“Okay, we have to make another maintenance pass on Hauler three,” Hartwell said. “Replacing a tread gear, minor work, nothing serious. That means a delay, but it doesn’t mean a break. Crews on Haulers one, two, and the sleeper, double check your work, the rest of you, tend to your tasks and inventory.”

The Caelum clan had regrouped outside Hub Station’s walls to set out for another scrapping expedition. A few lazy Junkers who’d been hoping for a longer break let out a sigh and tried to get to work, until Giza cut them off.

“But before you do that,” Giza said. “We need to talk about Rush.”

Rush looked up when his name was mentioned. He’d been on the ground at the edges of the clan, maintaining the Scrapper suit. He put the helmet down and watched the crowd as it reformed.

“We don’t, really,” Hartwell said.

“We’re about to leave for another expedition,” Giza said. “Seems like now’s the time to decide if he’s coming with us or not.”

Giza found an empty box and stood on top of it to try and match her fathers imposing stature.

“Relax, dad, this’ll be a short conversation,” Giza said. “After all, Rush just got us the biggest score of our lives, what’s there to discuss? Mechs used to mean losing everything.”

She paused for a moment to let the crowd feel the sting of her words -and let herself feel them. She hated to bring it up, but it was worth the reminder. They’d all lost a lot more than money to mech bandits.

“With Rush, we’ll never have to worry about that again,” Giza said. “Not only will we stop losing things to mechs, we can actually turn them into more profit!”

“Until he gets swatted like a bug,” Jen added. Ever the cynic.

“I still don’t know what a bug is,” Giza said.

“Everyone else gets it,” Jen snapped. Giza, Jack, and Eiffel were the only members of the clan who’d never seen Earth, or a bug. “He fought two idiots piloting some old rustbuckets. What happens when he has to fight someone in a quality mech? He’ll get squished in a second.”

A few of the indifferent members of the crowd started nodding in agreement with Jen.

“Come on, two bad mechs has got to be as dangerous as one good one,” Giza said. She’d been expecting Jen and her cynicism, but she hadn’t been expecting it to be quite so effective. The lure of profit and potential freedom should’ve been enough for most people, but Jen’s cynicism seemed to be winning out -and she wasn’t even the only cynic around.

“So what happens if he has to fight two good mechs?”

The clatter of metal on the ground signaled the arrival of the living antiquity known as the Old Bastard, leaning on his scrap metal cane. He was a fairly recent arrival to the Caelum clan, and by his own admission was only a member because every other clan would just abandon him in the wastes. While he could barely work, he’d been on Scrapworld for decades, and had knowledge the rest of the clan found useful. Useful enough they fed him and barely tolerated a man so cantankerously insistent on not making friends he didn’t even tell anyone his real name.

“Bandits aren’t smart, but they aren’t that stupid,” Old Bastard continued. “Someone starts running around killing mechs, they’re going to figure it out eventually. Figure out we’re the one selling the parts, and then we’re all dead, trampled by twelve mechs all trying to kill that little freak.”

Giza checked on Rush, and was not surprised to see he had no apparent reaction to being called a freak.

“And how long will it take those idiots to figure it out,” Giza said. “Twelve mechs down? Fifteen? We only need to take down two or three to take decades off all our debts.”

That seemed to swing the crowd the other way. Giza pressed her advantage before Jen or the Old Bastard spoke up again.

“And that’s not even getting into the crater crash,” Giza said. “How many treasure troves are out there that the suit could cut through? That suit- Rush could be our ticket out of here, all of us, in a year, maybe two.”

“And if a mech decides to kill us all?”

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“Like they need a reason,” Giza said. “Aquila clan got taken for everything they had and left to starve. Leo clan got used for target practice. Only reason any of us are alive is because Marcus wanted to rob us more than once.”

The reminder stung all over again, but Old Bastard shrugged it off. He hadn’t been there for the robbery, or the massacre before it.

“And your plan is what, trust a complete stranger to protect us?”

“Yeah, how do we know this is even going to work out,” Jen added. “You think you spent enough time sweet-talking that kid he’s willing to die for us?”

“That’s not- If that’s what you’re worried about, ask Rush,” Giza said. His head popped up again. “Don’t talk around him like he’s not here.”

“Alright, I’ll ask,” Jen said. “Hey, Rushmore, you want to die for us?”

“No, I don’t want to die,” Rush said. “But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’ll protect you if I can.”

“If you can, very reassuring,” Old Bastard said. “Do we really want this little idiot-”

“Hey!”

