Hachiman. The corporation with the smallest catalogue and the steepest prices, Hachiman focuses on perfection. Their product launches are intergalactic events that shake up the entire industry. For good reason- A soldier fully kitted in Hachiman gear is a force to be reckoned with.

-Excerpt from Erodotos’ compendium

Chapter 5 - Haloke

Sweat had begun to run down Haloke’s back and into the fresh wounds. Torhild had done the best she could to patch her up, the med-gel would prevent infection, stop the bleeding by sealing the gap and subdue the pain by numbing the wound.

But the gashes were deep and combined with her freshly broken arm, even the simple act of a day's walk was more arduous than Haloke liked to admit. The journey would have passed mostly in silence as Haloke tried to keep putting one foot after the other while dealing with insufferable nausea and a killer headache if Torhild weren’t such a chatterbox.

“You’ll want to meet Rakel straight away, He’s sort of in charge around the base,” Torhild scrambled up onto a rock-face that towered slightly above her height while Haloke looked on in dismay. She reached down to help Haloke up. “We don’t usually go on solo expeditions this far from home, but this was a command from Jormangandr, so everyone's pretty excited. I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this, but you hate the corps just as much as us. I’m sure old Jorm just sent me to recruit you.”

Haloke allowed Torhild to pull her up, a fresh jolt of pain ran up her arm as it grazed the stone. She lay there panting but Torhild was already taking off, down a more well-trodden gap through the trees. Haloke cursed and rose to her feet, pushing herself after her.

“I guess if you’re some sort of sleeper agent, I’ll be in a lot of trouble for abetting you. But I don’t think you are. And if you are, you’re too hurt to do anything anyway. Besides. We’re the Blazehounds. We’re Taipan. Helping people is just what we do."

*

As the sun sank, the ashfall began to subside. The volcanoes behind them fell beyond Haloke’s vision and the plant life became lush and green again. Haloke watched as Torhild tapped a button on her wrist and her white-brown camouflage morphed before her eyes into an earthy green-brown instead.

“Adaptive camo?” It was the first words Haloke had spoken since the journey began.

“You like it?” Torhild stepped over a small stream and brushed stray hairs back behind an ear. “It’s Hachiman, I found it on a dead corpo in the frozen labyrinth. It’s old, maybe a hundred years old. It’s supposed to switch automatically to blend in with my surroundings but I’ve never been able to get it to work. I have to manually adjust it.” Torhild produced a water flask from her pack and took a swig before passing it to Haloke.

“You’re rail-gun is Hachiman too, right?” Torhild continued. The trees were beginning to thin, the grassy floor sloped upwards. “I hate the corps. But they make some cool shit sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Haloke almost walked straight into Torhild. She had stopped at a sudden drop in the ground. Before them, an ancient dam presented itself. It was completely dry, the sudden three-meter drop marked the bank of a massive amount of water. Time had reduced it to a large sandy pit. An expanse of dust.

In the distance, a dam wall still stood, the backbone of a ramshackle settlement. Torhild’s base. It made sense. The dam walls would make for solid defences. And if there was a drop on the other side of those walls, an attack from the East would be almost impossible.

“The dust-bank is sparse.” Haloke thought out loud as they dropped into the sandy nothingness, “less chance of wildlife attacks and a good view of any incoming threats. Any watchmen on duty will easily see us coming.” She adjusted her pack, double-checking her possessions.

“A strong fortification.”

“Yeah, this place has been here for almost seventy years now. People chose to stay behind after Amaethon left.”

“You were born here?”

“Yup.” Torhild broke into a slight jog. “Come on now. Everyone will be eager to meet you!”

*

For the second time in so many days, Haloke started down the barrel of an automated machine gun. Another gate. Another fortification. The world is harsh, and sometimes all we can do is gather what we treasure near and strive to protect it. Perhaps that’s all life ever is, and everything else is simply an extension of that.

Torhild waved to a man on the ramparts. Instead of signalling to open the gate, he jumped down. He landed with a practised roll which Haloke thought was impressive. The wall, made of bricks that the Blazehounds seemed to have made themselves from the dustbank, was over five meters tall.

The man was slightly stocky. A full head shorter than Haloke, he had wild red hair that matched her apparent temperament, with barely a pause, he began marching straight for her.

“Palle-” Torhild raised an arm in warning.

Palle raised a knife to Haloke’s face, but she was quicker. She used her left arm to grab his wrist, twisting the knife free in the same motion. If her right arm was capable, this was where she would have grabbed it and turned it on her attacker. Instead, it landed harmlessly in the dirt.

“Palle!” Torhild yelled,

Haloke stumbled. She cursed as she felt a blow on the back of her leg, bringing her to one knee. Once you’ve lost your footing, the fight is already lost. Palle pulled a gun and pressed it to her temple. The steel a cold reminder of her failure.

“You brought an outsider here? to our home?” he snarled.

“Under order, you fool!” Torhilds calm and playful demeanour were gone. Her face red with fury.

“Rakel is a fool. No surprise that he'd issue such orders.”

“Not from Rakel. From Jormangandr,”

Haloke felt a moment of hesitation. The barrel of the pistol wavered. The grip around her neck loosened. She threw herself forward, rolling Palle over her head. With the same movement, she rolled towards the discarded blade.

Palle brought his gun to bear but the shot never came. He yelled in fury as he stared at his own blade wedged in his palm, blood spluttered from the fresh wound.

“Enough!” The gates were opening. An older man, tall and dignified, of brownish skin a shade just slighter darker than Haloke’s, stood firm at the entrance. Guards flanked him on either side. A big part of being in charge was looking the part. Enough to keep people following your orders. Rakel had that part down. In a land of chaos, everything about him was neat and orderly.

“Get the boy patched up, and bring her to me.”

And as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.

*

Haloke’s brief walk through the Blazehound's settlement yielded a few discoveries. It was named the Kennel, the name proudly displayed in what must have passed for the town square, in holo-font. Bright blue letters and a fiery red hound, emblazoned in the sky in neon lines, bright enough to be clearly visible even in the evening sun.

Perhaps a thousand people were living in the Kennel, the older buildings were made from brick and stone while many were newer and thrown together from discarded debris. Walls were made from the shells of decommissioned space-shuttles and shipping containers. Corporate signage had been revamped into shopfronts, advertising food, clothing and weaponry.

Everywhere there were people. Some watching closely, but most going about their day. Ferrying things from one place to another. Guards switching shifts. The constant effort of maintaining a neat little place like this. Hidden from the worlds, this was something they had carved out and decided to call their own.

The dam wall stood towering at the back of the settlement, ten times as high as the largest building in the Kennel. Three separate elevators ferried people up and down. Haloke’s eyes were stinging from strain, and she couldn’t quite make out any structures at the top. But she was sure they were there.

She had expected to be led to some sort of throne room, or perhaps a jail. Instead, she was taken to a bar. The patrons must have been warned of Haloke’s arrival because the place was empty, save for a few guards and the innkeep.

She was given a steaming bowl of stew and a tankard of beer. If they had wanted to kill her, there were easier ways. She wolfed down the meal as Rakel sat on a stool and watched her, his brow furrowed. When she was done, he began to speak.

“I think we both have questions for each other,” his voice was gentle but firm.

“Fill up my plate again, and let's talk.”