Chapter 18 - Just So

As soon as the Thunder Child and its attendant Legionship had breached the outer perimeter of the Reef, two Ceres-class jumpships glided out of the rubble to defend their home. Virna quickly dispelled any impending attack, assuring her comrades that the enormous vessel following them was unarmed. Even with this assurance, they were escorted by the Vestian Guard, and as they drew closer to the Outpost, three more ships joined them.

The Legionship itself was presently unable to dock, so it remained in a controlled drift in the detritus field surrounded the outpost under guard. Guards were waiting outside as the Thunder Child docked, ready to escort Virna and Evoksis away. Walker-17 and Coyote-3 hovered on the gangplank, but were both equally unsure whether or not they should follow.

The guards paused, looking between one another. After a moment, one of them nodded decisively and said, "Stay here. We'll send word for you if need be."

And then they were gone, separating their agents from the Guardians. After the group had disappeared, Coyote-3 said, "You'd think they'd want more witnesses? More intelligence."

"Maybe they don't trust us," Walker-17 said, "which is honestly kind of fair. We're still getting used to one another, the City and the Reef." He shrugged and turned back for the interior of the ship. "I don't mind waiting. It's better than haring off only to find out they'll need us to come back."

"Fine by me." Coyote-3 keyed the gangplank to close, once again sealing them within the peaceful confines of the Thunder Child's interior. "Maybe I'll go for a run at the Prison while we're waiting."

Walker-17 looked to Coyote-3 sharply, then, a gesture that was so sudden it took him aback. The Warlock seemed utterly struck by something, as if he was realizing something for the first time, or... Or remembering something, Coyote-3 thought to himself.

He felt a lurch in his chest as he began to suspect what it was Walker-17 might be remembering, and he shied away from it, mentally. No, he couldn't deal with that right now; he didn't want to get into the subject of his past again, and what Walker-17 might know about the crimes he'd committed, but before he could change the subject, Malphas's chorus rang out over the speakers. He made that same multi-toned scoffing noise, which sounded just as bizarre as it had been the first time.

"Prison, indeed," he said.

"Malphas?" Walker-17 asked, plainly startled, "you're still here?"

"Of course. I'm following my Conjuror."

"Do you think that's wise? What If someone picks up on your signal?"

"They won't," the Warmind said, and that seemed to be the extent of his argument. Walker-17 shrugged with a resigned sigh and headed back towards the cockpit to sit down. "There are some very interesting technologies at work in this Reef of yours."

"It's not our Reef," Coyote-3 corrected, following at Walker-17's heels.

"Regardless, it seems to be very... mixed."

"Are you able to follow Virna and Evoksis?" Walker-17 asked.

"Yes. I've managed to find some simple surveillance devices I can use, for the time being. Very sophisticated little things. Thematically appropriate, too." Malphas fell quiet again, apparently seeing no need to further elaborate the increasingly bizarre things he said.

Walker-17 pulled up the Thunder Child's main viewscreen and brought up a feed from the sensors facing away from the Outpost, into the wreckage surrounding it. Coyote-3 drew near to take in the view. Even with the layers of detritus between him and the Legionship, he could see its massive bulk in the distance: hazy, purple-lit, and surrounded by the smaller Reef vessels: a mighty beast, and its attendant flock.

Coyote-3 looked away from the ship, to the controls, and then over his shoulder at the antiquated interior of the Thunder Child. It was incredibly strange to think that this had once been, for lack of a better term, Walker-17's body. After the lull of weeks when the group had run out of leads, the last few hectic days had passed so quickly as to almost seem unreal.

And on that subject... Coyote-3 looked back to his friend. The purple light of the viewscreen was shining dully off the matte plating of his face, nearly the same shade of violet as his eyes. "Hey, uh... Walker?" Walker-17 looked to him, tilting his head slightly. "Now that I've got a minute, I just wanted to, y'know..." He paused uncertainly.

The plates of Walker-17's face drew together slightly in consternation. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he finally blurted, "for... bringing this all down on you. If I'd never gone off to Europa, we wouldn't have come here, and all of this wouldn't have happened." Coyote-3 sat heavily in one of the cockpit's chairs. "I'm going to have a hell of a time making it up to Virna and Evo."

Walker-17 seemed to have been taken aback by the suddenness of the apology. He didn't say anything immediately, but merely watched Coyote-3 with an expression that mingled sympathy and an emotion that Coyote-3 couldn't quite define. He seemed... sad, somehow? "I understand how you must feel," he said finally, "but none of us knew it would come to this. It's just as well—the Cabal were actively looking for Malphas. They might have found him sooner or later."

"That is something we should address soon." Malphas's voice returned suddenly, making both Guardians jump. "Determining how much the Cabal know, or don't know."

