There was something profound about leaving home at the start of a long journey. A movement from the known to the unknown. There might be a purpose behind the act, some goal that provides direction through the murk of possibility that that leap represented, but the murk was still there.

Arnold had of course left his hometown countless times, making short delivery runs or visiting his relatives in nearby towns. He was familiar with the cycle. Leave, journey, return. Watching the familiar rooftops fade back into reality, or melt into the horizon, both were familiar sights.

This was different though, he would not simply be traveling to a different town. He wasn't even bound for somewhere in the Break, the only part of the planet that could truly be considered hospitable. He was bound for Sunside. Also known as The Great Desert. The expanse of dry earth and heat stretched for nearly ten thousand kilometers. The deeper you went into the wastes the less welcoming the land became, and the land was far from welcoming, to begin with.

A woman laughed beside him, interrupting his thoughts.

"Run Eri! Move your tiny legs!"

Arnold would be back, of course, he wasn't departing on some grand quest.

"Shut up and tell the pilots to slow down! " Cried another between heavy breaths.

Before he knew it he would be returning.

"But you're so close! If they slowed down, all your desperate sprinting would be rendered pointless. How could I do that to you?"

Arnold sighed and opened his eyes.

He was standing on a small walkway at the back of a treadwagon. Beside him was his fellow courier, Sam, shouting at a mud-spattered woman running at them at a full sprint.

That woman was, of course, Eryth, the other courier accompanying him on this job. She had managed to almost miss, no, she actually had missed the departure time for the caravan. Hence the running.

"You're such an asshole!" Eryth grabbed a glob of mud as she ran and slung it at the object of her ire.

Sam easily ducked it, and it splattered onto the metal paneling behind her and Arnold. A good bit of it splashed onto Arnold's back, seeping into his formerly clean clothes.

~

Eryth's chest was heaving as she took labored breaths. Sam was standing over her with a grin as Eryth lay spread eagle on the catwalk. Arnold meanwhile was over by the railing, seemingly disinterested in whatever nonsense Eryth had doubtless gotten into.

"I think you owe me a favor for saving your butt."

Eryth simply stared at her fellow courier.

"Seriously, that was quite the expenditure of vis, I really strained myself Eri." She shook her head and feigned a swoon "I think I almost feel a tad faint."

Rather than try to convince the pilots to slow down (honestly they would probably have just laughed if they heard somebody was chasing after the treadwagon), Sam had grabbed a loose piece of metal grating off the catwalk and tossed it off the back of the wagon. After Eryth clung onto it, Sam burned through some of her vis to hover both metal and girl over.

Why the issue then?

Well, Sam had only elected to do this after Eryth had been running for close to ten minutes. And fallen down into the mud. Twice. Eryth was almost too exhausted to bother replying. Almost.

"As a token of my gratitude, I will not strangle you tonight in your sleep."

"Hmm, for some reason I get the impression you aren't feeling very grateful at all." Sam tapped a finger to her chin as she cocked her head. "I remain unappreciated in my time."

Arnold chose this moment to stop ignoring the two women and break up whatever comedy routine they were about to enact.

"Hey, can we head inside? The racket out here is awful. Plus," He narrowed his eyes at Eryth. "I'd like to change out of these muddy clothes sooner rather than later."

Arnold wasn't wrong about the racket. The wagon's parallel treads rumbled as they crawled their way over the soppy terrain, leaving deep gouges. The treadwagons felt like massive ambulatory buildings of steel. They weren't fast. They weren't aerodynamic. They were built to move things from A to B across unreliable and varied terrain and they would accomplish their goal. Eventually.

They were also really really slow, slow enough that Eryth could catch up with them.

Eryth froze at the thought.

Great, now she was even teasing herself.

She shook her head to dissipate the unwelcome thought as she made her way back to her feet.

"Sure, but It's not like you need our permission or anything." Eryth replied to Arnold’s request.

Arnold furrowed his brow, then shrugged as the trio left the catwalk to head inside.

