“You’re limping.”

Dixon’s voice startled Glory out of her trance-like introspection, muddling over nothing of supreme importance. But Dixon’s words shot a chill through her system, and she looked down at her own legs to see that, yes, she had been limping without even noticing. Her automated systems had started favoring her right leg.

Now that she was paying attention, she noticed a worrying weakness in her knee—while it wasn’t quite enough to send her sprawling, the joint refused to lock properly.

She stiffened the rest of her leg to disguise the weakness, and looked anywhere except at her companions. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you’re fine,” Dixon snapped. “What happened? You get shot?”

“It’s an old injury,” Glory blurted without thinking. “It acts up every few weeks or so. It’ll go away with time.”

Dixon still didn’t look pleased with the explanation. “You should be resting it, not running halfway across the damn desert on a wrecked leg.”

“It’s not wrecked,” Glory spat defensively. “And it’s not like we have much of a choice.”

Whatever argument Dixon was no doubt about to make was interrupted when Gray Hawk cleared his throat. “We’re close. The border should be just beyond this rise.”

His words thankfully distracted Dixon from Glory’s leg, but out of the corner of her eye, Glory could instead see Needles worry at his lower lip with his teeth. A few seconds of silence passed, punctuated only by hushed footsteps on packed sand, before he finally spoke. “It—I heard they shoot outsiders who enter their territory. On sight.”

Dixon snorted. “That’s just a myth.”

“Not entirely,” Gray Hawk corrected, which clearly did nothing for Needles’ anxiety. Following a glare from Dixon, though, the older man hurried to clarify, “They won’t shoot you while you’re with us. Not unless I tell them to. Just keep your hands away from your weapons, and you’ll be safe.”

“And will you?” Glory asked. “Tell them to, I mean.” At the disbelieving looks shot in her direction from both Dixon and Gray Hawk, she shrugged. “What? He was calling Needles ‘Cannibal Boy’ just a few hours ago. Or did you all forget that?”

Gray Hawk sighed. “No. I promise not to order them to shoot your cannibal. Are you happy, girl?”

“He’s not my—” Glory sighed harshly through her nose at Dixon and Gray Hawk’s muffled laughter, and the amused smirk on Centauri’s face. And she’d thought humans gained wisdom with age. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

She felt eyes on the side of her head, and glanced over to Needles, who looked away sharply. He fidgeted as they walked, his arms wrapped around himself in a strange sort of self-hug. It tugged at something inside Glory’s chassis and, after a moment’s hesitation, she reached out for his hand, wrapping her fingers around his own.

At first, he grimaced in pain, and Glory quickly loosened her grip, ending with their fingers just sort of laced together. It didn’t feel as reassuring as she’d intended the gesture to be, but his grateful smile suggested that it was enough for him.

Glory quickly averted her gaze ahead of them, where her eyes were drawn to a towering shape on the horizon.

She zoomed in her vision to scan the structure. Whatever it was, it was made of metal that appeared to have been cobbled together from several different sources, then welded into one shape. Iron scraps, aluminum computer parts, copper wiring; all twisted into one, towering totem pole that glimmered faintly in the moonlight.

“You see that?” Gray Hawk asked, nodding towards the structure. He glanced behind himself to the rest of their group with a small smile. “Know what that means, girl?”

“No. What?”

“It’s a totem pole. We use them to mark our borders. Keeps intruders out.” A moment’s pause, then, “The smart ones, anyway.” He chuckled dangerously.

Their group drew closer, inexorably, to the pole. When they finally reached the base, Glory gazed up at the structure. This close, she could make out the rough shapes that had been carved into the metal; stick-figure people gathering around a lot of lines emerging from one point. The sun? An explosion? Glory couldn’t tell.

Her gaze drifted out across the dunes, and she saw a matching structure a distance away. Though the two poles were similar, there were unmistakable differences; the materials, for one. Also, the other pole appeared slightly larger at the top than the one their group was currently gathered around.

“Back in the old world, they made ‘em out of wood,” Gray Hawk noted. “‘Course, that ain’t an option anymore, so we found more readily-available materials.” A sardonic smile crossed his face. “But ya wanna know somethin’ really ironic?” He reached out to rap his knuckles against the pole’s base as if for emphasis, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “These poles ain’t even Navajo.”

