Ain’t much I miss about town life, but sitting down to a meal with friends and family most certainly tops the list.

  It’s not about the food itself, though Aunty Ray makes a lean, mean asada muskari over the campfire. Paired with flatbread, grilled veggies, and all the fixings makes for a most sumptuous meal, one that tops anything I’ve eaten in the last few months. Not saying I couldn’t make the meal myself, but it hits different when Aunty Ray hands over a plate done up just the way I like it and tells me to eat quick because there’s more to come. Don’t much love the comments about my weight that follow after, but to be fair, I’ve been eating perpetual stew for the better part of three weeks now, and I couldn’t even be bothered to cook up some flatbread for some extra filler. Honestly, if I didn’t have the Aetheric kettle, I might’ve even stopped drinking coffee, because boiling water is just too much effort to go through even on an Aetheric stovetop, much less the wood-fired one I stopped using after learning the wonders of technological convenience.

  All in all, the simple act of friends and family showing up is enough to put a smile on my face as I settle in next to Chrissy and enjoy the food and company both. Sure is a sight for sore eyes, the Princess sitting there with her sunglasses on and taking dainty nibbles of her food while she stares headlong at Mary Ann. That’s Chrissy’s weakness though, cute and adorable things, and Sarah Jay’s younger sister checks all the boxes. Got them rosy red cheeks and milk white skin like one of them creepy porcelain figures all the older ladies love to collect. In complete contrast to her athletic amazon of an older sister mind you, whose sharp nose, high cheekbones, strong jawline, and healthy tan give her a strong and serious vibe that fits well with her high ponytail, broad shoulders, and statuesque, 6’0” height.

  They don’t look much like sisters either, as the 14-year-old Mary Ann’s got a button nose, puffy cheeks, and rounded chin, on top of standing at all of 4’10” and probably not even 90lbs soaking wet. A real dainty doll of a girl with her hair in twin tails that go down to her waist while wearing a winter dress of all things, one that’s all dark wool lined in white fur at the cuffs and skirts to make her look extra darling. Hence Chrissy’s fascination, as she wants nothing more than to head over and give the girl a cuddle, but is too shy to go over direct. To that end, I gesture at Mary Ann and glance at Sarah Jay to give her uniform and army jacket a once over. “So what happened here?” I ask, pointing between the two of them as I do. “Never seen two sisters so distinct before. You got something against fashionable dresses, Sarah Jay?”

  “You one to talk,” the tall woman retorts with a faux glare. “You wear the same outfit year-round, a duster and a Stetson over a collared button up and jeans.”

  “Duster and hat aside, that don’t sound much different from your outfits, so you ain’t one to talk,” I reply, and lo and behold, her cheeks colour to hear it, and a good bit of bitter irritation bubbles up to boot. Guess I struck a nerve, so I do an about face in hopes of getting my boot out of my mouth and continue, “Then again, that is the uniform for a reason, as you’d look right silly traipsing through the obstacle course in a fur-lined dress.”

  “Five bucks says she could still clear it faster than Ike though,” Antoni chimes in, coming in with the save as the group chortles to hear it. “How about it Ike? You game?”

  “Only if you wear the dress too,” Ike counters, without missing a beat. “You don’t have to run the obstacle course though. Wouldn’t want you breaking anything. Like a sweat.”

  “Now that’d be a sight.” Chiming in with his slow and stead drawl, Alfred belatedly adds, “Antoni breaking a sweat. As if.”

  Again the group laughs as they get to ragging on one another, exhibiting a close camaraderie which I ain’t a part of. Ain’t like I’m not welcome or kept at arm’s length or anything, but this sort of bond was forged on the training yard and battlefield both, and I done missed out on being there. Whether it be in Basic, Pleasant Dunes, or even here in New Hope when they helped fend off two Abby incursions that came out of the badlands to attack the town walls, I wasn’t present for any of it, so we don’t got that same bond. Sure, they all know I can hold my own, but now that they know more about what they doing, they’ve all naturally fallen into their roles as a unit, one that got no room for me to fit in. Not easily at least, because they still learning the ropes and have yet to figure out where I would go, and truth be told, I got no idea where I fit either.

  Shows in how quickly I upset the dynamic, bringing up the stark difference between Sarah Jay and her little sister Mary Ann. Bet you dollars to donuts the rest already knew that was a landmine of subject, but I done traipsed right in and set it off without thinking. The others all jumped in to take the spotlight off Sarah Jay, who’s recovered quick as a blink and gives her little sister a fond shoulder bump before turning to make sure little Jimmy’s alright. Kid’s barely 12 I think, and built more like Mary Ann than Sarah Jay, but he got a couple years of growth left him in yet. Part of me wants to ask if he’s fixing to join the Rangers too, because that’s just an easy subject to talk about, but now I’m worried about putting my boot in my mouth again. What if Sarah Jay don’t want little Jimmy signing on as a Ranger? Or what if he’s scared and don’t want to admit he’d rather work a regular job? I know their mama don’t like Sarah Jay being a Ranger non, seeing how the girl had to run away from home to sign on for boot camp, so who knows how the Widow Kowalski might react if her baby boy comes home spouting off about how he gonna be a gunfighting Spellslinger someday?

  It's a minor gaffe to be sure, me mentioning the difference between two sisters, but it only hammers home the point of how I missed out on the chance to be a part of this group, this or any other like it moving forward. Danny ain’t one for the wandering life, and Noora done gone and made her choice to wander away from me, so I got no real prospects for crew mates or companions in the near future, not with me being persona non-grata round these parts. Doesn’t help that the quay is stuck dead centre between New Hope and Rimepeak, both places where I ain’t exactly welcome on account of what I done, but I’d do it all again in a heartbeat so ain’t nothing to be said about it.

  Course, this ain’t proper dinner conversation, or any sort of conversation at all seeing how I’m still denying that it was me. Ain’t much of a denial since I came home from my ‘hunting trip’ having been shot thrice in the back among various other injuries, but that ain’t a crime, now is it?

  So rather than risk another social gaffe, I sit tight and keep quiet while expressing non-verbal interest in everyone’s conversation, letting me listen in on their gripes about training and their upcoming deployments. Doesn’t mean their training is over, since they still got a ways to go before meeting even the reduced standards the Rangers implemented for the First Wave of settlers on the Frontier. Tim would’ve run circles around them at the same age, and he just barely met the standards himself despite lying about his age to get deployed over in Iran. Ain’t saying this to look down on their skills though, because even I ain’t Ranger ready as I am, and I might well be further behind them when it comes to technical skills, since I only got the one designation and no means to learn the two more required of me.

  I’m a Scout, simple as that, because that’s all my daddy ever taught me. If he hadn’t died, he would’ve taught me how to Control and Disrupt, and I’m sure Marcus was fixing to teach me some stuff too. In his own time of course, because a Captain got more leeway than a Marshal, especially The Marshal who couldn’t be seen playing favourites with his protégé who had no plans on joining the Rangers. That said though, I’m not entirely sure I would’ve chosen the same roles as my daddy. See, Tina’s got her heart set on being a Vanguard, Disruptor, and Supporter, partially because she wants to follow in her daddy’s footsteps, but also because she wants to go delving with me.

