“Oh, Widow’s grace, did something happen?” - the golem behind the impromptu counter gasped as June stormed in, all three left hands dropping the knit and reaching for its own neck in a jerking, nervous gesture, - “You look quite ruffled!”
“It absolutely did,” - June juggled words between trying to wipe his face clean and laughing in a way he’d half forgotten, - “Don’t worry, it’s good. I’m leaving.”
“Oh… Oh, gosh, right now?” - the lanky machine began stitching across its little fort of filing cabinets in a mild panic, - “I thought you would… Sorry, I thought it’d be at least a month… I wasn’t prepared to…”
“Wait, no, not right this second,” - he calmed the resident, - “But as soon as I can. Is boss here?”
The cloth flap of a door behind him was little more than suggestion when unzipped, and records atop the table now teetered angrily, adding to the machine’s distress. Feeling a bit guilty, June took a step back to close it proper.
“Yeah, sure, I’m here. Come in,” - came a groaning yawn from behind the separator tarp, - “Did you win a lottery or just get bored to death?”
“Much better,” - he cleared his nose, springing into the office, - “I acquired some LEADS!”
“What does that mean?” - the biggest, baddest of the local little widows was stroking his lazily weeded beard and squinting quizzically from behind the biggest, baddest thermos cup he’d ever seen. A tabletop smokescreen.
“My little Muscovite idiot is alive and moving. Struggled out a way to call me.”
From the solidity of the squint, June gathered that sentence wasn’t as self-explanatory as he’d hoped.
“The call cost a lot. He’s in a big mess now.”
The face behind the mug nodded. The widowchief was savoring his words, anticipating the unraveling weight of the conversation.
“How deep?”
“Have you ever heard of Rivermother? Well, he did a job for her.”
Something clattered to the floor in the “waiting room”, followed by a suppressed yelp and even more anxious shuffling.
“Kid, that’s not very…” - the widowchief sighed, very slowly, and screwed his container closed, - “Look, I know you’re not my son and allat… But, seriously? Are you sure you want to die for a moron that big?”
Empty for responses, June simply shrugged, laughing still.
“He is what he is. If I get him out, he’ll have all the time in the world to wisen up. If I don’t, then, you know.”
“I know.”
A cooling stretch of quiet, punctuated by laconic chatter of the shooting range. Widowchief’s brown eyes drilled into his, searching for glimmers of reason. The accountant was dead silent behind them, no doubt locked in an uncomfortable looking pose. The shattered trophy rifle on the wall didn’t pay attention, at least, hushing with the nearby swarm of dreamcatchers.
“This is stupid. But, you’re your own,” - the man before him lowered his gaze in defeat, feeling older somehow, - “Stupidity has a cost, though. We won’t support you after you get to the border. Waterskipper gave you numbers of some of our siblings in SRF, right?”
A weak affirmative beep from behind the tarp.
“Well, you can forget them. Actually, you should forget them thoroughly, unless you want to get innocent folks killed. I don’t want…” - widowchief’s fingers clamped on the edge of the table, - “No more parcels from Riverhome. Especially not to my name.”
“That’s fair,” - June nodded with as much respect as he could, - “Will you at least help me get gear over the border?”
“Behind customs and not a step more. And deal with the skeleton yourself. They’re a nightmare to forge papers for.”
“Oh, it’s doable…” - Waterskipper’s shy objection brought a new smile to June’s face.
“Quiet,” - Widowchief cut off, - “That’s all we got.”
“That works, thank you. I can handle the suit. I’ll feign injury and pass the suit as an assistive device. Worked so far.”
“That’s stupid… But, you already know. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll go pack for wednesday’s ride,” - he turned to leave.
“Widow watch over you, witch kid. ’Cause you aren’t watching over yourself well.”
“Widow watch over you, old man. See you in a few months.”
Despite his reassuring wave, the golem’s three black eyes tracked him silently and with concern as he exited into the morning mist.
Second to last bag let out annoyed clanks as he fastened it down, powersuit tensing up under new pressure, anxious to pull its legs out of the sagging swamp soil. A reign of power cables bound it to the tent’s roof, where oily-black weave of finger-leaves drank dulled midday light.
