When reality reinstated itself, they were high above sandy flats, and Degre wrenched his matte bronze arm up to catch his hat, which was once again at risk of being caught on the wind and ripped away. Suletu'kee's crimson wings thrummed so loudly through her that he could feel her claws vibrating around him, and she keened loud and long, a storm cloud gathering around and above her as a lone herald in the cerulean sky.

Degre knew their destination before he knew a lick of other information about this odd land. They were making their way steadily towards a singular up-thrust rock in the middle of a hard-pack of sand and grit, land near enough like that on Atu that he wondered.

Suletu'kee either didn't notice, or didn't care that dragons rose from shelf-like protrusions built out from the stone pillar's immense bulwark of ancient sandstone, coming towards her. More likely she didn't care, but Degre felt his arm itching with a need to manifest the rifle built into its housing. She creeled loud and high again, and must have shared words across a telepathic link, for the bearing of those who were approaching changed soon from intercept to accompaniment, and Degre felt put at ease, but not for long.

Then he saw the welcome party upon the shelf and he gave way to a moment of pure, animal panic. Air crashed past him, ripping wind from his lungs, blasting from the ruined safety of home and prison both out into the crypt that was open space. Carapace made vibrant by way of a wretched parasitic birth thrashed until it stilled, form growing smaller as the harsh winds of an evacuated airlock pushed it away from what would be its home or its prison. In one of its alien arms the blood of his ruined arm crystalized. Upon his shoulder, brother to the blood that froze in the grip of his enemy, more fled to glob and clot in the empty airlock. Degre felt faint.

They landed upon the shelf and he snapped back to himself, but his terror did not dissipate. Creatures not unlike that which had taken his arm from him flanked Suletu'kee, and they held their ground but did not attack. Degre was old. His heart hammered and his head felt light, and his knees whirred and locked in place, the only thing keeping from losing his dignity by the faint slump that was all his animal body was capable of.

Suletu puffed up her scales, and static lightning crackled along them as she preened. Wan pebbles of hail and rain pattered around them in a dubious showing of her storm-controlling powers, even in the dead dry air of this desert. The aliens slunk back a little, and Degre couldn't help but wonder at their ruthless nature quailing before Suletu'kee, taken in by the trick of her showing...

"Degre," a familiar voice called.

Wholly shook, Degre tilted his hat back and looked upon a face so familiar that it hurt. It was younger than his by quite a bit, and if visceral memory held him in its unforgiving fist before, now that fist squeezed. "Vance."

Suletu'kee stood a little on her side, looking over her shoulder at the procession of creatures and at Gavin Vance as well. "Promised I that thy quarry was safe and well?" she said, adopting her playful masque, the one which was, for all intents and purposes, not too different from an ominous mien.

The two humans stood apart from one another, assessing. Gavin, the mind behind the hive, a curved hat keeping off the worst of the hail, looked with eyes as crimson as Suletu's wings at his old friend.

Degre, wide, battered brim curving under the brunt of the rain yet standing proud as he was able to with his natural bearing, felt his fingers twitch. He could see Gavin's hand upon his belt, and he knew all too well that to move would mean his death. Gavin was a quick draw, and he didn't doubt that the years had slowed his hand.

But Gavin smiled, even if it was a strained gesture. "It's been a lot of years, old friend."

"Is it friends that we are?" Degre asked. He remained rooted, and the wind blew Gavin's hair and Degre's cloak. Movement all around them had stilled, and even more so, those who had been working on the shelf had made themselves absent. Suletu'kee whistled into the rain, delighted. Degre drew himself up further, and willed himself to show his hands, bare as they were. The one was old and tattooed heavily by years and the symbology of his shifting affiliations. The other was featureless in its dark bronze look, akin to the skin of his youth save for the fine lines that marked its artificial heritage. Importantly, it looked akin to his other, no sign of a muzzle in sight. "How fitting that a trickster should avail me of my jailor, so many years after we had parted ways. Is this justice?" He cast his glance over his shoulder to see Suletu'kee grinning brightly.

"That depends on what it is you plan to do, here," Gavin said. He had not removed his hand from his belt, but his bearing suggested a calm focus, not the kind of adroit attention of one about to pounce. His entourage was more than enough of a counterpoint to his easy countenance. "Last I remember, you were ready to turn us in, partner." Emphasis sardonic.

"The years do twist our memories," Degre replied. He took a step forward, willing himself to forgive and trust and shake the nauseating paranoia that clung to his bones the way his wet cloak now weighed him down. He took another when none of the monsters came for him. "I have served my time. Have you served yours? We are traitors both, no matter which way you slice it."

The sheriff chuckled, and his beasts slithered back further, some of them melting off to wherever it is that they had boiled from. "I suppose I have. I regretted it, you know. It wasn't my choice to have you locked away after it was all done."

