Harrison ascended the mine shaft, his armor still on and followed by three guards. A certain black-haired technician, the woman he loved, had babbled incoherently and way too quickly for him to understand on the phone. All he knew was that he had to see what she had to show.

Tracy stood by a heater just outside the workshop's cargo bay door, wearing a big 'ol sweatshirt that draped over her shoulders and bust. She lit up the moment they locked eyes.

She became a bullet, charging right into him. The technician's arms did their best to wrap around his chest, her chin resting below his throat guard. Her energy was entirely focused on her wide smile, contrasting with her small but affectionate voice.

"Hi."

He tenderly squeezed her back, subtly rocking the tiny, unarmored woman side to side. "Hey. What did you need?"

"Lemme show ya!" She let go, stepping off her tippy-toes and grabbing his wrist.

Harrison was yanked through the various machines, pulled right toward the ancient exterminator. It was still in a low power mode, showing no signs of activity under the various sensors and wires still attached to it.

Tracy stepped up beside it and turned to face Harrison, feverishly raising her brows and holding her hands in front of herself like she was about to propose an out-of-pocket business idea. "Okay okay okay. So, before I lose you and my entire train of thought, this all started because I was going through Sebas' summaries of the drones around Kegara's camp and his theories."

She paused, mouth open for a moment before continuing. "W-We can discuss that shit later and how they're using artifacts, but here's what I was thinking: 'Why can't we just listen in to what the Malkrin over there are saying?' Like, it's clear they're speaking, but they don't use actual voices. And that's when I remembered that this badboy—" she slapped the metal hull of the exterminator, receiving dense 'thunks' in return. "—could speak with the Malkrin. Or at least the Malkrin could hear him, right?"

"Oh my God, yeah," he responded excitedly. "I almost forgot after the last few days."

The technician nodded vigorously. "Exactly! We had that brief conversation with Max, and he gave us the basic database or whatever. So, I looked into it, curious if they had an explanation… The data's kinda fucky and none of it's stored in organized folders, just fucking everywhere—all text files, by the way. A good bit of it's actually corrupted too, given half the words switch between Latin, Martian-English, Slavic, and fucking Sino of all languages. Some things don't translate properly either… A-Anyway, I didn't have any luck looking anything up. I tried a bunch of random words, but the first thing to give me a usable result was 'intent.'"

"The Malkrin speech?"

"Bingo," She shot him a finger gun, waving her other hand around as the gears in her mind processed what she had seen.

"It was the first thing to show up a-and the page translated pretty clearly. They described it as a 'passage of conscious thought or will' or something like that. And I was like, 'Okay, that makes sense. What's the reason for it? Why is this literally the same word the locals use?' There wasn't anything there, so then I thought maybe there'd be a related file under 'consciousness.' And there I found it: the 'Psychosphere.' I swear I've heard it used in some games, and I know damn well I've heard some schizos yapping about it online. Have you ever heard of it?"

He raised a brow, interested but skeptical. "The… Psychosphere? It sounds familiar. Isn't that where supposed psychics draw their power from?"

"Supposed," Tracy emphasized, rotating on one foot and pacing back and forth in front of the exterminator. "That file took me like an hour to read, but the colony, the 'ecologists,' did the research. It's fucking real and they proved it! Well, like half of it. B-But it's there! With the artifacts on this planet! It's umm…"

She snapped her fingers repetitively, trying to figure out her next words. "It's like uh… like an actual sub-universe thing or… What did they call it? Fuck, I can't remember. It's like an encompassing realm around us that we interact with on some level with our thoughts and souls!"

The technician preemptively held a palm out at his response. "Okay, I know how it sounds, but it's actually real."

"I believe it," Harrison stated genuinely, nodding toward a guard standing beneath one of the bulbous refineries a couple of meters away. "I'll take any explanation as to why the local population speaks telepathically. I've seen rocks defy gravity itself. Please, by all means, fill me in. Tell me everything."

