The medical centre in the forward command base was around half full. Scraegans didn't leave a lot of wounded, and many of the frontline units had little choice but to triage where they were, not wanting to risk their casualties being caught in an enemy counter attack.

Ryke walked through it carefully, doing his best to dodge fast-moving orderlies and combat medics, attempting to block out the smattering of agonized screams that tore through the main tent. The ground beneath his feet was surprisingly clean as men and women scrubbed the place with ruthless efficiency. Infection was probably more deadly than any bodily harm might have been given the advances in trauma treatment on Rychter.

Most of the people he could see were militia or scout troops, but he could see non-combatants as well, people from the support staff of the human army: cooks, technicians and adjutants who normally wouldn't have come within miles of a place like this. Then Ozzmar happened and all of that changed.

He found her on a bed near the back, propped up against the pillows and looking a lot more like her old self than she had for several days. Ivy lounged with a bored expression on her face, a fresh set of Engineering Cadre overalls clinging to her slim frame, rolled down to her waist to reveal a grey tank-top. The blood had long since been cleaned from her face, leaving a neatly sutured scar that ran just past her temple and back, cutting a thin slash through her hairline.

When she saw him her eyes lit up and a grin crossed her face.

"Corporal," he said, smirking mischievously. 

"Sergeant," she returned, before reaching out a hand.

Ryke grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it into place beside her, perching on it as he took her hand gently in his. "You look good."

"You saying I didn't before?" A wink. "I feel better."

"You going to be getting out of here soon?"

"I better. Can't do any good shut up in this tent." Ivy shrugged. "I've got another day of 'observation' before I'm allowed back to my unit."

"They're just making sure."

"I'm fine."

"If I told you my Hunter-Killer was fine, would you take my word for it, or would you check for yourself?"

She pulled a sour face. "I suppose. But being cooped up here... I feel like I need to do something, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Ryke nodded sympathetically, at the back of his mind wondering exactly how to broach the subject of his impending march into the unknown. Fortunately, Ivy knew him well enough that she didn't need to wait for him to figure it out.

"So what's with you?" she asked, giving him a light slap on the chest. "You look like you just stole my shiner."

He squirmed awkwardly. "I'm heading out again, soon."

"You've been in and out of the fighting this whole time." Ivy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "It doesn't usually bother you."

"This is a little different."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"You remember back in Brekka, when I went to speak to the Scraegan we captured?"

"Not likely to forget it." Her expression morphed to one of accusation. "But last I checked we didn't have any captives to talk to."

"We don't."

"So you're, what...?"

Ryke managed a rueful smile. "Got to head out there and say hello the old fashioned way."

"Riverlords, Ryke!" She slapped his chest again. Harder. "Are they seriously sending you guys out there to talk? Like the Scraegans are going to talk to a bunch of gun-toting Hunter-Killers on the battlefield?"

"No, no, they didn't think so either."

"Then what...?" Her eyes went wide. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

"It's the only way."

"It's insane!"

"Insane's about all we've got on the table right now." He gripped her hand tighter, squeezed. "Ivy, you know better than anybody what we're dealing with now."

He hated himself when he saw her whole body flinch. She'd probably spent a lot of time in the medical centre trying to forget what had happened in Ozzmar, but right now, for her to understand, he needed her to remember it.

"You saw what those things will do," he continued. "And it's getting worse. They're spreading."

She nodded and said in a small voice, "I heard."

"Believe me, if I thought anybody had a better chance of getting this done than me, I'd let them go. Unfortunately I'm the closest thing we have to a diplomat at the moment."

"So you've got to go out there all by yourself, and get yourself killed trying to make peace with the things we've been at war with for as long as I've been alive?" Bitterness dripped from her voice. "I know the risks you take when you get into a Hunter-Killer, Ryke, and I can handle that. But this...? They have no right to ask you to do this."

"I volunteered."

"Ryke..." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, exhaling through her nose. "You really think you have to do this?"

"Someone has to." He stood up, still holding her hand. Something inside him sensed he should get out of here before Ivy managed to talk him out of it. Looking at her now, the thought of never seeing her again put a crack in the resolve he'd been building up over the past day and a half of preparation.

"The one thing we know is that those things kill Scraegans as well as humans – they're nobody's friend. If we can stop the fighting, even temporarily, it could give us the time we need." Ryke sighed, easing away from the bedside. "We've got to deal with them somehow, and we can't do it with one arm tied behind our backs."

"I've got some ideas about that myself," she replied, her voice suddenly colder than he'd ever heard. Cheerful, brash and ruthlessly efficient she might have been, but never cold. She was doing her best to hide it, but horrors of Ozzmar had twisted something inside her that couldn't be unwound.

She must've seen the look in his eye. Quickly scrambling up off the bed, she grabbed him and yanked him into a fierce hug, squeezing their bodies together as though imprinting herself on him. Then she turned her head; he turned to face her. Their lips met and he inhaled her smoky, metallic scent, letting his eyes close as he pulled her close. His hands found her waist first, then the small of her back, then climbed, one pressing between her shoulder blades and the other cupping the back of her neck.