“What are they, then?” Glory asked.

“Ehh…” He frowned, staring up at the metallic structure. “Northwestern, I think. Some of the Tlingit or Salish probably brought the tradition down south with them after the war.”

“I recognize the figures,” Dixon murmured, gazing up at the top of the pole. “My Ma would draw sometimes, an’ she liked to draw figures like those ones. Said they were ‘pieces of home’ whenever I asked.”

Gray Hawk cocked his head to one side, gazing at the other man with blatant interest. “Was your mother Navajo?”

“Adopted.” Dixon smiled ruefully. “No idea what her family was originally. They came down after the war, like all the rest, just one man an’ his daughters.” His smile turned wistful. “Ma taught me ev’rythin’ she knew, but it just wasn’t much.” He grunted a sad laugh and shook his head. “How ‘bout you?"

Gray Hawk sighed. “No damn idea. I’m in the same situation as your mother, it sounds like.”

Chuckling, Dixon turned to Centauri. “How ‘bout you, kid?”

Centauri shrugged, looking almost sad. “My mother used to tell me we were Lakota. But…” He shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gray Hawk said, interrupting the boy before he could slide any farther into what seemed to be a sensitive subject. “The old world is gone. What matters is that we’re still here.”

A low rumble followed almost immediately after that uplifting speech, right on cue. Gray Hawk cursed as a citadel transport swanned into view, hovering almost 30 meters off the ground. Even at that height, however, the current from its engines sent vibrations through Glory’s struts and caused grains of sand to dance in tiny swirls near the ground.

Dixon and Gray Hawk ducked for cover, as though they expected to be attacked or recognized by the ship’s pilots. The rest of them, however, could only stand and stare. Even Glory, in all her superiority, could admire the ship’s sleek hull, covered in a metal so smooth it was almost a mirror, except for the fractal-like geometric pattern of the hull. Long spokes extended from its sides, giving it an altogether thoroughly alien appearance. Fitting, given its literally extraterrestrial origin.

Its weapons remained trained in their general direction until it was well out of range, headed roughly northward. Only once its vibrations ceased did Dixon and Gray Hawk stand, and dust themselves off. They looked at each other and startled at their close proximity, but didn’t move away for several seconds.

“Damn Benefactors,” Dixon finally spat, glaring at the retreating light of the transport’s engines.

Gray Hawk grunted. “Don’t complain too much, Dixon. At least they didn’t find a reason to perform a ‘random inspection’ this time.”

Dixon frowned at the older man. “They do that?”

“Sometimes.”

Dixon shuddered.

Needles frowned, still staring after the ship. “Why did it glimmer like that? Like…”

“Water?” Gray Hawk asked. At Centauri’s nod, he sighed and explained. “Benefactor ships supposedly have the ability to cloak themselves; turn completely invisible. I’ve never actually seen it in use, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“That’s just what we need,” Dixon grumbled some more. “Invisible Benefactor bootlickers.”

“Why not just shoot one out of the sky?” Centauri asked innocently. “Surprise ‘em. It can’t be that hard.”

Dixon snorted.

“No!” Gray Hawk roared, with a vicious vehemence that surprised even Glory and made Needles jump. Centauri, too, looked startled, even as Gray Hawk continued, “Don’t even think about it! Ever!”

Centauri stammered, “But I—”

“I mean it!” Gray Hawk shook for a moment before turning away, bowing his head as he took a few deep, calming breaths.

Centauri stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where Gray Hawk had been previously. Glory couldn’t see any tears in his eyes, but the look on his face certainly reminded her of when the nomads would weep. Dixon, too, seemed to recognize the boy’s frightened terror, as he approached to lay a gentle hand on Centauri’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, kid,” he grunted. “He’s right, sorta. It’s…” Dixon inhaled and withdrew his hand, shuffling his feet when Centauri turned to him for answers. “Well, it’s way too fuckin’ dangerous,” he finished at last. “I mean, the only thing that can reliably damage Benefactor technology is, well, Benefactor technology. An’ good luck gettin’ your hands on that out here. Shooting an old world rocket launcher or whatever at one would just end up with you branded a terrorist and hunted down.” The humor drained from his expression, and he turned to squint angrily in the now-distant transport’s direction. “Trust me. I’ve seen it happen.”

