One bike remained. The thug riding it had a pistol out, but his hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t keep it on the human.

Taws pulled his vest back, revealing the pistol on his hip. The tattered tails of his poncho drifted in the wind behind him.

The thug cocked his pistol.

Taws cocked an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”

The xeno swallowed hard. Tried to steady his arm with his other hand, which made his whole body shake. His eyes drifted down to the ogre, bound up tight beneath Taws’ foot. Swallowed again.

“H-h-h-hands up.”

Casually, Taws put his hands in the air. Then, he made a show of inhaling long and slow and puffing out his chest. He blew it out in a single, percussive breath—PAH! The thug yelped. Kicked the sand so hard he almost fell off his bike, and left a gouge in the desert floor as he fled.

Caly rolled her eyes so hard, it almost hurt. But Olm grumbled appreciatively, “Not seen that before.”

“Take us in,” Caly said, “I want to talk to him before he runs off again.”

They were moving nice and slow, when the human sank to his knees and put his hands on his head. His face was lost in shadow.

“What’s he doing?” Caly asked Olm.

“Maybe he’s hurt,” Olm said, but when the hrutskuld pulled the bike up next to him, Caly didn’t see a drop of blood.

“Are you shot?” she asked.

The human mumbled a solemn, “No.”

Caly swung her legs off the bike, and approached him with her rifle out—not aiming, but you never know. Just in case.

She crouched in front of him. “Look. Human. I admit, that was pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” he said. No hint of pride.

Beside him, the ogre let out an exhausted growl as it squeezed against its bonds. Still no reaction from the human.

“You know, this one has a price on his head,” Caly nodded at the ogre. “Dead or alive. The least I can do is save you the mess—” she lifted her rifle, mostly to see if she could get a rise out of him.

Without looking at her, his hand shot out and grabbed the barrel of her rifle, and pulled it down. “No,” he said. There was the fire she’d been looking for.

Caly pulled up the bounty on her visor, “According to the enforcers, he’s accused of murder, arson, grand theft larceny, and worse.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a pacifist,” Olm rumbled behind her. His heavy feet didn’t so much as whisper on the sand, as they made the sand bounce. “He doesn’t want to kill anyone.”

“That true?” Caly asked.

The human glared up at her, as if she was the one who had attacked him.

“Well,” Caly stood up and squinted at the horizon, “You can’t exactly let him go, can you? I mean, what about the money?”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Hm,” Olm said.

“Fine, whatever,” Caly threw her hands up, “You still need to deal with him. And you can’t exactly send him on his way. He’ll die of thirst, if he doesn’t freeze to death first. And, judging by his expression, I don’t think he’s just going to walk off the moment you untie him.”

“She’s not wrong,” Olm rumbled.

“Oh,” Caly put a hand on her hip, “So now you’re on my side?”

“I’m always on your side,” Olm said matter-of-factly, “Except when you’re wrong.”

“Well, human? As much as I’d like to take credit, this one was all you. But I don’t see a lot of choice here.”

“I won’t kill him. Won’t let you do it either. I’ll drag him behind me, if I have to.” Taws pushed himself up, and glared sourly at the kell, as if he was planning to haul him off, right then and there.

“You’re serious?”

Taws swallowed. Nodded.

“But… why?”

She knew the moment his eyes flashed, he was going to say something weird. But if she had known how weird, she might not have asked at all.

Taws straightened his stance and stuck his chest out like a proud rooster. No, that wasn’t right. He was rigid. Like a soldier.

The human barked, “Above!” and thumped his chest hard enough to make Caly wince. “Below!” Thump. “The enemy is waiting! You will give them no mercy, no chance. You are an instrument of humanity. You were born to annihilate the greatest threat we have ever faced. Your ancestors killed. Their ancestors killed. This is your duty!” Thump! “This is your honor!” Thump! “This is your right! You. Will. Kill!” Thump-thump-thump!

By the end, his chest was heaving and his face was red, and his lips twisted like the words tasted as bitter as ash.

Olm pressed a fist to his mouth, watching thoughtfully. Saying nothing.

Caly, however, couldn’t keep her mouth from hanging open. Someone really messed him up.

“We did it,” Taws said. “I did it.” And, as if those few, short words had taken everything out of him, he sank back down to the sand, and put his head in his hands. “What have I done?”

“What did you do?”

“The War,” he whispered.

“Which one?” she asked. “The one out in the Eurius Cluster?”

“Maybe he’s talking about one of the expansion wars,” Olm said. “There were a few of those still going on when we came out here.”

“The War,” Taws said, his voice as soft as the windblown sand. His head hung low, like he couldn’t bear to look up at them. “The one that will kill the Synod.”

