"You think you need to show your face to be infamous? Nothing spreads faster than a rumor." -The Drifter
The moment the sun set and Chiisori gave the all clear, Meren was up and out of the tunnel, scrambling for the shallow fosse that ran alongside the road at the ravine's edge. There, she dropped to her knees, frantically raking aside the detritus of leaves and twigs that had accumulated in the gully.
After an agonizing twenty seconds of nothing, her efforts were rewarded with the sight of a tiny, meandering rivulet. Granted, the water wasn't exactly clean - a layer of brown-tinged grime coated the bedrock it was trickling across and it had a distinctly sulphurous odor - but she was beyond caring. At present, everything hurt; her stomach was a gnawing pit, her head was throbbing from lack of sleep, and her mouth felt drier than the dunes she and Cayde had dropped by on Mars. She would have drank from the City sewer system at that point if it meant she could wet her throat.
Without a second thought, Meren ducked her head and cupped the murky liquid in her hands. The water was tepid and had a metallic tang to it, but it was the best damn thing she'd ever tasted. Never in her life had she been so grateful for anything, let alone a mucky dribble of ditch water.
She was on her fourth scoop when she heard the crunch of a dozen pairs of feet moving over gravel and dirt. The rest of the Kings had emerged from the tunnel.
The noise gradually faded as the Eliksni stopped just outside the entrance.
Meren didn't bother looking up. She could already picture the scene: the entire crew clustered together, their eyes trained on her, watching her with a mixture of suspicion and consternation as she crouched in the mud, drinking from the ground like some sort of feral beast. It should have made her feel self-conscious.
It didn't. Not in the slightest.
After the events of the last day, any pride or dignity she'd once possessed was long gone. The Eliksni could stare all they wanted. She didn't give a shit.
Behind her, the murmuring began.
Meren couldn't make out most of it. Their voices were low, their speech too sibilant and quick, punctuated by an occasional click or chirr. Still, one voice managed to stand out in the mix. It was higher pitched, with an almost childlike quality.
Yriik.
"The Professor consumes so much water," he observed, his tone one of awe.
"It must," said another. Meren couldn't tell who, but it sounded like one of the Dregs. "This is how human-flesh remains soft. Their shells begin to form otherwise."
There was a pause.
"Yriik has never seen a human shell," came Yriik's voice again.
"Nor have I," a different Dreg chimed in.
The first, the one who'd commented on the human need for water, snorted. "This is because their water-desire is great. Most choose to drink rather than reach first-molt. Choose to remain soft and weak rather than grow strong."
"Do not be foolish, Vryksin," a new voice snapped. Nyvis. "Humans have no shells. Even Hatchlings know this."
"But-" the one called Vryksin protested.
"No shells," Nyvis repeated, their tone brooking no room for argument.
In the brief silence that followed, Meren couldn't help but smirk into her handful of ditch water. Some of the crew clearly had a lot to learn about human biology.
After a moment, Yriik spoke again.
"Why consume so much water, then?" he asked.
Nyvis didn't miss a beat. "Simple," the Vandal replied. "Water helps humans produce stomach-venom. The Devils say its potency is enough to melt Eliksni flesh and shell down to bone. They have seen it happen."
Vryksin let out a startled cheep. "This cannot be true, Nyvis."
"It is."
Yriik wasn't so easily convinced. "Devils tell tall-tales," he said. "You would believe them?"
"Believe a Devil? Not I!" Nyvis scoffed "But it is not Devils alone who speak of this. Winter-ones say it as well."
Yriik was silent, pondering.
"If stomach-venom is stored inside humans, how can it melt Eliksni?" he asked at last.
Nyvis was already prepared with an answer. "Humans regurgitate in self-defense," they replied simply.
A wave of sage chittering broke out among the group. Clearly, the Dregs were all very impressed by Nyvis' knowledge.
Meanwhile, Meren came up from the stream sputtering, a string of choked, watery coughs wracking her chest.
Stomach-venom? Humans regurgitating on Eliksni?
She'd heard a few preposterous misconceptions about humans from Yalsis in the past - how her people were compelled to migrate towards any circular formation and stand in its center, how they possessed extraordinary mind control over animals (domesticated dogs, mainly), and, most egregiously, how they were capable of spontaneous teleportation. The purported weaponized regurgitation of stomach acid was a new one, however.
