A busy intersection and a fire barrel provided the perfect cover. With numb fingers, she dropped the note as flames leaped up hungrily. Taking the opportunity to defrost somewhat, she waited till there was nothing but particles left of the note before she looked up and set to work.
Two dozen turns later, she turned into a cul-de-sac in the second quarter with a dirty, rusty shed at the very end. Beyond it rose the wall of the compound, and beneath it, one could find a rather well-kept smuggling tunnel.
The sign above the door depicted a crude rendition of a pair of symbols meaning merchant and engineer-supreme respectively. Welded together by scrap metal and shoe leather and left to fend off the elements on its own, it didn’t look like much to the world. A couple of lines etched into the door frame proved to the knowing eye that this was a place with no questions asked. El let the door slam shut behind her.
“What?” a hoarse voice shouted. “I’m busy! Scram!”
“It’s me Noke!” she called out, taking in the room. “Get out here, you fucker! Ytir!”
This here was the very definition of chaos. Worse than the last time, which shouldn’t have been possible. Crammed from floor to ceiling with boxes and cans filled with identifiable and unidentifiable parts, materials, and metals covered with stains she had no desire to investigate. She had to dodge a partly disassembled industrial drill to get further into the room. It smelled faintly of sulfur and charred iron.
Pieces of scrap and salvage littered the floor as well as the shelves. A bucket collecting water sat in a corner, filled to the brim and threatening to overflow. Towards the back wall, tools had been hung up in three rows of leather toolbelts which had been haphazardly bolted into the wall. Below them stood a workbench that looked like it had once been someone’s dining table, covered with different shades of rusted steel nailed to the tabletop. With his back towards her, Noke, the equally dirty mechanic, stood hunched over his work with the sounds of metal against metal ringing out, followed by a loud hiss and a pillar of smoke swirling into the air. Noke, a surprisingly gangly half-orc ripped a pair of cracked goggles from his head with a surprised grunt, before putting them back on.
“I said I’m busy!” he barked.
“Not asking!”
He glanced over his shoulder with a grimace, the magnifying goggles making his eyes look huge before he tugged them off. His brown hair stood up in all manners of angles, and parts of it were singed at the tips.
“What do you want?!” he growled as soon as he spotted her. The flame from the torch in his grip was long enough to reach the roof.
“I’ve got word you’ve a new toy in,” she lied, slouching against one of his workbenches, eyeing a spinning toy made of what appeared to be bronze. “A transistor. Bor based. Functional.”
“Who told you something like that?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
It was all she needed. It’d be easy pickings today.
She smiled easily. “You know I can’t tell you.”
Again, he hesitated. “Well, I don’t,” he huffed.
While he hadn’t moved an inch, blowtorch working its way through the roof, his eyes flickered. His knuckles turned a slightly paler red. Telltale signs of a man lying through his teeth. He was like a hungry dog, waiting for a tossed bone.
He enjoyed this game of theirs as much as she did. For a moment she wondered how long she could string him along. Maybe she’d play coy, and he’d cuss her out. Then he’d suggest an outlandish price, and they’d barter. It could go on and on for hours. But alas, time was of the essence.
There was a definite hint of dark smoke in the air now, followed by the faint hiss of heat eating through metal. Still, he didn’t notice.
“Don’t lie to me, Noke. We both know how this here ends. I need the transistor and you’re gonna give it to me. 20 gold.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes.”
“Get lost.”
She sighed. “Do we have to do this every time, or should I take my business to Arman?” she asked pointedly, idly studying the steadily growing hole in the roof.
The mechanic guffawed. “You wouldn’t dare,” he grinned. “You like me too much.”
Pulling her dagger out an inch, she tilted her head. “Try again. Please.”
Her position didn’t shift much, yet it was no longer casual. Noke, despite being a sexist moron, knew it.
“Jeez, alright, alright,” he said with something resembling respect.
"Must be your imagination," the voice chuckled. El ignored it.
The mechanic tossed the torch aside and sauntered into the back, muttering to himself. She bit back a curse and jumped to turn it off before it burned the whole place down. Well, burned it down more. One of the walls seemed to be far too blackened to be general decay. Letting out a deep breath, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
Noke was a talented mechanic, despite every sign on the contrary, and he kept his mouth shut. His tendency to turn a blind eye to the going-on in the camp made him a valuable asset, but the macho attitude grained on her frayed patience.
Every time she stepped foot in his workshop, he insulted her, demeaned her, or plain refused to do what she asked. He lied, squirmed, and cheated. She made a veiled threat, and he grumbled. Eventually, she’d get what she came for. He was reliable that way. This was the dance they danced. There was a loud crash from the back.
“You good in there?” she called. “Need a hand? Or a stick?”
