The village they entered was strikingly similar to what little of Black Sun Glory had actually seen, at least on the surface, with the only real difference being the permutation of the buildings and tents—Black Sun had had fewer structures, but they had on average been on the larger end of the scale, while for comparison Rustpike had many more, smaller structures.

At the center of it all stood a large well. Though, it did not look like any well common in the wastes. It was instead reminiscent of the well Father used to obtain his water—crafted from glinting titanium coated in a carbon fiber, in a roughly ovoid shape, like a great egg burrowed in the sand. It drew and condensed water up from reservoirs deep beneath the ground, and doled it out using a series of complex nozzles and hoses.

Glory knew how to operate it, thanks to information from Father’s archives. But how on earth had a crowd of wastelanders learn to work it? It required precise, complex tuning at least once a month, and incorrect tuning could lead to the entire populace becoming sick with heavy metal poisoning.

“The fuck is that?” Dixon asked sharply, staring at the well.

“A well,” Glory said.

“A well?”

“You know, for water?”

“I know what a well is!” Dixon snapped. “I ain’t never seen one like that before, though.”

Glory sighed. “Old world technology, based on schematics obtained from the Benefactors, if I recall correctly. I have no idea how the Navajo managed to find one and get it to work, however.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Gray Hawk said, “but it’s proven invaluable.”

“I’ll bet,” Dixon grumbled. “How does it work?”

Glory’s attention was torn away from their conversation about the well when something bright glinted in the corner of her vision, and she looked towards the source. At the far side of the village stood a bustling scrapyard, of all things. A trio of brawny men set what looked like part of an old internal combustion engine block down in front of a woman, who immediately began stripping the cylinders out of the device with a set of wrenches. Beside her, a man with a welding torch stood affixing the more decorative part of yet another totem pole to an actual metal pole: a flagpole, if Glory had to guess.

“Totem poles?” she asked, nodding towards it.

Centauri hummed in agreement. “I guess Zora really wasn’t joking about expanding the boundaries again.” He shook his head.

Gray Hawk suddenly let out a happy shout from up ahead as a small blur tore out of a nearby tent and raced towards him, barreling into his midsection. The blur proved to be a young girl, with sleek black hair pulled into twin braids and a wide, toothy smile. A woman ran up behind her shouting, before she did a double-take in Gray Hawk’s direction and a matching smile crossed her own face. She immediately ran in for a hug as well.

Once the girl and woman pulled back, the girl eagerly went to greet Centauri as well, and Gray Hawk turned to the rest of their group. “This is my daughter, Chenoa, and my granddaughter Star.” He nodded to them. “New friends. Don’t worry.”

The woman—Chenoa—eyed Needles nervously, but smiled at the rest of them. The girl, however, seemed astonished by the rest of their little group once she managed to tear her attention away from Centauri and her grandfather. Her gaze danced across each of them eagerly, before finally landing on Glory.

“I love your hair!” she breathed.

Glory blinked rapidly. “Uhm… thank you?”

The girl beamed, then turned to run off again, towards a group of other children playing a short distance away.

“Don’t mind her,” Gray Hawk chuckled. “She doesn’t get to meet many outsiders.”

“And she wouldn’t,” a distinctly displeased-sounding voice came from behind them, “if her grandfather didn’t lead them straight for us.”

Gray Hawk tensed at the words, and they all turned slowly to face the source of the voice. “Stands-on-Stone,” Gray Hawk sighed, and turned to the rest of them. “This is Stands-on-Stone,” he introduced. “My sister-in-law.” In turn, he quickly introduced each of them to the woman as well.

She didn’t exactly look happy to see any of them, but her expression soured considerably when she came to Needles. “A mutant. Incredible.”

Gray Hawk barked something at her in Navajo. “Be polite,” he hissed, this time in English. “They are my guests.”

Her nose wrinkled, as if Gray Hawk had just told her she had mold growing in her hair, or something equally disgusting.

As though they weren’t even worth her time; just objects, lying in the way.

Glory scowled to herself as the woman turned on her heel and marched away.

Dixon let out a low whistle. “No offense, Gray Hawk, but your sister-in-law is a real piece o’ work.”

Rather than snap back defensively, as Glory had honestly expected, Gray Hawk merely let out a weary-sounding sigh. “I know she seems harsh,” he said, “but she only wants what’s best for our people.”

“What about you, though?” Dixon asked. “You think she wants what’s best for you?”

Gray Hawk’s brows furrowed, and a look of mild irritation crossed his face. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“‘Cause I noticed she didn’t even bother askin’ you how you’re doin’ before she started—”

“Enough!” Gray Hawk barked. He then took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. “The late night meal will be served soon,” he said, voice strained but not outright hostile. “I can have them prepare a few extra portions. Are you hungry?”

