turning her in the direction away from the disappearing ground vehicle.

The icy distance disappeared beneath her as the sun followed her

home. The ice beneath her Glider started to thin, and bare patches,

showing rich soil began to show. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a

wild berea, but she could not risk a shot at it. Not here. The discharge

of the projectile would be heard for miles around. Too bad, too. She was

certain Migota would be hungry. She was, too.

In the near distance, she saw the spires of Agrilon solidifying in

the midday mists. She was grateful that Migota had chosen to leave the

overcrowded bartercity, but their resourses were poor out here, and they

often went hungry. And they were also more susceptible to the Chotel.

But, for Migotas purposes, this was where he needed to be.

She supposed she could leave him and return to Agrilon. But, there

was no real point. The Wastes were just as good a place to barely

survive as Agrilon. Up ahead, she saw the low hillock that was the

landmark that let her know she was near her home. She decellerated and

cut the thrusters. She had enough momentum to finish the ride.

As she glided silently toward the hillock, it appeared as if she

would carelessly impact the high side. But, as the forward stabilizer

blades hit the mound of soil, they disappeared. So did the rest of the

Glider. And Slora as well.

The holgram projector had been discovered on one of her many forays

into the icefields. She had a knack for always coming back with

something useful, even if she did not know how most of her finds worked.

But, that was what Migota was for. He was the tech-wizard. He always

knew.

But, that was because he was born before Desoranar went nova,

leaving them with only the single sun, Rasgul. He remembered when

everything worked and all the world was beautiful for the Kerestians.

Now, it was a nightmare tableau of foraging for grubs and hoping

beyond hope that some off-world traders would even remember who they

were.

The Glider slid right into its proper spot, beside the long dead

Rover and the longer dead Airwing. Even if they could find fuel for it,

they would never get it working again.

Migota sat in his familiar chair. He smiled minimally at Sloras

return, concentrating on polishing a glass object. When he was finished,

he replaced the lens on what could only have been a powerful telescope.

"Did you find any food?", he said without much hope. Slora nodded

with a shrug.

"Some grubs. They're dead, but not long."

Migota held out his arms in a parody of infantile need. Slora

walked up to him and hugged him tenderly. She remebered the days when he

could still carry her to bed and make love all day and night, but that

was before the Chotel took away the use of his legs with an energy

weapon. Now, he spent his days starving, and scanning the skies for

someone to help them.

But, no one was coming. The last traders to come here, from Gamma

Alteres, had been over twelve years ago. They used to come thrice a

year. Everyone had assumed that the traders considered Kerestia lost

when Desoranar went nova. But, they were still here, she cried silently.

They were still here, waiting for the cold and the ice to cover Kerestia

entirely, finally killing them all.

She hugged Migota and cried. It was their daily ritual.

 

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