Point of Origin, Chapter Four - Broken Promises

“Covien was filled with the Kosmosverse’s most wanted commodity–Kataton 5, the primary crafting ingredient used in making Deep Space engine fuel. Unfortunately, due to the greed of the early Scelirian Order, the planet was dangerously and illegally stripped of said resource.

Referred to as ‘hollow mining’, advanced mining technology was used to dive under the soil and hollow out the ground without breaking the surface. An excellent way to mine, if done so with ethics, but the Sceliri mined so close to the surface that parts of the planet are still deemed unsafe due to the constant threat of collapse. The Hollow Wastes, as they call them, are a constant reminder to the Covienian people that their planet was enslaved and destroyed while an entire universe stood by, idle.

This has made negotiations with them very difficult, as they are a harsh and unforgiving people, and they tend to treat offworlders with little trust, or respect.

It is my personal opinion that we cease to implore Covien to join the Entrillian Empire.”

Captain Reese Lazulus of the Exploration Guild, official report sent to the Entrillian Guild of Records, and her Majesty, the Empress. (One year after the Blue Fringe War.)

The Fletric weaved in and out of the crowd like he was a ghost.

His neat but tired and faded clothes did well to mark him as a traveller, and his expression did well to make sure he was given a little more room on the street than other Offworlders were given.

He wore a dark blue coat that reached nearly to his knees, and as he walked– his coat swaying with him–ebony Pulser handles could be seen in the holsters at his sides.

That may have had something to do with the slight berth around him, but this was Covien after all, so maybe not that much.

The somewhat dark and habitual expression the Fletric wore on his features seemed much more severe than it probably was, most likely due to the placement of his native markings: two bold downwards V’s spread from his brow and up into his hairline, mimicking the shapes on the flora and fauna of his home planet.

Maybe if he had been asked, the Fletric could recall a distant time when he was told these markings helped protect the Fletric people from the dangers of the Fletric's very own homeworld.

But on his home planet, this Fletric was not.

You could tell that he felt this fact quite keenly, as his pointed ears twitched periodically from under his hat, and his dark blue eyes surveyed his surroundings without an ounce of comfort.

He might have been in his early forties, although it was hard to guess. There was something about his tired, and impassive expression, that made one think that the thick strands of silver through his dark hair were quite possibly premature.

The road he was dutifully weaving through came to a side street that divided two large buildings, that were probably once storage warehouses.

Storefronts and tavern doors all opened right into the old warehouses, where smaller buildings had been eagerly built into the pre-existing infrastructure.

He arrived at a neon-lit establishment, covered in signage and practically pulsing with music.

A look of distaste rippled across his expression. After a moment of indulging briefly in his actual emotions, his face smoothed out into an expressionless mask. With a sigh of unhappiness, bravely, the Fletric stepped through the doors.

He was hit with multiple sensations at once.

First, the music–and then, the smell.

Alcohol, and food, and a plethora of other strange odors mixed into one confusing blur of nausea. He swallowed back the urge to cover his mouth, and told himself he had been ship-bound for just a little too long.

He entered a narrow, dimly lit corridor, and came to the end where a large room was set up with tables and chairs, and even a place to play Coret.

He scanned the loud and exuberant guests for one particular face, settling on a smartly dressed man that didn’t seem like he fit into this establishment at all.

Unlike other occupants, he seemed more intelligent, and although flamboyant with his fashion taste, he wore a smug but practical look on his face. His yellowed hair was also streaked with gray, and his eyes were as dark as any Covienian the Fletric had seen.

As the Fletric entered the room, the Covienian reclining at the table saw him.

“Aster Rigg, I presume–?” he shouted across the room. “Finally, we meet in the flesh.”

Aster slowly walked towards the other man, taking note of the two more muscled guards at the man’s sides and the handful of guests at his table.

As Aster arrived at the table, he bowed his head, taking off his hat respectfully. “Captain Aster Rigg.”

The Covienian smiled, somewhat amused at his introduction for his own reasons. “Well, alright then.”

He straightened in his seat, gesturing to his other table guests. “Well, hop away, you lot–go on.”

The guests all obliged and dispersed to other parts of the room, some throwing looks back at the newcomer, with dark, foggy eyes.

The Covienian motioned pleasantly for the Captain to sit.

“As you know, I am Oli Preastigat.” He gestured happily over the establishment. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Aster seated himself, carefully placing his hat back on his head. “It’s very different from the rest of Covien I’ve seen.”

Oli shrugged good-naturedly, waving his hand through the air as he did so. “‘Covienian’ means one thing–plain and boring. I do my very best to remedy that when I can.”

Aster looked around the room at the man’s words. The bar at one end was full, mostly filled with people already drunk. The sound of Coret sticks on the table resounded through the music, which had been turned down slightly since his arrival.

It looked less like the wood and iron bars on Covien’s surface and more like a slum tavern from the Medium.

He looked back to the other man. “I trust you found the Ig’nitian Netel in the arranged place?”

Oli took a drink, making a noise of surprise. “Apart from a few missing crates, we found it and found it well.” He put his drink down and slapped the table. “Damn fine job you Freelance Merchants do, now don’t you?”

Aster inclined his head. “There were several complications with hauling the Netel.”

Oli nodded, leaning back in his seat. “Ahh, yes. I can imagine. Just how many times did someone try to ‘liberate’ it?”

The Fletric looked to the roof, thinking silently.

“Only twice by pirates, but at every check, some official tried to confiscate it.” The Fletric blew a breath out, “We lost three boxes, but managed to save seven–which is a higher success rate than others have had hauling Netel through the Flirin Regions.”

Oli whistled. “Flirin enforcement, eh? What a joke. It would be good to get rid of the whole lot, if it was up to me. What a pity Ig’ni happens to be right smack dab in the middle of that oozing, Flirin mess.”

“Yes,” Aster said flatly. “What a pity.”

Oli snapped his fingers. “Right then, I assume you want to get paid.” He turned in his seat, catching the attention of some kind of elderly Geodian attendant or servant standing behind him, “Oi–go get the money for the Netel Haul, eh? Be snappy, love–go on.”

The elderly servant turned and left immediately, “Yes, Herus Preastigat. Right away.”

As the servant scurried away, Oli turned back in his seat to address Captain Rigg again. “So, you’re a man of the skies… ” Oli placed his boots on the table, and Aster noticed that they were actually dirty and well used. Odd, for a man Of Oli’s position.

“I hear whispers that piracy is getting mighty high.”

Aster shrugged. “The combinement of the Scelirian and Entrillain Guilds has everyone in an uproar.” The merchant Captain sighed. “No one knows whose side they’re on. You could say… that the lines of piracy have been blurred.”

Oli grasped around for his words, in no way making the action look ungraceful. “Well, that’s a bad deal– as for those freak loving Scelirians. They got no right to be in the Empirium with the normal folk.”

As Aster thought about it, the attendant came back and silently handed Oli a small bag. He noticed the small size, and silently tried to remember how much he had taken this job for.

Not that little, he settled on.

Oli nodded rapidly. “Right–” he tossed Aster the bag. “There we go.”

Catching the bag easily, Aster felt the weight. He frowned, hefting the bag a few more times.

Oli saw his expression and hurried to explain. “Now I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Rigg, I know what you’re thinking–but you said yourself–you lost three crates.”

Aster tilted his head, his eyes growing colder as he frowned at the Covienian across from him.

“Even with seven boxes, I could get over double this somewhere else Preastigat.” He put the money on the table. “This isn’t what we agreed on.”

Oli shrugged, fitting perfectly the description for the word ‘unperturbed.’ “Considering the losses, and the price, and the quality of the Netel–which I have been informed, is lower than what we bought it at–I say that that”–Oli glanced down pointedly at the bag of money–“is rather generous of me, don’t you?”

Captain Rigg didn’t look at the bag, instead he kept his eyes on Oli.

“The quality of the product was your responsibility to check, as the buyer. Our arrangement was that we were only to ferry the Netel to Covien under the radar.”

Oli picked something out of his teeth. “Well, we did our best to sell the metal to our buyers at the arranged price but they… were dissatisfied.”

