Wesraaks hears of agreements made with House Kings, permitting them to settle a number of miles away from the city limits. The House of Gentle Weavers forgo the offer of permanent residency, with their sights set to primarily occupy a dwarf planet named 'Ceres'. Why they would want to be hundreds of millions of miles from the Great Machine and their own people after spending so long in isolation adrift, he does not know.

He assumes that humanity's presence on Earth is a contributing factor. Human existence proves difficult to stamp out entirely. Pockets of survivors turn up in the most unlikely of places. Where one dies, another ten take their place. They rally, and stage feeble attempts at rebellion against their oppressors. In the shadow of their Whirlwind, however, offensive measures are laughable.

A bizarre solution that gains traction is to round the survivors up, and learn from them. Ask to be taught about the city they took from them, rather than guess and assume and ruin it further. Once the humans realise they won't be hurt, they tend to cooperate. Some have more cultural knowledge than technological, and vice versa, but their utility is undeniable. With their assistance, and as divisive a strategy it is, the city and efforts to rebuild its infrastructure begin to take shape thanks to them.

But like thousands of others, Wesraaks is lost within it all.

While evident that he is no warrior, and therefore unfit to patrol the edges of their territory to cull the survivors, Wesraaks hops from role to role. He moves from construction, to street cleaning, to ship maintenance, to trying his hand at weaving alongside his parents. No task suits him as well as mining, but a planet plentiful in resources removes the need to venture out to the stars. The rubble from destroyed buildings is predicted to sustain the Servitor network for years.

Varzis's glare grows fiercer with each request raised to change jobs.

As he travels the city, picking up jobs and tasks here and there from whoever might have use for a Drekh, signs attract his attention. On the side of buildings, scrawled over partially destroyed murals and images, lit up on screens, and flickering on holographic displays. The space they occupy across London's streets goes mostly ignored. There are more important things to focus on than whatever information someone insists on sharing, and which will only get covered over or replaced at a later time.

It is not until he stands on a train platform, waiting to go home after a day of entering data for a Captain, that he reads the signage properly. The vast black screen of what was once a billboard shows the largest message he has seen, painted in thick white lettering.

The Kell Guard requires Trappers. No restrictions on applicants. No recommendations required. Multiple recruitment opportunities. Bring only the drive to work hard and learn. Go to the western city gate, and ask for the Hunter.

The next morning, under dark grey clouds and constant drizzle, he makes his way to that district. Constant movement of Pikes, Eliksni, and their cargo churns the wide dirt track leading to the city's wall into nothing more than ankle deep mud and pale brown puddles. Each footstep leaves him fearing he may get stuck and never escape, even when tiptoeing across the remaining slippery patches of grass.

Where he stumbles, wrenching his lower legs free of the mud and windmilling his two arms for balance, he feels eyes upon him. The Dancers and Weavers occupying the area know to take shelter, and to find entertainment in watching newcomers struggle. He curses the country's weather, silently wishing to return to the stability of Sepiks-Fel's steel floors while he fights along the trail in search of the right Eliksni.

By the time he has trawled along the many stalls, traders, and their attendees, the rain eases. It isn't until he reaches a large food cart that he finds the most likely candidate sitting on a stool, hidden beneath the cover of a canopy.

They are a Vandal wearing a set of human clothes and a fur mantle over one shoulder, as well as the top half of his helm. The circle of gold emblazoned in the centre of it indicates his rank as part of the Kell Guard. Their rebreather and Ether lines meant to be attached as the lower half are slung over the mantle, hanging down his back.

Their gaze scans over the moving crowds, focused yet somehow distant at the same time. Lost in thought, to a point. Beside them, a bowl with wisps of steam circling off into the cold air sits untouched. Instead of eating, their hands are occupied beneath their coat by holding a four legged, brown furred creature on a chain leash.

As Wesraaks approaches, It looks up at him, pointed teeth visible and pink tongue lolling from a long snout. He assumes it is smiling - an expression he hears that humans make to express well wishes or amusement.

Chittering to catch the Guard's attention, he holds his hands open in greeting when he glances over. "Are you the Hunter?"

"I might be," the Vandal's head turns, and he does a double take. Looking him up and down, he says, "You are tall for a Drekh."

Wesraaks sighs through his nose, arms falling to his sides. "I hear that a lot."

"No, you're the size of a human. You're perfect," his eyes glitter, and he slips from the stool. Mandibles flexing to join his furred creature in an unnerving approximation of a smile, he reaches out and runs both upper hands down his arms, before taking the right one and giving it a firm shake.