“Be right there!” came the muffled reply. “Just gotta…”
The rest was drowned out by another series of crashes. She went back to inspecting the mess on the table. It was delicate work, beautiful even. It looked like it was becoming an autonomous dragonfly, complete with iridescent wings. What bothered her wasn’t the sheer beauty created from such disorder, but that nothing inside her sparked at the sight. Worry clouded her every thought. It wasn’t just the parts she had to scramble the plateau for. It wasn’t the cancelation of the supply ship. It wasn’t even Noke. Certain rumors floating around set Base 19 vibrating with a strange trepidation, and it threw her off her game. Kollisi was in a much sourer mood than usual, and that coupled with the increasing movement in and out of camp, tested her nerves. Now he wanted a bor transistor. And if Kollisi said fetch, you fetched. Preferably yesterday.
Apparently yesterday, she thought, clenching her fist so tightly her nails dug into the palm of her hand.
She stayed out of their way, collecting trinkets and parts. An endeavor that brought her back to this shack frequently. The smoke and the glow were noticeable now. Throwing a glance at the now unstable, slow-burning roof, she returned to her original position.
El heard him before she saw him. Noke, oblivious as always, came out grumbling about prices and inflation and the rarity of metals. Followed by something unintelligible about his underground trade chain and a useless new thief that a business associate of his had hired the other week.
“The lass has pipes for fingers and lead for feet, for fuck’s sake, did you know that–”
“Noke, I need the transistor now and it better be working,” she interrupted.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Jeez. It’s over here. You’re no fun today.”
He walked over and shooed her out of the way, bending down to pull out a box hidden under it. She fought the urge to clock him. Instead, she watched him pull out an impressive assortment of machinery he had no business owning, all in various states of disrepair. He held one such thing up in triumph.
“Aha! Here it is! Good as new. 45 gold”
“20, and if it was here all along, why the detour?” she asked far too sweetly, snatching the transistor out of his hands before he accidentally decked her, or himself.
He swallowed but gave a half-shrug and winked. “You know how it is, love.”
She made a strangled noise, turning her attention to the piece of pronged metal in her hands. To be fair, the transistor looked in good shape for this place. But something had shot a hole through the top, and Noke had repaired it with some patches and new wiring.
“Wanna tell me why you’re running around looking for a bor transistor when carborundum will do the job at half the cost? I couldn’t get rid of those fast enough for the amount I get. If you’re interested, I’m sure we can… work something out,” he said with a wink.
She ignored him. “Is it functional?”
He took it and peered at it, scratching at the patch and weighing it in his hand. “I’d say so,” he said, satisfied with his handiwork.
“It’ll do,” she said and smiled without a hint of mirth, holding out her hand.
Reluctantly, he gave it back, and she slipped it into her bag, hauling a couple of pieces of coin into his outstretched hand which he deftly slipped into a hidden pocket.
“Let’s jive again sometime,” he grinned. “You’re one hell of a partner.”
Hand on the handle, Elmira turned and gave him a thoughtful once-over with a look that made him pull a hand through his hair, looking flustered.
“I will make sure general Kollisi knows exactly where this one came from,” she promised, unable to not laugh when his face turned whiter than a sheet inside of a second.
As an afterthought, she pointed to the roof. “Mind your head.”
Noke’s fervent cursing beat out the rhythm of her step as she headed back into the maze. That mouth had an impressive range. Almost as good as her own.
"Almost."
When the houses, sheds, and tents closed in on her, she found she could breathe again. The claustrophobic maze frightened many, but not El. The twists and turns and shortcuts kept her safe. For her, it was the freedom you feel when you do something you’ve done your whole life. No hesitation or deviation in the one place she knew she had an advantage few others had. It had taken her a long time to get it down to a tee. Spending sleepless nights wandering around, connecting the dots. Getting to know each quarter and their little quirks.
That’s how she knew that people over on the west side loved their bows and crossbows and were the sharpest marksmen around.
How she knew that if you needed to drown your sorrows, there was a bar over the border in the fifth quarter that had the best karenian ale you’d ever taste.
How she knew where the safe houses were when you got the SPF on your tail.
She could take the route between Noke, the sometimes-brilliant engineer, and her elusive employer in her sleep. Even with her eyes closed she could picture where she was. A distant bell rang out the hour. Too aware of the fading light and the creeping cold, El let her step quicken.
It had not been easy to build a reputation valuable enough to gain the right sort of attention. Nor was it a simple job. Her ability to see logic where others saw endless chaos was one reason she’d taken to the position so easily. It had taken fifty-two years, but at last, she was brought before the Man himself. Not as a prisoner, but as an ally. Alexandre Kollisi was an erratic, unstable man who scared the living daylights out of every person who met him. If you knew what was best for you, you stayed on his good side the best you could. Although it was near impossible to know what that was.
