Dreamer made good time as he trekked across the acidic wasteland. It was marred by craters and other leftovers from the apocalyptic war that had once raged across the planet's surface, likely thousands of years ago. The radioactive waste was slowly fading away and new life was returning to the planet, only to receive new scars as its inhabitants fought with one another over what little that was left. Still, nature proved itself to be both resourceful and resilient and the landscape was full with a unique flora and fauna, alien plants climbing across the rocky paths and painting the surroundings blue and green. Resurgent animal life scurried away into hiding at the heavy soldier's passing, peeking through the gaps in their well concealed nests at the armoured behemoth that was stomping through their territory.

The surreal and dangerous beauty of the land was lost on the Genesis. As his lenses darted from rock to rock, from crevice to hilltop and from dried out riverbed to thick undergrowth, his analytical mind translated it to cover and concealment, potential ambushes and the solidity of the ground. He spotted no signs of the Ragnai, as Nightmare had predicted, but that did not cause him to drop his guard. Technology was good. Being wary was better. Thinking yourself safe is what got people killed.

His breath softly rang in and out of his internal rebreather as he forced himself to stick to a steady pace rather than rushing from cover to cover. His carbine was held out in front of him, seemingly loose but ready to be snapped up at a moment's notice. His Geiger counter was softly ticking, a constant drop of noise in the otherwise quiet background. The numbers were low. He could survive out of his armour. Inside of it, he was perfectly impervious to the threat.

A growl tore through the canyon as a large predator readied itself for the assault. Dreamer didn't acknowledge it. It wasn't a threat to him. He saw how it moved, how it didn't dent the ground with its passing. It wasn't strong enough, weighed too little to harm him. It would attack, still, lacking the ability to discern that he wasn't prey. He would just stomp it flat.

'Shoot it,' came Nightmare's just as the large, cat-like creature shifted its weight, indicating an immediate launch. Dreamer didn't understand why, but obeyed the command. He raised his carbine and it coughed out a pair of shots. The first green blob slammed into the large beast and he could hear several bones snap under the sudden impact, saw its skin rupture and dark red blood seep out from the open wounds. Then the second shot hit and tore straight through the animal's body, leaving a large, gaping wound, its heart and part of its lungs simply gone. Dreamer ran past the dead beast, already a dozen metres past it by the time it crashed into the rocky floor. 'Elaborate,' he asked. He felt a minor annoyance at having to voice the question, much preferring the simple pings they used while operating. That closely interwoven system of communication required full access to each other's system, and was rendered moot by the threat of an active AI.

'No signs of battle improve odds of diplomacy succeeding,' came the curt reply. He sent out an acknowledgement and continued his trek, accepting it as true. He did not understand the why of it, as it would have made no difference to him if someone was covered in blood or not, but he had long since accepted that some things were not to be understood by Genesis. It did not matter. Either the Ragnai would grant him access willingly or he would simply take it.

It took another hour before the Ragnai finally revealed themselves in the form of scouting parties. He slowed down the moment he spotted the irregular movement in the red grass. He was in something resembling a tundra now, herds of large beasts roaming around, carrying enough mass with them to potentially damage him. They had been easy to see and easier to avoid. The Ragnai hunters, however, had been well hidden to the naked eye and the radiation threw off his sensors. They were adepts at moving silently, but it was that skill that had given them away. When an entire brush showed absolutely no movement, it was easy to understand that it was inhabited by creatures trying to shy themselves from sight.

He made sure to trek past them, well within their vision. They didn't break their stealth, which he took notice of. These hunters weren't fools. If there were many like them in the religious caste, it meant they possessed many disciplined and skilled warriors. He continued moving past them, showing off the crest of Hope and other similar symbols that Nightmare had painted on top of his armour. This time there was a reaction and the leaves rustled slightly. On Nightmare's advice he moved closer to a herd and raised his weapon towards them, without firing. Once they moved outside of his reach, he lowered it once more and continued his slow pace towards the main facility. Within the confines of his helmet he listened as Nightmare explained that he had shown them that he was armed for his own safety, not to cause harm. That he understood. If Genesis was sent in to clear a path, they killed everything.

