Kururrungku wasn’t much more than a scattering of low buildings, rusted sheet metal roofs, and sun-faded signs flaking into the dirt. The red-baked land around it stretched endlessly toward the horizon, interrupted only by termite mounds and the distant glint of the Billiluna airstrip to the southeast. But it was shelter, and for Squad X, it was enough.

  While Graff knelt beside the towering, dust-worn leg of Iron Scarab, mumbling to himself as he examined exposed conduits and fused servos, the rest of the squad took the opportunity to explore the tiny town. The mechanic was clearly out of his depth—just a local who fixed old utes and solar panels, not someone used to interfacing with bleeding-edge military mechs, but he tried anyway, tapping the side of Scarab’s armor as if he could will it into cooperating.

  “You might need a specialist from Alice Springs or even Darwin to get this thing proper again.” He said, wiping sweat from his neck.

  Jessica, sitting nearby in the shade of Gravemaw’s coiled form, didn’t reply. She just stared at her inert machine, frustration simmering under her skin.

  Meanwhile, the others drifted through Kururrungku’s dirt roads. Sofia and Marcus found the local community store—a low-slung building with dusty windows and a wind-worn solar array on the roof. Inside, a woman in her 50s greeted them with a warm smile and an accent that spoke of generations rooted to this place. The shelves were a patchwork of bush goods, canned basics, old-world snacks, and even a small electronics corner with frayed wires and half-functional solar radios.

  “You folks with the machines?” the woman asked, handing over a packet of long-life milk.

  “Yeah,” Marcus replied with a nod. “Just passing through.”

  “Bit far from any warzone, aren’t you?”

  Sofia gave a non-committal smile. “Maybe that’s the point.”

  Chika and Lucas wandered to the shaded back of the store, chatting quietly with a pair of teenagers sitting on overturned crates. The boys had questions, of course—about the mechs, about what it was like to pilot them, about where they were from. Lucas gave vague answers, but Chika let a bit more slip, sketching a rough image of Gravemaw in the dust with her boot.

  Josh and Emily ended up near the old airstrip, watching the heat shimmer off the rusting remains of an aircraft that hadn’t flown in decades. Kalrex sat nearby,

  sensors occasionally flicking toward movement but otherwise silent. A few local dogs had wandered up, barking, sniffing at the mech’s limbs, but Kalrex didn’t react. It simply watched the town in quiet vigil.

  By evening, the squad had regrouped near the edge of the settlement. They’d brought back water, canned stew, some old repair fuses that might—might—be repurposed for Scarab’s lower limb systems. Jessica and Mark sat nearby, eating without talking much. The storm had passed, but the heat, the dust, and the weight of silence hadn’t.

  Jessica stretched her back with a grimace, then glanced around the group. “We need real sleep. Actual beds. Even just a floor that doesn’t have control panels sticking out of it.”

  Chika nodded, cracking her neck. “Agreed. Gravemaw’s cozy, but not that cozy.”

  Sofia was already one step ahead. She’d wandered off earlier and now returned with a short woman in loose denim and dusty boots, who looked to be in her sixties. “This is Mabel. She’s got a few spare rooms in her house, and knows a couple other folks who might be willing to offer floorspace.”

  Mabel gave them all a once-over, arms folded across her chest. “Don’t have much, but what I got’s clean. If you don’t mind dogs and the water pressure bein’ what it is, I’ll clear out the spare room and put two of you on the couch.”

  “Better than cockpit cushions digging into your ribs,” Mark muttered.

  Arrangements were made quickly. Mabel hosted Jessica, Mark, Marcus and Sofia. Josh and Lucas found a spot at a local’s home just behind the store, with two mattresses laid out in a living room. Chika and Emily were invited into the home of an older Aboriginal couple who offered tea and a folded-out foam mattress. Alex and Riley chose to stay with the mechs, saying they’d cycle off shifts to keep an eye on the gear—and Kalrex.

  The town, small as it was, had opened its doors.

  That night, for the first time in days, most of the squad had a real roof overhead. Fans whirred, dogs barked in the distance, and from a few open windows came the sound of low conversation and an old radio playing songs from decades ago.

  In Mabels home the air was filled with the gentle creak of old wood and the scent of something warm steeping on the stove—lemon myrtle tea, she explained. The living room had mismatched chairs, threadbare rugs, and framed photos of kids and dogs scattered across the walls. A fan oscillated slowly in the corner, clicking with each sweep.

  Jessica sat on the couch beside Sofia, while Mark leaned on the armrest and Marcus took the floor, cross-legged. They all looked a little too big for the space, especially after days spent inside towering military machines. Their shoulders sagged, not from exhaustion alone, but from the sudden contrast—here they were, soldiers wrapped in silence and tea instead of cockpit alarms and swarms of desert bugs.

  Mabel returned with steaming mugs and handed them out with a practiced ease. “Don’t suppose any of you are here for sightseeing,” she said as she settled into her recliner with a quiet groan.

  Jessica gave a faint, polite smile. “Not quite.”