  Which ain’t gonna happen soon as I’d like, but I’m still holding out hope for someday. In light of my aspirations, and the fact that I’m riding solo with only Cowie to back me up, being a Vanguard seems almost mandatory. It ain’t always about taking hits, but it’s always good to have the option, and keeping all eyes on me is something I do anyways when I’m out and about. Plus, being a Scout means you out in front of the fire-team, so learning how to fight up close and personal sounds like a good idea.

  My daddy wasn’t one for melee combat, as he was more of an agent of chaos, going in quiet and either baiting a trap for his targets to walk into, or making a whole lot of noise so they was looking everywhere except at what he didn’t want them to see. That’s what it means to be a Controller and Disrupter respectively, but those roles seem so… complex. I’m a simple man, and I like simple plans, to the point where even using Fog Cloud kinda throws me off because I’d rather see my enemies while they’re shooting at me instead of not see them and not be shot at, but have no idea what they doing.

  Sounds stupid now that I say it, but having spent so much time and focus on Divination, I’ve grown accustomed to being the guy who knows more than anyone else, and I feel like a lot of Control and Disruption Spells kinda take away from that.

  Maybe I’m wrong, but even after seeing a pro Disrupter like Tim at work in Pleasant Dunes, I got no idea how I’m supposed to accomplish that sort of work with any amount of success. As for Control, I make some use of Control Spells already, but everyone does, so tossing an Entangle or Web don’t seem all that impactful. Area denial Spells are even scarier, as I’ve already touched on with Fog Cloud, and while folks often say Sleet Storm is a powerful Third Order Conjuration Spell that can turn the tides of battle all on its own, one I’ve got access to through my daddy’s Spellbook, I’m not sure how to properly use it.

  Like, I know what the Spell does. Creates a big old ice storm to impair movement and vision, but that goes both ways. You drop it on your enemies’ heads, and they won’t be able to move quickly or see you at all, but you can’t see them either, so that sorta feels like a wash. Plus, in 6 years of riding alongside my daddy, I never saw him use the Spell even once. Then again, I never seen him use Fireball neither. Not because he couldn’t, mind you. He simply never had to. Unleashing ‘Oh Shit Spell’ like Fireball is only necessary when you get into a pinch, and my daddy was so good at his job he almost never got caught out.

  So yeah. Much as I’d love to follow in his footsteps, without any proper guidance, I’d probably do more harm than good as a Controller and Disrupter. It’s easy enough when you riding solo, because I can plop down an Entangle or Spike Growth, or raise hell whenever and wherever I please, and the only thing I gotta worry about Cowie running on in. On a fireteam with say Alfred, Antoni, Errol, and Sarah Jay? I could easily ruin their rhythm by slinging a Spell in the wrong place. Like say right in Sarah Jay’s sights as she sets up for overwatch, rendering her spot useless since her efforts could be better spent shooting moving targets as opposed to ones that already been locked down. Could also cut off Alfred and Errol’s path of retreat, as I don’t know how much room they need to maneuver or what lanes they like to run while keeping Abby’s attention on themselves up front.

  As for Antoni? I only now just learned the man wants to run as a Disrupter and Sharpshooter, with Medic as his third option because why the hell not? No idea how he means to disrupt though, because that there is a broad specialization that could be done a number of ways. Enchantment is the usual offender, using Spells like Sleep, Silvery Barbs, and Mindwhip to stop high-priority targets in their tracks, or Madness, Discord, and Glowing Coin to throw the enemy battlelines into disarray.

  Illusion is the other most common disruptor, using them to hide or misdirect, or throw out a Hypnotic Patterns to beguile can take whole groups of Abby out of the fight until the team is ready to take them on. Divide and conquer, that’s the Disrupter’s role, one that is very similar to the Controller’s with the biggest difference being execution. Problem is, a lot of those Control and Disruption Spells can be ruined by your own team, so you gotta make sure to communicate your intent so no one does something silly. For example, I could easily see myself shooting at a group of entranced Abby who already been taken care of by Antoni and snapping them out of their fugue, simply because I don’t know what tools he got in his Spellbook.

  Course, Spells ain’t the only source of disruption, as Flashbangs and Potions do the trick too, so I suppose I could consider picking up Disruption as my tertiary role. Would be a piss poor one, but still capable enough, or at least I think so. Problem is, I get the feeling I’ll soon be surpassed by this first batch of Ranger recruits, while the second batch will soon follow suit once Noora and Danny graduate come January. Got no direction to go on when it comes to roles, because I’m still trying to figure out how to do my job proper as a Scout, not to mention all my efforts spent on my Automaton hand and Invocations needed to make use of it.

  Then again, Danny ain’t had no guidance these last few years, and he’s doing great for himself. A brief conversation is all it takes to show just how far behind I really am, because half the things he mentions is stuff I ain’t ever heard about and couldn’t come up with if I had a thousand years to do it. Makes me feel right foolish it does, because even though I knew I should be strictly limiting the number of one-off Invocations I use, I’ve gone and ignored that piece of logic and made dozens of independent Invocations for every single action I need the Automaton to make.

  In fact, I ought to ideally only have two Invocations for controlling my Automaton Prosthetic. One for daily life, and one for combat, no two ways about it. How I’d go about cramming so much versatility into only two Invocations is far beyond my ken, but Danny is adamant that less is more and simplicity is key, even though don’t nothing sound simple about it.

  Also sets me straight on much of my overly-ambitious projects, like my camera Automaton idea for a forward scout. “Theoretically possible,” Danny says with a shake of his head, and I already know he about to cut me down to size. “But technically unattainable, not with what we have available now.” Tilting his head in deep thought, he adds, “Probably not even possible after the Watershed, unless the old world has made huge strides in technological research. It has to do with two things really. First, the information stored in a Recorded Video crystal is analog, and we’d have to convert it to digital in order to transfer it wireless through Aetheric waves. Even if we overlook the processing power and energy requirements to pull it off, which sounds literally impossible for an Automaton mind you, we’re talking about transferring one or two megabytes per second of data, which is a million to two million bytes.”

  Whereas my prosthetic hand chugs along when receiving Edicts larger than 10 bytes. It can still process them, it just takes a bit, which is why I been working so hard to condense my Invocations down to a single byte wherever possible. Course, that’s only because I’m sending said Edicts through the Spiritual connection I done Etched into the Automaton, which is why we need the whole Grimoire Script to begin with since sending orders through direct thoughts results in Edicts far too large for a basic Automaton to process with any sort of speed.

  “That’s a problem, but not an impossible one to overcome,” I drawl, thinking it through and coming up with a couple ways to go about making it work, starting with directly wiring an Automaton into my brain. Not a great idea, but it’s an idea, one I’m glad I kept to myself as I add, “Might well be worth trying though, given the payoff.”

