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The first time you see Traverse, it is nothing more than an unsightly smear of ramshackle buildings. The locals, mostly trolls but quite a few aliens, emanate hostility like bad body odor.
You don't like it.
It's a dinky little outpost at the outermost border of the Empire. Legally, it doesn't even belong to the Empire, but it also does not belong to anybody else, so there is nobody to challenge you when you capture the escaped criminal you followed here.
You march the deviant to the base nearby and request the use of their brig. You don't usually like military bases—too much thoughtless aggression, too much unthinking obedience—but within its walls, you are on Alternian soil. You like the complete lack of ambiguity that entails.
Tavros is here, training to be a cavalreaper. You have a short and uncomfortable conversation about flarping in which you both avoid mentioning Vriska like absolute pros.
Then you leave, with the oily aftertaste of Traverse clinging to the roof of your mouth for a long time.
*
The second time you're in Traverse, the universe is already a much different place. You're a freshly minted Neophyte. You don't have a dragon, but the criminal element has already learned to be wary of your nose.
It's after the new Condesce's reforms open up the borders and Traverse starts seeing more traffic. No longer hindered by massive amounts of red tape and the need for exorbitant bribes, more and more citizens of the Empire have started emigrating. Similarly, no longer forbidden under pain of death to enter the Empire, more and more aliens are immigrating.
You follow a defector to Traverse and find him trying to acquire passage out of the Empire. Regrettably, you must kill him, because he puts up much more of a fight than is warranted. He absconded from his post after filing incorrect paperwork. You would have taken him back into the Empire, given him a few pointed smacks upside the head with your cane, and then you would have made him refile his paperwork. That would have been that. But instead he chose to forfeit his life over a clerical error.
Luckily, you don't hold yourself responsible for the poor judgment of others, and thus feel no guilt over the incident.
Tavros tells you he is considering applying for release from service as well. You help him draw up the paperwork and triple-check everything. You are a legislacerator, not a low-rung bureaucrat, but you know how to do this kind of thing because an officer of the law should not disdain any skill which might prove useful.
You are sure you have Tavros all sorted out before you leave and give him some stern advice upon parting. You give him no further thought, except maybe during odd moments of the day when the daymares become subtle and indistinct, and the acidic bitterness of worry burns the back of your throat.
*
The third time you arrive on Traverse, Tavros is there to greet you at the spaceport. He is wearing an unfamiliar uniform, horrid brown unlike his bloodcolor and dark maroon slashed across his chest.
“They, uh, didn't approve my release from service,” he admits, a little bit sheepish. You're not surprised to hear this. Ever since the new Condesce implemented the system, there have been too many requests for release. Only a small percentage actually get approved, mostly trolls assessed to be dispensable. “But they did offer me a job as the Empire's liaison in the local police force.”
“Why, Mr. Nitram,” you say, “you never told me about your interest in upholding the law! Tsk tsk.”
He scratches the side of his face thoughtfully.
“That's because it wasn't something that existed, until very recently?” he says. “And by very recently, I mean the moment I was offered this post.”
“And you jumped at the opportunity, I see.”
“Oh, yes, I... guess this place has grown on me, maybe a little,” he says.
It smells like truth, but not the truth. There's a vague aroma of evasion to his words, but you don't press the issue. You're sure he has good reasons.
“So you must be here, about Karkat?” he says next.
The question just sends chills down your spine. You haven't heard a thing from Karkat since conscription. You know he went to train with the threshecutioners, but not much else.
“Why would I be here about Karkat?” you ask carefully.
“...Because he left the threshies?” Tavros continues, uncertain. You turn your burnt-out eyes towards him. Realization dawns on his face, and you smell it, prickly like static electricity. “He didn't tell you.”
“No, he didn't. And I am going to hope, Mr. Nitram, that the reason he did not tell me has nothing to do with the legality of his actions.”