Once she'd gotten ahold of herself, Meren twisted around to face the group.
"Not how it works," she said wearily. Even if the crew didn't care to listen to her, it was her duty to humankind to attempt to set the record straight. "Stomach-venom melts food. Not Eliksni."
Predictably, she'd scarcely looked their way and got half the words out before most of the Eliksni crew were flinching away, their eyes wide. A couple actually went so far as to inch back. The Dregs, however, took things a step further. With the exception of Danaan and the small Dreg who'd questioned Kosis beside the fire, the lot of them scattered like startled pigeons, dashing off in all directions, taking cover behind whatever objects they could find.
It probably hadn't helped that the water dribbling down her chin and onto her armor likely bore a startling resemblance to the aforementioned stomach-venom.
Yriik was the first to poke his head out from behind the boulder he'd taken shelter behind.
"Perhaps Eliksni become food for your kind!" he called from his sanctuary.
Sighing, Meren rose to her feet, wiping the excess water from her mouth and chin. "No one in Last City eat Eliksni," she replied, her tone as flat and patient as she could make it.
Meren half-expected another barrage of accusations from the Dregs, but no further remarks came. Instead, they stood there peeking out from their cover, exchanging looks and chittering amongst themselves. She couldn't tell if they were conferring for further rebuttal or simply trying to process what she'd told them.
After a moment, Kosis stepped forward, beckoning the Dregs with a sweep of her two left arms.
"Come out," she ordered. "All of you."
One by one, the four hidden Dregs emerged, their expressions ranging from sheepish to wary. The two others, Danaan and the small, inquisitive fellow, just exchanged a glance and remained where they were.
All Meren could do was watch as Chiisori, the only one who'd remained unfazed throughout the entire exchange, met the Dregs, stooping to speak with them.
"Do not cower," he instructed, his voice calm and even. "Merrin Haale, the Professor has made her ireliis to us. There is nothing to fear."
"But the stories..." Vryksin stammered.
Chiisori's held the young Dreg's gaze, unblinking. The words he spoke next were firm but not unkind.
"Fear is not the way of Kings."
The change in the Dregs was almost instantaneous.
As Chiisori's words took root, a fierce pride seemed to settle in their chests. Vryksin drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. The others did the same, their expressions growing resolute. A remarkable transformation from the skittish, chittering wrecks they'd been only moments earlier.
Once the group appeared composed, Chiisori straightened up himself, satisfied. To the remainder of his crew, he called out, "We have rested enough. It is time. Make haste." Then more gently, to Meren, "The night is dark and the Kell-den far. We must ride now, Merrin Haale, the Professor. You understand this, yes?"
Meren reflexively nodded before realizing he might not comprehend the gesture. "Understood," she replied.
"Good," Chiisori said, his voice still mild. "Come. The Pikes wait."
With that, he turned, striding off to join the rest of the crew, who'd begun their way back up the ravine, herded by Kosis.
"No more Drekhtalk," she was scolding after them, though there was no real bite to her voice. "Do you hear me, Yriik? Nyvis! Do not laugh! …Hatchlings, all of you!"
Whatever she said after that was carried off by the wind.
Ascending up and out of the ravine proved easier than going down, at least footing-wise. The climb itself was still physically taxing for Meren, even more so with her stomach rumbling and her limbs heavy with fatigue. Still, at least every step didn't threaten to send her tumbling headfirst to an unfortunate demise at the bottom of the slope.
By the time they reached the copse of trees where the Pikes were stashed, Meren was utterly exhausted. The mere prospect of another night of riding made her want to curl up on the ground right then and there, close her eyes, and give up on everything.
Chiisori must have noticed her flagging steps because he curbed his pace, allowing her to catch up.
"Your mind drifts," he observed, his gaze fixed ahead. "Your spirit is tired."
It was far more than that, but she couldn't exactly articulate her state of mind or body at the moment. Not in a language she struggled to speak, anyway. So instead, she gave him the simplest response she could.
"Yes. Tired."