  Blinking in surprise, Danny gives me a look to quietly ask if I’m serious, only to go wide-eyed when he realizes I am. “That brings me to the other thing, Howie,” he begins, taking a second to figure out how to say it. “You should only ever be sending information out to your Automaton. Never the other way around.” Then, because he knows I’m going to ask why, he explains, “The Grimoire Script is built for that very purpose. To Script Invocations that send information out as Edicts. The Automaton is built to receive those Edicts and carry them out. It is not built to send anything back, nor is the Grimoire Script equipped to receive information, much less translate it into anything your brain could understand.”

  “But that don’t mean it ain’t possible, right?” I ask. “Would need a different framework, maybe a second sort of Script, but just because it’s difficult don’t mean it’s impossible.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s safe either,” Danny begins, his eyes lighting up as he comes up with an explanation he knows I’ll understand. “You know how people struggle with parsing the information from Divination Spells they cast? Well, those Spells are designed to feed you information, albeit most are built for Abby minds and senses. That’s where most of the disconnect come from, but an Automaton? The way it processes information is a thousand times more alien than an Abby mind, and while it might not be anywhere near as complex, you never know how the human psyche will react to that sort of foreign data.”

  The last is said while giving Chrissy a sideways glance as Danny struggles to come up with the words to say what’s on his mind, but I put two and two together to figure it out for myself. The whole reason Chrissy is Aether touched is because her mind struggles to process all the information she’s taking in, not just from her bodily senses and whatnot, but from her Aetheric senses too. Whatever signals she’s picking up get translated into something her brain would understand, like how she ‘sees’ the flows of Aether and can manipulate them directly. A nifty trick that, but in gaining this Ability, which is really what it is, it’s overwritten her capacity for a lot of other, normal stuff. Like her ability to focus on a task at any given moment, or naturally show emotion on her face and in her eyes without having to work really hard at it. The brain can only do so much, and hers is working overtime to process all the Aetheric information she’s picking up, so much so that some wires done got crossed in the process and left her as she is.

  A sweetheart to be sure, but far from normal, as Chrissy is a long way from ever becoming fully independent and capable of taking care of herself.

  Which is something I accept and don’t care about one bit, because she’s my sister and I’m more than happy to help her out however I can. Thing is, I can’t help her if I come down with the same thing after accidentally overloading my brain trying to access a Recorded Video through my Automaton. And that’s probably a best-case scenario, because even though Chrissy is Aether-touched, she’s a high-functioning case compared to many others who are far more afflicted than she. Like Edward Elton, who needs two powerful Protectorate Knights around him 24/7 just in case he goes off the reservation and tries to burn a town or three for kicks. Or to avenge the injustice done to my daddy, like he said he tried to do in the letter he wrote me after my daddy’s passing. Which was a nice thought and all, but truth is, there’s a good chance Eddie just felt like burning something down, and the news about my daddy just gave him the excuse he needed.

  He's good people, Edward Elton. A little off his rocker, and prone to bouts of violence when he’s feeling blue, but he knows good and well how to turn that rage on Abby, so no harm, no foul. I should take a trip out west to see how he doing sometime, and maybe check out the deadlands while I’m at it. Not just to see the sights and shoot some Soulless Abby to find out what all the fuss is about, but also because if there’s one place this side of the Divide where Mia Pugliano can hide, it’d be close to the deadlands no two ways about it.

  It's grasping at straws, I admit, but no stone unturned and all that. Chances are she caught a ship and headed east up the Serpent Coast instead though, seeing how her trail goes dark between Meadowbrook and Nakoda. Girl was smart and didn’t try to salvage much of her Family’s criminal empire either, not after her mama was found dead in the poker room, alongside the last thug I missed out on who presumably killed her. As for Mia, she got the thug, then sold everything the Family owned off through her lawyer who went the way of the dodo soon after sending most of her estate’s holdings through a bunch of wire transfers I don’t know how to track. The Rangers couldn’t do it either, else they’d have done it already and dragged her in for questioning, seeing how she sold off a whole lot of resources no one can really account for, which is typically frowned upon by law enforcement. Not because it’s illegal, but because the Feds want their cut, and they got stiffed big by Mia Pugliano seeing how she dipped before paying any taxes.

  Typical cake-eating Fed behaviour that. Don’t give a shit about crime unless it affects their bottom line. Justice ain’t just blind, it’s greedy and corrupt to boot, and can’t no one tell me different.

  I put it all out of mind though, because ain’t nothing I can do about it in the moment. Instead, I talk shop with Danny about what we’d need to do to create two linked Automatons, one with a camera to go scouting and a second with a screen to show what it sees. In short? We’d need a lot, namely exponential progress in terms of technology on almost every front, from faster processing and more efficient power sources to better storage and wireless transfer devices. All in all? The cutting-edge technology of 1989 would have to be about 100,000 times better to do something as simple as what I laid out, which is a tall order to be sure.

  Which means I’ll have to make do with sending the Automaton out to scout and watching the recorded footage after he gets back. Could mount a crystal monitor onto the side of the wagon interior, though it’d take up a lot of room even if I kept it small as possible, since you need a whole lot of doodads behind the screen to get it working. The tiny monitor I installed into the wall of the Mueller’s workshop only had a 6-inch screen, but was built like an 8-inch cube and weighed about 10lbs easy, making it just barely portable tech. Would be so much easier if I could just read the crystal outright without any tech, like I seen Aunty Ray do so many times. That’s when it hits me, because reading Recorded Video off of a crystal means Aunty Ray is taking that information in, not sending it out, and I quietly bring it up to Danny to ask what’s what.

  “How should I know?” he replies with a shrug. “You’d have to ask her, though I’m not sure she’s got an answer that helps. The human brain is an incredibly complex organ, one we barely understand, so you’d have to ask someone who specializes in biology and arcana for any hope of coming up with an answer we could use in tech. Could be she accesses the information the same way a Progenitor would by pulling it out of an Abby’s head, or maybe she reads the stored light similar to how a blind person reads braille, only using a different set of senses she’s honed over years of practice. Could be anything and everything, but until we figure it out, it’s best not to go experimenting on your own brain.” Flashing a smile, Danny adds, “You’re crazy enough as is Howie. No need to tempt fate.”

  “You tell him Danny.” In a rare vocal outburst, Michael chimes in to offer his two cents. “Crazy enough to go hunting in the badlands solo, but now you’re bringing the whole family too?”

  He shakes his head, not in criticism, but rather awe. Course, it could easily be misconstrued as the first, which is why Gabriella scowls and gives him a whack from where she standing an arm’s length away. Guess they’re in the ‘won’t they’ portion of their rocky relationship status, as they run cold and hot. Meaning Michael is the former and Gabriella the latter, as she demonstrates by giving him a heated glare like she can’t believe he’d be so dumb as to bring something like that up.

