Autonomous Divinity: A Cog in the Machine

Before today, Pence had never thought he'd ride and aurochs. He'd seen the caravans from a distance plenty of times: great beasts of steel and mana, carrying gondolas atop their backs, filled with people and goods of all sorts. He'd seen the way their horn-canons crackled with electricity, potent warnings to any predator that thought to approach. He'd even seen the carcass of one once, hot oil bleeding from the wounds torn in its flank to soak the earth. But they were the sole property of Avalon, raised and domesticated to serve the great City and its gods.

Riding with an aurochs caravan meant you were one of them, or close enough at least.

Which he supposed he was, now.

Pence leaned his full weight against the railing, watching as the ground passed by beneath him at a startling pace. The road wove its way between the hilly landscape, boulders and forests cleared out a good twenty meters to either side, leaving only bare grass and vegetation to rise and fall with the elevation. The view was probably the same as from the back of the aurorchs ahead of them. In the distance, the tops of trees passed by him at eye level, moving at a speed that he barely even felt. The design of this gondola was amazing, the gyros and suspension systems so good that he couldn't even feel the shift of the aurochs's back with every step it took. His hands itched to try and get at the machinery, even if he knew he wouldn't understand any of it.

A lock of rough-hewn black hair fell into his vision, and with an idle motion he brushed it back, tucking it under a layer of feathers. It was cloudy out, so they blended in well together, black-on-black that stood out against his rough, pale skin. Or they would have blended in, if the lock hadn't decided to fall back into his face.

His right head-wing shifted in irritation and he bit back a huff. His hair was getting troublesome again, he'd have to cut it soon. He hadn't done it since Beatrice had pointed out how messy it was, laughing as her fingers came away covered in oil.

A foot crashed down out of the dark, smashing through the house, tearing metal and turning wood into splinters. Beatrice screamed as a flying piece twenty-centimeters long took her in the leg, but he could barely hear her over the Fomoraigh's unearthly howl.

Pence flinched away from the railing, almost stumbling as shock and fear pulsed through his body. His legs tensed, ready to spring one way or the other, and his hand fell to his waist and grasped at empty air, finding neither the wrench nor the knife he usually kept in his belt. Instead it found soft green silk. The shirt he was wearing was too big, falling down to his hips in a way that left him feeling smaller than he usually did.

The unfamiliar sensation was grounding, and he pressed his shaking hand against the fabric and forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. He wasn't there. Home was gone, destroyed. He'd seen it with his own eyes as he fled into the night.

The terror faded back from his thoughts, but he knew it was only sleeping. The Avalonic doctor had called it 'traumatic stress' and had assured him there was nothing usual about it. It would fade with time, he'd been assured.

After all, he was going to become a Pilot. Someone who had the talent and ability to wield an Armature and walk the path of divinity. Out of everything that had happened in the past month, that was the most unreal part of this. Him, Pence. Short, oil-feathered Pence, who dug through scrap heaps and wormed his way into the most unlikely of places. Pence, with callouses so thick they had their callouses of their own. That Pence was going to be a Pilot for a City.

"Y'alright there?" A voice asked, and he couldn't help the instinctive flinch.

The speaker was a woman not much older than him, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two to his twenty. She was tall, with a rough, well muscled body and sand-brown skin was covered in hundreds of small scars, the kinds of nicks and cuts that someone got from a life of violence. She was wearing the same kinds of clothing as he was, a green silk tunic and white baggy pants, tucked into soft, beige colored synthetic boots that stopped halfway to her knees.

The thing Pence focused on were her ears. Two long, wide ears rose up from her head, covered in a soft gray fur the same shade as her hair. The right one was torn half-way up, leaving behind a ragged edge of dark scar-tissue.

The woman cleared her throat, and his eyes flicked down to meet her unamused stare. Green eyes stared out at at him from a square face, her thick nose making her unamused frown even more pronounced.

"Sorry," Pence said. "I didn't mean to- it was the scar, not-" he cut himself off, and forced himself to take a long deep breath.

"I'm okay, thank you for asking," he said after he composed himself. "Just…remembering something. I'm Pence, of… of Rustmoor." He held out his forearm, hand extended towards the woman. That's how Avalonic people greeted each other, right?

The hare-kin woman scrutinized him for a moment before she nodded and reached forward with her own hand. She clasped his forearm and gave a tight squeeze, which he did his best to reciprocate.