Ahead, the others were already at work pulling the brush away from their Pikes, readying them for their departure. Kosis stood off to the side, her gaze sweeping over the trees while Yriik and Nyvis were busy bickering. Something about the former having a penchant for over-stuffing his saddlebags with found objects - mostly shiny rocks.
Chiisori seemed unconcerned. "You are strong," he said. "'The journey will not break you.' Trust this."
Meren regarded him quizzically. The phrase sounded like something she'd heard on one of the Academy's archival recordings years back. Several recordings, now that she thought about it.
"Old words?" she asked, curious.
Chiisori didn't immediately respond. His masked face swiveled towards her, regarding her for a long moment.
"Old words," he confirmed. Then, almost as if an afterthought, "The Long Drift was cruel. Many broke. House Kings...we did not."
There was a weight to the words that told her the subject was closed. Meren knew better than to press him for anything more.
By the time they caught up to the others, the crew was already astride their Pikes. Some had doubled up, while others rode solo. To Meren's surprise, Yriik was alone, which seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. But who was she to question the crew's riding arrangements?
When it came to her assignment, it appeared that the decision had already been made for her. Chiisori led her to the same Pike they'd rode the night before. Meren waited for the inevitable blindfold torn from Chiisori's banner.
None came.
Instead, he simply clambered up, a surprisingly nimble maneuver given his size. Once situated, he leaned over and yanked her bodily up, depositing her on the seat in front of him.
"Hey!" she protested, startled.
He ignored her, settling his bulk against her back, his four arms coming around her sides.
"Rest," he said simply.
From somewhere off to the side, Yriik's voice came over the thrum of the Pikes' engines.
"Nyvis! Nyvis. We race. Yes?"
The Vandal gave a snort. "Race? Against you, Yriik? That is not fair. I will win."
Yriik chittered a challenge. No actual words were involved, but the intent was clear, even to Meren.
"Do not dare!" Kosis' voice suddenly cut above the noise.
But the challenge had already been accepted. The rev of Nyvis' engine was all the warning the crew got before the two Pikes tore off into the night, disappearing into the dusk, Nyvis' howl of triumph resounding in their wake.
"Bah!" Kosis snarled, wheeling her Pike around to rocket after them.
The remaining crew took off in hot pursuit, the thunder of their engines drowning out the sound of Meren's protests as Chiisori sent their own mount racing after.
"Chiisori! Too fast!" she cried, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the Pike's smooth hull. "Shit!"
Behind her, Chiisori gave a rumble that she was fairly certain was a chuckle.
"Trust, Merrin Haale, the Professor," he said, then hit the strafe thrusters, blurring the night around them.
In the sky overhead, the stars twinkled like thousands of tiny jewels. The moon, full and bright, rose above the mountainous crags to the east, the glow of it painting the landscape beneath a muted gray.
Below the Pikes, the earth was barren. Scrubby, withered trees and shrubs sprung up in clusters here and there, dotting the rocky, dusty terrain around them. A far cry from the verdant forests that blanketed the plateau and foothills surrounding the City. Occasionally, they passed the ruins of an old human settlement, the structures long-pillaged and burned, leaving little more than charred remains.
The convoy had been racing across the same desolate plain for hours. At first, Meren had been too focused on staying upright to notice the change in scenery. Eventually, her mind had settled, though, and she'd been able to take stock of her surroundings. Appreciate it, even.
That novelty had since worn off.
At this point, she'd seen kilometers upon kilometers of blasted wasteland, and it was getting boring. Not to mention uncomfortable.
Pikes clearly hadn't been designed with the human body in mind. Conveniences like repulsor shock absorbers, seat padding, or any other ergonomic accommodation didn't even register on the list of Eliksni priorities. Apparently, all they prized were the vehicles' speed and long-distance endurance. They didn't seem to mind sacrificing any semblance of safety or comfort for it, either.
Meren was less enamored. Her backside had gone numb ages ago. Her hip bones felt bruised. Her arms ached from clinging so tightly to the Pike's chassis. And she was pretty sure her spine was beginning to fuse into a permanent hunch.
It was miserable.
