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.
<<More to follow>>