Oli spread his hands in surprise. “And a Covienian once dissatisfied is unmovable in price, eh? Can’t expect Netel prices to stay the same after an Astrostorm.”

Aster rose in his seat, and the two men at Preastigat’s sides tensed. A few of the guests looked over curiously.

“That amount won’t even cover the cost of the Flirin Starway toll. You hired me and my crew to do a job, at a price. If you refuse to pay that then the Freelance Guild of Merchants will know–”

The Covienian waved him off like the Fletric was merely a bug who was annoying him. “Oh please,” Oli chuffed. “You’re gonna tell on ole’ Oli Preastigat because you didn’t get what you wanted?” Oli straightened up, placing his arms on the table and looking up at Aster darkly.

“You go on, then–go tell em’ I shortchanged you. What’s gon’ happen? Independent Merchants are dying out.”

Aster’s ears flicked in annoyance, his fingers itching to hold the comforting metal of his Pulsers.

Oli continued. “With the Empirium making transport easier every day, I'll get another merchant fleet to haul metal as easy as I got you to.”

Aster glared silently, his dark blue eyes seeming to flicker in the neon light. He swallowed, leaning over the table slowly.

“Fine,” Aster admitted, his voice low. “There isn’t a whole lot that the Guild can do–but they’re not here, right now. I am.” Aster fought the urge yet again to pull out his Pulser and aim it at this man’s head.

Instead he had to settle for simply pointing a finger at Preastigat. It didn’t feel half as satisfying.

“The Independent Guilds don’t take being brushed off lightly. You’ll see–there will come a time when the universe will need them again. And they’ll not be as kind to you as I.”

The petty smugness wore off on Preastigat’s face. He assumed a sincere mask of sobriety, inclining his head. With one expression, his entire persona changed from flamboyant salesman, to an actual Covienian Metal dealer.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “As I said–the Freelance Merchants are dying out, General.”

As Oli nodded to his guards in a silent command, Aster Rigg was completely taken aback as the metal dealer addressed him again, leaning his boots back up on the table.

“And there's just… no room for your lot in the new world, Mr Rigg.”

Before Aster knew it, the two guards had moved around the table and each grabbed an arm, and he floundered for a moment before speaking again. “Covien wouldn’t be free if it weren’t for the Freestanding Guilds–” Aster struggled out angrily as he was dragged from the table. “They built this planet!”

Oli shrugged, gesturing for the Fletric to be taken away with a lazy flick of his hand. “Whatever makes you feel safe, Mr. Rigg,” Oli called after him. “Whatever makes you feel safe.”

Thrown out of the establishment with a thud, Aster landed heavily on the grimy pavement, losing his hat in the process. He pushed himself to elbows, and prayed to the Evering to give him self control. The small pouch of money was thrown onto the ground next to him with a clink.

He fought to keep his resolve. Dead bodies would only make his job harder today. Not easier.

“Have a good day, Mr. Rigg,” one of the guards said as he turned away. The door clicked shut with a resounding thud.

Aster grabbed his hat off the ground, placing it on his head angrily.

“It’s Captain!” he shouted at the door.

Aster shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “No good, shortchanging son of a witch,” he muttered, stooping down to grab the bag off the pavement.

Opening it, he found a tiny piece of paper jammed inside of the bag. He unfolded it carefully, reading the contents.

A receipt of the Netel, proof of payment, and a thank you for his services as a metal hauler.

After looking at it for a moment, he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Evering Lights… what am I gonna tell them?”

With his eyes closed, his brows drew together in a frown.

“It shouldn’t be like this.” He looked back at the stark white piece of paper, and it crumpled in his fist. The satisfying crunch of the paper resounded in his head. He threw it into the street wall, a metre or so ahead of him as he echoed his words in a louder shout. “It shouldn’t be like this!”

That’ll show Oli, a voice in his head mocked. You go and show them who's in charge.

Aster stared at the discarded paper for a long moment, then turned abruptly, stomping down the street absently as his dark coat swayed from side to side around him.

“I never should have done anything with Covien,” he muttered to himself. “Bastien was right,” he scoffed, “like always.”

He stilled, looking up at the Tunnel-street roof as he thought to himself.

He shook himself after a moment, muttering angrily again, but this time for a whole different reason. He stomped back to where he had thrown the piece of paper, berating himself for throwing it in the first place.

The Fletric came to the spot where he had stood just moments beforehand, but the paper was gone. His frown deepened, and he double-checked his pockets.

No. No, he had definitely thrown it. And he was definitely standing in the same place.

Down the street, he heard a loud, crisp, crunching sorting of noise, just on the cusp of his hearing. Turning his head, he squinted into the darkness, trying to locate the sound.

On the ground, a good distance from where he had thrown the paper, was a hilariously large bronze and green beetle.

It sat in plain sight, happily, if not gleefully, eating Aster’s receipt.

“What–” He took a step to inspect the scene further, but the beetle, obviously more intelligent than Captain Rigg had assumed, had guessed that this strange offworlder man was about to take its delicious meal from it.

So taking the most obvious course of action, it turned on its back legs, and scurried across the pavement at an alarming speed–the crumpled receipt held securely in its pincers.

“Wait!”

Without giving the action much thought, the merchant Captain took off after the beetle, his coat flapping behind him as he chased the thieving insect in a frantic run.

The two passed Oli’s and a few more closed storefronts, but the beetle kept incredibly good pace as the Fletric chased after it.

“Come back!” he shouted uselessly after the thief as he struggled for breath.

He hadn’t realised how fast these beetles could run.

He told himself it was because it had seven or so legs on each side of its fat and stocky body. And that was seven or so legs more than Aster had.

The beetle ran up a low drain pipe, carrying the crumpled paper like it was its one hope in the galaxy. Before Aster could catch up to it, it disappeared into the enclosed gutter.

Aster dropped to the ground, reaching up into the drain pointlessly. With his pointed, twitching ears, he could hear the insect scurry farther up the drainpipe.

He cursed angrily, pushing himself to his feet. As he stood, his head collided with a low hanging gutter, and he let out another string of colourful curses.

“Half-good, back-water, hellish, scriking planet from Eth!”

Aster rubbed his head, wanting to look up at the heavens. Right now, all he could see was the roof of the Tunnel-street, but that would have to do.

“Something good could happen to me right about now,” he commented to the universe petulantly with a shrug. “It’s okay–I really wouldn’t mind.”

It wouldn’t matter, the Fletric knew. The universe didn’t have a habit of listening to him, and it certainly wouldn’t start now.

He dropped his head, turning away to walk down the street. “I wouldn’t mind, at all,” he intoned quietly to himself quietly, hands in his pockets.

It had only been a few seconds after Aster Rigg said these words when something tried to kill him.

Unlike most people, Captain Aster Rigg had actually been run over with a pacer, and he had it on good authority that this was exactly what it felt like.

For the second time that day, he was thrown to the ground as something heavy collided with his shoulder and smacked against his head–successfully knocking his petulant thoughts straight out of his skull.

He broke his fall by landing mostly on his wrists and knees–something a ten-years-younger version of himself wouldn't have minded. Unfortunately he wasn’t ten years younger, instead he was very sore.

Something metal clattered to the ground next to him, and a moment later, something large and heavy fell from the side of the building he was huddled next to. It clashed loudly, filling the street with the ugly sound of metal scraping on metal.

He glanced up, only to find that a rusty service ladder had finally given up its ghost and collapsed from the side of the building–its rusty metal brackets still clinging to the wall high above. Despite his silent grumblings and mild confusion, Aster found it amusing that its base landed straight in a trash pile.

He tried to push himself to his feet, frowning into the street as he did so. He noticed that yet again, his hat had been knocked to the ground. He put it back on roughly, determined to keep it on his head this time.

He searched around for what had hit him, a hand instinctively pulling out his Pulser and arming it with a click. The telltale sound of a Revolving Pulser priming echoed through the street, as the weapon itself glowed a faint hue of teal.

At his feet, slightly to the side, he saw not a weapon or item made for injury, but a shabby looking Bot arm.