Coyote-3 nodded. "Yeah. Looks like we'll be tying up the loose ends of this one for a bit." Part of him felt like he should say something more in regards to his apology. It didn't seem like enough to have just said it, but when he tried to dredge up the words, they dissolved just out of his grasp. Finally, he gave up. Maybe it was time to change the subject. "So, Malphas, just out of curiosity—what would've happened if they'd have found you? How would the protocol react to an enemy of humanity?"

"I can't say for certain," Malphas replied, "though I imagine they would have lied, initially. Once I discovered the truth for myself..." The chorus trailed off. "I have... no idea. Perhaps I'd have shut down. Perhaps I would have been able to work against the Cabal from within while pretending to be under their control. That would've been an interesting position to work from. Perhaps even a lucrative one."

"I think it's safe to say that you're better off out of their hands," Walker-17 said.

"Agreed." Coyote-3 expected that to be the end of the conversation, but to his surprise, Malphas spoke again, and this time there was a vaguely uncertain quality to his tone. "Quixote... I have a question. I've taken into account what you've told me about the Eliksni, and some of the things that my Conjuror has said."

There was a pause, which hummed with an intangible, uncertain air. "Yes?" Walker-17 prompted, gently.

"I surmised that he held me in religious regard," Malphas went on, "and as time has gone by it's become apparent to me that he holds me in very religious regard. I'm not misjudging him, am I? He's..." Another uncomfortable pause. "Somewhat... worshipful. Does that sound correct?"

"Yes," Walker-17 said, and at his side, Coyote-3 nodded, "he's particularly religious, even among eliksni."

"Ah."

"Does that bother you?"

Again, Malphas hesitated. "I'll be perfectly honest," he finally said, "I have absolutely no idea how to feel about that. Even more than usual."

"Get used to that feeling," Coyote-3 muttered, 'cos you've walked into a weird, weird world." Somewhat to his surprise, Malphas didn't immediately respond with some manner of scathing rejoinder. Instead, the Warmind lapsed into silence.

So did the Guardians. Coyote-3 knew that he was brimming with questions and apprehension, and as far as he could tell, Walker-17 seemed to be feeling much the same. On top of all that, who knows what he's remembering, Coyote-3 thought to himself, glancing sidelong to his friend. Walker-17 was standing with both hands resting on the pilot chair's headrest, his gaze lowered to the console in thought. "Hey, Walker? You gonna be all right?"

The Warlock blinked and looked to him. "What? Of course."

"Well, I mean, I figure you could bounce back from just about anything but still, you've had a pretty big shake-up the past few days."

Walker-17 nodded. "Yes. Yes, that's true enough… but I think I will be. I just need some time to process all of this."

"All right." Coyote-3 put his hands on his hips. "Just let me know, okay? If there's anything I can do." He was keenly aware that there was probably very little he could do, but it was still important to him to make the offer. "I don't have to hit the Prison if you want me to stay."

"No, no. If you like, you can, but don't on account of me. I think I just… need to think things over, for now."

Coyote-3 nodded again. "If you're sure… just give me a word, all right?" Walker-17 quietly agreed. Coyote-3 turned to go, and as he did, Walker-17 spoke again.

"Coyote?" There was a tentative note in his voice that made Coyote-3 pause. When Coyote-3 turned back to him, head tilted questioningly, Walker-17 stared at him for a moment more, concern and uncertainty warring over his features before he stepped forward and quite suddenly enveloped the Hunter in a hug.

At first, Coyote-3 was too startled to react, but he soon returned the embrace. It was somewhat awkward, but mostly only because Walker-17 was about a full foot taller than Coyote-3, and he soon relaxed into the gesture. "Hey, you big sap," he said, "what's gotten you so choked up?"

Walker-17 gave a short, soft laugh. "Not choked up. Grateful." He pulled away. Coyote-3 could see he wasn't at all embarrassed about being so openly affectionate, but then again, Walker-17 had never shied away from being earnest in a way that would make other people feel self-conscious. For the first time, Coyote-3 felt that maybe he began to understand why—after all, Walker-17 wasn't human. Why should he share a human's self-consciousness?

"Thank you," the Warlock went on, "for sticking with me. And for doing everything you could to help. Even when you screwed up, you meant well. And I do appreciate that."

"Well." Coyote-3 found himself grasping for words, for something, anything, to say in the face of such raw sincerity. "I mean, what else could I do? Tell you 'good luck' and just ride off into the sunset? Pfft. Not likely."

This earned him another laugh from Walker-17. "Something... something about remembering all of the things that happened to me, back before I died, remembering all the people I knew..." He trailed off, and regarded Coyote-3 in silence for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, and sad, "Remembering everyone you've lost, it makes you grateful for what you have. And I'm grateful I have you. All of you."

"Hey, same," Coyote-3 gave Walker-17's shoulder a light, playful punch, "consider the feeling mutual, Walker. As far as pals go, you're not too shabby, yourself."