Still, she had no room to complain. This was what she'd wanted for years, wasn't it? A chance to interface with Eliksni outside the City. Experience their culture firsthand. See life from their perspective. Granted, she'd always sort of assumed it would be more of a mutual academic exchange and less of a her-being-taken-hostage-and-hauled-off-across-the-desert-by-pike situation. But still…
The opportunity of a lifetime, she thought cynically. Yeah, right.
In a cruel twist of fate, the universe had given her exactly what she'd wished for. If only it had seen fit to make the experience less physically uncomfortable.
Nonetheless, in the grand scheme of things, the discomfort of the Pike ride was realistically the least of her concerns. Currently, larger issues were at hand. Namely, her impending meeting with the Kings' Kell. Close behind was the whole debacle surrounding her stupid title. Now, not only did she have the crew's innate distrust of humankind to deal with, but on top of that, she had to contend with the fact that they had been led to believe she was a fabled and incredibly dangerous Eliksni-mass-murderer who was capable of bisecting Skiffs with the power of her mind!
And who did she have to thank for that? None other than her dear 'business partner,' the Spider.
Of course his stupid joke would go and get her into a fiasco like this. Why wouldn't it? It was the perfect culmination of the mess her life had become over the past two-and-a-half months.
Meren Hale, the Professor. Meren Hale, Killer of Wolves. And now, Meren Hale, Wolf-Slayer, apparently.
Ridiculous.
It seemed almost incomprehensible that the Spider's foolish little rumor had made it so far. According to Variks, the Reef Eliksni had notoriously loose lips amongst themselves, metaphorically speaking, especially where the Spider was concerned. But for his tales of her imaginary exploits to breach the boundaries of the Reef and spread to the Kings on Earth? In the span of a couple months? The very idea was an entirely new level of absurdity.
And yet, it had somehow happened.
The more Meren thought about it, though, the more she realized the whole thing actually wasn't too difficult to explain.
All the Spider's lackeys had been pledged to a disparate assortment of Houses at one time - Wolves, Winter, Devils, and Kings, among others. It was only natural that some ties to their former Houses had remained despite the Spider's efforts to the contrary. Those ties would have served as the perfect conduit for the rumor's propagation.
All it would take was one or two of the Spider's flunkeys passing the news on to an old friend. Those Eliksni would relay the tale to two more. And on and on the story would spread. Like a virus, mutating and rewriting itself as it went.
Such was the unfortunate reality of the current Eliksni social dynamic.
In a world where inter-House communication had broken down to the point of near-nonexistence, of course the Earth Houses would glom onto juicy hearsay about some reclusive Eliksni-killer in the Reef and run with it. It was likely the first interesting piece of news many of them had received in years. Maybe even decades.
Even with how far-fetched the scenario had become, Meren couldn't fault them. The Sol system was rife with demonstrable tales of Guardians performing fantastical, otherworldly feats. Their Traveler-given powers were so extraordinary and varied that the Spider's claim probably seemed no more outlandish to the Eliksni than the average Guardian legend.
Still, it was frustrating.
If she hoped to make any headway in her situation with the Kings and their Kell, it would require her being viewed as a person, not an unkillable, bloodthirsty menace.
At her back, the bulk of Chiisori shifted, his secondary left arm sliding away from her side. He raised it, the clawed tips of his fingers tapping a pattern against the instrument panel embedded in the Pike's bow, bringing up a shimmering projection.
It was a topographical map of the surrounding area. A series of glowing points indicated each member of the crews' present position. Their route had been superimposed atop that in a faint blue line. What must have been the projected endpoint for the night was a large red blip nestled at the base of a series of peaks, marked with the Eliksni glyphs for "rest" or something equivalent.
Meren watched, fascinated, as Chiisori's claws moved across the projection. He tapped several points in quick succession, his motions deft and precise. A message was sent out to several crew members then. One that would reach the select individuals simultaneously.
After a moment, a series of affirmative responses blinked on the display. Satisfied, Chiisori disengaged the projection, his hand returning to its spot against her side.
Meren took the opportunity to reposition herself, sitting up a bit straighter, trying to find a more comfortable arrangement of her limbs.
The motion earned her a questioning rumble from the Captain.
"Why do you not rest?" he asked.
It wasn't for lack of trying. But dozing on the lurching, jouncing Pike had proved impossible, no matter how fatigued she was.
