Early mornings have always been a favourite of mine, and only more so since I started dating Josie and Noora.

  It’s a calm, quiet time illuminated in a dim, reddish glow by what little light is able to sneak past the curtain edges. Not enough to read by, but enough to drink in the sights here in this cozy, intimate room. Plenty of character has been crammed into every square inch over the years, with paintings, posters, and various knickknacks placed all about. Enough to notice the second bed and desk were put in after the fact, but that ain’t what my eyes are drawn to as I blink away the fog of fatigue and fixate on the sleeping faces of my two lady loves. Josie’s a heavy sleeper and always nestles right up against me with her cheek resting on my left shoulder, while Noora likes her space and sleeps a little further away, curled up in a crescent moon so her torso is some distance away while her head is still touching my shoulder.

  It's a touching and tender moment, one I commit to memory in its entirety. Both gals are beauties beyond compare, and it’s difficult to say which one is more beautiful. Noora’s sleek jawline and angular cheekbones gives her an air of sharp confidence that pairs well with her sultry and provocative attitude. Her daring personality shows in the striking accents of purple makeup that contrasts so well with her caramel skin and heavy eyeliner that frames her dazzling hazel eyes so well that you’re naturally drawn to them. Add to this her asymmetrical hairstyle of choice which appears wild and chaotic at first glance, but is carefully styled so that her long, dark tresses are always draped over her right shoulder and cascade down in gorgeous, slightly crimped waves of silken hair. Side swept is the word for it, and she puts a lot of work into make it look natural which makes the outcome that much more spectacular to see.

  Her makeup, hairstyle, teasing smiles, and sultry looks, that’s Noora’s armour which she dons each and every day. A necessity for her continued survival, or so she believes because she knows what happens to girls when their men get bored of them. They get traded away to the likes of Gilbert Haywards and his Stagecoach Killers, or worse, let to fend for themselves once they’re all used up and thrown away. Me, I walk around town with four guns on my belt and enough ammo in my pouches to shoot 200 rounds easy. Not because I think I’ll need them, but because I don’t feel safe without it. That’s how she feels about her looks, and she’s done a damn fine job of weaponizing them.

  Which makes the contrast that much starker in the here and now. Without her makeup, meticulously done hair, and provocative outfits, Noora is still gorgeous as can be, but more so like the girl she is rather than the vixen she pretends to be. There’s a slackness to her features that you don’t see any other time, a guarded stillness to her that makes her seem so soft, frail, and vulnerable in the morning light. That distance between us? She don’t fall asleep that way. No, when I close my eyes and drift off to lalaland, her body is pressed right up against me same as Josie’s, only to slowly slide back and slip away over the course of the night. Only her lower body for the most part though, because she’s still got her hand resting on my arm and her head leaning in close. A sight which makes me want to hold her close and never let go, and it’s got nothing to do with our lack of clothes. No, I just want to keep her warm and safe, to shelter her from the horrors of the Frontier which she knows all too well and promise that ain’t nothing bad ever gonna happen to her again.

  A promise I can’t keep, because that ain’t something I can control. Even if Noora were willing to stay by my side from now until death do us part, there’s no telling what the Frontier might throw at us later on down the line.

  Josie’s beauty is completely different in nature. Where Noora’s looks are eye-catching and provocative, with as much to do with her behaviour and personality as it does with her natural appearance, Josie’s charms are more subtle and refined. Soft and serene, that’s the best way to describe her, favouring simple, understated hairstyles like buns and braids accentuated by big ribbons that lend an air of innocence and compassion. Her warm, brown eyes, round, rosy cheeks, cute button nose, and big pouty lips all come together in a portrait that don’t demand your attention the way Noora’s features do, but captures it all the same once you take notice. It’s a quiet and calming beauty, one accentuated by her subtle choice in tones for most of her makeup save for her peach-pink lipstick that pairs so well with her warm, honey skin. Asleep and without makeup, Josie is no less beautiful and perhaps even more alluring, so warm and affectionate even in her sleep as she clutches me close with one arm draped across my chest and the other tucked in between the two of us.

  One sleek, striking, and provocative, the other soft, serene, and calming, and me with no earthly idea how I found myself in bed with the both of them. Well, I know how, but still don’t understand what it is they see in me. Truth is, I figured Noora would’ve started to distance herself already, as she’s clearly avoiding the issues of Josie’s pregnancy and our long-term future together as this household of three. Today marks six weeks since Aunt Flow should’ve visited Josie, which is when Noora herself said I could start worrying. Not that I haven’t been, worrying that is, only I kept it to myself for the most part save to offer hints and suggestions that maybe we ought to seek advice from someone who’s been through all this before. Namely Aunty Ray, who I’m thinking won’t be none too pleased to hear she’s about to be a grandmother at the tender age of 37. Woman can’t stand when people call her Ma’am, so I can only imagine how she gonna feel about ‘grandma’, and she never been shy about warning me and Tina about the struggles of young parenthood.