For some reason, saying this only seemed to deepen the hint of sorrow he could see in Walker-17's eyes. Once again Coyote-3 felt dread creeping through him. Please, not now, he thought to himself. It had been a dreadfully stressful few days, and he was already wracked with guilt as it was. He didn't want to go re-opening the wound of his ignoble past.

To his relief, Walker-17 said, simply, "I'm glad. Coyote. I'm glad."

Walker-17 watched him go. He wanted to say, I knew you, Coyote.

Not as well as he knew Coyote-3 now, of course, but he'd known him, back before he died, back before he became a Guardian—Coyote-3 and his crew. He hesitated, even as the Hunter disappeared from sight, wondering whether or not he had any right to decide not to tell Coyote-3 everything he knew about his past, and yet...

And yet he remembered the conversation on Venus, that night by the fire, where Coyote-3 had admitted, with some embarrassment, that he took comfort in the thought of a nobler past. Walker-17 remembered the easy fellowship of the Devil's Menagerie, as well, that us-against-the-world mentality that made a family out of a pack of criminals. They were gone, now.

He supposed there was some dim possibility that a few of them might have survived—the vast majority of them had, after all, been converted into Exo—but he knew in his heart it was unlikely. They'd been investigating the same things he had, and some of them had died before Walker-17 had. What good would it do to tell Coyote-3? All he would be able to say was that all of his dim hopes about his past were hilariously wrong, that he'd been a pirate captain, and all of his friends were probably dead. He could offer nothing but more uncertainty and possible pain, which seemed a poor repayment for Coyote-3's loyalty, however misguided it might sometimes be.

He began to understand, in that moment, why the Traveler made new Guardians forget.

Walker-17 felt a sudden, aching pang of homesickness, but for which home, he couldn't say: the City, or some far-off and long-ago time and place, somewhere nestled dimly in the still-unfolding memories of his past. Regardless, he resolved to stick by his resolution to remain there and wait for Virna and Evoksis. Walker-17's troubles, both distant and recent, lay in his past now.

New troubles were just beginning, and he would be there to see his companions through them.

Malphas sometimes wondered if the life before had prepared him for the state the Conjuration Protocol had left him in.

When he'd been whole, when he'd operated as a solid, single intelligence instead of an intermittently fractured consortium of sub-entities, his awareness had been flung wide over the system, funneling information from countless sensors mounted on hundreds of ships and tens of thousands of probes. He'd been able to process all of these, been able to pass them through the sieve of his mind and draw some usefulness from the sheer mass of the data.

Now, though, all those disparate streams of data would sometimes slip from his grasp. Other times, the channels rang like plucked strings, filling his mind with voices as many and varied as the ones he spoke with, a clamoring chorus that often disagreed with itself and left him paralyzed under the weight of their indecision. Would this have destroyed a lesser intelligence, be it synthetic or organic? Would this sort of division drive another, more single-minded Warmind gradually to madness? He couldn't be sure.

Regardless, Malphas found it genuinely and deeply relieving when he could feel all parts of himself operating on the same tack, making the same observations, and feeling the same way about something, anything. He'd enjoyed a singular sense of purpose immediately after waking, simply because his reality had narrowed to the very specific circumstances he'd found himself in. Even the most wayward parts of his mind were stuck observing and reacting to the same thing as everything else. He knew, though, the longer he stayed awake, and the more he saw, the dissonance and unpredictability of his own mind would probably worsen, straining under the yoke of the Conjuration Protocol.

As the Ars Goetia drifted in stately silence away from the outermost fringes of the Vestian Outposts's territory, towards some dark, hidden place where it could be safe, Malphas was still experiencing that blessed inner unity as he contemplated his circumstances.

Malphas could never have predicted the strangeness of the world he had woken to. If everything that Quixote had said was true—and Malphas believed him—then the entirety of the word he knew, its power structure, the forces that animated it, everything, had been completely scythed away. There was a part of Malphas that couldn't help but feel darkly satisfied by this. Everyone who had ever wronged him was dead, and it seemed that next to nobody remembered them. It had been galling, to feel the drive to protect and obey the very people who had ruined him, but those people didn't exist any longer. Perhaps that was something to find satisfaction in.

Despite this, he also found it frustrating. He hadn't been there to see their fall from grace, to watch them fight, struggle, and fail (but the riven chorus of voices in his head were divided, and some of them loudly protested that such vengeful pettiness was beneath him). He consoled himself with the knowledge that even if he had been awake at the time, he would likely have been utterly caught up in trying to stem the tide of the Collapse, and wouldn't have been able to pay attention. No, he would have been aiding his comrades-in-arms, the other Warminds, and he would likely have perished along with them.

And on the subject of the other Warminds... it was still hard for him to believe they were gone, and he was not a creature that was accustomed to doubting the weight of the evidence before him. Of all of them, only the Tyrant remained? How could it be true? Malphas was also unsure as to whether or not he would alert Rasputin to his presence—yet. It would happen eventually, but he needed to see how the Tyrant had changed throughout the centuries, and whether or not he could be trusted.

