Light Touch

The sun crested the hills and the grass turned to a golden sea to the horizon and back. The sunlight was warm. It would share the warmth and the love and the ever-present slick oil thought of space with the world it had the fortune to plant roots in. The field was a little dry, however. Many, many weeks since a good rain, but that just meant it was due for a change. The winds shifted, picking up and turning violent. Some of the blades would no doubt fall to the wind and the rain, swept away by the cruel planet, but the whole would survive. It would be alright.

The world sighed with the warming dawn. Early, it was much too early for anything important to happen. The night things have gone to bed. The day things were still asleep. Something not quite either stretched and yawned and did a wonderful job of scaring the nesting birds on its head. The birds did not care for it. Their young needed their sleep and they could not do so when their lumbering perch decided that it was time to move. The tiny mouths announced to the world that they were alive and they were hungry. They should not suffer. They were innocent and pure and simply the greatest thing the world has ever known and now they had to live with the fact that they were not fed. The parents ruffled their plumes and took to the air. They had to get food. Otherwise, the world might end.

The beast shook its head once more and opened its tusked maw, shaking the caked earth from its lips. With a heave, it was on all of its feet and the great wandering could begin again. It caught the scent of grass. It caught the scent of rain. It caught the scent of a herd forming off to the east and mulled over the urge to join it. There would be mates there and that would be something worthwhile. But the birds on its head might abandon the duty of keeping its back clean. Better to stay alone until the nest was empty. Food tended to get scarce when a herd formed anyway. So, the maw of tusks and leathered lips decided that it was time for grass.

And it was good grass. Fresh and still covered with the dew of the morning. It didn't have to go to the lake and drink its fill there. It just had acres and acres and acres of grass to feast on. And the scent, the scent filled its mind with the fresh clean aura of new growth and life. It filled itself in every way from the heavenly grass, the blades breaching past its ankles. The land was turned over, the soil churned into black loam.

Despite the complete absence of new grass, the scent still lingered in the morning chill, weaving through the air and stands of gusting breeze. The herd, the mighty herd of its kin rocked the earth closer and closer, carrying the scent of grass as well. Odd. They shouldn't smell like grass. They should smell like the herd, a mass of musky bodies and matted furs and worn tusks. Not grass. And the thundering heavy steps were coming too quickly for the lumbering of a migration. A stampede, a new occurrence that could not happen. They were all too big for the threat of anything to cause such panic.

The thundering steps stopped for a moment and the wind whistled a sharp whine of razor blades. Nothing. It was simply nothing. The earth had to wake as well, it seemed, and it did not want to. Fine, simply fine. Nothing to worry about. The beast was still thirsty anyway. The lake was to the west and it could drink there.

The whistle grew louder and louder until a spike drove itself into its neck.

The beast couldn't breathe as the thundering steps of what was and what wasn't a herd came closer and closer. Too smooth, too rhythmic, too graceful to be its kin. The steps stopped right by its head and the spike slipped out like warm oil. Cold, it was so cold as the spike came away. All the blood it flowed into the earth, the fresh turned feeding grounds already sprouting with something new to gorge on. It would never get to taste them.

A hand, a paw, something smooth and cold found its side and gave a loving caress. It saw the white and the shiny grass green of what might be a head, or something close to it, gazing from on high, mourning the passage of the beast's life, a necessary cruelty of the world and how it must come to an end. Another hand, another paw, of the same white slickness came spiraling away. The sun shone through the fingers. In a moment, the light collected and a violet blade formed from the spilling light.

As the knife cut its throat, the beast thought of the nest on its head. The parents would be unable to find the young. They would have to fend for themselves. Terrible, simply terrible.

---

Crookes sat back in the cockpit and rubbed his temples. The breath from his lungs shook through his lips and it took a moment to become steady again. It did. It always did. The body of white and luminescent hue went still under his lack of touch. It stood straight, gazing down at the slumped carcass. And now he had to carry it back home for the carving. At least he did not have to do that. He was not allowed to do that.

The lights under his hand pulsed with a heartbeat out of synch with his own. Once the skin touched the divots and handles, it finally came back aligned with his will. He told the body of the vessel to pick up the leathertusk. It did so amicably, smoothly, almost silently.

The silence let him hear the cry of the nest and the raw fear that pulled from their core. Something terrible, simply terrible had happened and everything was too small, the wings, the mouths, the bodies, to do anything about it. So, they called on something bigger than them to come and fix it. It was a sin for the small things of the world to be so cold, so scared, so hungry.

Crookes agreed wholeheartedly once the vessel showed him the nest and the birds of naked pale plumage. They were indeed small. Too small to suffer from the world at large. But he was there with a dead leathertusk on his back and he was the bad thing that had happened to them. He should not have gone out today. He should have gotten the water from the lake. The herd was getting closer and it would be better to pull from there before they came and took it all.

They only received the vessel's arm, scooping up the bundle of twigs and sticks. The arm, the wonderful pearly arm of all goodness and holy intent, gently set the nest atop the head of something equally massive, although much more slender and clean. This would work. The parents might have a hard time finding them, but they would manage. They could still follow the scent. It was there, although mixed with the scent of new grass.