"Name's Lynn, of Avalon I guess, but then again that's basically everyone not from a settlement, right?" She chuckled and stepped back, releasing his forearm. "So, any idea where we're going? Thought newbie Pilots all got lifted to Camlann for training, but this sure ain't the right direction for that."

Pence had no idea where Camlann was, let alone Avalon or the two place's positions relative to each other, so he just shrugged his shoulders. "Why would I know anything? I'm just as new as you."

Lynn barked a laugh and shook her head. "Seems that's everyone's story on this thing." She waved a hand in a lazy circle, taking in the entire balcony. There were only a few other people out here, taking in the passing landscape. The rest were inside the gondola's main building, a two-floored structure with more rooms than he could make sense of. "Other than clean-furred recruits who don't know a sword from a knife, there's just the aurorchs crewmen who're just trying to do their jobs. Smell's wrong to me."

Pence frowned. "Aren't Avalon's companies supposed to have experienced officers?" There were plenty of stories about Avalon armies, how their experienced knights and paladins watched over and guided new Pilots with loving, paternalistic care. Then again, they also said the City was filled with rivers of purest water, and produced more food than entire forests in spring.

"Yeah, saw a few officers, but they're not going to tell me anything," Lynn shrugged. "Best I could hope for would be a pat on the head and a wagged finger to not worry about stuff above my station. So, how'd they corner you?"

"Get me?" Pence asked. His eyes flicked away from the gondola building to Lynn, taking in the relaxed, friendly way she leaned against the railing. She didn't seem to mind the rust and grease that stained the metal. Not something he expected about someone from the City of Avalon itself.

"You know, 'get you,'" Lynn said. "Realized you exist, get you behind bars long enough to do a proper scan and see your mana. Me they got when a smash-and-grab went wrong. I could have gotten away, but that'd have left my friends to the police on their own. They were not happy, let me tell you. Messed me up good before some bureaucrat came through and demanded they hand me over. Even got a new scar out of it." She tapped a finger on her right cheek. The scar did look newer than the rest, a deep red compared to the other, pale and faded ones scattered across her exposed arms and hands. But he would have put it at half a year old, at the least. She made it sound recent.

He realized he was staring and looked away before she could notice. "A patrol found passed out beside a road two weeks ago. They gave me a medical scan, and realized I had enough mana to be a Pilot." An astonishing amount, according to the goat-kin medic who had been watching over him. According to her, even someone with middling potential should have had lower mana-levels given the state he'd been in. He'd been hungry, exhausted, dehydrated, and still injured from the attack that had destroyed his home.

"Huh, just like that?" Lynn asked. She tilted her head back, her ears going slack as she did. "Lucky break for you then. Didn't think they meant it when they said anyone could become a Pilot if they had the potential."

"They didn't give me a choice," Pence said with a smile. "I was told I'd be joining the 140th Pilot Company, and I wasn't allowed to refuse." He realized he was talking with a troublemaker, a thief of some kind, but she didn't seem all that bad. Besides, he doubted Avalon was the sort of place where one thief could spell doom for the whole town.

The crackle of a nearby speaker coming to life filled the air, and was replaced a few moments later by a tired, middle-aged voice. "Attention all crew and passengers, the dining hall is now open for lunch. Pilots of the 140th, Abbess Igraine wishes to inform you to report to room 214 in one hour. It is recommended you eat now, as the hall will be closed by the time she is finished with you. Crew, a reminder: grab a meal when you're off-shift, not during! That is all."

The speaker cut off, and the air once again silent save for the tread of the aurorchs's feet on the road beneath. The few other people on the balcony started walking to the paths that wound around the gondola, where the doors leading in to the dining hall were.

"Well, I'm going to go grab a bite." Lynn pushed herself off the railing. "Never talked to an Abbess before, but I imagine that doing it with a growly stomach ain't the best idea. You coming?"

"Sure," Pence said, following after her. He wasn't the kind of person to turn down free food, and there was a part of him that was worried he'd get lost if he went on his own. He didn't understand why Avalonic felt the need to put so many rooms into a single building. Two was a perfectly fine upper limit, in his opinion.