Olm frowned at him. Caly grimaced.

“What the stars are you talking about?”

“Cut the head off the snake, and you get a dead snake. But the Synod’s not a snake. It’s a nest. Vipers and pythons and cobras and ten thousand other species. Cut the head off one snake, and blame another, and everyone starts biting. I tried to save him. The Arch Minister.”

“The floater?” Olm asked. “That Arch Minister?”

“The Auran Arais were at war with the Khuus. The Khuus captured one of their Sun Carriers. Sacred.”

“That ended a hundred years ago,” Caly said. “They’re at peace.”

“Barely,” Taws said. “And maybe it would’ve stayed that way. The Khuus were giving back the carrier. The Arch Minister was there. A show of peace. We were there to … I tried to stop her. The Captain. She woudln’t listen. So I shot her, I shot at my own Captain, and I fucked it all up. I killed the Arch Minister.” Taws swallowed hard, and rolled over, pressing his face into the sand like he wanted to bury himself in it. “It’s begun,” he moaned.

“Back up,” Caly said. “Why would you want to kill the Arch Minister of Auran Arais?”

“The Khuus,” Olm answered for him. “They’ll go to war.”

“The Khuus have been on the fall for the last fifty years. They’re too weak to risk—”

“It’s a lie,” Taws muffled voice rose up from the ground, “They’ve been ramping up the old navies. Everyone has. We know. We helped them all do it, not that they know the help came from us. The Auran Arais will attack the Khuus. The Khuus will go to war. The Daedonic Order will join the Auran Arais, and with the daedons at war, the courans won’t be able to resist the temptation. The Synod will tear itself apart. Cut of the head…”

“And the nest will kill itself,” Olm rumbled, almost in awe.

“Boveershit,” Caly spat. “Nobody unauthorized could’ve gotten within a million klicks of the Arch Minister. Not even a Cavalier could get through that many hyperlanes without—”

“We don’t use hyperlanes,” Taws said.

Caly scoffed. What could you to say that? He didn’t just bend logic. He chewed it up, swallowed it, and denied it ever existed.

You have to use the gates, Caly thought. Otherwise, you’d have to fly through the void for hundreds of thousands of years. Or more.

Olm’s arms were crossed, his mouth pressed into a hard, thoughtful line. She pulled him aside. “You don’t actually believe him, do you?”

Olm shrugged, “I believe he believes it.”

“The Auran Arais aren’t stupid. The Arch Minister remains in hiding for a reason. He only comes out when nobody can touch him. That’s the whole point, Olm. The lanes.”

She craned her head up, and found New Nowhere’s sole hyperlane; a set of parallel dots of light, drifting far above the atmosphere, barely visible in the late afternoon.

“That xeno is insane,” Caly said, keeping her voice low. “Nobody gets anywhere without the gates. Not even the Dyss could do it. That’s why they built them, right?”

Olm frowned. “So, he’s lost his mind. We’ve seen worse, haven’t we? Stars and void, I’ve been worse. Remember those weeks walking across the Long Desert? I would have killed for water.”

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“Olm,” Caly said. “We did kill for water.”

“Oh, yeah…” Olm rubbed at his chin. “We did, didn’t we?”

Caly chewed her lip as she stared at the human, curled up into a ball in the sand. Even the ogre, tied and bound, was staring at Taws from the corner of his eyes, like what in the Crowns is wrong with him?

“So what do we do with him?” Caly asked, hugging her arms around herself to keep the cold from numbing her fingers.

“Reckon he needs help,” Olm said.

Caly snorted, “Yes, he surely does.”

Olm looked at her.

“What?”

“I meant he needs our help.”

“Him? From us? You saw what he did. That poncho is shredded. The ogre shot actual voiding rockets at him. Do you see a single drop of blood on him? A single scratch?”

“I meant he needs help up here,” Olm tapped his own temple.

“Since when are we running a charity? We’ve got work to do, Olm. If he didn’t owe us so much, I’d walk out on his—”

“There,” Olm jabbed a finger at her. “That’s what I’m talking baout. You’re so worried about what he owes you. What about him, and what he wants?”

“What about him?” Caly’s snapped. The corners of her visor frosted over, and her suit started to hiss as it vented. “I don’t care if he thinks he’s the Grand Heirarchus reborn. He said it himself—he’s a weapon. I don’t ask what my boots want, or my gun. I just need to trust that they’ll get the job done. As far as I can see, that’s all I need to know about him.”

The cracks in Olm’s face glowed a faint red. And when he finally spoke, Caly could hardly bear the wounded rumbling of his voice, “Is that all we are to you, Caly? Tools to be used?”

