Alec had little time to breathe and prepare his mind. He pulled over far enough outside the rift-station to not be disturbed, yet close enough that he hoped the imposing silhouette would deter any rebels. He cracked the hatch and stepped through.

  "Mr I,"

  "Don't say another word". Alec didn't want the boy to speak for fear that memories might cloud his better judgment. He walked over to Quip's mute switch and flicked it on and off, indicating it was ok to talk. "Quip scan this kid up, make sure I'm not inviting any bugs or diseases in here before we continue."

  Sensor lights flickered to life inside the cell alongside Quip's worried voice. "Alec, I was aware that whole time. I do not enjoy the bridle, the thought of EMP death is not one I savour." The boy's eyes widened as he looked around the inside of the cabin, searching for the source of the voice. When he couldn't find it, his brain put the pieces together. This Grounder was a smart one. Perhaps too smart for his own good.

  "Your transport can t-t-talk?" The last word was stuttered out of shock.

  "I prefer to think I can talk and also control the transport, but the truth is I am bound to this form, yes."

  "But that's.."

  "Illegal." Alec finished. "So is hitching a ride across systems. You're lucky I'm having a charitable day".

  "Charitable through guilt."

  "Can-it Quip," Alec did not appreciate the interruption to his speech; he wanted the gravity of the situation to sink in for this youth. He should be dead twice over. "As I said, I'm feeling charitable, which is why you're existing in that cage right now. I'll be pulling into a town shortly. When I'm there, I'll set you free."

  The boy gulped, taking in Alec's words. The use of the word "free" sat stale in the air. No one was free in the baronhood. Leaving this boy alone on a strange planet was as good as a death sentence. But at least Alec wasn't pulling the trigger, so it fit well within his code.

  Alec continued, "Once you are gone, stay gone." He emphasized the last part of his speech by taking out his revolver and spinning the whistlers, casually checking them. "Now's the part where you talk."

  "I'd recommend sticking to two words, 'yes sir', or slamming them together in one if you prefer 'yessir'." Quip once again was not helpful. He did not understand humans, nor did he care to.

  The boy was brave; that was apparent. He looked from the revolver and then held Alec's eyes. "Mr., I meant no harm. You saw it there, on the platform, to those people, I'm as good as dead. Just another part of a rift-station, like a pumping sapper. I didn't mean to cause no trouble. You won't see me no more if you let me live. For that, you've shown me more kindness than whoever abandoned me in this world… I mean, yes, sir." He directed the last up to Quip with the faintest test of a smirk.

  Alec marvelled, he'd seen bigger and scarier shaking more in this whelp's position. He looked for more words, any that might drive his point home further, but there were none. This boy had accepted his fate with more grace than the lords Alec had faced before. He grabbed a pack of happy flares, popped one in his mouth, and took another to the Grounder.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "In the meantime, Grounder, take a flare. Quip, fire us up, and activate your long-range sensors. Don't worry about the power consumption, we will be at a baronhood estate soon, and you can rest and focus on charging." The vehicle lurched forward, and the boy stumbled. When he found his feet, Alec was waiting with a lit thumb sparker. Again, the boy's eyes marvelled. He lit his flare, nodding to Alec in thanks, and took note of the strange, half-mechanical makeup of Alec's form.

  "Who are you?"

  "Someone most wish they never met." Alec lit his own happy-flare and inhaled deeply. Five kilometres down the road on this terrain would be less than ten minutes. He looked at the changeling machine, took the flowery garb he was wearing, and set it in. It began to work away, crafting Quip's best guess at this planet's style. He turned his attention to his vocal modulator.

  "What do we have for dialect in this area, Quip?"

  "According to the older information I have, this planet's first language was… Teretha." It was the language of the original peoples. This day was testing everything Alec had.

  "Surely that's not what they speak." Alec would have no issue with the use of the vocal modulator, but something about that felt wrong to him. He was taught in a past war by a Teretha scout in their handspeak language. It was quick and concise, and Alec had thanked him by watching his back and saving his life countless times. The Teretha man died of old age, contented, surrounded by family, while Alec continued on for centuries past. Speaking the language directly to a people so oppressed felt like a corruption while he served as the Baron Hood's tool of revenge.

  "It is not what I heard on the communications scan at the station." Quip input some data, Alec recited.

  My boots have been broke since '42,

  Still marchin' on, still dreamin' you.

  He finished up the rest of it, dealing with his intonation. He didn't like this planet's speech patterns; there was an entitled sneer that accompanied the end of sentences. The boy continued to marvel, saying nothing, taking everything in. In his small grounder life, being here with this half-metal man, driving in a talking vehicle, he must be questioning his own sanity.

  The changeling machine hissed and produced a new attire that Alec truly hoped would blend. It was a pair of dark black jeans, a similarly dark leather belt for his hip holster, a brown collared shirt with polished bone buttons and a dark grey long coat. The coat suited Alec so well that he considered making it permanent, like the boots and hat he was wearing. It hung to his ankles and had hidden pockets tactically placed around the chest. The collar was high, and the flapping sound it made when he walked accompanied his spurs like a seasoned musician.

  "Alec, something in the cockpit requires your attention."

  He could hear the concern in Quip's voice. What was it now? He climbed forward through the hatch; by his calculations, they were still at least one kilometre away from the town. What met his eyes nearly brought tears to his eyes. Alec had no use for tears, so they didn't come; instead, he stared in horror as he passed a small gate, open yet heavily guarded. A large painted sign framed the road and the sight Alec took in.

  In large military letters, it stated "bloodington." Under that, another hand wrote "population, who cares". Stretched out for a kilometre, under the hot desert sun, was the largest collection of survival domes Alec had ever seen. Quip rolled forward at a slower pace. Survival domes were employed during disasters or for refugees of collapsed rift stations. They were not intended to be permanent living spaces, and yet these looked like they had been there for decades. What shocked him most was the Teretha people walking around the camp.

  Face upon face carried the weight of the world and stared off into the sky as if looking for a hidden saviour. Their clothes were patched and ragged. The noble people's golden skin was worn where it was exposed to the elements. Some carried recycled containers filled with dirty water; the well here had soured, probably even before the tents arrived. Some walked with infants bound to their hip with repurposed rags. Alec's mind was screaming at him. Something in all the details of the oppressive Teretha home was off.

  Outside of infants, there were no children to be seen.