The girl sat happily at her table, disassembling the mechanisms of some forgotten machine with bright eyes and naive smile, humming away the hours. The screen beside her blinked awake, the spliced wires and cables connecting it to the black box warming to dangerous degrees.
It took the girl away from her trancelike tinkering, pulling a keyboard over to type in a response. She clumsily poked at the keys, not having required the technology prior to the last year or so.
[Yore awake What wrong Rap?]
With the slowness of inexperience, and a lack of care for proofreading, she sent the message with a heavy press of the enter key. “Need to find a mic somewhere…” She mused to herself as the machine slowly processed the input. Fans on the electronics board and in the blocky screen whistled as they worked overtime to cool the device.
…
[Danger.]
…
[Intruder.]
…
[Bypassed. Security.]
The screen flickered its message to her, staggered and slow. The fans died down, the whine turning to a sigh of relief. Soune smiled as she tapped in her response. Taking the time to not mistype the name.
[Its Kirche I gave her key]
The fans started again, even higher, a worried and worrying scream
[Why?]
Soune smiled softly, thinking about her incoming guest, how she showed up right when she needed a friend, how softly Kirche treated her, how for the first time since Ariel died, she didn’t feel so cold and alone. She typed back, faster and more confident.
[I trust her.]
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“What do you want?” Soune grunted out, trying to ignore the uninvited woman as best she could on her way to the kitchenette.
“Told you, I got you a present, already boiled the kettle by the way. After hearing whatever the hell happened in there, I figured you could use a cup. you’re very welcome.” Kirche followed her, annoyingly and invasively close. Soune hovered a hand over the kettle to check its temperature, sure enough it was still steaming.
“Just got here then?” She asked, doing her best to focus on making her drink with trembling hands.
“Couple hours actually, long enough to hear what you’ve been struggling with in there, long enough to take a wander around the yard, long enough to go to the ladies. Seven years of bad luck to break a mirror, you know.” With each word, each overstep, Soune had to grit her teeth down harder to not spin and splash her, burn her, deter her.
It’d be a waste of perfectly good coffee, she told herself. Instead Soune just calmly pivoted with her drink in hand. Kirche stood a good half head over her, looking down with smug familiarity. Soune did her best to not step back from the unspoken challenge, meeting the redhead's sharp gaze.
“I’ll add it to the stack of bad luck I already have, circling back, what do you want?” She did her best to keep her voice level, despite the heated anger building in her chest.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re upset that I’m here.” Kirche produced a keychain from her breast pocket, spinning it on a finger. “All you have to do is ask for it back, you know?”
“Someone has to take care of the place if I die.” A sharp, blank retort. No longer waiting for her to move out of the way, Soune tried to shoulder past the woman. She didn’t budge, taking a small step forward instead to pressure Soune back against the benchtop.
“Is that the only reason?” Kirche breathed, enjoying the scarlet rage building in Soune’s tired, worn face; the bared teeth, the lowered eyebrows, the trembling hand begging to fling the steaming drink upwards and distort her perfect features. Kirche stepped back and started laughing, a snorting, girly chuckle completely mismatched to her sadistic streak. Soune didn’t hesitate to take the chance to escape the kitchen, trying to make her way back to the workshop. “Aren’t you curious about what I got you?” Kirche asked through the gaps in laughter
“Don’t care, leave it on the bench. I'm busy.” Soune gritted over her shoulder.
“About that, it won’t exactly fit on the bench, or inside.” That gave Soune pause, looking over her shoulder to see Kirche leaning against the benchtop. “Oh, that got your attention huh?”
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Calling it a salvage yard was generous, implying anything there would be worth salvaging. Once upon a time, it may have been a viable business, in the days of the quarries, the days of travelling convoys, the days of towns being settled in the wastes between worlds, made by people seeking an escape from Priloca, from the companies and conglomerates, the thin fingers of their influence dug deep into the bones of larger towns and forcing their undesirables out. After the Ring began its scouring, those days all ground to a halt.
Decades later, it was bought from some anonymous owner to an anonymous buyer, no papers, no trace, the ghost of a long dead company. The perfect place to seal themselves and their daughter from the eyes of the world.
Now, it held even truer to its ghost-like status. Carcasses of vehicles, drones, bits and pieces of prefabs, all piled up like crumbling buttresses against the sheet metal fence, crowned with razor wire and bending forward from the weight upon the panels. The wreck piles absorbed the dry, chafing wind, leading the entire area to have an eerie silence. The ground was ruddy dirt, maybe one time packed, tan dust, but now so infested with flakes of rust and debris that it was permanently marred. The occasional loose nut, bolt or nail ready to strike into an unaware heel adding to the hazard of the place. Tucked into the corner of this yard, baked into the dust of the yard and sharing the creeping layer of rust with its surroundings, was the prefabricated unit Soune called her home.
An off-white mover was settled on the dirt outside the unit. Its original markings were hastily marked over by spray paint, but Soune recognised it as Cargo-five, a wish of a newer, better vehicle granted in a spine chilling way.
