Zayn ducked around a wagon and dashed across the street. He was breathless but kept moving. He wanted to get a good spot.

Like many others, he was heading for the depot to watch the caravan roll into Stead Windemere. It was not a rare occurrence. They got caravans large and small daily, but this caravan always drew a crowd.

Clan Kestryl usually ran three full-size rigs plus a medic rig. Like every caravan, they always brought mail, news, and goods from other steads. It was an event when Kestryl rolled into Windemere because their rigs were among the sleekest on the trails and their crew the most experienced and skilled.

Zayn entered the depot and found a place at the front of the growing crowd. He was fascinated by the long, armored rigs and even more so by the Roamers that crewed them. Zayn spent countless hours studying old logs and devouring stories of life on the trails. He was especially enamored of Kestryl. It was the only Clan he ever saw with a young man his age aboard.

Zayn never had the opportunity to speak to the young Roamer, but he dressed and moved like a Roamer. Their swaying, rolling gait was natural after all the hours they spent on the trails. Whenever Kestryl rolled in, Zayn would watch them disembark and shadow the boy until the Boss took him off to market or sent him back into the rig.

Cheers went up as the gates ground open to allow the first rig of Kestryl to enter the depot. He applauded with the rest as it swung wide and angled into one of the waiting bays. The mid-rig, rear, and medic rigs soon followed.

Zayn waited with the crowd while each rig settled into a bay.  After a few minutes, the crew pushed open various doors, opening vents and hoods to air out the rigs. The cockpit doors of the mid and rear rigs swung open as their pilots climbed out, and Zayn searched the milling Roamers for the boy. His eyes widened as the cockpit of the Boss rig opened and the one he was looking for stepped down.

***

Vael eased his foot on the accelerator and carefully guided the rig into the waiting bay. Once the guidelights flipped green, he set the brakes, threw the rig into neutral, and slowly released his breath.

"Boss rig docked, bay seven," he reported, pressing the com at his throat.

"Heard," the reply came through his earpiece. "Disembark when ready."

"Copy, Boss," he responded.

"Vael."

He paused as his harness released. "Yeah, Boss."

"Damn fine driving, Copilot."

He took a moment to enjoy the thrill those words gave him. "Thanks, Boss."

Vael pushed back from the console and grabbed his pack. He slung it over one shoulder and pulled it up so it hung on his back. The seals hissed as he lifted the handle to open the door and take the steps down from the cockpit.

Others from the crew met him as he stepped away from the rig and settled his coat. He still felt like he was rolling and knew he would for a few hours. Leaving the rigs always messed with their equilibrium, making them feel as though they were still swaying on solid ground.

He nodded back as several in the crew nodded and even smiled at him. He moved to follow them as they made their way through the depot to hit the market. Many would bunk with Sweethearts, kin, or companions in the Stead. Others would return and bunk on the rigs or find rented lodgings.

"Vael."

He stopped as Quyn Kestryl, Boss of Clan Kestryl, came his way. At his side was his Second in Command, Holis Col. They both wore tinted goggles down over their eyes and carried their packs over one shoulder.

"Yeh, Boss."

"You take a few days to rest up," he instructed, clasping his shoulder. "I need my Pilots tip-top for the next run."

Vael allowed himself to smile. His promotion was a significant step up in the crew, and unprecedented for a young Roamer. Most  "I will, Boss, as soon as I finish my Market walk."

Quyn shook his head, smiling back. "Not on the rig, boy," he said. "Find yourself some bunk in town and take three full days off."

Surprised, Vael nodded. He never bunked anywhere but on the rig.

"I wouldn't know where to start lookin', Boss," he admitted. "I got nobody but crew."

"I have a room."

Together they turned to the speaker. He was a Steader, about Vael's age, perhaps a little older. Vael recognized him as one of the people that always greeted the rigs. His distinct dark red hair made him stand out. Vael had become curious about him and hid a smile when the Steader started fidgeting.

He seemed unsettled by the scrutiny of three Roamers, unable to decide what to do with his hands.

"It—it's small, but it is private. You'll have a kitchen and facilities."

Quyn nodded and declared, "He'll take it. I'll settle any rent."