Crookes sighed and started moving once again. The body he inhabited told the body he piloted how to move, so they were as one. One heartbeat shared among two. He sighed and rolled his shoulder. The little divot of discomfort was still there. It was always there when he stayed in the seat for too long.

"Klieg," he said to the open air, "You there?"

"Roger, Incandescent 1," said the smooth panels to his right, the light tickling the sound and tuning it to reverberation.

"You can just say Crookes. That's fine."

"Negative, Incandescent 1. There is a protocol to follow. And you are to refer to the control point as Prism Station. Do you copy?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"A single affirmation will suffice, Incandescent 1. Is there anything to report?"

"Took down a leathertusk near Getter Lake. Get receiving to clear a space for it when I get back. It's a big one."

The stone-cold voice of the other side of the light hummed and Crookes smiled. She was happy. She needed a new suit and now she was going to get it, once the thing was skinned and flayed and butchered.

"Roger, Incandescent 1. Receiving has been notified. Readjusting return route to link with the hydration team. Please enter through the south gate to ensure minimal disruption to the afternoon congregations."

"Yeah, yeah. Crookes out."

---

The sun reached its highest point and he was still walking. He did not think about it. The parents had come back to see to their young and it seemed as if the father didn't really appreciate the new method of transportation. The leathertusk supplied heat and parasites to feast on. The smooth panels of the new head did no such thing. It fluttered outside the main window making sure that whatever was inside knew if its disapproval.

Even worse was the chatter. The hydration team just kept talking, comparing the hauls, comparing everything, doing whatever they could to make the minutes slip by and ensure that Crookes did not have a second of peace and quiet to his mediations.

"Hey, Prescott," said Refraction 51, "Didn't you have a date with Lucy the other night?"

"I might have, Hugh," said Incandescent 7, "Are you talking about the Lantern Night or the foraging departure?"

"Algae duty. Overseer said you were sneaking out with someone."

"Lou was on algae duty," Prescott said, "I was on reconfiguration. Radiance thought that the dorms would be better suited on the north bank. He was right. Shared a bed that night and it is a much more pleasant experience getting up in the morning."

"Now," said Crookes, "I heard there was trouble with you getting it up at all."

"Keep the chatter to a minimum," said Prism Station by way of Klieg, just to him.

"Did you at least let that one get to him?"

"Negative, Incandescent 1. I don't want to deal with any more formal complaints from Induction 7 about lack of team cohesion."

"Then tell him to stop bragging about pestering poor Lucy for sex. Or mute him for me too."

"Negative Incandescent 1. I do not have the authority to block incoming comms from a Senior Harvester. Please refrain from using comms if you find that you have nothing pertinent to the current tactical situation. The south gate is open. You may proceed."

"What was that, Crookes," said Prescott, "You were saying something then you cut out."

"His ball and chain had to muzzle him," Hugh said. They all had a good laugh, but Crookes remained silent.

Crookes ignored it all. There was movement and rhythm and all things soothing. He had weight and the tasks and all the things checked and marked. No one could tell him that he didn't do anything today. It was fine. He was fine. It was all fine, despite the protests of the world from the bird and his fellow operators.

The bird at least settled down by the time the towers came into view. All was quiet and still on the head. A hand went up and the lights in the chest that was not his blinked out a pattern. The south gate blinked the same pattern. The east one was closer. So much closer. He could just step through the park and over the church and everything would be fine. But then Klieg would be mad at him for not following the correct thing she said.

The tower kept its rhythmic dance of green light, out of time with his heartbeat, but together with the collective. It pulled the lights over him and let the steady pace fall out of his control. There was just the will of the roots, the network, the lack of thought on his part to guide everything forward.

"Incandescent 1 waiting at south gate with hydration team," he said to Prism Station.

"Acknowledged," said a voice that was not Klieg. Maybe Lou or Lucy. He could never tell which one was which through the comms.

The gate of woven wood slid open to accommodate the immense bulk of his vessel and the game on his back. Large, so large and open and towering, even above the head that was not his. He sighed and rolled his shoulder again. He needed to get out of this thing. His back was twinging and his shoulder was clicking and his foot was asleep. Prescott muscled past him with the larger machine. Crookes kept his muzzle on tight.

"Crookes, what the hell is that," said the voice beyond the light, "I don't know how, but you found a leathertusk that is all gristle."

Lucy then. Crookes had to grin. He liked Lucy even if she was addled with liking Prescott for some odd reason.

"Then it's a rare specimen," he said, "Probably worth studying."

"No, its not. It's useless. You're useless. Just let butchery handle this. They might get some stock bones out of this if you're lucky."

He rolled his eyes and the light did not take that as noise and give it to Lucy. He wouldn't get anyone hurt, even with the extra baggage. The lights told him to walk a certain way and he followed. Chewing outs and dressing downs and all the things that words could do to him were not worth the hassle of s saved five minutes. It would all be over soon enough and he could stretch.

Children watched the vessels from the rooftops, wide eyed. Crookes could not wave back. He wanted to, It would make the world a better place. The children got a set of silent colossuses stalking their streets with heavy footfalls and gears turning. That was enough. That was more than enough for the faces to turn to their nearest companion and shout with glee of the motion. Crookes grinned and rolled his eyes again. He did the same when he was a kid. Frankly, he did the same thing now. Just internally, behind closed doors and black glass. But they didn't need to know that.

