits of machines all in white and red and accented with gold.

He was just in the process of listening to a complaint from an older man, who was obviously wearing the best clothing he owned, but was a working man of humble means. The King's eyes came over to glance at his minister and widened slightly at the group with him. A hand casually rose and the workman stopped, mid-sentence. “Your petition is granted,” he declared without taking his eyes from Marad. The hand waved dismissal and the man stammered his gratitude as a functionary guided him away from the King.

Marad bowed deeply from the waist. “Your Radiance, I present Petra Forgewoman who has proven herself better than her word and delivered your cannon ahead of schedule.”

The king dipped his head as the Oseram engineer bowed without half of the grace of Blameless Marad. “We are indebted to your skill yet again, Forgewoman,” Avad declared in a pleasant baritone with a surprisingly casual inflection. “We fear they shall be put to work very soon if the news that has reached our ears proves truthful.”

“Always a pleasure, Your Radiance,” Petra assured him.

Marad gestured to Travis and his group. “This speed was aided by these brave Nora, Your Radiance, and members of a new tribe that has yet to reach our awareness. I present Travis Murray of the Amsci. Who have also tamed the machines and harnessed them to bring your cannon with such speed.”

The brown eyes locked with Travis as he was just a moment slow to bow and he saw real cunning in them as he completed his genuflect. “We're deeply honored, Your Radiance.” Travis assured the younger man.

As he stood up, the King's eyes were still on him, appraising very carefully. “You wear Focuses?” he asked softly. “Do you also travel with the Seeker Aloy?”

“We have been trying to catch up with her for some time,” Travis allowed. “Is Aloy here? Is Your Radiance is familiar with the Focus?”

“We have seen the Seeker use hers, and it fascinates us,” the King replied, choosing to ignore the former of his questions. “Tell me, Travis Murray,” he went on, dropping the third person, “is it the Focus that allows you to tame Machines?”

“No, Your Radiance,” Travis was quick to correct him. “It allows communication with a machine already tamed, but it is not the method, to my understanding. How exactly, I have no knowledge of myself. My...chief...has men of learning who tame the machines. These were given to us to accomplish our mission.”

The crown lifted a bit as Avad looked down his nose at Travis as if weighing the truth of the statement. “And what is your mission, Travis Murray?”

“Sir, my mission is to assist both your people and the Seeker Aloy in the defense of this city and the destruction of the Metal Devil she warned us of.”

The King stood from his throne and walked out from the gazebo, offering his hand that Travis carefully took. “Then you are most welcome, Travis Murray,” Avad assured him and behind Travis he heard muted astonishment from those in line at the King's action. “You and your party shall be my guests here in the palace. Marad?”

“It will be seen to, Your Radiance.”

“You must be tired,” Avad declared, turning back to Travis who wasn't sure if he should be worried he and the King were the same height. “Marad will see you to your rooms to refresh yourselves. Tonight, we will speak more.”

Travis bowed again. “We're deeply honored, Your Radiance.”

From the presence of the 14^th Sun King, Travis and his group were led away, deeper into the palace which was remarkably cool and eased by a gentle breeze that seemed to be in constant motion through the corridors. They were hardly introduced to an opulent set of rooms before incongruously scantily clad women in harem pants and silk tube tops and veiled heads and faces collected the women of the party and led them away while young men in vests and breeches took the men to a bath complex that would have a Roman smiling.

The room was cloaked in a haze of steam that drifted up from a circular pool twenty feet in diameter. While a complete bathing service, like something out of a Turkish bath was offered, Travis declined, choosing to sit on a little wooden stool near a waterfall that flowed down into the pool with a bucket of the hot water from it so his gray water wouldn't pollute the pool. He scrubbed himself clean, finally rid of days of road dust and sweat, then carefully shaved his face with a straight razor he'd bought and taught himself to use in preparation of the coming Doomsday he'd survived.

The Carja themselves either had some genetic abnormality that made beards rare, or shaving was a cultural norm among them. Either way, half a week of stubble was removed and he was cleaner and lighter for it.