  He ain’t bothered by it though, barely even acknowledges the hit, which just goes to show how cool he plays it. Me, I ain’t bothered neither, but I give him a shake of my head in return, mostly because I got no earthly idea how can go back and forth with Gabriella like that. “The badlands gets a bad rap, but it ain’t all that dangerous,” I say. “Especially this time of year when they all drawing down for the winter since they don’t like the snow any more than we do.” Not the Abby in the badlands at least, though you can find Abby adapted to the cold further north and east of the Divide. “That’s why they tend to attack in early Spring and late Autumn after all,” I explain, even though they probably all know it too, “They know there won’t be much biomass to harvest once the snow starts, so most them bugs go off to hibernate beneath the dirt. Saves on metabolic consumption, especially when the days are shorter with less sunlight to be had.” Meaning Abby gotta eat more, instead of just getting by with the bare minimum and photosynthesizing what they need to get by.

  Still weirds me out that Abby are pretty much sentient fungus, and doubly so to know that there are folks out there who consider mushrooms a delicacy. Ain’t no one eating Abby though, or at least not twice, because unappetizing appearance aside, there’s enough Aether and Aberrtin in Abby flesh to give anyone a full-blown case of Contagion, rotting them from the inside out so they die in what’s gotta be a bad way.

  “Somehow I still doubt it’s a walk in the park,” Michael retorts, mostly because Gabriella is still silently trying to get him to change the subject. Don’t want to get in my head, since she thinks I’m super nervous about the trip, and truth is, I am, but ain’t nothing to do but move forward from here. “Every Ranger I’ve talked to says that you step one foot wrong out there and you’re done for.”

  “They’re not entirely wrong,” I say, with a little shrug to say otherwise. “Though that’s assuming you don’t got no backup plan.” Me, I’ve got multiples, which I intend to go over with every before we sleep tonight, and again in the morning while we ride. “Still, now’s the time to go in, if there ever was one. Even if things go wrong, we’ll have a good leg up on any Abby coming up out of the ground, as it takes some doing for them to shake off their hibernations.” Wasn’t no coincidence the Marshal was out there with a stacked scouting party round the time of my birth, as they knew what they was doing. “Fact is,” I continue, mostly to brag, “Usually on these trips, I’ll scout out a burrow of sleepers on my way home, set up for a fight, then wake them on purpose just for easy money. Like shootin’ fish in a barrel really.”

  So long as you leave before more fish come a running to see what’s what and get bogged down in bodies.

  Michael gives me a look, one I’d call ‘puppy dog’ on another face, but on his it’s more ‘cunning wulf’. “Well if that’s the case, how would you feel about bringing on an extra set of hands to help out?” Shooting a smile that is both strained and unpractised, he gestures at his horse behind him and says, “I got everything I need in my saddlebags, gear, food, and ammo included.”

  Credit where it’s due, the skinny, crew cut of a Ranger recruit done outmaneuvered me perfectly, which goes to show he picked his primary designation well. A Controller through and through, with the chops to be a shot caller too, meaning he’s likely to be promoted quick so long as he lives up to his potential. It’s the same reason why I’m so leery of wanting to call myself a Controller too, or even a disrupter because while I know good and well how to shape the battlefield or cause chaos to my advantage, I’m not much of a leader and got no idea how to do either job without getting in my team’s way, or do it so deftly my enemies don’t catch on.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Any other time, I’d bring you out in a heartbeat,” I say, and to my surprise, I even mean it. “Goes for all of you really, so if you got time off in the next year or three and got a need to earn extra, you let me know and I’ll set it up. This trip though, I’ll be playin’ it super safe and avoidin’ any and all conflict, so you won’t be learnin’ or earnin’ much of anythin’ ridin’ with me.”

  Not to mention how the whole reason the family is coming out is so I can show them the ropes. Not just how to get through the badlands, but also up onto the mesa to access everything me and my daddy got squirreled away. Can’t do that second part if I bring Michael or anyone else along, because the greatest security measure up on the mesa is obscurity, meaning no one knows I keep the lion’s share of my wealth buried beneath the house I was born in.

  Also the same house my mama died in, and my daddy died at its doorstep, but I try not to remember it like that.

  Course, it’s not like I expect Michael to rob me, nor do I think Sergeant Begaye or Dixon would either, but they definitely won’t if they don’t know there’s anything to steal. Michael takes my refusal in stride though, giving me a good-natured grimace that breaks into a smile. “Had to give it a try,” he says, earning him yet another glare from Gabriella which he ignores. “Don’t think I won’t take you up on the offer though.”

  “I’m in,” Sarah Jay says, her eyes brimming with glee while Mary Ann and Jimmy go with wide-eyed apprehension. “Couldn’t pay me to keep away.”

  “I too would like to join,” Kacey says, hugging Inari tight to keep the little fox from sneaking over to my side for more carne muskari. “Though I am not sure if circumstances will allow it,” the girlie continues, her lips pursed in a sour pout as she snuggles into her familiar’s snowy white fur. “The NSDF has been struggling to maintain their foothold in the south, and there has been talk of me being stationed with a Strike Team there to support my people.”

  Totally tracks with what little I know about the Nipponese Self-Defense Force, who might well be the only non-specialized military force on the Frontier. The Ranger, Pathfinders, Protectorate, and all them other forces, they’re the best of the best, whereas the NSDF is just the generic, catch-all term for Nippon’s highly restricted and barebones military force, on account of how they done surrendered to the allies after the Second World War. That’s why Kacey’s training with the Rangers, because of said alliance allowing her to do so, but far as I know, there’s a limited number of spots each year or something.

  Making a face, Sarah Jay glances at her siblings and heaves a little sigh. “You right. I’ll probably be gone too, seein’ how I’m earmarked for deployment in Meadowbrook to train with Captain Hayes.” Or whoever Tim pawns the job off onto more like, though it makes total sense. Sarah Jay’s got the makings of a top tier Marksman, and Tim’s the best in the trade. He’s also a Disrupter and Supporter, as shown by his work down in the mines under Pleasant Dunes, but I think Sarah Jay’s ordered mindset means she’s better suited for Controller, since most Disrupters tend to be a little more chaotic in nature seeing how the role requires a more ‘out of the box’ type of thinking. Not sure what else she’s picked as her designation, but she wouldn’t sound so resigned about Meadowbrook if she didn’t know something I didn’t.

  Not that she don’t like the idea of Mentoring under Tim. Her resignation stems from having to leave her siblings behind, since there ain’t no way her mousey mama will ever leave New Hope. Hear tell she was too scared to even leave with the convoys during the mess with the Mindspire, where she spent most her days confined inside the house and only let Mary Ann and Jimmy go to school when one of their teachers dropped by to see what’s what. All of which I only learned about after the fact, as I was too caught up in my own business to notice anything about Sarah Jay’s.

  The other recruits all chime in with where they expect to get sent off to, though Michael don’t weigh in. Makes me think he’s expecting to stay right here in New Hope, though Gabriella claims she’s destined for Deadlock Bay on account of her polyglot ways. Girl’s got an ear for languages and a voice for accents, able to speak in a dozen different tongues while sounding like a native, despite speaking English with a clear Irish lilt most of the time.

