The ships floated in the distance, a lazy meter off the ground. Attended by the mass of scavengers scurrying around the hulls. They tightened goods and polished off ice forming on the bows and engine intakes. The old airspeeders were massive, with racks of seats on the inside and a rough, bulky superstructure. Dotted around the hull were welded metal shelves and hand grips. Evidence of repairs scarred the plates, each with its own storied history of mismatched parts.

These were old. Older than the clan I’d heard some people claim. It was amazing they still worked, a real tribute to the endurance of lost tech, if the right printing files were available to replace and repair parts.

Other relic knights patrolled the camp, a wide berth given to each. They all displayed their own rich visual history of trinkets, clothing, and war keepsakes. Only the greatest warriors in each House wore these relics. Or the most politically devious schemers. My House had been the poster child on that front, once.

And all these clan heroes inclined nods of deference to our group of three walking in. For a moment, I could pretend they paid that gesture to me and not to the armored legend walking behind.

One day, I’ll prove that engineering and science can do more for the clan than any relic knight. And once I did that… maybe things would change for the ‘scholar’ caste Father so frequently dismissed.

I’ll have to trade and call in all my favors to make those three baskets at the next site, no matter what. I couldn’t allow access to main expeditions to slip by. I knew the tech was out there, far beyond the habitat. Humanity had once been like gods - and we could do it again with enough knowledge. It all starts with the internet.

Most of the camp had packed up and the last-minute preparations were being completed. The air was full of electric energy. Large habitat tents were dismantled. The final residents taking a few last bites of rations in relative warmth before suiting up for the long ride. Smaller one-man speeders zipped around, acting as scouts and escorts. They raced out into the distance with loud whoops, going far ahead of the expedition. Departure must be imminent if the scouts were given leave to deploy. Pretty soon, we’d be gone from here and the only thing left behind would be a mess of footprints on the cracked ice.

I dumped the frostbloom clumps into the storage space of the nearest airspeeder. While we didn’t have any assigned ships, I always aimed to get on one ship in specific. I was good friends with the… let’s say ‘eccentric’ pilot. Very few Reachers were allowed on expeditions, so only the best among them got the honor. And the best usually came with quirks.

Climbing aboard, I made my way to the seating section, my sister following behind. Two scrappers saw us on approach and nudged each other. They were clearly muttering to one another, too far away for us to make out under their masks. Once we came close enough, they connected over on the local comms.

“Ah, young master,” The left one said, “We would be honored to give our seats over.”

I sighed, “There any way I can convince you two not to?”

They looked at one another. “We insist,” The one on the right said, standing up.

“You really don’t have to, I’ll be just fine sitting outside with everyone else.”

“No, no! You are the children of the Winterscar Prime himself.” The remaining one huffed out, “It wouldn’t do for lesser branch members like us to take the good seats and have you sitting with the low tier retainers outside. We’d rather not stir up trouble.”

The rightmost man was already climbing his way out onto the hull, reaching for the metal shelving. “Ice it all, we’re not so miserable as to take pity from House Winterscar.”

“We thank you for your generosity,” My sister interjected, giving a nod of respect and taking the freed up seats. She’d stopped trying to argue a long time ago. The two scrappers made their way outside, taking new seats on the metal shelvings. Hand grips and climbing straps would be the best they got to hold in place.

“It’s pointless,” Father said, passing from behind us, going deeper into the airship. The doors shut behind him but his voice remained on the comms channel. “They know their rank. It would bring shame to their house to overstep it. Stop running from the duty that comes with it.”

I sighed and sat down, strapping myself in. “I just don’t feel like I deserve this or anything.”

“You don’t. But someday you might. Begin with remediation to the ones your choices put in danger first.”

Ah. Right. Out here, conflicts were handled privately between parties, or at worse brought up to the house leadership. The last thing anyone wanted was to bring the issue outside the clan houses, into public ruling. Winterscar was in an... odd position when it came to that. But it wouldn't sit right with me to abuse my authority and rank just to save a bit of scrap. Death was pretty common for anyone venturing outside the safety of the clan, this sort of remediation was done often enough. I'd been on the other end of a few myself, so I knew what to expect.