  Mabel studied her over the rim of her mug. “Didn’t think so. That big beetle-thing out front—Iron Scarab, was it?—looks like it’s been through hell.”

  “Storm chewed her up,” Mark muttered. “And then bugs.”

  “Desert’ll do that,” Mabel said with a dry chuckle. “Used to think the worst thing out here was the heat. Then one year we had a bull ant colony move in near the shed. Dogs wouldn’t go near it. Not sure I blame your machine for breakin’ down.”

  Sofia sipped her tea carefully. “You ever see anything like what we’re driving around in?”

  Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Not that fancy, no. But back in the day, couple of older mining rigs came through, half-robotic. Nothing near your size, though. What I don’t get is, with all your tech… what’re you doing all the way out here?”

  Jessica and Marcus exchanged a glance. Then Marcus said, “Looking for someone.”

  “Important someone?”

  Jessica nodded. “You could say that.”

  Mabel didn’t pry. She just leaned back and looked toward the curtained window. “Well. You won’t find many people out here. But the ones you do meet? They’ve usually got a reason for being this far off the map.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She let the words linger for a moment, then tapped the side of her mug. “There’s a couple old fellas out past Balgo—used to be contractors or something for the military, way back. If you’re chasing shadows, they might know which ones cast the longest.”

  Jessica’s attention sharpened. “Names?”

  Mabel shook her head. “Only met them once. But folks in Balgo’ll know. It’s not far. Long road, but it cuts through cooler country. You’ll need that, if you’re dragging that poor beetle along.”

  The room was quiet for a moment, broken only by the low buzz of the fan. Then Mabel added, more softly, “Just… be careful. I’ve lived out here all my life. You don’t always like what you find when you start digging in the dust.”

  Jessica met her eyes. “Neither do we.”

  Mabel gave a slow nod. “Well. Least you’re honest about it.”

  They sat in the warmth of the little house for a while longer, sipping tea and listening to the distant sounds of the desert settling in for the night.

  Yarran and Marla’s home was swmall and smelled of burning sandalwood and stew. A breeze drifted in through slatted windows, carrying the sounds of insects and the soft crackle of a fire out back. Chika and Emily sat on low cushions in the main room while their hosts—an older Aboriginal couple named Yarran and Marla—moved with quiet grace, serving a bowl of stew to each of them.

  Their old cattle dog, Rusty, padded lazily around the room, then flopped beside Chika, his tail thumping twice before settling.

  Yarran sat near the firepit in the corner of the room, slowly working a carved piece of wood in his hands, while Marla ladled tea into clay cups.

  “So,” Marla said as she passed a cup to Chika, “that big cat outside… yours?”

  Chika blinked. “Oh. Kalrex? No—not exactly. It's kind of with us, but it does its own thing.”

  Yarran gave a low chuckle. “I seen it when you came in. Thought it was a statue at first, till it turned its head like it was sniffing the air. Gave Rusty a good fright.”

  Rusty, hearing his name, lifted his head slightly and gave a soft “woof,” more curious than defensive.

  “Big metal cat,” Marla murmured. “Reminded me of the old stories. The ones about things walking the land that weren’t quite animal, not quite spirit either.”

  Chika looked up, intrigued. “What kind of stories?”

  Yarran set down his carving gently. “Things that come from beneath. Or far away. Not born of nature, but not without a place in it. Sometimes they come to test people. Sometimes… to guard.”

  Emily glanced at Chika. “Kalrex definitely doesn't feel like a guardian.”

  Yarran gave a slow nod. “Maybe not to you. But to something.”

  Marla’s voice softened. “Rusty wasn’t afraid after the first look. Just curious. You ever notice how animals know what we don’t?”

  The silence stretched a bit after that, contemplative. Outside, Kalrex sat perfectly still near the edge of the yard, bathed in moonlight, its sleek metallic form like some ancient guardian statue. But its eyes glowed faintly, and its head turned now and then, scanning the horizon.

  Yarran’s gaze lingered on the window. “That thing’s not just machine.”

  Chika swallowed slowly, not sure whether to agree or not.

  Marla reached over and lightly touched her hand. “You sleep now. You’ll need rest for whatever that thing’s leading you to.”

  Emily gave Chika a glance that said she was thinking the same thing. Marla was right.

  The morning air was still cool when Rusty’s wet tongue dragged across Emily’s cheek.

  She jerked awake with a groggy grunt, blinking against the dusty light creeping through the gaps in the window curtain. “Ugh—what the…”

  Rusty let out a cheerful huff, then turned his attention to Chika, giving her a generous dose of the same wake-up treatment. She groaned, swatting gently at him before sitting up.

  “Okay, okay, we’re up,” Chika mumbled, pushing her hair back as Rusty wagged his tail proudly, trotting in a circle as if satisfied with his job.

  Marla chuckled from the small kitchenette as she poured water into a dented kettle. “He’s always been better than an alarm clock.”

  After a quick thank-you and farewell to the couple, Chika and Emily stepped out into the dusty morning, joining the soft shuffle of life returning to the streets of Kururrungku. Roosters crowed somewhere in the distance, and a few locals were already tending to trucks or chatting under shaded verandas.