  Not that she ever complained about any of us. Just never shied away from sharing how difficult it was raising three kids mostly by her lonesome while my daddy and Uncle Raleigh were out gallivanting about the Frontier on Ranger business. That’s why I ain’t never had any qualms about helping out, no matter what some older folk might say about certain jobs being women’s work. Not just the men either, but even Luisa gave me a dirty look when I tried to help with the dishes, though for reasons besides gender. The way I see it? Only woman’s work around is giving birth and breastfeeding, for the sole reason that men literally can’t do it. Everything else is fair game for either gender, so why shouldn’t men take on more of a role on the home front?

  To hear Aunty Ray tell it, my daddy never shied away from dirty diapers, and he wasn’t one to expect someone else to wash his dishes or launder his clothes. One of my earliest memories is playing by the lakeshore and helping him with the laundry, scrubbing away with the washboard and blowing bubbles with the sudsy water while laughing all the while. That’s the sort of thing I’m looking forward to the most, showing my kid the ropes and smiling as he or she makes a game of it all. Or introducing them to their lifelong friend in the form of one of Cowie’s babies, and holding both in my arms while they fall asleep all cuddled together.

  Can’t hardly wait, if I’m being honest. There’s a lot left unknown, but I know I’m gonna love my baby, and be the best daddy anyone could ever be. Soon as I meet up with Mr. Mueller, I’ll put in an order for bricks and make arrangements to bring them home by boat soon as the Proggie and Mindspire get dealt with, though I’m still waiting to hear back from the people I got in touch with about designing a home to last the ages. One for me, Josie, and our baby, and possibly Noora too if she’s willing to stick it out. Ain’t fair to either one of them, I know that much, but even the thought of losing one or the other leaves me feeling short of breath. So much so that it takes a minute to notice the grand sweeping change in the background, one only notably by its complete and utter absence.

  Namely that there isn’t a piercing, drilling droning threatening to bore its way in through one ear and bore a tunnel through my brain to the other side.

  “Wake up,” I say, all too excited to be subtle and pleasant about it. “Josie. Noora. Wake up.” The former groans and doubles down on sleep, closing her eyes tight and wrapping her arms and legs around me in an effort to distract, but Noora pops her head right up in alarm. Only for a second before lending aid to Josie’s efforts, but not even the promise of a hot and heavy morning spent under the sheets is enough to dissuade me from my course. “The Rangers,” I say, feebly fending off their roaming hands. “They done it. They brought down the Mindspire!”

  Premature though my declaration might be, my confidence proves well placed once we make it to the thoroughfare, where we spot the convoy of soggy, battle-worn Rangers heading back into town with their hard-won gains. Not just the stars of the show, namely The Marshal, Drex Durden, and his Corridor Companions, but the rest of the supporting cast too. Captain Jung is there, looking none the worse for wear save for her damp, close cropped hair, already changed and presentable despite having no doubt played a huge role in the fight herself. Sergeant Begaye is right there with her, looking mighty pleased as he puffs smoke from his empty pipe while still wearing his rubberized wet suit, one that looks all lumpy and tarred rather than smooth and sleek like the ones I seen in them Illusion shows. Uncle Art is there too with a team of medicos and nurses, looking all gruff and annoyed with his giant, 6’2 paunchy frame atop the sweet, doddering, and frankly far too small roan mare he favours, but the fact that he’s plodding along with the rest of the group means that the op must have gone well.

  Or so disastrously tragic that there were no injured, only deaths, except the mood ain’t right for that.

  There are plenty of other faces I recognize and names to go along with them. Armando Fraga, the Hispanic hippie who smokes too much wacky tobacky and can melt into a cloud of dense smoke at a moments notice. Zeke Fowler, the only Evoker I know who prefers to get up close and personal so he can unleash a massive nova of the Elemental variety which’ll render all his foes to ash or shattered ice while washing over his allies without harm. Kairi Hamilton, who I always thought of as a dumpy and unattractive Aunty Ray, seeing how the squat and burly woman is also an Enchantress and Illusionist who fills much the same role. Granted, Kairi don’t much like the comparison, and I can understand why, seeing how Aunty Ray got herself the Callsign ‘Siren’, while Kairi’s is ‘Catfish’. She don’t like me much either, seeing how I once gave voice to the comparison, then asked what her Callsign meant.

  I was younger and dumber back then, believe it or not, though in my defense, how was I supposed to know it was a sore spot?

  There are plenty of familiar Rangers, too many to list, but I ain’t all that friendly with most. Not anymore at least, since they all made themselves scarce after High Command done my daddy dirty. Even those who kept in touch have distanced themselves after what happened with Wayne and Vanguard National. Me, I don’t let it bother me much, least not most of the time, because fair weather friends ain’t no real friends at all. So what if they work so hard at ignoring me that it’s obvious I’m being snubbed? Or worse, scowl when they see the Marshal stop for a smile and say he wants a word later on when he’s free. Hear a few grumbles too, mostly coming from Rangers shooting dark looks my way with Wayne’s name on their lips, because in their eyes, once a Ranger, always a Ranger, even the crooked, dirty, low-down rotten ones.

