A few sweet hours of sleep later, the early dawn sun is burning light blue into the indigo sky over the camp. The prisoners are all asleep, save the two POWs. The previously-handless Turai is wiggling his fresh fingers and the female is up and about, going through a calisthenics routine in what appears to be a moderate amount of pain. The wherren guarding the prisoners have been taking them one at a time, each escorted by 2 wherren, to the third hab when bathroom needs arise. They've been able to keep the prisoners with buckets of potable water from the mess hall, but when it comes to food, the wherren are at a loss.

The Gatekeg has almost completely covered the bay walls in mirrored silver. The cup has raised up perpendicular to the floor and expanded to create an effaced gossamer ring a little larger and thicker than a Gate. There's barely room inside the bay to stand without treading on the chrome network.

With the Gateway under construction, the team's thoughts turn to the tasks ahead. You know there are Khiraba on Whiirr. They haven't attacked you since that rainy night after your crash landing, which means they are probably up to something. Up until now, you have dictated the time and place of your engagements with the Imperium. Now, however, you are on the defense.

Angel sits on a large rock in the field around the camp - his near super-natural ability to suss out the most comfortable spot in any given terrain applying just as well to sitting as sleeping. A bag of the marker claymores rests on his back as he scans the jungle, looking for likely approaches.

He catches a glance of the Turai woman they brought in, working feeling back into her legs and frowns. He's been in a dark mood all day, which manifests as little more than being even less talkative than normal, but its written on his face - possibly in the layer of dirt that seems to have taken up permanent residence - to anyone whose served with him long enough.

As Angel notes another possible spot in the treeline that he himself would sit were he scouting the camp, his attention is drawn back to the Turai woman. Her eyes catch Angel's and narrow. She waves over the wherren watching over her calisthenics and tries to explain something. The wherren looks back over at Angel and shrugs. He lets the woman away from the dome entrance, where she had been stretching, and walks her towards Angel.

"This one has a question for you," the wherren signs. The Turai seems plenty angry, but it's not particularly directed anger. She has to crouch down close to Angel - he can see the new patch of skin over her neck, and some tiny spots where dried blood still clings to her face. Her voice is scratchy and rough, barely a whisper.

"Why are you looking at me? Thinking you should've aimed a little higher?"

Cowboy does what he does best, prepare for unconventional warfare. He recognizes the choke points and the obvious weak areas of defense that the position presents.

"We've got lots of metal that isn't doing anything, let''s put it to work and maybe we'll all get out here in one piece."

The Texan looks around the camp, trying to spy the best vantage point to cover the fire zone.

If I were a sniper, that is where I'd be hiding.

He looks at the woman, shaking his head softly before looking back out into the jungle.

"The opposite actually. Glad you're up and moving."

The Turai sits on her haunches and gives Angel that quizzical look most Imperials reserve for Davis. "Why, then? Why shoot me just to save me? Why carry me all the way back here? I don't remember much but I remember you carried me when my legs didn't listen."

He looks at the woman, his expression calm, and somewhat tired. Didn't sleep well last night.

"Because you would have shot me."

His gaze turns back to the forest, looking out as he talks to the woman. "But once you were down, you weren't a threat to me. I've seen men die from wounds like that, and its no way to die." He shrugs. "Nor is there any benefit to be had in watching you hobble and drag yourself back to camp. Watching someone else suffer...isn't what decent people do."

"Decent people don't make deals with Sheen," the woman says with a heavy look equally as tired as Angel's own. "I know you're just their soldier, but if you mean what you just said... you need to know the Sheen did their best to kill every living thing on that orbital, and to kill them in... in such a public... way that the word 'survivor' does not apply to we who escaped."

Angel nods. The question of the Sheen is actually what most of his mood is about.

"And decent people don't enslave other races, and reduce planets to glass. Lets have a talk with you and me, not our respective nations. That...goes nowhere good."