He leant down and picked it up stiffly.

Very slowly, he tilted his head back up to look at the roof in absolute scrutiny.

Surely… it hadn't fallen from the-

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of rubbish shifting and moving, the sound drifting from the trash pile next to him.

Aster took a step back, instantly raising his Pulser. His heartbeat quickened as the trash moved in somewhat of its own volition. He wondered at the large and incomplete list of Blue Fringe monsters, and if any of them could disguise themselves as rubbish piles.

It took a moment, but out of the trash pile came the last creature that Aster had expected to emerge.

It wasn’t a monster, but only a young girl–around fifteen, if Aster had to guess–and she held her head like she was dazed and dizzy.

Two thin, frazzled braids hung down on each side of her face and framed an equally frazzled expression. The rest of her thick dark hair was pulled back behind her head, where most of it was hidden by a hat that hung limply from a cord around her neck.

The darkness of the alley, combined with the grubby state of her face in general, made it hard, but not impossible, to see the two geometric markings down the sides of her face. Her boots were unmatched, her poncho was coming undone at the seams, and one arm was bandaged all the way to her neck–she was, quite possibly, the most typical Outer fringe street urchin that Aster had ever seen.

She freed herself of the garbage, kicking a small box off her leg as she stumbled into the street. As she did so, she saw Captain Rigg, and more importantly, the Pulser trained directly at her head.

Her hands went up quickly, all expression chased from her grubby, tan face. It really was quite evident that the Pulser barrel trained at her head was the only thing she could focus on.

“Okay,” she said slowly, her hands raising a little higher as she spoke. “Tell me"–her voice echoed into the empty street as she addressed the captain–“you wouldn’t happen to be a figment of my imagination, would you? 'Cause…" Her eyes didn’t leave the weapon. “That would be great.”

Captain Aster Rigg frowned, shaking the metal arm in his hand. “Did you throw this at me?” he demanded, feeling more than slightly ridiculous that he had been scared of what appeared only to be only a runaway child.

The Geo smacked her head, one small hand still held up in defence as she screwed her eyes shut in realisation. “Now, that’s what I was forgetting.” She put her hand back up to resume her defensive state.

“See, I was kinda on my way down here when it slipped out of my hands.” She nodded to the leaning ladder on the wall. “And then the ladder fell off the wall, which I’ll admit”–she threw her hands up further, addressing some unseen deity beyond the rusty, dripping roof–“is comedic irony, I’ve got to give it to you.”

Aster frowned. This urchin had lost her mind. Or at least was in the process of doing so…

He held the Pulser a little higher and she stopped talking. “What are you doing here, kid?” he asked, tilting his head tiredly. “Aren’t you a little young to be wandering around this part of Lisk at night?”

“Young?” She echoed, saying the word like it was the first time it had ever passed her lips. She shook her head, frozen to the ground. “Listen, I was just getting that arm for a friend of mine–they kinda need it.”

Captain Rigg didn’t seem convinced. “You were just ‘getting’ this?” he repeated. “Then why did you throw it at me?”

While Captain Rigg talked, the girl kept on looking to the top of the nearby building, taking small, imperceptible steps away from the alleyway wall.

She looked back at the Offworlder. “Weren’t you listening, Offworlder?” she asked. “I told you it slipped out of my hands when the ladder fell.”

There was a thud at the top of the building, but nothing else happened.

The girl took it as a sign. She straightened, and lowered her hands, looking the Captain up and down. Still inching away from the building, she squinted at him

“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked thoughtfully.

Aster thought about it. “It depends,” he said flatly. “Are you going to hit me with a Bot arm again?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, I won’t.” She looked at the top of the building, and then back to Aster. “Can I have that back?” she asked.

Aster hesitated. He felt like he had just walked into something he didn’t understand, and didn’t want to. Nevertheless, he didn’t answer her question.

Give the arm back, and he might be in trouble with the people she obviously stole it from. Don’t give it to the girl, and… well, he wasn’t sure what would happen. But he didn’t think it would be good.

“Did you… steal this?” he asked.

The girl inched closer. Aster willed himself not to move as her dark eyes started to study him, like she was silently weighing up how much fight Aster could realistically give.

“Yes,” the girl stated honestly, without a shred of remorse. Her eyes found Aster’s. “And I’ll have you know that someone who is very important to me needs that arm.”

She inched closer still.

“So much so that I don’t mind stealing it again if I had to.”

Aster remembered he still had the Pulser in his hand. What for, he didn’t know, but he felt caught in some kind of crossfire, and he didn’t like it.

Suddenly, something clattered loudly at the top of the building that they stood next to, and the two looked up. A handful of heads poked out from behind the roof barrier–all wearing the same foul expression. One of them held his nose painfully.

“Just wait till we get down there, you freak!” a voice rang out, drifting down to the street where the girl’s eyes widened in fear. “Koval won’t let this go!”

The girl backed away from the building, forgetting about the Pulser in Aster’s hand.

Aster looked back up at the building in confusion, watching a few mechanics try to find a way down. Before he knew it, he felt the arm tear out of his grasp violently.

The girl held it in both arms, looking at the Captain with wide, blank eyes.

He realised too late that he was in her way-standing in the narrow street between her, and her freedom.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said.

Before the Captain could even figure out what the words meant, the girl barrelled past him and flailed ungracefully towards the end of the alley.

Unbalanced from being so rudely pushed past, the Captain fell clumsily back onto the surface of the street. He wondered vaguely if he should even bother getting up from the alley floor, considering how much time he was spending on it.

Aster eventually sat up, rubbing his wrists as he watched the girl reach the end of the alley, turning left as her lopsided footsteps soon faded into the hum of the nearby street.

Aster kept on rubbing his wrists painfully. “Damn Geodians,” he muttered as he picked his Pulser off the ground. He realised he had landed in a damp part of the street, and he got to his feet, and cast a wary glance back at the Covienians, who were currently trying to scale down a drain pipe.

He turned, and walked at a steady pace back to the end of the street, looking curiously into the crowd as he holstered his Pulser.

The girl dodged a few Haulers, one of them skidding to a halt as she ran across the street in a badly timed crossing. On the other side, she looked up at a sign that Aster saw lead up to Tri- Dock 61, and disappeared into another twisting Tunnel-street.

He made a noise of surprise. “Huh.”

Street urchin she may have been, but she could definitely run like a thief.

The sound of heavy boots echoed behind him, and he turned to see a few odd mechanics, almost in worse shape than the urchin had been.

Several of them seemed like they were a few more steps from passing out, and another had enough blood on his face to be considered very, very injured. Aster wondered vaguely if the injury had been inflicted by the girl.

If it had, maybe she wasn’t just another Covienian thief.

“Did you help that Mechscrubber, Offworlder?” one of them demanded, a tall half-Tironian.

Aster fought the feeling of being cornered.

Right. Just what he needed, the accusations of conspiring with a thief.

This was going to get him into all kinds of trouble he didn’t have the energy or money to overcome, and he could be sure the Covienian authorities wouldn't be jumping to side with an Offworlder if it came to a fight. He'd probably end up having to pay his way out of the holding house with the meagre money he had on him–that is, if these mechanics didn't rob him of it before then. Before they could question–or inspect–him further, he pointed in the direction that the girl had run in. “She went that way,” he said. “Towards the Port.”

The group passed him without another word.

He stood there for a moment, watching the mechanics run, and shook his head. Turning in the other direction, he put his hands back into his pockets.

“So glad that’s not one of my problems.”

Lewis had just gone through a day that most Organics would probably call hell.

Lewis was a Bot, and technically, he wasn’t supposed to be concerned with, or even understand, the concept of differing afterlives, but he liked the concept of hell.

It made him feel better about some of the people he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

Because, as Lewis had learned in his long years of service to humanity, the universe really liked to give him bad days, and when it did, it also enjoyed making them worse. It was like he was being punished for some sin, but he could never figure out what it was.

Today, Lewis's punishment took the form of a beat up Tironian that appeared to be older than time. She stood in front of him as he tried to mop and would not leave him alone, and would not get off his nice clean floor.