“Why is it here?” She asked, coffee still in hand and not leaving the doorway.
“I drove it here.” Kirche pouted from behind, protesting that her offer to cover Sounes eyes for an added surprise was met with a threat of dismemberment.
“Ok, why do you have it then? All the salvage was meant to go to King.”
“About that, see, I called in some favours from old Red Shoulder friends first, you know since the whole weird Mongrel ordeal - that’s what they ended up naming them by the way, good call.” Kirche slipped past Soune towards the vehicle. “Anyway, they figured our noble regent didn’t need to know about them, or this heavy bastard. So with a little bit of help from Raz on the logs, Cargo-five made it away with the other escapees of the convoy.” Kirche produced a key fob from a pocket, throwing it with fair force towards Soune who still managed to deftly snatch it from the air. “Lucky you!”
“Fine, lucky me. What’s the catch, because right now it just sounds like you’re dumping evidence more than giving me a gift” Soune relented, going to investigate the vehicle herself. She noticed the finer details of the model up close, the first thing to catch her eye was the disconnect between the storage bay and cabin of the vehicle. Instead of a solid bulkhead like her Lightfoot and other cargo vehicles she’d seen, there was a clear gap between them. She confirmed her theory by crouching and investigating the bay. It wasn’t affixed to the frame, instead sitting locked onto a rail. “It’s removable…” Soune whispered to herself, standing up and saw the hook loops atop the blocky storage. “Interesting…” She was interrupted from her mechanical breakdown by a sharp cough from Kirche, it made her flinch.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“I wouldn’t call it evidence, what Kingy doesn’t know can’t hurt him and it’s his crime to begin with. I figured you’d have some old paint or something to clean up the Shoulders quick job. Not the most creative bunch, worshipping a bunch of numbers will do that I guess.” Kirche leaned against the driver door, barring Soune from accessing it without acknowledging her. It was hardly subtle, and only received a sharp side eye as she moved past her towards the cargo bay. Soune checked the fob, pressing a button to cause the physical key to flip from its body. The code for the electrical lock was messily inscribed along the body of the key, the heavy lock on the doors to the bay disengaged and parted. Soune swung the doors open and immediately choked, covering her nose and stepping back from the olfactory shock.
“Yeah, not evidence at all.” Pure disappointment swamped her tone, muffled through a hand. Across the solid bulkhead and floor of the bay was a black and brown splatter of flaking gore, a pile at the bottom still faintly moist and glistening, the mess had been steaming, fermenting in the unconditioned heat of the cab for some period of time. The remains of the guard who had the unfortunate fate of watching the Mongrels. Kirche crept to her side, uncannily quietly on the gritty ground. Soune tensed as an arm leaned across her, clasping her shoulder.
“They’re not the tidiest either, and I hardly keep a bunch of cleaning supplies around, so I figured who better than the prettiest scrapper around to take it into their care and spruce it up.” Soune ducked out from Kirches grip, setting her coffee down on the edge of the storage before hopping into it herself, doing her best to ignore the pervasive smell of rot and copper seeping into her throat.
All the remnants of the cages and restraints were gone, leaving only scratch marks in the metal surface from their hasty removal and various empty sockets in the walls. Straight walled and flat roofed, an ugly, blocky yet unbeatably efficient shape, and with substantially more storage she was used to. A line down the centre of the roof caught her attention, and hinges on the upper edges confirmed another suspicion. “It opens too, standardised measurements maybe, not sure what company…” She made sure to hush her whisper further before finishing her thought. “This could work.”
She ran her fingers over the wall of it, smooth grey metal with the faintest hue of blue. She found the panel she was looking for, unlocking it with the key and investigating the electrical panel and basic screen underneath. A small green light indicated it had power, but without her PAD on hand to interface with it, it revealed very little. Neither did the information printed onto the inside of the panel, any mention of its specific make or model, and certainly any signs of a previous owner scratched off long ago.
“Does its MMD work?” Soune queried, poking at the screen to try and gauge any response.
“The what? You know I leave that techy shit to you and Raz.” Kirche’s eyebrow twitched in a rare moment of unsureness. “So, do I get a thanks or what?”
“Thanks?” Soune slammed the panel shut, hopping back down onto the ground to stare down Kirche. “You bring me a literally bloody mover to get rid of it more than anything, barge into my house and act like you own the place, then you want me to thank you?” Soune swung her arm out, gesturing at the bloodstain, even outside in the arid air Kirche could smell the decay of the gore, taste the metallic tang in the back of her throat. “You want me to thank you for that being my responsibility now?” Kirche’s scarlet lips were pursed, something unreadable hidden in the nuances of her expression. Soune didn’t relent, letting the outrage show clearly on her face, and burying the decent amount of gratefulness she felt towards the gift.
“Yeah I guess it was a bit off-colour. Excuse me for trying to have a sense of humour with it, forgot that yours died a while ago.”
“I killed something of yours a while ago too, need a reminder of how that went?”