"Trust me, it was not mine, either," Degre growled. They were were apace from one another, close enough to hold a civilized conversation. "I promise you, I have no aims to resurect the empire. And yet it seems that you might be creating something new. Suletu'kee told me of a diaspora... and I wished to see it. I did not expect to see you at its head."

"Oh, I'm no leader," Gavin said, mild mannered. Something about his bearing left Degre wary still. "You know I never was. I'm still doing the same work as ever. Just a different pay grade."

"The years do you well," Degre allowed. He stumped forward a little more, frowning, inspecting the old security guard who'd become-- at least for a time-- a brother in arms against the regime that would have trussed him up as a figurehead of a ruler. "Or at least they have treated you differently than most. I am not in easiness over this, after what became of the station." He raised one arm.

Gavin's grin grew a little grim, one metallic tooth revealing a sharp profile as he looked out over his bonded companions. Those, Degre wondered, had replaced human compatriots. They pulled back further, though their alien grimaces suggested a waiting violence. Klaxons faintly brayed in Degre's memory, frozen air and clotting blood and thinning consciousness not far from them. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Gavin said, and finally he came to step beside Degree, and pointed them towards the saloon. "Then again, I feel the same way. Come on."

"I will be waiting," Suletu'kee called, voice a sing-song with a buzz of electricity beneath it.

"I was lucky," Degre repeated. He was several shots into his drinks though now he nursed only water, even if here that was a precious commodity. "If not for the kindness of strangers, I would be mill for blackened chitin and my bones would be ground beneath the careless grasp of greedy pirate boots."

Gavin sat across from him, attentive and still in a way that Degre had always remembered him. Even when they were young and Degre went by his full name, and Gavin had been tasked with keeping his kind separate from the common creature, he had been docile as water outside of a gravity field, still and reflective and eerie. His morphological digressions had made him moreso... though Degre had undergone many of his own changes. He was only as human as he ever could be, given his own blood and beginnings.

"I never could settle down," he said, casting his gaze to one side, unable to meet crimson eyes. "After I escaped, and battled that... creature... and was rescued, I could not find my way to joining the throngs. Those who settled Descendi, I joined only peripherally. It was enough to know that there are those who prey on refugees, that needed dealing with, that gave me purpose."

"Very noble," Gavin allowed, aware of the irony and the brutal sting of the statement, yet letting it stand, still. Watching Degre recover from that wound, he refilled the man's cup. "I'll allow that your intentions were always good. But we both know that intentions aren't the be-all-end-all. My connection with those creatures," he only placed the faintest emphasis on that word, for the pair of them had been hashing out Gavin's bonds all afternoon, "helped me find my place among these people. Strange as not."

"Strange as not," Degre repeated, sighing. He leaned back in his seat, and finally rooted for his pipe. "You say these folk all escaped aboard a ship?"

"Hmm, yes. The Abstract Destiny,," Gavin said. He remained still and patient and Degre packed his pipe and flicked his thumb, a spark coming from it to land upon the batted herbs. The would-be emperor took a puff as the smoke began to curl, and Gavin watched him relax by increments. "After your time, I'm afraid. It would be quite a long story."

"I, apparently, have time." Degre said, voice thin as thick clouds began to fuzz out the red emergency lights in the back of his mind. He exhaled the pain of a phantom limb, and he let the shards of his heart reverberate in their cage of bone. "What of the others? Serving another council in another place?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid not." Gavin chuckled. "We parted ways long before the disaster. If you've heard of them, you'd have more story than I."

"A shame," Degre responded. They remained in silence then, the both of them aged enough that patience came naturally, and silence a surprisingly familiar companion that both shared ties to. Soon he spoke, "How is this Schroeder fellow?"

"He's not without his flaws," Gavin considered, "but on the whole, he's done well by everyone. Human, dragon and other." Again, that metal tooth, the sardonic little grin. Gavin took a sip and considered Degre as Degre puffed at his pipe. "He's up the well right now. Got some work with the hatching bay."

Degre canted his head, thoughtful. "A ruler on high?"

"Not at all," Gavin responded, catching Degre's drift. "One could say he's doing some atoning of his own."

"I'd like to meet him." And then, quiet in that way that he had when he was afraid, he added, "it has been a long time since I've set foot in halls of chrome."

"Gone native?" Gavin asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

"In a matter of speaking." Degre responded. He felt his blood run icy with regret.

To chase an old conversation, Gavin eventually said, "I know you were against it, but it's not the old days any more. I won't make myself a broken record, but there are ways to make a new life for yourself here."

"I reckon your jail cell wouldn't hold me for long," Degre said, voice droll.

"You said it yourself, you've done your time. And it really does seem like a misunderstanding, after all these years."