She sits back on the grass and coughs, spitting up a nicely-sized gob of phleghm. "Fair enough," she wheezes. "My name's Kosai, Rav-Turai." (assuming Angel responds in kind) Kosai nods. "You look like you've got something on your mind, Angel."

---

While the rest of the camp busies itself with fortifications, Davis calls up Hiigra to check in on the chief's progress with the neighboring tribes. It takes a moment where there's nothing but scratching sounds and some loud clunks, then Hiigra's particular grunt comes through the tinny speaker.

*Hiigra talk. Who? Davis?* There's some more fiddling noises, then the chief activates the vox's holofeed, allowing him to communicate his body language and colors. *Oh, that is better.*

"Hello, Hiigra," Davis signs. "How was your journey?"

*It went quickly, and the tribe here has received us well. My other people should find an equal reception, for we were on better terms with them. How fared your battle?*

"We hold the research camp. The Shaman and your initiates were invaluable, and did your tribe proud," he says. "I can send video of your warriors standing guard over captured Imperials, if it will help your efforts. If they need any help, that is."

*Yes. I will show them that this is not something for the future. This is happening now, and now is the time to help. It is slow going here otherwise. I do not have my shaman here, and my arguments suffer for it, but I will convince them. The alternative is unacceptable.*

"Thank you, Hiigra," Davis says. "I will give the Shaman a vox and a direct line to you, if you need it. Anything at all you need, including the video and access to the Shaman, just ask. You play a vital role in all of this, and I will give you whatever support you require." He pauses. "I know that there are more Imperials out there, in the jungle. Have you heard news from any of those in the village, or visitors from elsewhere?"

*No, there has been no news like that here. If we see or hear of them, I will contact you on the... this thing. And thank you for the offer of help... perhaps I will ask the shaman's counsel at night, but a phantom voice from a talisman does not hold the weight here that you might think. Is there anything else? I can see the elders gathering in the longhouse once more.*

"Only that the Imperials seem confident that they will have enough support to challenge us here. Not many escaped from the orbital, which means that they expect to...'recruit' other tribes to their cause. Expect the worst, Hiigra. The Imperials have killed to achieve their goals before, who knows what they will do here. Be careful, and good luck."

Hiigra nods, and the holofeed jumbles around. Davis sees nothing but blurry trees and gray clouds and flashes of huts. *I am talking to the Narsai tribe!* he shouts off-camera. *Tell them I will rejoin them shortly!* Hiigra turns back to the camera. *Good luck to you.* The feed cuts off.

Davis walks back towards the dome and fulfills his promise to Hiigra, filming a few minutes of slowly panned footage of Wherren warriors standing guard over the Imperials, with the Wherren holding a mix of Earth weapons and confiscated Imperial arms. He taps on the screen and sends the message to Hiigra. "God, I hope this works."

admiralducksauce wrote:

She sits back on the grass and coughs, spitting up a nicely-sized gob of phleghm. "Fair enough," she wheezes. "My name's Kosai, Rav-Turai." (assuming Angel responds in kind) Kosai nods. "You look like you've got something on your mind, Angel."

He nods. "A pleasure Kosai." He scoots over slightly, motioning her to sit if she wants. "Not a pleasant thing, getting healed with one of those things. Better than the alternative I suppose."

"As for my mind..." he looks down at his hands. "Been in some ugly fights. Not interested in being in many more of them, and this planet...it's been ugly from the start."

Kosai takes the invitation to sit on the rock rather than the muddy grass. "For me, the ugliest parts are right before and right after the fight," she whispers hoarsely. "The fight's the fight, and yeah, it can get nasty, but you do what it takes to win..." she trails off. "What kind of fight are you interested in being in?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

Kosai takes the invitation to sit on the rock rather than the muddy grass. "For me, the ugliest parts are right before and right after the fight," she whispers hoarsely. "The fight's the fight, and yeah, it can get nasty, but you do what it takes to win..." she trails off. "What kind of fight are you interested in being in?"

Angel ponders, regarding the woman for a moment. "One where what you were fighting for in the first place is still there at the end."