A wave of agreement emanated from their group, with Centauri undoubtably the most enthusiastic and Glory undoubtably the least. Luckily, none of the others seemed to notice as Gray Hawk turned to leave.

“I’ll go speak with Stands-on-Stone and see if I can smooth things over with her a bit. In the meantime,” he nodded over towards a large fire pit by the well, “have a seat wherever you’d like. If anyone asks, just tell them you’re with me.”

With that, he turned and walked away, in the same direction Stands-on-Stone had gone, leaving the rest of them to fend for themselves. With his instructions, but still… Glory felt naked without him guiding them. Centauri didn’t seem to command the same respect, and not just because of their vast difference in ages.

Dixon, ever the leader, set out for the fire pit first, followed by Wilkes and Centauri. Glory and Needles trailed along behind, and lingered uncomfortably by as people bustled around them. An ever-growing group had already crowded around, one nurturing the crackling campfire while others spread out blankets or set up chairs and cushions around the flames.

A kind-faced older woman gestured Glory and Needles towards a pair of rickety old world chairs she set down at the edge of the campfire’s reach, with an almost knowing smile on her face. Not sure what to say or how to refuse, they accepted, and watched as the woman went to work ushering others to their own seats.

Across the flames from her and Needles, Glory could see Dixon and Wilkes seated together. Gray Hawk was evidently still elsewhere, and Centauri milled about at the edge of the crowd, awkwardly, as though he were the outsider rather than them.

“Are you warm enough?” Needles asked, startling Glory out of her thoughts.

She peered over at him in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged. “Just asking.” His shoulders hitched, and a shiver ran through him.

“Looks like you aren’t.” Glory shot him a knowing look, which he ignored.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You aren’t even wearing a real shirt,” Glory pointed out.

His mouth opened, only to shut a few seconds later. Evidently, he didn’t have a rebuttal.

Glory shrugged off her own jacket and held it out for him. “Here.”

“Wh—No, I can’t take your—”

“I’m wearing more than you are,” Glory interrupted.

He hesitated for a moment before accepting, pulling the fabric around himself. The jacket was oversized enough even on Glory that it fit Needles’ wider shoulders with minimal stretching. After a moment, he whispered, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of them as more and more of the Navajo settled in around them, before an amused huff escaped Needles.

“What is it?” she asked distractedly.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve argued over your jacket.”

Glory glanced over at him. “It’s not my fault you refuse to dress for the weather.”

He laughed at that, tipping over slightly until he was leaning into her side. Glory didn’t mind.

Across the fire, her gaze caught Dixon’s, who merely nodded at her before leaning over to listen to whatever a stern-faced Navajo man was saying to him. Then Glory’s attention was taken by the reappearance of Gray Hawk’s familiar form, emerging out of the shadows at the campfire’s edge like a ghost. He arrived sans sister-in-law, though, and the sour look on his face indicated some kind of difficulty there.

Glory’s proximity sensors flashed madly, to the point where she had to turn them off. She’d never had to do that before, but with so many people so close, it left her feeling somehow both too large and too small for her skin. She wanted to get away, but she couldn’t. Only Needles’ warmth beside her kept her rooted to her seat.

Glory hunched her shoulders in as a buzz of conversation blanketed the area. She flinched and let out a yelp when someone sat right next to her, their side brushing her own, and she reared back, ready to shove away from the intruder when she saw who it was: Centauri, his own shoulders drawn in much like Glory’s, his sullen gaze fixed on the ground.

Glory opened her mouth to speak to him, only to pause. What could she say to him, exactly? There was nothing saying he couldn’t sit next to her, even if she hadn’t been expecting it. If anything, she’d been expecting him to stick to Gray Hawk’s side.

Glancing back across the fire, she saw that the stern-faced man had gone, leaving the seat next to Dixon empty. Not for long, though, as Gray Hawk found his place.

Beside her, Centauri gave no indication that he’d even noticed, merely letting out a quiet huff.

Had they had a disagreement?

Was there something more sinister going on there?

Glory was jolted from her spiraling thoughts when one of the Navajo began passing around bowls of some kind of stew. Glory accepted the offered bowl with a bemused frown, and while the woman hesitated before offering one to Needles, he accepted the offered food graciously.

Needles, Centauri, and the other humans dug into their meals eagerly, while Glory hesitated.

Technically, she could consume small amounts of food or drink without risk of damaging her components. The prospect still made something inside her chassis twist uncomfortably.

She had no choice, though; the Navajo, although somewhat distracted with their meals, were still eagerly conversing with each other, their gazes sweeping over everyone else crowded around the fire. The chance that they wouldn’t notice her not eating were… slim, to say the least.