Gray Hawk took a last deep breath and turned back around to face Centauri again, pinched expression softening. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that.”

Centauri opened his mouth, but paused when Glory reset her vocalizer softly. “Not to be rude, but we should probably keep moving.”

“She’s right,” Gray Hawk sighed, pausing for a moment to glance in the transport’s direction. “Let’s keep moving. I’m sure there will be time to discuss matters later.”

They broke away from the totem pole to continue onward, though Glory couldn’t quite keep herself from glancing behind at the great metallic structure. She had to admit that it was beautiful. Maybe not to her specific tastes, but she could admire the work that had gone into it.

She finally turned back around and continued forward.

Their little group had crested a tiny swell a few hundred yards from the totem pole when Glory first noticed movement ahead of them. It sent her systems into overdrive, her sensors screaming at her.

Needles evidently noticed her sudden stiffness by his side, and glanced over at her. “You alright?” he whispered.

“I thought I saw something moving up ahead.” Her pursed lips turned down at the corners, and she tugged gently on his fingers, still laced through hers, until she was in front of him. “Stay behind me,” she said. After all, out of the six of them, Needles had the greatest chance of getting shot without warning.

Glory just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

They hadn’t been walking for long when Gray Hawk froze suddenly and held up a fist, reaching for his binoculars with his other hand. The rest of their little group immediately obeyed the unspoken command for stillness, as Glory scanned the ridge ahead of them, searching for whatever had spooked him.

She noticed the slightest blur of motion dead ahead, and enhanced her vision until she could make out the scope of a sniper rifle.

Something deep inside of Glory seized. Fear? Panic? Or something simpler like anger at the audacity? She couldn’t tell, and didn’t have the time to parse out her own, frustrating feelings.

“Sniper,” she whispered.

“I know,” Gray Hawk hissed back.

Dixon tensed at the exchange. “Should we be worried?” he asked carefully.

Gray Hawk shook his head, lowering his binoculars. “These are our people. They won’t attack.”

“Won’t attack you, maybe,” Glory grumbled.

Gray Hawk didn’t respond.

For a long, tense moment, they could only wait while the sniper seemed to be considering their options. Apparently, Gray Hawk and Centauri’s presence was enough to cancel out four strangers, including a mutant, as the sniper slowly lowered their rifle and stood to begin the long trek between the ridge and the group’s current position.

As the figure got closer, Glory was finally able to make out some more details. The would-be sniper turned out to be a Native American woman, with jet black hair that hung around her scowling face in thick curtains, casting dramatic shadows across her sharp cheekbones.

By far the most noteworthy thing about her appearance, however, was the rather painful-looking burn wound on the right side of her face, stretching from just beneath her eye to her jaw, looking only half-healed. In fact, judging by the damage, it was a miracle she could even still see out of that eye.

She came to a stop a few meters away, and despite her expression not visibly changing, she seemed to soften ever so slightly.

As though she’d given him a signal, Centauri suddenly broke away from the rest of their group. He sprinted up to the woman and threw his arms around her midsection, holding her tight. The woman grunted and staggered, but remained upright, a small smile even breaking across her face.

As Centauri pulled back, both of their smiles faded as he noticed the wound on her face. One of his hands hovered just over her jaw, a look of worry on his face. “What happened?”

“Raiders,” she said, as though that explained everything. And, in a way, Glory supposed that it did.

Zora turned slowly to face Gray Hawk, who wore a deep, worried frown. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a small squeak escaped her as Gray Hawk pulled her into a hug, too.

When she pulled back, brushing her hair behind an ear with a notable notch in it, as though someone had ripped an earring out the hard way, Gray Hawk turned to the rest of them.

“This is Zora,” he introduced. “One of Rustpike’s premier scouts, and a good friend.”

The woman, Zora, nodded coolly to them, a small grin tugging at her lips. “I didn’t know Gray Hawk as the type to travel with outsiders.”

“Behave,” Gray Hawk warned her. “They saved my life.”

That drew a surprised look from her, and she turned to him, confused. “What do you—”

“Cultists, Zora,” Centauri said, in a tone of voice that suggested she was a moron for even asking. “I told you so.”