Receiving lit up with the same green that accented every inch of the city. He had his square to drop off the carcass and as soon as it hit the ground, the ants came to take in bits and pieces. He gave more words to the light so they could filter and fizz into forgotten bureaucratic logs that only caused problems in their absence. The hydration team slid in the tanks to the purposed receptacles and started the playful sighs of relief. Prescott took his vessel's hand on his vessel's crotch. Crookes gave him his real finger behind the glass. Not even Prism station saw that particular sin.

The records were written and the stock tallied and all Crookes had left was the spot in the open hangar to set down the body that was not his and leave the vessel to bask in the warm glow of the sun. He would do the same.

He sighed and stretched and the warm sun finally fell on his shoulders in its full glory. His shoulder popped and his neck cracked and his fingers snapped like a bundle of dry kindling.

"Klieg," he said to the dimming control panel, "You want to grab lunch or something?"

"Still on duty Crookes," came the voice from the other side of the light, "And you really shouldn't be using personal channels while on official time."

"Would you prefer I used the official channel to ask you out to lunch?"

"Yes, actually. That way I can record my rejection and send it to you whenever I want."

"What about the times you want to say yes?"

"Those are different. Look, I got to go. Prescott is hailing me. He wants to know his numbers."

She hung up on him and that led to another sigh and pair of rolled eyes. At least she wouldn't say yes when Prescott asked. She never said yes to him. She sometimes said yes to Crookes.

---

Crookes sat on the edge of a pond of worn stone, reeds swaying in the shallows, birds circling in the water. They looked to him with beady, evil eyes. They looked to his hand and the food clasped so tenderly within. Crookes eyed the fowl with equal disdain. They would not take the sack of salted seeds from him. They were the spicy ones too. The canteen always ran out of those first.

He sucked the accumulated dust from his fingers and let the taste brine his tongue. Good day, this was all a good day. He could sit here and watch the water lap at the shore. The only bad part was the suddenly empty bag of seeds in his hand. That was terrible. Someone should be punished for that. They, the nebulous council of they, they should listen to him and maybe the world would be a better place.

"Prescott is so mad at you," said a voice from the light, but not of the light.

"Probably. He's always mad at me. What's getting to him this time?" he said.

"The game you brought. Despite the shit that Lucy gave you, as she should have, you did a good job with the hide. Going to be really nice to have some thicker coats when the snows start."

Klieg kicked out her feet and sat on the ground with him, her own bag nestled in her palm. Her clothes hung loose on her body, showing her tanned arms with knotted cords of muscle. She had the markings that meant she could sit in the tower and filter the words that came back to her. She tucked her dark hair behind her ear, exposing the silver circles embedded in her skin. She glanced at him and his short stubble of hair, his own markings that meant he could sit in the cockpit and give the words to map the world. She eyed him and his chosen meal.

"I don't know how you eat those things," she said.

"They're not that bad."

"But don't they make your tongue get all red and bumpy? That happens every time I try them."

"Get a better tongue. And the sweet ones always hurt my teeth."

"Then get better teeth."

Crookes laid back and looked at the sky. Cloudy still, and it smelled like rain. It would make Prescott's contribution to the reservoir pointless. Klieg took a handful of seeds and hucked them into the water. The noble waterfowl glided over to inspect the offering. They found it acceptable. Although, her companion still had the most desirable one. He would be punished for his selfishness.

"Don't feed them," he said, "They'll never leave."

She stuck out her tongue and fed him some seeds. They were not good. They were too sweet and they hurt his teeth, just like always. She liked them and that was a good enough reason to pretend.

"I heard that the digging crews found another vessel in the quarry," said Crookes.

"Someone's been lying to you. It was in the forest. That'll be good though, either way. Radiance wants to have one dedicated towards mining. Said it would help speed up the excavation. No idea why though. There's nothing else to build."

"Hope it's not me. Hate mining duty."

"Is there any duty you actually like?"

"Hunting's alright. And I don't mind water that much. It's just the getting out part that I like. I'd hate to be down in the tunnels, all dark and close. I like open skies."

She gave him another seed and it was still too sweet.

"You'd think they'd come up with more flavors than sweet and spicy," Klieg sighed.

"I miss the sour ones they tried a while ago."

"Ew, no. It was terrible."

"They were, but it was different at least."

More words, more sentences, more banal sounds that had meaning. It was never the important thing to dissect and interpret. They just had to be there in his mind, in her mind. Conversations hashed and rehashed and said more eloquently in the last dozen iterations, but no less important. It all had to be said again and again and again, because the words grew malignant if left still too long.

Klieg laid down next to Crookes and they both watched the graying sky make the threat of its discharge come ever closer. There were no words anymore. There couldn't be. There was just the comfortable silence and the occasional note of a shape in the clouds half formed and mildly interesting. The birds in the water grew disinterested in the prone figures so close to one another.

