September 1 - Scrape

Scrape, scrape, scrape. Clank.  Small puffs of dust kick up with Nahi’s every dragging step, and each one makes her wobbly oddly under my guiding hand. The fluid in her suspension leaked away long ago, lost to the dust and the sands, and I haven’t been able to scavenge a replacement. Every fourth step makes a loud clunking sound, which is worrying. It was a good scavenging run, and my packs are full of spare parts, but I’ll probably need to do a full leg overhaul and I don’t have the tools with me. It’ll have to wait until I get back to the workshop, I just hope the old mule holds together that long.

At last, through the beige veil of the perpetual dust storms that blanket my home region, I see the rocky outcrop that is the first landmark leading to my workshop. The dust is annoying, getting into cracks and crannies that I never imagined could exist, in my machines and in me. However, it does an admirable job of keeping my home from prying eyes, and I have more reason than most to be wary of intruders. It’s unfortunate, but bandits abound, and they don’t discriminate those they steal from. I would make a more valuable catch than most, and more than one roving band has attempted to kidnap me and force me to make war machines for them.

After the outcrop, I follow a long glassy furrow, no doubt from some huge weapon. I never really bothered to find out, and anyway, it’s exceeding unlikely that anyone with that kind of knowledge would still be alive. After the furrow ends there are a couple twists and turns through the rising ravine walls, and in a crevice is the opening to the workshop. I lead Nahi through the opening, and peel off my headscarf and goggles, pressing the button to open the outer door as I pass. I take an airjet and blow the dust off of Nahi, trying to get as much out of the cracks as I can. The packs go in a bin to be sorted later, and my sand gear goes in a separate one. I unlatch Nahi’s side and plug in her charge cable, before walking around to get a good look at her. Basically, she’s a four legged barrel. She has a flat top to strap bulky or myself to and rails along her sides for tying smaller packs. She has a large ring at one end for when I need her to pull something, and four sturdy hydraulic legs. I call her a mule as a flight of fancy, since she bears some passing resemblance to a quadrupedal beast of burden from many years ago.

I strap a sling around her belly, and winch her into the air before decoupling the rattling leg. I built her about five years ago, and since then have had to do countless repairs and tweaks, so this shouldn’t take long. Something likely snapped when I had her shifting the golem carapace so I could get at the core. I carry the leg over to my workbench and set it down with a clatter that doesn’t quite mask another sound, something out of place. I turn to find the point of a long shiv hovering in front of my left eye.

“Welcome home, maker.”