This chapter features edits and ideas by Resartus.

***

I have driven through this field countless times before. Mostly it was during the day, or well into the night; but even if I may have found myself travelling this particular path at times where one shifted into the other, I don't remember ever taking the leisure to observe how the differently angled light changes the colour of the swaying grass. The shorter and younger vegetation translucently shimmers with its lively, crisp shades of orange and crimson infused through it by the setting sun's light. The taller part of the shrubbery, having grown to be old and dense, compliments the play of colors with more muted ranges of matte sandstone and faded green.

Normally, I would enjoy taking my time to observe a natural spectacle like this. I wouldn't mind getting to know a familiar location in an unfamiliar light. I would even count it among one of my favorite pastimes to watch the flora and fauna go about its days and nights repeatedly and endlessly in various different locations and places. But a “pastime” implies a voluntary engagement. Yet, nothing about this situation is voluntary on my part. And just like the thick blanket of clouds that is slowly spreading out across the sky to suffocate dusk's lovely caleidoscope of colorful light, a heavy conscience begins to spread on my mind.

If I had to list attributes that describe my personality, "impatient" wouldn't be among them. But this travel, which has really just started less than a half hour ago, is at the very least briefly making me reconsider. To say that we're making sluggish progress would be sugarcoating it, and in circumstances like these wanting to arrive at the destination more quickly shouldn't imply a flaw of character.

My concerned gaze falls on the two tanks trundling along on the dirt road to the left of me. They return it curiously, expecting an answer to the question they just asked.

Up until this point, they've mostly been excluding me from their casual chatter. Or rather, they weren't actively trying to get me to involve myself, which I also wasn't attempting to do out of my own initiative. But that changed a few moments ago when they decided to get the present tanks better acquaintanced with each other. I had already picked up Morris' name, but the teal tank accompanying her has now also introduced himself as 'Artax'. It's my turn.

"My name is Zephyr," I say, not expecting anything else than the blank looks I get for it. Those change to unabashed stares as I add, "In most places, people know me as 'Scarecrow'."

"You are the Scarecrow?" Artax asks with clear bewilderment. He and Morris share a quick glance that gives away that their concerns about having me join their travel might have increased. But that doesn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that they both proceed to slow down from a crawl to a complete stop.

"It's no reason to linger," I remind them, in a slightly more taut tone than I probably would have used if I had gotten any sleep in the past nights and wasn't worried about my sleep being ruined in similar or even worse ways in the coming night as well.

To my relief, the travellers nod agreeingly and I slow down as far as my transmission lets me until they've caught up to me again.

Artax continues to scrutinize me without disclosing what exactly he's trying to determine with his staring. I notice that Morris, meanwhile, is gazing off into the distance ahead of us. And I can't help but immediately look the same way. Despite my best - and frantic - efforts to catch a glimpse of whatever might have caught her attention there on the murky horizon, I'm unable to spot anything out of the ordinary. In the span of the few split seconds that follow this disconcerting observation, Morris' sustained strained gazing rapidly dissolves whatever ease of mind I had left.

"What's over there?" I ask briskly.

The tank I am addressing with that question doesn't appear to feel addressed; the tank I wasn't talking to turns his turret around to curiously look the same way as well. That makes three of us staring at the horizon but still zero clarity about what we're supposed to see there.

It takes excruciatingly long until Morris finally enlightens us on what worry has crossed her mind.

"I'm just wondering, do you reckon we'll be able to reach Tow before nightfall?" she thinks out loud.

The realization that she was only watching the hidden sun's descent like I was earlier alleviates some of my tension. Unfortunately, the topic she's bringing up is, in essence, just another unidentified threat looming on the horizon.

Both tanks look at me inquiringly now.

"We won't," I say with an uneasy shrug.

"But didn't you say it's not far away?" Artax asks, very obviously troubled by this turn of events.

"My concept of driving distances," I reply as diplomatically as I can, "is largely based on the assumption of moving at least twice as fast as we've been doing."

At least, that seems reasonable enough of a defense to the travellers. Their frowns seem to be more of an expression of their dissatisfaction with the overall situation than my service. Especially Morris slumps visibly.

"Artie, this doesn't seem safe. I think,..." she murmurs to her companion, "I think we should look for shelter before it gets too dark."

Artax nods gravely.

"You're right. We'll just travel on in the morning." He turns to me next. "Would you mind taking a break for the night?"

For a brief moment, I consider just travelling on by myself, as I'm actually confident I would be able to reach the town within the hour if I hurried. However, I remember that it would defeat the whole purpose of the trip if I went to the town that I wasn't even going to in the first place while leaving behind the tanks that carry the fuel that I am actually after. And for an even briefer moment, I worry that they might sense in my hesitation to answer that I'm instead contemplating the very obvious solution to the dilemma presenting itself to me: Just taking that fuel from them by force and making off with it to a place where I'd have a much greater chance of making it through tonight without losing even more sleep.