Zora sputtered for a moment, looking between the two of them, before shaking her head. “Stands-on-Stone said you got tired and left. I didn’t—”

“She was wrong,” Gray Hawk sighed. “What’s happened since I’ve been gone?”

“Well, without you to keep her in check, Stands-on-Stone has demanded we start expanding the borders again.” Zora said it casually, but there was a dangerous tension in her voice that suggested she perhaps didn’t entirely agree with the decision.

It seemed that neither did Gray Hawk or Centauri, however, judging by their matching stunned looks. “Wh—tell me you’re joking,” Gray Hawk all but begged.

Zora’s frown said all.

“Is that a problem?” Dixon asked gently. “I mean, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure Navajo Nation is bigger now than it ever was before.”

“In theory, no,” Gray Hawk said. “But we just expanded into a large chunk of New Mexico a few months ago. We don’t have the population to sustain such a large tract of land yet.” He shook his head. “The new territory will be defenseless!”

“It’s only a few miles,” Zora said, holding up a hand. “Just past the old shopping mall at the cliff.”

Gray Hawk didn’t look comforted by the assurance. “She had better know what she’s doing.”

Zora sighed. “We should head back. She’ll want to see you. And…” she gazed back at the rest of the group, “your friends.” She grimaced suddenly, one hand reaching up towards her face but pausing before actually making contact. No doubt, that would just make it worse.

“Should you really be working like this?” Centauri asked.

She barked a harsh, humorless laugh. “It’s better than being stuck in bed all day.”

Movement behind Glory drew her attention, and she turned to see Needles peering out around her. No doubt he’d overheard the sounds of someone injured and in pain, and was now searching for a way to help. Before Glory could stop him, he’d stepped out from behind her, and asked, “May I take a look?”

Zora looked up at him, blinked a couple of times, before shouting something Glory couldn’t quite make out and reaching for her rifle. Glory leapt protectively in front of Needles, glaring the Navajo woman down. If she was going to kill Needles, she’d have to do it through Glory.

For a millisecond, Glory worried she was the only one willing to come to their healer’s aid. She was proven wrong moments later when Centauri yelped. “Don’t!”

“He’s with us!” Dixon bellowed, reaching for his own rifle. That only prompted Zora to aim for him instead.

Wilkes took a stern step forward, somehow managing to emanate menace without actually showing any part of their body. Their hands hovered over their pistols.

Zora paid all of them little attention, aiming her rifle directly for Needles—through Glory. That is, until Gray Hawk wrapped a hand around the barrel of the rifle and used it to yank Zora close.

“Put. The gun. Down,” he growled, a dangerous glare on his face. “Now.”

“Wh—” Zora seemed to snap out of whatever had possessed her, and she looked around and realized that no one else was supporting her.

Slowly, shakily, she obeyed, setting the rifle on the sand.

“Who gave you the right to murder in cold blood anyone who might walk this way?” Gray Hawk demanded.

Despite the uncertain look on her face, she stood tall and defiant as she answered, “You did, when you made me a scout. I am responsible for the safety of our home. Outsiders, I can accept, but a mutant?” She shook her head.

“Gray Hawk and Centauri didn’t seem to have any trouble realizing Needles isn’t a threat,” Glory spat.

Needles tapped her arm. “Glory, please.”

Zora sneered at her. “I didn’t ask you—”

“Zora!” Gray Hawk shouted. “Listen very carefully. He is a friend. A friend. He turned against the other mutants. More importantly, he has helpful information.”

Zora’s scowl wavered. “B—But—”

“He saved my life,” Glory said.

“Mine, too,” Dixon agreed.

“Mine as well!” Centauri crowed.

Glory frowned lightly. She couldn’t actually remember an instance where… Oh. Clever.

Zora shook momentarily, before nodding once, still with a scowl on her face. “Fine. But keep him away from me.”

“But—” Needles went to protest.

“No!” she shrieked, then bent to pick up her rifle again. Rather than aim it at anyone, though, she immediately shouldered it, much to everyone’s relief.

Without pausing to even look at anyone else, she turned to march off in the direction they’d been headed; presumably towards their village.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” Gray Hawk said softly. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was probably the closest Needles would get. “Her husband was murdered by cannibals a year and a half ago. The wound is still… raw.”