With a tug and a push, June double-checked the mount, and, satisfied, returned to the tent. The muscled frame was disappointed to wait more, but didn’t object.
He dropped into the chair, one of the few things in the tent that he didn’t own, and pulled the laptop open, amused for a split second by clicking of its oversized latches, as he always was.
Even a decade out of production, anything from Ural Mindworks’ GRANITE series would be overkill for his humble needs. The GHU, for example. He didn’t know what packages to install to get a working golem hearth driver, let alone what he’d do with it once he had. But that was half the fun. A fractalized Swiss army knife on his back. And, as long as his back was his steed’s too, lugging another 10-kilogram case around was no cost at all.
“REALLY DOES NOT SOUND LIKE A GOOD IDEA LIKE IDUNNO WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING TO SHOOT HERE (￢_￢;)”
- read the demon’s last message. The demon was more talkative than he’d
come to expect from demons. And held many opinions in general, and about
use of guns in particular.
“Nothing. It's a deterrent, as I have told you : )”
“IT'S NOT EVEN A GOOD GUN MAN WHO IS AFRAID OF THESE”
“Don't be mean, it's a perfectly fine pre-Word Makarov X ). And, I think, people who don't have a gun are afraid of people who do. Is that untrue?”
“(╬ Ò﹏Ó)”
June smiled, looking at the in-progress field-strip he had left on a cloth by his side. A red-braided, snout-bearing version of him winked back from the handle.
“It'll be fine, I promise. Little Widows have a sure way to get it over with no paper trail.”
He watched with amusement as Moss’ typing indicator flicked on and off rapidly. A wet draft snaked through the disturbed pallets, licking his legs. A fresh measure of discomfort.
“YOU WHEEL PEOPLE ARE IMPOSSIBLE SOMETIMES （´＿｀）”
“Impossible and proud! Did you make any progress restoring Leo's third eye?”
“UH, YEAH, NEW KIT, LAPTOP AND ALL. SEL FINISHED SETTING UP A SUMMON TUNNEL TO A NEW MESOPELAGIC I2P ROUTER YESTERDAY, XMPP ALREADY THERE”
“Not bad, I suppose? But I was hoping for something high-level. You better not tell me you made that horrendous deal just to fail to benefit from it.”
“NOT YET SORRY (｡•́︿•̀｡) I'LL SET UP VOIP SOON BUT TIDEPOOLS IS REALLY ROUGH ON HIS SANITY”
“I am open to relocation... In more ways than one, I mean. How does ChameleonMetronome sound?”
“WE CHECKED THAT ONE ALREADY BUT THEY HARD DISALLOW NON-STANDARD AVATARS. HUMANOIDS ONLY. LEO SAYS HE FEELS SICK IF HE'S CRAMPED INTO ONE FOR TOO LONG”
“Ah, crap, I was hoping they'd backed down on it.”
“GUESS NOT. BUT HEY HE DIDNT HAVE A BREAKDOWN IMMEDIATELY AFTER ENTERING THE LOBBY THATS GOOD RIGHT?”
“Good enough.”
The trucks purred impatiently, as eager to take off again as the wordless companion extending his shoulders. With a careful, hunched gait the quarter-ton duo approached the loading area, slow to avoid crushing the boards and pallets beneath them.
Some of the Little Widows greeted him with smiles, others with concern. He hadn’t tried to keep his goal hidden. He smiled back to all. A white-haired, thin initiate, one of those quiet kids who’d joined already missing a name, waved him to a vehicle with his spot on the back. He thanked with a blessing, and she averted her eyes.
They crawled into the truck’s body, causing the chassis to creak under their weight. Hydraulic hearts behind his back churned with excitement while he shook bits of moss and wet soil off their feet, trying to not make a mess.
Something clanged loudly to the floor behind them. June turned his head.
“Sorry, I’m bad at balancing…” - Waterskipper muttered, its six needle-like hands sliding on the wet boards, struggling to drag it upright again. The charred stub of its lower body twitched, helpless as usual.
“Damn, hold on, I’ll help.”