"Fucking…" Tracy's hands clenched like she was gripping an invisible person's shoulders, absolute relief in her eyes. "God, I fucking love you, dude. I'm gonna kiss the hell outta you when I'm done."

The wound-up weeb returned to her pacing, rapping her nails along the exterminator's hull while she passed along it. "Alright, lemme just backtrack real quick. So, Max here can speak via telepathy just like the Malkrin can. They can just… do that because they send their thoughts right to our 'psychic imprint' in the Psychosphere, which is this sub-realm made up of thoughts and feelings, projected by living things and some artifacts. That all make sense?"

Harrison stopped to think about the idea of a place with just thoughts and feelings. That sounded… familiar. Not just the realm, but for the idea of Malkrin intent as a whole. He thought back to one of his first interactions with Shar, where he tried to check if she could read his mind if he tried hard enough. His 'intent' was only projected when he spoke, somehow being connected to his mind, while the paladin's just came from her frills.

That all was kind of explained by why Sebas, a matrix of circuits and wires, was just the garbled noise of an unrecognized language to the Malkrin, while any other living thing had at least some 'vital intent.' Anything organic was a part of the Psychosphere at the bare minimum, while sentient creatures could project into it, and then there were ones with specifically-designed organs doing so without verbally speaking—The Malkrin, chiefly, but who knew what other societies existed on Ershah?

It made sense. Most creatures had thoughts and feelings, simple or complex, so of course it would be a part of said 'psychic imprint.'

He shook his head, trying not to snicker at how little it surprised him. It 'made sense.' Of course, there was some pseudo-magic explanation for telepathy.

"Yeah, I'm following you."

"Now, what's the missing piece with all of this?" she asked expectantly, turning around to march the other direction.

"How they're even interacting with the Psychosphere in the first place?"

The technician stopped, staring right into him with wide eyes. "Fucking… exactly. We have a few scans of Malkrin frills, which they use to project their intent, but I'm gonna be so real with you, I have no clue what I'm looking at with those. So, I looked into something I could hope to comprehend: the exterminator's internals."

She held a finger up. "First off: don't even bother trying to look into his central processing unit… thing. If you thought the quantum computing of AI cores was bordering on magic pseudoscience, boy do I have a new level of unexplainable fuckery and technology for you! But, that's for another discussion… mostly because neither Sebas nor I can really piece together that bullshit. The real kicker is the three radioactive components; they're fragments of artifacts."

He took a step back. "There are artifacts in there?"

"Yeah, but they're not leaking radiation or anything like that." She gestured for him to get closer, producing a data pad from her stomach pocket. "Seriously, look at this."

He hesitated for a moment before stepping up beside her and inspecting the hand-held computer Tracy rested on the exterminator's hull. She squeezed her side into him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

The technician brought up a slide of various graphs and blue X-ray photographs, and then pulled up another set and displayed them side-by-side. "These on the left here are from Sebas' studies while Max was speaking to us the other day. Specifically, from the three communication components. Or, the one that sent out its intent. The other two are a little different. The X-ray versions show the energy flux through the different prong-like structures inside of them. These graphs show the detected joules, heat, and gamma-radiation through the metal hull."

Harrison glanced over at the other side, realizing it showed Malkrin frills in the Xray section. "And this one's the Malkrin?"

"Yeah, Rei offered her services. The same graph types too. So, now if I run the frames, you'll notice this." Tracy swiped on the screen, showing the next pair of photographs. These ones had a faint flash of red inside the prongs of the frills and the machine's component. She swiped again and again, stopping on a frame with a thick red and purple blob over the X-rays, clearly showing a flash of energy.

The technician pointed to the graphs. "Now, check this shit. The energy clearly spiked, but not only is there no clear change in heat, the amount of gamma radiation in the area steeply dips lower than the natural amount on Ershah. Not only that, it's all in proportion to each other! Max's intent is made the same way as the Malkrin's! It has to be based on their frills! So, beyond the interesting lore drop that the colony knew about the locals and apparently studied them, this confirms that telepathy can be replicated."