Kosai's smile is a grim but understanding crease. "You'll probably never have a better chance to change that than here on this planet. How many humans are there down here? Less than fifty? How many of you people are there? A dozen? Your voice'll never have this kind of majority again."

admiralducksauce wrote:

Kosai's smile is a grim but understanding crease. "You'll probably never have a better chance to change that than here on this planet. How many humans are there down here? Less than fifty? How many of you people are there? A dozen? Your voice'll never have this kind of majority again."

He nods. "A fair point." Hefting his pack, he nods slightly to the woman. "It was a pleasure Kosai. If you'll excuse me, I suspect I'm going to get scolded soon about loafing about." He stands, headed toward the jungle. "Hope you feel better soon, those disk things are rough."

Davis and Hugh are standing by the maintenance bay door, and the spook notices Angel walking towards the dome from the perimeter of the camp, and waves the Specialist over.

The specialist jogs over, giving the pair a quick salute. "Sir?"

"Angel, Captain Verrill and I are getting ready to go meet the Sheen and see what they want, what we can do to make the rest of the time we're here together go a little smoother, and I want your thoughts on the Sheen," Davis says. "You seem to have some...reservations."

"Fuck reservations," Hugh says, "I'd like to hear an opinion, straight up."

"Alright Captain, since you asked so nicely." Angel looks back at the compound, the tired expression returning to his face. "Sir, the Sheen are giving me a bad feeling. They've got all the combat discipline of some kid-soldier in the Congo, and well...they're having a hardening effect on our enemy Sir. It helps sell the line that we're the bad guys, and it makes them feel like they're between a rock and a genocidal mechanical murder-machine. And when people get backed up against a wall like that..." Angel doesn't finish the sentence. Davis and Hugh have both seen their share. They know what happens.

Davis nods. "My thoughts exactly. What do you think we should do about it?"

"I don't know Sir. The cheap answer is that it's above my pay grade. The less-cheap one is that I'm not sure we can put the cork back into that particular bottle."

"Makes sense to me," Hugh says. "They're fighting on our side, they slaughtered the orbital, as far as I'm concerned we're already in the hole reputation-wise. Now I figure we can either try not to make it worse than it already is, or we can say 'screw it' and get our money's worth since we're already paying. I know we could use Martin and Charlie come the next firefight, but I'm not in charge of hearts & minds around here, and all things considered I do prefer my enemies to at least consider surrendering instead of fighting to the last breath."

Davis looks over at Hugh. "I don't know how likely the Khiraba are to surrender, but I haven't had a chance to get a bead on them yet. Hopefully, I'll have some time to work on that, but what about right now?" He looks back to Angel. "They can follow orders, they just haven't been taught how to be soldiers. Do either of you think you can get them to at least follow some kind of basic tactics, maybe work with the rest of the team?"

"I'm sure we could give it a stab, but I think we should consider very limited deployments in the meantime. Like, not assaults on civilian-staffed emplacements. I can teach them as much as you like, but well..." Angel shakes his head, thinking about the radio transmissions from the orbital in his mind. "Sir, I think they enjoy it. Not sure you can train that out of someone."

"Oh, the Sheen are benched until we can get them to be proper soldiers when we get back," Davis says. "The Ambassador told me that the different kinds of shells are coded to enjoy what they're supposed to do, so it's a matter of training and programming. I meant right now, with Martin and Charlie. You and Hugh are right, we can't have those two running around like loose cannons here, things are way too delicate. Do you think you can get them under some semblance of control?"

"Depends," Hugh says. "Did we bring shock collars? Because we saw the two in action, and...yeah. We can't exactly make them drop down and give us twenty, and we have neither the environment nor the time to run a bootcamp. Unless we can really get through to them that fighting our way is tangibly better for them, this is gonna be tough. If you're really worried about what they'll do next fight, Davis, then I'd say we let them sit it out. Sure, the Khiraba are worth worrying about, but we're not exactly lacking in firepower ourselves, and I'd rather not have to worry about what terror twins are gonna do if we let them."