Clean in body and shaven face, he eased into the pool with a sigh of relief of relaxing muscles as the other men joined him in the pool. “It's good to be the king,” chuckled Buck as he took the goblet of wine a young man had given him and held it up in toast to Travis. Yan took a chalice himself and sniffed at the wine before tasting it.

“If there is any tribe more in tune with pleasures of the body than the Carja, I don't know of them,” he said, but the expression on his face gave away his liking of the wine.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself after a hard day,” Buck responded.

Travis waited until the attendants were out of earshot before he softly commented, “I'm not happy the girls are off somewhere by themselves. Especially not after what Nakoa said about these people.”

Yan snorted around his savoring of the wine. “You need have no fear there,” he boasted. “It would take more than Carja slave girls to give Nakoa trouble.”

“We don't know slave girls are all they're with,” Buck noted, his distaste at the word written on his face.

“Didn't Nakoa say Avad had outlawed Slavery?” Travis asked out loud.

Buck snorted and took another sip of his wine. “She also said there was a wide gulf between outlawing something and having that law obeyed.” Yan finished his cup and held it aloft to be refilled.

“Aloy started her journey after The Proving,” he declared as he waited for the attendant to pour the wine. “The Sun King sent envoys to our village, at the celebration, specifically to offer an apology for the Red Raids. That's not the kind of man who would allow traitors close to him.”

“You make a good point,” Travis allowed. “But then, being in disguise is a life preserving skill to a traitor.”

For a long period, the men sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, to enjoy the wine and the hot water they soaked in. Finally, Travis had enough of the bath, and once he was dry, found a set of Carja silks awaiting him to change into. The pantaloons came down to his knees and buttoned onto the knee socks by a cleaver arrangement. With this was a red vest that matched the shade of the pants and a shirt he decided to forgo due to the heat. His boots clashed somewhat with the finery, but the slippers with the pants were a no go from the start as far as he was concerned.

His LBE with it's pistol went over the silks regardless.

Still, the 'suit' if the word could be applied, was surprisingly comfortable as he walked back to the rooms they had been presented with. There, he was relieved to find the gear exactly as he had mentally marked them when they'd left. Either they hadn't been searched, or the searcher was a master of his craft. Not that it mattered, neither of Travis' firearms had left arms reach, let alone his sight during his time at the bath.

“Travis?” He turned at the sound of Nakoa's voice, but the greeting died in his throat at the sight of her. She was wearing a finely woven top of silk that had been died the color of a cloudless sky at noon that wrapped around and supported her breasts, but had a plunging neckline to draw the eye and left her flat, taunt stomach bare. Over this was a leather Bolero style jacket that had been stiffened with expertly fashioned metal plates from a machine. It was dyed in red with a bold, lemon yellow accents around the edges and while the sleeves stopped at her elbows, a matching set of bracers completed the journey from elbow to wrist.

A matching set of leather pants rode low on her hips to accentuate them, with a red sash to cushion the belt of pouches and her quiver she wore over it at her right hip. From the sash, layered rigid plates of leather wrapped metal hung, front and back to each leg and finally her feet were wrapped in Tabi styled boots that had metal shin guards in them that made the ensemble armor as well as art.

Her hair had been loosed from it's braids, washed and hung about her head to her shoulders and the sun behind her made her beauty practically glow. She took a hesitant step forward, reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you alright?”

The movement finally pierced his awe and he managed a smile. “I have never been struck dumb by beauty before,” he told her as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are an absolute vision.” She stood up on her tip toes to reach his face and drew him into a real kiss as a reward for his compliment.

“You are a shameless flatterer,” she purred as she drew back from the kiss, grinning at him. “And I am completely here for it.”

He chuckled and gently stroked her cheek with a finger tip. “I never thought I'd say this, but the last thousand years have been the best week of my life.”

She reached her hands up and pressed against his chest to shove him backwards. His knees found the edge of the bed he'd been standing beside and tumbled backwards onto it. She grinned down at him for a moment as she reached up and pulled off the jacket before crawling up onto the bed over him. “It gets better,” she promised him.