Glory raised the spoon to her lips and sipped the mouthful of stew down her throat. She couldn’t taste like a human could, sensing little more than the stew’s warmth and nutritional content, but she hummed pleasantly anyway for the sake of the deception.

She’d have to flush her systems later. Wonderful.

It was a bit like regurgitation: never pleasant, but occasionally necessary.

The stew went down with minimal complications, aside from the occasional alert from her system warning her of foreign object consumption. They were easy enough to dismiss.

“So…” a nearby man, with a particularly vivid scar running diagonally across his face leaned forward, peering at them. “Why would Gray Hawk travel with a mutant?” His lip curled at the word.

Needles stiffened beside Glory, but he maintained eye contact with the man. “Everyone is allowed to change the path their life is taking.”

The man hummed dismissively. “True, but mutants don’t typically want to change. What’s so different about you?”

“Does it matter?”

The man scowled. “It does to me. These are my friends, and I won’t—”

“Stop it,” Centauri growled, from Glory’s other side. “Gray Hawk trusts him. Why can’t you?”

The man’s scowl deepened as he glared at Centauri, but he didn’t seem to have an actual argument. He stormed away with a huff. Surprisingly, none of the others nearby seemed to have noticed the exchange.

Centauri shrunk in on himself and returned to his stew, but Glory kept an eye on him. Finally, after a period of time that he’d apparently deemed ‘acceptable’, he turned to her with questions swimming in his eyes but only one on his lips.

“Where will you go, after this?”

Glory’s brows furrowed. “East. To the mines? We’re looking for cultists, remember?” She pressed a few fingers to his forehead. “Are you feeling all right? Amnesia is a fairly dangerous sign—”

“I don’t mean now!” he snapped, rearing back, away from her hand. “I mean later! After… whatever we find there.”

“Oh.” Glory let her hand drop, and instead turned to glare at a point by her foot. “I don’t… know.”

“You don’t know?” Centauri sounded bewildered.

Glory shrugged helplessly, and Needles said, “To be fair, we’ve had bigger concerns on our minds.”

Centauri frowned, but didn’t seem to have a rebuttal. Still, he was persistent. “But… if you had a choice, what would you do?”

Glory shrugged again. “Originally, when I first came down here, I planned on heading to Reza City. I suppose, that plan would still work.”

Beside her, Needles stiffened ever so slightly.

Centauri’s nose wrinkled. “You’d willingly give yourself over to the Benefactors?”

“I would never willingly give myself over to anyone,” Glory snarled, glaring down at him.

Centauri, and a few of the other nearby Navajo, stared at her in startled disbelief. The attention made Glory’s skin crawl, and she slumped in place.

“It’s the one place my father would never look,” she finally sighed in explanation.

A look of confusion crossed Centauri’s face, before it mutated into something more akin to understanding. Pity. And that did make her skin crawl again.

She was the finest piece of robotics ever created. She didn’t need a human’s pity.

She flexed her jaw, tipping her head back to gaze at the sky. Though, judging by the amount of tension in her faceplate that she couldn’t quite relax, ‘glare’ might be a better description. For once, it wasn’t intentional. Her mind wandered, strangely, back to the brief argument between Dixon and Gray Hawk, and a question escaped her lips before she could really stop it.

“Did she look for him at all?”

“Hmm?” Centauri peered over at her, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth.

Glory lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, just in case any of the strangers around them were more loyal to Stands-on-Stone than Gray Hawk, and asked, “When Gray Hawk was taken, did Stands-on-Stone look for him at all?”

Centauri hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

Glory arched a brow, letting out a soft breath. “Interesting.”

“Why?” Centauri asked. He shifted a little closer to her, leaning in to whisper, “You think she… betrayed him? Told the mutants how to find him?”

Glory frowned. “I don’t know. Anything I’d say would be pure conjecture at this point, and…” She cut herself off, gazing at Centauri. She didn’t have much experience with human children and adolescents, but even just glancing at him, she could see how young he was. His cheeks were still ever so slightly plump with baby fat, and his eyes were far too innocent to belong in the wastes. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you.”

He scowled, opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. The tension on his face told Glory he still had more to say, but was hesitating for some reason.

Glory waited a few moments before impatience won out, and she snapped, “You have something to say. Either say it, or let me eat in peace.”

Not that she was really interested in eating, but, well…

Centauri exhaled shakily, tightening his hands into fists. “I—Would… Would you be opposed to me… traveling with you? Long term?”

Glory’s own spoon froze halfway between her bowl and her mouth. “You… want… to come with us?”

He nodded.

“But… Gray Hawk’s safe,” she said, unnecessarily. Obviously Gray Hawk was safe: he was seated across the fire from them. “Why else would you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he hissed. “Just… would you allow it? Would you… accept me?”

