He had been strong. Strong, swift, clever. He was still swift, clever. But not strong. He had served House Winter. Good Kell, strong Kell, name of Draksis. Good House, strong House, was Winter. Mighty, ruled Venus. Proud to serve. Always enough Ether, always enough food, loot. Had new Archon, brought to them by the Scarred, Askor. He had led Dregs, other Vandals. Good Captain, she was fair. Then, Kell was killed. Guardians. Then Askor, Archon Priest, was killed, while being freed from his cell. More Guardians. Then, worst of worst, Wolves. Winter was weakened from loss of Kell, Archon. Was splintered, easy prey for Wolves. And then, while Wolves were taking Kell's throne, bringing Skolas, more Guardians. Captain decided, Winter was gone. No more, was the noble House, the mighty House of Winter. Time to leave.

Took two Skiffs, the Crew. Left Venus, incited fight between Vex and Winter-now-Wolves to cover escape, to cover theft of Ether, food, loot. Went to the Moon, to House of Exiles. No other place to go, for Winter-now-without-House. Could not go to the Reef, old scars lingered, would be killed on sight. If not killed, House Judgement would condemn them, send them to Prison of Elders. Could not go to Mars, Cabal ruled with iron fist. Could not go to Earth, Devils and Kings would not welcome them. Had to go to Exiles, or else die alone, abandoned, clawing for breath, starving.

The Crew joined House of Exiles, without Ketch, Prime, Archon or Kell. Beautiful Winter colors, blue and white, gone. Obliterated. Was replaced, with green, brown, gold. Colors of cravens, traitors, thieves. Colors of Exile. Still commanded Dregs, still held respect of Vandals. But it was not the same as Winter. Hive, a threat ever-present. Captain became paranoid, fearful of usurpers, saw hungering eyes everywhere among Exiles. Shoot this, shoot that, came the orders. Gather this, loot that. Punish the Dreg, teach the Dreg, make sure the Dreg paid their share of loot. Same thing, every day. And worse, never enough Ether, never enough food. Kill, kill, kill. Loot, loot, loot. Dreg, Dreg, Dreg! The Captain grew more and more cruel, less and less fair, with every day. Food tightly rationed. Ether, even more so. Dreg died, starved or suffocated. Vandals languished, hungry and short of breath.

There must be more than this. More than being short of breath every day, more than constant killing. More than constant beatings from a Captain once fair, turned cruel. No Archon with which to share his troubles, no Kell to beg intervention from. Exiles had neither. So he turned his mind and heart to ancient tales, from before the Whirlwind, when the Elenski were many, honorable, and strong. Tales, of the Great Machine. Tales, of how the Great Machine came, and helped the Elenski to be wise, helped the Elenski to see their world, helped them to understand. These tales, gave him hope. Helped him to dream, when so short of breath and hungry it was hard to do anything else.

Then, he decided to act. The Great Machine gave him hope. He had to go to the Great Machine. He was no longer Winter. Now, no longer would he be Exile. He would go to the Light city, the Last City, and ask the Great Machine to show him. To show him wisdom, to show him understanding. To show him peace.

He stole Ether. Enough to breath for a month, if he was careful. He stole food, water, enough for a week. He stole a wire rifle, stowed it in the tiny space he'd clawed and bitten to claim for his own. It was long, hard, dangerous, hiding things from the others. From the Captain. Then, he saw his opportunity. During another assault on the Hive, a Skiff was left alone. No one to guard it. He gathered his supplies, and stole it, piloted it up from the Moon, away. To Earth. He did not know how to fly, but desperation drove him. He wanted to leave the House of Exile behind. He wanted to go to the Great Machine. Nothing short of another Whirlwind would have stopped him. He knew he was chased. The Captain would feel rage unlike anything else at one of her Crew deserting her.

To Earth he went, as though Draksis himself were driving him onwards. The Skiff was damaged, fired upon by Servitors and Exile's Walker in his flight. He could not land it. Even if it were undamaged, he could not land it, for he did not know how. He crashed in an old Human city, knocked out for days. Nearly suffocated, without fresh Ether. He left the Skiff, carrying all he had on his back. Elation filled him. He was Free! Free of Exiles, free of his Captain's cruelty! Free to do as he wished, go where he wished! The Great Machine called, as he had seen its glow on the horizon as he crashed. It filled him with hope, for new life, for a new way. He thought, for a day, of what to call himself, now. He had had a name with Winter, and another with Exiles. But what name now? What to call himself, as his own Captain, his own Elenski? He looked about at Human signs, rusting and green covered. The name of the city this had been. He knew some Human letters, from reading things on Venus. He saw these letters, formed them in his mind. Stuttgart. The ruin's name? Odd name, but good one. This would be him, named for the place he had come to Earth. With name in his mind, and purpose in his heart, he set off, all he held dear on his back.

He was Stuttgart, a Vandal. Free and without house, proud and skillful. He was Stuttgart, and he would know the Great Machine.