It did, in fact get better. Much, much, better.

From some of the best sleep Travis had known recently, he was rudely awakened by a massive explosion. The shock wave blew the insect screens from the window and the light sheet from him and Nakoa even as their brains rapidly began to realize the danger they were in. Each snatched up discarded clothing and dressed in a rush. By the time he'd gotten pants and boots and his web gear on, Buck was already at his door, Olara with him and both were dressed for battle.

“There's been a massive explosion on the west side of the city,” he declared tersely as Travis charged his rifle and the foursome set off at a run. “There are overridden terraforming machines being led by a dozen Khopesh and Scarab Chariot-Class FAS Battle Drones.”

“I guess it was too much to hope that Gaia's machines would be immune to Faro's hacking droids,” Travis groused on the run. Suddenly, over the chaotic screams of terrified civilians, the distinctive roar of twenty millimeter cannon fire was heard.

“Petra's guns!” Nakoa shouted as the group wheeled and bolted down the corridors of the palace towards the sounds of the battle. They found the zaftig smith on the bridge between the palace and the city proper, bending the cannon over the guard rail of the bridge and firing down into the valley below. Right as the quartet reached her, the guards at the gate were overwhelmed and rushed by a group of twenty to thirty men, all in black with wooden masks over their faces that, incongruously were painted with the international power on/off symbol.

Travis had only a moment to analyze the situation and boiled it down to it's simplest; armed, masked men had just overcome the Sun Kings' guards and were storming the palace. His choice became clear as he focused his mind to commit violence.

“Contact left!” Travis shouted as he and Buck dropped to one knee and brought the AR-15s up. The two soldiers fired quickly, raking their rounds across the group. The most eager in the charge died quickly, clutching their torsos and blood spattering behind the masks as their momentum pitched them forward.

Behind them, the others sought cover in the abutments of the bridge and began to shoot back with bows and arrows. There was no faulting the courage of the Shadow Carja that stood their ground against semi-automatic rifles with only bows, but their courage didn't avail them long. The bridge was at the edge of the range of their small bows, but still very much short range for the AR15. Buck and Travis were both combat veterans and they knew their craft well. Each was down a magazine, but the Carja were down for good.

Travis turned, seeing the King's guard behind them, fearfully eyeing the carnage the two had wrought. He pulled the empty magazine from the rifle and replaced it before pointing towards the gate. “Get that gate secure!” he shouted. The Lieutenant of the guard actually saluted before he led the dash across the bridge to re-secure the gate to the palace. Murray let the rifle fall on it's sling around his shoulders as his hand went to the pouch of reserve ammunition on stripper clips that he used to quickly refill the empty magazine.

“Water!” Petra's strident voice shouted. “Someone for the love of the forge bring me water!”

Travis turned to see the cannon she was standing at, it's barrel glowing softly a dull red. Travis dropped the magazine and half loaded stripper clip into the dump pouch he kept on his belt for just such a reason to retain what he had to clear from his hands quickly. He ran over, pulling his canteen out as he came. “I warned you it would over heat,” he teased her as he up ended the canteen over the barrel where the water from it promptly hissed and flashed to steam. “That's why it was a rotary system.”

“Every prototype has quirks,” she shot back. “Get that Deathbringer! Below us!”

Travis risked a quick peek over rail and beheld a tank-like Khopesh, stomping along on it's four squat, stubby legs. Trailing behind it was a massive processing orb, tied to it by stout looking ropes that it was pulling. It paused for a moment as it's turret turned to machine gun down a group of the King's Guard that was charging it. Then, in a ghastly display of technology, a black cloud of nanites gushed from the upper vent and flew over to the guards. From their screams, not all of them were dead before the miniature robots stripped them to their bones and returned to the robotic killing machine to turn it's former adversaries into fuel. “An AR isn't going to slow that down,” he muttered, then couldn't help pausing as it started up again and began to trudge, not towards the city, or the palace, but away from it, towards the black spire of Station Minerva. “What the...?” he asked himself.