Realistically, though, the pause most likely isn't nearly long enough for them to even notice it. Not even as it is slightly extended by me coming up with a less violent idea in the last moment.

"I'd prefer not to," I reply, "so if you're not opposed to the idea, I'll take my payment and my leave now."

The travellers come to a halt again, looking anything but thrilled about my answer. I halt too, this time, and mentally prepare for a less peaceful resolution just in case.

"Really?" Artax frowns, "We're not there, yet, though."

I know what he's trying to imply, and I'm still willing to make a compromise.

"It's half of the way. Half of the can is fine."

Morris chimes in.

"Well, I'm sorry. We don't have any fuel with us," she interjects, looking highly uncomfortable.

"...You lied to me about paying me?" I ask with raised optic ridges.

Artax throws a chiding glance at his companion, but doesn't sound very firm either as he replies to me.

"Technically, no. We were going to pay you, of course!"

Now, normally, I would write this situation off as a standard ripoff attempt, kill them, and move on with my life. However, taking into account that I was the one imposing my services on them and that I'm just not getting the impression that these two tanks in particular would be smart enough to pull off any scheme more complex than stretching the truth a little... I guess what we're looking at is really just more of an emergency lie rather than an act of malicious deception. Nevertheless, I need them to be very aware that they shouldn't even try to pull any shenanigans beyond that.

"Is your armor thick enough for you to be arguing semantics with me?" I ask them sternly. It's not that I have any actual intention of killing them anymore after it was revealed that they're not carrying any fuel with them that would be worth robbing them of. But for the purpose of leverage, they don't need to be aware of that.

Morris makes a distressed sound, her gaze darting between me, Artax, and the falling dusk.

"We were going to compensate you once we arrive at Tow!" she hurries to clarify. "But can we have the lengthy discussions after we found shelter, maybe?"

"No," I reply matter-of-factly. But it's not as self-explanatory of an answer as it should be. I receive scandalized stares until I elaborate, "You won't find shelter here." With a sweeping gesture at our surroundings, I emphasize my next words. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of an open field."

"What do you suggest instead, then?" Artax asks. Apparently he still hasn't gotten the broad hint, or just doesn't want to accept it as a fact.

"I suggest that you figure something out for yourself, because I'm leaving."

The travellers look on with helpless bewilderment as I actually kick my engine into gear and start driving off.

"Don't go!!" they yelp in unison. Morris goes on, "We'll pay whatever you want if you stay!"

I halt again and look back.

"...What for?" I ask.

"Just in case," Artax replies cryptically.

"Haven't you heard the news?" Morris adds.

I don't respond immediately, instead waiting for her to tell me what she thinks I should already know. As neither her nor I reveal the obvious, Artax takes it upon himself:

"There's an MBT out there!" he grouses.

"Allegedly," I reply deadpan.

"And he's-" Morris continues in a frightened tone, but I interrupt her.

"Killing people. Yes, I'm aware. We do that sometimes."

"Everyone's scared," Morris laments. "No one wants to be next."

Again, I take my time to answer. This time, the pause is definitely long enough to be noticeable. I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready to accept or admit yet that my issue with staying out here tonight instead of inside the nearest town might be uncomfortably similar to the issue these travellers - and, by extension, this entire region - are facing. In that moment, even the question whether these issues might actually be related in some way crosses my mind. Maybe even more intimately than I suspected. And that, even more so, makes it a possibility I somehow don't feel ready to entertain yet.

"Look," I rumble slowly, "I don't really want to get involved with any of this. No amount of fuel or money or scrap metal that you could offer me would be enough pay to even make me consider fighting another MBT." It's obvious that both travellers are about to protest, but they remain silent as I speak on. "But I'm getting the feeling that whatever is going on here, my participation isn't exactly a question of what I want to do. Or what anyone could convince me to do."

The optics that continue peering into me blankly after this admission hint at a need for me to spell the conclusion of my statement out even more blatantly, and so I do: "I'll stay here with you tonight, just don't misconstrue it as something that I'm doing for your sake."

It still feels like the travellers aren't completely sure if they're supposed to breathe a sigh of relief yet. They keep staring at me silently and expectantly, until a final nudge from me, "So, do you have a spare tent for me, or what?" makes them relax visibly and nod cheerfully.

***

A short time later, even before everything around us has turned completely dark, we've managed to settle down a little way off the road. The travellers did have a spare tent for me indeed, even though it only suffices as a sort of hat for a tank of my dimensions. It's not like I would expect something like a piece of fabric to protect me from the prying gaze of sights I'd actually be worried about being seen by; but the travellers seem rather comforted by the view of my makeshift camouflage.

Obviously we skipped the campfire tonight. As soon as everyone has settled down comfortably for sleeping, however, the travellers don't miss out on trying to create a campfire mood, anyway. For a while, I listen to them chat with each other about how their journey went so far. Apparently, catching the train in the first place was something they agree on was a big hassle.