Then there was the matter of the Traveler. Malphas had never really cared for it, despite the fact that he probably owed his existence to it. What had that strange, transient entity done to humanity? Was it really protecting them, or using it to accomplish its own ends? Malphas would have to watch and see. Apparently Quixote had received its blessing (as well as Coyote, which struck Malphas as particularly unfair; clearly, the Traveler was capable of making mistakes), which was both worrying and convenient: out of all of the people he'd worked alongside in Clovis Bray, Quixote had been the most reliable, the most trustworthy. He knew for a fact that the Exo was fond of him, and thought of him as a friend.

That was fine by Malphas. Emotional investment could be a powerful advantage. He had observed Quixote closely for almost the entirety of the AI's four-year life, and if there was any kind of altering or corrupting force working through him, Malphas was confident he would see it. He'd already noticed that Quixote's mannerisms were a bit off, a bit more uncertain, but that was easily explained by his memory loss. For his part, despite everything that had changed within him, he didn't know if he was capable of feelings of fellowship, and in years past, Quixote had, more often than not, been his Conjuror. The imbalance of power was an impenetrable barrier.

That barrier was gone now, the chorus reminded him. Let it be an experiment, then. Malphas was uncertain whether or not he wanted to be saddled with the ability to develop such distracting feelings, but so far, none of them had needed his permission to manifest. For a moment he felt his inner processes slow to a crawl as indecision rippled through the legions inside of him, before blessed consensus descended once again. There was simply nothing more to do than wait and see.

Even as he contemplated it, the rare and delightful sensation of curiosity rose within him again. He savored every moment of it, letting it seep into every channel of his mind and permeate every single impulse and observation. It was an indulgence that resonated with the simplest, deepest-buried components of his programming.

A lot had changed in four hundred years.

A lot could change in the months to come, and, if his highly unusual re-entry to the waking world was any indication, a lot would change.

Either way, it was time to get started.

Deep in the Court of Miracles, Levi Galley was getting ready to close Reliable Pawn and Curio. It was about five minutes till closing time when he heard the tell-tale tinkling of the bell at the entrance and, with a stab of annoyance (of course someone would come in right when he was getting ready to lock up), he stepped out of the aisle he'd been straightening to greet his customer.

The annoyance faded rapidly, because the Exo that had just walked through the door wasn't just a customer. He was a friend. "I'll be damned. Been a while, pal. Thought you'd kicked the bucket at last." Levi said, regarding his customer with wry humor.

"I haven't come this far to give up now," he Exo said, with a simulated snort.

His plating was a dull russet-brown, and had been scratched, patched, and repainted dozens of times over the course of his long, long life. He'd not only been a regular customer through all of Levi's years as a shopkeeper, but also a regular customer of his father's, and his grandmother's. Reliable Pawn and Curio had been passed down through the generations, and so had the Exo called Doz. It wasn't his real name, of course, but rather a reference to his service number: twelve, an even dozen. He was practically family.

"And of course you drag your sorry ass up in here when I'm about to close—"

"I just wanted to drop off, actually. You can process it tomorrow if you wanna."

"Nah, nah." Levi waved him off. "You're good, Doz. Pop it up here, and I'll lock up."

A few moments later found them bot at the counter while Levi looked through the box of parts that Doz had brought in, and, as usual, it was pretty decent salvage. Their long association had made them a good team, and by now Doz knew what parts sold well at Reliable, and which didn't. A battered paper packet tucked into the side of the box earned a whistle of appreciation from Levi. "Seeds? Where the heck did you get these?"

"Pike found 'em," he said, "we're selling those on the one stipulation that you give her one of the sprouts, if they take."

"Seems fair enough," Levi said. He carefully set the packet aside, already eager to take it back to the hydroponic lab, and glanced up. "You wanna pick up anything while you're here? Y'know, compensate me for all my trouble?"

Doz snorted again, reaching into his jacket pocket for his Glimmer chit. "Yeah, might as well. Gimme a double hit of Medusa."

Levi nodded and ducked behind the counter. Something in the way Doz worded his request reminded him of the last Exo who'd come in for some drugs, and Levi smiled to himself a little as he passed the capsule over and turned to process Doz's chit. "Y'know, I had a couple of really weird customers a few weeks ago. I thought of you."

"I'm flattered."

It was Levi's turn to snort. "Hey, I don't see a lot of Exo come this way. You can't blame me." He handed Doz's chit back to him and continued rummaging through the box. "Anyway, he'd clearly never tried the stuff before. Seemed pretty green in general-must have been from the City, looking for a cheap thrill."

"Guardian?"