They wound through the building's interior to the dining hall quick enough, and were greeted with the sight of over a hundred people crammed into a space that obviously wasn't meant to hold them. There was a line by a window in the back wall, where a hardfaced man in a cook's hat handed out trays of food one at a time. Metal tables and plastic chairs were crammed into the hall's floorspace, leaving people to try and navigate around and through them without spilling their meals. The far wall was made up entirely of glass and faced towards the aurorch's head, and gave a clear view of the second one marching ahead of the first, the gondola on its back eerily still compared to the beast's swaying stride. Again, Pence couldn't help but admire the technology that must have gone into the suspension system.

With how crowded the hall was, Pence took the time to scan the crowd as he and Lynn waited in line for their food.

In the center of the room was a knot of people who were clearly nobles of some kind. Clean, expensively made clothes that showed not a hint of wear or weathering. Full faces and smooth skin that had escaped things like hunger or hardship. Well manicured kin-traits, styled and personalized to show off influence and wealth. Goat-kin with horns that gleamed with dangling jewelry and metal inlays, serpent-kin with polished scales and eyeliner meant to exaggerate the slit pupils of their eyes, fox-kin who had dyed their fur with colors that swirled and danced with every flick of the tail, and more besides. In a place like this, if even one of them was not a Pilot, Pence would pluck his own feathers off.

To one side, there were small groups that were clearly soldiers. Most were young, sixteen to eighteen, the kind of person who, back home, would be getting ready to go through their right of passage. A few looked older, but wore the uniforms of the aurorchs dedicated guards.

The other side of the room was much more eclectic: people wearing technician smocks, priest robes, or any number of outfits shared tables or kept others from joining them, without any clear care for class or status. Pence supposed there was some kind of order to the whole mess, some dynamic that a person born and raised in Avalon would understand. To him it just look like a mess.

"So, where do you want to sit?" Lynn asked as she was handed a tray of 'food.' The tray was divided into several divots, each one inexpertly filled with what Pence had already learned was a typical meal in Avalon. The 'main dish:' A red-brown sludge of beans, vegetables, and some kind of minced meat - he'd never been able to place Avalonic meats, and every time he asked someone what animal it was they'd look at him he had two kin-traits. The 'side:' apples cooked down and mashed together until they were a golden mush that was more sauce than food. The 'grain:' a few slices of stale white bread. And for 'desert:' Lynn had been graced by Avalon's gods with a number of small, brightly colored candies. Her drink was a thick cup of steaming water that had been infused with some kind of bagged herb - 'tea: chamomile' the label said.

Pence glanced around the room as he was given his own tray. It was much the same as Lynn's, only his side-dish was a pile of ripe blueberries, and he took a simple cup of water instead of trusting the dozen or so of different liquids on offer.

There weren't many places to sit but there was one…

[] On the right side of the room. There was a table with only three people sitting at it: two wolf-kin soldiers and a rather large goat-kin who was wearing the same uniform as Pence and Lynn. Another Pilot maybe?
[] On the left side of the room, where a cat-kin boy in temple robes was sitting by himself, picking at his food as he read from a tablet.
[] In the back of the room, at a table no one was sitting at. It's likely someone would join them before long, but Pence and Lynn would be free to talk and get to know each other until then.

Sorry for the wait! I had intended to have this out much sooner, but real life decided I wouldn't have the time or energy to write until a few days ago.


On the left side of the room, where a cat-kin boy in temple robes was sitting by himself, picking at his food as he read from a tablet. Pence nodded in his direction. "What about over there?"

Lynn glanced at the table, then back to Pence, a baffled look on her face. "The table where the wrench-head is sitting? The cat-kin wrench-head."

"Yes?" Pence asked more than said. Was he missing something here? He could guess that wrench-head probably meant priest or something like that, but that couldn't be the issue.

"Fine," Lynn said with a chuckle, and started to weave her way through the crowd, Pence following after her. "Should be fun at least."

Whatever the boy was reading must have been engrossing: he didn't even look up when Pence pulled out his chair with one foot. He did notice them when Lynn set her tray down with the forceful clack of plastic on metal.

The boy flinched with his whole body at the sound, hands going up and ears standing straight as he looked at the two people who had joined his table. He looked small, hunched in on himself like that. Smaller. The green and white robes of Avalon's priests were already large, layers of cloth that flowed into each other and rippled with motion, and his must have been a size too big with how he was left swimming in them. His soft, round face was dominated by his pudgy cheeks, almost hidden behind the messy brush of bright red hair. His red furred cat ears, large even for a cat-kin, made the difference even more pronounced.