She refused to talk, instead she signed–and of course, Lewis’s courtesy module compelled him to switch to the silent language of Motion, also known as Alphon, to match.

Lewis hadn’t tried to sign with one hand until this moment, and he had to resort to spelling things out. He found out it was even harder to sign with one hand when one was also trying to mop with one hand.

“What do you mean ‘Its gone?’” she signed, a dark bionic arm moving just as quickly as her organic one. “We ordered it–here. To Tri-Dock.”

Lewis sighed mentally, leaning the mop against his chest plate to free up his hand, “I said, already. The Parcel- in our directory, but not here. Check local Registry, that- my advice."

The Tironian woman made a curse sign. “Like Hell it is–say the lightcore was stolen, why don’t you?”

Lewis started to sign. “I will not–” He paused, realising he needed two hands for his next sign, and started to spell it out. “S-P-E-C-U-L-”

With a frustrated noise, Lewis gave up. He shoved his courtesy module as far down into his programming as he could, and ignored it.

“I will not speculate as to where your package has been taken,” he said aloud. “And seeing as Servant Bots are not equipped to produce lightcores on demand”–he spread his hand through the air decidedly– “I cannot help you.”

Picking up his mop again, Lewis started to scrub the floor vehemently. “Now, please, I am very busy cleaning. The Port will close soon and there is much that actually needs my service.”

The Tironian woman glared at him, which was a relief, because it meant that she actually heard him. The last thing he needed was being accused of shouting at a deaf woman.

“Local registry,” she signed, pointing in multiple directions quickly. “Where?”

Lifting his long metal arm, Lewis pointed to the entrance of the lower hangers outside of the Port, where eventually, it would join up with Lower Lisk–the half of the settlement that was embedded inside of the mountain.

“Just past the Tri-Dock’s hangers, before the Commercial ones start. There’ll be a sign.”

The Tironian made a sign for Thank you very much, her eyes giving the motion away as very sarcastic. As she turned to leave, Lewis glared at the thick dust stains she was leaving on his clean floor.

His vision sensors contracted upwards in some distant simulation of emotional agony.

Hadn’t he suffered enough?

As people slowly drained out of the Port, finishing up little tasks like booking local shuttles for the next day, or poring over information consoles and looking up little odd bits of information, Lewis continued to clean the mud off the floor, his work a steady and quiet presence in the large building.

Unmistakably there, but hardly noticeable.

As he worked, he noticed two people standing near the information consoles, chatting quietly about something. His heart–or to be more accurate, his emotional simulatory drive–froze in a panic.

Tri-Dock workers had no uniform, as Tri-Dock 61 had little enough resources as it was, but Lewis had learned to identify them by the haphazardly sewn on name badges on their mismatched vests, and the ever constant glowing Data Tabs they carried around.

If Lewis had a throat and a mouth to swallow nervously with, he would have. Unfortunately, fate had made it so that he could not.

He had to settle for shifting uncomfortably so that his back was turned to the workers, and his eyes were glued to the floor.

Lewis’s self-evaluation module kicked in faster than he could shut it down. It started asking questions like ‘Why are you so worried’ and ‘Why don’t you want to see the workers’ and all sorts of ridiculous questions that Lewis didn’t have the patience to answer right then. Instead of answering all these questions, he found himself deciding that it was a good thing Evren wasn’t here.

He continued the rhythmic back and forth strokes of his mop, trying oh-so-desperately to make the sound not jerky and awkward, like it was just as smooth as if he had two hands.

As he neared the door to the Port, his work was nearly finished, something sparked at his neck. A tangled wire, torn loose when his arm was stolen, flickered momentarily with what could reasonably be called pain. His opposite arm jerked with the mop still in hand, colliding with the mop bucket and sending its contents all over the floor.

Dirty mop water slowly spread outward in a circle like a mouth opening wider and wider, like it was attempting to swallow up the panicked Port Bot.

One of the Tri-Dock workers behind Lewis took his eyes from his Data Tab momentarily, searching for the noise that had startled the somewhat quiet Port.

“Hey!” he shouted from across the Port. “Be careful, Port Bot—there's enough to be done around here without you making more work!” He went back to talking to his companion, letting Lewis drown in his misery in peace.

Lewis scrambled with his mop to clean up the water, trying to drain the excess liquid back into the bucket, but he didn’t have the right bucket or mop for that. Fumbling with the long handle for the mop, he dropped it in his haste. It clattered to the ground louder than he ever wanted anything to sound.

The Port workers looked over absently, still talking quietly. This time they didn’t say anything to the Bot.

Lewis clenched his hand around the Mop as he leant to pick it up. Gods, their silence about his failure was almost WORSE.

He leant the mop against the Port wall, and scrambled to his Information desk. Behind it were several things he had to keep on hand in case of emergencies. A few fire extinguishers, reams of duct tape, and a large cloth he had stolen from a rubbish crate once. It resembled a cloth only in its absorbency, but it was much too big to be called one. He found it neatly folded where he had left it, under a few shelves stacked with physical books and Information Tabs alike.

A few of Zero’s old cleaning cloths fell out as he tugged it free.

Now closer to the two workers, their words drifted across the Port to where Lewis tried to pull out the fabric noiselessly.

“–and Gray Raven is only a few days away. The bulk of them anyway. I’m getting so sick and tired of their so-called ‘agents’ bossing us around like they’re gods,” one of them complained to the other, her words laced with anger. “Damn Inner-worlders still treat us like slaves.”

Lewis worked quickly to pick up the cloths and stuff them back on the shelf, but his fingers stilled as he listened. He peered over the desk, two blue eyes peeking above the bench as he squinted at the workers.

The woman who had spoken finished her rant, and her companion looked up from his Tab briefly.

“We have to focus on making sure the Tri-Dock is at its best. The faster we cooperate, the sooner things will go back to normal.”

The woman scoffed. “Yeah right. We’ve been waiting ten years for things to ‘go back to normal’.”

She jerked a thumb in the direction of Lewis, who looked away quickly, and stared down at his hand, pretending to move things around behind the bench noisily.

“What are we gonna do about him?” she asked.

“The Port Bot?” came the hesitant reply. “What about him?”

Lewis pretended to start rearranging things under the information console, knocking things on the wooden shelves to make it sound like he wasn’t listening.

“The Evaluation Act,” the woman responded. “The Bot is suboptimal now. Higher ups want us to replace him because his arm was stolen.”

“That would probably be a good idea…” Even as the man said the words, his voice seemed hesitant.

“Labour Bots are cheap as stalks, right now,” said the woman thoughtfully.

There was a silence as Lewis finally picked the cloth to mop up the water. He inspected it dramatically, pretending to not notice the Organic's words at all.

“We can talk about it in the morning. For now, we have more work to do.” The man put his Data Tab in a satchel around his shoulder, and the two of them strode out of the Port, avoiding the puddle on the ground as they talked about something Lewis didn’t hear.

Lewis straightened to his full height behind his bench, holding the cloth at his side limply.

They were going to sell him?

For a… a… Labour Bot?

The Evaluation Act referred to ‘those that couldn’t fulfil their base programming'–and he still could! What were they thinking?

A few mistakes in the Port here and there were nothing compared to a rogue, three-metre-tall Hauler Bot that had the power to kill people!

Oh, this just wasn’t fair, he thought. Him, being replaced by a Labour Bot. Lewis was sure, there was no way in Eth, or in the Evering, that he could ever have been more insulted.

Only a moment had passed as Lewis thought about all these things when he started hearing a very specific kind of noise. A noise he could pick out of a busy evening street bustle without a second thought:

The familiar lopsided gait of the only tolerable Organic he had ever known.

Too late, he realised how close the running footsteps were. He turned to the door of the Port, trapped behind his bench.

“Wait!” he cried, but alas, it seemed that fate wanted a good laugh that day. It was like the girl was drawn to the water on the ground, as chaos is drawn to even more chaos, and magnets were drawn to each other.

Evren sped through the water on the ground, inevitably losing her balance and face planting into the floor.

Lewis winced, fingers clenching uselessly around the piece of a fabric that should have been on the ground.