“No,” her throat went tight. “Not you.”

Olm stared at her in that way that only Olm could stare. His face was like a rocky cliff, hard and sharp and without expression. His cold look sent a spike deep into her gut.

“Never you,” she said.

Though that hadn’t always been true, had it? When she first found him in the Pits, a warrior with nothing left, fighting in those murderous arenas, she’d seen him only as a way to help herself. She had treated him like every other couran would: always calculating his worth to her. He was only a hrutskuld after all, and as a couran, she was entitled to his unquestioning loyalty.

At least, that’s what she believed in the beginning. Idiot girl. Caly squeezed her arms around herself, and pressed her lips together, and raised her gaze up at the sheer expanse of Yole’s walls.

“I had connections, back in the Core,” Caly said. “I could have earned my sponsorship back there. Crowns, I knew a few governors who might’ve given me a Cav badge, no bribe needed. But I came here. Do you know why?”

“You hate being in debt.”

“No. Well, yes. But back there, they wouldn’t have let us stick together. A couran working with a hrutskuld? Courans don’t do that. So I came out here because I don’t want to do this without you, Olm. You’re my partner.”

Olm put a huge, heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know.” His fingers were freezing, but so was she. “But you put out your hand. And he shook it. What does that make him?”

“He walked out.”

“You want to get this done? You want to get us off this void-forsaken rock, and become a Cavalier? You need him. But you’re so worried about whether you can trust him, you forgot to ask if he can trust us.”

“Why are you so ready to defend him? He’s a weapon. For all you know, he could try to kill us—”

“He won’t.”

Caly arched her eyebrow at Olm, letting him see it through her visor.

“If he wanted to,” Olm rumbled, “There’d be two shallow graves a thousand clicks back. Caly, he’s the best I’ve ever seen.”

Caly’s ego bristled, and it took an effort to push it back down. She looked over at the human, who had rolled over. One hand gripped the scaled shirt under his vest, and his eyes were squeezed shut as he muttered bits and pieces of some memorized refrain: “Claim our legacy among the stars. Change your mind. Show no mercy. Don’t.”

Caly turned back to Olm. “Why’d he run off on us?”

“How in the tainin’ Crowns should I know?”

Caly scuffed at the sand with her boot. Dug her toes in, and made a line. Sometimes, she wondered if she was broken. She couldn’t remember the last conversation she had, where she wasn’t trying to get something from the other person. Why am I like this? Why can’t I be different?

Caly sniffed. “Olm?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a tool. Not to me.”

Olm chuckled, “I know. Guess I just get a little bitter about … some things. But you are not the rest of your people.”

“Thanks,” Caly said. “You think we need him that bad?”

“I do.”

“You think …” She almost said, you think we can trust him? And stopped herself. “You think he’ll want to work with us?”

“Depends on how you ask.”

Caly sighed.

The human, still on the ground, was staring at the wall. Unblinking. There was sand in his hair, and a layer of it stuck to his cheek.

“Human.”

“—by all humankind. I am the fist of destiny. I am the first to the future. This is my duty. This—”

“Taws.”

Taws blinked rapidly, and lifted his head, as if he’d just noticed where he was.

“You left us,” Caly said.

“I did?”

“You were on watch. And you left us.”

He sat up. “I did.”

“How come?”

“To protect you.”

“From what?” she kicked the ogre, he gnashed his rage at her, as impotent as a potted plant. Despite the cold, the ogre’s skin was covered in sweat from fighting his restraints. “Surely not from him and his dogs.”

Taws shook his head. His eyes drifted up to the sky. “No human left behind. Not even the cowards. They will look for me. Doesn’t matter how many billion planets they have to comb through, the Agency will find me.”

“Look,” Caly said, but all the words got bunched up in her throat. Why is the right thing always so much harder? She kicked at the sand, and tried again. “Look, Taws. I don’t know anything about this war of yours, or your agency. But I do get the feeling we’re on the same side here. You left us, though. You abandoned your partners. Most people don’t take react too well to that kind of treatment. Guess that makes you lucky.”

“How so?”

“We’re not most people. And one of us has a pretty forgiving streak. Despite all his looks, Olm can be mighty persuasive, when the mood strikes.”

“Hey,” Olm said. “What’s wrong with my looks?”

So,” Caly ignored the hrutskuld, and put out her hand. “What do you say we give this partnership a second chance?”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“You stick with me, and it doesn’t end pretty. They don’t seek vengeance. They seek prevention of the need for it. There’s only one way my road goes.”

“The thing about roads,” Caly said, gesturing at the unpaved desert all around them, “Is you can always go off them.”