The clouds finally broke the line and the rain started to spit. With a heave and a sigh, Crookes was upright once again, and a grunt with an assisting hand did the same to Klieg. She shivered and tried not to get too close to the other body that was warm and drier than she could be. She failed when his arm snaked around her shoulder. She rolled her eyes but did not bat it away. Crookes smirked and she pretended not to notice. He pretended not to notice the way she pressed into his chest. They both pretended that the rain wouldn't stop. It would keep coming down forever and ever and they could both stay inside and never worry about the world again once their walk to somewhere drier stopped.

---

They did not have a place in mind when their walk ended. It just so happened to lead them to the barracks, to Klieg's exasperated delight. Crookes ventured that he had no control over how any of this played out. It was merely a coincidence that they met by the pond that was nearest to the dormitories and that most of the others were gathered in the grand hall for more communal recreations. It just so happened that they had their pick of rooms. Klieg flipped over a small sign from a canvas board, marking a room for their purposes. Their used implied temporary ownership and there were plenty of other spaces to occupy. Klieg led him on, up the lifts and through the warm wooden hallways. Their steps bounced off the varnished wood and fell into the trap of the thick tapestries hanging from the ceiling. They found the one they laid claim to. Crookes was pleased. It was clean. Not everyone had the common courtesy to do their unassigned chores. Certainly not him. He always got so busy, so it never was his fault.

"I like this one," said Klieg as she poked at the frame. It looked just like all the others, but with a different scattering of knick-knacks and essentials. This one had towels and clothes and sheets on a thin mattress, a white chair big enough for two, and a window overlooking the rainy paths and giving them glimpses of the receiving bay with the sleeping vessels and processing larder.

"Anything in particular, or just the aura?" Crookes asked as he took off his boots.

"Acoustics. Listen to the rain. It's perfect. Also aura. Never want to have a bad aura."

Crookes nodded as he spread out long on the bed. The sheets were clean and the wood still had its fresh fragrance. The commune would be in the camp for a while, so said his instincts. They all needed a chance to set down roots, only to pull them up when the time came to migrate. Klieg was right about the acoustics. The sound was ja blanket over everything else, another layer to pin him to the earth. Grounded and whole, a complete system unchanged and immovable.

Then Klieg kicked him a bit, forcing him to roll over and make room for her. He was more of a tumbleweed than anything now that he thought about it. His hand grew curious and found hers gently laid across her stomach, tapping out the same rhythm as the raindrops. She enlaced her fingers with his and fell to stillness.

"I'm happy that you came back," she said.

"I always come back," he said, "it's what I do."

"I know, but still. Things happen out there. And they're supposed to. Doesn't mean I can have responses to those happenings."

"I'll come back the next time I go out too."

"Good. I'd like that. I'd hate to have to go to the festivals with Prescott."

"Poor you. I can't imagine a worse fate. Especially being trampled and eaten."

"You wouldn't have to kiss him. My fate's still worse."

"Stop making good points. It makes me feel bad."

"No. I can't think of anything I'd rather do with my mouth right now."

Crookes rolled his eyes and pushed back against the new body until he kissed her. She huffed and smiled, then grimaced. He still tasted spicy and she still tasted sweet. His teeth hurt, but that was mostly from a bit of carried over momentum that got them to impact. He rolled on top of her, pressing his body into hers. She caressed his head and ran her palm over the stubble on his scalp. It tickled. She tapped and he let her up.

"Ok," she sighed, "that might be a better use."

"I do have good ideas sometimes."

"You do. I wish you didn't so I can have room for some of my own."

"Like taking off your clothes?"

"See? Another good one. Stop it."

Crookes did not. He went back to her, tasting her while his hands slowly explored the rough fabric of her clothes. Heavy threads, rough threads, designed to be worn and worn down. But they had the same weak points as anything else. Already, it was riding up her stomach, just from the motions. He could feel her heartbeat drum against the dark skin of her stomach. He traced the darker lines of her markings, swirls and lines, a field and sky meeting just under her navel. A tree spang up from the fertile land with roots reaching lower. Those always felt so sensitive to her. She basked in his touch, just lying there, content to be touched under the drumming rain. It all clicked together with a primal rhythm. She closed her eyes and let Crookes work as he should.

It was the same, listening to a call and response of something connected and separate. Crookes went with the motions, just the same as a vessel. It was all the same, tapping into the parallel nerve endings. First it started with the flutter of her eyes, the odd off time breathes through her nose., A curl of her hand as she gripped the sheets. He wasn't even getting to anything too sensitive, just the markings, just the skin. Only a shade or two away from him, blending together like smeared paint. There was a point of contact, but the point of separation was indistinct and blurred. He touched her, rolling up the shirt until her chest was free.

The markings continued, circling her breasts like sun rays. He worked his mouth on her smooth skin, lips pulling as the teeth bit down. She shivered, lost to the sparks under her nerves, her hands stroked his shoulders, his back, anything they could reach. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was always slowly ramping up, always approaching that same end in asymptotic curves. She rolled her hips and forced his body to change as well. His stance gave her more room and allowed him the freedom to take off his clothes too. A decent enough trade off while she basked in the cold agony of isolation.