To top it all off, the bright blue eyes set in an ocher-skinned faced, wide with unsure panic, made Pence feel like he was staring at a baby squirrel getting ready to bolt.

"Do you mind if we join you?" Pence said with a shrug. "There's not a lot of free space in here."

"Oh, um, no, not all. Please, sit yourselves," the boy said, setting down his tablet. He then noticed that Pence and Lynn were already sitting, and flushed. "Oh, well, I guess you both already have. Not that you needed my permission to! It's not like I own these tables or anything." He sounded even younger than he looked. He wasn't an actual kid, right? Pence didn't know how any of the Cities treated adulthood, but he thought they'd at least wait until someone was fifteen before making them a Pilot.

"Relax, kid, before you short-circuit," Lynn said, cutting the boy off mid apology. "We wont bite. Or I won't, don't know about feather-head here. He might want to."

"Why would I want to bite him?" Pence asked. He picked up the plastic spoon on his tray and scooped some of his red-brown sludge into his mouth. He almost spat it out at the bland, flat flavor, made worse by the mixed textures of hard, toughened meat and mushy vegetables. He forced himself to swallow all the same. He'd had worse.

"Eh, some people are into it," Lynn shrugged, eating her own food without any visible discomfort. "So any how, I'm Lynn, he's Pence. You got a name priest boy?"

"Uh, Bran. Bran Ulfyn," he said. "And I'm not a priest, I'm a Pilot. Well, I was studying to be a priest, but then my mana surged during a medical exam and they realized I could be a Pilot and switched my courses. And that was before I could even take the first qualifying exam, so I don't have any claim to the priesthood or the like. I mean, I'm wearing priest robes but that's because they're comfortable and I'm babbling, aren't I? I'm sorry it's just I don't talk with new people much so I tend to start talking about weird things and keep going and going like I am right now so I'm going to stop now before I embarrass myself more." He shrunk in on himself as he spoke, and at the end his voice trailed off into a low mutter.

Pence bit back a smile and spoke up before the silence could stretch. "So, you've studied Piloting? Anything you can share with someone who's new to all this?"

Bran blinked. "New to this? Are you freshly recruited?"

"Yeah," Lynn said around a mouthful of bread. "Both of us. Don't know more than the stories everyone shares about Pilots and Armatures."

Bran blinked at them. "Well, I'm not a teacher but…I could try and help you with mana-cultivation. Maybe. What's the Armature models you were both given?"

Pence blinked and felt his feathers ruffle in surprise. "We're going to be given Armatures of our own?" He asked.

Lynn cackled, a wide, sharp toothed grin spreading across her face, and popped the last of her candies into her mouth. "Sweet! I thought Pilots had to build their machines from the ground up. If we're being given them, that means I'm not going to be stuck at the back of the pack."

"Wha- of course you're going to be given Armatures of your own!" Bran said. "You're Pilots! Every Pilot starts their journey with a chassis forged within the Foundry's heart. That's the only way you can grow into a proper defender and knight! Didn't your recruiters tell you that?" He threw his hands out, the plastic fork almost flying from his fingers with the force of the motion. He flinched and fumbled to catch it, the instinctive movement only ensuring it did fall onto the tabletop.

"Mine was more interested in explaining my 'parole,' and what would happen if I tried to refuse." Lynn's grin turned lopsided, and her torn ear dipped down over her face. "'Sides, in my experience, criminals tend to find the things they're supposed to get 'fall through the cracks,' as it were, and are left scrabling for scraps"

Bran stared at her, the poor boy's eyes wide. He had no idea how to respond to Lynn's statement. His lips silently mouthed the word 'criminal' like it was a foreign concept to him.

Pence decided to try to and give him a lifeline. He himself had only just met Lynn, but he could tell she was the kind of person who loved getting one over others. Bran didn't seem like the type to deserve that.


Pence cleared his throat, and almost choked as the brown sludge of his food caught at the back of his mouth. He grabbed his cup and downed the water, clearing the blockage before he could break into a coughing fit. Well, at least he had the other two's attention now.

"I don't know what Armature I have either," Pence said as he put the cup down. "The person who recruited me didn't mention it. You said you studied to be a Pilot at least a little. Did that cover the kind of Armatures we'd be given?"