I turned to Kidra and we both scoured through the comms logs over the next few minutes, finding the names we needed to connect with. More and more scavengers climbed aboard, and soon the local comms channels were filled with chatter. But we’d finally traced the signal despite the distractions. Looks like our unlucky pair had climbed on another airship. A quick connection request later and it was time to get to work.

“Ah!” A woman’s voice popped from my headset speakers. “I reckon you’re the two that tried helpin’ us with the turret earlier? Surprised to see Winterscars. You two the real deal or spoofing the logs as some kind of hooligan joke?”

“No ma'am, we are from House Winterscar,” Kidra said.

“How’s the victim?” I asked, moving the topic to more happy things. Like a man getting shot.

“Grumpy.” A man’s voice answered through the comms. “Ratshit contraption took me in the leg. Now I’ll have to sit out for a few days while buggers get rich around me. ‘Suppose that’s what I deserve for gettin’ loot fever on the job. The devil convinced me mind it be a good idea at the time.”

I gulped. “So about that…”

“We are the ones that are most likely responsible for the turret, sir,” Kidra said, joining in and explaining the whole thing. Nothing was left out, and since Father wasn’t in the comms with us, that meant she could safely include who the real culprit was.

There was a dark chuckle on the comms. “So... I reckon this be a call for remediation's, eh, Winterscar?” I had a feeling this man was grinning wide wherever he was and rubbing his gloves together.

“Roach! Don’t you dare bully the poor kids!” The woman said, followed by some rustling that sounded like slapping. “You'a done your share of ratshit when you were their age! And they’re Winterscars for Tsuya’s sake. Have some compassion.”

“Winterscars or not, I still gots bullets in me leg, woman! And compassion don’t buy food last I checked.” He sighed, “But… Ah, ‘suppose we all know this happens comin’ out here.” He chuckled darkly.

"Unlucky? You'a be the one lootin' a turret while on gathering orders! Get greedy dealin' with the devil like that, don't be surprised when it don't work out for you." The woman said. “And they did try to help, dear. That should count for something.”

“Sacrifice be written right in the oaths of duty! They ain’t no Reachers to be coddled, they’re like us, no extra points for doin’ the bare minimum! No, wait, don’t sla-'' There was some more scuffling over the comms.

His voice came back momentarily. “All right, fine you blasted snow witch! You winterscar pups, bring back a cell and I’ll call the remediation done and over with.”

“A power cell? Hey now, you got shot, not maimed.” Power cells were hard to come by, but they weren’t an impossible goal either. A whole power cell for a minor wound was doorside robbery. This was the sort of price point the next of kin would be asking.

“Hah! Ye trying to haggle after riskin’ me life?” He laughed, “Gutsy of ye. Well, come and git some then, let’s see what ye got!”

Turns out I don’t got. He talked me around circles and almost haggled me up.

In the end, we came to the conclusion I wasn't responsible in terms of foresight and skills, as he agreed nobody could have caught that trap - but that I was responsible because I'd chosen to delve into that hole in the first place. The power cell he wanted wasn't for pulling the lever, it was payment for my original choice to explore, when I'd been ordered not to. And that was sound logic that I had no valid arguments against, so I had to call it quits.

“See ye on the other side little pup. With some loot in yer hands o’ course.”

I begrudgingly agreed, and the deal was set just in time to see Ankah Shadowsong climb aboard. Oh great. As if this day could get any worse.

She came to a stop near the center, then gazed around the chamber, deciding which scavenger to yank off. As usual with the Shadowsong heir, her two henchmen Calem and Locke followed behind like the good little minions they were.

“You.” She pointed at some random poor bloke. “Out of that seat. And the two bugs next to him, begone.”

I tagged into local comms, watching them quickly unstrap themselves and make their way outside. One of them got too close to Ankah on the way out. She inclined her head, not bothering to verbalize her orders. The two men behind her seized the approaching scavenger and practically threw him off board. Ankah strutted over and sat on the vacant seats, her two henchmen following behind.