"It was a fight to get them to hold back as long as I did last night," Davis says. "I'm more concerned about what they'll do if we do try to make them sit it out." Davis pauses in thought for a moment.

"Any chance we've got some violent make-work sitting around?" Its a long-shot, but then, Angel's out of ideas to keep the pair of Sheen out of combat, given their...eagerness...to wade in.

"I don't know," Davis says. "It might just come down to them needing to hold it in until we get out of here, and that's that. We need to talk to them and see what's up. What do you think, Captain Verrill?"

"You lie down with dogs, you get fleas," Hugh says. "But we called them in, so they're our mess. Let's see what they have to say, yeah."

Angel looks entirely uncomfortable with what he's about to say. "Sir, you could always get rid of the dog." What was that about wanting to hold the high ground?

Davis nods. "It has crossed my mind, Angel. But sending the Sheen off into the forest to find the Khiraba or some other kind of suicide mission seems like something of a last resort, right?"

"I think the Specialist is referring to an Old Yeller type of solution, Davis," Hugh says. "And I can't say I like that either. It's not anywhere near necessary. When they start actively threatening us or the people under our protection, we can talk about making hard choices with high explosives, but right now I think 'friendly talk' is the phrase of the day."

"Okay, that's the last resort. And if it comes to that, Angel, we'll make the decision," Davis says.

"Yessir."

"You sure you're okay with this?" Davis asks, and smiles. "I'm not your superior, you don't have to BS to me."

"Sir, with all due respect, you're a spook, you don't get a pass on BS." Angel smiles dryly. "You and the Captain have run a damned clean war Davis. If it comes to that, I'm more okay with it than the alternative."

Davis nods to Angel. "Alright. Always good to get your advice, Angel." He claps his hands and looks at Hugh. "So! You ready to go talk to our friends?"

Angel nods to the pack of light explosives strapped on his back. "Permission to go back to setting the perimeter Sir?"

"Granted," Hugh says. He looks at Davis for a moment before turning back to Angel. "How come you always get the cushy jobs, Angel?"

"Naturally blessed Sir." The specialist jogs off, and both of them can hear him mutter under his breath "...way above my pay grade."

Hugh and Davis walk through the dewy morning grass and push their way into the underbrush that borders the north treeline. The canopy thickens out and the brush thins, and eventually they make out Charlie and Martin "sitting" in a stamped-flat mossy clearing. Charlie seems to be finishing up repairs on Martin. The zzzt of welding lasers and grinding whine of rapidly-replaced servos has, like most anything the team has done here on Whiirr, frightened the local wildlife off to a safe distance.

Martin shakes off Charlie's ministrations and the machines get up. "Hey, meat," Martin cheerfully says by way of greeting.

Davis puts his boot on a leveled tree. "How's the repairs going? You get the parts you needed?"

"It's not good as new, but it's not crippled either," Martin says. It's hard to tell exactly where the monotask got used; there are just parts on the Sheen that look different from before. There are some glaringly obvious patches in the armor that look like manta-ship plating, however.

"Both of you coming out here to check on us?" Charlie asks. "What's the occasion?"

"That, and you said you wanted to talk," Davis says. "So, let's talk."

"All right," Charlie replies (at least now you can tell them apart). "First off, I wanna say that we're still down with this freedom thing. We're on your side. But we've been talking-"

"Not actually talking-"

"Analogy, Martin," Charlie reestablishes control of the conversation. "We've been talking and we're gonna leave. There are hostiles out there that are coming for you and your hairballs and your precious, precious prisoners and we're gonna hit 'em before they reach you. Besides, it's clear that you want nothing to do with us."