  Unless you a foreigner of course. Then you fair game I suppose.

  In their eyes, it wasn’t my place to put Wayne down, a conclusion they’ve collectively arrived at despite the official story and lack of evidence otherwise. Though I’ve yet to hear anyone accuse me of murdering the crooked Lieutenant outright, most hold me responsible for his death all the same. Shouldn’t have rocked the boat, or forced his hand like I did. Instead, I should’ve kept my head down and let them take care of things in house. Ain’t logical even in the least, especially given the official and unofficial stories of what went down, that Wayne was dirty, got in too deep with Vanguard National, and tried to leave me holding the bag which cost me a hand. Though no one is sure how much havoc I wrought after the fact, and the general populace believes the two Rangers who died did all the heavy lifting, anyone who knows me and my record is all but certain I put Ronald Jackson down, and might well have cost two Rangers their lives in the process.

  Well jokes on them. I didn’t cost Wayne and Conner their lives. They forfeited them when they turned against me, and anyone who takes issue with that can join them, Ranger or otherwise.

  Even Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye are colder these days, meeting my eyes and my smile with little more than a nod, but I clap for them all the same. Ain’t just me either, because even though it’s still early yet, there enough guards on duty and early risers who’ve turned out to welcome our heroes home. And heroes they are, because they done just fought a battle underwater, where Aetherarms and standard tactics are all utterly useless. A gruelling task no doubt, one that will make headlines for weeks no doubt, with even juicer stories shared at the bar or around campfires later on down the line, ones I’ll have to hear second hand since I’m mostly persona non grata around Rangers these days.

  Which stings, I realize once I got time for the feelings to settle in. The frosty atmosphere don’t bother me much, but the fact that I’m here on the outside looking in hurts me more than I thought it would. Doubly so when I spot Tina, Sarah Jay, and all them other boots trailing in after the Rangers, no doubt having served as support and logistics for this momentous occasion. Didn’t even know Tina was out, as I stopped in last night to say hi to Aunty Ray and Chrissy before booking it over to meet up with Noora and Josie. Might’ve known something was up if I stuck it out long enough to ask what Tina was on about. She’s always been terrible at hiding things from her mama, and Aunty Ray is equally bad at hiding her concerns from me. Thinking back on it now, I should’ve seen the nervous energy all about her as she fussed with my hat and collar after greeting me with a hug, then did the same for Elodie before rushing off to make the girl a snack to keep her hands busy instead of wringing them all about.

  Though tired from a long night’s work, Tina brightens up to see me and waves all too cheerily, and I wave back with a big, genuine smile etched across my face. I can be happy for her and sad for myself at the same time, so no sense letting her see how down and out this has got me. Or Errol for that matter, who gets all sour when I smile and wave at him too, as well as Sarah Jay who’s proud as a peach and grinning from ear to ear beside him. Scowling Kacey, big Alfred, crazy Antoni, brainy Saheed, stoic Michael, and more, all the boots who took part also got the right to be proud, because they done played a part in ridding us of what might well be the deadliest menace we’ve faced in the last decade or so. Between the Mindspire’s Madness and the constant Abby raids, the death toll was fast approaching a thousand souls. That means we lost 1 in 10 people over the last 6 weeks, all spread out across the areas surrounding Last Chance Lake, a number that don’t sound all that bad on paper but is nightmarish to live through in practice. Add in the fact that more than half the population of New Hope left to ride this out in safer pastures, and I’d reckon we lost closer to 1 in 7 or 1 in 6 when it comes to people who stuck around.

  Like Josie’s parents, who we visit soon as the Ranger procession is finished making their way back into town. Watching her kneel in front of the grave with Noora and share the good news, I can’t help but feel extra small for being so petty and small minded. I can’t even let myself be happy about all this, because I’m too conflicted about being left out. Wasn’t like the boots got to see any action, as they was likely there to help with cleanup more than anything else. Even then, they get to say they had a hand in all this, whereas I’m nothing but a bystander who learned about it after the fact.

  Meaning I done missed out on the chance to fix the one blemish in my daddy’s legacy, namely the Proggie hiding under Last Chance Lake. I didn’t even know the Rangers were moving on it last night. This is a far cry from where I thought I’d be, leading the charge as the Firstborn, now ain’t it? Forget the tip of the spear, I ain’t even the haft, handle, or butt. Nah, I’m just a townie now, one who’s still crippled at that, so why should I expect anything different?

  Didn’t even get a look at the goods the Rangers done dredged up from the lake. Not just Abby corpses laden with Cores and Aberrtin, or crystallized Aether hoarded by the Proggie to fuel its creations, but Magical Materials as well, stuff harvested in and around the Proggie’s well hidden and long-time nest. The very nature of Progenitors leads most arcanists and physicists to believe that they live with one foot in both worlds, straddling the divide between reality and the Immaterium and never wholly outside of either. That’s how they’re able to take ambient Aether from the metaphysical world overlapping our physical world and crystallize it, giving form to the raw and wild energies of the chaotic and ever changing Immaterium so that it can exist in the here and now.

