the exiles

chapter six: contact part one

The two ships slowly descend from the sky. Their jet flames nearly touch the sand, and the propulsion of the wind creates a crater for the bases to land in. Slowly, the bases touch down with a soft thud, jolting the passengers to a stop.

And then everything was silent.

The vagabond was the first one to react, as he began contemplating how to get down from this large cylinder. He thought about sacrificing his mayoral sash he had made hours ago when he had been building his city of cans to get down. But he knew better. A mayor never relinquishes his sash. He went back into the base to appearify some rope instead.

Meanwhile, the mendicant was recovering from the impact of the rough landing and was currently lying facedown in the pile of mailboxes. Earlier while the helipod was in the air, she had tried turning on the monitor and communicating with the first person she had seen on the screen: a young girl holding some sort of rifle. The image of the girl was heavily corrupted and there seemed to be green static everywhere, and before she knew what was going on the monitor exploded in her face. What a day.

The renegade was watching the entire scene unfold from the temple. He had loaded up on several guns, and squinted at the two trespassers. How dare they just plop down onto his property, even though he had CLEARLY marked out the area painstakingly with caution tape?! How dare they. The renegade squinted at the bases and began working out a plan of attack.

The vagabond was halfway done with climbing down the side of the base, his new firefly friend blinking at him furiously. He didn't understand what she was saying to him, and he thought he probably would never know. The vagabond had reached the end of the rope, and since he wasn't very far from the ground, he let go of the rope and fell onto the silky warm sands below.

The mendicant got up, and picked up her sword from the ground. She dusted herself off, and walked towards the door and to the harsh light of the sun. She momentarily shielded her eyes, and then stepped outside.

The questant was traveling through the air at rather alarming speeds towards a place on the other side of the globe. She does not open her eyes. She does not speak. She does not sense.

She waits.

The renegade thinks he has some time before the situation becomes rather drastic, and so he delves further into the temple. All he sees are more illicit pictography, some random equipment that was scattered around some moving platform, and the guns that he retrieved from his inventory. He decided that since he still had a little bit of time before the other carapacians could do any dangerous actions, he would have a bit of fun. He began setting up bullets upright and writing the word 'jury' on a crate nearby.

The vagabond looked around, and his eye fell on a shining white carapace. It was another being. It had been so long since he had seen another face, and he didn't care that her face was shrouded in rags. He wanted to run up to this complete stranger and hug her for five minutes, maybe longer.

The mendicant's gaze fell upon a fellow carapacian, and she would have ran up to him and hugged him, if it wasn't for this one primal instinct embedded in her cranium. He was a dersite. His kind was the ones that got her into this mess in the first place. They were the ones that sent her on this wild goose chase that ultimately led to the dooming of the universe. They were the same kind as… HIM. They had made her cold with war.

She really wanted to go over where he was and socialize, but she couldn't.

The renegade, after messing about with bullets and crates and playing in a scenario involving a courthouse, suddenly perked up. He peered over the edge of the temple and saw two other carapacians just standing in the desert. Unbelievable. Two trespassing people in his territory. He'd had to get rid of them. He chose his weapon of choice – a rocket launcher, and aimed.

The questant slept. She was approaching. The sun was falling. It was almost time.

The vagabond noticed the hat on the mendicant's head. It was a mail hat, and suddenly he was remembered of something in his inventory. He quickly rummaged through it and found it. He had gotten it when he was fiddling around with the appearifier, and he had managed to transportalize a blue package that was somehow addressed to them.

He then began to wonder what kind of practical joke this was. How had he, with no idea what this thing was, manage to pick it up and it was addressed to him? He wondered if everything was planned out in advance, and he was some sort of pawn in this giant game of the universe, the universe's dance of chaos. But he quickly shrugged the feeling off.

The mendicant noticed the vagabond take out the blue package. She rolled her eyes. No, she was not doing this again. The last time she delivered a green package it was out of duty obligation, but now this was different. She had no duty. She was an exile. The mendicant pretended not to take notice of the vagabond and his stupid package.

Suddenly there was a loud hissing noise, and something whirled through the air. The vagabond looked sharply up and dived out of the way. The sky was lit ablaze and sand flew into the air as a loud BOOM rang out through the area. The vagabond, distressed, looked around frantically for a place to hide. Ah, there! It was a rock. He dived again towards the rock to take cover from their mysterious assailant.

The mendicant didn't know how to react. She was shocked, and knocked over from the impact of the rocket. She quickly got up, unsheathing her sword, looking around for the source of the rocket. Something caught her eye. It was a dark figure, waving. The mendicant threw her sword as fast as she could towards the figure.

The sword sailed through the air, and the vagabond realized that it was meant for him. He quickly ducked down behind the rock and the sword flew just inches above his skull. The sword continued flying through the air until it embedded itself in the sand a few centimeters away from him. The vagabond recoiled in shock and looked back at the mendicant.

The mendicant realized that she had just attempted murder, and she tried not to think back to the first time she killed someone. She had made a mistake. The vagabond had only tried to help her, as he had waved towards the rock, saying that 'this was shelter. This is safety. Come over here'. The mendicant sprinted towards the rock and once she was settled next to the vagabond, she profusely apologized for the misunderstanding. The vagabond said that it was okay and there was no harm done. While he was saying this, the mendicant picked up her sword and sheathed it again.

The renegade wanted to kick himself in the posterior for missing like that. How had he missed those two criminals?! Had he grown soft or did his marksmanship skills deteriorate all of a sudden? Stupid stupid stupid. The renegade berated himself for missing such an easy shot like that.

Or maybe, just maybe he missed on purpose because he wanted company. It had been such a long time since he had seen another being. And that mail lady… the way that her fair carapace shines in the sunlight. You could not shoot her.

No! Nothing distracts the law. Not even a relationship. At times, yes, maybe it would in certain circumstances but these are not those circumstances! The renegade reloaded and took aim once more.

The vagabond thought about the package in his hands, and then back up to the carapacian next to him. He noticed the mailwoman's hat on her head, and he thought that maybe she could help deliver this mysterious package. He tapped the mendicant on the shoulder, and when she turned around the vagabond offered the package to her.

The mendicant wanted to roll her eyes and kick the blue package out of the vagabond's hands. She had had enough of delivering packages. And an offer from a dersite? Sounded like the previous time this happened. But she looked down at the small dersite and then at the package. He didn't seem so dangerous except for the spear in his inventory, and he didn't want to strike up any deal. She mulled over the decision for a long while and came upon a choice.

Okay.

One last job.