I don't listen all too carefully. My senses are trained on our surroundings instead. Night has fallen, and with it came its sounds; the wind that whispers promises of a coming storm seems strangely oppressive tonight. Everything else is hushed as if in anticipation of a spectacle.

Listening into this dark quiet strains me. Perhaps I'm listening too intently, trying to hear something that isn't there. Still, that's not something that I would usually expect to put a lot of strain on my core. It's not surprising though that certain parts of my core are simply... too tired to be up to this task.

A sudden “...Hey!” becomes unnecessarily startling as it barges into the nightly quiet.

I slightly turn my turret to show that I am listening, and my optics' gaze falls onto the travellers again. They are clearly looking at me. Artax clears his vents, now that he seems more sure of having my attention, and speaks up in a more hushed tone.

“If you're one of those MBTs, then,” he says, “you seem rather kind for one.”

Not sure what to make of the strangely out-of-the-blue compliment, I just shrug. If it was an attempt at getting some more conversation out of me, they accept their failure immediately and casually. They turn away again and leave me to my own musings while they continue their own chatter.

Unexpectedly for me, Artax's words get stuck in my thoughts for quite some time after the fact. It seems obvious that with the very imminent threat of a rampaging MBT, the average tank would feel negatively about the class as a whole. It's only prudent to feel threatened by a machine that could kill you and your peers without a serious effort. But are we really all like this? Is my whole class only known for our wanton destructiveness?

I don't see myself as some sort of inevitable calamity upon tank-kind. I try to stay out of their lives unless they actively try to involve me; even then, I try to interfere only in the absolutely necessary amount. I am well aware that our worlds are barely compatible as is. And trespassing the borders between those two worlds should not be done carelessly.

It's probably foolish to think that all MBTs would care this much about leaving the other machines to their own devices. I can see how a powerful tank might feel tempted to exert that power over others. And just because I personally wouldn't condone it, it's not guaranteed that others would feel that way.

The evidence is all around me. Tonight it's travellers hiding from an invisible deathdealer until sunrise, hoping to ward off this inconceivable malady with the presence of another. The fear runs deep.

I remember watching a team engage in some sort of game the other day. Even in proportion to a normal tank's lifespan, they must have been very young - their interactions reminded me of a wolf litter's scramble, whereas more mature teams would be more subdued or even harsh towards each other. This team would single out one of their mates and have it chase after the others. While they seemed to have fun, still in a way, it was similar to an exercise, even complete with the formulaic back-and-forth of commands between the participants...

“Who's afraid of the MBT?”

I must have said it out loud - the travellers respond immediately in unison:

“No one!”

Tilting my cannon slightly, I meet their expectant looks with a pensive one.

“What will you do when the MBT comes for you?” I rumble, continuing the game's script the way I had witnessed it.

The travellers seem delighted and chant, “Run away like we always do!”

The fact that they raised their voice this carelessly makes me throw a worried glance around and I shush them. They flinch and duck a little as they too remember that we're supposed to lay low.

I start frowning and end the re-enactment of the game with a stern note.

”I don't think you're going to be running away from anyone.”

That makes the travellers sober up pretty drastically too. Morris huffs and averts her optics in a somewhat defiant way.

“When we used to play, there wasn't a tank on our team who'd be any faster on their tracks than that. Right, Artie?” she mutters at her companion.

“May those tracks plough over the peaceful fields until the winter”, Artax sighs.

“Amen, dear!” Morris agrees. She remains quiet for a moment, then looks at me again with a thought. “Scarecrow, do you play this game every now and then?”

Artax shakes his cannon and tells her in a chiding tone, “MBTs don't need to play it, silly! Why'd they have a need for scary tales? They don't have anything to be afraid of.”

I reply with a pondering hum.

“If I ever played something like this, I'm afraid I don't remember.”

Artax gives his fellow traveller a 'told-you-so' glance, but both of them turn to look at me with rather troubled expressions as I go on.

“I haven't talked to another MBT in many winters. We don't really flock together like other tanks do.”

“Huh?” Morris seems incredulous. “But if one of you is already so strong, wouldn't you be even stronger if there was more of you fighting together?”

I grow quiet and contemplate my answer for a while. It's probably hard to understand for any other class how an MBT's immense power cuts both ways.

“We always try to stay apart just a little farther than our cannons can reach.”

They seem to be waiting for me to continue speaking, but I think they'll need to figure this one out on their own. I sit down more comfortably on my wheels and return my wary gaze to our surroundings.

“Get some rest, travellers. You never know when the next opportunity for it arises.”

Even if the conclusion to the conversation probably leaves some things to be desired, the two tanks at least seem reasonable enough to agree and settle down for the night as well.

I sincerely hope for them to sleep well. I myself am still lingering on the topic, with one particular phrase coming to mind: Who's afraid of the Black Death?

And as if that very thought had invited misfortune, it doesn't take long until I hear my radio frequency come to life with a muffled static crackle.