The silence hung between them like a blade, hovering on the hairs of their neck. Soune’s chest rose in a restrained heave. Kirche met her rage with a low, challenging stare. They both were on the line of going too far, too close to doing something irreparable. They’d crossed it before, and backed away from doing it again. Swallowing the enraged remarks they knew would hurt the other most.
“...Sorry, I know this is a lot to drop out of nowhere. But I did genuinely think you’d find a use for it.” Kirche spoke low and soft, stepping away from the line first.
“It’s got good parts, I’m sure I'll find something I can fix with it so… thanks.” Soune relented, physically stepping back and shifting her attention back to her coffee. Kirche breathed out in relief, rolling her neck free of strain before broaching a new topic.
“You free by the way? I need to go into town to meet with King, he hasn’t paid us out yet.” She asked, no deeper meaning, no teasing or challenge hidden in it. They both knew it was better to deal with their contractor as a pair, or better yet a full team.
“Sure, I need to ask him about my contract too. Is Tonio up and moving yet?” Soune asked, beginning towards her house.
“No, he’s close though, Raz said the fractures are healed, it's just pain now.” Kirche shrugged. “You ask me, I think he’s milking it a bit, just taking it as a holiday with Raz. I’m sure whatever they’re up to behind closed doors isn’t exactly rushing his recovery.” A knowing smirk returned to her face.
“Just us then.” Soune remarked with badly hidden trepidation. She glanced at a wall clock not far into her house. A digital display flickered out ‘15:49’ “Nearly six, few hours before midday*...” She sat her drink down on the bench partition between the kitchenette and living nook on her way to the stairs. “It’ll be hot out there.”
“Can’t be that much worse than in here, you’re smart with the wrenchy stuff, how hard could it be to get an air-conditioner working?” Kirche added, fanning herself as she took a normal seating position on the couch.
“Not hard, just expensive. Simon, the bastard, has decided to raise electricity costs.” Soune remarked, shedding off her greasy shirt while going upstairs. Kirche didn’t pass the opportunity to sneak a leer at her muscled back disappearing up the stairs.
“You know how he feels about that name.” She called up after Soune, craning her neck to try and get a last glimpse of tanned skin. “Our King is more of a petulant Princess about that.”
“King of nothing but dirt and sand, fuck ‘im.” A sharp response bringing out a short, snorted chuckle.
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Minutes later, Soune reappeared in her usual attire. The maroon lining of her long coat nearly black in the half-light of the house - near indiscernible against the plain, dark top, the scuff marks on the leathery outside camouflaged similarly against the tan material. Clearly visible even in the dimness was her signature scarlet scarf, white tail of hair contrasting atop it.
“Doesn’t it get hot wearing all that? We’re just going to town anyway.” Kirche remarked, though also enjoying the way it seemed to accentuate Soune’s personage. Helped by the form fitting, albeit padded pants.
“It’s cooler than you’d think, nice and insulated.” To try and prove her point, Soune patted the length of the coat hanging around her leg, it sounded solid and dense. Kirche only shrugged in response.
“If you say so, you’re driving by the way.” Kirche groaned, mid stretch upwards.
“Of course I am, Trudge doesn’t behave for you.” Soune said completely flatly, just a sheer fact stated, though it caused Kirche to part a small smile, always finding Sounes names for her machines endearing. Still stretched upwards, letting her midriff peek out from under the waist-length jacket, she sneaked a look at Soune, checking if she too was stealing glances when she could. She had to bite the inside of her lip to disguise and punish her disappointment when Soune didn’t so much as glance back, instead focusing on sculling the remains of her lukewarm coffee and opening the door to her workshop.
“I’m headed out for a bit, rest up okay?.” Kirche bit down harder, tasting the fresh copper seeping onto her tongue. She spoke so warmly to a damn machine, and so coldly to her. Kirche released her lip, deflating at the sight. She didn’t deserve Soune’s warmth, and duly so. In her wandering thoughts she didn’t hear whatever digital response was croaked backwards.
“Ready?” Soune asked, waiting at the doorstep, expression flat and neutral.
“If you are.” Kirche forced her smug smirk, brushing past Soune with a wink.
“Been a while since we’ve been on a da-”
“Stop.” It was a rare, forceful tone that came out of Soune. One of warning and setting a line. One that only required one word - a single syllable - to cement the limits in.
Kirche faked a huffed laugh, turning away and briskly enough towards the old Lightfoot, reopening the small cut on the inside of her lip.
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* The daily cycle for Durendel operates on forty hour days divided into four quarters, dawn, day, dusk and dark, with five day weeks and fifty-five week years. The system matches the slow day cycle the planet has with twin suns, while the years were calculated to be somewhat compatible to the yearly orbit of The Cradle around Mother Sol. This system is reviled by most of higher education on Durendel due to its inaccuracy with seasonal weather patterns and the actual orbit of the planet around the primary sun, but appreciated by the
majority for its simplicity to measure ages and days on a rigid calendar.