By now, the crew should have developed the impression that Eli wasn’t just a researcher. Even if they had never worked with someone in his trade before, they probably held the notion that researchers and other professional intellectuals were just scrawny pricks who read books while others did the work. Most of this was true, especially about the other members of his order. Those people were infamous as being some of the skinniest and least sociable humans on the planet. However, none of that mattered as they were also the smartest little shits to ever exist. Eli was one of them, technically, and just as he wasn’t a full member, he couldn’t rely on his knowledge alone. He needed his people-skills and the endurance to make it through a shift; he also had to be a fantastic liar.

Even now, a few members of the crew were on the verge of staring in awe at him as he walked back to the ship. They had already been the victim of Eli’s skill at talking his way through bars and canteens to find local professionals, and convincing said professionals to join a vaguely defined “expedition”. He had been hauling his own bags when they had loaded up the Roller yesterday evening, even though there were twelve of them, and five were full of reading materials. Many had bore witness to him holding his own weight and liquor during some pre-mission boozing, and then address a suicide victim the following morning. And now, a few people might have thought they saw him mercy-killing the unfortunate captain of the raft, but they couldn’t be sure. No one was sure about what Eli wanted with them up here, and that’s how he preferred it.

He stopped in front of the rope ladder that had been thrown down and put his hands on his hips to address Cone. He felt kind of playful like this, he also felt himself sinking into the snow a little bit.

“The fellow back there also sends his warm regards to you, he says he wishes that you ‘had the balls to send him off.” He said. Cone chuckled.

“We’d best be going now.” The merchant replied.

Eli started climbing up the rope ladder. It was easy enough to go over the ship’s railings and handle the six-ish foot drop into the snow, but there was no way to climb back onto the ship. There were two ladders on the sides, along with this rope ladder. He had been assured that the device was over sixty feet long in case they had a straggler or a scenario where they needed to retrieve someone but couldn’t risk slowing down. The pilot had told him about that feature when Eli informed him of their destination.

“You scared?” Eli teased when he was back on the deck. Cone blinked, and at least four people looked back and forth between him and Eli, and then at the surrounding wilderness.

“Fuck you.” Cone answered, doing his best to make it sound like a joke. He even went as far as to attempt another chuckle. People were looking more at the woods now. The mood was souring fast, he shouldn’t have asked about Cone being scared. Well, it looked like it was up to Eli to brighten the mood.

“I don’t think we’re going to last another four hours… making it to the first camp-site with nothing to do but admire the surroundings— come down to my quarters, I’ll put something on the kettle, introduce the crew more… ‘Formerly’ if you will, and answer any questions you might have. Besides, I think we’ve had enough action for one day.” Eli said before leading the way to the access-hatch to his quarters. No one in the crew was hesitant to follow him down. A few made an effort to shake the snow off of their clothing, or pack an excess layer into their bags before following. The guide made one complete scan of her surroundings before unknotting her scarf and scampering down.

The Relay Rollers were designed to be mobile boardrooms. Instead of asking for privacy and a large space aboard their ships, or agreeing to rendezvous at a remote camp, high-ranking captains and other officials used the rollers to conduct their business. Treaties were signed, and policies were adjusted in the comfort of the main fuselage. Roughly the size of an old grain silo, Relay Roller I basically was a grain silo with a tractor attached to it, the fuselage or “pipe” contained a carpeted floor, ten chairs, a desk, a kitchenette, and a surprisingly well-made projector system. It did not have a shitter. Behind the pipe was the iconic “roller”, a twelve foot wide tire. The pilot’s enclosure and all of the mechanical… stuff was to the right of the wheel, while cargo space was to the left. There were skids mounted at the front for steering. The vessels could also be customized depending on the journey’s needs. Eli had asked for a heavy-duty plow, a deployable tent that could house the rest of the crew, a cot for himself, and a tripod mounted at the end of the Pipe so he could use a telescope through the window-slits.