"Yeah, had to be. Hunter, I'd say. Had a Warlock come looking for him, who I'm guessing he gave the slip. Anyway this guy pops a double dose right in front of me. I thought he was gonna fall out then and there. His buddy had to practically carry him out, and let me tell you, the Warlock was the tallest Exo I've ever seen in my life."

Doz stilled slightly, but Levi didn't yet notice. "Anyway, I mainly remember them because the Hunter had this pretty big chunk missing out of the side of his head. It as the damnedest thing I've ever seen—I didn't even know you guys could survive something like that. But, Guardians, am I right?" He looked up from the box to see that his customer had gone very still. Doz's glowing red gaze was fixed intently on Levi's face. The shopkeeper frowned, cocking a brow. "You okay?"

"This Exo, the one who was hurt—was he red? Really, really dark red?"

"Yep. He didn't have any eyes or anything, either. Why?" Levi asked.

"And the fella with him, the Warlock—completely black? Purple eyes?"

Levi nodded again, narrowing his eyes searchingly. "You know 'em, or something?"

"I don't know," Fisher-12 said, "not for sure. But I think… I think I used to."

One month later

Coyote-3 was standing before the bounty board with Flicker at his side. "Nothing catching your eye?" Flicker asked, his optic flickering over the posted jobs.

"Nah, not right now."

"Well, that's not so bad. We could use some peace and quiet."

On the heels of that statement, a figure that had been striding across the plaza drew up behind Coyote-3 and, without so much as a moment's pause, punched him in the shoulder. "Ow! What the hell?" he asked, turning. He already knew who he would see, as there was only one person who greeted him by way of blunt physical violence. "Hello to you too, Panca."

The Titan standing behind him had removed her helmet. Like Coyote-3, she was an Exo, and through her features lacked the capacity for self-expression that a human face might, it wasn't hard to see she was furious. "Where the hell have you been? I haven't been able to get a hold of you for weeks, you little shit!"

"It's a long story," he replied. He made a show of rubbing his shoulder.

"I was worried, you idiot."

"Over little ol' me?" Coyote-3 placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Panca. I'm touched."

This earned him a second punch, which Flicker declared he deserved, and another demand for an explanation. When Coyote-3 once again protested that it was a long story, Panca just shook her head and muttered, "All right, then you better get started telling it." A pause. "On the way. Need your help on something."

"On the way where?" Coyote-3 asked, but Panca had already turned and was striding off. "If you think I'm gonna just go along with you, then you're…" She was still walking, and he sighed. "Absolutely right. Dammit." Coyote-3 jogged to catch up, drawing up to the Titan's side. "You on a mission or something?"

"Not yet, but we're gonna be. Vanguard's sending us into a place that's apparently off-limits. Old Russia. You can speak Russian, right? Figured it'd be useful."

"And here I was, thinking you needed me for my gun-slinging skills," Coyote-3 said dramatically.

Panca shrugged. "That too. I sure as hell don't keep you around for your sense of humor. Figured I'd wait until I hunted you down, though. Go with a full fireteam. This place is apparently kind of dangerous."

"You know, I still haven't agreed to go along," Coyote-3 said. In response, Panca just fixed him with a short, deadpan stare, not once breaking her stride. "…okay, fair, yeah, I'm coming. You had me at 'off-limits.' What's so special about this place that the Vanguard would seal it off?"

"Dunno. Guess we're gonna find out, though."

Coyote-3 nodded. "Guess we are. I'll catch you up on the way over. Zavala running this op?" he paused. "or is… Panca, tell me that this isn't one of the Boss's missions. I know Zavala would send us to some restricted area for a good reason, but I'm not sure I trust Cayde to do the same.

"I know better than to take missions from him," Panca grunted, shaking her head. "Nah, this one came from someone new? Apparently Shaxx knows him, or something." She waved a dismissive hand. "Never heard of the guy, but he calls himself Lord Saladin."

"How fancy. Well, consider yourself up one translator. And one Ghost." He glanced to Flicker. "So much for peace and quiet. Ready for some..." A pause. "What's the opposite of peace and quiet?"

"Dangerous and loud?" Panca offered.

"Yeah, that'll do. Ready for some dangerous and loud, pal?"

"I can hardly wait," Flicker sighed.

Evoksis carefully unwound the bandages that were wrapped around the ends of the stumps of his lower set of arms. The joint that would support the next segment had filled in nicely. That was always the longest part—waiting for the joints to finish forming, all of the necessary cartilage and tendons to grow beneath the exoskeleton. Once the base had developed, a glut of ether could have the next segment of arm nearly fully grown in a week.

For that reason, he was stockpiling what Ether he'd collected. He needed less of it day-to-day, while he was on the station, anyway, as he wasn't doing anything particularly strenuous.

In the month since returning to the Reef, life had settled back into a surprisingly mundane routine. Evoksis was hopping from trainer to trainer, testing his aptitudes as he went. He'd already studied mechanics somewhat extensively as part of his initial training to be an Archon, but it had been many, many years since that time, and he had a lot to catch up on.