  A process which oftentimes wreaks havoc on the area around the Proggie, and sometimes leads to new and interesting changes in the physical world. Constant exposure to the Immaterium and newly crystallized Aether has given rise to all manner of unique magical plants and minerals, the stuff which legends are made of. Literally. The Qin Immortal Monarch reportedly had a mask which enabled him to confer with the Heavens and see the past and future, though I’ve always taken that story with a mountain of salt. There are plenty of other objects of power that have been proven real though, such as the Rose of Versailles, a gorgeous flower carved out of scintillating metals which emanates an aura of majesty and poise. That’s all the French will admit it does, though there are rumours of powerful, mind-altering Enchantments woven into the metallic, multi-hued rose, including a Dominate Person Spell which the Prussians used as an excuse to tear up the Treaty of Versailles signed after the First World War and kickstart the Second.

  Excalibur of the British Isles. The Nipponese Blade of Amaterasu. The Bharathi Veena of Sawaswati. The Staff and Amulet of Ra. All Artifacts crafted from unique materials found inside Proggie nests, to say nothing of the weaker, more widespread Artifacts so commonly seen in the Old World. Like golems for example, magically animated constructs capable of following simple commands and possibly even independent thought, but you can’t craft one without a Nucleus. What that is, I’ve no earthly idea, save to say that it’s something only found in Proggie Nests, and not all Proggie nests either. The older the nest, the more powerful the materials, and while Golem Nuclei aren’t super duper rare, they’re rare enough that most will never see more than a dozen golems in one place throughout their entire lifetime, whereas even Israel and Bohemia, two old world Nations famed for their golem creation process, can’t field more than a thousand each.

  Which would’ve been a big thing before Aetherarms were a thing, but even the sturdiest golem will fall before massed fire eventually.

  What I’m getting at is the fact that a Proggie nest is a treasure trove of riches, even if you ignore the hoard of crystal Aether and Abby Corpses you can grab on your way in and out. Then there’s the Proggie’s corpse too, which can be used to craft a Condenser to crystallize Aether for us, and is also chock full of Aberrtin to harvest. That’s why I got paid so much for helping out in Pleasant Dunes, and why it hurt so much when the Federal Government labelled my daddy as an auxiliary after his death, taking away all the good he did for nothing but base Ranger pay. If he was an auxiliary, then he would’ve been one of the richest men this side of the Divide, because he would’ve been owed a piece of every Proggie and nest he helped kill and clear, which is a whole lot of nests.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Time was I dreamed of putting together my own crew to go delving together, to hunt Proggies and make ourselves richer than sin. Those dreams are behind me now though, and not just because I lost a hand. Got Marcus killed my first time around, and that wasn’t even a proper assault against a dug in Proggie. No, it was a hit and run, a smash and grab, killing a baby Proggie in transit and getting gone before it knew it been got, but I couldn’t even do that right. Trying a full on delve with a team I put together? That’d be suicide, I see this now, and more to the point, I see that the Rangers got no reason to train me up if they gotta pay for my services after the fact.

  I think Uncle Teddy knew as much too, but wanted to believe otherwise. There’s no doubt in my mind that he would’ve fought tooth and nail to secure me every opportunity to learn had I not lost a hand, but I’m thinking he would’ve lost hard. It’s one thing to march into battle against Abby and outlaws, but another altogether to go up against the behemoth bureaucracy of the United Federation of American States. Ain’t a fight you can win even if you got Excalibur in one hand and Amaterasu in the other, because when all is said and done, the pen is far mightier than the sword.

  Thought I put to rest those childish dreams, but seeing Tina and the boots take another step forward to leave me further behind in their dust has got me feeling all sorts of sour. So much so that I can’t even be happy for Josie who’s bawling her eyes out in relief now that she knows there ain’t gonna be another night of Madness thrust upon us. “The Mindspire is gone now,” she says, sobbing as she talks to her dearly departed parents while clutching Noora’s hand. “So I’ll be safe and sound. You don’t have to worry about us anymore, especially with Howie here looking after us.” Turning to meet my eyes with her teary gaze, Josie sniffles and looks more beautiful than ever thanks to the raw and genuine emotions pouring out of her limpid brown eyes, so full of love and dedication they make me feel about two feet tall for feeling the same way about her and Noora both, instead of just Josie alone. “Which brings me to my other good news.” Holding up her free hand to beckon me over, she intertwines her fingers with mine as I take a knee beside her without ever taking our eyes off of each other. “I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant, so I’ll be a mama myself soon enough.”

  There’s a quiver in her voice that gives away her concerns, and she’s fighting to hold back even more tears, but she puts on a brave smile and soldiers through it. Didn’t think I could love her any more than I already did, but this cements it. I’ll fight for her, die for her, work myself to the bone to see her happy and fed, her and our child too, who’s growing in her belly, because that’s all I can offer them besides my undying love and affection. “She won’t do it alone either,” I say, holding her hand oh so tight while bringing her fingers to my lips as I kneel there beside her. “I’ll be there with her every step of the way and do everything in my power to make sure she don’t want for nothin’.” Much as I want to propose here and now, a cemetery ain’t exactly the right location, nor is this a good time. Plus, I don’t even got the ring yet, since I only ordered it last week and still need to go pick it up. Got a second for Noora too, though I’m not sure if she wants it, not if it means sealing her fate as the ‘other woman’ for the rest of her life.