"Do you have the rest of the energy pulse?" he asked curiously, a theory brewing.

"That and the next few ones. I even got a video of the whole minute we spoke to Max"

Harrison nodded for her to continue with it, watching patiently as the video was played beside a similar version with the Malkrin frills. The graphs pulsed with energy at a rapid pace, showing hundreds of thousands flickers in the matter of a second, probably measured in megahertz. Each ebb spike was a different height on each graph, indicating a different level of power in each one.

The engineer started to grin, scratching the scruff of his beard. "Not only can it be created, it's created with a specific input of power; the Malkrin from neuron pulses and the exterminator with electricity from the central processing unit. You said there were artifacts inside the machine?"

She wrapped her arms around his and looked up at him, beaming as she squeezed. "It does! Actually, do you remember the note from the colony guy who… uhm… offed himself? He talked about communicating across the 'peanut' or something like that. It's actually the colony's shorthand for the 'P-net' or 'Psynet.' They used this shit like the fucking Martian Web. Do you know what this implies?"

His eyes widened, brows shooting up as he stared at Tracy. "If we can recreate the technology here, or at least the way the colony received the intent from outside sources… and then translated the electrical output… we could give the settlers long-range communication."

The technician shook his arm back and forth. "Yeah! Exactly! We wouldn't have to bother with scripts or any sort of weird side method, just straight frill-to-brain communication across who knows how far! How sick would that be! I mean, with enough research time, we could probably give Cera her voice back!"

Harrison stopped to think about it. That kind of research would include a deeper dive into the artifacts and the Malkrin's frills as a whole; neither of which were done quickly nor safety. "How much information do we have about their 'Psynet' on the shared database?"

"Oh that's the best part, we don't have the blueprints, but we have all the supporting research! Most of it is just applying a radioactive and electrical pulse at the proper frequency and amplitude. It's gonna take some testing, but if I had enough time, You and I could probably piece it together. Especially with Sebas' help!"

"And the artifacts needed to function?" he warily questioned.

Tracy smirked. "Delivered to our front doorstep a few days ago. The Ecologists categorized the different ones we were looking at earlier. You know how some of the anomaly fields are full of fire geysers and others have those invisible thumpers?"

He hummed in the affirmative.

"The artifacts within always relate to their own element. I didn't have the time to read everything, but from the way the ecologists described 'Psychic,' 'Graviton Inductive,' 'Negative Entropy,' and 'Energy Positive' anomalies, everything's more or less in its own group. Better yet, I'm like eighty percent sure that they're even color coded. Either in the artifact or the light it produces, or whenever it's interacted with."

She reluctantly took her arms and warmth away from Harrison, leaving him feeling a bit emptier without them, while she pulled up more images. A familiar image of the 'Gravi' anomaly took up the screen. It was in a dark container, the once bland rock seemingly emitting a subtle grayish light into its confines.

"See what I mean? This one's less obvious, but you see the gray. This kind of thing was referenced in the Psychosphere document with yellow-colored artifacts. It's kinda cool, honestly."

Tracy pulled up a screenshot of the translated text file, pointing to a highlighted line. "The Psynet was based on two specific types of artifacts with a 'grade' higher than seventy percent. Now, I have no fucking clue what a 'grade' is for artifacts yet, but I do know that the projection of intent needs a psy artifact and a radio-absorbant artifact. Says it right here. Anyway, another file, the Psychosphere one, mentioned those are noted by a yellow and green color, respectively"

She looked up at him with simmering excitement. "Take a wild fucking guess what colors we got in stock?"

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Yellow and green?" He smiled back.

"You're damn right—"

Three buzzes rocked the data pad, vibrating into the exterminator's hull. A notification appeared at the top of the screen.

['Sector 3 NE, activity spotted: ocean.']