Before Giza’s protest could go any further, Hartwell forcibly elbowed her off the box she was standing on and took charge of the conversation.

“That’s enough,” he snapped. “In this clan we don’t solve problems by screaming at each other. We take it to a vote.”

Giza rolled her eyes, but backed into the crowd, as did Jen. The Old Bastard stood his ground, but only because he didn’t feel like moving.

“Now before we begin, we do have a few things to handle. I’m still in charge here, after all,” Hartwell said. He feigned a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, and it almost worked. “Now, first things first. Rush?”

Their potential new clanmate stopped poking at his helmet’s wires long enough to nod in recognition of his name.

“Do you even want to stay with us?”

“I’ll stay with you if you ask,” Rush said. “I’ll leave if you ask too.”

Not as committal of an answer as Hartwell had been hoping for, but it was an answer.

“Fine then. One more thing, and then we take it to a vote. If Rush stays with us, under absolutely no circumstances do we go looking for trouble, understood? We use the suit to defend ourselves if necessary, but we don’t go looking for fights. Ever.”

Hartwell glared very pointedly at Giza as he spoke. She met his gaze without blinking. No one else voiced any objections.

“Alright,” Hartwell said. He grabbed a piece of scrap metal and a chunk of chalky rubble they kept on hand for votes like this, marking one side of the scrap slate “stay” and the other “go”. “You know how it works. Come up and make your mark before the end of the day.”

Only a small handful of the clans dozens of member stepped up to form a line right away. Giza kept a pointed stare locked on Jack and Eiffel until they made their mark for “stay” and watched with a complete lack of surprise as Jen and the Old Bastard both made a quick mark down for “go”. From there, she tried to pry her attention away from the vote. Being anxious about it wouldn’t help anything now. Instead, she sat down with Rush and tried to help him maintain his armor.

“Anything I can help with, Rush?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Rush said, as he picked at the wires again. “Elvis can maintain the suit. I’m just trying to get familiar with it.”

He prodded at the wires again and then replaced one of the metal armored plates once he had stared at the mechanics long enough. He set aside the piece of armor he’d been holding and grabbed the next one to repeat the process, all without ever looking at Giza.

“Hey, Rush, about you staying or going,” Giza said.

“I’ll be fine either way,” Rush said blankly. “Like I said.”

“So, if you left tomorrow, you’d be okay with that?” Giza asked. “Wouldn’t you miss Eiffel, or Jack, or me?”

“Maybe,” Rush said. He tried not to miss people. Giza endured his stony silence for a few more seconds and then left Rush to his work, alone.

----------------------------------------

By the time the shifts changed and the voting time was up, the tally had come up in Rush’s favor -if only by a margin of ten votes. Some people grumbled, but the vote was the vote, and few cared enough to openly protest it. Giza spent plenty of time being smug about it, but she did so quietly.

“Well then, let me welcome you officially,” Hartwell said, trying his best to hide his reluctance. Rush was already stashing that heavy metal suit in one of the sleeper hauler’s beds. “You’re Caelum clan now, for better or worse.”

Rush finished stowing his helmet away and turned his full attention back to Hartwell, who tried not to meet his gaze. In different circumstances, Hartwell would’ve welcomed someone like Rush with open arms. He was odd, yes, but smart, and apparently well-intentioned. The damn suit was the real problem. Power always came with temptation, and Hartwell could already see hunger in his daughter’s eyes that unsettled him.

“Just stick to common decency. Junker codes, that sort of thing, behave yourself. You’ll do fine,” Hartwell said. Of all the problems Rush might pose, him following rules was probably the least of Hartwell’s worries. He seemed eager for structure and understanding, a definitive role to play and rules to follow. Hartwell leaned on that as he reiterated an important point. “And you remember: that suit is a tool, not a weapon. You use it to disassemble scrap and help with excavations, not to hurt people.”

“Unless I have to defend us.”

“If you have to,” Hartwell stressed. “Don’t be putting the suit on every time you spy a mech on the horizon.”

“Understood,” Rush said. He grabbed his helmet out of the stash, looked down at it, and then back up at Hartwell. “Should I wait until they attack first?”

“Just...grab me or Giza if you see something you’re worried about,” Hartwell said.

He’d barely finished talking when Rush reached out and grabbed him by the wrist with one hand. Hartwell rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mean ‘grab’ as in- shit,” Hartwell said. It took him a second to catch on -and to turn around to face the colossal black figure on the horizon.