Before he could process that, movement drew his eye as he saw a young woman dressed in Nora leathers with a mane of wild red hair charging after the Khopesh. “Aloy!” Nakoa shouted and the red head stopped and looked up. “We're coming!”

“No!” the red head shouted. “It's HADES! I have to stop it! Protect the Sun King!”

“But...!”

“Protect Avad!” she shouted again and took off running after the machine.

“HADES was the Deathbringer?” Nakoa asked, turning to Travis. “I thought, a Metal Devil...?”

“That processing orb it was towing,” Buck told her. “It's off a Horus, what you call a Metal Devil. HADES is in it.”

Suddenly, with the clarity of thought that only comes on a battlefield, Travis understood. “It was HADES who took control of the old Faro robots,” he declared with a sudden chill down his spine. “With that transmitter he could broadcast a wake up call that would be heard for miles!”

“We must have passed thousands of Chariot-Class battle bots on the way here,” Buck added, going pale. “It's going to restart the Faro Plague!”

“We have to...” Travis started, and was cut off by a massive explosion at the gate. His eyes whirled back to it, find the guards being cut down but a much larger mob of black clad Shadow Carja. He didn't think, he acted, grabbing a hold of Petra and shoving her towards the inner gate on their side of the bridge.

“The Cannon!” she shouted, but wasn't strong enough to resist his adrenaline fueled shove.

“Nakoa!” he shouted. “Grenade!”

The Nora brave understood him instantly, snatching a blaze bomb from her harness and loading it into the slingshot 'Blast Sling' she had been gifted by Petra. One of the smiths inventions destroyed the other as the bomb struck the cannon where it exploded with remarkable effect, blowing the device off it's pintle and enough into the air that it cleared the rail of the bridge and tumbled down the heights below. “Close the gate!” Travis commanded, despite standing in the way until Buck, Olara and Nakoa had gotten through. He gave a glance to see if the Lieutenant or any of his men where trying to withdraw, but they were all already done for. He stepped inside and the heavy iron clad doors where thrown shut and barred just as the Shadow Carja reached them.

“Hold the line here!” he commanded, drawing Carja soldiers back from the gate house that their enemy was already trying to bash open. “Everything you've got! No farther!” He dug the magazine and stripper clip out of his dump pouch and finished loading it before grimly taking up the rifle for the coming work.

It took the Shadow Carja thirty minutes to hack and blast their way through the gates, thirty minutes Travis and Buck used to insert ear plugs into their ears to save what was left of their hearing and to stand apart from and in front of the line they'd formed to protect their allies. Thirty minutes of work, only for the Shadow Carja to be met with a hail of arrows and M855 green tip improved penetration rounds from Travis and Buck. In the death funnel of the ruined gate, the rounds sometimes killed two or three as they tried to force their way through the breach. After what seemed like hours, Travis loaded his last magazine into the rifle and brought it back up to his shoulder. He worked his jaw to get his ears to pop which took a little bit of the ringing in them away.

“Last mag!” he warned Buck, who grunted he had heard and dropped his rifle on it's sling to draw his pistol.

“I'm out,” he called back, but for once, the rush seemed to have stopped. There were no more fanatics clawing their way over the pile of bodies to get at them. As it drug out, he quickly holstered the pistol and grabbed for a magazine for the rifle from the pile at his feet. “Cover me while I reload!”

“Covered,” he assured his second in command, then waited a tense few minutes until he had four magazines reloaded. “Moving up,” he whispered, tucking the two magazines Buck handed him into his carrier and the pair cautiously approached the gate. The dying were moaning in agony, some begging for mercy; though one proved he wasn't out of the fight and swung his sword weakly at Buck. Travis' rifle barked, causing the wounded Carja to cry out in pain while clutching their ears, but no one else proved to want to keep fighting. He looked cautiously through the blasted gate to find another pile of bodies beyond it, but no one up to charge once more unto the breech. One of the Carja was desperately attempting to make his shoulder stop bleeding and looked up, tears streaming down his face. He raised a bloody hand in surrender and went back to trying to staunch his wound to keep it from killing him. The wall had been closed up with the dead and dying.