His stomach was just as taut as hers, scored in similar marks. He had the rivers and lakes to her fields, a gathering storm along his shoulders, the chaotic sky and gentle breezes. Klieg rose and rolled taking them both back down to the mattress. She ran through the same bits of frantic exploration. She just started on his stomach, just the same. He was sensitive, just the same, tracing the sensitive ink lines and the scarred flesh underneath. It was all the same. When they pressed together, the lines even met in a greater tapestry. Together, it was the world, connected and whole, overturning and spinning forever. She dug in with a bit more bite in her nails. He needed to feel a bleeding poke, sewing needled love to stitch time together. Under all that, he still whimpered and kissed her, tugging at the same lines his hands did. She drew him closer.

Touching and lying, serpents intertwined under the pattering rain. Safe and whole, continuing a dance that only ever paused, never stopped. Partners changed, steps changed, but the music and the motions were eternal. They kissed in their little den against the land, holed up and safe.

Crookes gave into his impatience and worked to get more of themselves free. He undid himself first, rolling down the rough hempen trousers until they hung around his ankles. Klieg matched the lines tracing his muscles, on his side held the portrait of his vessel, blank expression, finned horn protruding form the back, ink carrying the scintillating emerald of the veins. She traced those too, finding needle points to make it bleed. He shivered, armored against the pain with his own incredible need. He was already hard and all of that was ignored. He was a whole body, a whole encompassing need for immersion and perfection. They entwined again, unraveling each other like a pulled thread. More of Klieg came undone, down to her barest form, covered in lines and heat and beads of amping tension. She kept touching him. He never stopped. They both settled for a moment on their sides, gazing into one another where the points of separation made themselves known.

"What do we want to do now," Klieg muttered, pressing her lips to his fingers. They carried the scars of his works, bits of callous and pinched cuts from curious probing.

"I thought that was obvious," Crookes murmured through another series of kisses.

"You know what I mean. Leaping Frog? Gale Sequence? Rooted Tree?"

"Humble Frond."

"That's not a real one. You made that up."

"All of those are made up too. They just got to name them first. I'm just tinkering here."

"Ok fine. How does that work?"

"First we're going to need maybe 10 more of you."

She playfully thumped his chest and that just got another grin out of him. Instead of words, he simply rolled again, placing his leg between hers and meeting her excited warmth. The point of contact swirled between them and held them still. He gave her pressure and she gave it back with her own. This was not the pose. This was a transitory period, tangling the sheets and cooling down their bodies. His heart slowed. She went back to tracing his chest, the definition of his muscles highlighted by the sun on his sternum. There was still room to grow the ink, rooting up towards his neck and across his chin. He could be such a beautiful canvas in time. She painted him in her mind, tracing her finger, riding her hips, making sure that he knew what patterns she wanted on him. He knew. He had no other choice than to know exactly the plan laid out before him. He even liked it.

He liked it even better as she shifted again, forming a bulwark on top of it. He stared up her own canvas, filling the gaps with his own ideas. She needed more sharp edges to compliment the smooth curves. All of her flowed, all of her shifted and played like a river bank. Even as her hips left his and she found a bit of freedom, a bit of space, so much of her just existed as a body. Things to paint, places to go, things to be, she could be all of them. And she found herself atop his length, pressed so sweetly against his tip and fumbling for any bit of purchase. He just let it be and waited for her to drop.

She was impatient. She always was, but there was still that swell of pride as he realized that she wanted him and just ran through the motions to get him exactly where he was needed. She dropped slowly, savoring the bit of tension in her body as it snapped and twinged. She welcomed him easily, practiced and whole. They felt the other's heartbeat rock through their connection. A form with no name, a dance with no song, they just moved with one another, feeling the extension of their nerves weave.

Crookes dug his hands into her, lifting and dropping with her hips. Her hands, her back, her chest, breaking the motions. Simple acts, base acts, something that they both had practiced with themselves and others, again and again and again. No matter how familiar, it was always exciting. She felt the thrills run up her core and flow through her body. The grip on Crook's length tightened and shifted. He hissed a breath out through hard clenched teeth. All in all, he had realms of contortions and poses he knew, but this was so much better, so much simpler.

Easy motions, practiced motions, designed for their bodies, around and around, adding gentle amplifications. She added circles when she rose, and he changed the angle of how he entered. Small things, collapsing together to form a greater whole. The thin mattress protested and complained the entire time, designed from nothing more strenuous than the thrashing of a bad dream. The rain picked up, echoing thunder and lightning and threatening more destruction when the time came to split open the heavens. A breeze carrying the chilled rain slipped through the window and danced across Crooke's chest.

A thin sheen of sweat worked its way across both their bodies. As pleasurable and intense as it was, it was all still work. Work to make the muscles ache, work to slow the senses and quicken the heart. It led to such a sweet exhaustion. They both felt it deep in their limbs.

Klieg slowly let herself down to lay long across his chest. Their heartbeats quickened to find the same tempo. She buried himself in his neck and simply drifted with his scent. Work and sweat and traces of dried out grass and treated wood. He ran his fingers down her spine and she shivered.

Crookes felt the weight change over him and did his best to match the same time, Different angles, different lines, he could change them all with a bit of movement and a bit of pressure. She liked it when he came at her this way. She bit his collar bone when he tilted his hips. She moaned his name when his fingers spread her open aside and threatened more than she could handle. All of it was in service to themselves.