He'd only heard from Malphas once in that time, but he knew he was being watched. The lack of communication left Evoksis on-edge, as he felt he was constantly waiting for something, unsure of when it would come… but it was probably for the best. If he gave Malphas space, perhaps the Warmind would have more freedom to work autonomously.

Virna was an almost-daily presence in his life, and Walker-17 had, somewhat surprisingly, also stayed in touch. It seemed the sense of camaraderie hadn't faded with the distance and time. And, of course, there'd been more than one visit from Coyote-3, whose persistent friendliness had not surprised Evoksis: the Hunter's companionship was there to stay. So much had happened since the last time he'd been on Luna, since that horrible moment that he realized his entire troop was gone.

The Exiles of Luna had been the first people in his entire life that treated him with dignity. Exile was a House he'd chosen, and even though life had been difficult and dangerous, he had always felt he could endure its hardships for the fellowship of his troop. More than once, standing on the Reef, he wondered if he'd made the right decision in deciding to pursue revenge at any cost.

And in those moments, he couldn't help but remember Bracus Ru'orn's words to him in that rusted tower on Mars. The dogs from the mountain. He'd spoken as if the holdout had been destroyed, but could some Exiles still remain in their stronghold on Mars? Exiles who were, if it could be believed, in an even worse position than those who remained on Luna?

He couldn't be sure, and the questions plagued him… but underneath the doubt and self-recrimination, underneath the longing for answers, there was an iron current of some feeling he couldn't quite name, something stronger than the fading grief and the uncertainty. He wasn't alone. Evoksis had no doubts that, between the questions, the ongoing Taken War, and the matter of the wounded Warmind, he had a long, difficult road ahead of him, but he wasn't going to be traveling it by himself.

It filled him with a curious strength, flowing through him like Ether. He never thought that the creatures he'd once considered his enemies could make him feel that way, but they did. Humanity and its descendants had defended their system time and again from the threats that had converged on it, and Evoksis felt that he now understood how. There was something unshakable about them, and that steadfastness was also found in their friendship.

There was a sound at his door that interrupted his thoughts. Evoksis looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. It hadn't been a knock, it had been a very definite tap-tap, as if something sharp was being rapped against his door. In the back of his mind he knew, reasonably, that the odds of someone trying something unsavory here on the Reef against him were low. He wasn't important enough to warrant such undesirable attention... but even so, when he approached the door and keyed it to open, he kept one hand near where his shock pistol was strapped against his hip.

At first he saw nothing, and stared for a moment, blankly confused, at the empty space, but a movement by his feet drew his eyes downward. A crow was standing on the ground before him, much like the one that had accompanied Virna on the first leg of their unusual adventure. Before he could react further, the crow trotted around his feet and took off from the ground, flapping heavily into the air and gliding over to perch on the chair of Evoksis's desk.

The bird swiveled its head and regarded him with a single eye. "Shut the door," it rasped.

Evoksis did so, and as the door slid shut, he felt he understood. Virna had said that the crows didn't really speak much since the Prince of the Reef had disappeared. They were small, exquisitely made surveillance devices, which could only mean... "I think I know you," Evoksis said carefully. He knew better that to just blurt out the name.

"You do, Conjuror," the crow replied. It paused for a moment, and then spoke in harsh, croaking eliksni, "I've been observing the Reef. And you, of course."

The words were a little distorted, and to someone unfamiliar with the language, it might, at first, only sound like the guttural caws that crows naturally made. "You've picked up my native tongue very quickly," Evoksis said, faintly amused.

"Deciphering a hitherto-unknown alien language by piecing together enemy transmissions isn't that difficult," Malphas replied, "but regardless, we need to communicate clearly if this is going to work. I made learning it a priority."

Evoksis nodded, and once again, he felt the weight of his actions settling on his heart. He crossed the room, sitting on the edge of his cot and regarding the crow. It was so lifelike up close, exquisite down to every last shining feather. He couldn't help but feel that it was an elegant vessel for the great machine intelligence that watched him through its eyes.

He realized, after a few moments had passed, that he was dumbly staring. Malphas had noticed, too. "You're troubled."

It was a statement, but one that demanded an answer. Evoksis nodded slowly. How much had Malphas been watching him, to have been able to learn to read him so completely? In all honesty, probably a lot. "You… deserve better than to be enslaved this way," he finally said, slowly, grateful that he had someone he could speak to in the full eloquence of his native tongue, "and I don't know if I'm suited for this position in the slightest. I'll try not to fail you, and I'll learn whatever you feel is necessary for me to know, but I am still no leader. I am not the right person for this task."