  That said, I want Josie to know I’m here for her, so I do my best to convey as much. Turning to the gravestones, I bow my head and say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, and for mistreating your precious daughters so. I ain’t proud of how I feel about the both of them, but I can’t change it either. All I can do is promise to do my very best to make sure they both happy and cared for. Words don’t mean much I know, so I’ll spend the rest of my life striving to show that I mean what I say, to you and both your daughters here.”

  I meet Josie’s eyes, then Noora’s, and try not to cringe when I see how panicked the latter is. So I silently add to my statement and promise to let Noora make her own decisions, to not pressure her to stay no matter how much I want her to and let her go without anger or resentment if that’s what she chooses in the end. I would love to convey as much in a look, but it’s complicated, and far as I can tell, Noora sees the writing on the wall too. She’s just living in the moment until she can’t anymore. Josie don’t see it though, thinks we’ll all be together forever, so me and Noora keep quiet and support her for as long as we can.

  Forget the Firstborn and forget the Rangers. This right here? This is my future, me, Josie, and baby make three, with room for Noora too if she wants in. That’s all it really takes, a single thought, and all of a sudden, I ain’t so sour about losing out on the Rangers anymore. Let them have their glory and battles. I’ll go full merc if I have to, or even take up an honourable trade if need be. Work to live rather than live to work, because even if I can’t tame the wild Frontier, I can make our little slice of it safe enough for my family. A massive safe room, that’s what our new house needs, one big enough to comfortably hold 7 at a minimum, though I’d be happier if it fit 10. I mean, who says me and Josie gotta stop at 1 kid? And maybe Noora has a change of heart and decides she wants a husband and family too, so I gotta make sure there’s room for her too. Ah right, I’ll need to fit Cowie down there as well, and I guess his cow gals and the horses too. Feels bad to leave the wallies and kiccaws out, but I gotta draw the line somewhere, and they sealed their own fates when they refused to let me hug and cuddle them like the cows.

  “So,” I begin, once we’re done with the graveside conversation and headed back into the church. “Don’t suppose you’d be open to talking to Aunty Ray now, would you?”

  All delivered in a quiet whisper while glancing in all directions at once, because Aunty Ray is a tricksy woman who always shows up when least expected. Equally paranoid of being overheard, Josie leans in and wipes her tears before whispering, “Maybe… we wait a little longer?” Seeing me purse my lips, she quickly adds, “Just another week and a bit, after the Fourth of July okay? So we can be absolutely sure.”

  There’s more to it, because I can tell she herself don’t know how to feel about it, as she’s scared and excited both. Understandable, because even though I was already born when my daddy was my age, I been told that’s not exactly normal in ‘modern’ society. Then there’s the fact that Josie’s even younger than my mama was at the same stage of pregnancy, so she’s right to be nervous. Doubly so given how she’s a tiny gal, one curved in all the right places but no taller than 5’5 and about as skinny as I am. There’s also a lot we both don’t know about pregnancy, so I’m right eager to ask, though I ain’t one to ever worry about what other people say. Whole town been talking in whispers about me for years now, and that’ll only get worse once the news breaks that Josie’s carrying my baby, especially if I’ve yet to propose too.

  So I mark that date in mind and start making plans to make it an unforgettable day. Shouldn’t be too hard, as a week and change is plenty of time for all the townies to make it back and plan a big, 4th of July shindig on the Tuesday after next. Folks round these parts always go all out for Independence day, which might well be the most festive holiday of the year. I heard through the grapevine that the Rangers intend to have a ceremony too, as this coming Monday marks the start of the boots’ final week in Basic, and some will be graduating to fresh Ranger recruits the Sunday after, which is the 2nd. That’s a big step up, and I know a least a half dozen who’ve already signed on, including Tina, Errol, and Sarah Jay. What’s more, Josie will be graduating from school come Friday, as part of the first real graduating class if we’re being honest. Me and Chrissy never went to school, while Tina cut out early for Basic. Danny and Marijke dropped out years ago to work full time, and most other kids born in 1990 were folded in with the kids born in ‘91 because there weren’t enough of the former for a full class. We only got 7 here in New Hope, and I already covered what school was like for 5, though I suppose I ought to find out what happened to the other two.

  I’m sure Aunty Ray knows. Josie probably does too, as she’s a social butterfly who’s tied in to the pulse of the town, though I think being my girl has lost her a lot of friends. Used to be a whole gaggle of girls hanging around her most of the time, but now that I think about it, I only seen Josie going around with Noora lately. My fault no doubt, so I silently apologize and let Josie have her way without argument. I do make a bit of a fuss to be sure she’s eating right and getting enough exercise and training in, because I doubt she’ll have much time to go down to the shooting range once she’s a few months pregnant. “Just remember,” I add, still whispering as we sit down for breakfast at the church dining table. “Money ain’t much of an issue, so don’t worry about trying to scrimp and save. Can’t happen next week, as I still got 50 hours to finish up, but week after that we’ll head to the bank and get your name added to my account.”