"Well, shit," Tracy murmured, pensively biting her bottom lip. She opened the attached reconnaissance drone camera, and, lo and behold, there were two moderately-sized ships charging toward the shore.

A closer look revealed a cluster of differently colored Malkrin packing the top deck. It wasn't very clear from the distance, but he could feel the spike of hope from seeing land straighten their weary backs and send the slightest sway to their tails.

At some point in his relatively short time on Ershah, he would have had a shred of himself dreading how to deal with an influx of Malkrin. Now, though? Now, he was different.

A pinch of determination furrowed his brows. He had a purpose to fulfill.

- - - - -

The six-wheeled truck trundled to a halt a few hundred meters away from the partially beached ship. Harrison cracked the door open, kicking up sand as he hopped onto the seaweed and stone-laden shore. A rock wall several stories high took up the entirety of one side, darkened further by the gray overcast sky.

…He hated the sand, especially after that weird dream he had earlier. At least he had boots on for this journey.

A few heavy 'whumps' atop the orange coast followed behind him with each disembarking Malkrin, accompanied by the rustling of supplies being taken from the storage bed. His entourage was fitted with their regular armor, but he only went with his fur coat, rig, and revolver. Tracy confirmed that the arriving banished had no weapons, nor were there any active swarms around—thank the previous blood-moon for clearing them out.

Harrison signaled for his group to form up on him before they trekked down the shoreline. A mass of ragged and poorly-clothed Malkrin were clumped up just by the lapping waves, while a couple of others tore wood from the two ships for an assumed fire. The fact that the locals were cold-blooded was not lost on him. Good thing he brought enough heat pads to boil a lake.

The pack of arrivals quickly noticed their presence, warning one another of the approaching tide of metal and turning to face the engineer's cohort. All the banished appeared as expected—partially starved, in burlap rags, and with a few scars. They looked pale under the clouds, gaunt in a way that quickened his pace with distress. Their eyes were weary but held open with equal parts apprehension and curiosity.

Three figures stepped up from the mass: a male in brown robes and two females in white. The former looked older, maybe somewhere between the Elder's age and Rook's—subtle purple bags and crows feet around his eyes. All of them had thick hoods clumped up around their necks and rope belts tied around their waists—clergy or monks of some kind.

Harrison stopped a few meters away, allowing Akula to step in ahead of him. Familiarity was the best source of solace.

The dark green-skinned overseer took her helmet off and held it between her lower armpit. She spoke kindly. "Greetings, weary ones. Banished, I presume?"

The brown-robed and black-skinned male simply stared back, his voice calm and quiet. "That we are. May I presume the same? What is your company of steel? Kegara's?"

Akula squinted, no doubt taken off guard by the shorter Malkrin answering. She nonetheless touted her fealty. "We are not. Our settlement is independent, liberated from the restraints placed on banished, and guided by our venerated star-sent: The Creator. We are as prosperous as we are untethered from unseen 'sins.' Now, answer my questions: what is your profession, and where does your ship hail from?"

Some of the arrivals' expressions turned wary and uncertain, others looked hopeful, but they still watched silently. A few put the pieces together and stared at Harrison. The religious-looking frontman glanced somewhere into the crowd behind him before quickly bobbing his head in understanding. "I see… I am Father Monbishoppe. I was the priest of the third southern town of stone… a shepherd of the community's faith. A respectable island of farms and quarries. These two are members of my prior clergy, my mates."

His tone at the mention of his mates was level, but the way a few of Harrison's girls practically scowled set off alarms. A sin for a priest, maybe? The clergyman's apparent mates swallowed but nonetheless stayed close to him, their tails intertwined with his.

Monbishoppe continued, retaining his collected and gentle aura. "May I ask what the banished of my town have come across? You have defined your settlement, that you are banished, and your beliefs are… contrary. Who are you? Why have you approached us?"