“He didn't defect,” Tavros says quickly. “His paperwork was approved. Though, uh... I think Feferi might've pulled some strings.”
“Her Imperious Condescension,” you correct.
“Whatever, you might call her, I think she's still keeping tabs on us.”
“I call her the most powerful troll in the Empire who might do whatever she so pleases, don't you?”
He gives a non-committal grunt. You hope you didn't upset him, but it simply wouldn't do for any of the Condesce's enemies to hear Tavros speaking so familiarly about her. He's too low to qualify as a political bargaining chip, but you wouldn't put it past some of the Condesce's more bitter rivals to send her Tavros's horns in a box just as a joke.
You walk in silence out of the spaceport. It's not until you're outside in the diffuse gray light of dawn that Tavros speaks again.
“I don't think it would do him any good, seeing you,” he says pensively. “He can barely even look me in the eye.”
So you don't, this time. You don't see Karkat. You go about your business, break up a smuggling ring, and then return to your office in the legislacerators' homeship. For no reason, your mouth tastes sour for a week. You decide you must've eaten something bad in Traverse.
*
The fourth time you arrive on Traverse, a city has sprung up. It smells gritty and gross, like too many aliens thrown together. You love it. It's like an old detective movie.
(You never actually watched that many old detective movies, because the best ones are all in the same black and concrete gray. But you know all the tropes.)
You have the time of your life on a land vehicle chase across the city, even if it does end with the two criminals as unfortunate green splatters spread over three miles of road. You send in your report and decide to kill some time until your scheduled transport leaves.
This time, you get Karkat's address from Tavros.
He lives in a dingy apartment in some alien district of Traverse. When he opens the door, you can smell sweat and the tang of humiliation about him. He tries to close the door in your face, but you jam your cane in, and push your way inside.
“Are you going to cuff me now, officer?” he asks, resentment dripping from his every syllable.
“I'm sure you haven't done anything that warrants more than a mild spanking,” you reply, grinning at him.
He huffs and doesn't look at you.
You assumed that enough time passed that your visit wouldn't chafe as much, but the pain of failure is still raw for him. You regret your decision to come here. It's like you are trying to hug someone who has been flayed alive; your concern causes only pain.
You look around his living space—small, cluttered, reeking of unwashed clothing—and you tap your cane.
“What have you been doing here, Karkat?” you say, harshly. “I expected much more from you.”
He recoils at first, then frowns.
“What the hell were you expecting from a fuck-up like me?” His voice is small, faded.
“I expected you to be much further along in your plans.”
“What plans?” he asks, and smells confused.
“Your plans! Your plans!” you reply impatiently. “Whatever great plans you had when you departed the threshecutioners! Clearly you would not abandon your naïve grubhood dreams unless you'd realized how ill-suited they were as a vehicle for your ambitions! You would not be here if you were not convinced there was more to accomplish in this place than as a threshecutioner!”
He mulls on this for a few moments. You think you almost have him.
“Maybe you don't know me as well as you seem to think,” he replies eventually.
“That is correct!” you bark, and punctuate it with a swift crack to Karkat's shin with your cane. “I know you better than I seem to think!”
He hisses a curse and hops on one leg, rubbing his smarting shin.
He turns you out soon after, but you are fine with that. You are not trying to fix his life, only to plant a seed. The roof of your mouth tastes salty, like nervousness. That is strange, because you were never at any point nervous.
*
The fifth time you are on Traverse, you almost talk yourself out of dropping in on Karkat. He lives in a different part of the city, and Tavros gives you his address without you even asking for it. You almost convince yourself not to do it, but your assignment this time includes a lot of hurry up and wait, and you have time to spare.
A human answers the door, and you are convinced you must have the wrong address, but when you inhale, underneath the sweetness of his cherry red shirt, you can smell Karkat.
You can feel a grin splitting your face as you look down on the human, and his uneasiness spikes.
Oh yes, you have made a great decision.