While Vael studied the Steader, his Boss left him to his own devices. The red hair, that almond skin...Vael recognized him.

"You watch the rigs roll in."

"Yes." Pale green eyes brightened with his smile. "We always look forward to Kestryl. I'm Zayn. Windemere," he added with a nervous laugh.

"Windemere," Vael repeated. "As in Matron Windemere."

"Yes," Zayn sighed, growing melancholy. "I have three sisters, so," he shrugged, "not much for me to do, ever. But the room is this way." He beckoned Vael to follow him.

Vael took stock of how easily Zayn moved through the crush of people. Quarters were tight on the rigs, but he was never comfortable with the crush of bodies one encountered in the Steads. Those crowds always drove Vael back to the rigs before.

Finally, they stepped up on the raised walk, and Zayn made his way up a flight of stairs to a door. Vael stood behind him while he unlocked it and stepped back.

Vael entered the room and stood aside, waiting for Zayn to follow him in and close the door. The Steader flipped a switch on the wall, and several shaded lights came on across the room.

"This is the living room," Zayn was saying. He gestured to the left. "And there's the kitchen. Back here are facilities, and the bedrooms." Zayn moved past him toward a short hallway.

"Where am I goin'?"

Zayn turned to him. "Well, this is the room," Zayn tried to explain.

Vael blinked, clearly confused. "I mean, which bunk is mine?"

Zayn smiled. "Oh, you can claim all of it. Except for the second bedroom."

Vael took a moment to digest the concept. A wave of nervous heat swept over him. He glanced around at walls he couldn't spread his arms and touch, the ceiling he couldn't reach. He had never been inside something so...big. 

"I've never had so much space to myself," he said quietly.

It was Zayn's turn to blink. This space was minuscule in Zayn's experience. The rooms he occupied at the Manor could hold the entire flat more than three times over. "Never? Where do you sleep and keep your things on the rig?"

Vael shrugged. "I have a bunk once and a quarter my height long, once my arm span wide. There's space under it and along the sides to stash my gear and goods."

"Oh," Zayn said quietly. "I suppose this would seem to be a bit much then." 

"Rigs are built to roll, not to ride."

"Good to know," Zayn nodded. "Let me show you the bedroom." He turned and walked down a short hall to a curtained doorway. He pushed it aside and tacked it up so Vael could follow him.

He stopped in the doorway, looking around at the neatly made bed, the small chest of drawers, and the tattered but comfy-looking chair.

Zayn moved to another curtained doorway, lifting it aside. "And here's the facilities. There's a tub with a shower, commode, and sink. Hot and cold water, too."

"Hot and cold?" Vael was impressed.

"All Windemere residences come with modern plumbing," Zayn explained, moving to the side of the bed to turn on a small lamp. "You can put your clothes in the chest over there."

Vael shrugged. "I haven't enough to bother."

Feeling dismissed, Zayn smoothed the quilt on the bed. He made his way out the door and let the curtain fall behind him. He stepped through another door into his room and sank into the recliner there. He wasn't sure what to do. As often as he dreamed of speaking with the young Roamer, he never imagined what they might even have in common. 

What did Roamers talk about, when they weren't Roaming? Did they even talk to Steaders about anything not related to Roaming?

"What's this?"

Zayn turned to find the Roamer in the doorway, holding back the curtain with one gloved hand.

"Oh, this is my room. I come here when I want to get away from the Manor. Which," he added trying for a smile, "is most of the time."

"This is your space."

Zayn glanced around at the various trinkets around the room. "I'm told my father purchased it before he left the Stead. I claimed it three years ago."

Vael picked up one of the models on a small shelf near the door. "You build model rigs."

"I like watching Roamers and the rigs, even when they're just cleaning and working on them," he admitted watching Vael examine the model. "I just can never get close enough to look them over."

"You've got quite a bit right. But this is wrong." He spun the tiny wheels. "We never leave the wheels exposed like that. Mad dogs'd shred 'em." Vael arched a brow at him. "I can show you our Boss rig."

Zayn leaped up from the chair. "You could?" he was breathless with excitement.

Vael nodded. "I need to grab some stuff off the Battle rig anyway, so there's no reason you can't come with."

Zayn paused. "I thought Roamers guarded their specs?"