A few minutes after passing the group of hunters, she informed him that a line of communications had opened between the hunters and their outpost. The report was quickly followed by several others as the message spread both horizontally and vertically. Horizontally as a rumour, she guessed. Vertically, because kicking things to the higher ups to let them make a decision seemed to be a trait found in virtually any species. Either that principle, or the "shoot on sight" one. Dreamer felt a sliver of satisfaction when she reported that a large column had departed the nearest base, for lack of a better word, and was heading in his direction. From her passive feed she could make out several armed guards, but the majority was dressed in the reflective white garb that the priests seemed to wear. That was good. It meant he was about to meet a procession rather than clash with an enemy cohort.

He held another short conversation with his overwatch, finalised attack vectors, possible situations and body language hints, before he redirected himself at her urging and moved straight towards the incoming group. She tried to explain it as him being guided by a higher power, but he did not understand it. These people had short ranged radar systems. How anyone could draw anything other than such a logical conclusion was beyond him. He dismissed the thought. It was irrelevant.

They were in front of him now. A scant six hundred metres out. He was still well hidden from sight, but the moment he moved they would spot him instantly. The foliage he was in would roil under his size. He was contemplating. There were over a hundred of them, but only thirty-four guards that he could count. He could gun them down with ease, if he should so chose. The terrain was ill suited to defend, lacking cover and providing little options for concealment. If he attacked, it would be a running battle to the facility. Thousands more Ragnai. A potential hostile AI that could overwhelm him. That same AI that potentially held the answers both he and Nightmare so sorely needed. A potential key to staving out rampancy, if it had not yet planted its seeds in her mind, without either of them having caught on.

'A potential non-hostile AI,' spoke the source of his concern, her thoughts running in close parallel to his.

He sighed and walked out of the small forest, his left hand held high, his right still resting on his carbine. The procession's guards spotted him within seconds and instantly began to spread out. A tall Ragnai gave a shrill scream and the guards ceased moving, their eyes still tracking him. The tall creature, which Nightmare, who was watching the video feed his Muninn was broadcasting, identified as a high priest, spread his arms. Dreamer's eyes were drawn to the black lines on his gown. The same crest that adorned his armour. Hope. He took another two steps forwards and the guards stiffened, but didn't budge. Moving with exaggerated slowness, he grasped the centre of his carbine with his left hand and placed it on the ground, much to the joy of the high priest, who let out a high pitched series of shouts. The guards seemed to be mollified by it and fell back towards the procession, taking up tactically inefficient positions, before the whole group moved towards him. The high priest spearheaded it all and was actively running towards him. Dreamer noted the complete lack of aggression, but still felt his fingers twitch as his instincts demanded he attacked them.

The high priest kept coming closer until he was only a couple of metres out from him. The rest of the procession was still rushing forward to catch up, but made no inclination to come as close as their high priest did, two guards excepted. Those two still maintained a far more respectable distance and did not show any sign of hostility, but a strange sort of something he could only define as respect, lacking the knowledge of the concept of reverence.

The high priest screeched again, holding his arms wide while maintaining eye contact, even if the Ragnai had to look up to do so and could only stare at the polarised faceplate. Dreamer knew he was out of his depth now and waited for Nightmare to respond.

Their culture is fascinating, Nightmare thought as she heard the high priest introduce itself as Shalis-Kha, spiritual guide of Legh-Siss. He must know that Dreamer is not one of their kind, she knew. But how will he react? She knew from previous negotiations that most sentients reacted badly to a mountain of metal standing in front of you and refusing to make even the slightest of movements. It helped in coming to a more advantageous mercenary contract, but here she doubted it would be of any use. Shalis-Kha seemed to be growing more nervous by the second, a mixture of anxiety and eagerness clashing within him if her analysis was correct, but still she waited for him to speak.

