I saw the green shape grow larger each day, no longer a faint smudge on the horizon. It rose beyond the dunes like an impossible promise. Our procession trudged across shifting sands, stubber rifles slung on backs or cradled in arms. The midday sun glared above us, and windblown grit raked our faces. Here and there, the children stumbled, but hands reached out to steady them. Some men paused to sip water, then offered canteens to those behind. No one spoke much. The wasteland left little room for words.
On the third day after we first sighted the green, I noticed traces of vegetation beneath the sand. Dry stalks and brittle weeds, almost colorless. Their roots clung to the soil for dear life, fed by some hidden water source. Was there an aquifer somewhere beneath the soil? Our line kept walking. A hush fell over us whenever the green settlement flickered into view. A few times, it seemed to vanish in the haze, and the people glanced around with tight jaws. Then it reappeared, a distant stretch of green as real as our own footprints.
We came upon a rise of rock one morning and beheld the structures more clearly. Beyond the dunes lay a handful of tall edifices that looked ready to collapse. Twisting vines curled around shattered walls, and windows lacked glass, replaced by sheets of something translucent. A few squat buildings lay scattered around, and orchard rows stretched along the perimeter like guardians of this hidden enclave. The entire area radiated life. I took point, raising a hand for the others to slow.
Between us and the settlement were patches of cultivated land: neat rows of small shrubs bearing pale fruits, tilled soil with fresh sprouts, and the glint of water lines running through them. I saw figures moving among these gardens. They wore loose, white robes and had no hair on their heads or faces. From a distance, they seemed to glide rather than walk, their movements calm. I knelt behind a low dune, and my people followed suit. Those armed with stubbers–which was most–raised their weapons. Eyes narrowed.
I signaled them to wait. Some adjusted their grips on the weapons, breath drifting in shallow puffs. I peered out again. Those robed figures drifted in and out of view behind the orchard rows, tending to plants, collecting baskets. They did not appear weak or malnourished or mutated. My gaze swept the settlement and found defensive positions near the broken outer walls. Large shapes, unmoving, perched atop those parapets. Metal limbs protruded from them, glinting in the sun.
Automatons.
Abominable Intelligence? Unlikely. Those creatures would never willingly defend a human being. These ones were likely just servitors of some kind, possessed of only the barest intelligence–or not at all.
One of our older men let out a low mutter, pointing his stubber at the walls. Others shifted their stances, scanning the watchful machines. I placed a hand on his shoulder. He nodded and lowered the barrel. After a moment, I rose, stepping over the dune's crest. The group followed at a cautious distance. The sand gave way to firmer ground where tough grass sprouted. My boots pressed into a thin crust of cracked earth. A row of orchard trees stood ahead, bearing small greenish fruits. Their leaves rattled in a mild breeze. The air felt cooler.
Then I saw movement on the walls. The automatons jerked to life, their massive guns pivoting with a metallic whine. They pointed at us with unwavering aim, barrels longer than a man's arm. I raised my hands to shoulder height and waved for my people to do the same. My people hesitated, but they followed, though some kept the stubbers in easy reach. We advanced slowly, boots crunching on gravel. No shots rang out. The machines simply tracked us.
We were close enough to see robed figures emerging from a ruined gateway. They approached in a loose formation, stepping between bits of rubble. Each figure wore a sash of pale fabric, tied around the waist. Their robes seemed handmade, the cloth tightly woven but unadorned. Sunlight gleamed on their smooth heads. Their features varied in age, though their eyebrows and lashes were absent. A few carried long staffs, carved from polished wood, but none held firearms.
My people fanned out behind me. The Kharsons stalked the flanks, silent, each gripping a power sword at the hip. One of the robed strangers strode forward, stepping ahead of the rest. His robe was pristine white, and his skin bore shallow wrinkles around the eyes. He regarded us for a moment, then lifted a hand in a slow gesture of greeting. Several of his comrades halted, forming a semicircle, while the automaton guns remained fixed on us from their vantage points.
I took another step and inclined my head. He studied our ragged group. A child peeked from behind her mother's legs, wide-eyed. The robed man's gaze went over the rifles in our arms, the dust clinging to our clothes, the Kharsons with their dark plate. Then he faced me again.
He spoke in a measured voice, each syllable precise. "What do you seek here?"
I kept my tone calm, hands open at my sides. "A place to settle. My people have walked far. We can defend ourselves, but we mean no harm."