Adolescents. So obsessed with acceptance. But, she supposed she couldn’t fault him too much; it wasn’t his fault humans were a social species.

But he was so young. Humans didn’t reach physical maturity until twenty years of age. However much he might’ve wanted to appear adult, his plump cheeks and gangly, disproportionate limbs gave his true age away.

“You should stay here,” she said. “It’s dangerous. In the desert, I mean.”

He turned to glare at her. “Why? Because I’m young?”

“Yes, because you’re young!” Glory exclaimed. “Going by the average lifespan of a Navajo man in the wasteland, you’ve got at least another fifty years or so.” She leaned in close to gaze deeply in his eyes, noting how he backed away. “Don’t waste them traipsing aimlessly through the desert.”

Centauri’s glare didn’t lessen. Instead, he reached out and snatched a canteen from one of the nearby Navajo men, earning an annoyed grunt from the man in question, and took a swig. He immediately began coughing and sputtering, but he took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, trying to make himself look more impressive. “It’s not aimless,” he said, after catching his breath. “Cultists are a threat to everyone: here, there, everywhere. I want to take care of them.”

“And the only way to do that is to set off with complete strangers?” Glory gazed at him skeptically for a moment, until it occurred to her that that was essentially what the rest of them had done.

She hadn’t even known Needles for more than a few hours when she threw herself between him and the barrel of Dixon’s gun. And Dixon—all she’d really known about him when she’d essentially tied herself to his side was that A) he was the marshal of a now-dead town, and B) he was reasonably skilled with a rifle.

“Strength in numbers,” Centauri murmured, drawing Glory’s attention back to him. “It’s dangerous for one person in the desert.”

Glory almost reminded him that they’d found him in the desert alone, but there was no way he’d forgotten: more likely, he’d simply chosen to forget that little fact that contradicted the rest of his narrative.

Humans were infuriating like that.

But, however much she might’ve disapproved of essentially adding an untested child to their permanent roster, she wasn’t his mother. She couldn’t tell him not to come alone. “If Dixon agrees, I don’t see why not.”

“Dixon?” Centauri furrowed his brows at her.

Glory half-shrugged, aware of how strange it was that she and Needles and Wilkes had so easily, wordlessly accepted the older man as their leader. But, she supposed that he was the most qualified, out of all of them.

Centauri nodded. “Fine, then. I’ll convince Dixon,” he said, in that foolhardy, illogical self-confidence that adolescent humans seemed to excel at. He stood up and stalked across the fire, leaving Glory and Needles alone.

Glory stared down at her stew, trying to ignore the churning of her internals. She’d eaten roughly a third of her portion, and she prayed that that would be enough to convince the others. Wordlessly, she set the bowl aside and stood. Only a few of the Navajo even bothered to look in her direction as she walked away, searching for a secluded enough spot to purge her system.

***

“It is a strange group you’ve gathered,” Gray Hawk noted. His voice was carefully neutral; the sort of tone you used when you had questions (or criticisms) and didn’t quite know how to bring them up without insulting someone.

Dixon forced himself not to react to the words, merely hummed through a spoonful of the stew one of the women had handed him with a smile and wink. Dixon returned the smile, if only to be polite, but his attention was elsewhere. “How do you mean?”

“The cannibal,” Gray Hawk hissed with a stiff frown. Then, gentler, “the woman.” Nodding toward Wilkes, who had refused the bowl of stew offered to them, he added, “This one.”

If Wilkes was offended by being lumped in with the other ‘strange’ ones, they didn’t show it.

“Needles an’ Wilkes, I’ll give ya, but what ‘bout Glory?” Dixon asked. Even though, privately, he agreed.

There was something just subtly off about her, in a way he couldn’t name. It wasn’t just the way she talked; he knew what Citadel folk sounded like. They spoke stiltedly, awkwardly, but still naturally, in their own way. Glory sounded like she was reading from an encyclopedia half the time, and the other half she seemed surprised when she dropped something and it actually hit the ground.

It seemed that Gray Hawk agreed with him, though, when the older man hummed, “I do not know. But there is… something.” He turned to Dixon. “You said she was a nomad?”

“Only survivor of her group, far as I know.” Dixon frowned. “Said she came from Manitoba, up in the mountains.”

Gray Hawk’s brows arched, but he didn’t react otherwise.

Dixon stared into the fire as they ate in relative silence for a while, before the long-buried manners his Ma had drilled into him as a boy came bubbling back up to the surface, and something suspiciously like guilt clawed at him.

“Listen…” he began, frowning lightly, “I ain’t good at this, but I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Gray Hawk asked.

Dixon shot a confused look over at him. “For… being rude earlier.” When Gray Hawk’s look of confusion remained, he leaned in and whispered, “about Stands-on-Stone.”

