Chapter 3: Plans

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Warm mug, warm liquid, and Lapis hoped the wake juice kicked in before she dozed off and fell over. Patch slipped his arm around her waist and leaned his cheek on the top of her wet hair, providing stability and comfort, and perhaps an apology for the early start.

Sils slid the homing device to the side of his blocky tech machine, a grey, dinged contraption with a smaller screen and miniature keyboard, making room for a large screen that took up most of the scruffy table. He plugged it into his tech, straightened and winced, then planted his hands on his lower back and stretched. A scabby cut ran from his right eye to his jaw, the skin surrounding it purpling, and he gingerly touched it before rubbing at his tired brown orbs. That he got caught in law enforcement riot retaliation, and still made it to the safehouse and worked without rest, made Lapis wonder what revenge he sought on the Drakeways syndicate. She did not think a simple rebel summons would have shoved him onward.

“I’m surprised,” he said in a mellow tone that reminded her of Jhor explaining something. “They didn’t bother to tamper-proof this thing. Good for us, though, eh?”

Cowl shuffled into the tidy but small tech repair room, eyes droopy, holding two double-sized mugs, one of which he gave to Sils. Linz followed, carrying a normal one and a bowl with a handle Lapis assumed was for Patch. Brander brought up the rear with a yellow ceramic nearly as large. She glanced at the khentauree, who stood in a corner, arms crossed. Good. She thanked the non-existent gods no one at the safehouse appeared to be a morning person. Cheerful irritated her when she had so little sleep.

She envied her partner, who hit the mattress and immediately fell into slumber. Even his warm, soothing embrace could not calm her nerves enough to rest.

Patch snagged the mug and downed it. Lapis touched her throat, sympathetic to the sting, then tipped hers back. The more the merrier, in hot wake-juice pain.

“Sloppy coding, sloppy implementation.” Sils rubbed at the side of the dinged ceramic with his thumb as he regarded the smaller screen. Line after line of white text raced up it. “Wonder if something happened to Hibby. He’s Drakeways’ main tech, and he’d never let something like this leave the shop.”

“Or he’s getting overridden.” Cowl’s face cracked in a yawn. “There’s odd gossip going around about their leadership. Their decisions aren’t as choice as they used to be, and that’s consistent with the rumors of a coup. Get Mig out, put younger, inexperienced Perri in his place, and he’d rather listen to the idiots who want to punch things than the older, wiser crowd.”

“Just what we need, a more violent Drakeways,” Sils grumbled as he gulped the wake juice. He coughed at the sting, wiped his mouth, and pushed a blinking button on his device.

On the large screen, a map grew from a tiny dot in the center, expanding into a jumble of wobbly green circles on a grey background. A topographic map? Thin red lines appeared at the lower left, a group of them jumping across one another in symmetrical rectangles, then running to the right, where they decreased in number. Sils pressed all five fingertips on the screen and rotated it until a tiny red dot blinking a rhythm inside dozens of various-sized squares clustered together sat at the top.

The modder tapped the space next to it. “That,” he said, “is Torc Bedan. These boxy things around it? The decommissioned warehouses. It has a functional skyshroud dock; I heard chatter that the Lords’ Council was planning to use it because they ran out of room in Trave and Allesha.”

“So they really recalled the entire fleet?” Patch asked.

“Yeah. The underground thinks they’re anticipating more of a rebellion so brought the big guns in to intimidate. When the sky is blacked out by dozens of skyshrouds and they point their cannons at you, it’s scary.”

“And they have the dual effect of intimidating the Second Council,” Cowl said. “There’s a major election in Early Year 2, and the Seconds see their constituents wanting the empire to pull back and concentrate on Dentheria. The Lords, who inherited their seats and don’t have to worry about re-election, see no reason to interfere with their empire, and are pissed about the fuss.”

Lapis did not care about Dentherion elections. Lofty ideals from a handful of Second Council members would never alter the empire’s use of puppet kings to carry out their will. Too much power lay in the set-up, and the Lords would never hand it to starry-eyed fools who thought the average person had a say in government.

Sils pulled his fingers together, then flared them; the map zoomed in. “This is the main hangar,” he said, touching the box where the red light flashed. They all leaned in, including Chiddle and Tuft, who peered over his shoulder. The modder smiled, as comfortable as Jhor with the khentauree. Lapis wondered how much he and Cowl had heard about them because the unease she expected around strange beings did not materialize. “I’m betting bribes have kept Torc Bedan open to Drakeways, but now that Trave plans to send a skyshroud or two to dock there, they need to leave. That would explain them wanting to regroup and vacate.”

“Finding another home for their big tech is going to be a problem,” Cowl said as he sipped his wake juice, then winced as steam rose from his mug. “And there isn’t any place around Trave proper. They’ve upset the other syndicates and local underbosses, and no one wants to rent them expensive real estate they’ll probably immediately claim as their own. They might find something with smugglers in the Neliyvos foothills, but nowhere near the city.”

“Maybe, but those shanks will want to see a lot of money upfront,” Linz said. “Faelan looked into storing stuff there, and the metgal they wanted was ludicrous.”

“I doubt Drakeways has anything set aside for emergencies. Not their style.” Sils spread his fingers again, expanding the base layout. “When Faelan contacted me, I sent a bird out to look around the base, before and after that last storm. My birds looked like they were collecting science data by flying with a flock of ducks, and the guards just left me to it.” He half-laughed, sucked in a breath as his smile died, and gingerly touched his wound. “I only stayed as long as the ducks did, but the cameras took informative images. Only the southern guard towers had sentries, all of them fake Denthie stubs in imitation uniforms and no tech badges. The rest were undershanks loading stuff onto pallets hooked up to rollers sitting in the yard in front of the main hangar. They covered the tech with white tarp, which somewhat blends in with the snowy ground. The hangar was open, but I only saw two Swifts. Either they sent out all their vessels to places like the Shivers, and now that they need them, they’re not around, or they’re already moving equipment, but staggering it so as not to attract much military attention before they’re gone.” He zoomed in again. “That may be why Moorlight’s there. He’s not on good terms with the military leadership, but his daddy is. He can run interference with anyone who shows up, giving the Drake shanks time to move.”