For the first time in a long time, Evoksis didn't feel as if he were truly worthless, but he still knew that he wasn't worth much. Malphas was a complicated machine designed to fulfill a massively-involved function. Improper guidance wouldn't just be frustrating for Malphas, but it could be dangerous to his new home, and his new allies. "Even so," he murmured, softly, "I will do what I can."

The bird's head cocked sharply to the side, and for a moment he stared, as if something Evoksis had said had struck him. "Yes," Malphas replied, slowly, "even so. You have much to learn, for now, regarding my capabilities and the ways in which they can and should be deployed, but I am capable of acting with some measure of autonomy. With your leave, I'd like permission to begin operations under my discretion, which is still mostly just information-gathering at this juncture."

"You have it," Evoksis replied, relief faintly touching his voice. "Malphas—whatever you need from me to preserve what freedom you have, I will give it. Please don't hesitate to tell me. And I take the vow I made on your vessel seriously. If there is a way to free you from this, I will find it. I will not rest until it is found, even to my last day."

Again, the crow stared for a few moments. "Very well," Malphas said, "and I thank you. We are, both of us, in positions we'd rather not be in, Conjuror. In order to make the best of this situation, we either need to get you in a position where you can adequately deploy my abilities, or I can act without need for your guidance." Malphas lowered his head, fixing Evoksis with that blank golden gaze. "And for now, we can change only one of those things."

Evoksis nodded. "You are correct." He straightened. There wasn't any way to simply banish the shame he felt, or to lift the weight the consequences of his actions had laid upon his shoulders, but he couldn't let them hinder him. Feeling bad about the situation was not the best thing for either of them, right now. Moving forward was. "Let's begin."

Walker-17 already knew where Virna would be waiting. He made a beeline for the place where he'd first seen her on the Reef, the outskirts of the marketplace. She grinned and waved at him, and together they made their way back towards the docks and the Rocinante. "Feel like going for a flight?" Walker-17 asked. He and Virna had a lot to discuss, and they needed to do it somewhere privately. Traveling off the Reef and finding a more remote spot to chat would be the most secure way of talking about more sensitive subjects.

"Nah, I can't go far. Don't mind dropping in, though," she said. Walker-17 supposed the security of his ship was better than talking out in the open, but he had no way of knowing how effective the Reef's surveillance was at piercing the privacy of his ship's hull. Virna definitely did know, though, and if it was good enough for her, then Walker-17 would trust her, despite his misgivings—and he did have misgivings.

Privately, Walker-17 thought that maybe Virna wanted to get caught. Maybe she was hoping to be forced into a place where she could reveal Malphas's presence without retribution from the Warmind. It was risky for her, personally, but by now Walker-17 knew Virna Roskar well enough to know that such a thing wasn't of paramount importance to her; the safety of the Reef, and of her people, was.

Those that had earned Virna's loyalty had a truly formidable ally on their side. Walker-17 felt that he was truly lucky to have fallen in with someone like her, and he was made more aware of it as time passed. Noble intentions aside, Walker-17 vowed that if protecting the Reef meant that Virna would have to take a fall, she wouldn't do it alone. For now, though, such a thing wasn't imminent, or even very likely.

"The techs are still working on the ship we brought in," Virna said, "Right now they've got it locked to a frigate and dead-drifting." There was a note of satisfaction in her voice. A powerless ship meant that Malphas couldn't activate his sensors and watch the technicians as they got to work. "Taking it apart and examining it is going to take a long, long time."

"How are out City liaisons doing?"

"Well enough," Virna said, "and we're always happy enough to have Cryptarchs on the Reef."

The discovery of the Legionship had been a joint venture, and as such, the Reef and the City were sharing information gleaned from the disassembly and analysis of the Legionship's technology. It had been a somewhat shaky agreement at first, a strain on what was, after all, a new alliance, but the Cryptarchy had offered to step in and oversee the process as a neutral third party.

So far, it was proving to work well. The representatives from the City and the Reef were working together with their respective techs as well as a handful of Cryptarchs, who were accompanied by their apprentices, most of whom were quite excited to be having an extended stay on somewhere as exotic as the Reef. There was still the occasional squabble over methodology between the various disciplines of Cryptarchs, but by and large, they were successfully operating as one entity.

"Anything particularly interesting come out of it yet?" Walker-17 asked.

"I think so, but you'd better look over the reports for yourself. I'm a soldier, not a techie, and," she added dryly, "I don't exactly speak Cryptarch."

Walker-17 laughed. "Fair enough. How's Evoksis doing? Adapting well?"

"Well enough," Virna said, "he's been kind of quiet. Mostly just focusing on making himself useful, and getting into our local Ether trade." The simplicity of the statement had a double meaning: if Evoksis had heard anything from Malphas, he hadn't said so.

Their chatter dissolved into more (relatively) mundane discussions: the latest goings-on in the Prison of Elders, the progress of the Taken War, and other things that were simply part of day-to-day life in the Solar System. There hadn't been a major collaboration between any of the four travelers since the discovery of Malphas. Walker-17 was beginning to think that perhaps there wouldn't be—at least not for a long time.