The moment of the edge came and they decided to back off. Crookes first and Klieg following, they slowed, panting and flushed and hungry with need. A moment to share in the basking warmth as another peal of thunder cracked. Klieg shimmied until she was spread out long beside him, staring once more into his eyes.

"Getting tired?" she hummed.

"Not in the slightest," he said, "you just looked like you needed a break."

"I did not. I could have stayed up there for hours. I think you were just getting overwhelmed. That's fine. I know I have that affect on people. I'm surprised that you lasted this long."

"All night, then? I'm down for that if you can keep up."

"Again, you have like five minutes left in the tank. I can leave you a dried-out husk."

"You are much too harsh on yourself. We'll have a nice night and then we'll probably get breakfast."

"And now you're threatening me with a good time."

Crookes forced her to open her legs a bit wider and they stayed together, both on their side, both still staring at each other and feeling the burning gaze they shared. She kept her leg high, taking it even farther until all of her was barren and open.

"You can be such a showoff, you know?" Crookes sighed.

She just shrugged and let her hands wander. He should put more work into that part of his being. There's only so much arms can do. They could hold her and push her and bend her and do so many good things, but they were all connected to the rest of his body. The parts added up to the whole. And she could see the parts where the tightness held him down. He could go farther, take his legs wider, tilt his body until she was on her side and he was upright. The shape inside her changed just as the grip changed over him. They breathed and started again, forming new unions and breaks as they both kept up with one another. The lines met again in a different mural.

Crookes felt her thigh muscles press against him. So much work to get those, so much more to maintain, and she even kept her core following as he turned. The chilled air traced across his back, sending his thoughts away from the heat. He moved. She moved. It was the same act in different forms.

Klieg's hands worked and played, aiding Crookes when he faltered with the dance. He was still skilled, but the goals were slightly different. A break and snap versus a drain and flow. She played with herself, rolling the senses and poking the spots. The sensations transferred to him through her core. All of it worked. All of it led them both down the same path.

It was a slow ramp to the edge. Never quite where it should be, never quite how fast it should be, simple points on a hike where they kept rising. Each individual step bled into the next but the general motion always towards the peak. Crookes was smart enough to listen to her body and keep the pattern right where it was, static and unchanging. He kept as he was, tight and harsh, but not quite frantic. Power and strength, he had those things and he gave them all to her. She took it and transferred it in her core.

Crookes muscles ran through the motions. All of him gave into the work. All the machinations, the thin sheen of sweat covering his brow and flowing down his back. It was such a beautiful work, such a harsh thing to feel burning in his joints. The work ran down his markings, down the lines of his stomach, down the length of his thighs as Klieg started to twitch and clench around him. It was the same as it always was.

He was there, right with her. His core clenched and twitched as hers clenched around his length. The motions grew slower, harder with every passing moment.

His hit first, fusing his body with a tingling warmth to combat the pinpricks of ice cold dotting his skin. He felt her twitch and go still, that long slender leg on his shoulder going slack to rest. He held her open. Both of theirs were quiet, contained things, just for themselves and barely shared with one another.

Heavy pulses rocked his entire body. That last set of motions bled into her and forced her body tight. Heavy, trembling shakes, enough to bring the bed's protests back into light, forcing the storm outside to abate for just a moment, all detonated in her core as his release flooded into her. Sparking warmth, endless light, her hands grabbed at the sheets and bunched them into thick knots. Her joints protested and she took the stretch deeper. It needed to burn. That made it feel all the sweeter.

Just like the ramp up, the decline was slow and heavy, tumbling down the mountain and dashing them against the rocks. Crookes fell into her, heaving just a bit there to roll free as his limbs gave out. Klieg was there to catch him and hold him still so that the rain never bled them dry. She kissed the spot between his eyes as her own came back into focus.

Their breathing was heavy and slow. Exhausted, the both of them, holding every worry they had for their long, long shift, left them spent. They had so many plans, so many other positions, so many other rounds, but they didn't coalesce into anything material. Klieg fell first, denied anything more by the pattering rain, the heavy weight of Crookes holding her tight, and the gentle warmth flowing from her core. She kissed the corner of his neck. Crookes was not far behind, falling into the same heavy malaise of the night, willingly throwing himself away from the lost opportunities of continuation. There would be other nights. They would see them together.

---

The rain continued through the night. The bed was warm and the blankets were soft and there was nothing else to do, other than listen to the rain and feel the pressure of another body. There was the soft fatigue of not enough sleep, and the rain did nothing to alleviate it. Crookes shifted and slipped further in the cocoon of sleep he had earned.

Klieg had the audacity to cut through the wonderful veil with a rusty knife. In her defense, she had work. Crookes had work too but getting him up and moving was not her responsibility. He would get himself up at some point and then start wondering where she went. His inevitable wanderings would take him to the hangars and he would be pushed into doing what he was supposed to do. It worked before. It would work again.

The klaxons blared as Crookes continued to pretend to be asleep so he could watch her dress. And all the games and fanciful apathy had to fall away to the immediate disaster that came with the noises. Even the playful frustration at Crooke's laziness fell the moment he was out of bed and doing his best to shake the good feelings from his body. There were hard times out there and that meant there was no space for calm.