The young Geo groaned, picking herself out of the puddle.

“Scrike it all to Eth!” she cursed, spitting water out of her mouth un-effectively. “Like today could get worse!”

Lewis shifted behind the bench, throwing the cloth behind him quickly.

“What are you doing in such a rush?” he asked. “Why are you running? Where did you get that hat? I thought you said you had work to do?” Lewis straightened and put his hand on the bench, leaning over it quickly to get a good look at the girl.

“What did you do?”

Evren rolled to her knees, wiping her mouth on her poncho. She shuffled out of the puddle and got to her feet, wasting no time in diving towards the bench.

“What are you doing?” Lewis asked, perplexed as he watched the girl struggle over the information desk.

“Shh!” she hissed, tumbling onto his side of the bench and landing heavily. She huddled in the corner on the ground, where it looked like she was trying to morph into the wooden shelves behind her.

“What is going on?” Lewis demanded in a whisper, quite upset that he had not been answered yet.

Evren waved the Port Bot’s questions aside, reaching inside her poncho and untying something from the strap of her scraggly gray bag.

“Calm down,” she said quietly as her hands paused. She nodded in the direction of the door. “Is anyone there?” she whispered breathlessly.

Lewis spared a second to check. There were a few people outside the street, but no one was on the steps that lead up to the Port. It was late–and everything seemed relatively normal.

He looked back to Evren. “No one’s there,” he responded flatly, only subtle hints of annoyance and confusion in the monotonous words.

Evren shuffled around, and slowly rose to check the door herself. Satisfied, she stood to her full height–which was only a few inches taller than the Information desk itself.

“Here,” she said, taking something out from under her poncho. “This is why I was running.”

Lewis had to blink a few times to process what the little Organic held in her hands.

It was a long, slender, Bot arm. Dark plates around the wrist and elbow joint marked it as a Servant Bot arm, and the shoulder socket, accented in a very unique shade of blue, marked it as his.

Very, very slowly, the Servant Bot looked up from the arm to the eyes of who held it.

“... is… that…?”

Evren shook the arm slightly in excitement. She was beaming from ear to ear, and it seemed that the tiredness and exhaustion she had felt only moments before had disappeared like a whisp on Covien’s slow moving wind.

“It’s your arm!” she burst out. “I found it. Now they can’t take you away!”

Lewis looked to the arm, to Evren, and then back to the arm again.

“Where exactly did you get that?” He made no move to take said limb.

Evren deflated a little bit, and she lowered the arm as she spoke. “Well, there’s this place I scrub Bot parts for, and they had it.” She looked down at the ground, silent for a brief moment. “I-” she started, and then stopped. She looked up.

“I… I’m sorry about Zero. I know this can’t make up for losing him. But"–she gestured with one hand behind her–“the Mechanics weren’t using it or anything… they just had it in a crate filled with–” she struggled for the word, her nose scrunching in distaste.

“Bot parts?” Lewis asked flatly.

“Yeah.” Evren looked back at the arm. “... Just… sitting around like it was nothing. They didn’t need it, and I would bet my non-existent money they were the ones that first knocked you out and took it.”

Finally, Lewis leaned down and took the arm wrapping his unnaturally long metal fingers around it fondly.

“I never thought I would see this again.” Gently, he lifted the arm out of Evren’s grasp.

She beamed happily up at the Bot. “See? Now everything is going to be okay.” Evren sighed, folding her arms up on the bench and resting her chin atop them.

Lewis inspected the wires on the arm at the shoulder end, making sure nothing was damaged. “This means... Well this means I don’t have to be worried about being sent away, anymore.”

Evren straightened from casually leaning on the bench, turning away from the door and towards Lewis.

“That's right,” she said confidently. “Now all I have to figure out is how to put it back on.”

Lewis looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you know anyone who works with Bots?”

Evren scratched her head. “Yeah well, none that aren’t currently trying to kill me.” She shrugged. “I could try.”

Lewis hesitated. “Evren, you don’t know how to work a toaster.”

Evren’s mouth opened as if to reply, but instead she tilted her nose up and shut her eyes, completing the petulant expression by folding her arms.

“Well, I don’t know what a toaster is, so there,” she retorted with a small trace of bitterness. She looked back at Lewis, who stared down at her in something like disbelief or agony. She cleared her throat noisily.

“Point taken,” the Geo said.

Lewis laid the arm on the bench, and they both stared at it in thought.

“Wait-” Lewis glanced over at the girl at his side, her words sinking into his overworked auditory processors. “Did you say ‘none that aren’t trying to kill me?’”

The question hung in the air as Evren paused, mouth opening as she furrowed her eyebrows in thought. “N–no. Did I say that? I said–I said something else.”

Lewis frowned at Evren, which was as simple as the top plate to his vision sensors narrowing into a more negative expression.

The Geo swallowed, licking her lips. “Well, okay. They were a little angry with me.”

“What happened?” Lewis asked, and Evren couldn’t gauge much emotion from the words. He didn’t seem mad, but she felt like she was being lulled into a false sense of security.

“Oh well, I slipped out of the shop,” she began, starting and stopping her words now and again as she recollected the events. “And… they might have noticed cause I uh–knocked a bunch of stuff down by… accident. And they might have–and I mean might have–followed me all the way to Market street, where they… followed me up a ladder and… I might have knocked that off the side of the building? And they may be–may be stranded on top of a warehouse roof right now?”

Lewis’s eyes widened and his voice rose in something like panic. “When I told you to stay out of trouble with the mechanics, what exactly did you think that meant?!”

Evren shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking, but I lost them.” She thought for a moment, mentally double-checking, and hurried to reassure Lewis. “There's no way they can know that I went this way.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Evren shrugged, picking the arm off the bench and bending the hand from side to side, mentally evaluating if the part needed to be cleaned. “Last time I saw 'em’ they were on a rooftop without a ladder.” She wiggled one of the metal fingers, silently gauging its state. “By the time they got down, I would've been long gone.” She looked up at him, trying to sound reassuring. “Trust me Lewis, I lost them.”

With Evren’s back turned towards the door, she was unable to see what Lewis did. In a brief and very lucky moment, the Bot had looked up to see a handful of blurry figures running past one of the Port windows.

Faster than Lewis had previously thought he could react, he grabbed the nape of Evren’s poncho and pushed her onto the ground behind the bench.

She landed on her back, the Bot arm clenched in both of her hands as she stared up at Lewis, shocked.

But Lewis barely paid a glance in her direction. Instead, he grabbed the cloth he had intended for cleaning up the water and started to wipe the dust off the bench casually.

Lo and behold, who came into the Port but four mechanics.

They looked ragged, but they also looked mad–this seemed to cancel out their exhaustion.

A few of them noticed the pool of water and stepped over it, while another was not so lucky. His hand held a very freshly broken nose, and sadly, inhibited him from seeing the large pool of water on the ground.

He too, fell face forward, and yet again hit his nose. He lay there for a moment, probably weighing up his general existence and wondering if it was really worth it in the end.

Judging by his miserable groan, Lewis guessed the mechanic had arrived at the most obvious conclusion: No. No it wasn’t.

Out of the pursuing party, a tall, rough looking Tironian woman instantly locked eyes with Lewis and scowled at him with dark eyes.

To the Bot’s credit, he had about as much fear coursing through his circuits that would have probably killed a small animal. Nevertheless, his eyes widened as he looked at the spectacle of the fallen mechanic in feigned surprise.Oh my–” the Bot said. “I am sorry. I was just about to clean that up.”

As the Tironian–or as Lewis saw more clearly, half-Tironian–came closer, she looked from side to side, observing the Port with a cold kind of anger.

Wait. Lewis tried to connect dots he felt stupid for not connecting already.

These people stole his arm.

These are the people Evren worked for.

Evren worked for the people who stole his arm.

“Where is she?” the mechanic demanded.

Lewis blinked. “Whatever do you mean?” The Bot started to wipe the bench again, keeping his voice even and slightly perplexed. He looked up and gasped. “Did you lose someone?”