Bran frowned and scratched at his cheek, an ear flicking in irritation. His eyes fixed on his tablet, shut off and forgotten next to his tray of mostly uneaten food. "Well, neither of you are from the temple or a clan, so none of the specialized frames. Maybe a dedicated- no, that practice was stopped fifty years ago. Switched to a more generalized…" he trailed off into sub audible murmurs. A hand came up to cup his chin, and the cat-kin's eyes narrowed in thought.

Pence glanced at Lynn who met his bemused look with one of her own. "Guess we'll have to wait to get our answers on that," he said.

"Seems so. You gonna finish that?" Lynn gestured at Pence's half-finished tray of food. She'd already finished off hers, bread, desert, and bland meat-gravy all. She'd even licked up the last bits of her mushed apple when he wasn't looking. By comparison, he still had most of his 'main dish,' a few berries, and all but one of the candies. The latter were to sweet for him.

He palmed the last blueberries and slid the tray over to her. A week of eating Avalonic food and he still wasn't used to it. He hoped wherever they were going had better foods.

"You know, you said a patrol found you," Lynn said in an easy, casual tone of voice. "But you don't look like someone from the settlements, and you didn't get on with everyone else. I haven't seen you at all before today. And there's no way this gondola is that big."

Pence shrugged. "I got on yesterday, when the convoy stopped at the outpost I was at. Not trying to hide that. I think I was probably a last minute addition to the unit."

Lynn looked like she wanted to say something to that, but was cut off by Bran's sudden exclamation of: "Yes, that's definitely it!"

He flushed when he saw his two tabelmate's startled looks. "Ah, sorry. I was just realizing what models you would have, be given our current destination and what resources are put towards arming new Pilots. I had to think on it for a moment, but given how the South Wall takes priority, and current doctrine regarding Armature design and Pilot functions, there are only a few options you two could have. Since you are both also lay-people not yet inducted in the arts of holy maintenance and technical repair, you'll both start with Squires, model 82s or 86s."

"That means nothing to me," Lynn said. Pence nodded in silent agreement, although he suspected he was a sight better at maintenance and repair than Bran thought. Avalon's machinery couldn't be that different from what he'd worked with in the past.

Before Bran could elaborate or explain, the buzz of speakers cut through the noise of the dining hall. The voice that spoke this time was harsher than the one from before. "Pilots of the 140th, this is High Abbess Igraine Kernow. I will be addressing all of you in twenty minutes. Report to room 214. Now."

The speaker cut off, leaving a long moment of silence before people started conversing again.

Lynn pushed herself to her feet, both her and Pence's trays -licked clean and stacked together- in her hands. "Well, guess we should be going, unless you want to finish your meal, Bran."

Bran glanced down at his tray, only to blanch as he saw he had barely touched it. He picked it up in one hand and grabbed his fork, still lying on the table where it had landed on the tabletop, in the other. He started shoveling his meal into his mouth, not even bothering to taste it.

Probably a good thing, in Pence's opinion.

---

Room 214 was small. That was the first thing Pence noticed as he squeezed himself into a chair that was bolted to the floor. Four walls, black but with polished glass place atop them, bare and without windows or decoration except for a little clock hung up by the door. The only source of light was a series of light-bulbs set into the low, open ceiling, their wires and the support beams exposed to the open air. He could reach up and pull a few down if he wanted to. The taller Pilots who had managed to fit themselves into the room had to duck their heads until they found a seat. The chairs in the back, like the ones he, Bran, and Lynn were sitting in were raised up to see the front, but it left the hare-kin's one good ear to brush against a piece of piping every now and then.

Pence counted at least sixty other people in the room brushing shoulders with each other. Did Avalon really have so many Pilots? Weren't they supposed to be rare or something? Rustmoor had only ever had two in its entire history. Well, if you believed the stories anyway.

When the clock hit 13:00, exactly, the door opened to let two people through. The first was a tall, handsome enough man. Fox-kin, with beige skin and bright orange hair that matched the fur of his ears and tail. He had a handsome chin, sharp eyes, narrow face, and inset cheeks only just touched by the weathering of age. He was wearing the same green silk tunic and white baggy pants as most of the Pilots in the room, but something about it seemed more refined, better made. Was it the stitching, or lack of any kind of crease or wrinkle? Maybe the way way dirt and dust refused to stick to the fabric, leaving the man looking like Rustmoor's chief on festival day, so clean and put together, as if he had never seen a day of hardship.