“Being with me, it’s more dangerous than you think.”

“I shot you once, didn’t I? Guess I can do that again.”

Taws’ lips quirked slightly. Not a full smile, but it was something.

“But maybe, let’s stay focused on the here and now.”

“Now, come on,” Caly said, “You want to bring Yole down, don’t you? Well, Olm and I want to bring her down, too. Reckon we’ve got a chance if we do this together. Olm, what’s that thing you always say?”

“The lone wolf has to watch his back,” Olm rumbled. “The pack never needs to.”

“That’s it,” Caly said. “What do you say, human? We’re a small pack, but we’re pretty damn dangerous ourselves.”

Olm clenched the glove of his Hammer in a show of support, the hum of energy making sand rise and stick to his boots.

The human eyed them both. “I won’t kill anyone.”

It took every ounce of her training to not roll her eyes. “That’s fine.”

“I won’t help you kill, either. I didn’t come here to fight Yole. I came to talk her into turning herself in.”

“And how the f—” Caly started to growl, when Olm interrupted her. “Thorns, Caly.”

She swallowed the words. Took a long, deep breath. “So, and I’m just asking a question here … If a fight were to break out?”

Taws furrowed his brow as he thought about it. Then he kicked at the ogre’s ribs, earning a grunt from the giant kell. “We’ll do the least amount of harm possible.”

Caly had to stop herself from smiling. There was a lot of leeway in the word “possible.” She held out her hand again, “Reckon that’s fine, too.”

For a xeno as lean as he was, his hand surprisingly warm. But Caly wouldn’t let him go until she got one last answer. “How do I know you won’t run off this time?”

“I guess you have to trust that I’m with you.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

“Swear it.”

“Cross my heart,” he made a gesture over his chest, “Hope to die.”

“Hope to what?”

“Hope to die—it means I’m serious. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

“Void,” Olm cursed.

“Fucking void,” Caly agreed.

“What? It’s just an old rhyme. You know. For kids.”

“For kids?”

“For a pacifist,” Olm said, “You come from a really morbid species.”

The human laughed, and his cheeks dimpled in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Olm was laughing too, and Caly found it hard not to smile, though she kept hers hidden behind her dimmed visor. He doesn’t even have horns…

She was so caught up in staring, she forgot to let go of his hand.

“Ah,” the human said awkwardly after a moment, “How long do couran handshakes usually last?”

If letting go could make a sound, Caly’s fingers would’ve made five little sonic booms. She started blushing furiously, glad her visor was dimmed.

“What do we do about this one?” Olm prodded the ogre with his foot, “He’ll freeze if we leave him out here.”

“We’ll take him with us,” Taws said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caly said, “Take him where, exactly?”

“The ogre didn’t follow us out here,” Taws said. “Yole put out a call. Gran said she’s been recruiting from the hills and the lesser towns for a few weeks now. I’m guessing Yole’s expecting visitors.”

“So, what?” Caly said, “We just knock on the door of the Mad Queen, the very same one who just hung a hundred innocent townsfolk for void knows why, and we hope she’ll just, what, invite us in?”

“Yeah.”

Caly pressed her hands together, and slowly inhaled, willing herself to stay calm. “OK, Taws. Partner. Let’s assume she doesn’t try to kill us on the spot, or scoop our brains out and replace them with tar jelly, assuming all that, what makes you think she’ll open the door for us?”

Taws shrugged. “Maybe if we knock nicely.”

“You think the Mad Queen of the Northern Desert, who built fifty meter walls in the middle of nowhere, will open the door just because someone knocks?”

“Thorns,” Olm warned her.

“I’m just pointing out the facts!” Caly said. “Besides, he already tried knocking—”

“Maybe she didn’t hear me,” Taws said. “Third times the charm.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s an old saying. You’d be surprised how often it works.”

“How about, for just once in your life, you try making some sense.”

“A rose without the petals,” Olm mused unhelpfully. “Is just a stem full of thorns.”

“I am not a fucking flower.”

“No,” Olm agreed, “You are most certainly not.”

The human was already walking off. A speck of dust beneath those towering walls. He lifted his hand, and Caly thought she saw a glint of silver on his fingers that hadn’t been there before. He knocked. Even this far away, she could hear the polite, absurd clicking of knuckle on stone. Nothing happened.

“This,” Caly said to Olm through gritted teeth, “Is New Nowhere. He can’t just wander around, applying whatever principles he pleases, and expect to get results—”

Stony thunder cracked out across the rippling sands, echoes racing out to the rim of the crater, and back. The wall split open, bursting with a light as white as the face of a sun.

“Well,” Olm said, “He did say you’d be surprised.”