"No sleep," Meren replied, shifting again. "Pike hurts. Chiisori is…bad pilot." She said the last part in a deliberately light tone, hoping he'd catch on and realize she'd meant it mostly as a joke.
There was a moment's pause, then the Captain let out a sharp chuff. Meren couldn't tell if that was a positive sign or not.
"Your tongue is sharp," he observed. "But this is the humans' way, yes? To mock in jest?"
She hadn't thought of it that way, but now that he mentioned it...
"Apology," Meren replied, somewhat sheepishly.
"No apology is needed," Chiisori countered. "Your words do not offend." He hesitated, then added, "Kosis says the same, but…not in jest."
Meren couldn't help the snicker that escaped her mouth. The image of the Vandal berating the hulking Captain for his poor driving was too much.
"Kosis is..." Meren paused, searching for the word. "Strong… uh- Kell-hearted."
"Kell-hearted," Chiisori echoed. "Yes. A good word."
The two of them lapsed into silence for a few moments. Meren focused ahead, watching the barren terrain rush past. The others were riding farther away from them now, scattered in a loose formation across the plain. Nyvis had taken point, their Pike far outstripping the rest. Yriik had dropped to the rear, the Dreg's posture slumped and defeated. The outcome of the race must not have turned out in his favor.
"Merrin Haale, the Professor." Chiisori's voice pulled her attention back. "How have you come to learn our tongue?"
Meren wasn't quite sure how to answer. Or, how the Wolf-Slayer should answer, rather.
"Long study," she said, settling for a vague explanation. "Many books. Many years."
"I see," he replied and fell silent.
His response wasn't particularly encouraging. Not that she'd expected him to be enthusiastic about whatever answer she'd provided, but something about the curt reply didn't sit well.
He knows you're withholding something, a niggling voice at the back of her mind told her. He doesn't trust you.
A knot of anxiety began to form in the pit of her stomach.
So badly did she want to blurt out the truth right then and there. She could explain that she was an academic - a linguist, who'd dedicated her life to studying Eliksni language and culture. That there hadn't been any nefarious intent when she and Cayde had gone snooping around the relay site. And most importantly, that the Wolf-Slayer was a falsehood - a fabricated tale borne out of the Spider's puerile sense of humor. All of it was one big misunderstanding.
The words were on the tip of her tongue. It would have been so easy to let them tumble out.
But she didn't dare.
Not only did Eliksni take unkindly to dishonesty in general, when it came to the topic of titles, they were especially sensitive.
To Eliksni, titles meant everything. They represented an individual's character, their achievements, and their honor. So highly were they regarded, the consequences of bearing a title wrought from false deeds were often grave. Such ill-gotten titles begat false honor. And in Eliksni eyes, false honor could not be allowed to stand.
The story Variks had once told about Arrha bore testament to that.
So, no matter how badly she wanted to set the record straight, it would have been idiotic. Doing so would be seen as an affront and would likely only widen the gulf between her and the King crew. For all she knew, such gross misrepresentation of oneself could potentially even render their ireliis null and void. And what would happen then?
She doubted Chiisori, Bloodied-Blade would choose to brush the slight off like he had the jab at his piloting.
In the end, Meren's desire for self-preservation won out over honesty. She held her tongue, and the half-truth remained.
The conversation seemed to die there. By all appearances, Chiisori wasn't interested in further questioning. Meren didn't feel inclined to push her luck by attempting to rekindle a discussion, either.
Ahead of them, the formation of Pikes was beginning to tighten, converging on Nyvis' lead. A few of the crew looked to be conversing, judging by how frequently they would gesture back and forth between each other. Yriik was in the thick of it, though he opted to cling to his Pike rather than motion with his lone arm. Despite that, Meren imagined he was probably still jabbering away with the rest of them.
Eventually, one of the Pikes dropped back, falling into pace alongside them. The rider, a Vandal with distinctive, bright pink eyes - an exceedingly rare recessive genetic trait - bobbed his head in greeting.
Chiisori returned the gesture before tapping two claws against the temple of his helmet, opening a direct communication link between them. "Kreskin," he acknowledged.
Kreskin mirrored the movement, opening the channel on his end.
