"Hey down the merry-o, a Cyborg's life for me!"

The toneless song brushed over the dirt, the only sound in the dry heat. Taiga walked resolutely forward, concentrating on nothing more than setting one foot in front of the other and letting the mindless song spill out of his lips on its own accord.

"Ayoh-ho-ho and a bottle of--hell."

Cresting a small hill, he looked down to see the tent nestled in the miniature valley. A pair of weathered, burly men and an equally weathered, burly woman stood outside it, staring up at him; alerted by his song and probably wondering what all the ruckus was about.

"Hello!" he called down to them as amiably as possible, walking slowly down the hill and hoping that there weren't folks who resented Estharan power and any Estharan presence. "Archaeologists, I bet?"

Man #1, the taller of the two, spat something onto the ground. "None o' yer business," he snarled. Taiga groaned internally.

"I'm afraid it is my business," he said, lying. "I'm with the Estharan Special Corps, unit designation Taiga C1128513. You can call me either Taiga or C1128513, I don't much mind either way." Coming to a halt just a bit in front of them, he crossed his arms and continued with a certain amount of irony. "I've been dispatched here on orders to monitor activity in this region, and if you don't have an archaeology, botany, zoology, minerology, teratobiology, or related permit, I'm afraid I'll have to report you to the Estharan Scientific Ordinance Commission."

"Gerroff wi' yer," the woman scowled, waving a hand to shoo him off. "Ye dun even have them, whatisyoucallit, shotgun weapons."

Taiga shrugged amiably. "In my unit, we don't rely on the shotels and helmets," he said. "I know a variety of hand-to-hand techniques, and--"

"Aye, aye," Man #1 said. "We en't got any permit, but we en't leaving."

"Ah, I see," Taiga responded. "Well, maybe I'll just take a look inside your tent, make sure that there's nothing illicit going on?"

Man #2 frowned, moving slightly so that he stood between Taiga and the tent. No one said anything.

"Come, now," Taiga said. "Surely you're at least going to invite me in for some food, shade and drink? It's been a long walk out here."

"En't got anything we give t' yer," Man #1 said.

"Is this any way to treat an Esthar official?" Taiga growled.

"Dun care iff'n yer an 'ficcial," Man #2 said, in a voice that seemed several notes too high for a man of his girth.

Taiga's mood turned sour very quickly. "Look," he said, dropping all pretenses of civility. "I'll even with you. I'm a deserter, have been before, reconditioned at least five times, and I'm trying to get away from the hellhole that is my life. I'm sure you can understand that, being who--and what--I assume you are. Now, the implants are telling me that my energy is depleted and that I need to eat, and if it gets down to 'drained' they'll shut me off like a computer monitor to conserve energy until search parties can find me. I don't much want that. I'm sure you have food in there; people don't come into the wastes with tents and no food. And if you don't help me, you're going to become the next in a string of rather brutal murders. I'm sure that none of us want that."

The trio's eyes narrowed. Man #1 and the woman stepped backward, engaging quickly in a low conversation. Man #2 glared at Taiga, and there was a tense silence.

The woman stepped forward. "We'r no interested in bein' caught by none 'ficcials," she told him. "We feed yer, yer says nut'ing. Yer get t'at?"

Taiga nodded. "Who am I going to turn you in to?" he asked. "I'm on the run, you know. I'm not going to be dropping in to tango with lawmen anytime soon, if I can help it."

The woman nodded. "Gerrin wi' yer," she growled. "Et up and leave."

Men #1 and #2 stepped aside, moving to another part of their camp and pretending to ignore him. The woman brushed aside the tent flap, ducking inside. Taiga followed.

It was impossible to keep light out of one of these tents during the day; it peeped through the semiopaque fabric, spilled in through dozens of pinholes, leaked through every imperfect stitch and seam. No lights were on inside the tent--they didn't need to be.

It was quite bright enough to see the woman on the floor, tied hand and foot, obviously beaten, obviously unconscious. It was quite bright enough to see the bruises which colored her otherwise fair skin.

He grimaced in distaste and looked away. It wasn't his problem, after all.

But, still....

"Directive," he muttered.

Directive accepted.

"One-fifth tranquilize."

There was a hiss in the collar of his suit, and he felt the calming drugs slip into his system and begin to take effect. He glanced over to see the criminal woman staring at him, and he made an explanatory gesture to his suit.

"My ICI," he explained, taking a seat. "Individual Cybernetic Interface. I wasn't feeling too good. My suit can manufacture a limited number of drugs and hormones with its biocomponents, as long as I get enough food."

The woman grunted, and went back to rummaging in the cooler set against one wall. Fishing out a package of something freeze-dried, cheap, and long-lasting, she handed it to him gracelessly.

Taiga took it, pulling off the foil wrap and sinking his teeth into the tasteless, gritty paste. He could recognize it for what it was--synthesized nutritional compound--but that didn't mean he couldn't wonder whether this was the kind of gruel they themselves ate or whether they reserved it especially for company.

"So," he asked between bites. "What's her story?"

"Crossed us," the woman responded flatly. It seemed she didn't want to talk on the matter.

Taiga glanced down at the woman on the floor. She was tall and well-muscled; thick-boned, but tall enough that she didn't seem bulky. Her hair was a light enough blonde that it almost looked white, and it lay in thin, careless locks across her shoulders and the floor. Her uniform--or what was left of it after the cuts and rips--seemed to designate a lower-level field researcher in the Estharan Scientific Corps.

Reaching out with a foot, Taiga rolled her over onto her back and glanced at the badge on her chest. "Biomechanics," he snorted derisively. "If she had been in Cybernetics I would have seen how much you wanted for her."

The woman shot him a glance. "En't fer sale," she said darkly.

"She reminds me of someone," Taiga explained. "And it would be nice to have someone who knew about cybernetics to talk to."

The woman crossed her arms. "Done?"

Taiga finished off the paste. "Water?" he asked.

The woman scowled and dug out a canteen. Taiga took it, unscrewed the top, and gestured to the woman.

"What'd she do to you?" he asked, before tilting back the canteen and draining it.

The woman glared at him. "None o' yer business," she said forcefully.

Man #1 stuck his head in the flap, caught the woman's eye, and then backed out. Taiga glanced at the doorflap, handing back the canteen. "I'll be going, then," he said, standing and turning for the door.

The woman grunted, and motioned to the doorflap. Taiga pushed aside the loose canvas, and paused as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Oh, hell.

Taiga C1128513, the ICI broke in. Analysis: Threatened. Directive: Stall.

"You don't want to do that," Taiga said dangerously. There was a click from behind him, and his suit registered the slight pressure of a gun being pressed to his back.

Taiga C1128513. Analysis: Threatened. Directive: Stall.

"No, really," Taiga said. "You're going to turn me in? The reward's not worth the trouble."

Man #1 shoved his gun a bit closer, frowning. "I'll shoot ye quiet," he warned.

Taiga could feel a familiar pressure building up in the back of his skull. "Listen," he said, hoping that the urgency conveyed in his voice would reach the man. "You have about five seconds before--"

He never got a chance to finish the sentence.

Taiga C1128513. Analysis: Threatened. Directive: Attack.

The world disappeared.