Initially, the racket only got worse, morphing from a low rumble to an aggressive chugging. They were close to the engine room.

Arnold plugged his ears as they walked down a short hallway and passed the source of the noise. A mechanic passed them in the hall and seemed amused when he saw Arnold's grimace. At least, Eryth assumed he was a mechanic based on the assorted grime on his clothes and the comically large wrench he was holding.

Once they reached the end of the hallway the space opened up into a massive room stacked with crates and barrels. They reached all the way up to the far-off ceiling, where there were even more boxes secured to the rafters with rope. Eryth figured they probably hired people with some kind of telekinetic vis to unload and load the goods; it would make each trip that much more profitable.

The walls of cargo were confusing to navigate, the overzealous packing meant that there wasn't a straight path to the crew quarters. As their footsteps clanged over the metal flooring a faint scent began to reach its way into Eryth's nostrils. An ill omen. A smell that she had thought she was leaving behind forever.

"Do you guys smell that?"

Sam looked over her shoulder. "Yep, and I hope you shower soon."

Eryth sighed. "No, I mean, the smell of the room. The storage area."

Arnold sniffed. "I don't smell anything."

Eryth waved him off. "You're nose-dead from spending your life wafting in the fumes of the cannery."

She had a realization. The smell. It was.. fishy.

She looked closely at the crates and barrels that surrounded them. Stacked from floor to ceiling. Some were worn, their weathered exteriors showing scrapes and splinters. Some were metallic, with rust along the edges where the paint was chipped. They all had one single element in common though. A logo. A logo that implied a very specific kind of cargo.

"God dammit our wagon is full of fish!"

Escape was clearly futile.

Sam laughed.

Arnold rolled his eyes.

And an unfamiliar chuckle interrupted Eryth's despair. Her hand immediately drifted towards her gun.

"Why else would a caravan be departing from Breakwater?" The voice was gruff but full of mirth, disarming her initial fear.

The three couriers blinked at the sudden arrival. Well, Eryth and Arnold blinked. Sam just turned to him with her smile still in place.

"Well, little Eri here sometimes needs a bit of help when it comes to putting two and two together." She was still grinning.

Eryth was going to strangle her tonight after all.

Eryth’s hand subconsciously moved away from her holster.

Oblivious, the stranger chuckled lightly. "I'm familiar with quite a few people like that." He straightened and looked over the three of them. "Are you lot the couriers that were supposed to be hitching a ride on our treadwagon? When we left none of you were inside." His tone was light but questioning.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Arnold was the one to reply. "Yeah, one of us," He tilted his head fractionally towards Eryth. "Was late and we were on the catwalk outside to see if she'd show up."

The tall man looked over Eryth's mud-caked clothing and an amused smile played on the corners of his mouth. "Well, I suppose since you're here now I'll show you around a bit. The pilots get a bit agitated when people wander around 'their' wagon."

~

His name was Arnett, and the man turned out to be the lead protector. Not just of the wagon, but of the whole caravan. Each courier introduced themself, and after a brief bit of confusion about a "Miss Eri" (Sam was positively beaming), he led them through the confusing cargo hold and showed them around the rest of the treadwagon.

The general crew quarters were just past the cargo area, and actually far enough away from the engines that sleep would be more than a pipe dream.

The mechanics slept right by the engine room. Eryth supposed they must either be deaf or have formed some kind of symbiotic dependence on the noise. They probably sniffed engine oil as some kind of recreational substance.

Surprisingly, there weren't any loaders or anything on board. Arnett told her the loading crews were hired by the cargo yard rather than by the caravans, and they lived in whatever cities they worked out of. The crew was half made up of protectors and then evenly split between the pilots and mechanics.

Pilots slept in separate quarters from everyone right by the cockpit and were seldom seen. Apparently, they were really touchy about people invading their space. They had almost certainly formed some kind of cult around keeping the wagons moving.

When Eryth voiced her thoughts on the pilots and their possible god of the machine to Arnett he laughed.