Travis took an Israeli Bandage from his belt and tossed it to the boy, who, seeing what it was, immediately put it to work, pressing it into his wound. “Gatekeeper?” Travis called, and one of the guards, obviously exhausted made his way over. “Take the survivors prisoner and get some medics here. And shore up this breech in case they aren't finished.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, gesturing at his men.

Then, a brilliant flash came from the direction of the tower, drawing all eyes fearfully to it. “Oh, God,” Doc whispered, having rushed up with the other medical personnel. “Is it...? Has it...?”

“Look!” someone shouted. The warriors looked down, to see the last of the moving Faro battle bots come to a sudden stop, shutter its weapons and hunch down in it's stand by posture. Travis got his binoculars from their keeper and focused them on the far ridge where he could now see, at the base of the transmitter tower, the red headed Nora warrior maiden and several others around her, holding up their weapons in triumph. They were a rag tag group, all obviously wounded, to include to his surprise the Nora War Chief Sona and her son, Varl. Despite their wounds, all the machines around them were destroyed and the processing orb was smoking.

A ragged cheer raised from one end of the canyon to the other as the Carja understood the Battle of the Alight had been won.

Meridian was saved.

March 16^th, 3040

Avad was generous in his victory. While the leadership of the Shadow Carja had all been slain, an amnesty was offered for the foot soldiers and the peasants they had press ganged into their counter rebellion. Many took the amnesty, but some refused and were hauled off in irons to be dealt with later. On remarkably short notice, a magnificent celebration was put forward as wine and food flowed freely in the battle scarred city and palace. There would be much rebuilding to do, but the fires were out, and being alive was worth celebrating.

Travis made his way through the ecstatic Carja and the obviously uncomfortable Nora, to find the red head he had been chasing for a week in a corner, avoiding everyone's gaze, staring up at a map of the region that had been painted on the wall of the palace. He scooped up a glass of cider and cautiously presented it. “Is it Aloy, or would you prefer Doctor Sobeck?” he greeted. She spun in surprise and the resemblance was remarkable, though the young woman before him was easily twenty years junior to the scientist from Travis' era and the way her eyes widened it was clear it wasn't the first time she'd heard the name.

“You know who I am?” she asked, taking the cider after a moment of reflection.

“I do,” he assured her, then sketched a perfunctory bow. “Colonel Travis Murray, Inactive Ready Reserve, United States Army, at your service.”

“You fought in Operation Enduring Victory,” she whispered. “I...I didn't believe it, but you are an Old One, like Nakoa said. That you've been asleep, in a mountain for a thousand years.”

“No, and yes,” he corrected her. “I didn't see combat in Operation Enduring Victory. I was protecting the employees of American Scientific from the Faro Plague. But, yes, I was born over a thousand years ago, not terribly far from here, as luck would have it.” He paused and gave her a significant glance. “And you are a clone of Dr Elisabet Sobeck, created by her creation, the AI GAIA.”

She squared her shoulders and looked up at him, her gaze steely. “Yes, so I could rebuild the terraforming system. And it's just Aloy.”

“Then you have your work cut out for you,” he told her sadly. “I've been to King's Peak and there isn't much left.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter how hard it is,” she swore. “I have to. I'm the only one who can.”

Travis smiled at the grit he was coming to associate with the Nora. “Then we will help you,” he declared firmly. “I may not have approved, at the time, of Zero Dawn, but I can't argue with results. What's done is done, all that's left is picking up the pieces.”

“How can you not approve?” she demanded with an edge in her voice. “Elisabet Sobeck sacrificed everything to ensure this planet had a future.”

“Yes, she did,” he replied stiffly in outrage. “Sacrificed everything, and everyone. Everyone,” he stressed. “Every man, woman and child, only we didn't get a choice. We didn't get to know that we were all meant to be pawns, sacrificed to buy her time for...” He gestured again. “This.” Her eyes went hard and Travis realized he was judging the girl for the sins of another woman, more than a millennia dead. A woman, it was clear, was a heroine to this Nora girl in a way she was having difficulty understanding. Recalling Nakoa commenting on how much the Nora prized motherhood and the odd phrase of Aloy being 'motherless' he began to understand how the girl was processing her purpose and place in the world.