Behind him, one of his companions tightened a hand on the staff. Their eyes flicked from face to face among my followers. No one raised a weapon. The automaton guns hummed faintly, locked on target.
The robed man's expression did not shift much, but the corners of his mouth tugged downward. "We can't feed more mouths. Our harvest barely sustains us. If you come looking for handouts, you will leave disappointed."
I lowered my head for a moment, feeling the grit of sand in my hair. The people behind me stood tense, rifles clutched. A few had parted lips, breathing shallow from thirst. I met the man's gaze again.
"We do not seek charity," I said. "We can offer something in return."
He listened, and I saw the faint flicker of interest in his eyes. The nearest automaton twitched its gun, adjusting aim. I inhaled slowly.
"My name is Perry," I said. "I have certain abilities. I can provide food if we're allowed to settle–food enough for everyone, not just us."
The robed man glanced at his comrades. They murmured among themselves, heads close. One woman stepped forward, her robe stained at the hem with dirt. She regarded me with a steady look, then eyed the Kharsons. At last, the first man spoke again.
"We live simply," he said. "We plant what we can. Our water is rationed. We have little to spare."
I offered a small nod. "I can ensure you never lack again."
He stood there, the desert wind stirring the edges of his robe. Then he gestured toward the orchard. "Show us. If you lie, these guns will open fire."
His tone was matter-of-fact.
I turned to my people. A few shifted uncertainly, but I motioned them to wait. I stepped forward alone, raising a hand toward the robed man to indicate I meant no threat. He beckoned me inside.
We walked beyond the ruined gateway, followed by the group at a distance. The orchard stretched around the battered walls, and I noticed irrigation channels carved into the ground. Pipes made of welded scrap connected to a central reservoir. The water inside appeared clear, but the level seemed low. Rows of young sprouts lined the tilled earth. I spotted orchard trees that bore fruit, though the yield looked meager. The robed figures moved with careful deliberation, checking each row, watering them with clay pitchers. A hush blanketed the place, broken only by the hiss of the wind in the battered walls and the whir of the sentry machines overhead.
He guided me to a patch of bare soil. He gestured for me to proceed. I studied the dirt, then closed my eyes briefly. My fingertips brushed the ground. The soil felt dusty, lacking in nutrients, though less irradiated than the desert beyond. I pressed my hand upon it. With [Fabrication], I shaped an apparatus from the raw materials in my stores. A faint shimmer flickered around my palm as metal formed and expanded. It took the shape of a compact machine with a sealed vat and an intake port. I let it settle on the ground, then stood.
The robed man took a step back, staff held in one hand. His companions watched with parted lips. My people hovered near the gateway, rifles at the ready, though no one aimed them. The machine gleamed under the sun. It had a chute for biomass and a nozzle at the opposite end.
I glanced at the robed man.
"I need scraps. Anything organic." I pointed at the orchard. "Branches, leaves, spoiled fruit, even waste."
He paused, eyeing me warily, then made a quick hand signal to one of his fellows. That fellow moved to a compost pile by a crumbled wall. He scooped up a bucket of rotting plant matter. Stalks and stems protruded from the top. The smell reached my nose as he carried it over. He poured the mixture into the intake chute, stepping away quickly.
I touched a small panel on the side of the machine. It hummed. Moments later, a paste extruded from the nozzle. Thick and gray, it plopped into a bowl I'd shaped beneath. Several robed figures exchanged glances. One bent over the bowl, nose wrinkling. I reached in without hesitation, scooping a handful. I swallowed it. The texture was dense, mildly bitter. My body, augmented in many ways, hardly minded. Then I extended the bowl to the robed man.
He took a small portion, brought it to his lips. His expression remained set, though he swallowed. He dipped his head and offered the remainder to a woman nearby. She did the same. Another took a turn. The hush around us felt heavy. Their eyes flicked across the orchard. One of them poured more compost into the machine, curiosity taking hold. More paste emerged. They sampled it.
I spoke softly. "It isn't delicious or even palatable, but it's nourishing enough to keep a person alive. I can improve the taste or texture, but this is the simplest form."
They passed the second batch around. Some sipped water to wash it down. Others nodded at each other. The man with the staff set his jaw, then faced me. "You created this device at will?"
I inclined my head. "I did. And I can make more. This is only part of what I can do."