They ran through the slick stone streets. The noise, the noise of splash and stone and wailing siren, the noise guided the controlled panic. Left, right, then left again as the streets emptied and the world fell to kneel before the sirens.

Klieg left him at the next turn and he had his open tilt through the open hangars towards his vessel. Green pulsing lights pulled from their slumber as more and more of them came alive. Each second brought him closer to his connected roots.

It was waiting for him in its solemn rest. The rain did it good. Slick and shiny, the gray filtered light of the sun beyond clouds, it was chrome and silver and white like bleached wood. It smelled of fresh grass, newly overturned loam.

Crookes had the moment of his silent reverence over his alabaster armor and he stood in awe. The light, the green light of new growth and extracted sun and it was for him. Cold, cold to the touch and he had to keep moving. He had to get into the hollow in the chest. It opened with a deep click once his vessel recognized his palm and the ink under the skin.

"Incandescent 1, online," he said as the lights blinked and he settled into his space.

"Reading, Incandescent 1," said the voice on the other side of the light, "Disturbance at the south gate. Radiance is preparing a full brief en route."

"Really caught us with our pants down," he said.

"That was your one," said Klieg, "If you say anything else that annoys me, I will rake your ass through every Radiance protocol I know."

That was a fair deal. Generous to a fault even. The colossus stood under its power to see the clouds eye to eye. The steps shook the earth and rattled the windows of the poor people inside. They had their lives and they were being disturbed by the shattering earth.

"Attention all vessels," said the Radiance, "Attention all vessels. Seismic activity detected outside of the south gate. Report to defensive positions. The Radiance believes the local fauna has entered a frenzied state. Protect the Knot at all costs."

Phalanx formation, shields raised, feet planted and shoulders squared. More than anything it will give the people a picture to hold of the stalwart vessels. Inspire the faith and reignite the zealotry of the masses. The opium of thought drifted its smoke through the streets as mist from rain. Crookes did not think anymore. He was the will of the vessel, the light in its veins. The other vessels had their hearts of shining light. He was his and not his as the body vaulted the final wall and kicked a heavy spray of dew.

"So, Crookes," said the light that pulled from the vessel on his left, "You're late. Any idea why that is?"

"We're regulated to keep radio silence, Luminescent 7," he said. Even he was too much a label. The line, he was the line and the heart and the gathering light wall against the dark and storm clouds.

"Oh, you got chewed out something fierce, didn't you?" said Prescott, "Since when do you care about regulations?

"Prescott," said Brilliance 4, "Shut up. You're on the line too. You can measure dicks later."

"Mine's bigger anyway," Crookes said to the dark screen. The panic set in for a moment as the light looked to take the words and spread them thin through the world. But it was kind and forgiving and kept the silence to him and him alone.

"That was a mulligan," said Klieg, "Blocked the signal cause Prescott has been an ass."

"And now you're breaking regulations."

"To inform you that this all better be above board after this, Incandescent 1. And that your previous outburst is correct, according to Lucy. Now focus, or I will come down there and make a new coat from your skin. Readings show little over half capacity for systems. More or less the same across the board. Clouds have drained it. Be frugal, Incandescent 1."

"Acknowledged Prism Base. Do we have an ETA till contact?"

"15 minutes. Hard to pin an exact moment, but you'll see them well before we do. Big herd. Never seen leathertusks stampede like this."

Crookes had a deep breath and long moment to himself. The light that said it was Prescott kept blinking. He ignored it. He ignored it all. There was the spitting rain and the scent of green grass and the flow of the dim light scattered through clouds. Calm, he was calm. He was in tune and in flux, the state of not being with the body of something smooth and clean and all the natural run of one form to the next.

The rumble of steps hit him first. The glass shifted and saw the world for him. It saw the horizon and beyond the curve. It saw the rumble of tectonic legs and behemoth weight. The herd, there was the herd that came as thunder and crackling energy. The herd was scared. They were here as one to spread the merry word that the world is bad and everything should be afraid. The alabaster line of glowing light should be afraid. They were not, so they were fools. And fools were destined to be trampled and consumed by the darkness.

"Contact," said the light that was not his and was not of the Prism. It was the one at the edge. It had a call sign. They all had call signs. It didn't matter. His didn't matter. The veins in his hands sparked and danced as the trapped sunlight flowed through the wires and glancing energy.

The arms split and the light spilled forth in deep blue. His body that was not quite his fell under the wall. To his left, red. To his right, green. Further down was purple and gold and orange and even further still was the rainbow ribbon repeated in every patterned ordered. Each one interlocked and the lightning veins snapped to the whole root system. Someone took a deep breath and another let it out as slow as it came in. Crookes felt a twinge in his neck that someone else popped.

He had the moment stretched one last time before they all collapsed into a single point of contact. The joints bent and creaked and tried to find an ounce of give that would let them snape. The light, the veins, the interlocking phalanx of vessels filled with luminary essence did not let a single strand fall out of line. The roots, the stems, every petal of the same light connected them all. They bent and they did not break. They could not break. Passive observance and stalwart opposition, the grass overturned by the maw and the hoof, the line did not falter for it could not falter.

