In a future where outposts swelter beneath a nuclear sun and run-gunners patrol dusty wastelands to protect against winged creatures known as devlars, Trin is the mech at the waystation in Arens. He has a thing for the gunners: rough men with strong hands and hard bodies, who roll through his garage like the hot desert wind. Gerrick’s the best gunner around, a quick draw with a deadly aim and a penchant for sharing his pallet with young men. He has a roving eye and roaming hands, and has left a string of broken hearts in his wake. Having heard the tales of Gerrick's bravery and seen the man in action for himself, Trin has fallen in love with the man he believes Gerrick to be, and he’s sure he can change the gunner’s mind if given the chance. Gerrick’s all he wants out of this blasted world, and he tells anyone who will listen. Then Gerrick rides through Arens. He’s heard the rumors of what Trin will do for a gunner who only mentions his name. What he wants to know is, what will Trin do for him?

Trin

A little before midnight, a lone gunner sidles up beside Trin and sets his stein down on the bar. He has grizzled sideburns and long graying hair that falls back from his face in flat, wide plaits. “I ain’t seen you looking,” he says, meeting Trin’s gaze in the mirror, “but I just thought I’d stop on by anyway, see if you might be interested. Your call.”


Another night and Trin might move a little closer, touch the gunner’s forearm maybe, watch his finger trace a blue-black vein like a river winding over a map. Lowering his voice so the man would have to lean down to hear, looking up into that weathered face, he’d ask something along the lines of, “You ever run with Gerrick? I hear he was in Oriel last. You ain’t been out that way lately, have you?” Half the shit the gunners tell him is made up, Aissa’s said as much, pretty lies to get him upstairs, but as long as it mightbe true, Trin will take the chance.


Chapter 6