Ivy let out a faint squeak of appreciation, her nails digging into his shoulders from behind as she drove the kiss deeper. Seconds bled away into the noise of the medical equipment, the low hum of conversation melting into the background fuzz. When she finally pulled her head away she let out a gasp. He opened his eyes; found hers were still shut an expression on her face of someone recalling a joyous, long lost memory.

It took a few seconds for their hands to catch up with their mouths, the pair easing reluctantly apart. His fingers lingered on the base of her spine, resting against the soft band of skin where her tank top had slid up just a fraction. She finally looked at him.

"You know, the last time you pulled a stunt like this you really scared me," she told him softly.

Ryke winced. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have to put you through this again."

"Well, how about this time we make a deal? A little something to bring you back safe."

"Anything."

A coquettish smile flashed across her face. "You come home alive from this one, sergeant, and I promise I'll have something special waiting for you."

"Yes, ma'am." Ryke saluted with a grin before she kissed him again.

*

At first it hadn't been so bad, riding out on a Scout Cadre skiff towards the front lines, a guest of honour among even grizzled Scouts. Quiet words passed between them, hushed whispers of the courage, and insanity, of what he was about to attempt. Before he slid down the rope to dismount from the skiff, the sergeant in charge shook him firmly by the hand; wished him luck.

Then he was in amongst the battle lines. Hunter-Killers stalked back and forth behind a zipping curtain of Scout Cadre sentries. Militiamen and woman hunkered down in trenches, smoking, eating and chatting as best they could under the shadow of all out war. He wove between them, passing grumbling tanks dug into fortified burrows in the line. Immense artillery pieces with barrels he could have climbed inside blended into the landscape, their armoured hulls painted to the match the browns, reds and scorched oranges of the wasteland.

Even walking out from those trenches toward the Scraegan positions hadn't frightened him, as long as he remained comfortably screened by the massed batteries of human tanks and self-propelled guns.

Only when he finally passed beyond the protection of the guns did Ryke to start wishing he'd allowed the honour guard to accompany him. The barren, shell-torn expanse of no-man's land stretched out before him, with the dark, snaggle-toothed vastness of the Scraegar Labyrinth glaring from the horizon. He allowed himself a silent prayer to the Riverlords that his soul wouldn't be claimed by such a hellscape.

His boots crunched on uneven ground and he quickened his pace, eager to be done with this mad scheme. A long, rectangular pack hung awkwardly across his back, padded to protect the oversized data slate Hackley had furnished him with. His legs, arms and torso were tightly wrapped in plates of militia armour, more to protect him from the elements than anything else. He wore a set of heavy goggles and the lower half of his face was swaddled in a dark fabric mesh to filter the dust and grit from the air he was breathing.

Ryke reached the top of a sloping rise and took a deep breath, dust clawing at the filtering mesh wrapped around his face. He looked back once. He could just barely see the moving shapes of the human forces, dust and sand dancing on the breeze and making it hard to make out without the advanced optics of his mech.

Thoughts of his last embrace with Ivy put a measure of steel into his spine, a determination to see this through. To keep himself alive? Yes. To get whatever surprise she had waiting for him? Absolutely. And in the process, he just might be able to save a lot of lives. Maybe he was aiming too high, but these were strange times. He'd accomplished a lot since stepping out into the Stamm Basin training grounds over a year ago. Maybe he could accomplish just a little bit more today.

"You okay out there, Vannigan?" Major De Lunta asked over the comm, the Hunter-Killer watching from somewhere in that line.

"Just fine, sir," Ryke lied, searching the line. "I'd ask you to wave but I don't think I'd be able to see it."

"Don't suppose I could convince you to turn around and come back here, son?"

"Oh, I think you could if I gave you the time," he laughed, turning away and letting the smile buoy his courage. "But who else is going to do this?"

"Not a soul brave enough." An uncomfortable pause crackled on the comm for a moment. "If they do start shooting, Vannigan, you just scream for us before you duck and cover. I'll get you out of there."

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that." Ryke took another steadying breath and squared his shoulders. "But I appreciate the thought. Wish me luck."

"Riverlords carry you, sergeant."

Not trusting himself to wait another second, he stepped out. One boot then the other bit into the gritty, sand-caked surface of the slope and he started downwards. A dozen steps later the human line disappeared from sight and he really was lone.

The Scraegans were watching him. He just knew it. His skin crawled and his mouth felt dry, a feeling of fragility enveloping him without the massive metal bulk of his Hunter-Killer. He didn't even have a rifle. Not that it would make the slightest difference if the Scraegans decided to wipe him from existence, but it might have made him feel better.

Trying not to think about just how vulnerable he was, he trudged on.

Huge, low ridges of rock closed in on him as he approached the Scraegan line. There were no trenches here, no bunkers, no sign of anything constructed. If he didn't know better he'd have said there was nothing out here at all. Sadly he did know better, and as he got closer he could see the unmistakable mounds of disturbed earth Scraegan warriors could emerge from in the blink of an eye. From somewhere he began to hear a low, guttural chanting.

It wasn't until he was almost right at the sheer face of one of the ridge-topped warrens that he finally saw the Scraegans.