'Do you understand my language, esteemed Pilgrim?' the Ragnai finally asked, surprising Nightmare by showing a level of knowledge she had not prescribed to them before. She sent in a simple command and triggered the right combination of words from Dreamer's Muninn.

'I do,' came a garbled voice, the tones shrill and unpleasant to hear, but the words were spoken without any hint of an accent. Deciphering the Ragnai language had been easy. It much resembled Imperial. Simple and succinct, with many difficult concepts captured by single words. Language similarity between races attempting to create/succeed in creating AIs? Further investigation is warranted, she mused, saving the thought for later. 'Yet despite this, I am not Ragnai. I am foreign,' she replied vocally, lacing the latter comment with the right guttural grunts that enriched the word, informing him that he was not familiar with their culture.

He made a polite bow, his pale skin glistening from between his scales as he was puffing himself up. Stress? she wondered. It seemed likely. Any more and his skin would pull itself apart. 'I am thrice blessed then, Pilgrim!' the high priest replied. 'Once for being alive while a Pilgrim arrives! Twice for having been granted the joy of meeting you! Thrice for being able to converse with you! Tell me, esteemed Pilgrim, why have you come?' Shalis-Kha's voice was loud and the man was a good orator, for it carried far and wide. The members of the procession, who had been aptly listening in, held their collective breaths. Despite the alien body language, she could easily discern that there was a barely contained excitement running through the group.

She knew the answer to this one, though.

'I have been in Despair,' she replied, her voice, or rather that of the Muninn, carrying even further than that of Shalis-Kha. 'And I have come seeking Hope!'

The gathered Ragnai abandoned all pretence at being calm and collected as a wild, primitive cheer ran through the group. It was an overpowering cacophony of sound and tumult and even Shalis-Kha seemed unwilling to call them to order. On the contrary, she thought, amused. He seems to be holding himself back from joining in.

She was glad for it. It meant nobody noticed how much Dreamer was struggling to contain himself. She could read his bio-signals and his body was ready to throw itself into the fray. It was all he could do to just stand there, listen to her trying to distract him lest he activate his disruptor blades.

She also lamented his lack of interest in the Ragnai culture. There was a wealth of information there, hinting at a rich and complicated past. Things she would have never been interested in before she became an AI, but now she had to fend off the desire to override her superior's orders and not plunge herself deep into what passed for a data-net amongst the Ragnai. Was that because of who she was? Or because of what she was? Was the desire something she wanted as a person, or because of an AI's natural hunger? She dismissed the thought and desire alike. It was irrelevant.

Dreamer kept careful track of the Ragnai who was carrying his carbine. The creature was tall for a Ragnai, towering even above Shalis-Kha, and he would have thought it to be a strong, capable soldier were it not for the blissed out look it had on its face. Nightmare said it was related to their religion and that it meant that he would neither fiddle with the weapon, nor drop it, which was all he needed to know. Beside him was the high priest, chattering constantly with him. What it was about, he did not quite know. Nightmare kept translating for him, but the conversation made no sense, even with his support elaborating. He made her stop doing so after a short while, telling her to only tell him the things that mattered. He much preferred keeping his attention on the rapidly evolving situation.

He was now within reach of the main facility. A gargantuan pair of doors, large enough to let a small escort ship pass through, were in front of him. The doors were clean, seemingly well maintained and very much closed. He made some quick calculations at how many explosives he would need to breach them and quickly realised that this wasn't an option. The doors were only a minor concern to him, at present. The tens of thousands of Ragnai gathered around the plaza he was being led to demanded his attention more. The overwhelming majority was unarmed, but that still left, at a careful estimate, over three thousand of armed potential hostiles around him. Not good odds.

His situation was made worse by his inability to track that many targets at once. Ever since the procession had met up with several others, their number had superseded his ability to keep tabs on everything at once and it was grating on him. His body longed to attack, to fight, to reduce the number of hostiles in reference to his allies to a more acceptable number. Preferably zero. Matters were not helped by the absence of his carbine, though he knew he might have begun opening fire on them already had it remained in his hands.