A place that was likely beyond her comprehension.

He sighed and mastered his outrage at a wound that, for him, was only a week old. He let the anger pass and set his face into a softer expression and tried to reconcile. “I met your...'mother'... once,” he told her softly, and the iron left her stance and she was a young woman again, shouldering an almost insurmountable burden. “At a robotics conference in Salt Lake City. You remind me of her in all the best ways.”

“You met Elisabet Sobeck?” she whispered, as if he had claimed to have met God.

“American Scientific is predominately an Aerospace Firm,” he told her. “Miriam Technologies, her company, partnered with us on a some Near Earth Object asteroid mining ventures. Even our corporate AI, ENID, is a core technology she helped invent. I suppose, in a way, you could say ENID is your 'aunt'.”

“I...” she paused and took a moment to process all she had heard. “Can this...ENID...help me reboot GAIA?”

Travis set the cider cup down and gestured at the map on the wall she'd been studying. “You'll need a back up copy of GAIA for that. My people can help you set up the hardware, but the software will need to be found.” He touched his focus and caused several spots on the map to light up. “Assuming one still exists. These are all of the Zero Dawn or related facilities I know of. We might be able to find a back up there.”

“Not 'we',” she corrected him, softly. “Me. This is my burden. I can't ask anyone else.”

“You didn't ask,” Travis told her. “I volunteered.”

Her eyes darted away and she shrugged. “We, we can talk about it in the morning before we leave. Where should we start?”

He pointed on the map. “Miriam Technologies had a major research and development facility in Salt Lake City. We should probably start there.” He shook his head and gestured at the map. “Though, if all else fails, we can try here.”

“What's there?” Aloy asked.

“Elisabet's ranch. She grew up there, just outside of Carson City, Nevada,” he replied. “They way she went on about you'd think it was Heaven on Earth.”

Aloy looked down and softly to herself, she whispered, “She said she wanted to go home.”

“Sorry?”

The green eyes shot back up and were cagey. “Nothing. Talking to myself. It's an old habit.”

With a gesture, Travis dismissed the overlay he'd put on the painted map and downloaded the holographic one to Aloy's focus. “I want to thank you for saving Nakoa,” he told her earnestly. “I understand you saved her from some hold out Carja slavers. I'm in your debt.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Aloy assured him. “And it was my pleasure. She seems very taken with you. I hope you're both very happy together.”

He smiled as he took up his cup again and raised it in toast. “Well, I'm sure we will be,” he remarked philosophically. “Once we finish helping you get GAIA up and running again. Of course there's the normal problems of getting crops in, having enough food to survive the winter and, of course, we'll have to set up some kind of university. With Ted Faro's purge of the APOLLO database, the amount of lost knowledge is staggering. That you've managed to rebuild this much, this quickly...” He trailed off with a vague gesture at the palace they stood in. “It is a testament to what all you and the other tribes have accomplished.”

“Barbarity?” she answered bitterly. “The Red Raids? Human sacrifice?”

“Man was born to trouble as the sparks fly upward,” he quoted softly.

She frowned at him. “Is that an Oseram saying?” He shook his head with a smile.

“No, it's much older than that, but it's still true. Some men are little better than animals, but for all of that, there are many that aspire to higher callings. There is as much room for lenity in the human heart as there is for cruelty. Which we fill it with is a choice everyone must make.” She drained her own cup and returned it to the table, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“That's a very nice thought.”

He picked up her cup and favored her with a smile. “Old soldiers have many empty hours to fill with thoughts. I try to fill mine with nice ones. Speaking of filling, I'll get you a refill.” She nodded and turned back to the map as he began to make his way across the party to the kegs that lined the other side of the room. As he did, his focus chimed softly and ENID's voice whispered in his ear.