"Yeah sure, but you're a Steader," Vael pointed out. "And I really don't know why we don't share specs. It makes no sense to me to let another Clan run a mediocre rig when they don't have to."

Vael put the model down and crossed his arms. "Where do you get your parts?"

"I make what I can't buy," Zayn replied, kneeling to pull a box from under his bed. "Or I just use little bits I find around."

Vael came into the room and folded his legs under him to kneel on the floor to investigate the box. He watched Zayn paw through colored and shiny pieces.

"I'm Vael," he said absently picking up a set of wheels. "Kestryl."

Zayn froze. "You're Boss Kestryl's son?"

Vael nodded, snapping the wheels onto a small chassis. "One and only, far as I know."

Zayn dug into the box and handed him a set of seats. "I've seen you on the rigs since you were small. Do clans always keep young ones on the rig?"

Vael shook his head. "Nah, young'uns are far too precious to risk on the trail. But," he snapped the seats in and examined his handiwork, "Mama was a Roamer, too, out'a RoShae, and I hear tell she made Pop swear he would raise me to Roam. So, he brought me up on the rigs best he knew."

Zayn watched him search for another piece, enthralled. "You grew up on the rigs?"

Vael nodded. "From what I'm told, born there, too. Mama wouldn't stay when Pop tried to put her up in Viceroy. She Roamed the whole time and birthed me right there on the Boss rig." He lowered the model to the floor. "They were fighting through a pack of mad dogs for most of her labor. She died after I was born."

"Oh," Zayn's heart ached for him. "I'm so sorry."

Vael gave him a tight smile and a sharp nod. "She was where she wanted to be. Doing what she wanted to do."

Zayn nodded, digging into his parts box again. "I never knew my father," he said. "From what my sisters tell me, he was a decent enough man. He just didn't get on well with the Matron."

Vael considered that as he snapped in another set of wheels. "You seem sad, speaking of her," Vael pointed out.

Zayn was silent for a moment, assembling another model. "I heard her once, talking to one of her aristos. She said the greatest disappointment of her life was her failure to produce four daughters."

Vael caught his arm, forcing him to look at him. "All have value," he said quietly, his dark eyes burning with a flash of amber deep within. "On the rig, even the least of us has a part to play, a job to do. If one of us falls, we pick him up. No man or child should ever doubt his worth, especially to his mother."

Zayn nodded slowly. "I just don't know what I'm worth."

"You are worth this room," Vael told him. "Worth giving me my first taste of stead-living, if only for a few days. Gettin' roof in any Stead can be costly when you have no attachments or kin. And yet, there you were, offerin' what I needed, when I needed it.

"You don't have to prove your worth to her, Zayn. You've already proven it to me."

Zayn smiled, lowering his eyes. He was touched. No one but his sisters ever spoke so kindly to him. "I just hope you'll be comfortable here."

"I'm sure I will," Vael sighed, "eventually. "I just feel...exposed."

"How, so?"

"I've never bunked anywhere but the rigs," Vael shook his head. "I'm not accustomed to all of this," he waved a hand around the room, "space. It will take some gettin' used to."

Zayn watched him sit his partially finished model down and give it a push, so it rolled across the floor. He had changed into a different shirt, and shorter fingerless gloves without buckles, but still wore the same pants and his boots.

"If you want to do some laundry, I can show you where," Zayn offered.

"I only have a few things," Vael demurred. "I can wring them out here."

"Well, do you have anything to eat in that pack?" Zayn wondered.

"Just a few bars," Vael murmured, glancing at Zayn. "Nothin' fresh."

Zayn climbed to his feet. "I can cook you something."

"So can I."

"Oh." Zayn fidgeted under Vael's dark eyes. "Do you want me to leave so you can rest?" 

"Nah," the Roamer smiled. "I'm enjoyin' the company. I've never really been alone. Rigs ain't built for solitude."

"Even in the cockpit?"

"The Copilot is at the aux console beside the Pilot," Vael said. "And I just made Copilot."

"Aren't you awfully young to have made Pilot?"

"Seventeen, yeah, sure." Vael smiled. "Never a Pilot that young, at least not that I know of. What do you have to eat? We can cook together."