Inside a large canvas tent set up in the middle of nowhere, a Scout flyer sat at a table. He browsed through files on a datapad, one gloved finger flicking from one to the next with a practiced ease while his eyes moved back and forth across the screen. If one were to look over his shoulder, all they would see would be a strange assortment of symbols and numbers arranged in paragraph form, resembling no actual words and holding no decipherable meaning.

"Raith." The voice came from the other side of the tent, where a man in Medic yellows sat elegantly on a foldout stool. An ugly bruise marred his sharp features, discoloring his nose and part of his cheek with fading greens and yellows and making his pale eyes seem all the brighter.

The Scout with the datapad glanced up at the sound of his name. "What is it, Syk?"

In response, the tall Medic deliberately glanced at the entrance of the tent, where two heavy flaps of material hung. Their weight was enough to keep the entrance "closed" and the interior of the temporary building hidden from any prying eyes. "One of yours."

Raith followed the direction of his companion's gaze. The faintest of frowns came and went, then he set the tablet down on the table. The moment his fingers left it, the screen went black.

He leaned back in the chair just as someone shoved aside one of the door flaps. A very dusty and travel-worn Scout entered, his steps purposeful despite the sweat-dampened hair plastered to his head and the dark bags under his eyes. Without a single glance around the tent, he made a direct beeline for Raith.

"Yankee." Raith greeted calmly, as if he'd been expecting the flyer. He held out a hand.

Without a single word, the Scout closed the last few feet and placed a small metal tube into Raith's waiting hand. Then he stood, clasping his hands behind his back.

Raith twisted the small cap off one side of the tube before he turned it over, allowing a small piece of rolled-up paper to slip free.

He set the tube aside and carefully unfurled the paper. It was thin and fragile, so he had to take care not to rip it. Several symbols, letters, and numbers were scribbled all over its surface in no order. It was like a child randomly drew all over the page. Yet Raith regarded it seriously, taking his time to take in every last mark.

A hound remains close to his master. Ever loyal, but loyalty is such a fickle thing. A master that becomes neglectful will come to regret it. The hound's bowl remains empty.

Raith pondered, then read the message over again, making sure he'd done the decryption correctly. Even though he'd designed the codes himself, it never hurt to double check as the slightest mistake could have deadly consequences.

The travel-worn Scout waited in silence, while Syk looked on in interest. He made no move to interfere, choosing instead to simply observe.

Finally, Raith reached into one of the slim pouches at his hip, and withdrew a lighter. He activated the tiny flame and proceeded to hold one end of the paper to the fire. The tent maintained its silence as the message was reduced to ashes.

Ignoring his audience, Raith found a new sheet of paper. Starting at the bottom left corner and then randomly jumping all over the place, he filled in empty spaces until none was left.

Once the new sheet was filled with similar symbols, numbers and letters,, he rolled up the paper, slipped it back inside the tube, and handed it back to the Scout. "Open that at dawn tomorrow," he said.

The Scout tucked the tube away, then gave a short nod of acceptance. He immediately turned and left the tent. The flaps swinging shut behind him were the only sound left in his wake. There were no sounds of his boosters launching him into the air, but both men inside the tent knew he'd be gone if they took a peek outside.

"A bone from your dog?" Syk asked slyly.

"Mm," Raith's response was entirely noncommittal.

Syk's pale eyes morphed into narrowed crescents, an expression that wasn't quite amusement, and wasn't quite suspicion. It unsettled Raith, though he didn't show it. Now that Syk knew of his "dogs", there was no point hiding it from the uncannily observant flyer.

The fact that the Elders hadn't called on him to question him about it meant that they still remained unaware. Syk hadn't told them, though why not, Raith didn't know. And that, perhaps, was more disturbing than anything else.

Syk's motives are known only to himself. Who would know what he is thinking?

There wasn't much he could do about it anyway. And if he were honest with himself, Raith wasn't concerned with Syk observing him; actually, he preferred it this way. While Syk was watching him, Raith could do the same. And perhaps, in time, he would gain insight as to what sort of workings were going on within that man's head.

Might as well throw out a bone. See what he does with it.

"It seems things are going according to plan," Raith murmured. He leaned back in his chair, lightly drumming the fingers of his good hand on the surface of the desk.

Syk merely smiled. "Whose plan?"

Ours? Or yours? It was left unsaid, though it hung between them as obvious as a glaring neon sign.

Lips twitching, Raith let his hand still, relaxing on the desk. He met Syk's gaze for a moment, then looked away, saying nothing. Syk's smile deepened, a glimmer of something briefly flashing within his eyes.

Oh, he's curious now, is he? Raith hid his own smile, instead adopting a neutral expression. "One of my men made it inside Shann Tei this afternoon."

"Is that so?" Syk sounded disinterested, but both of them knew that was just an act. "In the time it took your dog to sneak inside the larder, we could have retrieved the boy."