It was a stark contrast to the gruff, severe looking boar-kin woman who strode in after him. Grey-haired, with coper-bright skin wrinkled by age and a severe expression. A knot of scars spread out from the right corner of her mouth, where a blow had broken her tusk right at the base. She was wearing a set of green and taupe fatigues much like what the aurochs's guards wore. Unlike everyone else in the room, she had a weapon on her. A pistol, old and well cared for, and still deadly. Her eyes, hard chips of green glass, swept across the room, glaring at each and every Pilot they landed on. Pence shivered as they passed over him. That was not a happy expression on her face.

"Pilots of the 140th Platoon, welcome," the man said in a confident, caramel smooth voice. "I am Captain Reynard Owain, your commanding officer going forward. And to my left here is Igraine Kernow, High Abbess of Northlight Settlement. Some of you know or met me, but it is a pleasure to finally meet the rest, now that you are all here."

"Yes, one would think Avalon would not need to pick up all the Pilots for a company in drips and drabs over a week's journey away from the City," Igraine said.

Reynard's confident smile twitched, but he didn't otherwise react, and kept speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "The 140th has a proud, storied history in service to Avalon, and all seventy-two of you have been chosen to carry that legacy into active service once more. Now, it is traditional for a company of fresh recruits to make their way towards the Camlann Fields to train and familiarize themselves with themselves, their squad-mates, and their Armatures. Sadly, this is a time of trial for our great City, and so you have been called to learn and serve in the field."

Muttering broke out among the gathered Pilots, and Pence saw more than a few people glancing at the woman standing next to Reynard, a few other people in the crowd or…at him?

He blinked as he met the eyes of another Pilot across the room, a stag-kin woman who looked a year or two younger than him. Her blue eyes seemed to be glaring right through him for some reason. She looked away before he did, and was then covered from view as someone sitting next to her shifted forward in their seat.

"Pilots! Do not forget yourselves!" Reynard's voice cut through the muttering, loud and clear and not loosing any of its cheerful confidence. "Besides, you have need for neither fear nor worry. You are being sent out into the world, yes, but we are not heading south, nor are you expected to put your lives at serious risk."

"But you are Pilots of Avalon, bound by oath and sacred duty to defend it and its people," Igraine said, speaking over whatever Reynard was going to say next. "So if such dangers do present themselves, you will be expected to fight with all your power and ability, up to and including sacrificing yourselves if needed."

There was no muttering in the silence that followed, just eyes fixed on the hard-faced woman. Pence fought back an instinctive shiver as thoughts he'd been keeping at bay resurfaced. He was expected to fight, to put himself in danger. It would be as a Pilot, within an Armature of steel and mana unlike anything mortal hands could wield, but he was to risk his life for a City he didn't even care about.

He remembered the night the Fomoraigh attacked Rustmoor, and the panic and fear that had filled him then. The all consuming dread, that had pushed out sorrow, regret, and hesitation, just a mindless animal panic that had him acting without care for anyone else.

No, his life had been endangered before, and it would be again. That was the truth of this world. The safety of the village had been in anonymity, not strength. If he was a Pilot, he could become strong enough to not need to hide. To be truly safe, without worry or concern.

"And who are you to ask that of us, mortal?" A voice cut in through the noise. A wolf-kin man with white skin, black fur, and narrow wolf ears was glaring at Igraine. He had a thick face and a broad build, and when he spoke Pence could see the hint of fangs among his teeth. He seemed to fill the space around him, broad shoulders and lowered head giving him a presence that demanded he be taken seriously. His green eyes glared out from beneath a ragged line of bangs, the distaste in them obvious for everyone to see.

"As Captain Owain said, I am High Abbess Igraine Kernow," she said. "I am the foremost authority in Northlight Settlement. As the 140th and its attendant personal have been assigned to reinforce my home, that makes me your superior office."

The wolf-kin growled, his ears lying back on his skull on instinct more than anything. "You think that can just order us to die for you, simply because-"

"I can order you defend my settlement as I best feel, yes," Igraine interrupted. "Now be quite, or I will have you disciplined for speaking out of turn, pup."

The wolf-kin shot to his feet, but before he could say anything, Reynard's voice cut through the room.

"Kay, that's enough!" He stepped forward, covering what little floorspace separated him from the front row of seats. "Be silent and sit down. My cousin you may be, but I will not give you privilege or leisure for insubordination."

The wolf-kin, Kay, glowered, but did as commanded. He sank into the too small seat and rested his elbows on his knees, still glaring at Igraine.