"My Captain." Without the benefit of the direct link in her ear, his voice was nearly lost in the whine of the Pike's engine. "The crew tires. Sensors show oasys twenty-seven rikhas from our position. Reinforced structures indicate former human settlement. The others agree: it makes for a suitable camp. How do you advise?"
Chiisori glanced down at the navigation projection that had materialized once more. He ran a claw across the display, magnifying the area Kreskin had indicated. The resolution of the contour lines blurred, then snapped back into focus.
"Divert the Servitor," Chiisori instructed, his gaze still fixed on the projection. "We will rest at this oasys."
The Vandal chirruped an affirmative. "It will be done, my Captain."
Kreskin broke off, one hand working across his instrument panel as he relayed the orders. A moment later, he hit the thrusters and sped off, racing back toward the head of the convoy.
Chiisori killed the projection, returning his attention to the terrain ahead. He seemed to be considering something, his primary hands flexing on the grips.
Finally, he spoke, his rasping voice pitched just enough to reach Meren's ears over the sound of the wind and the engine.
"Speak of this to no one."
Meren didn't quite understand what he was referring to. "The oasis?" she ventured.
"No." Chiisori's voice held a note of frustration as he waved a hand towards where the projection had been moments earlier. "Kosis forbids use of the holo-map during travel."
"Oh, uh… For all?"
The Captain stalled, seeming reluctant to admit the truth.
"For me," he finally confessed. "She believes it a distraction."
Meren's gaze suddenly snapped up, raptly scanning the approaching terrain. If Chiisori had a proclivity for inattentive piloting, it seemed prudent for a second set of eyes to be on the lookout.
"Understood," she answered.
The words had scarcely left her mouth before Chiisori had gone against his second-in-command's wishes once again. With a tap, the hologram re-engaged, and his focus was back on the map.
All Meren could do was hold on and continue staring ahead, fighting against a rising swell of panic.
She was going to meet her end in a fiery Pike wreck at the hands of an overconfident Eliksni Captain who couldn't keep his eyes on the road.
Fantastic.
As it turned out, her premonition of death via catastrophic Pike accident never came to fruition.
The rest of the journey proved uneventful, with Chiisori only occasionally diverting his attention from the landscape to consult the nav projection. When they reached a series of low hills, he disengaged it entirely, focusing on the winding, uneven route ahead. From there, the convoy filtered into a single-file column, continuing on through a series of narrow, high-walled gullies.
Eventually, they emerged from the maze of canyons, and the purported oasis came into view.
Meren could barely contain her disappointment.
The oasis wasn't anything like the lush, tropical retreat she'd envisioned. Rather, it was a slightly greenish splotch of color amidst the dusty tan and grey of the surrounding flats. Some vegetation had sprung up, fed by the trickle of mountain streams winding their way down from the rocky crags and peaks beyond. At the rivers' confluence, the greenery grew a bit denser, the excess runoff diverted into a concrete reservoir partially obscured by the surrounding scrub. A remnant of the human settlement Kreskin had mentioned.
Further off, a few tumbledown, burnt-out shells of what had once been buildings poked up from beyond the vegetation. It was impossible to tell from a distance whether they'd been homes, storage facilities, barracks, or something else entirely. Regardless, one thing was certain - no human had set foot there in a long, long time.
Nyvis reached the oasis first, circling the perimeter once before bringing their Pike to a halt near the buildings on the far side. One by one, the others followed, each finding a place to park and then eagerly dismounting. Their feet had barely hit the ground before each went scurrying off in a flurry of excited trills and chirps. Evidently, they were quite pleased to have reached their destination.
Chiisori and Meren were the last to pull up, skidding to a stop not far from Nyvis' Pike. A second later, the Captain dismounted without ceremony, dropping heavily to the ground. As soon as his feet hit, he was striding off.
It took Meren a few moments longer to get down. The stiffness in her limbs had grown considerably worse during the last leg of the ride, making every move a new, uncomfortable experience. By the time she'd clambered off the Pike and had managed to take a few stumbling steps away, Chiisori was long gone.
Dusting herself off, Meren took a second to orient herself, surveying the immediate surroundings.