One of the other mechanics shifted behind the Tironian. “Lets just take his other arm, Kan–call it a day.”

The tall mechanic, or Kan, as her companion had called her, turned around and made an abrupt motion with her hand. “No,” she barked. “Split up, search the Port. We need to find that arm.”

As the mechanics left the information desk, the noise of their search echoed through the Port.

Lewis shifted, glancing down at the girl by his feet. Her eyes were wide, but she kept quiet. She looked away from Lewis, studying something on the Port roof instead of looking at his frowning faceplate.

The mechanics met back where the fallen man was slowly rising out of the water. They were arguing.

Kan made a noise of frustration. “That Fletric told us she went this way! Damn Offworlder.”

“Let's go back and tell Lou,” said the mechanic that had suggested stealing Lewis’s other arm. Her dark skin and harsh tone reminded Lewis of a Flirin, but her eyes weren’t teal.

“No-” said Kan, walking towards the door. “For now we keep looking. We know she went this way, so we know she can’t be far.”

Her companion seemed unhappy and worried. “I don’t like not telling Lou, Kan. You remember what he said-”

“I remember being put in charge," Kan snapped as they neared the door. “So shut up and go back down to the Shop. I’m going to swing back down through the Hangers.”

They left, and as the mechanic with the broken nose hobbled after them, Kan’s last words hung in the air like a bad omen.

“If you find her, bring her back down to Kovals'.”

After that, silence.

Slowly, Lewis looked down at Evren.

“I cannot…” the Bot started, staring back at the door. “...believe that.”

Evren struggled back up to her feet, brushing herself off angrily. “Yeah, I know. That scriking Fletric ratted me out.” She scoffed, putting the arm back on the bench and folded her arms. “That no-good snitching merchant.”

She sighed. “Now they know I go up here.”

Lewis rounded on Evren. “No, Evren!” the Bot snapped. “I can’t believe you stole from Kovals'!”

Evren blinked.

There was a very brief moment when the girl stared up blankly at the Bot like a tourist would try to stare up at an information sign written in a language they didn’t understand.

For the lack of anything better to say, the girl only said one word.

“So?”

For Lewis, it was the wrong word.

“‘So?’” he burst out. “What do you mean ‘so?!’” The Bot waved his arm around rapidly in agitation. “They’re criminals, Evren.”

Evren looked from side to side, completely lost. “Well, yeah,” she said, gesturing to the arm with both of her hands. “I know.”

The Bot reached up and buried his faceplate in his one hand, aware that his ventilation unit had already started to cool his processors. “Of all the half-baked, no-good, bloody ridiculous ideas you’ve ever had–” He stopped himself, looking up.

“Go.”

He picked the arm off the bench and dropped it back into Evren’s grasp. “Go now.” He turned her around forcefully to face the end of the information desk. “Take it back.”

Evren dug her heels into the ground, her laugh loud and incredulous. “Take it back?” The laugh died away as she turned around to face Lewis and saw that the tall Port Bot wasn’t joking. She broke free of his grasp.

“Lewis,” the girl started, confusion heavy in her quiet voice. “I just spent the last three hours running from those Mechanics. I’m not taking it back. It's your arm??”

Lewis was at a loss for words for a moment. “They’re not mechanics, Evren.” Again, there was an odd emphasis on her name as he turned her around again and started pushing her out from behind the bench. "They’re thieves.”

“I told you, I know that,” Evren said as she stepped away from him so he couldn’t keep pushing her.

The Bot barely heard her words as he waved them away.

“You don’t understand–” the Bot started frantically, “Kovals' is the largest criminal group in Lisk. For lack of better words, they’re a… a gang of thieves, who steal anything they want.”

Evren thought about it for a second. Her face lit up. “Like… pirates?” she asked curiously, somehow proud of the fact that she had thought of the right word.

Lewis’s voice was higher for some reason as he agreed with her, and his tone wiped the proud look from her face.

“Yes, like pirates!” Lewis pointed towards the door. “The entire organisation is run by Lou Keda Koval, and he is notorious for letting no deed go unpunished. Our-our Covienian ranger is paid to turn a blind eye to what he does–”

“What does he do?” asked the girl, her expression darkened into something almost like worry as she slid the arm back onto the wooden bench.

“Don’t you know?” Lewis’s vision sensors wore their usual frown of distaste, except now the expression was much worse. “Bot modification? Smuggling? Anything to do with mech upgrades that don’t exactly sit well with Entrillian regulation?” Lewis gestured to his empty shoulder socket violently. “Stealing Mech parts?”

Evren turned slightly, staring at the arm as her eyes unfocused and she started to think about something else. She fingered the cord of the hat that hung from her throat, with small, absent, movements.

“Oh…” was her drawn out reply. “That… actually explains a few things.”

Lewis made a noise of agitation, drawing Evren’s eyes up to him. “Out of all the people you could have stolen from, Evren–these people are probably the worst!”

The small Geo frowned up at Lewis. “Hey–” she interrupted, “if you knew Kovals' was so bad, then why didn’t you tell me?”

Lewis was slightly taken aback. But only for a second. All of his previous emotion came back in a staggeringly loud answer.

“Because someone ran away before they could tell me that they worked for them!”

Evren clenched her teeth as the Bot stared down at her with his piercing blue eyes and air of annoyance.

“They had your arm, Lewis,” Evren countered after a moment of deliberation. Her voice was low, one might even say frustrated. “What was I supposed to do?”

“What do you mean ‘what were you supposed to do?’” The Bot put his hand on the edge of the bench, clasping his fingers in frustration. “Why In Ethreal would you steal it?”

The girl looked down, taking a step back. The quiet air of frustration didn’t drift away like it usually did. Instead, it clung to her, and mixed with her silent expressions of hurt.

“Because, I didn’t want them to take you away, Lew.” Evren looked up briefly to the tall Bot, and then away again. “Was I just supposed to walk away?”

“Yes!” declared Lewis. “Walk away. Do something else...” He pointed a finger at the small Geo. “You are so close to being able to leave, Evren-”

“Why is this always about Me being able to leave?” the girl shot back, clenching both her fists at her sides. “Why do you always make this about me, leaving?”

Lewis waved the response away. “Because you don’t belong here–”

Evren interrupted loudly, “Yes thank you for reminding me, Lewis. Everyday. Every Interphase.” She turned, trying to find something to look at that wasn’t the Bot. “Thank you for always reminding me that I don’t belong anywhere. Look, I was just trying to do something good–”

The Bot took a step forward and turned Evren back around to face him. “Were you really?” he asked, “or was this just another one of your ploys to distract yourself from what you actually need to be doing?” ”

Violently, Evren pushed the Bots hand away, surprising the Port Bot with her seemingly invisible strength. “How can you say that? How can you be so mean? You're acting just like one of them-” She shoved the stolen arm down the bench towards the Bot. “I thought you would be happy to have your arm back.”

“Happy?” the Bot was quick to respond. “How could I be happy?” His eyes narrowed. “You know that Kovals' is going to tell everyone that you stole from them, right?”

Evren rubbed her arm, shrugging. “I-”

Lewis interrupted her before she could speak. “You know that you’re never going to be able to work as a mechscrubber again?”

“Well, yes-”

“That from here on out, your entire existence is going to consist of trying to hide from them?”

“I know, but if you’ll just let me-”

“This is only going to make things harder!”

Evren snapped.

“Things are already hard, Lewis!”

Her voice sounded louder than Lewis could ever remember it being. Her tone and body language changed in just five words, transitioning from confused to very, very angry.

She looked down at her hands in frustration, her fingers contorting as she made a motion like she was struggling for words. “Things are already… terrible!” Her eyes snapped back up the Bot's, and he fought the urge to take a step back.

“What about my life makes you think things are easy!?” Evren demanded.

The Bot looked at her wordlessly.

“I know things are going to get harder. I know I don’t belong here. I know I’m just a stupid Geodian that can’t get anything right no matter how hard I try–you don’t need to constantly remind me.”

Evren turned away from the Bot, stomping out from behind the information desk like her steps against the Port floor could take away her anger. They didn’t.