Yet they remained in contemplation, neither did Degre affirm or deny that olive branch of a statement. There were those who he and Gavin had fought with, dyed in the wool instigators who had fought through the rebellion with only vengeance and a burning need to end the cycle of domination to guide them. They had not had the resources that Degre or even Gavin had had. They would have been mistrustful of the pair of them even if Degre had been on his best behaviour. And when it came to a scapegoat, the son of the emperor was the lowest hanging fruit that one might be able to partake of. Degre said, "Don't know that I want to settle, like I said."

"To bond, then?"

"Not if it means exercising blood rights," Degre said, voice cracking. Gavin became a touch uneasy. It was a sore point between them, his posse of xenomorphic allies, in the power they held merely by the fear they induced in those whose homes had been ravaged by similarly alien faces. For Degre, the mention of bonding was a sore point for another reason, one that Gavin was merciful enough not to dig up again. "And not to put another in a position of danger." His voice was quiet to the point of a whisper. Degre took a long draw on his pipe and Gavin, moments later, rapped his knuckles on the table. "I'll arrange a meeting. You've got yourself a room over the saloon if you need a place to stay for a few nights. If that bird doesn't bring you back when you ask her to, talk to me, alright? It's good to see you again."

Degre nodded, though he felt not fully present to speak. "It is a battle," he finally said, looking up at the sheriff who was about to give him his space. "But I am glad to see you, too."

Gavin gave one last nod, and left Degre to his mulling.

The Abstract Destiny was a memorial to years that Degre had put in his past, and to those that were just barely glimmering a consideration of his future. He had taken the room that Gavin had offered, had clean himself and laundered his belongings. He had trimmed his beard and oiled his hair, had even asked to have his cloak repaired so that now some patches in brighter colours had been artfully stitched into the fading presence of others longer snagged or worn through. When Degre met Doctor Schroeder, he was so far from the son of an emperor that he had once been that it was easy to dismiss him as an old man with a lot of cybormodifications. Just another refugee from the station.

Yet Degre held a tall bearing that, though no longer strapping with muscle or humming with nanoware proclaiming his divine rights, was unstooped by time. And his face held the kind of quiet loss that the doctor recognized instantly, even if he didn't say a thing about it.

Degre walked the halls of the various sectors with Gavin and the doctor for a time, asking questions about the Destiny that helped fill in holes that he'd lost between his imprisonment and his emigration to Nidus Descendi. Things, it seemed, had been chaotic everywhere. And for his part, Degre recognized a level of complex acceptance that Schroeder had taken on over the years. There were some things that everyone shared in age.

Their tour was coming to an end, and Degre began to bow. "Thank you for your hard work keeping the people safe," he said. Doctor Schroeder held up his hands, wide face wrinkling in a smile.

"Hold on, one moment. No need to stand on ceremony-- truly. Anyways..." he glanced past Degre to Gavin, and then looked Degre dead in the eye. "There's a little more I want you to meet."

The bay doors opened, at least enough for a human to pass. Degre was ushered ahead, and into a huge room in which one of Therque's ilk was holding court... over eggs.

Degre turned to look over his shoulder, becoming very ill at ease. Gavin nodded to him, and Schroeder said, "I understand that you've been on your own for a very long time and, hear me out, I understand you may yet be hurting... but I'd like you to speak with Nairyg and her mate. It may be worth-while."

"Suletu'kee put you both up to this?" Degre asked, torn between betrayal and consternation.

"I'll admit," Gavin said, "We had words."

"Why?" Degre said, voice near a hiss. One of Nairyg's heads was eying him like one might eye a tasty snack.

"She told me that you were lonely, and she spoke at length about your friendship with her apprentice. Therque, too, sounds lonely. According to her, at least."

"Tricksome," Degre sighed.

Schroeder raised his hands placatingly. "I'm sure there's depths to this that I am not going to meddle with, myself, though if you'd like to have a chat with Nyraig, she's got some stringent requirements. Those of her children who want freedom wouldn't do poorly to make their way to a cousin outside of the-- apologies for phrasing-- dynastic imperialism of an Arx."

Degre shook his head. "She should have come here herself, then. I am..." he looked at the both of them. "I am too old for this."

Gavin grinned, and Schroeder outright chuckled. He was in good company, and yet...

"I'm sorry for the tricks," Schroeder said. "However... Nairyg could use some wisdom, and if you have connections to her family at large, she could use those, too. There's no need for you to take on the burden of a bond, of course, not at all."

Gavin gave a grave nod. "You want to come back at me for this, we can meet afterwards."

"Twenty paces," Degre growled, though his betrayal was slowly giving way to a kind of bemused... something. The shards of his heart scratched against one another. He felt fury and regret and old, old scars over his psyche stretch in ways they had not been stretched in a long time. In truth, it would more likely be twenty fingers, and something harder than the swill he'd been drinking at the saloon. But he could fall apart later.

He squared his shoulders and turned to face another beast much like Therque was. Not a beast, he amended. A queen.