  As for Tina, she’s 100% staying here in New Hope, as Innates do best when learning from their parents. Course, she’ll also have a Mentor in Catfish Kairi, which would be great if the dumpy woman didn’t have it out for Aunty Ray, on account of their similar skillsets and vastly different callsigns. Wasn’t Aunty Ray’s fault either, as she didn’t come up with it, though whoever did has never owned up to it since Kairi would undoubtedly make their life miserable in ways only a professional Disruptor could. Imagine if everything you ever ate tasted like soap, then understand that it could also taste a thousand times worse, and you’ll have the general gist of what someone like Catfish Kairi could do if she wasn’t willing to invest anything into the effort outside of a simple Cantrip.

  Meaning she can and will do a whole lot worse so long as she got the proper motivation.

  Course, all the talk gets me wondering who I would’ve been paired with if I’d’ve been a Ranger. My daddy is the obvious choice of course, because the only way I would’ve stayed in Basic was if he was still alive, but there are other options too. Maybe Madigan Harper, who’s been stuck in the deadlands for most of the year trying to confirm or deny the existence of a Synapse Soulless. Or Ekundayo, the West African Ranger who broke his leg early this year and came back on duty just in time to go investigate the whole kerfuffle up in Brightpick. We ain’t all that familiar, but I know he’s one of the best trackers this side of the Divide when it comes to tracking people, which is why I paid a trader to deliver the Ranger two dozen bottles of my finest mead for Christmas. I covered my tracks plenty while scuffling with them mafiosos, but I doubt I covered them well enough for someone like Ekundayo to come up completely empty after scouring all them streets.

  Then there’s Drex Durden and his Corridor Companions, though I doubt I could’ve ever gotten a place with them. That there is an elite, multi-national Joint Task Force set-up to clear the Divide of Proggies, or at least kill enough to make overland travel a viable option. They been at it for years now, and seemingly no closer to success than when they started, because all the oldest, strongest Proggies are dug in deep, while the ones closest to the surface tend to be young, fresh, and easily replaced, comparatively speaking.

  There’s also the most obvious answer, one I been avoiding for more reasons than one. Pairing me with the Marshal just makes perfect sense, because even though he ain’t a Scout, he been my Mentor since I was 11, and knows enough about every School of Magic to teach me everything I need before sending me out to gain experience on my own. Ain’t ever gonna happen though, because I long since set myself apart from that path, so no sense wondering about ‘what if’.

  Which is difficult to do when all my friends and peers are going on about their future prospects, while I’m sitting here trying to figure out where I’m supposed to go from here. Forget learning a secondary or tertiary role; I’ll be lucky to qualify as a dedicated Scout by end of year, because even though I got a good leg up on all them other recruits, they’ll surpass me soon enough with all the field training they gonna get. As for me? Hand issues aside, I’m still struggling to master the Spells I already know, much less put together a proper Spell loadout or learn two more Third Order Divination Spell to earn my copper Specialist Pin.

  A crystal ball, that’s the symbol for a Diviner’s badge, one the Marshal done already bought for me, and one I don’t think I’ll ever see for more reasons than one.

  Really wish there were a cure for regret so I could stop feeling this way whenever I’m reminded of everything I missed out on because I froze up and didn’t yell out a warning to tell my daddy about the strangers lying in wait up top the mesa.

  My bleak future and the glaring reminders of the life I missed out on aside, it’s good to see and chat with everyone, though they don’t stay too late. Get’s mighty cold out here at night, so they call it early and head back for town before dark, leaving me, Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray to move on to serious business. Starts with a quick inventory to make sure they brung everything they’ll need for the next two plus weeks, but I keep them distracted by handing out their Christmas gifts early.

  “Might as well open them now, because it looks like you need them,” I say, grinning at Aunty Ray who’s got both arms wrapped around Chrissy to keep warm while we stood away from the fire. Their jackets are plenty warm enough to keep them alive, but that ain’t the same as being comfortable, so the hooded fur cloaks I had custom made are a most welcome addition to their kit. When they’re done with their oohs and aahs, I let them know the best part, that the cloaks are Imbued with Endure Elements, which protects against heat and cold, but not Fire or Frost damage. It’s the same Imbuement I got on my duster, which is why I can wear it in summer or winter without having to switch out the inner lining.

  “Oh Howie, you shouldn’t have,” Aunty Ray exclaims, unable to tear her eyes off of her daughters who’ve thrown their cloaks and are now posing for pictures, ones she happily snaps off before even trying on her cloak. “They look absolutely darling, but the Imbuements are a bit much don’t you think? Especially since no one wears furs in the summer, so that’s just a waste.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, waving it off, mostly because the cloaks were all paid for using ill-gotten gains. I kept all the Aberrtin, gemstones, and precious metals I procured in Brightpick, but not only did I pick up a fair bit of cash along the way, there was also a good amount of value left over in the quay. Their boats for starters, which I sold since they didn’t suit my needs, and a whole bunch of tools and appliances too seeing how they were just sitting idle in empty homes. I donated a good portion of the proceeds to the orphanages up in Brightpick, but I still had plenty left over burning a hole in my pocket. Couldn’t just put in the bank, since that’d mean I’d have to declare it as income and pay taxes on it, so I spent it all right quick on stuff I could use.

  Like my boat, and these cloaks, which cost a pretty penny to be sure. Thing is, while an article of clothing Imbued with Endure Elements does a good job of keeping you comfortable regardless of the outside temperature, you still need decent coverage. You can’t wear an Imbued t-shirt out into a snowstorm, since the clothes can’t keep you from losing heat in areas you aren’t covered, hence the full-length cloak. Means they can wrap themselves fully in it to stay warm and toasty, instead of being warm enough without ever actually making it to comfortable, like how it is with me and my duster.

  Shows in how I still gotta take the duster off when I’m working in the summer. Sure, it’ll ward off the heat from the sun beating down on me well enough, but won’t stop me from baking underneath it while I toil away since it can’t do nothing about my body heat.

  The cloaks are all grey and white wulf fur, as I done had to shoot a fair few of the beast that come down from the mountains these last couple months. Still had to buy a couple pelts from Clayton’s people to get enough material for three oversized cloaks, but they gave me a good price I couldn’t have gotten anywhere else. I’m really glad Noora convinced me to go with the cloaks, because if I hadn’t, they’d all be in for a miserable two weeks out on the road, since all the layers in the world can’t ward off winter’s chill without a fire to help it out.

  And where we’re going, there will be no fires, not until we’re within a day’s travel of the Highway again.

  No idea what I’m gonna do with Noora’s gift though. Got her a whole ward cracking kit, since she always seemed fascinated by the subject after I told her how I got my guns and gear out of town. It’s even got an eyepiece that helps you find weak points and fluctuating fields in the ward if it’s something smaller and more compact than what they have up on the walls, as well as a set of disruptor cables and an Etchbreaker chisel for those Wards you can’t get around and gotta go through instead.