“I understand,” Needles murmured, because of course he did. The self-flagellating idiot would likely offer himself up on an altar for sacrifice if he thought it would help others think more of him.

Gray Hawk clapped a hand on Needles’ shoulder and stepped back. “Shall we?”

***

The old world residences were little more than a crumbling ruin, battered from decades of neglect. But, compared to most old world ruins, they were in remarkably good shape.

A large main chamber had clearly been recently inhabited, with mattresses dragged in from different parts of the structure to sit in a small circle close together. Drag marks in the sand had been mostly wiped clear by the wind, but there was just enough left behind to track the mattresses to their original homes.

Sadly, there didn’t seem to be anything noteworthy to which parts of the structure the different mattresses came from. It instead looked as if they’d all been dragged randomly.

Randomness was never good—it was a sign of the Outsiders’ disfavor. Nothing happened randomly; not the Benefactors’ arrival and seeming takeover of the world, not the century of oppression, and not the direness of current events.

But, if there was a pattern to be seen here, Taurus could not see it.

Tasha stood in the doorway, hood drawn over her round face, gazing at the common space with red-rimmed eyes. “Did they leave anything behind?”

“No.” Taurus turned to the few spots on nearby pieces of old world furniture where thick layers of dust had been recently cleared off. “If anything, they took some things with them.”

“Vargas is searching outside, but last I heard, he hadn’t found anything.” Tasha took a few steps closer, peering over Taurus’ shoulder. “Are we sure they came this way?”

“I’m sure.”

Taurus knelt down and shoved the mattresses apart, revealing the sand-covered floor. Something about it had been bothering him ever since they’d arrived, though he hadn’t been able to say why.

“Father…”

Taurus flinched at Tasha’s soft voice, but forced himself to relax. “What is it?”

“If—When we find them… what then?”

He looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“They’ve already disrupted—”

“They have disrupted nothing,” Taurus said coldly. “They have, at worst, made nuisances of themselves. But that is why we are here; to remove such nuisances.” He turned his attention back to the floor and brushed aside a layer of dirt with the sleeve of his cloak.

The floor was rough old world wood, worn through by over a century of sand and wind rattling in through the broken doors and windows. But Taurus had stood in a great many old world buildings before—he recognized the signs of natural age in a building. And this was not it.

“Tasha. The light.”

She stepped forward, lamp in hand, sending shadows dancing across the floor.

“That’s what I thought.”

Someone had carved a rough drawing into the floor. Very rough; little more than a series of circles. But they were clearly intentional; nature rarely created perfect circles, after all. Just as she rarely created straight lines or right angles, either.

“Is that… art?” Tasha’s voice was plainly skeptical, and thoroughly unimpressed.

Taurus couldn’t quite suppress an amused chuckle. “Not very skillful art, but yes, I would say so.” There was something strangely familiar about the drawing, though Taurus couldn’t place what it was.

One of the lesser attendants outside called Tasha’s name, and she set the lamp down before heading out to investigate, leaving Taurus alone in the common room.

He sat on the ground, almost in meditation, gazing at the drawing. The Outsiders were telling him something, he just knew it. They were guiding them here, to this drawing.

It was only when Tasha stepped back into the room, an unknown time later, that the final traces of meditation slipped from his mind. He peered up at her—his daughter, every bit as lovely as her mother had ever been—as she approached, only for her to freeze in place, her gaze fixed on the drawing on the floor.

Taurus suddenly realized for himself that he had yet to look at the drawing from another angle.

He stood and moved to join her, gazing at the image anew. And from there, it materialized into something far more familiar: a map of sorts.

“Is that…”

“Yes.” Taurus knelt beside the map, gazing at the floor. “It seems that they know more than we suspected.”

Tasha gulped behind him. “Vargas wished for me to tell you—he found the heretics.”

He tilted his head, indicating that he was listening.

“They’ve passed into Navajo Nation.”

“Navajo Nation?” Taurus hummed, jaw flexing. “Interesting.”

“Harboring dissidents violates our pact. I think we should—”

“I do not need you to quote the writs to me, Tasha.” Taurus stood, nostrils flaring as he gazed upon the map. He had suspected, but to be betrayed outright? And after they had spared so many…

He turned to face Tasha, expression tight. “Gather the others,” he commanded. “We have a crusade to plan.”