Reynard stared at him for a moment longer, before sighing and stepping back. His smile was back on his face, but it was a smaller, more resigned thing. "While I might have wished to say it more delicately, High Abbess Igraine is right. As a Pilot of Avalon, you will be expected to fight with all your strength. My duty, and your duty as well, is to put in the effort needed to make that unnecessary and unneeded. As such, the last leg of our journey to the settlement will be a training exercise."

He waved his hand, and the lights hanging from the ceiling dimmed and then winked out. The wall behind him and Igraine brightened and transformed into a colorful image of streaks and blobs in various shades of green and brown. There was a thick, meandering line of deep blue that ran across part of the top before expanding to take up all of the top right corner. Another line - black, straight, and much thinner - cut through the image from the bottom left to the top right, stopping just before the blue blob. There was flashing dot on the bottom end of the black line, and a small gray blob where the black line, blue line, and blue blob met.

"This is our convoy." Reynard pointed at the flashing dot, then moved his finger to the gray blob. "And this is Northlight Settlement. At the aurochsen's current pace, we will arrive there around noon tomorrow. That is well within the operation range of any First Sphere Armature."

Oh, it was a map. Pence had never seen maps other than as drawings or printed diagrams, and it was hard him a moment to make sense of the image. The green and brown blobs were clustering trees and rising hills -if with more detail then he'd ever seen- the blue was river that ended in a lake, and the black line was the Avalonic road they were traveling on.

"After this meeting is over," Reynard said. "You will be directed to either the Armature bay or to the transport that will take you to the aurochs carrying your Armature. At 1530 on the clock, you will all be deployed and then make your way towards Northlight Settlement, and are expected to arrive before the convoy does. How you arrive and in what condition is of little concern, as the settlement's manufacturing capabilities can handle anything short of complete destruction. The only stipulation is that you cannot come within a kilometer of the convoy after you deploy. I and Northlight's commander will monitor the radio frequencies and intervene should it be requested or become necessary. Any questions?"

"What about wild spirits, or Fomoraigh attacks?" someone asked, a hint of panic in their voice.

"Kill them," Igraine said with a roll of her eyes. "My people have been diligent in keeping the threats this close to our settlement tamed. You will not encounter anything beyond your ability to handle, provided you have any kind of competence."

No one said anything after that, despite the palpable wave of unease that swept through them. When he was satisfied that no more questions were coming, Reynard tapped the wall, bringing up a list of names and Armature bay numbers. He placed his right hand over his heart, the thumb folded against the palm, and gave them a straight backed nod of respect. "Pilots, you have your assignments. Dismissed, and fair fortunes to all."

The crowd broke out into a loud tumult of conversation. Some moved towards the door, while others remained seated or wove their way through the seats and up to the list of names to get a better view of it.

Pence stayed where he was, mind whirling as he tried to put together what had just happened. They were being sent into wild with Armatures. He was being sent out into the wild with an Armature. He didn't have any training, hadn't ever even been inside one of the great machines before. Could he even move his machine? The closest was when the patrol had taken him to their outpost. Weren't Pilots supposed to, to be instructed or awakened or whatever before their first stepped into a cockpit? All the stories had at least something happen before then.

What if he didn't even go out at the assigned time? Would he be punished, or just be given a slap on the wrist of some kind?

Pence's eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. It was 1330. He had two hours before they were deployed. He had to figure out what he was going to do.

Vote for as many options as you wish. Top two win.
[] Convince Bran to give a crash course in Piloting. He's studied how to be Pilot. At the least he can tell Pence what he needs to know to move his machine and not make a fool of himself.
[] Lynn is friendly enough, and while Pence doubts she knows how to Pilot any more than he does, she definitely knows how to fight. Unfortunately her Armature is on another Aurorchs, so he'll need to figure out a meet up point before hand if they want to stick together.
[] Go after Captain Reynard and explain the situation to him. He's the one in charge of all the Pilots in the company, so surely he has some solution he can give Pence so that he doesn't flounder or fail.
[] Try to talk to Kay. The wolf-kin was surly and intimidating, but he had the air of someone who knew how to fight. On top of that, Captain Reynard Owain called him cousin. Surely the family connection means Kay has experience, or training at the least.
[] The stag-kin woman Pence made eye contact with in the crowd walks up to him. She tells him they will deploy together and she will make sure to keep him safe.