She’d learned that the hard way during her early days. A woman with her hair up in braids and a leather apron covering her tunic skirted to the other side of the street at the sight of El’s suddenly dark expression. At once she found the comfortable weight of her daggers in her hands. She tried to take a breath, but the memories came unbidden and without mercy. She stopped, earning a few curious glances, but none approached her. Not in this part. Not in this town. She focused on her breathing. Four beats in. Hold. Eight beats out.
Alexandre was a man whose threats were true and swiftly carried through. She’d received more than one in her time here. Either when she became too nosy or stepped too far out of line. One time in particular taught her to hold her tongue with great efficiency. The day she’d lost her cool and borne into an arrogant toad of a major in a dive bar before she punched the daylights out of him. Inside the hour she’d been hauled to the courts, brought up on charges of misconduct towards a superior, and sentenced to fifty lashes.
Stubborn by nature, she’d refused to give in. So when the fifty were over, the whip switched hands. Not one cry escaped her lips when Kollisi brought the whip down on her back. If it had, the brutality might not have been as vicious. Even as a young man, not yet a general, he got a kick out of inflicting pain on others, and she’d refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction that day.
Then again, maybe that’s why she was still alive and kicking. Dodging revelers, skipping across roofs. Why she’d only come away with scars on her back that ached in the damp air. What fun was there in breaking someone who’s not just dead, but died winning?
“You and I are not done, girl,” he hissed in her ear before she passed out.
She shuddered, feeling the scars stretch. They always did in wintertime. Which, to be honest, was a perpetual affair up on this altitude. The transistor bounced against her leg as she forced herself to move again and slid down a stair rail to a side street. She knew she’d meet her end at the hands of the Syndicate. The problem was knowing whose hands.
“Hail ódara!” A voice cried out. “From stars to stars once more.”
“Hail!” came a mumbling chorus in response.
A circle of mismatched rocks marked the edges of a square where both old and newly appointed sangoran footmen hung around barrel fires on make-shift benches. They were drinking from tankards in solemn silence. Feeling the cold seep into her bones, she figured she could take a break to warm her hands. The fire she chose only had two others at it and she found herself in the company of a Noma, a member of an androgynous species whose home was over at the far north. The Noma had dressed for a chilly fall day, while their sangoran companion had tied two scarfs around their hat and stood jumping from foot to foot, hands perilously close to the flames.
Neither one reacted when she joined them, reaching for the warmth.
“This is it, huh? Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” the Noma moaned, earning a few giggles from a group of passing nurses and eye rolls from the rest. “So long, dear, beautiful nurses! Thanks for the amnesia!”
They raised their hand into a salute and with the other took a large swig from a bottle that reeked of nutmeg, plum, and alcohol. Elmira wrinkled her nose. There was no reason to drink such garbage.
“You don’t believe we have a chance? I’m hurt,” the friend said, making it sound like a joke, but their laugh was hollow. “I’m the best pilot you know.”
The Noma shook their head. “Those people took us on a field day before throwing us out with the trash,” they said, not bothering to lower their voice.
The silence in the square spoke louder than words ever could. People nearby bowed their heads. One crossed their heart before retreating further into their layers. There was a haunted look so contagious that it told her she was sharing a fire with space pirates.
From this angle, she couldn’t see whose flag they flew under, but Black J’kol had raided a Varuvian cargo transport and it had not ended well for the raiders. The party usually comprised more than a hundred. Looking around, she counted twenty. Her blood ran cold. Twenty survivors.
“There is still time, they could be on their way,” the sangoran said so quietly only the Noma and El could hear, though they still did not acknowledge her presence.
“Could be,” the Noma said, their voice barely above a whisper.
The sangoran put their arm around the Noma’s shoulders. El didn’t know where to turn, surprised at the sudden intimacy. Still, something about them made her linger. There was something beautifully rare about the pair that eased her anxiety, which had become a constant companion in this place.
“Have some faith,” she heard the sangoran murmur.
“I’m all out,” the Noma said, nuzzling their head into the crook of their neck. “Can you lend me some?”
“Sure thing.”
When the embrace turned into a passionate kiss of the kind that makes you forget the world around you, El knew it was time for her to mind her own business. She tightened her coat, squared her collar, and headed off towards the hill that loomed above Base 19.
El passed soldiers training for battle, people doing laundry, others forging weapons, some practicing rays of flame, frost, and vines at makeshift targets, and children playing football with a ball of cloth.
A sanctuary for the unholy, the lost, and the stupid, Sangora defied every expectation. Every street was dark and full of trash, half-filled potholes, and dirt. Dirt everywhere. Even with the long daylight, none of it seemed to make its way to the street level. Most days, the only lights in the sky came from the fire mountains in the distance, and the bonfires in camp.