  Suppose I’ll give it to her anyways. I don’t need two sets of tools, and she’ll probably get into more trouble without it given her penchant for seeing locked doors as a challenge rather than anything else.

  While I’m musing on my regrets once more, Aunty Ray tells me to get in close with Chrissy and Tina for a family picture, and I do my best to look happy. Course, taking Photographs can’t ever be simple with this family, as they all insist on getting the lighting just right, so we break out the Dancing Lights and wrangle a 3-point light set up between the four of us. Between all the vague instructions of where to move my light and growing impatience to get on with it, I fail to keep track of our surroundings and almost draw when I hear someone coming out of the forest behind me. “Oi, easy there mate!” the bearded, one-eyed man in full military uniform says, showing his hands while giving me a neutral look that somehow makes me feel sheepish for not being vigilant and almost drawing on him at the same time. “What, you don’t recognize your old Unca Rigsby anymore?”

  Squealing in delight, Tina runs over to greet the scarred, stocky veteran with a hug. “Uncle Rigsby! What brings you here?”

  “Business of a holy nature,” Uncle Rigsby replies. “As always, I’m ‘fraid. Though the Lord rested on the seventh day, my work is never done. I have finished up for the night though, and figured I’d drop by the house to bum a meal, only to find out you were all leaving town.” Pulling back to give Tina a good look, he shakes his head and says, “Struth Tina, you’re the spittin’ image of yer mum when we first met 18 years back. Uncanny is what that is.” Turning to Chrissy who’s wandered over to greet him, his grizzled expression breaks out into a soft grin as she reaches up to give his beard a light tug before wrapping him in a big bear hug. “Chrissy. Nice sunnies you got there. You been good lately?”

  Chrissy nods and they have a little chat about innocuous nothings before he turns to Aunty Ray and doffs his cap. “Rachel.”

  “James,” Aunty Ray replies, all warmth and smiles as she waves him over, already throwing leftovers onto a skillet so she can make him something to eat. “Take a load off while I fix you a plate. Howie, get him a drink will you?”

  I do as I’m told, and reluctantly approach with a bottle of fizz, but not because I’m not willing to share. No, I just know I’m about to be lectured for the next hour at least, because Knight Captain of the Templars James Rigsby didn’t earn the Callsign Preacher just because he religious. He don’t start in on it right away though, just accepts the drink and catches up with Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray while he eats, which doesn’t take long seeing how he a military man who scarfs down his food without so much as tasting it. “Aces as always, love,” he says, giving Aunty Ray a big smile in thanks. “Hate to eat and run, but I’m pressed for time seeing how the gates about to be closing, so I’ll need to steal Howie away and bash his ears a bit.”

  Aunty Ray got no complaints, and Tina has no sympathy as Uncle Rigsby leads me away to the edge of the clearing. “Heard you put in a hard bit of yakka this summer,” he begins soon as we’re out of earshot, not mincing his words one bit. Course it been a while since we talked, and it’s a bit of a struggle parsing his accent and slang to glean that he’s talking about my bloody work up in Brightpick. “Big bad Firstborn hunting down the Mafia like they animals and leaving a trail of burnt and mutilated bodies behind him, you fuckin’ clown.”

  “Allegedly,” I say, because that’s the default line, followed by a flat, “Me, I was out huntin’ when it all went down.”

  “Don’t give me that.” Glaring up a storm to show he ain’t pleased to be lied to, I give as good as I get without backing down. At first glance, this Aussie Captain of the Knights Templar don’t look all that impressive. He a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man who stands at about 5’6”, though he seemed much taller in memory. It’s been years since we seen each other though, because while he’s been a good friend of the family, much like the Marshal, the mission has always come first for James Rigsby. As a young boy, he watched his country and continent go up in flames and grew up floating between refugee camps and aid programs before joining the Church as a soldier of God. Means he’s a big believer in all that fire and brimstone stuff you read in the bible, and sees Aberrations as the minions of the Antichrist here to pave the way for his ascent. As such, Proggies and Aberration fall under the purview of God’s punishment to humanity, a sign that the final judgement is upon us. These are the end times, and humanity must unite to struggle against it so that we might hold out long enough for Christ’s return and be found worthy of paradise to come.

  Or something along those lines. Even in the Knights Templar, the Captain’s views are seen as extreme, but he does good work killing Abby, so most simply nod along and try not to get in his way.

  Seeing the complete and utter lack of remorse etched across my stubborn face, Uncle Rigsby heaves a sigh and deflates. “Fine,” he growls, shaking his head like he can’t be bothered to argue the facts. “Have it your way, ya big galah. Lemme ask you something then, and I want you to look me in the eye when you answer. Don’t lie to me again either Howie, because neither of us will like what I’ll be forced to do.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, he squares up and meets my gaze with one, unblinking eye. “The Cultists. Tell me you didn’t know. Tell me the boy I baptized out in the badlands all those years ago hasn’t sold his soul to the Devil.”

  Amusing as the accusation might be, it breaks my heart to see how much it hurts the stoic Knight Captain to even consider, his one-good eye brimming with tears as he readies for the cold, hard truth and struggles to maintain his calm. “I didn’t know nothin’ about no cultists,” I say. “I was just as surprised as anyone else to learn they were cultists, and by the time I knew, the goose done already been cooked. All the paperwork with the quay was filled and filed too, so I just accepted it as is, because there wasn’t nowhere else for me to go.”

  Which is the most ironic thing really. The ‘good’ folks of New Hope cast me out, but the ‘evil’ cultists made sure I’d be provided for before heading out on their merry way.

  Taking a long moment to study me in silence, the Knight Captain eventually decides I’m telling the truth. Which I am, though I admit I’ve left out a couple facts here and there, like how I done let slip about the Rangers moving on the Proggie and gave Mr. Mueller and his lot the opportunity to take it down themselves. “Thank the Lord,” Uncle Rigsby exclaims, pulling me in for a hug. “Sorry I even had to ask Howie, but what was I supposed to think? You sneak into town, off the Don’s son, and stage it to look like it was done by a rival gang. Then old Don brings his cutters down to the docks ready to ship out and throw down, only he’s bushwacked by heretical cultists who’ve raised their own bleedin’ Deviant, in a town where you now live and own all the property.”

  “Allegedly,” I say again, because that is the default line.

  “Right. Allegedly,” the Knight Captain says, chuckling as he pulls back from the hug. He’s not one to care much about the laws of man, so he don’t care nothing for justice and due process and all that. He’d much rather I repent for my sins and dedicate my life towards God, which is why he almost predictably moves on to say, “You should give it all up. The land that is. Donate it to charity as a show of good faith. Keep your own personal claim if you want, though you better off moving elsewhere. What I’m saying though is that those benefits are all fruit of the poison tree, and showing that you will not profit from it would go a long way to proving all them nonces and nancies you aren’t a heretic or cultist sympathizer.”

  “…Is that a big issue?” I ask, because it really hasn’t come up in any talks with my lawyer. I mean, people look at me funny and call me names, but I get that sorta thing everywhere I go outside the big towns.