She took a breath, holding her hand up to point towards the Port windows, now filled with stars at this time of night. “And yes–” she shouted at the mail shelves, “I ran away when the Astrostorm ended because I didn't know where to go. It was the one thing that I actually wanted–''

Evren dropped her arm.

“-and I couldn’t even get that right.”

She turned around, looking back at Lewis with infuriated eyes. “If you wanna go get yourself thrown into some scrap heap, go. At least you can throw yourself in with two arms now.”

Evren turned away, disappearing in between the high, creaky wooden shelves.

As she walked towards the Port windows, she tried to breathe out everything she was feeling, to no avail. No matter how much air she forced in and out of her lungs, every single emotion remained.

She got to the windows, and stepped onto a sill–loosely grabbing onto the high window that was open. She pulled herself through, and landed a little more gracefully on the other side than her previous attempts.

Evren looked out across the Hollow Wastes, her dark brown eyes drawn up to the stars far above in a kind of habit she just couldn’t break.

They whispered into the night, secrets of the Kosmoverse just beyond her hearing, and speaking words just out of her reach.

If only she could reach up and grasp at their voices, pulling them down into her hands like straw, maybe the answers she wanted about herself would be resting in the palms of her hands–and she could simply read the things she desperately tried to avoid but knew she needed to understand.

She dropped her head.

Even if her destiny was inscribed on the palm of her hand, she still wouldn’t be able to read it.

The stars watched her collapse onto the cool, metal grate that lined the outside of the Port windows–their white, ivory voices always whispering, like a celestial jury that waited patiently as they decided on a verdict.

The Geo found herself cross-legged on the creaky service ramp as she looked numbly up at the heavens. She settled her back against the window, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

As she put her hood up, she became more and more aware of the chill that had set in for the night. Through the open window above her, she could vaguely hear Lewis’s footsteps come closer slowly.

They paused.

She folded her arms under her poncho, ignoring the sound.

There was an awkward sound of scrambling, and Evren forced herself to not look up. She looked out at the plains instead, and shivered.

Beside her, there was the sound of quite a bit of metal hitting the service ramp. Finally, Evren slowly turned, wearing a dark expression as she looked the Bot up and down.

Lewis had climbed through the high window, and was now in the process of lowering himself down on the metal grate next to her.

She looked away–back at the plains.

She didn’t want to talk to him, so she bit her tongue. She wouldn't be the first one to speak. She wouldn’t give in.

She had quite adamantly made up her mind to be angry at Lewis.

The Bot settled against the side of the Port beside Evren, simulating the soft sound of blowing breath out of his lungs. He rested his solitary hand on his knee in front of him.

Silent.

Arms still crossed–and determined not to speak–Evren shifted.

A few minutes passed as Lewis, too, refused to speak, but Evren remained silent. The cool night air blew over the pair as they looked out at the night sky.

After what felt like a century of silence, Lewis finally cleared his non-existent throat.

“I…” the Bot started, his tone low. “do not think…”–he remained staring at the

Wastes–“...that you… are stupid.”

Evren rested her folded arms on her knees, tracing the constellations with her tired eyes as she pretended not to listen to Lewis.

“It's true, you may rush into things… ” Lewis continued, “ ... but that doesn’t make you an idiot. What makes someone an idiot is not being able to appreciate the sacrifices their friends have made for them.” Lewis looked to the right, where Lisk slept restlessly in its little bay-like range. He gazed over the blinking lights and his vision sensors narrowed wearily.

“What makes someone an idiot is not being able to realise when someone is trying to help them.”

He deflated, resting his head against the Port window in a very Organic kind of action. “What really makes a person stupid is blaming someone–very kind–for something that wasn’t even their fault. I… didn’t mean what I said earlier-” He paused, the blue light around his eyes interrupted as he blinked in hesitation. “You… stole the arm back because you’re a good person. And I didn't mean what I said about Zero. Zero was an old Bot, and it’s not your fault what happened, and it was wrong of me to think so.”

Evren sniffed, her voice moribund. “But he’s gone because of me, Lew.”

Lewis shook his head beside her. “I shouldn't have blamed you for that. Because it’s not true. I was just upset.”

“Because of Zero?”

Lewis paused at the girl's words, frowning slightly. “No,” the Bot muttered. “No, not because of Zero.”

Evren looked up at the Bot next to her with confused, wide eyes; a silent question that never passed her lips.

Lewis shifted his hand on his knee in thought before he decided to speak. “Evren,” he started, forgetting to put the usual unwanted emphasis on the name.

“Did you really leave the Port because you didn’t know where to go?”

Evren rested her arms atop her knees, shrugging. “Maybe.”

She buried her face in her elbow.

“Yes,” finally came the muffled reply.

“Ah,” intoned the Bot, looking away from his small friend. “I see.”

Around them, the mournful wind whistled over the Tri-Dock and filled the awkward places of their silence like bad putty, full of gaps and unsightly cracks.

The Bot broke the silence.

“Why?”

Evren didn’t lift her face out of her elbow.

“‘Why’ what?”

“Why did you not know where to go?” The Bot leaned forward marginally, looking down at Evren with narrowed, curious eyes. “Hours of poring over the information consoles, weeks of scouring pictures of planets you wanted to see…” For a moment, he was at a loss for words as he looked back out to the Wastes. “I just don’t understand how you changed your mind so quickly.”

He let out an amused, slightly confused sound. “I… I’ve only ever seen you look at the universe with wonder… so, all of sudden, why did it fill you with fear?”

There was a long moment before Evren took her face out of her elbow and looked up.

Her brown eyes drifted from star to star, her gaze sinking lower and lower until she found herself looking at the silhouette of Covien’s flat and unimpressive horizon.

“The day the storm ended…”

Her words were soft, spoken like she was afraid someone else might hear.

“...I was walking up from Dels, after I just got fired for ruining his Mech.” She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, still looking at the horizon. “I was watching the Newscreens in the lift, hoping that I would find you at the Port because… I wanted to talk to you about what had happened. But then, as I watched the screen, the imperial transports came back. The reporters talked of travel, and how normalcy was going to return to Covien again soon.” Evren made a face, scrunching her nose in an emotion like anger. “The world was going to open back up again… and I didn’t have a place in it.”

After a long and drawn out sigh, Evren continued. “ I realised there’s no place in the Kosmoverse for people like me.”

She shrugged, the action nearly imperceptible under her poncho. “So I turned around and walked as far away from the Port as I could, because I knew you wanted to help me get offworld. And I knew… dammit, I knew… I couldn’t explain to you the feeling of knowing you have no place among a universe that you wish to be a part of so badly.”

After her words, Evren pushed her face back into her elbow again. “It was idiotic, and stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was… so overwhelmed.”

Lewis shifted beside Evren, the mechanical sound breaking up the noise of the units and processors working quietly within his metal frame.

“So, it was after you mysteriously powered on the Hauler Bot…” mused Lewis in a curious kind of voice. “That makes sense, now.”

Evren looked sidelong at Lewis, uncomprehending. “How so?”

Lewis shrugged, the action still off balanced because of his missing arm. “I thought it was just because you felt a little bit lost, but now I see that your strange and quickly forming abilities are causing you great unrest–to a point where to not confront or reveal them, you have pushed yourself away from the one thing that you really want.”

Evren turned her head sharply, muttering under her breath as she looked away. “I don’t know what I want, Lewis.”

“Well, I do,” said the Bot. “Probably what every single living thing wants in their lifespan. To belong somewhere.” He inclined his head towards the Hollow Wastes. “Do not be scared to step out into what lays before you. Don’t be terrified of what you do not know, just because you do not know it. Many dangers may lay ahead of you, Evren, but I am quite sure, in the depths of my cold, metal soul, that that is not all the universe has to offer you.”

“I’ve been on Covien for decades now,” continued Lewis absently. “I’ve watched people come and go, lives start and end. Broken memories from my old designations remind me that I have witnessed many worlds form and deform. And still, among everything I have seen, I've never met a creature like you before.”

“What? A hopeless loser?” Evren asked from the crook of her elbow.

“No,” Lewis said patronisingly, “there are a plethora of those around.”