  Near the edge of town, where the mechs were parked just outside the main dirt road, the rest of the squad had gathered. The towering silhouettes of their machines glinted in the early light—tall and still against the sky. Kalrex paced idly beside them, looking more like a restless animal than a military machine.

  Jessica and Mark stood beside Iron Scarab, its armor streaked with red dust and the faded residue of the storm. Nearby, Graff—the local mechanic—was crouched with a toolkit beside one of its lower joint panels, wiping sweat from his brow even in the morning cool.

  He stood as Chika and Emily approached, wiping his hands on a rag. “Sorry, folks. I went over what I could. Replaced a couple scorched relays, cleaned out some of the sand-choked actuators… but it ain’t sparking to life.”

  Jessica climbed down from the cockpit hatch, her brows furrowed. “It powers up, but it’s like the link is dulled. No feedback, no movement. Like it’s rejecting the input altogether.”

  Mark shrugged, clearly frustrated. “We can’t brute force it. It’s gotta sync properly or it’s deadweight.”

  Graff scratched his chin. “This machine’s got more brain in it than any car I’ve ever worked on. Might need something more… specialized. Sorry.”

  Jessica gave him a tired smile. “You did what you could. Thanks for trying.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said. “Wish I could’ve done more.”

  The squad stood in a loose half-circle, taking in the reality of the situation. Iron Scarab wasn’t going anywhere on its own for now.

  Gravemaw and Serpent’s Coil rumbled faintly as they idled nearby, ready to pull the beetle-like mech again if needed. Kalrex watched them quietly from the side, eyes gleaming as it sat low on its haunches like it was waiting for someone to make a decision.

  Sofia leaned against her mech’s foot. “Looks like we’re towing again.”

  “Better to move than sit here,” Josh muttered. “We’re still a long way from wherever this trail leads.”

  Gravemaw and Serpent’s Coil repositioning to hook into Iron Scarab—Jessica brushed off her hands and turned to the others, voice carrying just enough to catch their attention.

  “Before we head out,” she said, “Mabel mentioned something last night. Said there might be some old military contractors—or engineers—holed up in a town not far from here. Balgo, I think she called it. Supposed to be south-east of here.”

  Mark glanced over from tightening the harness straps on Iron Scarab’s drag rig. “Retired military types?”

  Jessica nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t know much beyond that—just that they used to service defense systems back before everything consolidated. If even one of them knows anything about mech internals, they might be able to do more than just poke around with a wrench.”

  Chika crossed her arms, thoughtful. “Could be worth the detour. Scarab won’t make it anywhere useful if we keep dragging it forever.”

  Emily glanced toward Jessica. “You trust Mabel’s info?”

  Jessica shrugged. “She’s lived out here all her life. If anyone knows who’s still floating around in the dust, it’d be someone like her.”

  Marcus gave a nod, wiping the sweat already gathering under his cap. “Alright then. We pass through Balgo, see if there’s anyone left who knows how to speak mech.”

  “Still gonna be rough terrain,” Sofia added, eyeing the sun creeping higher. “Let’s move before it gets worse.”

  Kalrex gave a subtle snort, almost impatient, then started walking ahead on all fours, casting a glance back as if saying, What are you waiting for?

  With a groan of metal and creak of synthetic muscle, the convoy of mechs began rolling out again.

  High Marshal Drevan Orxe stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the flickering map of Australia on the holo-display. A pulsing red dot blinked faintly in the northwest interior—small, almost unnoticeable, but unmistakable to those who knew what it meant.

  “Confirmed?” he asked, voice sharp as steel.

  “Yes, High Marshal,” Tech Commander Renn Tazik replied, stepping forward from his terminal. “The beacon embedded in Iron Scarab was manually triggered. It only pinged our encrypted channel for a moment, but it gave us a geolocation marker. About 30 kilometers outside Kururrungku.”

  “That’s Squad X’s last known position,” Field Master Corven Deyas said, arms crossed. His tone was cool but heavy. “They’re with Kalrex.”

  Drevan nodded slowly. “Kalrex defected and Squad X is aiding in its concealment. We can’t ignore this any longer.”

  He turned to Corven. “Mobilize a full tracking squad. Top grade. No expendables.”

  Corven nodded. “I’ll pull from Specter Division. Silent, fast, precise. They won’t see them coming.”

  “We’ve waited too long already,” Renn muttered. “If they get Kalrex into deeper Outback, we’ll lose all tracking again.”

  “Then we don’t give them the chance,” Drevan said. “I want them intercepted before they reach Balgo.”

  Lyn looked up. “And if Squad X resists?”

  “They won’t be our concern,” Drevan said coldly. “Kalrex is the target. Recover it. Terminate if necessary.”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  Then Corven stepped away, already issuing orders to the Specter Division. Renn returned to his terminal to coordinate tracking uplinks. And the High Marshal watched the blinking dot flicker on the map, a faint heartbeat pulsing in the dust of the red desert.