Municipal Darwinism

"It's hard to say. And anyway, it's different for me. After a thousand years, a stalker becomes its own person. Their stalkers are just mindless slaves who have to be recharged."

Conor:
"Well, that sucks for them"

Alison: I shrugged. "It had its upsides and downsides."

"You aren't a stalker," says Crow. "I doubt you'd know."

"Recharged?"

"Ancient stalkers like myself and Shrike were fitted with strange devices that preserved our flesh and drew their power from the surroundings. Molecular clockwork, they called it, but even the technomancers who reusrrected me had no idea how it worked. They were just using even older artefacts. However, the Green Storm do not have access to many of these devices at all, so their stalkers are powered by crude batteries."

"Ah," said Ceara. A bird flew towards them at alarming speed, she shot it and the bird dropped out of the sky.

"My advice is that if one must engage a stalker of the Green Storm in hand-to-hand combat, aim for the neck. This has been Popjoy's weakness for some time. He has no idea how to manufacture a decent neck coupling."
So saying, Crow sticks his finger-glaives through the neck of a stalkerised albatross.

Ceara fired at another bird, this time aiming for the neck.

"Good shot," says Crow. "We should manage to hold them off."

"Will they ever stop?" sighed Ceara.

"That really depends," says Crow. He turns to Alison. "What are you hiding? Why are the Green Storm so desperate to get you back? They have never expended such resources for a single deserter before."

Alison: I looked at him and sighed. "Thats a long story actually." I said looking out the window. I ran and grabbed the gun. "Lets kill them and see what happens and if we are still alive I will tell you." I said with a smirk.

"Who is steering?" asks Crow suddenly. "Perhaps one of us should protect the envelope."
So saying, he lurches outside of the cabin and grasps the ratlines overhead. He hauls himself up, and starts climbing hand over hand to the top of the envelope.

"I...don't think anyone is!" said Ceara, grabbing the wheel.

Crow clutches the ratlines tightly in one hand as the ship shifts underneath him. He slashes wildly at any birds that decide to attack the gasbag.
"Higher!" he shouts.

"Hold on Crow!" Ceara shouted, lifting the shift up.

A noise rends the air, a sound like metal shearing in a car-crash. It is Crow screaming as his immense weight breaks the tatty ratline he is holding and he skids down the spine of the airship. He does not dare to dig in in case he punctures the gas cells.
"Come back for me!" he shouts as he hurtles out into space and drops towards the desert. It is several seconds after his voice has died away that his impact raises a tiny plume of sand. To someone who does not know about stalkers, it would be obvious that nothing could have survived that fall.
But stalkers are very hard to kill indeed.

Ceara thrust the gear, and they plummeted down. She brought the ship up just in time so they wouldn't hit the ground. She threw open the door so Crow could get in.

Alison: I was confusded but I kept shooting and hitting the birds.

Crow pulls himself out of the sand. His left arm is at a horrible angle, and his eyes are flickering on and off. He lurches towards the ship and heaves himself on board, slumping in the corner.
"Thank you," he grates, his voice even deeper and more rusty than before. Already his eyes are starting to flicker less, spending more and more time glowing as the mechanimalculae flowing through his dead veins start their repair duties.
"As you once-born say, I will... Live."

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry," said Ceara.

Alison: I laughed softly at Crow and turned to face him. "Very nicely put."

Crow holds his arm in place while the nanomachinery does its work. He stands up unsteadily. He smiles and nods at Alison, then turns his attention on Ceara.
"It was not your fault," he says, his head bowed. "I told you to go higher, and you did. I asked you to come back for me, and you did. You are entirely without blame in this affair."
He sheaths his finger-glaives and puts his long, cold arms around her, hugging her to his armoured torso, sheened with preserving slime. After moment he lets go. he twists and flexes his left arm. It grinds at grates slightly, but it will do.

"Thanks Crow," smiled Ceara, she knew he didn't do hugs.