"Alright, hold it right there," Davis says. "It's not you two personally that is the problem here. It's your behavior, and this 'we're going off on our own' bullshit is exactly the problem we're having. The problem is a lack of discipline, namely that you two exhibit almost none of it. Do you think we just picked the team we brought here at random, just whoever we could get that shoots a gun really well? We brought soldiers, people that know when to get creative, and when to follow orders. We need your input, what you are isn't the issue here. The issue is that you guys treated the orbital like a free-for-all and murdered anything that moved, armed or not. The issue is that when you spotted the Turai last night, instead of hanging back and letting us know where they are so we can formulate a proper ambush, you ran in and Martin got his ass blown up. We want your help, but what we don't need is loose cannons with a looser definition of an acceptable target."

"We were spotted!" Charlie exclaims. "We don't exactly blend in here with all this organic squishy-"

"The skirmish with those tangos isn't the issue, Charlie," Martin says. "And while we're on the subject of behavior, how about this? Friends don't use friends as bait. It took a little while before it was clear, but so far you've used your allies for just about every first contact situation we've had on this campaign. The poor sasquatches probably don't even realize it, but we do. I'm giving you a pass on the orbital because you couldn't have done that without us, but it builds precedent. Then you send in a half-dozen natives to that camp while you hide in the trees. Then you send us out to find the ones who escaped - a situation, I might add, would not have happened if you just hit the camp. Instead, you get dragged into this overwrought negotiation process and half their armed personnel sneak off through the jungle. Charlie and I have been sitting on our asses nearly the entire time, hiding from your goddamn prisoners, and we are going to exercise some of that freedom you've been talking about."

"Look, nobody's saying that we're taking the easy road here," Hugh says, "but it was the best plan to minimize the number of dead people, and so far, it's worked swimmingly. You don't want to help us anymore, fine, feel free to fuck off. But do not threaten us with causing trouble for our mission." He looks at Martin and Charlie like he towers over them. "You do not want to become one of my problems."

"Hey!" Davis steps in between Hugh and the Sheen. "Both of you, shut the fuck up. Right now. This confrontational bullshit will help no one. Captain Verrill, you are not helping here. Martin, Charlie, if putting our asses on the line would have gotten the same result as putting the Shaman and the initiates out there, we'd have been right there with them, but you fucking know that they would have just opened fire and we'd have had to run in there and start killing people. You two are smart enough to get that we're really, really not into killing people that we don't have to, so bitching about that doesn't help. This way, we have a shot at making an impact with these Imperials and counteracting the message that you made so abundantly clear on the orbital, that we're just here to kill everyone. And in the forest, if you two worked at moving about with any degree of stealth at all, instead of stomping about and alerting everyone for a mile around, maybe you wouldn't have been shot up. The point here is, we are trying to accomidate you two and make this shit work, but cooperation is a two-way street here, and so far all you've been willing to offer is 'we'll try to keep the killings to a minimum'. If we knew that we could count on you two to step up and play with the rest of the team, there would be a lot more cooperation here. We want to trust you, but you have not been acting trustworthy. Understand?"

"I like Verrill's suggestion," Charlie says. "In fact, I thought we were informing you of our intention to 'fuck off' when you went and started using your fancy words again. I thought you'd be happy - everyone wins. We don't scare the meat in the camp, you don't have to deal with us, and we get to do what we're supposed to do. And when we find these fucks who are hunting us all down, you'll get our telemetry. We might even hold 'em off until you get your Gate finished."

"No, no one wins," Davis says. "This 'the Sheen fucks off and does its own thing' method will not work in the future, and if we are going to work together, we need to find a way to actually work together. We're not going to iron out all the problems here and now, but we can't just say 'oh well, this didn't work', we have to adapt to you and you have to adapt to us. I have been working my ass off trying to get the people in there to not be slitting their throats simply because you're in the forest, and you have to meet us halfway on this if there is going to be a next time at all. You two are the test cases for working with the Sheen from here on out, and if the best solution you two are willing to accept is 'fuck you guys, we're taking our ball and going to kill people with it', then there will be problems with our two...species, I guess, working together in the future."

Charlie visibly bristles, but it's Martin who replies. "If working together means we sit on our ass and you talk to people, there are other Sheen who would love to help. We are... how to say this... what is your favorite thing in the world? What do you really and truly look forward to - what do you put on your Christmas list for Santa to drop down your chimney? Because whatever it is, for us? It's battle."