  “There’s been talk of excommunication,” the Knight Captain admits, which is news to me, but he waves it all off like it’s nothing. “Not much, but still talk. I believe you though Howie, so I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it from happening if it even gets that far.” Which is nice and all, but not exactly something I’m all that concerned with, since it’s not like they’ll lock me out of town if I’m excommunicated. Only church, which would suck, but I’m pretty sure the Padre would be willing to look the other way when I come by the cemetery to visit, so no big deal really. Can’t exactly say that to the Knight Captain though, so I keep quiet as he looks me up and down, the relief draining away to be left with sorrow and commiseration. “I’m sorry about your girlie,” he says, and I can’t look him in the eye no more. “Was a bad way, and I understand your anger and why you did what you did, but I still have to say it. You shouldn’t have done it. Allegedly,” he adds, after the fact, only to frown when he realizes that doesn’t work, and scoff because he can’t be bothered tiptoeing around the language like that.

  “Ain’t never done nothing that wasn’t justified,” I say, and he winces to hear it, because for all my dancing around the language, I ain’t come out and denied it either, not really. “My conscience is clean.”

  “Is it?” Uncle Rigsby asks. “It shouldn’t be. Was a dark thing you done up there, but that’s for you and the Lord to sort out. What I will say though is this. If you had gone up there and done cactus old mate Don alongside a couple dozen of his best mates, then I’d give ye an atta boy and buy you a frothy. Wasn’t what you did though, was it? You didn’t just kill gangsters Howie. You kicked off a war, so if you didn’t know them cultists were setting up to kill the Don and his mates, then it means you didn’t care about the casualties that war would’ve caused.”

  I didn’t, because you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. Besides, I didn’t start the war. They started one with me, and I ended it, but I don’t say as much. Instead, I look Uncle Rigsby in the eye and say, “If I’d done as you said and gone at them head on, I wouldn’t have survived long enough to drink that frothy.”

  Which I think is a beer. Not sure really.

  “Fair dinkum,” he says, which makes me wonder if all Aussie slang is just nonsense. “There’s more to it though. You terrorized a whole town for an entire night, set fire to 15 buildings and killed Lord knows how many people, because the fires didn’t just destroy the corpses, they destroyed all the records in town too.”

  In my defense, I did that because the town clerk’s office was in cahoots with the Mafia, all too happy to stamp whatever documents the family put in front of them without a care to the crimes they was committing. Didn’t kill no one burning the place down, just wanted to send a message to any collaborators is all, though I never really consider the records kept there and what effect that’d have on the town. My bad on that one, but as far as mistakes go, I’d say it’s fairly innocuous.

  “Don’t think the kills were clean just because they were gangsters either,” Uncle Rigsby continues, picking up a good head of steam as he goes. “In every organization, criminal or legit, you got maybe ten percent of people in the inner circle. Those are your mafiosos, the made men and capos and what not, unrepentant killers and criminals who I won’t weep for. Then you got another twenty percent looking to get in good with the ten, eager accomplices who’ll do anything to get ahead. Don’t make them fair game, but I won’t press the issue either because I get where you were coming from.” Giving me the best glare that he’s got, the Knight Captain’s one eye glows with righteous indignation as he pokes me hard in the chest and growls, “But that other seventy percent? They’re just blokes doin’ what it takes to get by. Criminals sure, but small time, folks who’re hard pressed so they press others to relieve their own burdens. They steal, they intimidate, they gamble, and whore, but does that make them worthy of death? No, Howie, it don’t, but you sent them to meet the Lord without remorse. Those men could have been redeemed, would have lent aid to the cause regardless of their sins, for we are faced with the end times now and will need soldiers of God to combat the great enemy, to hold out until our Lord and saviour returns to judge the living and the dead.”

  See, this is why I could never go all in as a Catholic. Who wants to hear all that doom and gloom and believe that our lives are fated to be miserable as all hell? That redemption will only come if we follow all the right rules and do all the right things, like be charitable, turn the other cheek, and fight against the armies of Satan? I’ll do that last bit for free, make up for all the supposed soldiers I killed along the way too. I said it before and I’ll say it again. I didn’t start the fight. I tried to back down, to give them an out, to let them do as they pleased so long as they left me be, but they didn’t now did they?

  That’s not what I say though, because to do so might well be an admission of guilt. “Allegedly,” I say, soundings like a broken record, but it still has to be said. “I allegedly sent them to meet the Lord without any remorse.”

  Shaking his head when he sees my unrepentant stance, Uncle Rigsby heaves another long, tired sigh. He’s not much older than Aunty Ray, but he looks far older than his years, with the faintest hints of grey along the roots of his deep, chestnut beard and more lines than I can count around his eyes. “I see you’re unconvinced, and still stubborn as a mule. Got it in your head that you done no wrong, but there’s red in your ledger and blackness in your heart Howie. How you think the Marshal feels yeah? Seeing his own apprentice scalping kids in the street and leaving tortured corpses all around a terrorized town? Or Art, knowing the Acid he sells you was put to that sort of work? Or your dad, Howie, what about him? Man must be spinning in his grave right now, seeing you throw away years of goodwill in a time when a whole bunch of murderous fellas who look just like you are making trouble for the Feds down south?”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with them Qinks and you fucking know it!” I snarl, latching on to the one thing I know I can refute. Gotta remind myself of two facts here. First off, Uncle Rigsby ain’t wrong in the slightest, as he’s always been a straight shooter wont to say what’s on his mind. He’s also a friend of the family, and one of the rare few who openly criticized the Federal Government for disavowing my daddy, so he’s earned the right to do so. Lastly, I need to remember that if I take a swing at him, he ain’t above taking a swing at me, he can hit a whole lot harder than I can.

  Still want to though, even if it wouldn’t be worth, and I stand there in silence because I don’t trust myself to speak. Unperturbed by my clenched jaw or murderous glare, Uncle Rigsby shakes his head and says, “Look at you. A fiery bugger ain’t ya? Don’t take much to rile you up. Got a short fuse Howie, one I hear has brought you no small amounts of trouble already, so you’d think a smart kid like you would’ve learned to keep a lid on it.”

  Glancing knowingly at my prosthetic hand, his gaze softens a bit as he heaves a long sigh and knuckles my shoulder, which is about the closest thing to an apology as I’ll ever get. “Shouldn’t of said it like that, but you should still consider it, mate. Keeping a lid on your temper and all that. It’s not so bad up here, but folks working on the new towns are right leery of the Qin, and that sort of bad blood can spread like wildfire. Remember what your dad taught you, about how careful you gotta be, because being in the right won’t matter as much if those in the wrong got you outnumbered. Be more like him yeah? Calm, cool, and collected. Can’t say I ever heard him raise his voice in anger, as he’d get cold and whisper quiet when the rage got to him.”

