“We learned from some greggas that there was a cache of it in an old power station,” he voice became distant as he recalled it, “close to the ice line.”

He looked back at her, sadness in his eyes, mouth twisted, lips pursed.

“Small risk, great reward,” he told her, voice bitter with the memory.

“So Kyso told me – but there was no reward, was there?”

He shrugged.

“Not that we ever found,” he told her glumly. “Things fell apart almost as soon as we got to the site.”

“Where did it start?” What mattered, what ever mattered, was always in the details.

It had started about an eighteen and a seventeen ago, or around for local anna. There had been joy, doubt, debates, arguments. Kyso and Kaelin had been the greatest proponents of the journey; Kyso, because the power would allow them to expand their recycling and rejuvenation of their equipment, Kaelin wanted to steal the trilium out from under the constructs’ noses.

Althea saw the change in his expression when he mentioned Kaelin, even if he did avoid calling her by name. Wistful – then threatened – looking at her, looking away.

Could he possibly be comparing her to his lost wife?

Althea dismissed the thought, concentrated on his story, trying to picture in her mind what had happened. She asked basic questions: “What kind of equipment did you take? What weapons? What precautions?”

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He followed through. They took the best they had: weapons, scanners, armor, vehicles. Had ended up leaving most of it there; the Macro’s corpore had it all now.

They planned the route through the ice carefully; tried to pick the best time of the annum, the safest route, the most secret one. There were, likely still would be now, many places to hide, to watch. Why be so cautious, even on the ice? Out there, there could be anyone, anything watching: other scavengers, animals, avalanches, new crevasses in the ice, or even the weather – all could kill.

Despite all those dangers, he had still gone to the Portal Station – for her. He shrugged again. Told her he had to do it, had to know. She nodded, asked him to continue.

They carefully made their way to the base of the ice; the line between the human world and the one dominated by the Macro. Had he seen them before? He had – but only in the distance, from the safety of the ice – constructs, some as large as the old cities, floating in the sky.

“Did you see any evidence of construct activity?”

Not when they arrived, the tundra was clear of even any signs or tracks. The ruins were seemingly empty of heat sources, energy sources.

“Where was the trilium supposed to be?”

The cache was supposed to be in sub–basements, well below the ground, in the secure facility. The greggas had picked up the readings, picked up documentation. It had looked real – even to Kyso – and he had been in the region of the place, once, before the end.

“What did you do then?”

They had done what they planned. Set out a perimeter; install scanning equipment that would let them know when the constructs would be coming – from thirteens away. Even the automatic weapon defenses were set up. He reminded Althea that they had been very well prepared. Most importantly, they would have a corridor to retreat to the ice line, if things started to go bad.

“When was that?”

The second day after everything was set up. They had completely committed themselves, found the entrances, began to break in. She could see the horror and grief growing in his voice, in his eyes, on face. She kept pressing, not giving him a break, forcing him to summon the awful memories back – hoping the answers she uncovered would be worth the pain she was re-awakening.