"I know that, the Ambassador explained it to me before, but down here, on the ground, shit isn't that simple," Davis says. "You have to be willing and able to go from killing to negotiating at a moment's notice. Your enemy now might be your best friend tomorrow, and you have to be ready to do that."

"Davis, can you take a step back for a moment?" Hugh says. "Because the way I see it, this ain't getting hashed out now. Charlie, Martin, you've made your position clear. We called on you to help us, and you did. We explained to you how we want to go from here. If it's possible for you to leave, then I would rather send you off with my thanks for what you've done for us and hit the negotiation phase without forcing you to do the very thing you're not built to do. I mean, yeah, sure, this issue needs to be discussed, but I submit this ain't the time and I'd rather you guys don't resent us for getting told that you gotta dance like we do all the fucking time. We can manage without you from here on, we're in a good spot thanks to your assistance, and I for one don't intend to lead soldiers who'd rather be doing anything but fight with us like us." He turns to Davis. "So can we stash the big Homeworld-Sheen alliance talk for a second and talk about what we can do for Charlie and Martin here and now?"

"It's the same issue, Captain," Davis says, and looks back to the Sheen. "Either you're willing to help with us in both killing the bad guys and turning the bad guys into good guys, or you're hurting us doing the same, and that's true if it's just you two or the Sheen as a whole. You've done a great job at that one thing, but if you can't work with us, then all that is going to happen is things will get worse for everyone. So! If there's something we can do to help facilitate that, then you need to say so, because letting you two run off in the jungle to make trouble isn't an option. Hell, you killed two Wherren just walking back to the village after landing because they poked you with spears! If that's how you interact with the natives, you cannot be running around out there by yourselves when we're trying to get them to help us."

"You don't get it, Davis," Charlie says. "You don't get to dictate our options. We told you what we are going to do. We... we can't fight the war you want us to fight here. Not in this environment, not in these shells, not against this enemy. What we can do, and will do, is take the fight to the Imperials that are still out there."

"I suggest your vox your grievances to Meatfucker and it will forward them to the Ambassador," Martin says. "It will assign differently specialized units on the next operation."

"I didn't know they made pussy shells," Charlie snarks.

"Enough, Charlie," Martin says. "They can't help what they are anymore than you can."

"I'd love to, hell, there's people with us who would love to join you rather than sit around here and babysit a bunch of Imperials," Davis says. "I do understand your limitations, but you have to understand ours. You killed those two Wherren, and that shows that you have a serious target discrimination problem. I need to know that you won't make things much, much worse for us back here. Because the next hunting party you take out might be the son of a chief that we need to provide us the backup that will save our lives if you two don't succeed. If you two can promise to not shoot the Wherren unless they're actually trying to kill you and not just scared out of their minds, then I don't have a problem with you two going off on your own. That is my entire issue with you two running off, that you haven't shown that you can do it without causing collateral damage. If I can know that you two know enough not to cause an incident, then I don't care what you do. So, do you?"

"Way to bring up old news," Charlie says. "Look, we're friends with the hairy bastards now. We were teachin' 'em how to play poker while you all were rounding up those Imperials. We know we only shoot people who are trying to kill us."

"Well... NOW we know," Martin adds.

"And knowing is half the battle," Charlie finishes.

"Wait, what's the other half?" Martin asks.

"Violence," Charlie replies. The Sheen start stalking back through the jungle. Martin's sensor pods swivel round to regard Davis and Hugh. "Good luck. Hope your new friends don't fucking shiv you."

"Same to you," Davis says. "Hope you get the drop on the Khiraba, and we'll see you back at the Gate." He watches the two Sheen stomp off into the jungle, then drops onto a fallen tree and rubs his temples.

"Note to self, don't give speeches to Sheen," Hugh says.

"No, just keep them talking until they finally say the magic fucking words, 'we promise not to kill everything we come across'," Davis says. "We have got to get them trained for the next mission."