"As long as they keep this metal box pointing in the right direction, management would probably encourage it!" He calmed and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Although, personally I'd wager on the mechanics being the ones to form a cult. The speed with which they can sniff out problems with the engines can be spooky."

"So, Mr. Arnett," Arnold said. "I noticed there were more protectors than I'd ever seen on a normal caravan across the Break. Is something going on or...?"

"Not especially." The protector replied. "But there's a lot more ground to cover before we get to our destination. Have you ever been Sunside?"

Arnold shook his head.

"Ah, that explains it. Cities are much farther apart so each caravan takes longer and needs to move more cargo at once. Makes them appealing targets."

"When I lived sunward we'd usually have at least one caravan go missing each month. Makes things much more exciting!" Sam added brightly.

Arnold didn't take this well, and his face started to become even more pale than he already was. Arnett noticed and tried to soothe him.

"Don't look too green, our company has only ever lost a single caravan in its years of operation." He slapped Arnold on the back. "Plus, this is just a supply run to bring some food into the areas around Chaolus, no self-respecting bandit would even come after us."

Eryth wondered if she should mention that she had some undeclared cargo. On the one hand, she couldn't be sure the people who attacked her were after her delivery specifically, they could have just been after Mr. Maye and assumed she was more involved than she actually was. If that was the case, they had probably been behind burning down his property. It was possible he owed somebody something big.

The alternative, however, was that Eryth was in possession of a very, very, hot potato.

She must have stiffened up because Mr. Arnett slapped her on the back next.

"You too Miss Eryth, Trust me, the nastier elements that roam the dunes have about as much affinity for fish as you do. We'll be perfectly fine."

Eryth shrugged but saw Sam looking intently at her for a moment before her trademark grin reappeared on her face as though it had never left. The sudden shift was a little unsettling.

Not long after their impromptu tour came to an end, they were shown to where they would be sleeping. There was an extra space next to the cargo hold where they kept cleaning supplies and secondary cargo which had been done up with simple hammocks. It was cluttered and kinda dark, but still far enough away from the engines that the noise wasn't too bad. It even came with a dinky little window!

Eryth's belongings tumbled off her shoulders as she slumped into a hammock, letting out a long sigh. She was absolutely exhausted, and didn’t even care that her dirty clothes were getting mud all over her sleeping spot.

Her leg had seemingly recovered, (otherwise she would probably have been left behind at Breakwater), but painful tingles still ebbed and flowed through her muscles.

Sam and Arnold put down their things as well, but Arnold quickly left after grabbing a change of clothes to go shower. Eryth probably should have gone as well, but she was too tired. Both emotionally and physically. At the moment all she wanted was to lie down, and she quickly began to doze-off.

"So."

The sudden sound of Sam’s voice jolted her back to consciousness.

Eryth had kinda forgotten Sam was still in the room and in the moment of panic that followed she reached around her waist for her gun, forgetting that she had set it down with her things. Her face heated up when she realized it was only Sam.

"Alright spill, what happened? And don't you bother telling me nothing because you've been jumpy since you got on the wagon." Sam was smiling but her tone was serious.

Eryth’s quick denial died in her throat before she could vocalize it.

Could she trust Sam? Not that she was worried Sam was connected to anything, but she had no idea what Sam would do. Would she inform the protectors? Should the protectors be informed? Honestly, as Eryth thought about it, she realized that she didn't have a clue what she should do. She needed a second opinion, and Sam was almost certainly going to be on her side. Whatever side that was. Eryth sighed.

"You know that extra delivery that I was talking to you and Arnold about this morning?"

"The shady one that explicitly took place outside of the guild protections?"

"... yes."

Sam nodded sagely. "I see. Are my deductions correct that something went rather wrong?"

"Yes," Eryth sighed deeply. "But can you stop with the ribbing? Things actually got pretty serious and I'm not sure what to do."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "How serious?"

"My client was killed in front of me and I had to shoot a vis-user to get away."

There was a moment where Sam blinked. And here Eryth thought nothing could faze the smiley troll.