"I am Akula, the overseer and second to the star-sent, and she is our stalwart paladin, blessed with a trial to ensure his life," the dark green-skinned diplomat pointed out respectfully. "As for why, it is simple. The Gods have delivered us their chosen to lead and construct the colony of the mainland. We follow him, and we flourish."

Akula took in a deep breath, leaking venom into her words. "All of these warriors and harvesters behind me were once banished, some even slaves of Kegara's 'repenting.' I personally have felt the fatigue, the starvation… the lashes of her malice…"

The overseer crossed a pair of arms over her chest, holding out another in a gesture toward the priest. "The mainland is host to many monsters. I have seen every kind it has to offer. Amongst these terrors, there is only one place I have found solace. Be it for my survival or my faith, it is with our deity-sent leader, we conquer this frontier. Our patriarch seeks you out to offer you an alternative."

"We were sent here to repent for the sins of our bodies by a means of labor underneath Kegara's camp," Monbishoppe stated flatly, contentedly holding his hands together, subtly wringing them together. An, until then unnoticed, furrowing of his brows told of underlying resentment.

"Then I presume you were told the falsehood, one stating that your body was imbued with a hidden fealty to Sky Goddess and protection to her nonexistent plague wings?"

The priest paused, anxiously glancing to the side and shifting uncomfortably despite his collected tone. "The others were banished for such a reason, yes."

Harrison felt the cold grip of his hip-bound revolver. Something felt increasingly off. Shar placed a gloved palm on his shoulder, softly gripping it. She felt it too.

Akula continued, unperturbed. "We do not believe in such deception. Neither must you. Sacrificing the rest of your life over a perceived sin you have never indulged in… a sin you have no control over, is heinous to the utmost degree. I assure you, there is more than the mud and blood of slavery. You need only to ask any of the settlers with us today. We do not sleep to keep the pangs of hunger away, nor do we fret the night for its frigid touch."

The overseer reached behind herself and into her water-resistant dive bag, pulling out a silver thermal pouch and ripping out the white heat pad from within. "You are only required to hold this adhesive warmth to understand."

She stepped forward, gently offering the gift. The Priest went to take it, reaching out—

A blur cut between them with the flash of a blade.

Akula lunged back just as Sharky dashed forward, swinging her massive shield out to parry the unseen attack with a swift 'clang.'

The smear of movement hopped back off to the side of the meeting groups, revealing itself to be just the same as the other arrivals—burlap blouse, scars, and orange-colored skin on a lithe-built female.

Except that curved dagger. He knew that weapon well. He knew it by the way it shimmered with an unnatural, white glow.

The inquisitor scowled, staring directly at Harrison. Her growling speech only hastened his drawn revolver. "False Shepherds of material idolatry… Your influence over these heathens—"

'BANG'

Blue mist turned to red midair as entire chunks of skull, brain matter, and teeth splattered across the sand in a gory painting. Harrison winced as his ears rang, feeling the body thump against the floor more than he heard it. Two dead, glowing eyes stared into nothing as their luster dimmed.

He clenched his teeth and watched the corpse slowly burn to cinders, leaving a pile of ashes and two artifacts—much less than the last inquisitor.

The engineer turned around, speaking quickly. "Shieldswoman, Javelin, put the artifacts in a radio-protectant case. There are two in the third drawer in the truck bed."

His orders were swiftly carried out. The others who came with him already held their weapons at a low ready. Harrison glanced at Akula and Shar. Both affirmed their health with a quick bow of the head.

He drew in a deep breath and faced the banished, raising his voice. "Any other inquisitors?"

The dumbfounded group didn't answer, stunned into silence. Monbishoppe was the only one to take a deep breath, his calm demeanor returning with a twitch of his eye. "She was the only one to follow us."

Harrison raised a brow at the uniquely collected male and nodded. The engineer addressed the rest of the arrivals as they regained themselves, sliding his revolver away. "Howdy. I'm what the others here call a 'Star-sent' or 'The Creator.' I lead this settlement."