He had also been curious about how the five remaining members of the unspecialized crew would respond to being allowed inside a Roller’s cabin. Without a doubt, they had seen one blasting across the horizon while they were stuck on whatever rigs they had been assigned to. And they had definitely seen the great captains and their retainers who used these machines, from a distance of course. But here they were, in one of this world’s many unorthodox halls of wisdom and significance. The leather chairs they were sitting in had held the asses of people who had raised thousands out of desperation, and stopped wars. How much of that been done aboard Relay Roller III? Regardless, these people couldn’t be bothered. All of the five common crew had claimed a chair for themselves and were stress-testing the seat’s ability to spin around. Thankfully, their normal working environments were so turbulent that Eli didn’t have to worry about one of them getting sick. Cone sat as close to him as possible, while D.Q. claimed a chair for herself and Eli’s desk for her boots, the guide lurked in a corner.

“Can your pilot hear us?” Eli asked Cone as he unfolded the projector from the wall and tried not to make an ass of himself with the lighting system. From what he understood, the light shined through his papers, reflected off of a mirror near the ceiling, and that ended up…

“I’m here! I’ll stomp or something if there’s a question.” The pilot shouted through a vent that Cone had just opened. He would have to make sure to close it later.

“We’re getting bored!” One of the crew shouted, it might have been Splint. She was only screwing around. Eli shot her a glance and she jumped in her chair.

After more trial and error, Eli had the silhouette of his hand projected against a wall of wooden cabinets near the back of the pipe. That was supposed to be the screen. The Roller’s designers could add carpets and amazing lighting, but not a cloth screen or electrical intercom. This would do. He’d had to climb the last 30 feet of a decayed skyscraper without a pick once. But this was a new thing that could go wrong: shitty presentation materials. This would also be his first actual “presentation”, instead of just asking the team to crowd around him while he pointed at a map.

“Without further adieu, I present… The itinerary!” Eli said to a mixed reaction. A few grinned, but at least two people looked like they wanted to throw themselves in front of the plow.

“My name is Ellis Blicker, but you can call me ‘Eli’, and I am the head researcher of this expedition.” He said.

“Who’s expedition is this?” One of the crew-members asked. Eli hadn’t heard from this one before.

“My order, the Formers.”

“But the Guild owns this ship!” Another crew-member, Splint, exclaimed.

“You could say that Formers owns the Guild— sorry.” Eli apologized to the crew.

“The arrangement is that Formers consults for the Guild, and they give us the resources and personnel we need for whatever our projects might be… so you will all be compensated through the Guild.” Eli felt like he had to clarify this.

“My second in command is Sylvester, but everyone calls him ‘Cone’ he’s done some great work down South as a merchant.”

“Where’d ‘Cone’ come from?” One of the crew asked.

“I think it’s his hat.” Someone whispered

“It’s his dick.” Someone else said. Cone shrugged.

“Regardless of where his name comes from, he got us this ship, our supplies, and our pilot.” Cone attempted a bow in his chair.

“It’s Pontius!” Came the pilot’s voice from his vent.

“As in like… Pontius Pilate?” Eli asked.

“Because I’m the pilot!”

“Your name’s Pontius… you haven’t read the…” Eli didn’t bother to ask if he had read the Bible.

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“He’s handpicked.” Cone assured him.

“And we are joined by five laborers from Cone’s clan. Could you go around and say your names?”

“Hugo!” This was the person who had demanded that Center-Brace’s body be undisturbed.

“Varny!” Had the stained hair and clothing of a painter, or at least a chemical specialist.

“Splint!” Had a set of knives and a sewing kit on her vest, she looked like a medic.

“Beefcake!” Despite the dim-witted nature this name implied, Beefcake had been cracking jokes and exchanging snide comments with Splint for most of the meeting. He was also absurdly muscled.

“Dedschik!” Kicked up her metal leg.

“Ded-schick?” Eli clarified.

“Dead-Chick. She fucking refuses to die!” Beefcake explained. The people who Eli encountered on these trips fucking refused to be remotely ordinary.