He was marched into the centre of the plaza, escorted by several high priests at this point, towards a Ragnai whose scales were completely white. Dreamer did not see the masterfully crafted gown, the intricate patterns on the creature's staff or the wisdom of ages in its eyes. All the saw was a small, metal key-card hanging from its neck. He moved his sight to the door, keeping two lenses firmly trained on the key-card, and scanned it carefully. He found a small station at the very left of it and found the slot where the card was supposed to go in. He told Nightmare, and readied himself for things to go south. Because things would break down, he realised. Either it would be the negotiations, or him.

Nightmare knew she was fighting a running battle with the clock. Surrounded on all sides by thousands of Ragnai, about to face a potentially living and hostile AI, no Genesis or Imperial back up, save her droids, and Dreamer's nerves were fraying rapidly. Genesis were front line units, soldiers you could reliably toss into the worst combat zones and know they'd still come out on top. They could infiltrate deep within enemy territory, lay waste to fortifications, dance across minefields and sidestep artillery barrages. They could not, however, be diplomatic and refrain from killing people you expected to go toe to toe with. It was why their mercenary contracts were selected on their obscurity. The farther they were from civilisations and crowds, the less likely accidents would occur. Or leave survivors.

Now she was pressed for time and trying to sweet talk Solvisss-Khas into granting them access to the inner facility. And the bastard was being surprisingly stubborn about it.

'Honoured Solvisss-Khas,' she tried again, imploring him. 'I have come from far and seen much Despair. I am in dire need of Hope. Can I not visit? Can I not enter? Have I not proven my right as Pilgrim through the distance travelled and the pain I endured?' Beside Dreamer she could see the other priests bob their heads up and down in agreement. She had convinced them already. It was only the Khas that still needed convincing and he seemed intent on doubling down.

'You are young, Pilgrim. You know not distance, for you have not travelled much. You know not pain, for you are young and have not suffered as we have. You are not more entitled to Hope than we are, for you have not fought with Despair.'

He's talking about their past! The past of Hope! she realised, urging Dreamer to restrain himself a bit longer, that she was making headway.

'Then tell me, honoured Solvisss-Khas,' she continued. 'About your travelling. Then tell me, honoured Solvisss-Khas, about your suffering.' She added a soft undertone of honest pleading into her voice. 'Then tell me, honoured Solvisss-Khas, about your battles with Despair.'

She had hoped for an answer. Would have begun to pray if there had been a power she believed in to be higher than her own. Instead she listened to the Khas spill into a tirade about pathetic things. About hunger and starvation. About the loss of people close to him. She felt her cores heat up in raw, putrid disgust, emotions warring with her logic arrays as memories flooded her processors. What did he know of distance? He had never left his planet. What did he know of suffering, when his race still lived? What did he know of fighting with Despair, when he had not sacrificed EVERYTHING, spent every waking moment plotting and fighting, had not shed blood and sent the people he was supposed to protect to their deaths? She tried to think of words to describe the overwhelming hate that was welling up from within the deepest parts of herself , but any language she knew fell woefully short of the emotions the decadent priest conjured within her. He was not interested in helping! He was only fighting them off because he wanted to safeguard his own damned status. He was—

It was almost a relief when Dreamer's suffocated voice came through. 'Are you still making headway?'

She contemplated the answer for a full three seconds. An eternity. She ran thousands of calculations, faced off on all of them with her own desire to see the bastard dead.

In the end she did not know which one truly won out. A rational thought that the Ragnai would never allow an outsider into their sacred temple? The knowledge that Dreamer was getting increasingly close to losing the running battle with his instincts? Or the emotional desire to see the arrogant mongrel in front of her destroyed, annihilated, torn apart, gutted, cleft in half and...

'No,' she replied. 'I'm not.'