“Ah.” Gray Hawk relaxed minutely. “It’s fine. Forgiven and forgotten.” He, too, gazed into the fire contemplatively, his mind far away for a long moment, before murmuring, “After you deal with the mutants, what will you do?”

Frowning, Dixon shook his head lightly. “I don’t know. I mean, even if we find their prisoners… Black Sun is gone.”

“Black Sun?” Gray Hawk gazed at him with badly-disguised curiosity. “What happened, exactly? If you don’t mind telling.”

Dixon’s jaw flexed as he thought. He supposed that Gray Hawk deserved some kind of explanation. Nothing said he needed to tell the whole story, after all.

“The mayor tried to make a deal with the cultists—the townspeople, in return for his and his son’s safety. They didn’t take the deal, ended up sending raiders to drag off most of the townsfolk.”

“Most?”

Dixon’s expression tightened. “Everyone under the age of sixty. Everyone else was expendable.”

Gray Hawk frowned. “I see.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re not dead,” Dixon said, determinedly ignoring the yet that echoed in the back of his head.

“Still. That many prisoners, the cultists will no doubt have a great deal of security to keep them in line,” Gray Hawk noted. “It will be difficult with just the four of you. Maybe even impossible.”

Dixon couldn’t tell if he was imagining the concern in Gray Hawk’s voice. Wouldn’t be the first time wishful thinking had gotten him in trouble.

Dixon laughed humorlessly. “I would’ve said the same thing ‘bout the wind farm, but we managed to pull through. Maybe it’s stupid, but something tells me we might actually have a chance.”

But do you actually care if you make it? that same voice in the back of his mind purred.

Again, Dixon ignored it.

He instead turned to look at Gray Hawk, a burning question on his lips. “Why… Why would the cultists take you? What’s so valuable about you in particular.” He winced at his own words. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Gray Hawk shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“No idea? None at all?” When Gray Hawk said nothing for a long moment, Dixon lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Could it have anything to do with your well?”

Gray Hawk stared at him. “What does that have to do with—”

“You tell me,” Dixon interrupted, “’Cause I ain’t never seen anything like it. You’re the elder ‘round here; chances are, you got final say in what kinda well got installed. And you wouldn’t’a gotten that one if you didn’t feel confident in it. So…” Dixon arched an expectant brow.

Gray Hawk’s eyes narrowed. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he leaned just slightly closer and whispered, voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation that enveloped them. “Later. In private.”

Dixon arched a brow but otherwise forced his face to remain impassive. Interesting. And a little worrisome.

He looked up sharply when someone came over to stand by them, but relaxed when he saw that it was just Centauri. The kid carried himself stiffly, standing with one arm wrapped around his midsection. He murmured something to Gray Hawk that Dixon couldn’t make out, but whatever it was, Gray Hawk nodded towards Dixon. And so, with a frown, Centauri turned to him instead.

“May I ask you a question?” he asked, looking somewhere between nervous, eager, and annoyed. It was almost cute.

“Sure, kid,” Dixon sighed. “What’s up?”

Centauri frowned for a moment, clearly hesitating, until an encouraging nod from Gray Hawk prompted him to blurt out, “Iwanttocomewithyou.”

“What?”

“I said…” Centauri took a deep breath and started over, slower this time, “I want to come with you.”

“To the mines?” Dixon asked.

Centauri nodded stiffly.

Dixon sat, staring at the kid with his mouth hanging slightly open. “Is—Is this a joke?”

Centauri reared back with a glare. “Why would I—”

“‘Cause I don’t see why you’d wanna come with us.” Dixon eyed the kid up and down. “You’re, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“What does that have to do with—”

“You don’t need to be throwing your life away.”

“But I want to!” Centauri blurted. “I even asked the woman—Glory!”

“And what’d she say?”

“She said to ask you.”

Dixon would have to have words with Glory about recruiting children into their little crusade. “No,” Dixon said. “And that’s final.”

Don’t look at him.

Don’t look at him and see Jimmy.

Don’t look at him and see his blood pooled all over the ground in a cannibal lair.

Dixon shoved his bowl aside, almost into Gray Hawk’s lap, and jumped to his feet. He stormed off, away from the fire.

He hoped the kid would’ve gotten the message, but sure enough, he heard footsteps scrambling to follow him as he approached the edge of the hill the little village was built on. “Why not?” the kid snapped.

“Because you’re too young!” Dixon snapped back. No need to tell him the other reason.

“I’m a man!” Centauri snarled. “I can fight just as well as you can! Just because you see me as a child, doesn’t mean—”

“I’m not having your blood on my hands!” Dixon shouted, stunning the kid into silence.

Well, shit.

Dixon sighed and hung his head, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Fuck,” he hissed. “I didn’t want to have this conversation tonight.”

Or any other night, for that matter.