  It’s not all said for my benefit, because Uncle Rigsby misses my daddy too. Probably because he was the only one with the patience to sit through all his impromptu sermons and even asked genuine questions, because my daddy had a real thirst for knowledge. “Well, he always said I took after my mama in temperament,” I say, shrugging because I don’t know what else to say. I got a temper, but I got it under control. Most of the time.

  “Yeah, she sounded like a right firebrand, she did.” We share a small smile, because neither one of us wants to be angry at the other, but there ain’t no middle ground to be had, so we both take a figurative step back as he heaves a sigh and adds, “I’ll only say one more thing. I hear you’re rolling around with Marcus’ hand cannons now? The Judges?” I nod, and move to show him, but he waves me off and says, “Good. Now I’m gonna tell you what I told him when he was all fire and brimstone just like you are now, and I want you to think about it every time you look at those guns.” Drawing up to his full height, he hits me with his Preacher gaze and says, “It’s not your place to judge, Howie. You remember that.”

  “Never do,” I say with a shrug. “Judge that is. I leave that to the big guy upstairs.” Giving him a look every bit as serious as his, I add, “All I ever done is set the appointment.”

  Takes him a second, but Uncle Rigsby’s stoney expression breaks out into a big belly laugh as he claps me on the shoulder. “Crickey,” he exclaims, shaking his head with a smile. “Chills mate. Literal chills. Thought for a moment I’d gone back in time and was talking to Ming again.” His smile slowly fades into a look of deep concern, because he knows how everyone saw my daddy, and is worried I don’t got what it takes to be like him. “Just don’t go on any killing sprees for the next little while yeah? Justified or otherwise. And think on what I said.” he adds, patting my shoulder a few more times before smacking my Stetson down over my eyes. “About giving up the land. Or at the very least, donate the proceeds and make a big stink about it. And if things get rough up here, or folks try to lynch you one too many times, we could always use a man like you down by Redeemer’s Keep. Contract work, not holy orders, though I could put a good in a good word for you if you want in. Won’t pay as much as either way, but the Feds got deeper pockets than the church does, so it is what it is.”

  “Might take you up on it come Spring,” I say soon as I can see again, because I done already considered it. “Can’t take no Fed contracts hauling freight on my way down, but I could still make a pretty penny if I pick the right cargo to buy and sell to the new towns going up. Got any hot tips?”

  “Foodstuffs and materials,” he replies, which is about low profit as you can get, but he’s never been one to care about the little luxuries in life. Waving at my prosthetic, he adds, “Suppose you could bring some tech their way now that you an Artificer, as that’s rare enough to moo. Good on you mate, learning a trade. Scored a raw deal on the hand, but you came out alright.” He nods, as if it’s only expected, like I done been keeping up with brushing my teeth or something basic as that. Speaks volumes to his confidence in my that he barely even mentions it, though it might well be because he doesn’t consider it a big deal. Pretty sure he doesn’t, as he lost himself an eye and don’t mind it much, and even jokes about it more often than not when it comes to shooting.

  A marksman, James Rigsby is not, but you don’t really need to aim much when you become a bonafide connoisseur of all things Fire.

  Not just Fireball mind you. Fire Blast. Flamethrower. Flaming Cloud. Scorching Beam. Even his Spell-Like Ability Turn Aberration sets them greenies aflame, instead of melting them into primordial goo like most others do. Captain Jung is the better Evoker, and the Marshal is a virtuoso of Flamethrower, but when it comes to the power of pure, unbridled Fire, there ain’t no one better to call than Knight Captain James Rigsby, the Preacher of the Flames.

  Having said his piece and learned that I ain’t no heretic, Uncle Rigsby pulls his officer’s jacket tight around him and looks ready to head on in for the night, as his military uniform and jacket ain’t Imbued with no Endure Elements, leaving him at the mercy of the cold. Pausing to say goodbye, he gives me a look that is both proud and worried before asking, “You sure about this? Bringing Rachel and the girls out to the me-sa? Heard two Sergeants offered to help escort you, but if you want, I could come with too. Keep them in line as it were and make sure no funny business goes down.”

  Which goes to show my big secret stash up on the mesa ain’t as big a secret as I thought. Or maybe Uncle Rigsby has heard some rumours and just wants to make sure no one tries to verify them as fact. Either way, I ain’t all that concerned, because Sergeant Dixon and Sergeant Begaye are good enough sorts, but the less who know for sure, the better. “Nah,” I say, with a shake of my head. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re good. Really. It’ll be like a walk in the park.” One infested with bug-like Ferals, devoid of any foodstuffs, and lacking in potable water, but still a walk in the park. “And no offense or nothin’, Uncle Rigsby,” I add, giving him a doubtful look since I know how he gets when he spots Abby. “But I’m pretty sure bringin’ you along would put us all in more danger, not less. I don’t intend to blow up every nest of sleepin’ Abby I come across, and you’ll get surly if you walk past one without lightin’ it up.”

  “Fair dinkum,” he says again, punctuating it with a light punch to the shoulder. “Well, would love to stay, but there’s a cold frothy and a warm seat waiting for me in town, so I’ll see you when I see you, yeah? Give the girls my love then, and bring them home in one piece.”

  And with that, the Knight Captain ambles on back towards town, ready to get back to the mission. This here was personal business, of which he has precious little time for, so the fact that he even came out speaks volumes to how much we mean to him. He ain’t one for visits and family meals; he’s just happy knowing we’re alive and well, and will continue to fight the good fight so we can stay that way. Leaves me with plenty to think about though. Truth is, I thought he’d go at me harder, or sell me on the Knights Templar or something, because h used to press me to sign on for holy orders every chance he got. Or say I was a shoe in, now that I think about it, instead of offering to put in a good word.

  Because he doesn’t think I’d make the cut, that I’m good or worthy enough to take up the cause. That realization stings a fair bit, especially since it ties in to everything else. Might not even be a conscious decision, but while Uncle Rigsby is still concerned about my eternal soul and general well-being, my unwillingness to repent has made him chalk me up as a lost cause on the soldier of God front. In light of that news, I almost wish he’d come back and lecture me some more, but I suppose that’s just one more person I’ve let down, on top of my daddy, Marcus, and the Marshal.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, even though Uncle Rigsby is long gone and can’t hear me. Sucks being a disappointment, but at least I didn’t get him killed, so there’s that at least. Turning around to head back to the wagon, I set my mind on doing the same for Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy, because despite all my reassurances, I’m nervous as all heck about this trip, so much so that I’m regretting my decision not to invite the sergeants and Uncle Rigsby along.

  No, I can do this. Or at the very least, if it gets too tough, I can always turns us around and get everyone home safe and sound. Fact is, the smaller the group, the easier it is to get through the badlands unnoticed. With 3 more riders, that’s 6 extra horses, and maybe a second wagon for all their food, ammo, and gear, almost doubling our current footprint and thereby doubling the risk. No, best for us to go at it alone and squeak on by nice and quiet, get in and get out without so much as kicking over a rock.

  Done it dozens of times before, and this time won’t be no different, so all I gotta do is trust in myself and make no mistakes. Easy peasy, right?