“And that leaves…” Their guide picked up the slack.

“Warra, I’ve lived in this region my whole life, know the terrain by heart, I get game and some forage, and I’m on good terms with the locals.” Warra said, she was basically

reciting the terms that her and Eli had agreed on.

“Last and certainly but not least, our… security officer. This is D.Q.”

“What’s the name stand for?” Varly asked.

“Q’s for Queen.” The gunner responded.

“And the D?” Asked Cone.

“Dick.” Said Beefcake.

“You really wanna know?” She asked, with one hand reaching toward her left shirtsleeve.

“Yeah!” Almost everyone said in unison.

D.Q. Pulled up her shirt sleeve to show an image of a boar’s head with a bullet going through the top of it, made entirely out of scar tissue.

“Death, motherfuckers! I’m the Death Queen!” She proudly announced. The piece on her shoulder was made by “muzzle-art”, a Regime practice of burning tattoos onto people with the superheated business-ends of their weapons. A piece like that would have taken several hours, and at least a hundred rounds to keep the weapon hot enough to consistently give those third degree burns.

“I need one of those.” Dedschik said.

“We might need one of you on my squad.” D.Q. replied.

“She’s here, from Regime, as part of a multi-party reimbursement plan. I honestly have no idea of what actually happened, but apparently there was this… misunderstanding between Regime, Formers, and some valuable cargo. So, she’s just with us to pay some debts.” Eli explained.

“So you don’t think we’ll actually need D.Q. and her machine gun?” Hugo leaned forward to ask, like this was the most important question that had popped up so far.

“It’s an autocannon.” Said the gunner.

“I always like to have some kind of security on these expeditions— because I carry a lot of valuable equipment. I was just going to have a launcher mounted, or ask if any of you were good with a crossbow or something. D.Q.’s just an added bonus— and she’s the best mechanic on her squad.” Eli said. Hugo wasn’t fully convinced.

“What do you mean by ‘these expeditions?” Beefcake asked, with air-quotes.

“I’m getting there. First, let’s talk about our timeframe.” It was finally time to put that projector system to good use.

Eli displayed the slide showing their proposed route as a dotted line that bounced off of a solid line at the top of the paper.

“As you know, we are currently aboard the Relay Roller III. last night we launched from the Dreadnaught, Rusted Horizon, and we are currently headed north… to the Singing Road.” Eli said, gesturing to the solid line.

“Warra has identified a number of points of interest, we are currently heading towards… Triangle, right now.” Eli pointed to the triangle, which was right next to a note that read “PB Town 5”

“Meanwhile, the Rusted Horizon will continue on its course to the East.” Eli made sure to swipe his hand across the bottom of the paper so there wasn’t any confusion. Was that patronizing?

“We have a five day window before the Horizon passes, that’s our only opportunity for an extraction by a Guild vessel.”

“Extraction.” Beefcake sniggered. Was he being too serious?

“Any questions on our travel plans?” He asked.

“Will we be going to the double-X?” Hugo asked. That was the only site which was above the Singing Road. Eli paused. The entire room was still. Beefcake had even stopped leaning towards Splint and was now staring at him. Eli was almost certain that if he said that they were going to the Double-X, the crew would kill him on the spot. His next sentence would mean the difference between wrapping up the presentation, and Dedschik’s steel foot going through his skull.

“That’s why I have the telescope and the mounting. You don’t have to physically be somewhere to see what’s so interesting about it... Besides, it’s only an airplane wreck. And there’s no shortage of those.” Eli said to Hugo’s relief. But some of the tension remained.

“What are you going to do?” Beefcake asked the question of the hour.

“This is a research expedition. Research.” Eli said. It was worth a shot.

“What kind of research?” Hugo was leaning forward again.

“He needs us for the blood-sacrifice.” Beefcake quipped.