  Josie tries to be modest and argue the fact, only I ain’t having none of it. Can’t have my future wife coming to me with hat in hand every time she needs money for groceries, and truth is, if I can make up for my lost hand, I might be out of reach for days, maybe weeks at a time while I figure things out and build our nest egg a little bigger so I can put off getting a ‘real’ job as long as possible. In an ideal world? I work up a solution to make up for my missing hand round about the same time the baby gets here, then spend my days looking after the little one and learning the ins and outs of whatever solution I’ve arrived at. Don’t matter if it’s a Wildshaped hand, an improved Mage Hand Spell, an automaton prosthetic, or something else entirely. Just having it won’t solve all my issues immediately, as there will be some growing pains to work out in the process.

  So assuming I have a working solution within the next year, that gives me 3-5 more to hammer out all the kinks and get back on top of my game. By then, the baby will be old enough to travel with mommy and me, and maybe aunty Noora too, and we’ll head out as a family to see the Frontier. A safer and more civilized Frontier, hopefully, what with the influx of more settlers after the Second Wave and all the fancy tech and gadgets that come with. An automobile alone would make our trip to the ocean that much safer, and faster too. I hear them vehicles can go a hundred kilometres an hour easy on paved road, which would cut our travel time down from 15 days of hard riding to maybe 8-10 hours of driving depending on terrain and road coverage.

  Yeah, the Frontier gonna get a whole lot smaller in the next decade or so, but also grow a lot larger as we really connect with the rest of the continent, and maybe even other continents across the oceans. We live in amazing times, and I can’t wait to see it all with my wife and kid. Or wives and kids, as it were, though I might be getting ahead of myself once again.

  It’s such a simple shift in perspective, one that’s got me both relaxed and anxious at the same time. On the one hand, I ain’t so pressed about getting back into form again, because I ain’t in no rush to get out on the battlefield again. I got more pressing matters to concern myself with, like making sure the mother of my child is safe and healthy so she gives birth to a hale and hearty baby. Or putting a roof over their heads, which has me itching to find a Radio so I can reach out directly to home designers now that the Mindspire ain’t blocking things no more. The sooner I got the plans, the sooner I can break ground, and I’m ready and raring to go now that we’re all but sure there’s a bun in Josie’s oven. The good news is that I’ve had plenty of practice digging foundations and laying brick, so I’m betting I can build our future home in record time. Could even spend a little more and hire on a few hands to help, but there’s something about that which don’t sit right with me. I want the home my kids grow up in to be built by my own two hands, so my kids can take pride in what their daddy done the same way I take pride in my daddy’s workmanship, and Uncle Raleigh’s too.

  God, I wish they were around to meet my kid. I bet my daddy would be an amazing grandaddy. Spoil the kid rotten no doubt, bringing ‘em out for candy and ice cream almost every other night. And Uncle Raleigh? He loved kids, and always had time for a game of peek-a-boo or just make some silly faces with every kid he saw. Marcus would’ve dropped everything to come by and meet them, then stuffed my Freeze-box full of ready to cook meals to make sure they ate right, then put me through cooking boot camp to get me up to snuff for the rest of their lives.

  I miss them all so much, but I still got good people around me. Not just Aunty Ray, but Tina and Chrissy too, who I bet will make for amazing babysitters. Chrissy especially, as I seen her rock a baby wally to sleep and just sit there for hours until it woke again so she could bottle feed it again. Poor thing was rejected by her mama and wasn’t no other wallies pregnant at the time, so it was touch and go for a few days until we managed to trick the mama wally into taking her joey back, but there wouldn’t have been no joey to save if not for Chrissy’s dedication. There’s also Uncle Teddy of course, who drops by the church soon after for that word he wanted to share, and I pry myself away from Josie long enough to see what this is all about. “Congrats on the successful op,” I say by way of greeting, double-timing it alongside him to keep up with his long-legged stride as he leads us out front of the church for a talk. “Can’t wait to hear all about it, but I don’t suppose you here to spill the tea?”

  “Afraid not,” he says with a smile and shake of his head, though there’s a melancholic air about him as he studies me close. Takes me a moment to realize why, and it hits me hard when I do, because Uncle Teddy’s feeling down and out for the same reasons I was. He wanted me to be there too, seeing first-hand how the Rangers operate on a larger scale, as my daddy often worked alone or with whoever was available. Least, that’s how it was whenever he brought me along, as he never brought me along to any delves.