In the shadows massive shapes growled in the gloom and he saw the glint of furnace cannons. Pinpricks of light ebbed into prominence and the low, snarling hum of the weapons charging froze him to the spot. The first of them took a lumbering step into full view from behind a rocky outcrop, a warrior that loomed over him, black hide augmented by thick brazen plates of armour.

Ryke raised his hands, almost moving in slow motion in his attempts to remain unthreatening. The warrior snorted, cannon still sizzling, but the weapon didn't seem to be charging up to fire. At least that was something. He glanced to his left and right. Two more Scraegans edged into view, one of them barely visible as it lay half-buried in loose dirt.

He stayed still for several seconds before turning on the spot, hoping that they could see he wasn't carrying any weapons. Part of him wanted to speak, to shoot off some lame ice-breaker, but the Scraegans wouldn't understand it. Worse, they might react badly to it. He kept his mouth shut.

Stick to the plan.

Instead of using his own inadequate lungs, Ryke gently eased the data slate out of its case and brought it around in front of him, keeping it in full view so the warriors could see that it wasn't a weapon. Praying to every watching Lord, he laid the slate down flat on the ground and pressed the button to power it up. Light flashed as it came to life; he saw the closest warrior reveal its blunt canines in a suspicious growl.

From the data-slate a three dimensional image sprang into life. Two figures appeared on it, one vast, one diminutive, a human and Scraegan facing each other. Ryke didn't need to look at it to know what it showed – he'd lived it. The memory would never, ever fade away. It was the craziest, stupidest thing he'd ever done.

Until now, at least.

For a short time the recording played out, showing his encounter with the Scraegan priest they'd taken captive in Brekka what felt like a lifetime ago. It showed them speaking, or at least trying to; more importantly, showed them not trying to kill each other. Noise crackled out over the eerie quiet of the Scraegan line. The first stage finished, and next showed the footage from his Hunter-Killer's battle camera, the first encounter with the new menace that plagued Rychter's southern regions.

He saw the Scraegan bristle when it saw the arthropod, its huge frame tensing at even a virtual display. There was a scraping sound as the warrior dragged the blade of its jagged axe against the earth. The recording carried on, showing his decision not to kill the Scraegans that had aided them in the fight.

With that done, a full composite image of the arthropod monster appeared, still and rotating slowly on the spot. Ryke pointed at the image on the display and cleared his throat, preparing to attempt a very small word in the Scraegan language, one that kept cropping up even though its meaning remained opaque.

"All-Na?" he ventured, coughing out the strange phrase in the closest approximation of the Scraegan language his human lungs and mouth could manage.

The effect was immediate, and not the one he wanted.

The warrior let out a snarl, snorting an angry breath from large nostrils as it took a step forward. The low whine of the furnace cannon charging filled Ryke's ears and fear exploded in his chest. Fire swelled in the great gullet of the cannon that swung to bear on him.

He flinched back and gathered a breath, ready to yell into the radio, ready to bring De Lunta and the Hunter-Killers thundering across the plain in a futile attempt to rescue him. The cannon's maw boiled balefully, seconds from unleashing a blast that at this range would reduce him to ashes.

Then a sudden, guttural bark cut across the air at a volume that made his eardrums thrum with pain. He grimaced, but the Scraegan in front of him suddenly lurched back. Its cannon dropped to aim at the floor and it let out a grunt that sounded more than a little petulant, as if it had just been robbed of its fun. The hum of the cannon's charge dwindled away into nothingness.

A moment later the speaker stepped into view and Ryke could only stare.

It was an Alpha – he could tell instantly. The beast towered over the other warriors by more than a meter, its body a titanic mass of solid muscle, its head alone almost as long as Ryke was tall. Fur the colour of honey was visible beneath thick, studded plates of jet-black armour and his eyes were unwillingly drawn to the monstrous weapon hanging from one huge paw. It looked like a pick-axe, except with four points arranged in a cross shape, and it was easily three meters in length, the barbs affixed to the point of a thick metal rod.

It trudged forward like a living piece of the world, each step shaking Ryke's ribcage. It walked past his would-be executioner until it stood in front of him, looking down through eyes that gleamed like black diamonds. Then it grunted something at him.

Terrified of reacting the wrong way, Ryke didn't move. A low, bass growl of annoyance reverberated from the thing's throat and the immense pick-axe swung down to point at him. He tried not to think about just how fast his heart was beating, staring at the colossal weapon. The point started moving. His eyes followed.

Then he realised the Alpha was pointing.

Walk.

A jolt of shock rattled him from skull to toe and he exhaled the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Forcing his jellied legs to move, he did as indicated, putting one foot in front of the other, still expecting at any moment to be smashed into a bloody pulp.

But it didn't happen. He kept walking, past the other Scraegan warriors, then he heard the deep thump of the Alpha's footsteps behind him. Ryke paused, looking instinctively back over his shoulder to find the huge warrior glaring down at him. It tossed its head with a snort, indicating that he should keep going.

Turning back, Ryke squared his shoulders, eyes wide behind his goggles.

And with the Alpha following, he walked on, scared, stunned and amazed, but very much alive.