He gestured to the pile of inquisitor ashes. "Now, for those of you who didn't hear what she said, she called you a bunch of 'heathens' and me a 'false shepherd.' Call me what you want, but I don't consider you as heathens."

A billowing fire of anger and admiration fueled his speech as he took in what had just happened and the starved Malkrin in front of him. He gazed into each one of them with a renewed determination. "Your lives are much more than that. I see you as people. You deserve to be treated as such. For that, the inquisition would kill me. Well, so be it. As you saw, I'm not too keen on being stopped. I came down to Ershah to start a colony, and by God, I will. The very foundation of that goal includes a healthy workforce, which means keeping my people warm, fed, and healthy. And, above all else, alive."

He slid his thumbs underneath his rig's shoulder straps and shrugged. "Akula already put down the premise of our cause. I can't force you to come work for me. But, what I can do is assure you of my promise before you decide to stick with me and my girls or go trek some two days west through swarms of abhorrent, anomalies, and psychopathic inquisitors like that little monster over there."

"Let's see that heat pack again," he requested, holding a hand out to Akula.

The overseer handed the item, her grip already having started the heating reaction. Harrison continued, approaching the priest and his clergy. "Before we were rudely interrupted, Akula was going to hand you one of these."

Shar followed closely behind him, her towering presence a certain deterrent to any other inquisitors in hiding. The two white-robed females stepped up and took the heat pad, warily eying the stern paladin before closely inspecting the warm item. Their eyes went wide as they pressed their palms to it, reveling in the heat and struggling to press more of their skin to it—forearms, shoulders, chest…

The two of them quickly turned and offered the pack to their male, tenderly taking his arms and sliding it along his skin as he too experienced a reprieve from the cold. Monbishoppe's eyes widened, near-silent words of his intent leaking. "Lord of the Mountain…"

"His gifts are like no other," Akula stated confidently from Harrison's side. "Your safety and warmth are assured under his service."

"I… I understand," the priest admitted with fascination, though his breathing quickened when he turned to face what was left of the inquisitor, then Shar… and then the revolver on Harrison's hip. The black-skinned Malkrin nodded to himself, hesitating for a moment before relenting. "I suppose in the end, we are all heretics in the eyes of the Mountain Inquisition. My actions have displayed a shaken faith to those Truth Keepers, but not in the eyes of those I guide."

Monbishoppe stared at Harrison, solemn but gentle. "I do not believe I have much of a choice now. Not for how I am branded nor who I am to labor under. However, I must ask only one question of your character."

Harrison hummed.

"How have you come to mate with a paladin of the Order?"

He stiffened, his expression dropping to a pointed glare. "How do you—"

"The horns, the tail around your calf, and the flame within her eyes. You need not explain, for your bond is familiar to me. I know it well." The priest smiled, holding onto the lower forearms of his silent mates.

"Right," the engineer tersely deflected. Shar didn't care, constricting her tail up his leg and across his waist.

Monbishoppe drew in a deep breath, his short-lived grin weakening into a smaller, gentler one. "Forgive me. When stories of star-sents were regaled to me, I had assumed you to be nothing like Malkrin. Yet, the more I inspect, the more familiar you appear."

The blank-skinned male squinted, scanning Harrison's face. "Dark impressions beneath the eyes tell of long nights—a male who works with his wit. Crinkles above the snout betray distress on the mind… your brows tend to be furrowed."

His inspection trailed down, sniffing twice. "You smell of rock and ore. I know nothing of the metals and fabrics on your chest, but the bulk of your… two… arms implies great strength for a male… And calluses along the base of your digits. I see." Monbishoppe looked back up into Harrison's ambivalent expression. "You are also a laborer. The weapon of iron and fire on your hip implies a powerful warrior just the same… You wear the clothes of many a profession."

The priest bowed his head. "…I believe you."

Harrison squinted, partially turning his head in confusion. "You believe me?"