They'd stopped just short of the settlement's remains, the nearest cluster of structures no more than twenty meters away. Most were large concrete affairs that looked to have been reinforced with steel beams, likely military or industrial. Whatever their function, they had fared poorly against the rigors of time, to say nothing of Eliksni raiding parties. Doors had been stripped from their hinges, roofs had collapsed, and most walls were marred by scorch marks or the telltale pitting of shrapnel launcher bursts.
The crew, meanwhile, were nowhere to be seen.
With nothing better to do, Meren ambled off, wandering deeper into the settlement the way she'd seen Chiisori go.
Around her, the structures began to change, morphing from large, utilitarian affairs into something more like fortified storage units. As Meren got closer, the signage plastered across the structures' exteriors caught her eye.
The paint on the signs had faded, but the blocky, pragmatic script remained legible in places. They were warnings in an old human language, mostly. On several of them, the words Precaución! Inflamable had been crossed out, replaced with crude missives, scrawled in Eliksni. The sign on a singular half-recessed cement bunker that read Peligro! Residuos Radiactivos was a bit more concerning. Even the Eliksni appeared to have steered clear of that one.
Nothing was to be done except give the recessed bunker a wide berth as she rounded the cluster of buildings, following the buzz of Eliksni voices ahead.
It didn't take her long to locate them.
No sooner had she rounded the buildings and stepped out onto the crumbling cement of an ancient relic airstrip than she spotted the crew.
They had gathered nearby in a warehouse-sized building just off the strip. An early Golden Age aircraft hangar, from the look of it. The exterior was intact, even if its metal-alloy skeleton had seen better days. The roof was still up, too. Not that it would do much good in inclement weather, considering how heavily rusted the corrugated sheeting had become.
Inside, the Eliksni had formed a loose cluster at the far end, their attention fixated on the group's center. There, at the focal point, sat the reason for the Eliksni's enthusiastic descent upon the oasis.
The Servitor.
It had arrived ahead of them and had taken up station near the hangar's rear. The machine's hulking, spherical mass hovered a meter or so off the ground, a matte, drab purple shell housing its inner workings. A standard design for a House Ether-Runner but no less impressive in Meren's eyes.
Now hemmed in by its apparent admirers, the Servitor bobbed serenely, its single, glowing sensor scanning over each Eliksni. Its presence had brought a palpable change to the crew's disposition. They crowded in close, dipping their muzzles, chirping and warbling with an unmistakable sense of reverence. One or two even went so far as to brush their hands against the machine's shell, lowering their heads in some kind of prayer-like ritual.
The scene was so bizarre and unexpected that Meren simply found herself staring, transfixed.
She knew Eliksni venerated their Servitors, of course, but her knowledge of the practice was purely academic. All she had to go on were dry, sterile descriptions of ritual behavior and religious observance gleaned from books, recordings, and thirdhand accounts. Seeing it played out in front of her was another matter entirely.
It felt like a privilege.
In fact, she questioned if she ought to be there at all, intruding on what was clearly a deeply spiritual moment.
The feeling didn't last long.
Watching the scene play out, she drew a bit closer. Not too close, of course. Just enough to better observe while still maintaining a respectful distance. The group didn't even seem to notice.
The strange display lasted only a minute more before Chiisori seemed to snap back to reality, shaking himself out. With a chuff, he stepped back, giving the Servitor a little nod. He might have murmured something to it, though Meren couldn't be certain.
Once the Captain had drawn back, the other Eliksni did, too. Gradually, they refocused their attention on Chiisori, looking to him expectantly.
"Kreskin shall oversee the harvest with his Splicers," he began, motioning towards a trio of Vandals standing off to one side. "Danaan, Vryksin - retrieve the supplies from the drop-point and see them distributed." Chiisori's gaze panned over to the Vandal sharpshooter. "Nyvis, secure the perimeter. No scatter mines near Weriks' Pike this time." Then, to a pair of Dregs, "Araaks, Weriks - see to the Pikes. They must be shrouded before sunrise. Kosis and I shall scout the human structures."
Most of the crew grated out affirmatives as Chiisori had ticked off the assignments. Still, a few appeared to have been overlooked. One, in particular, stood out.
Standing alone near the back of the pack, Yriik had his arm raised.
