“It’s impossible to buy out the small communities that form on remote worlds. They’re woven together. Back in the day we tried everything, too—we bribed the village elders with precious metals and rebu, offered their children places in our most prestigious halls of learning, and even promised them monthly reparations if they left our home so the project could go on—to no avail. Unless we can get permits to alter the weather, make it unsuitable enough that the inhabitants leave, force often remains the best—and only—solution.”

—Ildiplorus Vaxum, Chairman of the Riskta Eldonur Resource Retrieval Conglomerate, in a memo directed toward high-level executives

“Crimes?” Fell asked, scratching his head with a clawed finger. “I’m not aware of any crimes I’ve committed.”

Flabbergasted, Zaina doubled down. “You—you killed the people of this world when they didn’t want to leave! You’re forcing these people to stay here against their will—somehow. You sent marauders to kill us!”

Fell shook his head. “Geez, I sound like an awfully bad guy. You hear all that from Almada?”

Zaina glared. “No—your friends in the desert gave you up, too. Captain Gilvus—”

“That sad sack of scraps?” Fell asked with a chuckle. “You really think I’m working with him? Wow, Almada got you good.”

Zaina recoiled in shock, her arm lowering as her eyebrow raised. “Huh? But—”

“Gilvus works for Almada,” Fell said, stepping down from his war-suit. “He’s one of the Derin Bas mercenary captains that’s been trying to pick off townsfolk for—oh, two years now, at least. Him and that woman, what’s her name?”

Still staring Zaina down, Leda said in a cold voice, “Veimla Tescoll.”

“Thank you,” Fell said. “Yeah, that one. They make a nasty team. I’ll bet Almada paid Gilvus to drop my name, set you on me.”

Zaina scoffed. “With his dying breath? Yeah, I don’t think a hired gun would be that loyal.”

To her surprise, Fell smiled. “Hah! Ol’ Gilvus finally bought it, eh? Wish I could’ve pulled the microchip myself.”

“Microchip—huh?”

“Well,” Fell said, “dying breath is more of an allegory in his case, isn’t it? Gilvus is an android disguised as a cybernetic human. That half-face of his is a prosthetic. The only way to permanently kill him is to remove, destroy, or sufficiently damage his central internal processor, like any other android. Did you stab him through the head, or otherwise sufficiently damage his skull?”

Zaina turned to Xyrthe, who scowled and said, “Two hits to the chest.”

“Well, then,” Fell replied, “I hate to break it to the two of you, but our friend Gilvus is still very much alive, and he’ll likely come back as soon as he thinks you’re dead. I give him until tomorrow.”

A frown came over Zaina’s face, her heart sinking. Had Ondor lied to her—was Fell lying to her right now?

Still keeping her cipher pointed at his heart, Zaina said, “How am I supposed to know you’re telling the truth?”

“You want the truth?” Fell said. “The truth happens to be stopping by tomorrow—I can show you, if you want.”

“What—what does that even mean?”

In a deep voice, Leda said, “Almada sends raiding parties every day like clockwork. They’ll be back tomorrow, no doubt.”

“Figured they were sending special guests, on account of them not sending the bombers today,” Fell said, talking through a grin. As much as Zaina wanted to hate him, he wasn’t anything like she imagined. “Though we probably let the kids roam a little too long, you think, Leda?”

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She sighed. “Any time at all is too long.”

“Either way,” Fell said, turning back to Zaina, “I understand if you don’t trust me, given what you’ve heard. That being said, you two are a rarity amongst the past few years; first visitors in at least two who haven’t opened fire immediately. Now, I’d prefer to keep things bloodless. If you share the inclination, I’d happily to welcome you into my town—friend or foe—share a table with you, and tell you my truth. If you’d prefer blood, I can always hop back into that mark three behind me and we’ll make a real mess of things. Or we can talk, see if we can’t build a little trust.”

Zaina’s eyes fell to the cipher in her hands, still pointed at Reister Fell. Despite all her reservations she was curious—their quarry didn’t seem to be lying. Glancing aside, her mentor had her hands shoved into her pockets. With a sigh, Zaina lowered her blade. There wasn’t going to be a fight—not yet, at least. The sword dissipated, and Reister Fell grinned.