It was only a matter of time until Ankah spotted my sister and the fireworks began. “Why Kidra, what a surprise. If I’d known there’d be rats like you on this airship, I’d have avoided it like the plague.”

The rest of the occupants inside remained quiet. Nobody outranked her here. Only Kidra and I were technically at the same caste tier, with our father being the Winterscar prime. Which meant nobody was going to jump into this argument. So I stepped up to the plate. “I don’t see anything stopping you from getting back out, princess.”

“Ridiculous. I’ve already settled in. It’s insects like you that should know better.”

I whistled, “Well well, who shoved ice up your ass this morning?”

The two minions bristled at that, Calem’s voice patching through first. “You don’t have the right to address the Lady, even less with the trash that comes out of your mouth.”

“Bold coming from you buddy. Didn’t your boss pick you out of some garbage pile?”

Ankah raised her hand before he could retort, shutting him up. “Calem, the best insults are sharpened with truth. Ignore dull barbs from an abandoned mutt like him. After all, nobody civilized was left alive to educate him.”

“Do you need me to teach your minion how to read and write next?”

Calem unhooked himself from his seat, standing up. “If you’re looking for a beatdown Winterscar, I’m more than happy to deliver. Or are you going to hide behind your sister again you coward?”

Kidra groaned, now getting pulled into the fight. “My brother apologizes for antagonizing you three. Please sit back down.”

“I don’t apolog-” But Kidra’s arm yanked me to the side of the seat.

“My dear brother, you owe me. I’d like some peace and quiet, and you’re going to make that happen. Are we clear?”

I turned to glare at the standing minion. “I… apologize for my rude behavior.”

The lackey stayed standing, glaring back at me under his goggles. There’s some irony here, how neither of us wanted to surrender, but neither of us wanted to piss off our respective bosses. Ankah finally waved him away, ordering him back into his seat with a flick of her head. “Impressive Kidra, you have him on a leash now. Good for you.”

“Must you continue with this childish behavior?” Kidra said, “We haven’t been teenagers for a long time now.”

“Alas, time doesn’t completely remove all... scars. Only most of them. Such a pity.”

“You only further prove my point.” Kidra glanced up, an exasperated breath coming out over the comms. “What do you really want? We both know you didn’t come here by chance.”

Ankah examined her glove, rotating it in the light, ignoring Kidra. Bits of gold jewelry glinted, as the light hit her bracers. “I want my knife,” She eventually said, primly. Almost as if it were an afterthought.

“Your knife? Curious, that’s not quite how I remember it going.”

“That knife should be mine by rights!” She snapped out, furious all of a sudden. “You should never have been allowed a spot in the first place!”

“I was allowed to compete as per tradition.”

“Your House isn’t even a real House anymore! You’ve been wiped off the face of the surface for years now!”

“Rules are rules. I suggest you learn to be content with second place. It’ll be quite useful in your life.”

The lady went quiet, composing herself again. Scheming probably. “Fine. No matter, I already planned for this.” Well, that sounds ominous. She drew out a mess of papers from her backpack. “This cost quite a bit of my own personal resources to track and obtain. Perhaps you might be interested.”

Ankah turned so the title was on top, making it visible to me. Specifically me. On the page, ‘Department of Defense - ECAC Field Antenna Handbook - JUNE 1984’

Bitch.

“How did you know?” I asked, voice low.

“Finding something Kidra wants was a dead end. Nothing she cares for is difficult to acquire. You, however, my research points that you’re full of desires far outside your ability to obtain.” She tapped the stack of papers, “Like this book.”

Don’t get excited. It might not even have what I need. For all I know, it could just be about software instead of the mechanical know-how on long-range radio waves. But scrapshit, if it did happen to detail that… a massive web of comm buoys all over the wastes would solve issues. Have them daisy chain information around, Pirates and thugs wouldn’t be able to find and destroy them all.

I'm already at the limits of what engineers typically learned. Anywhere further into the third era was a fool’s errand. It all got exponentially more complicated after simple circuits.

