It took four days in the end, four days that were a revelation to both Tala and Rial.

The first scorch marks appeared late on the second day’s travel, wide stretches of earth carved out in burnt, melted shapes that still steamed with inner heat. They cut into the forest and were barren of any life, and though cool enough to walk on it was impossible to stand in any one spot for long. The radiated heat meant they were all soon pouring with sweat.

By the third day these scorch marks were a lot cooler, clearly made some time before. They were far wider too, so much so that some areas were devoid of life as far as the eye could see.

“How did Mead not detect this?” whispered Tala, as they crossed the desolation. The slavers seemed wholly untroubled by the two communicating, and she aimed to take full advantage of their arrogance.

This entire area is opaque to my sensors, came Mead’s voice in her head. I am once again restricted to visual data. This must require a huge amount of energy.

Tala thought the machine sounded impressed.

Still, my counterpart clearly does not have much finesse in recirculation. Power shearing has been inefficient and erratic, as exhibited by the thermal energy lost during the levelling of this landscape. I would allow no such energy wastage.

And that sounded like pride.

On the fourth day they walked across a landscape of barren dark rock, smooth patches of basalt, obsidian, and other glassy rocks formed from sudden melting and cooling, until they saw their goal, a sprawling mass of buildings stretched out across the flattened land. Details grew clearer as they approached.

The buildings were a hodgepodge of styles and construction methods, from crude wooden shelters beneath thatched roofs to wide, two-storied stone structures that wouldn't have been out of place in Manorest or other such towns. Construction was ongoing, half-finished buildings crawling with thin, sickly-looking workers who clambered over the scaffolds as yet others hauled materials to the sites.

Scattered throughout and between were tents, thin, ragged sheets strung across wooden frames that looked as if they would collapse at the slightest provocation. They were everywhere space could be found, crammed into narrow roads and filling open squares in dense oceans of fabric. Small children ran under and between the guy ropes, chasing each other in innocent games ill-fitting the conditions they found themselves in, but not a single adult nor teen could be seen that was not at work on the constructions.

"Marvellous, ain't it?" said the ringleader as he led them down filthy streets that stank of confined humanity. "All this built in a few short years."

Tala and Rial did not acknowledge his words as they walked a few steps behind, but their eyes took it all in. They watched as groups of exhausted people laboured at their tasks, under constant watch from some group of men, and the occasional woman, in wide brimmed hats. These usually carried a coilgun at their side, and if not a rifle or crossbow of more basic design, and they clearly delighted in tormenting their prisoners.

Tala put a cautionary hand on Rial's shoulder as they rounded a corner to be confronted by a couple of the slavers savagely beating a man on the ground. The man, ribs visible through his thin frame, lay curled up on the floor in a ball as blow after blow laid into him, blood running in thin rivulets from several torn areas of skin.

"Not gonna work for your keep, are you?" one of the slavers shouted down at the man, smashing at the man's head with the butt of his rifle. The victim's skull bounced off the rock beneath.

Tala pulled at Rial's jacket to stop him leaping forward, but Mead was already rising in his hands.

"Mead..." Rial started to say.

What happened next was almost too fast to see.

The beaten man, summoning strength from somewhere deep within, rolled over and grabbed as the next swing of the rifle barrel came down at him, yanking the gun from the startled slaver's hands. Now on his back, his finger tightened on the trigger that would send a disc of sharp metal slicing through his assailant's brain. The slavers had no time to react.

A beam of yellow pierced down from the skies above, enveloping the prisoner in an aura of light that grew increasingly vivid as the man's mouth opened in a silent scream. Livid red gaps opened across his skin as steam rose from the ground around him, and Tala felt the heat on her face. The blast forced her to look away for just a few short seconds, but when she looked back the man was gone, the rifle he had held clattering to the ground next to where he had lain.

Rial froze where he was as the slavers all around chuckled. Their laughter redoubled as the hapless man whose rifle had been stolen reached down to pick it up then hissed in pain, shaking his hand and blowing on burnt fingers.

"You're lucky it's only your fingers, Braimesh," shouted the ringleader over to the man. "Should've been your brains all over the wall back there. Wouldn't have been much to see, though!"

The rifle-less man glared and gave a rude gesture in reply, which made the men around them laugh even harder. They continued on.

"Like I said, marvellous. Don't even need guards; ain't no-one running when they know if they do the heavens themselves gonna strike 'em down," said the ringleader as they walked. "Keeps the monsters away, too."

He turned with a smile to his captives, spreading his arms wide.

"We're here," he said.

Ahead of them stood the largest building they had seen in this... town, or whatever it was. It was a long, high-roofed building that looked to be three-stories high, solid grey stone packed and mortared with a care and skill few other buildings around seemed to have received, a giant longhouse. The end in front of which they stood had two huge wooden doors that swung back as they approached, creaking apart to reveal a large hall lined with blazing torches. A raised dais took up the whole of the distant far end, upon which a large, gilt-lined chair sat surrounded by piles of shining metal.

"Are you serious? A goddam throne?" said Tala with a derisive snort.

Their captor raised a single eyebrow at her, then turned and led them in, removing his hat as he approached the stage. The other men behind did so as well.

"We got him, boss," he said as he approached, and as Tala followed behind she could finally see the man who sat in the oversized chair.

Tala's eyes immediately fell to the object upon the man's lap, a smooth, curved lump of metal that she recognised as a weapon like Mead, though smaller and darker. It also, she realised, had no spike atop it.

Besides the throne stood a giant of a man, well-armoured and carrying a brutal-looking double-headed axe as well as a weapon Tala could not identify. It was no coilgun, but it was definitely from the ship.

The man who sat upon the chair was small and wizened, comically so upon the 'throne' on which he sat. Tufts of white hair covered his scalp, and his hands shook when he moved his stick-like arms. The eyes, though, were bright and piercing, and they locked on Rial like an eagle that had seen its prey.

Far more noticeably than any of these features, however, were the scars that criss-crossed the man's face. They ran deep and dark, pockmarks and holes in the flesh that told of some virulent disease caught long ago.

"Hello, cast off," said the pox-marked man.