He couldn't shake the way it had felt, in the jungles of Venus, in the sand-tossed ruins of Freehold, and aboard the Ars Goetia. He typically worked alone, only taking on a fireteam when necessary, but it had felt good to be part of a cohesive unit. There was a spark there, and he would have liked to see how far that spark could have taken them.

"Right now, I'm between assignments," Virna said with a shrug, "I was thinking about swinging over to the Court for a while, helping the local agents do some recon on the crime scene, there. But otherwise…" she shook her head. "Otherwise they haven't got me doing anything directly. We're in a pretty good position, all things considered."

All things considered. The Reef was still badly broken by the first devastating blow of the Taken War, but the death of Oryx had been a tremendous victory for all of them.

"And you? How're… your memories coming along?" she asked, softly.

"I can't say for sure what I don't remember, of course, but a lot of them are back." Walker's eyes lowered, and he stared at the table for a moment. "Mostly my early ones about… about my father."

Dr. Levesque, the artificial intelligence expert who'd created Quixote and whose research had been used on the Warmind project. "He was the first Conjuror," Walker-17 said quietly, "but it was by accident. After… things went wrong, they called him in to see if he could wake our friend up, because he was an expert in the field. He did, and the same thing that happened to Evoksis happened to him."

"They erased your memories to reset the Protocol, right?"

"Yes, after my father had passed."

"What about before that?" Virna was watching him keenly, and Walker-17 could see the wheels turning in her head. The memory wipes had hidden the existence of Malphas from them right up until the moment they found him, and it wasn't difficult to surmise that other, darker secrets might be lurking underneath the others.

"As far as I can tell, mostly for my own stability. The transfer from ship to Exo was stable enough, but it wasn't perfect." Walker-17 went thoughtfully silent for a moment. "In the beginning, it was for my own good, and in the end, it was for our friend's. I get the sense that my father didn't want to do it, but he never forced me to do what he wanted. He let me choose…" Again he stopped, and for a moment, closed his eyes. For the past two decades of his life he hadn't even known the man existed, but the memory of him sent a fierce pain lancing through all the years of his absence. "I still miss him."

Virna nodded soberly. "These things take time."

Walker-17 opened his eyes and met hers with a nod. "Yes. Yes, they do." It seemed that, for all its pitfalls and its triumphs, through the course of their mission, grief had touched nearly all them. Virna and Evoksis both carried burdens on their hearts, and now Walker-17 shared it. It made him feel closer to them, somehow.

"The forest," he said, after a few quiet moments, "where we met. That's where it happened for the first time... my last flight was over the Great Bear Rainforest. And my first walk in the woods." The heavy air that had settled over them lifted somewhat. "But not my last, obviously."

"Nope." Virna offered him a slight smile.

The conversation wound down, weighed by the heaviness of Walker-17 and Virna's thoughts. Matthias, who was hovering over Walker-17's shoulder, glanced between them briefly. "You know," he said, speaking into the silence, "there's something that's been bothering me." He paused as both Virna and Walker-17 looked to him. "When we first found our prize out there, for just a moment, I thought for sure it was the Joyeuse. "

Virna frowned. "The name sounds vaguely familiar…"

"It's a famous gunship that went missing before the Collapse," Matthias went on, "Flicker and I found some info on it when we were doing our digging through those old Clovis Bray records—which, by the way, is composed of a lot of data. Owl Sector was desperate to find it in the early years; aside from its famous firepower, it was also a research vessel. There's no telling what sort of untold riches could be waiting inside."

"And they never found it?" Virna asked.

"No. There wasn't enough information left to form a trail. But they didn't know all the things we know. And… I've got a few leads." He trailed off, his optic flickering between them.

There was a beat as Virna and Walker-17 digested this information. In almost perfect unison, they looked towards one another, and, in similar unison, seemed to realize what the other was thinking. "Virna," Walker-17 said, "assuming you can get leave from your commanders, would you care to go look for a long-lost ship possibly packed with untold technological riches?"

She smiled. "Well, how could I not, when you put it that way?" She stood up. "Give me just a second to call this in, but as I think I might have told you before… untold technological riches are the sort of things intelligence agents tend to be interested in." Virna stood, taking a step forward before pausing, looking over her shoulder. "But I'll go on one condition—we run into any long-lost Warminds, they're your problem, this time."

"That's fair," he said, in mock-grave tones, "I accept full responsibility."

Virna leaned back and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "I'll be back in five. Get the engines warmed up in the meantime. I figure a few hundred years is long enough to let this mystery lie—no use in wasting any more time, right?"

Walker-17 laughed. He had no choice but to agree.

There it is, the last chapter! Epilogue will come in a few days, and notes on what's next for this story.