I turned to gesture toward my people. "There are many of us. We have come a long way. Let us remain, and we will share our food machines with you."
He studied my face. The staff in his grip creaked. Then he turned and conferred quietly with the others. Their words were low, inaudible beneath the orchard leaves. At last, he turned back. He lifted his staff and signaled to the automatons. Slowly, the guns rose, pointing skyward. One robed figure behind him beckoned my people forward. No words were uttered in greeting, but it was invitation enough.
I waved for my followers to come. They filed through the gateway in small groups, eyes scanning the orchard, weapons loose but ready. The children clung to their mothers or fathers, gazes flicking toward the robed strangers. The Kharsons stood at the periphery, swords across their backs. The stench of sweat and desert dust clung to us all. The orchard's air smelled cleaner, tinged with sap and damp soil.
The robed man who'd spoken took us deeper into the settlement. We passed under leaning walls studded with improvised windows. Inside, corridors branched off into living quarters. The floors were swept clean, though cracks riddled the concrete. Pale mats lined some corners, and a few people sat there, polishing tools or mending cloth. They wore the same white garb, with heads as smooth as the others. Some eyed us warily. Others kept their gazes lowered.
We emerged onto a courtyard of flattened earth, ringed by planters. Thin trees stood in rows, each bearing clusters of small fruit. My footsteps echoed softly. The robed man extended an arm toward a central structure that might have been a main hall once. Its doors had long since fallen away, replaced by drapes of plain cloth. A handful of robed figures, older than the rest, awaited us at the threshold.
They spoke in hushed tones, then gestured for us to follow them inside. We entered a large chamber with a cracked ceiling that let daylight stream through. Rugs were spread across the floor. People in white robes knelt there, some adjusting clay pots or handling small baskets of produce. The older figures looked us over. Their eyes lingered on our weapons, on the dust caking our clothes, and on the Kharsons, who stood out like silent statues of war.
The man who led us spoke first.
"They will stay with us," he said, voice echoing in the chamber. "They can make food. More than we can grow on our own. In exchange, they ask for a place to live."
An older woman at his side studied me, then looked at my people. She said nothing for a moment, then nodded at him. He bowed slightly. The others resumed their tasks, quietly watching us from the corners of their eyes. After a moment, he turned to me. "We can share land outside the main walls. There is an old structure beyond the orchard. You may take shelter there."
I inclined my head. "Thank you. I'll set up a machine for food production."
He lifted a hand, palm out. "We abide by certain customs. Learn them. Respect them. There will be no violence within these grounds."
I nodded. "Agreed."
He took a breath, then led us out of the hall. We moved to the outskirts of the orchard, where a squat building stood, half-buried in drifting sand. A portion of its roof had collapsed. The door was missing, leaving a gaping entry. My people ventured in. The walls were stable enough. Someone cleared debris from the corners. Another found an intact stretch of floor to lay out bedrolls. It was rough, but better than the desert.
While they settled, I walked to a spot in the courtyard, away from the thoroughfares. The robed inhabitants watched from a distance. I tapped the ground with my boot and knelt. A few of my people followed, rifles slung. I set my hand on the earth and closed my eyes, letting [Flesh Shaping] flow. The soil churned beneath my palm. It rippled and parted as I guided the growth of a new plant. Veins of living tissue laced through the ground, weaving into roots.
Soon, a thin sapling emerged, trunk pale and pliant. Leaves unfurled at the top, broad and waxy. I willed it to grow faster, fueling it with stored biomass. Its trunk thickened, branches expanding, bark darkening to a rougher texture. Leaves spread outward, forming a small canopy overhead. The tree stood tall and thick. Pale blooms appeared, then curled into bulbous fruit. Each fruit ripened in seconds, turning a deep green, then a vibrant shade that bordered on crimson. A hush fell in the courtyard as people witnessed this new tree.
I let my hand drop. The tree towered over me now, branches laden with smooth-skinned fruit the size of a man's skull. I reached up and plucked one. My thumb pressed into its flesh, leaving a slight indent. I took a bite. It was sweet, the juice dripping onto my chin. The flavor lingered on my tongue, far richer than the gray paste from my food machine. I nodded at the watchers. One by one, they gathered near. My people pressed close, eyes on the fruit. A robed woman came forward, her staff set aside. I offered her the half-eaten fruit.