Hugh nods. "I supervise the kill-warehouse, you prep the Powerpoint slides." He looks around. "Also, my keen sense of time tells me it's food o'clock. You coming?"

"Yeah, just get ready to prep for 30 slightly surly guests."

Zaef has been trying to show the Wherren how to use the shipchef and kitchen by making himself a snack. He takes a bite to see if it meets his satisfaction, then holds the plate out for the natives to try. *You can have some if you want, but I gotta warn you, it's not gonna taste like anything you're used to.*

Zaef's concoction goes over very well with the wherren; in fact, the ability to create food from a machine is more amazing to the natives than particle beams, and before long they've gotten the hang of working the autochef. Zaef notes to keep a weather eye on the reserves (there's almost four times the usual demand placed on the poor autochef) but finds overseeing food an easy enough task. Arketta and Luis have fallen in charge of the wherren directly guarding the Imperials. The prisoners are fed finger food in the dome, which they seem to be just fine with. Food is food, and the autochef can control texture and solidity independently of taste.

A heavy rain falls on the camp after lunch. Cowboy and Angel are in the jungle placing Claymores. The paint-marker mines are set on tripwires, while the real Claymores are rigged up along likely approaches to the camp and set to detonators. Crates are brought up out of the bunker and moved from their ramshackle piles around the dome and scoured for useful bits. There's not too much in them that'd stop a beamer shot, but the crates themselves would make useful cover. Meanwhile, wherren who aren't sleeping off their long, long night or watching the prisoners are digging foxholes. It's miserable work in the rain, and when the sun comes out again just in time for a brilliant sunset the entire camp - even the prisoners - feels more cheerful.

Night falls on the first full day in the captured Imperial outpost. Not all the foxholes have been dug out completely; the rain slowed the work considerably. The crates have been organized but have yet to be arranged in any sort of fortification. Angel and Cowboy did get their Claymores set, and that provides a measure of safety as the team prepares to set up watches for the night.

Davis gives the shaman his vox so he can counsel Hiigra, but as it turns out it's not needed - Hiigra has convinced the northern village to join your cause! The other tribe's stiff resistance actually made some of Hiigra's tribe second-guess their revolutionary fervor, and the situation came to a head. While the other chief naturally desires the technology and scientific secrets Davis promised the wherren species, he was all too quick to latch on to "Earth humans and Imperium humans are the same", and he's unsure how one is better than the other. The video of armed wherren holding Imperials prisoner sparks hope and shows the trust Narsai is willing to place in the wherren, and that may have been what made the difference.

The treeline is shrouded in fog, and the cloudy night obscures the stars. The everpresent clouds and fog reflect the dome lights and cast a ghostly blue-gray glow over the camp. Davis walks with Hale around the camp, with Arketta trailing the pair and keeping an eye on the Rav-Turai. As usual, Hale remains quiet and lets Davis do the bulk of the talking.

"How are things going? Everything okay, no problems or conflicts?" Davis asks.

"I don't know what you said to Shenest after I was put back downstairs, but she has not been a problem," Hale replies. "Otherwise, this has been the most enjoyable prison experience I've had."

Davis smiles. "Well, we try. She just wanted assurances that her work would be preserved, that we would follow through on letting her researchers do their work. And we did. Actually, I had an idea. How hard would it be to move the holoprojector from the break room into the dome?"

"Easy. Dome's got power, it's no harder than getting a vox on external power."

Davis nods. "Good. I'm trying to make things more comfortable in the dome, and give our two groups a reason to associate a little more, improve relations. If there's any games that you guys have in the habs, we'll be glad to get them and bring them into the dome as well." He pauses. "How about the orbital survivors? Are they doing better?"

Hale shrugs. "I'm no psychoanalyst. They've been treated well and you've kept to your word about the Sheen you have here. I suppose they're doing all right. The holos and games might distract them well enough. Rav-Turai Kosai's actually been much improved since she got shot in the throat." Hale's laugh is short and sarcastic.