  So I share how I’m feeling too, though I can’t say why I’m feeling this way for another two weeks yet. “I’ve made my peace with it,” I say, giving him a smile that ain’t at all forced. Ain’t all that cheery either, because truth is, even now, I’d still rather be a Ranger, because ain’t no job that can offer my family safety and security like a Ranger Scout. Long as I don’t die that is, though even then, Josie would be given a widow’s pension and wouldn’t have to worry about thugs or outlaws here in New Hope. “I ain’t ever gonna be a Ranger, Uncle Teddy. Ain’t no changing the facts, so might as well accept it. I have.”

  Though still saddened to hear it, Uncle Teddy brightens to see my cavalier attitude. “There’s a Qin idiom your father often shared in moments like these.” His smile brightens just a bit as his slate grey eyes focus on the memory. “There is no cure for regret. Better to focus on what we can change, rather than what we cannot.”

  A little peace offering to make up for how we left things off last week, but far as I’m concerned, it’s all water under the bridge. We just gotta agree to disagree and never talk about it again, simple is as simple does. I let the moment linger a little longer, which only makes it hurt all the more when I remember my own regrets, and how I failed to warn my daddy and save his life. “So what’s this about then?” I ask, as we take a seat on the bench out front, the same one he found me scrubbing away at Josie’s embroidered kerchief after the Madness hit. “I ain’t in trouble, am I?”

  “No.” Giving me a practiced, neutral look, he asks, “Why do you ask?”

  Because Mr. Mueller signed off on my last 50 hours of work before I even showed up last Monday, and before that I was averaging about 6 hours of actual work every day as opposed to 10. “Rarely does anything good come up when someone says they want to talk,” I retort, flashing a grin to show I don’t actually mean it.

  “You aren’t wrong.” Stifling a sigh, Uncle Teddy smooths his pants and rests both palms on his knees before taking a deep breath. “Your source,” he begins, still being circumspect about it even though I’m pretty sure he’s figured out that Carter’s it. “The one who directed you to the tunnels leading to the Progenitor’s lair? Would it be possible to put me in contact with them?”

  “Depends,” I reply. “If it’s Uncle Teddy asking, then sure, no problem. If it’s the Marshal asking though, then I gotta say that it depends on why you’re asking.” Because it’s one thing to introduce Carter to Uncle Teddy, and whole different kettle of fish if the Marshal wants a word. Uncle Teddy can afford to look the other way with regards to certain things, like letting a number of powerful Shapers and Callers or whatever walk through his town unsupervised. The Marshal though? While I know Carter, Miss Amelie, and Elodie are good people, the Marshal can’t afford to let sleeping dogs lie. His mission is to safeguard the people of New Hope, not just from Abby and outlaws, but other threats too, and unlicensed Magi represent an unknown threat he’d have no choice but to act on.

  Wouldn’t be anything drastic as arresting and imprisoning Carter and his people. We ain’t Prussia in World War Two. Or, if I’m being honest and feel like upsetting any Americans in ear shot, we ain’t America in that same time period neither. There were a lot of Prussians, Nipponese, communists, and unlicensed Magi incarcerated in American camps during those times, often for no reason at all besides nationality or political views. When it came to the unlicensed Spellslingers, they got it the worst, especially Innates who were seen as an almost inhuman threat thanks to Nazi populist theories about eugenics and the impure blood of natural born Spellcasters. They hated Innates, and truth be told, they weren’t a popular group to begin with, and that hasn’t changed much in the decades since.

  “Nothing too serious,” Uncle Teddy says, after a long pause to think his answer through. Mostly because I wouldn’t be so cagey if there wasn’t good reason, which is pretty much a confirmation of whatever it is he suspects. “I just want to ask about the surrounding areas and if there were any other tunnel exits or Aberration movements they’ve noticed in their time here.”

  I think about it real hard, because even though I trust Uncle Teddy, I also respect Carter’s desire for privacy, so it don’t feel right to betray his trust. “Would it be possible to just give me a list of questions?” I ask. “Could get you answers in a jiffy.”

  Uncle Teddy doesn’t answer right away, and I let him consider all the angles. Course, I also use this time to try and figure out what he’s after, because I can’t think of any reason why he’d want to ask about Abby movements. Assuming that’s really what this is all about, and he ain’t trying to trick me into revealing my source, then there’s only one reason he’d want to know, one I don’t much like to consider. “The op,” I begin, struggling to come up with a tactful way to frame my question. “It was a success, right?”

  Uncle Teddy don’t shift a muscle, but the air around him grows hard as steel. “We took down the Mindspire,” he begins, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Harvested the nest too, one the Progenitor has been using for more than a decade it seems.” Which means they scored big, because even though there’s no rhyme or reason to what sort of Magical Materials you might find in a Proggie’s nest, there’s a qualitative leap in whatever you do find once a nest ages beyond 10 years. That’s a full decade of exposure to Aether and the Immaterium, time enough to grow something powerful indeed, but even Uncle Teddy don’t know what his harvest might yield because he ain’t no Artisan, Arcana Tech, Artificer, or Alchemist.