It is his job to venture out each cycle and provide for his House. Metal ore converts readily to Ether, hydrogen into fuel for ship engines, and anything left over offers the means to repair faults and failures across the convoy his people travel in. Without drillers like himself, the House would crumble.

As easy as it is to pretend he holds a noble role, and that his task has a great impact upon the House, it is an idea borne from hours of relative isolation and little else to think about. His Captain would replace him in a heartbeat if she wanted to. In reality, the glimmer drill does all the work for him. All he must do is locate the richest reservoir of whichever material he is assigned to collect, guide the drill into position, turn it on, and watch both it and the Servitor storing whatever he finds to ensure the collection goes smoothly.

From another rock floating close by, Venxori scans for their next deposit to excavate. He paces up and down, his ancient and barely functional metal detector causing visible irritation. Jabbing the end hard into the rock, it seems to return to normal, and he continues on his search.

Wesraaks gazes past him, to where a handful of dots marking the frontrunners of House Devils wait. The largest Ketch - Sepiks-Fel, his home - hovers ahead of the rest of the vessels, true size obscured by inky blackness and a slight shaft of light across its form. Even then, it appears miniscule when he squints. The lesser Ketches gathered around it are like grains of sand.

While they conserve fuel and energy for the next leap forwards, and wait for the rest of the House to catch up, they won't move for the rest of the cycle. Progress on the Long Drift consists of multiple stops and starts.

His parents and the Elders tell him that they have been travelling for untold time, so long that it would be hard to quantify against the speed of light. Some attempt to calculate, and they say it has been tens of thousands of cycles since the first Ketches left their home.

They said they used to live on a tropical planet named Riis, where twin suns marked out days and nights. Apparently, Eliksni ruled over a peaceful empire spanning dozens of local star systems. They lived in harmony with the flora, fauna, and intelligent life found on foreign planets and moons, opening trade routes and the means to share the knowledge the Great Machine bestowed. To be met by Eliksni was to be given a key to a revolution, if it was desired.

Then the Great Machine fled. When a handful of Devils decided to chase it, and agreed there would only be peace and safety beneath its shadow, they did not expect the rest of the Houses to follow. But they did, slowly.

And because of their choices, they live ten to a nest, cramped inside the suffocating confines of Ketches that are not, and never were meant for such arduous journeys. His people breathe down each other's necks, and know nothing but aggressions. Community mindedness only extends so far, and even he sees that the Drift pushes at the boundaries of how little privacy can be accepted.

A benefit of his work is that he lives every Devil's dream. If one doesn't mind the dizzying emptiness in the vacuum of the asteroid fields, he has plenty of space and privacy. Mining doesn't necessitate a large crew, either. His Captain oversees the operations remotely. He brings only himself, Venxori, the drill, and their Servitor to work. Although he and his partner are both docked and lowly Dregs, he is permitted to borrow a Skiff and anchor it to whichever chunk of rock they choose to land on.

Until such time as they find their god, mining is destined to continue.

"Do you think we'll ever find the Great Machine?" Venxori asks, his voice crackling through the headset in his helmet.

"Of course we will. Eramis knows exactly where the it is, she's tracking it," he replies.

"But it's moving further away from us. Again," he readies himself to give a longer answer, then stops and sighs. "All this time, and it hasn't stopped yet. Where do you think it's going?"

Wesraaks chitters. "I don't know. Maybe the Light is stronger somewhere else, and it needs to recharge?"

Venxori scoffs at the idea. "I heard Ursavikskel saying that it's being lured somewhere."

"How does he know?"

"He's Kell. What doesn't he know?"

Unsatisfied by the answer, Wesraaks clicks his mandibles. "He's not the Star-Catcher. The Great Machine doesn't tell anyone anything, now."

"I wish it would. Or I wish we could just turn around and find a place to stop and settle somewhere," Venxori gestures out to the stars, waving the metal detector. "We have everything we need! We could take our Skiff and go! Why do we need to stay with a House, anyway? Who says I want to do the same thing every cycle for the rest of my life? What if I never get to see the Great Machine, and this is just the Elders trying to outlast us?"

"Don't! Varzis might be listening!" he hisses, urgent. "She could pass that on to Ursavikskel, you know what'll happen if he finds out you're thinking that!"

Grumbling, he returns to sliding the detector across the surface and huffs, "Whatever's going on, whoever's dragging it away from us, one day I'll make them pay for making our lives so miserable. And I hope Ursavikskel knows what we're doing."

Wesraaks makes an uncomfortable noise, and returns to studying the drill and its readings with as much intensity as he can muster.

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