The campground was full of hobbs. Most of them were working. Hobbs climbed over the damaged area of the residential block, effecting repairs. A squad of them with weapons patrolled the roads, answering any and every concern my people had. Several more patrolled the walls, especially near the dig site on the northern end.

Another barbecue was being held beside the parking lot, as lunch got handed out to any who wanted it. Several large pots of simmering stew were being managed by hobbs in aprons.

My action with the MortBlock during the gobb raid had saved our vehicles from being stolen and sold outright, but that also meant the gobbs had bashed and broken parts off from most of them. A BuyMort pod was warping in furniture and clothing beside our wrecked up fleet of vehicles as I approached. Various piles of both formed.

The food smell had lured me away from my intended visit with Molls, but I hung around the outskirts and simply ate my meal while watching my people.

The mood was far more somber than it had been. There were people sitting at tables and crying, comforting one another, and treating wounds with Dr. Miles. The beleaguered doctor had a bowl of stew at his side, untouched, as a line of patients waited for his advice or ministrations. I made a mental note to get him a proper office built. There was still room underground for him, but that needed to be temporary. Having him out among the people would increase confidence, a lot.

Mel was there too, sitting on the second floor of our storage barn, sketchpad in her lap. She waved, once. I nodded and left her to her drawings but hoped to see them someday soon. I also moved out of the general frame of her view in order to eat my stew, specifically to avoid being in her art again.

It seemed like things were going to be as normal as they could be, given the ramifications of the attack. Nobody approached me to yell, scream, beg, or threaten, in regard to their loved ones dying on my watch, so I took that as a good sign. Loss was becoming normal, and comforting people wasn’t my job. The hobbs were better suited to dealing with these people anyway, not me.

I was just there to stop the threats to their lives. It was in my best interest to cultivate a distance. The words echoed through my head in Mr. Sada’s voice while I turned my empty bowl over to the hobbs. It had been carved out of hardwood, as was the spoon I had used. The hobbs provided these days, if you didn’t have your own. Now that there were enough of them, it seemed a non-issue to do some dishes in addition to everything else they did around camp.

My mood was fouled by the time I wandered up my own lane. I was expected to save these people from something we couldn’t properly face in a fight, and I had already failed several of them. Three hobbs, and eight humans.

Our hobbs didn’t seem to take the attack personally, or the deaths. Death to BuyMort bug wasn’t exactly an uncommon way to go, and BlueCleave as a whole didn’t seem to expect this transition to be bloodless. The humans mixed in the crowd were affected though, most of them nervously watching the sky when not distracted. I’d never been more relieved to have my privacy barrier.

The construction on my building was progressing, with a hobb work crew installing one of the windows for my new greenhouse. I could see what it would look like when they were done, a large square, with two-thirds of the second floor made of mostly see-through glass.

As I watched, I heard Molls’ car door open and close, and then I heard her scales against the desert as she slithered my way. The foul mood dissipated the instant she touched my arm, and I turned to smile at her.

She stood slightly higher than I did, which was something I enjoyed. While it wasn’t a requirement or anything, I’d always found tall women physically attractive. When she saw me looking, she adjusted her own height, moving her tail back so that she was standing at a different posture, one that made her shorter than me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, a small smile on my lips.

“Hmm?” She blinked at me, her deep green eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun.

“How tall are you?” I asked, stepping away to look at her.

Molls turned pink, but only slightly. She sighed and slid higher than before, coming to a stop almost a full head higher than I was.

“Most men are intimidated by a tall woman,” Molls said, with a shrug.

“And you change your own height for that?” I asked.

Molls blinked, the pink in her scales darkening. Then she shrugged and looked down. “Conda Nah’gh are larger than most BuyMort races. I did not mean anything by the act, I simply want you to like me.”

I stepped in closer and slid my wrist around the curve of her wrist, looking up into her face as I placed my palm firmly against the small of her back. “I do like you, Molls. You’re the only thing in this world that makes me smile anymore.”

The pink in Molls’ scales was quickly chased away by purple, and she ducked her face down closer to mine. With my free hand, I cupped her chin, smiling at the feel of the individual scales as I pulled her down so our mismatched lips could meet.

While the kiss was brief, I felt the distinct flicker of her thin tongue against my lips.

Molls pulled back with a sigh. “Not out here, the hobbs will talk,” she whispered.

I glanced up. They were busy with my delicate window installation, none of them were paying attention to us. I missed the watchful eyes of Hord, who was babysitting Cube in the downstairs room.

Molls glanced at her car, and then back to me.

I nodded and let my hand slide off from her hip, squeezing it lightly as I did.

Molls slithered quickly to the banged up car, and I walked behind. She left the rear passenger door open for me, and I peered inside as I approached. The car had been modified again, and this time it was the seats. The front bank of seats was able to fold down, which created a broad, flat surface in the cabin of the car.

The Nah’gh woman had added a thick blanket over the back and populated the area with several plush pillows. When I arrived and leaned in, she was lounging on the other side of the small den, her head propped up on one arm as she watched me get in.

“Welcome,” she whispered with a smile.

With some minor effort, I got a pillow behind my head and lounged. The heat was sweltering, but it was also kind of nice, like a sauna. My worries about Dearth faded away, and the near constant memories of violence quieted, as I stared up at Molls’ ceiling. She’d installed some reflective paneling, it reminded me of a mirror.

She reached a hand out, lightly touching my arm with her fingertip. “Did you mean what you said earlier? You only smile for me?”

I looked over at her and smiled gently. “I’m sure I smile other times. In frustration, cold amusement, or even fear. But you are my oasis. The only calm I have in this storm. When I’m with you, my smile isn’t forced, or fake. It’s not polite, or just trying to be friendly. It’s genuine.”