"And how about you, Hale? How are you holding up?"

Hale stops walking and looks up at the clouds, then around at the partial foxholes. "Me? I'm doing great, Davis. I'm being fed, I don't have to pretend I'm a god, I don't have to run drills, and as far as the Imperium knows I'm still on post and being paid. I'm gonna be home in a few days one way or the other and I'm taking the first cushy bullshit guard post I can get."

"You didn't like having to lie to the Wherren?" Davis asks. "Was it that it was just a pain in the ass to keep up, or did you just not like doing it?"

Hale starts walking again, this time meandering towards Hab 2, where the sounds of wherren bedding down for the night filter through the building's windows. "It's kind of both. You don't like doing things that are a pain in the ass. They're grown-ups, I guess, and they deserve better than what they're getting. From either of our peoples, I might add," Hale says. "Better just to leave them alone. They're not ready for... for spaceships and interplanetary government. They're hardly ready for agriculture. The one thing I am amazed by is that the Imperium is doing right by the planet, at least." Hale smirks. "Figures one of the few times they preserve an environment, it screws me in the ass for being here with no backup."

"You should sit down and talk with Swims-the-Black, he's got some good ideas that you might be interested in, and I'm always looking for good ideas," Davis says. "We're trying to do right by the Wherren, make sure that they're the ones who set themselves free after we give them the first bit of help, not just another group of humans handing down a decision from on high as to how they're going to be." He walks for another few steps, then looks back to Hale. "If all this bothers you so much, why do you have such a problem with us being here, doing what we're doing? It's obvious you're no fan of how the Imperium has treated the Wherren, or their policies for the most part. I can understand a reluctance to take whatever I have to say at face value, but I haven't lied to you yet, Hale, and I have no reason to now. What is your problem with us?"

The Rav-Turai turns and looks Davis straight in the eyes fast enough Arketta actually raises her weapon slightly. "I happen to disagree with one area of my government's policy," he says. "I'm not about to run off to a shadowport and go rebel because of it. I bet Narsai's got some dumbass laws but you don't see me trying to recruit you into Kansat or anything."

Davis matches the gaze without breaking stride. "Trust me, if the ravilars haven't spent so much time covering up the nasty shit the Imperium's done, we wouldn't have to bother with fighting them at all. You know anyone from Obaron? 53 killed in a protest against increased power tariffs two years ago, the Turai just opened fire into a crowd of unarmed protesters. Vouskiano? They sunballed a community until it melted for trying to grow their own food, Hale. This is not some slight disagreement in policy, Hale. The Imperium brutally oppresses everyone in their society, and they don't care how many they have to kill to keep control. How about it, Hale, where are you from? What did they do to your planet that they've kept quiet?"

Hale makes a "blah blah blah" movement with his hands. "Whatever 'facts' you've got in your head, in your vox? They're not going to work, Davis."

Davis cuts him off. "Where are you from, Hale? When did you leave?"

"We're done here," Hale says. Davis reads it in Hale's expression - whatever Davis could offer as evidence has just been trumped by Hale's memory. "Quis! I'm ready to go back to the dome now."

"I'm not saying we're perfect, Hale, but we're a damn sight better than the Imperium," Davis says. "I've seen the truth, the Imperium wrote it all down in the Cortex. You're a good man, Hale. You know that I'm telling the truth." With that, Davis gets out of his way.

"We're. Done." Hale starts walking, guarded or not, back towards the dome.

Davis watches Hale stomp back to the dome. He'd seen that look before, that attitude, and he knows better than to interfere with it. Better to let Hale stew in his own thoughts. "I don't want to be him tonight," he says to Arketta. "I remember getting that look from you, once upon a time."

Arketta nods solemnly. "I remember that too. I remember thinking that if there was any chance of escape afterwards, I would have gladly killed you right there."

Arketta sits up with Hale, keeps an eye on him and is ready to listen when he has to spill his guts and offer her own experiences back, Davis will go check out the gate construction progress and see if the interface is still running.