“I can fight,” Centauri gasped. In fact, he seemed to be having trouble getting breath, leaning over to pant. Dixon worried he was about to have a panic attack. “I won’t be a risk. A li—lia—”

“Liability.”

Needles’ voice made both Dixon and Centauri jump, and they whirled to face the ex-cannibal. Needles stood a few feet behind them, hands raised placatingly.

“Don’t do that!” Dixon snapped. “How’n the hell did you get over here so quiet?”

“I didn’t realize I was being stealthy,” Needles murmured. Wide, icy blue eyes peered at them from behind limp white bangs. “He isn’t your deputy, Dixon.”

“Don’t,” Dixon snapped. “Don’t pretend you know what you’re talking about! Your damn brother—”

“I’m sorry, what is going on?” Centauri snapped.

“None of your damn—”

“Someone close to us died,” Needles explained. “Dixon is worried you’ll be next.”

Dixon and Centauri both bristled at the same time, albeit for different reasons. The kid turned to Dixon with rage in his eyes, and Dixon scowled at Needles. “You have no right—”

“He wants to come with us, Dixon,” Needles said softly. “If we don’t agree, he’ll probably just follow us. At least if we bring him with us, we can keep an eye on him.”

“I don’t need you keeping an eye on me!” Centauri snapped, but Dixon paused to consider.

Needles was right, of course. Dixon recognized Centauri’s kind of determination—he’d seen it on his own face when he’d been younger, starry-eyed and determined to keep Black Sun safe.

Look how well that turned out.

But that sour pit remained in his stomach, and he turned back to look at Centauri again.

Just a kid, dammit.

He wanted to yell and shake the kid until he came to his senses. But Needles was right. He’d probably just follow them if he said no.

“Fine,” Dixon sighed.

The kid’s angry tirade cut off abruptly, and he stared at Dixon with wide eyes. “W—What?”

“I said fine,” Dixon said. “You can come with us. But if we run into any danger, which we damn well will, then you are going to do everything I tell you to. No arguments, no bright ideas. You hear me?”

“Yes!” Centauri nodded eagerly. “I hear you.”

“Good.” Dixon sighed and turned back towards Needles. “Where’s Glory, anyway? Thought the two of you were practically attached at the hip these days.”

The ex-cannibal’s cheeks turned pink, but he responded, “She left. I assumed to use the facilities.” After a moment, he frowned lightly. “It’s been a while now, though.”

“Better go check on her pretty soon,” Dixon said. Out of all of them, even if they were getting close, Needles was still the closest thing they had to a doctor, making him the most well-equipped to check on someone.

Needles nodded stiffly. “Sure. In a minute or so.”

With that, he turned and walked off.

Dixon turned to Centauri, who didn’t seem to have noticed his and Needles’ exchange. The kid just looked completely thrilled with having gotten his way.

Dixon had a terrible feeling about this.

***

Glory limped around behind one of the empty huts, where the light from the fire pit didn’t reach, her bad knee nearly giving out before she leaned most of her weight against the wall. Aside from the lookouts at the edge of the settlement, everyone in the village was currently gathered around said fire pit, which made this particular spot completely isolated.

At least, Glory hoped so.

She leaned over and began coughing into the dirt. The undigested subsistence, minuscule as it was, splattered on the ground, pooling at her feet. Glory did her best not to get any on her boots, even as she continued coughing and retching.

Footsteps behind her made her jerk, proximity alarms wailing, but she relaxed minutely when Needles’ familiar voice murmured, “You okay?”

Glory forced herself to relax, her spine loosening. “Yes. Fine.”

Needles took a few steps closer, until Glory could sense his warmth just behind her. “I admit, I was surprised when I saw you eating. I suppose I should’ve expected something like this.”

Glory wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t be very good at passing for human if I couldn’t consume any food or drink,” she pointed out.

Needles hummed in acknowledgement. “I thought you should know: Dixon agreed to let Centauri come with us.”

Glory sighed. “I was honestly hoping he’d be smarter than that.”

“Centauri is determined. Better we keep an eye on him than he follows us anyway and gets himself shot without us knowing.”

Glory supposed he was right, but that didn’t help her feel much better. She turned to face him, and nodded vaguely towards the fire pit. “We should get back, before they start to worry about us.” She pressed past him and moved to continue when her knee flexed improperly and she staggered.

Needles leapt to grab her arm, keeping her from tipping over. “Are you all right?”

Glory grimaced. “My knee’s been giving me some difficulty.”

“Want me to take a look?”

Glory peered at him skeptically. “Are you a skilled cyberneticist?”

“No, but I’m probably the closest thing you have here.”

Glory hated to admit that he was right. “Fine. But we need a private spot—we don’t need anyone seeing this.”