“Excellent choice,” he said. “I suppose this makes you my guests, so first and foremost, welcome to Freewater.”

Xyrthe scoffed and started walking toward the town—Zaina followed, her heart racing despite the tentative peace. Her mentor asked, “Freewater?”

“Hey now, it’s named so for a reason,” Fell said. “If you’d walk with me, I’d gladly give you a tour; or if you’d prefer to stay on the outskirts I completely understand, though that’ll make you easy targets for whatever mercenaries show up tomorrow. I’d offer you a protective detail, but we’re short-staffed for the foreseeable future.”

Leda rolled her eyes. “That’s warden-speak—means until the end of time.”

“What happened to the rest of your fighters?” Xyrthe asked.

“Never had any,” Fell replied. “At least, not here. It’s been me and Leda against everything Almada’s money can buy.”

As Zaina walked closer the people of Freewater poked their heads out from their homes. Fell turned and waved; a low, buzzing commotion filled the air as people of all shapes and sizes returned to their daily routines. They stepped from their homes and milled about.

Fell turned back to the lancers and flashed a smile. “A little warning—they’re probably going to be a bit mistrustful of outsiders. We don’t get many who aren’t trying to kill us, so there aren’t a lot of chances to work on etiquette.”

“Eh,” Xyrthe said, “etiquette isn’t exactly my strong suit, either.”

After a hearty chuckle, Fell replied, “I thought so. We might all get along perfectly well, then. All right, let me show you around.”

Without another word, Fell pivoted and walked straight toward the town’s heart. He gestured to either side and said, “We live however we can, here. Pretty much everything you see here is scavenged from old military bases across the planet. We used to have a few sand-dinghies lying around, but whatever stockpiles we had have been whittled away over the years.”

“Where do you get food—water?” Xyrthe asked.

“For food, we emptied pretty much everything in the bases—we still have enough rations to get by for the meantime. As for water, well, we’re right on top of the main reservoir for the entire planet’s supply—should still be enough for a few hundred years. Matter of fact, that’s how the town got its name; see, when the government pulled out, people stayed. Quite a few of them congregated around this tower because it houses the main pump. There are wells across the planet, of course, especially near and inside the military bases, but this here’s the holy grail.”

In a sarcastic tone, Xyrthe said, “And I’m guessing that relates to the name.”

“Correct—you’re insightful, huh? Yeah, the water had always been free for the workers, but once the Synatorium pulled out and it was free people operating it, they decided their little settlement ought to have a name. I guess they went with the whole reason they decided to live there in the first place—hence, Freewater.”

Though Zaina tried staying focused on Fell and Leda, her attention was drawn away by the townspeople. Their abject poverty was striking—most houses had little more than a bucket and strips of fabric for sleeping. Tables and chairs had long ago been turned into material for houses, along with any other type of furniture. One house had the front of a drawer—handle and all—repurposed and nailed to a wooden board, almost covering a gaping hole in its side. Any doors were grafted into the walls too, with people leaving gaps to enter and exit their homes.

Fell stopped and met her gaze, his eyes sorrowful; in a low voice, he said, “It used to be much prettier, but there’s been a lot of damage over the years. We’re used to rebuilding however we can after the raids are done for the day.”

“Doesn’t look like too much protection,” Xyrthe remarked.

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Fell said. “We repurposed as much of the pump station as possible into a bomb shelter; it was built to withstand full-scale orbital bombardment, so the townsfolk are safe in there. We’ve also installed underground shelters near each cluster of people in case they can’t make the main one in time. Those are a little less reliable, but they’re better than nothing—here’s one.”

He pointed at an open iron hatch, half-buried in the sands of a cutaway between two haphazard rows of shacks. The opening led to a stairwell which descended into a bunker underground. A light was on in the shelter’s bowels, revealing wooden crates stacked along the walls.

Fell continued, “Most of those used to be full of food, ammunition, supplies—over the years, the war’s dwindled everything down. Now each shelter’s stocked for about a day per person. Suppose we’re lucky Ondor’s pilots don’t pull overnights.”