With some reluctance, Chiisori finally turned his attention to the Dreg. "And Yriik…" His voice took on a tone of resignation. "Yriik, you shall make the fire. The rest of you, assist Yriik in gathering fuel."
The Dreg flung out his stumps in jubilation, practically falling over himself as he scampered out one of the hangar's side doors in search of firewood.
The other Eliksni dispersed in a more dignified manner, heading out to attend to their appointed tasks. Kosis and Chiisori hung back, along with the Servitor and trio of Splicers. The group conversed for a moment or two before the three Vandals filed out, heading back towards the Pikes, presumably to collect whatever tools they needed.
That left Chiisori, Kosis, and the Servitor. Meren took the opportunity to move in closer.
She'd made it just inside the hangar's entrance when the machine turned its sensor on the Captain, groaning something in its machine language. A word of which she didn't understand.
Chiisori, however, evidently did.
His eyes flicked briefly to Meren before settling back on the machine. The response he gave was muted, but Meren still managed to catch a few snippets.
"Craaskkel...Wolf-Slayer...Ireliis...Soon..."
The conversation was obviously about her. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.
Whatever had been said, the Servitor's response was equally indecipherable. It simply rotated away slowly, a low, droning hum emanating from its core. A moment later, it had slipped right past her without so much as a hint of acknowledgment and was gliding out onto the airstrip.
Both Kosis and Chiisori watched it go, postures stiffening slightly. When it was out of sight, Kosis muttered something to Chiisori in a clipped tone, her body language bristling. The Captain answered her, equally low, and for a second, it seemed as if a full argument was about to ensue. Then, with a snort, Kosis pivoted sharply and stalked out of the hangar.
It was then that Chiisori's attention finally turned to Meren.
"Merrin Hale, the Professor, we make camp here." He strode towards her, his pace purposeful. "It is safe, do not fear."
Within seconds, all nine feet of Chiisori were looming over her, a solid wall of armor, chitin, and muscle. It took everything in her power not to reflexively step back.
"Here?" she repeated, neck craned to meet his gaze.
The Captain's eyes scanned over her, and for a split second, she thought she caught a glimpse of something other than the usual stoicism. Was it concern? Or annoyance?
"Yes." He straightened, the brief glimpse of emotion fading as quickly as it had come. "You must rest."
Before she could respond, he was already striding past her, but not before flicking a clawed finger towards a distant corner of the hangar.
"Sleep there."
With that, he was gone. Off to find Kosis and scout the buildings, presumably.
Left alone, Meren dragged her aching body to her designated corner, resigned to another night of hunger and sleep deprivation. Hunkering down, she tugged Cayde's cloak around her, doing her best to get comfortable against a stack of long-empty cargo containers. It was a futile effort, given the hard, unyielding material. The only thing she could do was lean into it and try to ignore the persistent discomfort.
Still, the prospect of another less-than-comfortable rest cycle was the least of her current worries.
Chiisori's exchange with the Servitor nagged at her, as did the tension between the Captain and his second-in-command. For the moment, her sleep-deprived brain couldn't make much sense of it. All she knew was that something about the encounter had left her feeling uneasy. And that was saying something, considering the whole of her current predicament.
The feeling refused to budge.
Over the next hour, the Eliksni filtered back into the hangar. First, Yriik with an armload of sticks and branches. Shortly thereafter, Danaan and Vryksin, carrying a few spent fuel cells from the Pikes. After that, Nyvis with their Wire Rifle, followed by the three Splicers, bearing the crew's Ether rations. Then, the last of the Dregs, their arms laden with extra firewood.
Before long, a roaring bonfire had sprung up in the center of the hangar, the Eliksni gathering around it, trilling and chirping amongst themselves. Their spirits seemed high, almost certainly in anticipation of the bounty of Ether ahead.
Just as the sun began to rise, Kosis and Chiisori finally returned. There was elation all around, then. The time had come.
While the crew eagerly set themselves to divvying up the Ether rations, Chiisori slipped silently away. He made his way over to Meren's corner and, without saying a word, dropped a few items at her feet. An Ether canister of her own, repurposed and filled with water, and a single, freshly-unearthed potato.
The offering did little to make her feel better.