"Your purpose," the brown-robed male answered respectfully and pleasantly. "I have yet to see your colony or the rest of your followers. But, by your appearance, the willingness of your settlers, and the reverence in their eyes, you have told no lies. Your heart holds admiration for them, and you have offered your mind and body to the cause."

The engineer's lips were still. It was accurate. Just what kind of priest was he, though? He broke his religious laws for mates and most likely got booted out for it, but he seemed reasonable, above all else. There was a civil air around him as well, and he didn't pass any judgment on Shar for her sin as a paladin.

Harrison liked the guy already, if not for his humble demeanor, then for the fact that his 'banished' situation prevented his theological position from becoming an issue. Monbishoppe was definitely someone he wanted to talk to over the religion, its beliefs, and how Shar and Akula fit into it.

"Good. You've only seen half of it," the engineer agreed with his own smile.

- - - - -

Things went quickly after that. The arrivals were checked over for weapons and artifacts before being given heat pads, blankets, and meal boxes. Most of them shied away from interaction for the first few minutes, but Harrison's settlers quickly broke the ice with conversation over where they came from and their professions. They talked about their new lives, generating hope and something to look forward to.

The engineer oversaw the twelve-kilometer drive back to the settlement, allowing the most injured and weakest Malkrin to be brought back via truck first, much to their bewilderment at its function. The vehicle initially had a small bit of trouble gaining traction on the sand, but a little push was all it needed each time he stopped to pick up another group.

Shar and Medic went along with each ride, the latter was to see to any passenger's wounds and the former couldn't be convinced to not go along. Not that Harrison would push Shar away. She couldn't fit into the front seat, but her attempts to slip her tail through the back windshield was heart-melting. He couldn't resist her whims.

The two Malkrin continued the discussions with the riders, learning more about their professions and talking about the settlement. Of course, that also included inflating the engineer's ego and blowing his actions out of proportion from reality when they discussed their living conditions, the fortress defenses, and the factories.

There were twenty-three Malkrin in total, bringing the settlement to sixty-three souls. Plenty of them fit snugly into the current squads—stone quarriers, farmers, guardswomen, and a handful of merchants. One female had uniquely purple skin, but none of the others seemed to give it much thought. There were also a total of six males in the cohort, three of whom were lined up to work under the Medic, given that their island grew plenty of alien fabric-producing plants, necessitating an army of sewists.

All in all, Harrison was pleased. Not just about their professions, but with how smoothly things went. Killing an inquisitor probably scared the shit out of most Malkrin initially, but that helped anyway. One, because conversations are made easier when there's a gun in your hand, and two, the Inquisition wasn't well-liked.

Why wouldn't they be? They obviously feared the fanatics' abilities and capitulated due to threats, but none of the banished truly believed themselves to be sinful heretics. Especially if that title included being stripped of their family, community, livelihood, and sent into the closest place to hell Harrison could think of. It was bound to coax resentment.

That singular shot was a statement to them. It drew a line in the sand. His settlement's allegiance was clear, with a death to show for it. The blood seeping into the sand said that he could defend them, even from the most terrifying thing from their island home.

Harrison understood why the Inquisition was so terrifying. Some of the banished said Monbishoppe tried to stand up for the people he shepherded, and put his foot down back on their island home. But, the truth-keepers had a bigger boot. The raw whip scars were easily visible on a handful of them, the rest hiding theirs underneath their tattered cloth.

Still, the people followed their clergy, latching onto them to their new frontier. The fact that Monbishoppe approved of the engineer was enough for them. A good start.

The next steps were straightforward. The arrivals required another dormitory, a week of training, and all the equipment to make them successful. Their next few hours would be spent with the Elder and Crosshairs, then with their new squad leaders, and finally in whatever bed situation that could be scrounged up.

But that was hardly a hurdle now. He trained the big girls. They were beyond efficient now. They could teach the new 'generation' just fine.

And, soon enough, those too would teach the next generation.

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