Needles nodded. “I think I passed a medical tent on my way over here. I’m pretty sure it was empty.”

“Lead the way, then.”

Rather than turn to do just that, however, Needles instead threw one of Glory’s arms over his shoulders and moved to actually escort her there.

“This isn’t necessary,” Glory insisted. “My knee only fails sporadically. I should be fine.”

Needles snorted. “I’m not taking the risk. C’mon.”

And, well, who was Glory to argue?

***

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Glory managed between bursts of static. “It’s been getting—getting problematic.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Glory frowned. She wanted to say more, to ask him about it, but then her synthetic skin retracting and her kneecap sliding open to reveal her knee joint made her tense anxiously, which only made the problem worse again.

She hissed at the warning messages that flashed up on her HUD, and Needles shushed her gently. “Relax,” he murmured. “You need to relax.”

“You try relaxing with someone’s fingers in your knee,” she hissed.

He hummed. “Lucky me, humans usually don’t have to worry about that.”

Glory bit her tongue, figuratively. Then she almost bit it literally as his delicate surgeon’s hands truly delved into her internals for the first time.

It wasn’t quite what humans would call titillating or arousing, but it was certainly… something. Intimate, perhaps. Father had been the only one to ever have his hands inside of her, and it had always been quick and perfunctory with him—simple maintenance to keep her functional. There had been none of the tentative gentleness as there was with Needles, like he was worried about damaging her.

In fact, that was likely what had him probing so carefully, like any little movement might cripple her permanently. Which, she realized, might have actually been the case if Glory were human.

“You won’t hurt me,” she murmured.

“What?”

“That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?” she asked. “My struts have, on average, a tensile strength roughly equivalent to that of carbon fiber. My joints are only marginally weaker. Trust me; without a diamond-tipped industrial angle grinder, you won’t damage me.”

Needles let out a short, amused breath. “Awfully over-engineered, aren’t you?”

“Father was attempting to recreate the perfection of Wartime military synthetics,” Glory said. “The skin and hair were just bonuses he decided to try, just to see if he could.”

Needles hummed. “Well, still, don’t move. I might not be able to really hurt you, but I don’t think I can just shut off my reflexes.” He poked around in Glory’s knee for a good fifteen seconds before letting out a small sound of triumph. “I think I found it.”

“What is it?” Glory asked.

“Looks like a damaged… er, whatever you call your ligaments.”

“Connective struts.”

“All right, fine.” Needles poked at something in her knee, just out of her line of sight. “It looks… rusted.”

“It can’t be rusted,” Glory scoffed. “It’s coated in pure titanium.” She tried not to let her voice show how unsettled the thought of something inside her body rusting.

“Maybe not rust,” Needles allowed, poking at the cords some more. “But something’s happened to it. It looked half-eaten through.”

Glory’s brows furrowed. “My nanites should have repaired any damage.”

She flicked off a quick diagnostic focused on the nanites. It came back normal, with an added alert that her chassis remaining open for longer than a few seconds at a time ran the risk of introducing alien substances that could potentially corrode her components.

It’s a bit late for that, Glory thought. “Can you fix it?” she asked.

Needles hummed. “Maybe. How thorough is your nanite repair program?”

“Very.”

“Could they regenerate that titanium coating you were talking about?”

Unease coiled in Glory’s chassis, but she understood where he was coming from. He was used to operating on humans, and it wasn’t like Glory could get replacement parts all the way out in the desert.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “You think the corrosion can be removed?”

“It can’t be any harder than removing cancer cells from the cannibals,” Needles said.

Glory doubted that very much. But, then again, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. “Do what you think is best,” she sighed. “Just… be gentle.”

He froze. “I thought you said you couldn’t feel pain.”

“I can’t,” she agreed. “But as soon as you start cutting, I’m going to be flooded with damage reports and error messages. I might not be able to pay attention for a while, and my body is programmed to go into a sort of autopilot when I can’t directly focus on my surroundings. I might start making… noises.” Glory was relieved that she couldn’t blush.

“…Noises?” he asked.

“Let’s just say that anyone listening in might get the wrong idea about our relationship.” She dared to turn and peer at him out of the corner of her eye when he remained silent for a bit too long. His cheeks were bright pink. “It’s all right,” she said. “I just thought I should warn you.”

He cleared his throat. “I appreciate it.” He leaned forward, reaching over her to his tools. Retrieving a scalpel, he got into position, and took a deep breath. “Let’s begin.”

***

Dixon’s leg jiggled without his say-so; a nervous habit he’d picked up years ago. Gray Hawk gazed at him curiously, but Dixon couldn’t pay him much attention, no matter how handsome the older man might’ve been.

