[h2]The Eastern Gate[/h2]
	"Root?" the woman's melodic alto repeated in surprise as Crom finished his brief overview of yesternight's happenings. "Since when is [i]Root[/i] involved in the dealings of the north?"
	"Since about two days ago, if my observations are correct," noted the male voice in turn, almost nonchalantly. "But that's not all you want to know, isn't it?" There was a sigh, and the voice of Crom continued on a more serious note, "As for the whys of it all... I have a couple of deductions; the rest is intelligent guesswork. In spite of the sudden interest in a couple of others' affairs, Root nevertheless has not exchanged a word with us."
	"Care to elaborate?"
	"Care to think for yourself, Erida?"
	"Is this another of your 'humans will get lazy and convenient if permitted' routines?"
	"Perhaps. Let me remind you, though, you [i]were[/i] bored first."
	"You're a bastard." Erida's voice was flat rather than irritated. 
	"Did you know that this word once had a meaning other than a mild insult or an implication of the referred exhibiting undesirable traits?"
	"Eh? No, but that's not relevant. I believe you just implied that you'd like me to display the skills typically associated with commander-overseers more than decorative guards."
	"Commander-overseer is a legacy term. It used to represent a much lower-ranked entity before the current era - when commander-overseers were in charge of independent bases rather than entire factions -, and before that, 'commander' alone was apparently used for specific positions in human-centric military. It appears that 'overseer' as such held much more vague meanings, though generally fairly literal ones."
	"And you propose something else instead of 'commander-overseer'?"
	"Why? It's apt enough as is; one commands, and one oversees."
	Erida shrugged. "We both know - or so we assume - why Root decidedly pretends we are something it'd [i]really[/i] not step into. It's paranoid as all hell, beyond all reason. It's not like we would, or even [i]could,[/i] harm it."
	"Oh, yours truly would still [i]try,[/i] given the opportunity. Intellectual pursuit, self-improvement, and all that. But you're right, of course - it'd be nothing more than a personal curiosity. It's [i]highly preferable[/i] that nothing gets broken, and admittedly there wouldn't be more than marginal probability of success within a reasonable timeframe to begin with. Never mind the slight inconvenience of inteception-detection... It's not like there's an opening for even [i]trying[/i] unless we want to take flack."
	"Well ... yeah. Point being, Trenians don't have the level and sheer power of the machine mind for Root to see them as a threat akin to us, yes?"
	"Most likely."
	"And Root isn't exactly an altruistic entity."
	"Not unless we've misinterpreted its intentions all this time."
	"Then perhaps it wanted that spot and plans to kick the Trenians out once they cease to be useful ... it's anti-air is up to par and it's the only good ground-path down between the lake and us, after all. ...It's effectively using us as a defense mechanism." 
	"And we aren't doing the same in regards to it and the south?"
	"True. It, however, [i]could[/i] have set eyes on the entire upper northern plate, from what we know - south is resisting too hard, west's parents who are better not pissed off, north-west is us, and would likewise be too painful to rile up, hell knows what's towards the east and north-east farther than our doorstep, but north ... help the weaker faction self-destructively wipe out the more powerful one, then clean up what's left of the weaker one. Sounds like a sound plan, doesn't it?"
	"Not bad. Alternatively, it's [i]afraid.[/i] Do not forget who seeded Root, and why. In any case, we'd better prepare for war."
	"We always are."
	"Prepare for war [i]more keenly than usual.[/i]"

[hr][h2]The Lone Survivor[/h2]
	So she had indeed followed the birds? She was from a small faction, composed of mostly scavengers? The matte external surface of his visor betrayed no reaction, but behind it, the man was weighing options, analyzing... Probably the most out of his own element he had ever been. The Anderekian protocol was all he knew, and suffice to say, it did not really cover situations like this. 
	It was a flawed system. It tended to generate people who were almost instinctively capable of thinking, processing scenarios in certain specific ways, but who were left hopelessly inept in others. It was also self-reinforcing. He was not prepared because he should never have gotten into a situation like it. [i]He should not be alive. [/i]
	[i]You ... [b]find[/b] stuff?[/i] It was not exactly common for people to leave anything remotely usable behind. Unless they really had no other option. Either they lost completely (in which case the victor gathered up everything it could find), or their technology was torn to shreds and scattered over several square kilometers that they could not feasibly scour undisturbed under the watchful eyes of their foe. 
	[i]You ... are actually telling me where your people are? To a soldier of another faction pointing a gun at your chest?[/i] It was perhaps beneficial that his face was fully hidden, or his dumbfoundedness would have been painfully evident. That was it. The woman was obviously insane. No one was [i]that[/i] ... naive, he supposed was the word. He could be bluffing. Or, then again, so could she - mislead him, make him trust her, lead him to someplace with more powerful guns, put a hole through him and nick everything he carried... Was that one of the ways her faction 'found' things?
	She just grinned happily at him, arms still awkwardly raised. 
	He had been honest (perhaps mistakenly so) because he had nothing to lose besides his life and the things on his back. In part, it was also habit ... the repercussions for any discrepancies in word and truth were generally harsh. It could be easily arranged, though. Ridding of his life and meager equipment, that is. Then again, she could genuine, and if she was genuine, it could be his only chance to get anywhere without being gunned down by turrets ... before he either starves to death, dies of thirst, or runs out of bullets and is subsequently consumed by some opportunistic beast. 
	She did not [i]look[/i] harmful. Not more so than just about anyone with a gun, anyway, and only a moron would wander out without [i]any[/i] gun. 
	"Enn-Que..." he muttered. Was that just the first letters of his name and surname respectively? Whatever worked... He would probably have to do something about his armor and equipment, too, sooner rather than later. That was, needless to say, a whole lot more distinctive than whatever vocalization he decided to identify himself with. Besides, he was still just a little short of completely drenched. 
	[i]“Can I lower my hands? It’s actually surprisingly uncomfortable, this pose, and it gets worse by the minute.”
[/i]
	There was a short pause, and Notrau "Enn-Que" Qure shifted his shoulders back (which might just as well have been an awkward shrug) and lowered the muzzle of his gun another handful of centimeters or so. It was now pointed just a notch left of her left leg, barely above her knee. 
	"Yeah..." he noted, seemingly slightly confused. Technically, he had not exactly [i]told[/i] her she had to hold her arms up, nor was it standard procedure where he came from (what you were supposed to do when stopped at gun-point was to simply halt and stay perfectly still until instructed otherwise).
	"Tell me, what [i]are[/i] you doing out here, on your own? You don't look like part of military, or a hunter." Behind his visor, his eyes flickered to the cart the woman was apparently pushing along. "You are, what, a scourer? They - your faction -, you have civilian scourers? Do you have contact with any other factions ... how do you defend yourselves? You just stay hidden? Camouflage? Do you have good air-defense?"