Her lips twitched in a smile. “That’s kind of sad.”

I looked over into her huge, green eyes, and slowly shook my head. “Not to me. You’re easily the best thing BuyMort ever brought to me. Or ever will.”

Molls’ fingers clenched on my arm, and I felt her claws dig in a little. “Don’t joke,” she whispered.

Watching her face, I realized she was upset. Badly upset and flirting to hide it. Or perhaps flirting as a way to cope. “You’re not a priest anymore, are you?” I quietly asked.

Her eyes unfocused, and she stared through my bare chest for a few moments, before she answered, “I’m not sure. The inquisitorial board has heard everything they care to, and are scheduled to deliver their verdict tomorrow.” She took in a sharp breath and shook her head, bringing a pained smile back to her lips. “The last few days have been difficult to ignore. I was told deploying would be different from the cloister, but I did not expect to have my faith in church leadership so thoroughly shaken in such a short period of time.”

I nodded, gripped her hand in my own, and brought it up to kiss. Her scales were rough and cool beneath my lips, and the purple that flooded from the area my lips touched was mesmerizing to watch.

“Garthrust brought in Nu-Earth board support, and the inquisitors overseeing my case have ruled against allowing me to enter my evidence into the corporate record. They claimed it was coerced, that Garthrust would have said anything to keep my thug from killing him. It was heavily insinuated that I had enticed you with sex, to do my bidding and bring violence against an innocent businessman, simply for his discovery of my so-called drug problem.” she spat. Her voice turned more and more venomous as she spoke, but I just listened and held her hand.

The church appeared to be siding with Dearth, fully. There was some hope in the form of her family, as her mother had some degree of rank within the church, but she really didn’t like talking about that.

Corporate justice loomed. By the time she had finished telling me her story, her mood was darkened, and her scales were tinged red everywhere except where I held her hand.

“So,” I started, rubbing my thumb and forefinger along the webbing of her hand. “What are you now, if you’re not a priest with the church anymore?”

Molls shook her head, bouncing with a short, angry shrug. She focused on my hand, on the swirls of color in her skin my thumb was making. The red pigment fled, being replaced fully by purple again, and her smile widened, threatening to expose her oversized, true mouth. “Well, I haven't been fired just yet, but being your oasis sounds nice.”

I returned her smile and kept rubbing her hand gently. “What do you want though, Molls?”

“You can’t tell?” She asked, large eyes lidded. Her other hand idly played with the zipper on her heated robe.

I smiled, deeper than before, and leaned forward to kiss her hand. “That’s not what I meant,” I chuckled.

Molls sighed aggressively and rolled back onto her nest of pillows more fully. “Right now, distraction,” she muttered. “It is unpleasant to find oneself suddenly dealing with the idea of being without purpose.”

“Ahh,” I said, raising one finger. “There’s the issue. Never let your job title define who you are.”

The purple in her scales began to tinge green, and she scowled. “That makes no sense at all. Your job is who you are. It determines everything important about what you do, where you live, what kind of life you have access to, even the mate you could end up with, or how you might die.”

I nodded as she spoke, then shrugged when she was finished. “All of that is true, and yet, none of it can tell you who you are. Those are simply the things you do.”

The green color flooded in harder, chasing away more of my preferred purple. “That makes even less sense. What you do is who you are.”

I grinned and looked down. “I sure hope not. Part of my recent job title change was murdering my former boss.”

Pink and green mixed in Molls’ scales, and she pulled her hand away, clutching it in her other. “I didn’t mean . . .” she faltered and stopped, blinking as she failed to meet my gaze.

I pushed back and sat up against the car wall, propping my lower back comfortably against a thick pillow. “No, I know. I’m just using that as an extreme example. If I believed that killing was who I am, I’d probably be my own next victim, by choice. But killing is definitely a huge part of what my job is right now.”

“But it's not your job, you’re not a killer. You’re a leader,” she said, changing her own position to be better able to see me face to face. “Sometimes leaders have to kill, in order to lead.”

I shook my head. “Only in imperfect systems, but that’s beside the point. My vision of what a leader should be is likely wholly theoretical, and not what a leader actually is by current or former standards. I’m not a leader either, not really. That’s just what I do. I don’t want to lead anybody, I don’t want to be in charge here, or anywhere.”

Molls scowled, and her scales reverted to a light purple color as we spoke. “I think I see the difference you insist upon, but does an internal evaluation of self really determine who and what we are to one another? This line of thought seems a touch esoteric for the purpose of my issue.”

I nodded eagerly. “Oh it must be, cause I didn’t understand most of what you just said at all. I just know that I don’t really like my job, and I don’t want it to be me.”

Molls blinked several times, finally nodding as she looked back up to me. “Then why are you leading?”

I shrugged. “Nobody else can survive it, and I have to do something.” I glanced down as I intentionally left out the part about wanting to kill the thing she worshiped. “What is it about your job with the church that makes you feel like you have purpose? The morties? The title?”

She flicked her tongue out and back in, shaking her head. “No, it is the act of helping those who require spiritual guidance and mental healthcare.”

“Well, you don’t have to be a priest of BuyMort in order to do that, do you?” I asked.

Molls stared at me, head cocked to one side. A small smile grew on her lips as pink flushed through her scales. “Don’t offer me a job, Tyson. It’d ruin my plans for the afternoon if you suddenly became my employer.”

I chuckled and met her eyes. “And what are your plans?”

Her eyes lidded, she whispered, “I told you, distraction.” Her tail suddenly wrapped around my legs, hips, and stomach, gently pulling me closer to her. She ran her fingertips along my chest and leaned in to kiss me again.