The kids had been gone for quite a while. Sure, he reasoned, they could’ve just found a private spot to… get to know each other better. He wasn’t blind or stupid; he’d seen the way they’d been staring at each other over the fire just before they’d left.

But, although Dixon was relatively confident in their current safety, recent events made it difficult for him to relax completely.

“What’s wrong?” Gray Hawk asked. Centauri perked up at his voice, and turned to look at the two of them.

Dixon cleared his throat. “Nothing. Just gonna…” He stood up and set his bowl on his chair. “I’ll be right back.” Let them think he was just off to find a private spot for a piss. He didn’t wanna risk embarrassing the kids if it was nothing major.

He headed off in the same approximate direction he’d seen Glory and Needles slink off to. There wasn’t much over there; just a few empty houses with a big tent at the end. Peeking inside a few of the houses, he found them all unlocked and empty. He wasn’t terribly surprised about the unlocked part: the village overall seemed very close-knit. Still, you’d think that after Gray Hawk got snatched out from right under their noses, they’d take security a bit more seriously.

Oh, well. At least it made his current job easier.

He finally reached the tent at the end of the path when he heard something.

A moan.

Glory’s, if he had to guess, unless Needles moaned like a girl, too. But after a second, another moan came, followed by a weird, buzzing noise.

Dixon’s brows arched sharply. Well, then. Lucky girl.

He wasn’t going to pretend to understand what she saw in the ex-cannibal, but he supposed that she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. But, judging by the little comments she’d made about her father, maybe he ought to have a little talk with her. Just to be on the safe side.

He’d rather embarrass them than find out they’d rushed into something they weren’t prepared for. Or, even worse, that the ex-cannibal hadn’t ditched nearly as many of his less ethical habits as they’d all hoped.

Part of Dixon wanted to storm in there now and demand an explanation, but it all sounded pleasant. Not that he was an expert on what girls sounded like during… intimate moments. He just had to make a guess.

He comforted himself by deciding to talk to Glory later. In the mean time, he’d give them space to get to know each other.

He staggered back to the campfire, and his mix of embarrassment, amusement, and consternation must’ve been evident on his face, since Gray Hawk took one look at him and let out a guffaw.

“You couldn’t tell?” he asked.

Dixon shook his head. “I did,” he admitted. “I’d just hoped she had better taste than a damn mutie.” Despite his harsh words, his tone was almost fond.

Gray Hawk laughed again. “Between the two, I’d worry about him more than her,” he said. “She can handle herself. Your cannibal friend seems almost… delicate by comparison.”

And, well, Dixon had certainly never thought of Needles as ‘delicate’ before, but he could sorta see where the older man was coming from. Glory did have a sort of spark to her that almost reminded Dixon of himself when he was younger; like she was angry at the world, and only just barely managing to suppress it. Needles, on the other hand, just looked sad more often than not.

“I guess you’re right,” he agreed. He cleared his throat. “Now, can we focus on something other than what the kids’re up to?”

Gray Hawk smirked, a teasing glint in his eye. “And what would you rather talk about?”

If Dixon’s skin were fairer, he had a feeling he’d be blushing. As it was, though, he cleared his throat. “Oh, say… What’s life like out here?”

It was an awkward subject-change, Dixon knew, but he’d been out of practice for a while. And Gray Hawk didn’t seem to mind.

***

Needles gently tapping the side of Glory’s head was what finally drew her out of her pseudo-stasis. She dismissed all the remaining alerts and peered down at him. “Is it over?” she asked.

He nodded. “Let’s hope I didn’t screw anything up too bad, huh?”

Glory checked her nanite function. In a frenzy. She supposed that was good; they were currently almost 40% finished with the newest repairs. Already, her knee felt steadier than it had before.

“Now, take it slow,” Needles said, standing up and offering her a hand. “It’s not a race.”

“Technically, it is,” Glory corrected, “Since we want to find the cultists as soon as possible.” She accepted the offered hand, though, and let him tug her to her feet. She tested the knee gently, bending her leg this way and that. The damaged cord sent out alerts, but the knee itself was functional.

“Better?” Needles stared at her with wide, expectant eyes.

“Better.”

A warm smile crossed his face, smoothing out all of his harsh angles and making him look at least a decade younger. Bizarre as it sounded, the expression suited him.

Just then, however, a shout from outside the medical tent drew their attention. Needles jumped when the shout was immediately followed by a scream, coming from the edge of the village; the same direction Glory knew one of the lookout towers was stationed at.

Almost immediately, the low hum of conversation from the campfire became a loud roar as the townsfolk leapt into action. But Glory and Needles had no idea what the threat was.

Gunshots split open the night, and Needles yelped. His free hand grabbed onto Glory’s, their fingers lacing together. It was then that Glory came to a decision.

Limping on her still-repairing knee, Glory tugged Needles out of the tent, and into chaos.