Novek had long thought that the problem of living in a world where entities — mysterious or mundane — decided to meddle in other people's lives, was that they didn't always meddle on your behalf.

  His very existence as a sapient entity was proof of this. No one had ever asked him if he wanted to be uplifted — not least because they couldn't. Only afterward was a sophont standing there, able to answer, or perhaps ask questions themselves of the people who had granted them their intelligence — their ‘personhood’. In his case, Novek didn't have any complex questions about the meaning of existence. He just wanted to know why.

  Others might have gotten back answers like — ‘Because we're your mommy and daddy, and we want the best for you.’

  He'd gotten back, “Shut it. You don't ask us questions. We tell you what to do, and you do it. Now, group three — your objective is to take that hill and hold it until the signal.”

  Group three, to which Novek was assigned that day, had immediately run off and taken the nearest hill. But there were two other hills nearby and no-one wanted to risk the ire of the instructors to ask which one they'd meant. So they'd taken both of the adjacent hills as well. That the hills were covered in aggressive insectoid Ber, which did not want to share their nesting grounds with a group of uplifted tigers, did not factor into the equation. Casualties had been minimal for group three, just two wounded. They had been well-trained and fought together as a pack — they'd all grown up in the desert grasslands together, after all.

  Oh right, Novek had gotten distracted. Back to his original train of thought — the problem with meddling entities is this — if you were given special capabilities, the other guy probably was, too.

  For instance, the bandit rider who had come up on their left, a faint yellow shimmer barely visible around his horse. He had caught up to them, far outstripping his compatriots, and thrown a long metal pole at their wheels, aiming to snap the spokes.

  Once more Novek aimed his crossbow at the bandit, who was currently readying a second throw, while also keeping an eye on Novek.

  Novek pulled the trigger — almost point-blank range — but a quick yellow flash encased the horse for the second time in the last minute. The horse suddenly blurred with motion, and was now a meter in front of where it had been a moment ago. It didn't affect the rider, interestingly.

  Ellie, for as serious as the situation was, had not lost her characteristic sarcasm. “So, not that I'm telling you how to do your job, but I thought you said you didn't do warning shots?”

  Novek was not amused. “It's Talent bullshit, is what it is!”

  The bandit rider let out a short laugh, and threw another pole. This one managed to stick between the spokes a moment, and Novek heard wood crack. The wheel hadn't collapsed, so it must have deflected out.

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  Novek changed tactics — he drew a set of six fanning knives, instead. Not his usual; thin, light and meant to barrage. He went with three throws of a pair each. The first pair was dodged entirely as with the bolt, but the yellow flash was far less brilliant than it had been. Perfect.

  The second pair, less than half a second later, caught the horse on the neck — hair, mostly — Novek had misjudged where they'd end up. The third pair took the rider in the arm and shoulder — the horse and rider had stayed right where they were in relation to the coach — there hadn't even been a flicker of yellow that time.

  The rider yowled in pain — less disciplined than his horse, who hadn't even flinched. Then again, these weren't big knives meant for damage, they were meant to distract or disable. And they did that — he dropped the metal pole, and yanked on the reins. His horse obeyed instantly, and veered left, breaking away to disengage. Novek didn't bother with a parting shot — that was a waste of time and ammo; the rider wouldn't be fighting again today.

  Once again Novek felt that he'd chosen wisely by not focusing on a Talent that required active defense. A dash or dodge was only usable in short bursts — and that was a dead end in Novek's opinion. Anything you had to focus on to use in a fight meant you were one distraction away from losing — and losing meant injury or death in his world.

  Active attacks were something different. If the rider had an attack skill instead, he might have ended the chase in moments. Better, but still only suited for smaller fights — like those that bandits got into. Quick, decisive victories where one side capitulated, hoping for mercy.

  As a Human, or Brin, you only got moments of brilliance or assisted skill. This is why Novek had gone with a mechanic Talent, when the creche had discussed specialties. But a craft skill? Novek had long since learned that staying power was the only reliable way to survive long term. Build a better defense. Build a weapon to attack. Do it again. And again. Fight after fight after fight. All day, all night, day after day.

  Novek's philosophy could be summed up as actively outlasting the enemy's willingness to do battle.

  So, the question now was how did he apply that here? He didn't have his usual gear with him; it was too heavy to travel with. But he still had all sorts of toys. He started to unpack and assemble some of his favorites.

  “Ellie? You have any tools, or spare parts that might be useful?” He shouted, over the pounding of the hooves and the rattling of the cart — louder now that one wheel was out of balance.

  “Planning on fixing the coach up while we have a nice leisurely drive through the countryside, eh?”

  “It's a Talent. I'm a mechanic.”

  “Wait, I'm on the run from a dozen murderous bastards, and I've got a mechanic playing mercenary? I should have just given myself up and saved them the trouble.”

  “Combat Mechanic, Ellie.” There was a way people spoke the names of Talents, where you could almost hear the capital letters. He'd said it that way.

  “Oh. Oh!” Ellie started cackling madly, for some reason.

  “Toolkit's under the front left seat. Spare springs and ties if you lift the back bench seat. There are more spares, but they're in the boot. A spare wheel and boards, underneath.”

  “That's not usual for a coach. You a mechanic as well?”

  “My old business partner was a Talented tinker. This is his coach, and coach gun, truth be told. He told me to make a better life for myself, before he passed.”

  Novek got to work, watched by a pair of green eyes that focused laser-like on the orange-yellow shimmer that coated his hands as they moved in a flurry of activity. As each piece was joined, wisps of orange could be seen sticking to, and then settling into the joints and moving parts of the assembly.

  Ellie couldn't see what Novek was working on, but kept trying to peer through the thin front window. “What is that you're building?”

  Novek smiled widely, fangs on full display, which caused Ellie to shudder involuntarily. “Discouragement.”