  Hear tell it takes a lot of trial and effort to figure out what works best with Magical Materials, and given the unique circumstances of their creation, you can’t really bank on getting any more once you’ve cleared out the Proggie and its nest. I hear Diviners are often hired to cast Identify and figure out the properties of Magical Materials, but I also hear that it’s all guesswork since it’s all about comparing and contrasting with other materials you’ve Identified, similar to how the Appraisal Cantrip works. Or Rangefinder, Analyze Object, and so many other Divination Spells. It doesn’t tell you anything in so many words, just lets you evaluate the object and material with a different set of senses that you gotta train from the ground up.

  Either way, that sort of thing is beyond my pay grade, and even my daddy didn’t know much about it. Hearing Uncle Teddy’s answer is enough to confirm my suspicions though, and I give a little hiss of frustration. “But no Proggie?”

  Uncle Teddy don’t answer, not directly, and lets the twinkle in his eye confirm it. Pleased to see I’ve still got a sharp mind, and as a reward, he fills me in on the details. “Found signs of a conflict,” he says with a grimace, and my eyes go wide to hear it. “Someone hit the nest before we did, but far as we could tell, took nothing away. The Aberrations were all behaving normally with no indication of their Progenitor’s death, and we tracked its movements down a tunnel that had recently been caved in. By the Progenitor itself, it would appear, and Drex says it would’ve happened within the last week. That’s where we lost the trail, and we have got nothing else to go on besides looking for other entrances that feed into its tunnel system.”

  I don’t say nothing, because you never know who might wander over and hear something they ain’t supposed to, but I put the pieces together in my head. Guess word got out of the Proggie’s location, and someone tried to steal it out from under the Rangers. Looks like they failed though, seeing how the nest was still unlooted, but their attack scared the Proggie into abandoning it’s nest and the Mindspire both to get gone before round two. That’s gotta be frustrating for the Rangers, because this Proggie is a tricksy one, which is why my daddy could never track it. Even the famed Drex Durden is calling it quits after a few hours of looking, which oddly enough leaves me feeling smug and proud.

  Being an understanding sort, the Marshal writes me a list of questions to bring to my source, but unfortunately, Carter don’t got many answers. I of course let him know what’s what and that the Marshal’s probably wise to his ways, but the Spirit Caller don’t seem all that bothered and lets me bring what little information he’s got back right quick. Probably figures the Marshal’s got his number regardless, so he writes out his answers in neat and orderly military shorthand, which goes to show I had his number when I pegged him for military training. Miss Amelie adds a few more things, and after a few rounds of going back and forth between the Marshal and Carter, I’ve pieced together enough to figure out the general gist of the operation.

  The Rangers had a long, hard fight taking the tunnel, as there were plenty of never-before-seen Abby all spawned just for defense and dug in tight. With Drex Durden’s Corridor Companions leading the charge though, victory was inevitable, only for the Rangers to come out into the underground cavern to find nest and Mindspire both abandoned save for some drones and Abby left to guard it. Which is rare, as Proggies ain’t one to cut and run without bringing along their cache of Aether, Magical Materials, and army of Abby soldiers. While exploring the mostly empty cavern, they found 9 more tunnels leading out of the cavern, including one that looked far more recent than the rest, which was the one that done been caved in. I can tell the Marshal was hoping Carter could lend a hand exploring those tunnels, as he’s got some inkling about what they can do, but Carter ain’t taking the bait. I can’t blame him either, because the last thing I’d want to do is swim through dark tunnels filled with prospective Abby in search of a Proggie that don’t want to be found. Besides, I’m pretty sure sea lions gotta surface to breathe, so a Ranger with Water Breathing which last 8 hours would last longer underwater than Carter and his people.

  A fact I don’t volunteer, since I still ain’t sure how much Uncle Teddy knows and it’s not my secret to share. More to the point, I’m pretty sure Carter’s information won’t lead to much of anything at all. Even if any of those tunnels lead to the Proggie’s new hiding place, if things were bad enough for it to leave everything behind, then chances are it’s collapsed all tunnels leading to its new hiding place. It’s happened before, Proggies cutting themselves off from the surface and going to ground to hide for weeks, months, or years at a time. Might even be why it left without bringing its Abby along, because it knows it done poked the hornet’s nest and didn’t want to risk any foraging Abby giving away its position. Could be the Proggie’s going into hibernation even, hunkering down for the long haul in hopes that it can turn things around once the Watershed hits. Or maybe it’s got a different plan altogether, and is amassing an army of Abby for a counterattack even as we speak. Who knows how Proggies think? I most certainly don’t, but I will say this.

  I’m glad the Proggie got away. Yeah, I said it. It’s most certainly a selfish statement, and not one I’d ever make out loud for reasons that are obvious. Don’t change how I feel none though, because now that it’s gone to ground and chances of finding it anytime soon are slim to none, that means I still got a chance of being the one who brings it down.

  Guess it’s not that easy letting go of my dreams, even for something as important as my wife and kid. Doesn’t mean I want one more than the other, just that I’m a greedy sort who wants it all. Might still be possible, though I don’t see how. Here’s hoping though, because that’s pretty much all I can do for now. Hope and persevere, and the rest is out of my hands.