"Huh, okay so that is actually pretty serious." She sat down on a crate full of cleaning supplies and scratched her head. "Who were you supposed to deliver for?"

"Mr. Maye."

"The guy whose house got burned down?"

"Yep."

Sam rubbed her forehead. "Alright, so clearly somebody had it out for him. Give me a rundown of what happened."

So Eryth told her how she'd done deliveries for Maye before, how a sniper had taken him out after she accepted the delivery, about the electric vis-user, and how she ended up killing him. It wasn't a long story though, and Sam was up to speed in no time.

"Hmm." Sam leaned back against the wall from atop her crate.

"What do you think I should do?"

Clearly, Maye was mixed up in something, but whether that something was tied to him or tied to the delivery was unclear. Of course, it could also be that Eryth had just really offended somebody and this was all her fault somehow, but that seemed less than likely. Her arson jokes weren’t that bad.

She also considered the mysterious package. If somebody wanted it bad enough to kill for it, then Eryth would definitely have asked for a much higher rate. Probably a discount on tech too. Either way, one thing was absolutely clear: she should ditch the delivery.

Sam interrupted her thoughts. “Well, if one thing is pretty clear, you should absolutely keep the delivery.”

“Huh?”

Sam shifted forward on the crate serving as her stool.

“First, let’s assume that the package is the flashpoint for this, since alternatives are less likely to lead to you getting mixed up, which means we can probably ignore them. If the package is a problem, and whoever wants it knows you were the person who had it last, what’s the only scenario worse than them finding you with the package?”

“Um, I don’t know. If they find me with it won’t I just get killed?”

Sam leaned even closer.

“Maybe, who knows. But think about what would happen if they go through all the trouble of hunting you down only to learn that you threw the thing away in the desert?”

It clicked and Eryth paled a bit. “Ah.”

Sam smiled warmly. “Yep! So keeping it is. The only real question is whether or not you should open it.”

“You seem too excited about this.” Eryth pointed out.

“That’s because it’s exciting! You aren’t the only one who was getting sick of Breakwater. I haven’t been in Sunside for years, and this kinda stuff is a great warm-up for getting back into the swing of things.”

Eryth frowned. “What did you do before living in Breakwater?”

Sam had always told these crazy stories about Sunside, usually involving some combination of violence and plucky spirit, but both Eryth and Arnold had written them off as nonsense made up just to fill up boring delivery runs.

“I was a personal assistant.”

Eryth just stared at her. A moment passed. A second. Ten.

Sam stared back.

By this point, it was getting awkward, but the whole stare-at-somebody-until-they-explain trick had always worked for Eryth in the past.

A solid half minute had passed by now and Eryth was getting antsy. Another half minute later and the very moment before Eryth started to speak in an attempt to end whatever it was that was happening right now Sam finally relented.

“Okay, so. A more descriptive job title might have been hired mercenary, but the ins and outs were the same, it’s mostly semantics.”

Immediately after she finished speaking Arnold returned from the shower in clothing that didn’t look like he had just finished rolling around in a garden.

“Welcome back Arnie! How was the water pressure?” Sam asked with alacrity.

“Is that a joke? I got two buckets and a rag.” He wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic.

“Ooh, the wagons must have big tanks if they gave you two buckets. All the longer trips I’ve been on only allotted one.”

Arnold sighed.

The brief exchange gave Eryth a moment to stop catching flies with her mouth and turned to Sam with a squint.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you.”

Sam grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She hopped off her makeshift seating and pulled over her pack while sinking into a cross-legged position. Soon after she pulled out a pack of cards. “Hey Arnie, how good are you at star?”

“What star?”

“Ah, that answers that question. Eri, we both know you’re terrible. That won’t fly Sunside, so let me educate you two on the way of the card.”

While what followed could be described as teaching, it was closer to extortion. Both Eryth and Arnold found themselves a bit poorer, and Arnold barely avoided owing Sam compromising pictures after a desperate bet to avoid losing his matrix. Eryth was less lucky. The cycle passed by, and the string of treadwagons crawled toward the sun.