He continued as Evren twisted her head to look at him.

“I was upset because... I've seen too many good things die here, Evren.” He lowered his tone in defeat. "I don’t want you to be one of them.”

Lewis gestured absently to the stars. “I know you think that I think you don’t belong anywhere, but that's not true. I just know that you don’t belong here.”

In her poncho, Evren shivered.

She listened to Lewis’s words, and slowly, her eyes closed, leaning her head back against the glass–too many thoughts and words going through her head for it to make any sense to anybody else. She twisted, looking at Lewis as she wiped her eyes unsuccessfully with her partially bandaged arm.

“You make it sound so simple.”

Lewis shrugged, shaking his head from side to side slightly in thought. “And you make it sound so complicated.”

Lewis looked down at his hand, and there was a crinkling sound. He pushed a packet of food across the grate to Evren. “Here.”

She looked down at it beside her, blinking.

“I’m sorry for how I acted,” Lewis said. “Even if you can’t find it in yourself to forgive me, I’ll try to find it in myself to do better.”

Evren blinked, picking up the packet of food as she slid her hood off of her head. “What’s this?” she asked, looking up at the Bot with amused eyes. “A peace offering?”

Lewis shrugged again with one shoulder. “Yes.”

Evren shook her head, looking away. “You do know I have about six of these in my bag, right?”

Lewis nodded. “I know. But now you have one extra.” He made a gesture through the air. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be of use.”

Sighing lengthily, Evren slid the food into her pocket.

“Thank you, Lewis.” She swallowed. “Of course I forgive you.” The Geo smiled, adding, “But let's be real, here–you and I both know I don’t have a good enough memory to actually hold a grudge.”

Lewis' expression changed. If he had a face, maybe he would have been smiling. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” He turned his vibrant blue eyes towards the grass ridden plain, gears and joints moving mechanically as he did so.

“I’m sure one day, you’ll find something to be angry about.”

Evren made a noise of disbelief, looking down at her shoes. “Sure."

A moment passed as she thought. Finally, she looked up.

“I didn’t mean it–” Evren paused. “I don’t want you to get sent away to some scrap heap.”

“Neither do I.” Lewis nodded solemnly. “I rather like living.”

Evren looked over and down at Lisk as it slept in its bay-like shape, nestled into the mountain comfortably as the late night air swept up from the plains and cooled the metal bones of the mountain.

“I know somewhere we can find someone to put the arm back on.” Evren nodded towards Lisk. “Down in the Lower Levels.”

Little lights twinkled from Tunnel-streets and shuttle let-outs that poked out from within the mountain town, reminding her of an engine that was humming idly before flight.

Lewis interrupted her, bringing her attention back from the restless settlement.

“No. Kovals’ will still be looking for you.”

Evren shrugged. “So what do you want to do?” she asked, gesturing to Lower Lisk. “How much time do you think you have before the Evaluation Act catches up with you?”

Lewis seemed hesitant, and straightened to get a better look at Lisk as if looking at it could somehow satisfy his nerves.

“Maybe I should… come with you." He instantly looked back at Evren, like he was awaiting her disapproval.

“Well?” he asked after a moment.

The Geo nodded. “That sounds good, actually. I wouldn’t have to drag a Mechanic back up here by the scruff of their neck.”

Lewis nodded. “So… you’ll promise to take me with you?”

Evren shrugged. “Yeah, sure–why not? Sounds like a good idea.” Her eyes lit up after a moment. “Actually, speaking of good ideas…”

Lewis stood, joints creaking as he straightened to his full height and looked down at her.

Evren clasped her hands together.

“Can I sleep in the Port tonight?”

Lewis pretended to think about it.

“No.”

The little Geo deflated onto the metal grate. “Come on, Lew,” she complained, “it’s cold out here.”

Lewis turned away, walking down the service stairs. “No, it will be safer for you out here.” His footsteps started to fade. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go close the Port.”

Evren, still deflated awkwardly on the service ramp, watched the Bot walk away.

“Oh, come on!” she shouted at him. “Use the window like a normal person.”

“No.”

Evren huddled deeper into her poncho, muttering under her breath in the cool night air.

“Freak.”

The start up sounds of a Servant Bot were designed to be non-intrusive and quiet, but that of a Type C Servant Bot were eerily more so.

Lewis’s bionic blue eyes flickered to life soundlessly as his ventilation unit came to life, lifting his chest plate in an action almost akin to breathing.

Unlike an Organic, there was no feeling of ‘getting to grips’ when he powered on. He knew exactly where he had fallen asleep–in the Maintenance/Cleaning closet of Tri-Dock 61, along with all the other outdated and overused equipment.

He pulled himself to his feet, running his basic diagnostics with a habitual ease. Primary limb undetected, they reported.

Lewis dismissed the popup with an eye roll, opening the door and stepping into the silent Port.

He ambled over to his information desk, feet tapping onto the metal port floor rhythmically. The sun had not yet risen, and its only herald was a thin band of pink that was oh-so-slowly bringing the world to life.

He pressed a few buttons on a control panel near the doors, priming the lights to the Port. His hand reached up to the yellow lever for the lights, but in this moment he paused, memories of the night previous filtering into his brain.

Quickly, with his hand still on the lever, he looked out the Port window.

He expected to see the figure of someone curled in sleep. Instead he was greeted by the cold, rusty maintenance grate outside that was the service ramp.

And it was empty.

The sound of the Power lever slammed down louder than it ever had.

“Dammit Evren!”

His words echoed around the Port like moths desperately exploring the corners of the building, resounding off of consoles and Units and shelves and beams.

“Jeez.”

Evren’s amused voice cut into the thick silence after his outburst. “I’d hate to see what you do when I don’t listen to what you say.”

Lewis turned around to find the small Geo sitting atop the Vending Unit, her mouth half full of protein crackers that she presumably had stolen from the forbidden machine.

She brushed the crumbs off her poncho and onto the ground (which Lewis noticed) and slid off the Unit to land on her feet, gesturing to the Port Bot with her half-finished cracker mannerlessly. “You are a fickle Robot.”

Lewis wanted to fold his arms, but the action felt off balanced with only one upper limb. He had to settle for holding his arm awkwardly by his side as he stammered to reply. “It-it is not in your nature to listen to what I have to say-it was a reasonable assumption that you had left without me.”

Evren rolled her head dramatically, walking past Lewis towards the Port door. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” she murmured loud enough for the Bot to hear.

Hesitantly, Lewis followed her, forgetting his moment of anger and trying to sound as calm as he could. “Are we going now?” he asked, his voice holding several notes of uncertainty.

Evren gestured behind her with her cracker as she walked. “Yeah, let's go. Grab the arm.”

Lewis turned back to his Information desk, reaching over it to a ledge that he had hidden the arm behind the night before. He hesitated. “But… what are you going to do about the mechanics?”

Evren shrugged, pulling a hat from under her poncho by pulling on the cord around her throat.

“I know a few shortcuts. It can get us to where we want to go without being seen. Mostly.” She paused at the closed door, taking another bite of her cracker with one hand as she tried to put the hat atop her head. “Well, not mostly. Half-ly. Halfly? Maybe less.”

Lewis' eyes contracted in a pained sort of expression. “That's your plan?” he asked, moving to the wall and pulling down the lever for the Port door with a loud clack. “How have you stayed alive so long?” He muttered to the wall.

Now with the hat securely on her head, Evren took the arm from the tall Bot, chuckling to herself as the Port door retracted into the roof squeakily.

“You know what–” Evren said, looking up from under the brim of her hat to her companion with a thoughtfully amused tone. “I don’t actually know.”

The two of them made their way down the rickety Port steps and across the empty street, entering the large underworld known as Lower Lisk.

Little did the pair know that among the shadowy alleys next to the Port, something moved as it dropped out of sight and down the stairs. It watched them as they disappeared with narrowed eyes, and a gaze as cold as the not yet awakened morning sun.

Silently and fluidly, it followed the pair down the insides of the mountain, blending into the dark like the other early morning wraiths that shifted and moved in the fickle shadows.