Records from back then showed a different picture then today. They had hundreds of people collaborating to advance the field, instant access to every bit of information in the entire world, guides that could distill a lifetime’s worth of work into a single paper report, state of the art tools and entire nations' worth of budget to work from.

And it still took them years to advance.

A combustion engine was easy enough to understand. But even old outdated computers simply couldn’t be reverse engineered from nothing by one person, especially with the culture of the clan. Research was seen as a time waste when those parts could be printed out and put to immediate use. Too much effort for something that might be outdated the very next day, if a scavenger happened to return with usable printing files.

Civilization had once been built on the shoulders of giants and today there are no giants to stand on.

She must have read my journal entries to know about that. This was bait. “If you think I’m going to ask my sister to trade her gods damned occult knife for a book, you’re out of your mind.”

Ankah laughed, putting the collection of papers back into her storage. “Of course not. The value difference is ludicrous. No, I’m not offering a trade. I’m offering a competition.”

Kidra took a look at me and then panned over to Ankah. “What are the terms?”

“This is ratshit,” I hissed, turning on my sister, “Risking your knife isn’t worth it for a stack of glorified paper.”

“The knife belongs to me, brother. I will choose to do with it as I please.”

Ankah cut in, voice almost gleeful. “Since the book’s value is far below an occult blade, I’ll allow you to select the challenge, so long as it is fair. Should you win, I’ll give you the book. Should I win, you’ll give me my knife.”

My sister stayed silent for a moment, mulling it over. “I accept. When we arrive at the next scrap site, whoever returns with the most power cells wins. You will have to leave behind one of your teammates however, as there’s only two of us and three of you.” She pointed at the minions, who seemed to almost bristle at the idea of getting separated. “Additionally, I’ll increase the stakes. Whoever loses must hand over all gathered power cells to the winner as well. I don’t intend to win only a book.”

That was still a gamble, but we had a heavy advantage. Most scavenging teams were large and optimized for working at such a scale. Ankah would find herself with only one teammate to rely on, a position she'd never been in before. Kidra and I on the other hand, we'd spent years learning how to maximize the efficiency of two people.

“So be it, I accept. Locke, you will stay behind at the convoy for this.” She turned her sights to us, “I look forward to victory.”

I stared at my sister, horrified, and switched over to private comms. “What have you done? There’s no way that book is worth taking a gamble on your knife.”

“The occult blade is only a tool in the end. It’s expensive, yes. But it can be replaced, or bought eventually. A dream is worth more.”

When I untangled just what she meant, it hit like a gut punch. “S-she’s going to cheat,” I said, sniffing and trying to keep composed against the well of emotions. I’m only sentimental because it’s not everyday someone puts a gods damned occult knife down on a bet for my crazy internet pipedream. Just a small one took years of saving up. A knife like hers would take decades.

“She will not cheat. Consider her position.” Kidra looked up from her rifle, staring down her rival. “Of all the options available for my knife, she deliberately chose a competition. It likely took her longer to obtain that book then to commission her own knife, and she certainly has the capital to outright purchase one.”

“Lords, you political schemers are complicated.”

Kidra nodded, showing a hand sign for smiling. “She’s always been like this, her pride is far more important than a knife, even an occult one. You don’t know her as well as I do.”

Ankah sat prim and properly on her seat, almost smug even. I could hear it in her voice. “I hope you’ve enjoyed that blade, my dear. In a few hours, it will be mine as it should have been from the start.”

Kidra scoffed back, “Did you think I accepted this competition for charity? I fully intend to win.”

The antique airspeeder rumbled under us. Almost annoyed, like a particularly sharp stick had prodded it. The vibrations were making it through all my layers of printed fur.

"All crew, prep for takeoff. Keep your arms and legs close and make sure you don't forget to hook yourself up. I’m lookin’ at you Degrato." The comms system announced in a deep voice.

I could hear the common channel blow up with laughter, and one indignant voice objecting the whole way through.

“Complain all you want kid, you should have paid more attention to who’s next to your hook.” The pilot replied with a good natured chuckle, silencing the comms noise. “The rest of the expedition is headin’ out now guys and gals. Takeoff in….

three...

two...

one..."