He shifted them to all fours and jacked out of the exosuit, leaving the beast displeased again, dropping to the floor in a trained motion. The golem’s frail joints whirred in a rather unhealthy manner as he helped it back onto the crate it had fallen off of. The crate grumbled about the mistreatment in a dull echo.
“Thanks,” - the old machine squeaked. Afraid of falling again, it now pushed itself further into the wall of rifle cases and potato sacks, four of six hands grabbing for purchase.
“Why did you climb in here?” - June sat down on the floor next to it, - “I thought you disliked trips.”
“Oh, I quite like going out, it’s just, you know,” - the machine nodded at the remains of its lower body, mess of bent oval joint housings and corroded strange ports, - “Not very easy these days.”
“Oh, I apologize.”
“It’s alright.”
The same clipboard-wielding thin kid poked her head through the tarp doors, about to say something. June already knew what it would be, and gave her a thumbs-up, crawling back to the suit to tie it down. She darted out of view.
He slapped the beast on the shoulder, and it sagged with a reluctant groan, settling flat down on the floor. Waterskipper stayed quieter than usual behind him as he worked, weaving a roll of rope through the loops on its frame.
“Still, you should get a more dignified seat. I could ask if any of the drivers have…”
“No,” - the golem uttered, overcoming some sort of inner tension, - “I’m actually only here to see you.”
He craned his neck sideways, not pausing the work. Waterskipper was twitching narrowly, and he could never be sure if this was anxiety or early signs of a seizure. He hoped it was still the former.
“I got a… A parting present, do you call it? I was going to give it to someone else, but you’re leaving now, so…” - risking another loss of stability, the golem unclasped one arm from its perch, pulling a plain bundle from between crates to hand to him.
“Aw, that is very considerate, thank you,” - June fastened the last carabiner and faced the guest, unfolding the rough paper.
A woolen snake spilled into his hands, soaking up the drizzle on his skin. A grey-and-red knit scarf, lobsters and logic gates in a dancing caravan. He wrapped it around his neck, grinning, and it seemed to settle at its own pace.
“I love it, thank you very much!” - he inspected the new look through the reflection in his knife. This seemed to relax Waterskipper somewhat. Not by much. There was something else.
“Is the color okay? I was told humans don’t tend to like red on grey much. But my eyes are so bad at color rendering…”
“Yes, it’s perfect, don’t worry about it!”
June folded the knife again, and leaned in for a hug, bright. The machine reciprocated, hands jumping to wrap around his back one after another. A spider dragging itself from leaf to another leaf.
“You have the look in your eyes.”
The whisper was so slight against his shoulder that Waterskipper’s speakers were dropping low tones.
“The look?”
“You are going to burn.”
“Maybe.”
“It isn’t a maybe. I saw it on people. Back in hell. The fabs.”
“How do you know I’m flammable?”
“Tungsten steel burns if you heat it enough.”
He could not argue with that. The suit couldn’t either. The scarf probably did not grasp the gravity of the words, though.
“Everyone is talking about it, -” the golem was shaking again, deeply, arrhythmically. This was it, - “The shamans say it. The chief says it. Widow is growing restless.”
“Oh, I know. The cranes say it too. The frogs and the lichen. The dragon will walk soon.”
“She leveled Moscow once before. It won’t be long.”
“And I would hope she would not stop at just Moscow.”
“You aren’t a Little Widow yet, honey. And I don’t want you to be. You can leave.”
If Waterskipper’s hands had any strength in them, June would probably have a bruise by now.
“You would make a good grandmother, you know,” - he freed himself from the grasp, beaming with animation, - “Maybe better than mine.”
“Did she not try to stop you?” - The defeated golem hung limp in front of him now, eyes pointed somewhere off to the side.
“Not at all! She looked at me, and she went up to the attic. She brought me the gun, and said…”
Another wave of silent, invisible anger reached them, rolling across the wetlands, raising hairs on his back.
A third this day.
A dragon’s presence.
A tormented mechanical resolve.
Restless shuffling of a miles-long beast.
A couple hundred meters to the side, a group of ducks scattered out from a dark pond, agitated.
Waterskipper’s shiver froze for less than an eye’s blink.
“I have seen the sea burn. Do what you must.”