She took it gingerly and raised it to her lips. Her eyes flicked to mine, then she bit in. Others looked on. She chewed, swallowing. Her stance shifted slightly, shoulders dropping. She took another bite. Then she extended it to the next person, who did the same. Soon, some ventured to pluck fresh fruits from the branches, smelling them, tasting them. The juice trickled from their hands to the dirt. A few children stood on tiptoe, straining to reach the lowest fruit, until an older person lifted them up.
I spoke in a low voice. "These fruits will sustain you. Eat them freely. The tree will keep producing at a steady rate."
I designed, after all, to be extremely efficient with how it absorbed sunlight and turned it into energy. Its roots dug deep, right into the body of fresh and clean water beneath the soil.
One of my followers, a woman with a tattered headscarf, approached and hesitantly took a fruit from the branch. She bit in and closed her eyes, wiping stray juice from her cheek. Others began passing out fruit to the younger ones. The robed man who had spoken earlier arrived, glancing around at the scene. He observed the tree, the orchard dwellers sampling the new harvest. His face remained impassive, though he gave a small nod.
I went back to the squat building and fabricated a few more of the food machines, smaller than the first. My people helped me carry them to different spots around the settlement, placing them near compost heaps or latrines. A short demonstration showed the robed inhabitants how to feed the machines scraps or waste. The thick paste emerged on the other side, ready to eat. It was not as appetizing as the fruit, but the quantity could be scaled infinitely, limited only by available biomass.
A short while later, I stood within the broken walls of our new shelter. My people gathered around. The once-barren interior was slowly becoming habitable. Blankets covered cracks in the floor, while small heater units I fabricated glowed faintly in corners to ward off the night chill. Some men worked together to clear rubble from a side room that might become storage. Children sat along the walls, nibbling fruit, sharing watery smiles. Their rifles lay at their sides, every one of them trained to hold a weapon, no matter their age.
The robed natives kept their distance, but they did not interfere. A few lingered at the threshold, watching us rebuild, glancing curiously at my contraptions. The orchard beyond looked more alive now, with the new tree rising amid the older ones. The sky remained the same deep stretch of pale blue overhead. Dust still drifted across the settlement. But this place held the promise of safety.
I spent the evening shaping a hidden storage cache near the building's foundation. I used [Fabrication] to craft a concealed hatch, forging a vault beneath the floor. The metal lined itself into a sealed chamber. Then I manifested a large cache of weapons within: las-rifles, stubbers, grenade launchers, ammunition. My people helped me stack them in tidy rows.
When it was done, I stepped back. The hatch blended with the floor tiles. One of my people touched the spot with the toe of his boot, as if to test its solidity. I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"If raiders come, the people here can defend themselves," I said. "Until then, it stays shut."
He nodded and moved away. Outside, I heard the soft hum of the automaton sentries, scanning the horizon. Another day sank into dusk. I created a few small lights to hang from the ceiling, powered by low-yield cells. Their glow lit the gloom inside the building. Someone rolled out a tattered mat for me, near a patch of wall that still stood firm. Most of the others settled around small braziers or the heater units. Some pressed close to each other, heads bent, exchanging quiet words. A few children leaned against their mothers, eyes drooping.
We passed that night without incident. In the morning, I walked the perimeter of the orchard. The robed folk were already out, tending to their crops. A handful of my people offered help, though they received polite gestures to step aside. The orchard keepers worked carefully, stooping to prune leaves, checking irrigation lines. When they came near the new fruit tree, they paused. Branches hung heavy with fresh fruit, even though many had been harvested the previous evening.
At midday, the robed leader approached me again in the courtyard. He inclined his head. "Your machines and this tree have given us more food than we've seen in months."
I dipped my chin in acknowledgment. He studied the orchard for a long moment. Then he turned to me. "You said you traveled far. Will you remain here, or continue?"
I glanced at my people, scattered among the orchard's shade. They crouched to share water, or rested on rubble walls, always with weapons close at hand. They'd be safe here. They could grow. They could reach their potential without me to guide them every step of the way. My responsibility was over. I'd granted them new life from their miserable and wretched existence as mutated troglodytes into a community of enhanced human beings.
"They will remain," I said. "As for me, I must go."
He regarded me. The lines on his face deepened in the sunlight. "There is no path beyond here. Only more desert. We have scouts who claim it stretches on without end."
I exhaled, letting my gaze drift to the horizon. "Perhaps. But I will try."
AN: Chapter 86 is out on (Pat)reon!