“Excuse me, Colonel, do you have a moment?”

“Always for you, ENID,” he told the program. “What can I do for you?”

“I have been going over the data you downloaded from the GAIA Prime facility in King's Peak and I came across a recording that may interest you. Are you somewhere you can view it? Discreetly?”

Travis immediately altered his course out onto one of the balconies, but the desert chill had already begun to set in and he found it deserted. Fortunately he'd traded the Carja silk suit for his now cleaned uniform and it's smart fabric that knew when to breathe and when to insulate so the chill in the air didn't bother him. “I am now, ENID. You can proceed.” Before him, a hologram appeared in miniature of a meeting table. Around it were five figures, frozen in a pause of the recording. Suddenly, below each, a name appeared along with a biography down one side of the interface as the AI summarized the information.

“This is a recording that took place on January 3^rd, 2066. Present are Charles Ronson, the Alpha of the GAIA sub-routine ARETMIS...”

“Sub-routine?” he asked. “Alpha?”

The AI's voice gave no indication she might be annoyed by the interruption. “Major tasks of the AI GAIA were distributed in blocks of named Sub-Routines and given specific tasks. In keeping with the ancient Greek Pantheon Theme, Dr Ronson was the Alpha, or director, of ARTEMIS, which was responsible for the stored embryos of animal life and their method of artificial gestation to be re-introduced to the biosphere once stable. With him were Travis Tate, the Alpha of the HADES sub-routine which was meant as a check on GAIA to judge the efforts of the AI and reset the biosphere to initial state if the terraforming project was failing.”

“Hence why it tried to destroy the biosphere when awakened, leading to GAIA's suicide.”

“Exactly so,” ENID agreed. “Also present at the meeting were Patrick Brochard-Klein, the Alpha of the ELEUTHIA sub-routine which was similar to ARTEMIS, but specifically reserved for Homo-Sapiens. The two females are Samina Ebadgji the Alpha of the APOLLO Database and Margo Shĕn, the Alpha of HEPHAESTUS, which, based on the name and Dr Shĕn's expertise in robotics, I surmise governed GAIA's manufacturing and production tasks. There is a brief narration of this recording by Dr Ronson. I should warn you, the information contained in this recording can be upsetting to some humans. Shall I begin play back?”

“Go ahead, ENID.”

A male voice with a crisp, Received Pronunciation accent filled his ear, that he recognized as the man who had so annoyed Ted Faro in the recording of his murdering the Alphas of Project Zero Dawn. “This is Charles Ronson. I'm logging this six hours after final deployment of GAIA Prime. This morning... an access port seal malfunctioned. GAIA Prime's port seals were designed to close with a seam of less than 2 millimeters. But this one closed with a 10 millimeter gap. Enough for an energy signature to bleed through. Enough for the swarm to detect this facility. Enough for GAIA to be discovered and destroyed. Enough to end the future we worked so hard to make possible. Unless the hatch servos were manually re-engaged... from the outside. I'm now switching to a recording of the event.”

The hologram began to move, with the figure identified as Travis Tate raising his hands and declaring in a thick, Texas drawl, “Well I'm not going out there! Not what I signed up for!” Next to him, an older man, Brochard-Klein as he'd been labeled, gestured in obvious long annoyance of Tate.

“Either we send someone out there, or all of this was for nothing,” he snapped with a thick French accent.

Ronson separated the two men, evidently used to playing the peace maker between them. “It should be Lis's decision.”

“So when's she going to get here?” Brochard-Klein demanded angrily.

Samina looked around the room, confusion on her face. “She said five minutes. You don't think...?” Suddenly a new figure appeared, obviously holographically near the table. From the way the figure stood, even in the environmental suit she was wearing, everyone knew the person in it was a woman. Worse, they knew who the woman was.

“Oh, no...” Margo whispered.

The environmental suited figure spoke in the exact same voice Murray had just heard from Aloy. “Okay, everyone. I've repaired the seal. GAIA?”

“Seal closure at 1.4 millimeters, confirmed.” the voice of the AI declared. Ronson was beside himself, walking over to the hologram and actually trying to touch it.