She passed an open door where a preacher frothed at the mouth, spewing gall about the wicked people who unlawfully took the universe for themselves. He talked about the akati, of course. Her heart quickened as she tried to simultaneously shut him out and hear what he preached.
During her time here, she had heard every metaphor under the suns. Each more colorful and gross than the last. It was difficult to resist the urge to pull her hood up, to turn on her heel and flee. While another part of her wanted to remove her contact lenses and appear in the doorway like the wild, unkempt spirit he thought she was.
Instead, she kept sauntering at a pace fast enough that she wouldn’t be bothered, and slow enough to not appear as if she was carrying anything valuable. Information sold for as high a penny as metal and she carried both.
It was unclear when the threat of the akati transformed from revenge into a religious, moral panic. But that’s where they stood at the moment. Frothing at the mouth, pitchforks at the ready. It was only a matter of time before the lid blew off. She had seen captains and colonels whispering with each other in corners, throwing covert glances at every passerby. Then there were the increasing raiding parties on akati colonies and outposts, nightly meetings by firelight in the nearby villages to drum up an army of foot soldiers, and the recent influx of raw materials which could only mean one thing. And suddenly she saw the bustle in a different light. Preparations. The Base was preparing itself and she was a sheep in a wolf’s den.
She ducked under a low-hanging pipe, thinking back on the intel she would send at the next check-in. Kollisi’s right-hand man and advisor had left Sangora for Oliria three weeks ago. The other day communication had gone blank. Everyone who was someone had become antsier than usual. Lights were on way past midnight. Theories were many. Tech malfunction. Kidnapping. Death. Treason.
Personally, she knew which one she hoped for.
She cursed the bad luck that had befallen her ever since she found out about O’Hagan's departure. A storm trapped her in the pass through the mountains for five days. Then there was the stream of canceled supply ships. Twice she’d been careless and nearly caught. Once they plucked her on some random bullshit a rival gang made up to get at Korp.
“Something’s off,” she’d told Korp when he came to haul her ass out of the Vanish. “This is not right.”
Before she could finish the thought, the ground slammed into her back as it rocked from an impact. Seconds later the boom came with a strong wind that blew over her and pushed others who had kept their balance to the ground. The compound-wide alarm system sprung to life with a cough, ringing out an tone that sounded like a dying puma. A magnified voice boomed out.
“Medics to their stations. Wounded incoming. Quarters 8 through 10. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. We’re at it again, folks. Guess it’s another Cyian night.”
In an instant, the surrounding camp turned from idle laziness to frantic, professional activity. Those with medical training rushed to the hospitals, while the drafted corpsmen came to aid the triage while the message rang out again. She pushed herself to her feet.
“The ninth again, most like!” she heard a woman shout to another, struggling into a medical gown.
“Those poor bastards,” the woman said around the hairband in her mouth. “Felt that concussion all the way here!”
Still pulling on their uniforms, the women ran off, joined by several others as they disappeared around the corner heading north. For a moment El wondered how many were dead, how many families were torn apart, but pushed those thoughts aside. Fewer people on the ground meant fewer people in an attack. It was simple math. No one batted an eyelid anymore. It was hard to care when it became an almost weekly occurrence, and your house wasn’t directly affected.
Eye on the mission, El, she told herself, pushing those thoughts firmly away and checking that the transistor was still in one piece.
On reflex, she stepped to the side to let SPF patrols hurry past like they always did. Even as they knew they wouldn’t find anything new. El had her suspicions. The pattern of events was too coincidental to not have a certain twisted logic to them. But she was still missing pieces of the puzzle, and she didn’t want to voice it before she had proof.
A few turns later, the streets were less crowded and much less covered in debris. Though, to call it clean would be an overstatement. Not to mention a downright lie. Approaching the hill upon which the inner sanctum of the camp rested always set El’s stomach into an uncomfortable frenzy. Just before the incline lay a wide double pathway dividing it from the rest of the camp. With such wide visibility and sensors covering every inch, there was no sneaking up on Base 19’s leadership.
She kept her hands out of her pockets and her back straight as she began the cross. Nothing happened. Another couple of steps. Nothing. Ten meters. A small shiver ran through her as she stepped across the invisible barrier that dispelled all magic. Then walls again closed in around her in the place where no one could disguise oneself, approach invisible, or by other means hide their true face. Unless the disguise itself wasn’t arcane at all. It was an irrational fear, but El still checked that her contacts were there, that her hair was brown, and that the lightning tattoos on her forearms were covered. Precautions. One couldn’t be too careful. Satisfied she pushed on.