“Goddamn it, Beefcake— I was going to make that joke!” Cone said. A few people chuckled, and the good feeling held for a whole five seconds before they realized that Eli hadn’t said anything, or even defended that there wouldn’t be blood-sacrifice. Once again, he could feel Dedschik’s boot on his neck while Beefcake and… probably Hugo held him down.

“I’m going to do exactly what I’ve done for all 14 expeditions that I’ve led…” Eli said, calmly, but enthusiastic. What good was this job if he didn’t enjoy it?

“I’m going to investigate nearby points of interest, conduct interviews with witnesses and locals, and do my best to create a factual record of any phenomena that we encounter.” He said, smiling at the end.

“While doing my best not to risk the health and safety of my crew.” He added.

“Have you ever lost any of your crew to a ‘phenomena?” Varly asked. Eli would have bet one of his scotch bottles that Varly didn’t know what that word meant.

“I had two people go overboard during a storm on the Delta, we lost a woman to a rockslide around the Catskills, and six folks accidentally poisoned themselves after drinking from a bad spring.” Those could have been avoided; he couldn’t say the same for most of the deaths.

“Have you ever done an expedition like this?” Asked D.Q.

“Like ‘this?’ There’s a lot of different answers to that. Have I ever led an expedition in this region? Not quite. Most of my work is in the East, but I’ve come out to the Belt a few times before. This is the furthest North I’ve ever been. Have I ever had a team this large? Technically, no. I piggybacked on a convoy of ruin-strippers as they were heading towards a new site, and there were over seventy of them. Normally, my group is only five strong. And this is the first time I’ve worked on any kind of frost-ship… let’s see… Am I doing anything special with this expedition that I wouldn’t normally do?... I would say that I’m not usually this formal with the crew, doing introductions and everything… Then again, each assignment is different. So…” What did the crew need to hear from this? Eli took a deep breath.

“I am well aware that many of you are nervous about our destination… The Singing Road… You have a good reason to be scared. As did all of the other crews that I have worked with over the years. My expeditions go to places that are shrouded in mystery and bad omens. But to answer Varly’s earlier question— No, I have never lost a crew-member to a ‘phenomena’. The same way that…” Now he found himself staring at the vent in the back of the meeting-room.

“You know why Pontius isn’t with us right now? Because he’s our pilot— he’s trained in how to operate a vessel like this, and we all trust him to do so. We’re putting our lives in that guy’s sweaty hands.”

“And we’re doing the same with your soft ones.” Hugo answered.

“Basically. Because you know I’m a professional. Pontius pilots, Warra makes sure we don’t get lost, Cone organizes shipping, D.Q. puts holes in things, Beefcake… makes jokes, and I research ‘phenomena’. So please trust me when I tell you that I’m damn good at it, and that if you do as I say, and help me do my research, we’ll all be home and dry on the Rusted Horizon before we know it. Deal?”

Hugo, the one who had proven to be the one who needed the most convincing, leaned back and crossed his legs. He was an old and well seasoned man, and the other four crew-members would follow his lead.

“You got a deal, Formers.” He said. Was saying the name of Eli’s order supposed to be a slight or something?

D.Q. and Cone shrugged, he knew that they had been onboard since he had first talked with them. Meanwhile, Warra was staring at him from the back of the pipe as if she knew every lie that he had told during that speech. He was honestly proud of doing an oration like that. And he was also confident that Pontius would do whatever Cone said, so he wasn’t a concern.

Things were still going very well. Why should he be surprised about this? He had been planning this mission for several months now. Even though most of that time had gone to independent research, he had still been meticulous with the recruitments. This was a good group: diverse but universally suspicious of what had brought them together. And they seemed to get along well enough, except for the guide. He could have done a better job on restraining his own gallows humor, and maybe being less condescending. Then again, he still had to act like a Formers, even if it meant being a dick. He didn’t want to keep chatting around with everyone else like he was one of them. Sure, he’d make good on his promise for warm tea, and let them spin around in those chairs some more. Then he’d shoo them off and start re-reading some materials. But he was satisfied; these people would hold together until things got really intense.