“Elisabet, no. We'll find a way to bring you back in...” Sobeck turned to face him and held up a hand in consolation.

“Not going to happen. The swarm's too close. Really, it's all right. GAIA's complete. She'll take care of things from here on out. That's what she does.”

Charles shook his head, unbelieving what he was hearing and refusing to accept it. “Not like this! There's so much we...” Dr Sobeck took a step back, as if unsure of how to deal with her co-workers grief and emotion.

She tried to make her voice up beat, but it broke and fooled no one. “Guys—you know me. I'm no good at endings. At letting things end. So let's not.”

Silence settled on the group as Ronson clutched the table for support and, based on how his shoulders quivered, it seemed obvious he was inconsolable. Then, to the Colonel's immense surprise, Travis Tate stepped around him and offered a hand for a moment, before realizing the hologram couldn't shake it. “So... happy trails, Lis, and see ya around?”

Dr Sobeck's arm twitched, as if she had considered trying to shake Tate's hand. “Yeah. Take care of each other, all right?”

Ronson looked up from the table, his face wet. “Lis...?”

Elisabet raised her hands as if warding off the force of his emotions. “I'm okay with this. I want to go home. Goodbye.” The suit vanished and the recording paused again. Once more the somber voice voice of Ronson, still obviously deeply troubled by what he'd recorded spoke.

“That was the last transmission of Elisabet Sobeck. She gave everything for the hope of life on this planet. And we are all in her debt.”

The hologram disappeared and ENID's interface appeared in it's place. “That is the end of the recording.”

“Thank you, ENID,” Travis told her. “That...” he paused for a moment, mental gears grinding. “Shit!” he exclaimed.

“Colonel?” the AI asked, concerned, but promptly vanished as he turned and hurried back inside, fighting his way to where he could see the map, but the corner was empty. “Colonel, are you alright?”

“Boss?” asked Buck, wondering over with Olara and Nakoa. “Everything ok?”

“Aloy,” Travis snapped. “Did you see where she went?”

Nakoa pointed over her shoulder at the doorway, deeper into the place. “I passed her going out as I was coming in,” she told them. “She seemed like she was in a hurry.”

“She took off, didn't she?” Buck asked flatly. Travis nodded grimly, though the big man just laughed. “So, I guess we're back on the chase, right? What is she after this time?”

“GAIA,” Travis told them.

Olara frowned. “The goddess? I thought she didn't believe?”

“She doesn't,” Nakoa told her. “Travis means the...program...like ENID. She means to restore her, somehow?”

“Yes,” Murray replied, turning towards the exit and gesturing for his people to follow him. “We need...”

Suddenly the way was blocked by Blameless Marad. “Friends,” he greeted, all smiles. “The Sun King sends his gratitude and awaits you all up stairs in his private apartments, and is pleased to discuss the settlement of our mutual border. This way.”

Travis made a gesture of acknowledgment and tried to step around him. “Marad, we're grateful, really, but something's come up, and we have to leave, at once...” However, Blameless Marad was having none of it, raising both arms to block the way. And while he was still all smiles, there was an edge under the smile. This wasn't a request.

“Nonsense,” the Spymaster replied. “I'm sure whatever has come up will abide until the Sun King is able to properly thank the heroes of our defense. We don't want to keep His Radiance waiting. This way.”

Buck chuckled in Travi's ear as he leaned over to whisper as they followed Marad, “Come on, boss. It wouldn't be much of a chase if we didn't give her a head start, would it?”

Nakoa slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed him in a way that promised other closeness in the immediate future, once the Sun King had his audience. Travis sighed and shook his head. The group would need to return to Fort Carson to resupply, having expended nearly all of their ammunition in the battle, as well as other, needed supplies. There was also the test of the Storm Bird over ride that Ian wanted, and, if possible, that might speed up travel considerably. He shrugged his acceptance of the situation and draped his arm around her shoulders. “That's true,” he admitted finally. “After all, I know where she's going.”

Finis

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