Raith glanced at the medic flyer, brow pinched together. That sort of argument from Syk felt incredibly shallow. And false. Yes, they wasted no small amount of time waiting for Raith's men to get into place, but both of them knew the value of information. Their fields - one medical, one reconnaissance - both were built upon a foundation of intelligence first, action second. Only an uneducated block of muscle would think gathering knowledge to be a waste of time.

So what was Syk really trying to say? Raith pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to figure it out.

"What I would like to know," he finally said, "is who built a refuge beneath the ruins of Shann Tei. No ordinary person could have accomplished such a feat."

Syk stood, and began to pace along the edge of the tent. "I imagine that such a person will not take kindly to having their refuge overridden by mutts." He paused beside the table to give Raith a pointed look. "Are you trying to flush them out?"

Raith blinked once. Then he let out a bark of laughter, which caught him by surprise as much as it did Syk, if the man's lifted brow was any indication. "Perhaps," he allowed.

"Interesting," Syk murmured, and there was a bright gleam within his eyes. He turned gently and began to pace back the way he had come. Only now there was a curious tilt to his head. "You have quite the appetite, Raith."

"Perhaps," Raith said again. He appeared neutral outwardly, though inwardly he was grinning. Got you now, haven't I?

Syk returned to his seat on the stool, one leg folding elegantly over the other. Leaning forward, he gave Raith a long, hard look. "Take care that you don't overeat, my friend. Indigestion is always...unpleasant."

"Well," Raith smiled faintly. "It's a good thing I have a medic on hand, isn't it?"

It was Syk's turn to chuckle, though it was a low, chilling kind of mirth. For a second, Raith wondered about the wisdom of trying to engage the sinister medic, then he brushed the thought away. Despite his misgivings about the flyer's motivations, he couldn't deny that his strongest support behind this little task force was none other than Syk.

No one else could even come close to keeping up with him.

"Have you heard from Maji Ra and Driskal?" Raith asked, intentionally changing the subject. It was time they got back to the true matter at hand.

Syk gestured with his hand, almost like a one-handed shrug. "No. Though I suspect they will find little. Mianka is little more than smoldering charcoal at this point."

"If they can collect any data on the machines, no matter how minuscule, it will be counted as fortuitous." Raith's fingers drummed absently on the desk once more. "We have little information as it is."

"Mm," Syk acknowledged. "Such a droll task. I am grateful you did not send me with them."

They both knew Raith would never have done that, and Raith refused to rise to the bait. "It'll keep them busy while Lante is making adjustments to the stasis field. Until that's done, there's no point in us making a move."

"How long until it's ready?"

"He estimates a few more days," Raith said. "He was also trying to analyse some of the chemical residues from Ra'Skevvor's devices, but it seems that is proving to be a challenge."

"Oh?" The medic sounded intrigued. "A chemical that our Lante does not know? I didn't think such a thing possible."

"Anything is possible," Raith said flatly. "And speaking of, I have a concern about our Talon."

That seemed to peak Syk's interest even more. If he were a dog, Raith imagined the medic's ears would have perked right up. "Ah yes, our dear Gray. He's been a bit withdrawn lately, hasn't he?"

"Indeed," Raith concurred, though he felt 'withdrawn' wasn't quite the right wording. "He's been far too quiet and subdued."

Ever since their last meeting, Gray had been acting off. Though Raith didn't know the man very well personally, he had a copy of the Talon's profile, and what he witnessed in Gray's behaviour did not match what was recorded in in his file.

"Perhaps he's distraught over the boy becoming a traitor," Syk suggested. "If it were my legacy in the question, I'd be just as ashamed."

Raith gave the medic a long look. "I doubt that's all there is to it. The Talon has faced worse hardships and betrayals in the past. It makes little sense that a mere trainee flying the coop would be enough to cause him to act strangely."

"He did seem close to the boy." Syk matched Raith's look with one of his own. "With Raven's death and the boy's betrayal, it would be a double blow. One that strikes at a very old wound, no less."

Sighing, Raith massaged his temples. The medic had a point there, he supposed. "You think he might interfere with our mission?"

"It's a possibility," Syk said lightly. He smiled, a cruel little curve to one side of his mouth. "But not one I'd put much stock in. Gray is a coward. If he was going to act, he would have done it long ago."

"People change," Raith countered mildly. He sat still, watching the derision in Syk's mannerisms. There's something there, he thought. He holds our Talon in ill regard.  There wasn't enough pieces to figure out why, so he filed it away in a small corner of his memory for later.

That appeared to amuse the medic, for he chuckled softly. "How very optimistic of you, Raith. I suppose it's to be expected, given your tendencies to take advantage of what you can. Only you would know how to make use of a gimped dog."

Was that a compliment? Raith narrowed his eyes a fraction. Or was that an insult? He sat in his chair, and with his gaze never leaving the medic, he murmured, "Perhaps."

You're not wrong, Syk. Even the most unaware hounds have their role to play.