Like water, like bending reeds in the soft breeze, Crookes took the weight through the body that was not his. The light gave him words and the meaning through them, without naming the letters and arranging them in order. His heels tightened and sunk into the earth. They would not move. He would not move. Someone yelled through the light as the weight stopped following through them. It stopped at them, everyone once compressed into one point on his body. The light the shimmering light of rainbow knots held and Crookes willed the wall to stand.

The wall stayed with each tusk and heavy fold of leather skin pressing into the light with panic and terror and all things horrible. Crookes let the breath take him. He was in the vessel and he could not be moved.. The shield took the tusk to the side and the shield to his left screamed at him to not do that.

The light could not win in its static formation. The immovable and the unstoppable only end in the statement destruction of one or the other. So, the immovable must become unstoppable in its own motion. The veins said the meaning without words and Crookes closed his eyes and sighed. Cold, the sharp cold of snowed in mornings, flowed through the connecting nerves. And it was sharpening the mind with ice in his veins as the light phalanx in his hand changed to pierce and part and spread the world open. To the right, to the left, each and every wall of colored hue took the brunt made for him. The light in his ear yelled at him to hold the position. He did not. The vessel suggested movement and Crookes was suggestable. So, he took a step forward. He was not immovable. He was unstoppable, and he kept parting the herd side to side, forcing the flow of mammoth bodies to curve to his will.

The yelling, screaming light halted in contemplation once the action was fully evaluated and each box checked against the regulations. The math was run and the numbers came back. Someone looked them over, doubled checked them, suggested a variable to control for and Crookes kept moving forward. He was only taking soft shuffling steps. Tiny little gaps to change the world to a flow, a flow of light and energy and panic around him.

The light came once more with words to soothe and quiet and ease. The tone shifted and found urgency in the flow. Walls of light, interlocking bricks of vein energy on earthen delight, they pushed as one. A plow to field, begging the forgiveness of cut worms and trampled roots. The herd parted.

Crookes found the breath of the other side. The world was clear and clean under the sprinkling rain. So clear, the curve of the wavering grass. Grass, dull gray green trampled grass and turned roots. The clear glass showed him the edges of the beast sea. It parted. It parted and moved around the walled city, away from the light, chasing the open plains so inviting. There was grass and an open sky under the clouds. He was calm. The words came through the light again. They had meaning again.

"Incandescent 1," said the light, "Come in Incandescent 1."

"Acknowledged, Prism Base. HQ. Whatever you are."

"Incandescent 1, this is Prism Station. Confirm status. Readings show dangerously low energy reserves."

"I could use a nap if you're asking. Had a big day and all that."

"Can you move?"

The lights faded and flickered as the will made manifest the desire for motion. He could move. The vessel could move. Everything could do the things it was supposed to do and all the words that came after gave the idea that it was right. Slow, it had to be slow. But it worked. And it marched in time with the others. They said words and the light said words. Some had meaning. Some did not. Crookes didn't care. He was tired and so was the vessel. Two excursions in two days and that was enough to take it out of anything. The light said some more words that weren't quite official and they were from Klieg. That made him go a bit faster.

---

Crookes sat at the edge of the pond again and watched the birds circle in some display of dominance and territory claimant. He could not go in. They could not come out. Everything was in balance. He did not come with offerings and that was foolish, but he was also content to stay over there and bother no one. All in all, an uneasy truce to keep the peace. No one wanted a fight, but everyone was certainly prepared for one. Crookes had his clouds to stare at though, soaking up the sun that danced between them. He had his shapes that he didn't feel like naming. He didn't feel like doing much of anything really. So, he didn't.

A bag of seeds hit him on the head and that meant he had to do something, if only to ensure that the food did not go to the tyrannical birds on the water.

"Radiance is still mad at you," said Klieg as she sat down next to him.

"Alright. Are they going to kick me out of my vessel?" he asked.

"No. But they should. It's not your vessel, anyway. And they're still mad."

"Got it. Always follow orders."

"Unless they make the wrong call."

"Are you actually encouraging insubordination, officer?"

"I'm not an officer yet. And I think I am. Is this how you feel all the time? It's kind of nice."

Crookes shrugged and went back to his clouds. They had fun shapes.

"What's it like in the vessel," she asked the world at large. Crookes took a moment to let the thoughts collect and percolate into something coherent.

"Tapped into the vein of the world stellar energy, riding solar flare thought drip of light, sugar rush madness into calm psychedelic acid trip."

"Last time it was wave cresting chlorophyll condensation, tube wire spark and color hue collision, thee world made one in soft energy spikes under the skin of grass."

"It all means the same thing. It's nice, if you want a succinct explanation. Don't know why you never tried it out. You could probably pivot if you want."

"I just want to operate the radios, Crookes. Turn dials, run numbers, watch gauges."

"What's that like?"

"Clicky. The radios make very fun noises when you hit the buttons. What about the vessel buttons?"

"Never really paid that much attention to it. It all just melds into a botanical symphony tone collision. Any ETA until I'm back up and running?"

"With the cloud cover, probably two days. So, you are now officially placed on leave, Crookes. Congratulations. And so am I, for that matter, but I have no idea how to spend it."

"Cloud gazing?"

"You know, that's not the worst idea I've heard today."