“And if they send lesser-known lead commanders to dock there, he will cow them with threats to take away their rank,” Cowl muttered.

Sils raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, as if agreeing not only with the statement, but the cowardice of the lead commanders. “This,” and he pointed to a cylinder shape two to the right of the main hangar, “was the entry point to the research facility. Most of it’s underground, and the tech security’s tight because the military left shit behind. I doubt Hibby’s boys broke into the lower levels, but the upper ones have enough equipment and detainment units that I’m betting they’re holding the khentauree and that techie in this building. I’m also betting they aren’t high on the evacuation order.”

“There is dangerous tech there?” Chiddle asked.

“So rumor says. Jhor and I went there before he traveled to Ambercaast. We broke in but didn’t make it far. The place just had a . . . a feel about it. Unused, dusty, yes, but my hair prickled the entire time we were inside.” He brushed at his lower arms, as if the fear haunted him. “Jhor made certain to relock everything, repeat every layer of passcode in reverse. He said whatever lay below wasn’t meant to see the light of day. I think he’s right.” He tapped on the smaller screen’s keypad, and the map slid from the outskirts into the pristine red lines, highlighting another blinking dot.

“If Jhor fears, then terrible things are there,” Chiddle said. “I have seen nothing that frightens him.”

Lapis had, but she doubted the khentauree wanted to be reminded that the Meergevens tampered with Ghost, and Jhor remained uncertain of his temperament.

“He’s brave,” Sils agreed. He pointed at the blinking light. “This is the safehouse. We’re southwest of the base. We thought we’d take a Swift to a suburb called Morningdew, then borrow a roller to reach the base, but that won’t work because of the protests. Trave’s city council announced this morning that they’d be limiting flights and blocking off streets. Since we don’t want to attract attention, we’ll be stuck on the ground, moving around check posts. The Minq are finding out where those are, and since they’re issuing a curfew, we’ll need that info before we leave.” He smacked his hands together. “It’ll give me a chance to send a bird out this afternoon and see if Drakeways has any defensive tech guarding the southern road.”

Patch motioned at Sils with his bowl. “What triggered all this, anyway? It’s not just a couple of Second Council kids stirring up resentment.”

“Ceystoria,” Cowl said, planting his butt on the table and hunching down. “Yes, there were already protests in larger cities because of the puppet kings’ envoys. The younger generation is especially outspoken, but there’s a growing movement filled with people who think the empire needs to focus more on home than vassal states. Tech’s become scarce enough the commoners have noticed, and the Councils aren’t doing anything about their concerns. They have no idea why they can’t buy a comms device or a screen at a reasonable price anymore, and to just give the puppet states tech when they can’t purchase it is pissing them off.”

“The government’s done a good job at hiding the aquatheerdaal shortage,” Sils agreed. “People come in the shop complaining, and they don’t believe me when I tell them the cause.”

Cowl hmphed. “People believe what they want to believe. Sometimes reality isn’t the motivator we want it to be.”

For all that Shara disparaged her brother, he seemed to have an excellent grasp of the situation and human nature. Lapis wondered if Patch knew what scraped between the siblings. She did not want Rin caught in the middle of it.

The Minq took a drink before continuing. “Two days ago, Ceystoria hit the news. Basically, the harsh winter in the Estarie Mountains led to a shortage of food and fuel, and the Ceystoria puppet king refused to help the rural communities. Typical greed, it’s expected, but the commoners didn’t want to hear it. In Sargad, a protest started by some very angry farmers grew out of a market that had run out of food. Numbers swelled, and the throne asked the visiting skyshroud lead commander to do something about it. So he leveled the place.”

Lapis’s tummy churned, and she closed her eyes. A typical Dentherion choice. The empire had foregone such slaughters in the past few years, but it did not surprise her, that a lead commander obliterated unruly citizens. If the Ceystoria puppet was anything like Gall, he probably rubbed his hands in glee over the excessive force.

“It wouldn’t have made an impression in Dentheria, but a Second Councilor’s extended family was on a skiing holiday there and some of them ended up dead. The news smelled scandal and made a big deal about how the lead commander, who’s from a Lords’ Council family, saw an opportunity to silence a Second Council critic by making their family pay the price. Since Lords’ Council members inherit their positions, and Second Council’s elected, they made it seem as if the Lords want to eliminate the voice regular people have in Dentheria’s rule.

“And wouldn’t you know, Ceystoria’s rep is here with the rest of the envoys, on their knees and begging for handouts of tech. For what, protesters ask. More murderous tech? Why not ask for food instead?”

“Dentheria’s gotten careless in who they exterminate and when,” Sils said. “Their fear’s showing.”

“Fear?” Tuft asked, his voice neutral, but something buzzed beneath that sent a shiver up Lapis’s spine.

“If aquatheerdaal runs out before they find another, reliable tech energy source, they’ll have rebellions on their hands, in every vassal state,” Patch said. “Reacting harshly now will squash the common folk’s potential uprisings before they happen.”

Lapis hmphed. Dentheria always had a heavy hand with the vassal states, and the puppet kings, to remain uncontested, did as the empire asked. It never mattered how many people died to retain power, and a few protests would not change that.

“Unfortunately, all the unrest means we’re going to need to be cautious while leaving the city,” Sils said. “It’s going to be annoying, but we’ll need to use Minq and rebel backways to get to the Morningdew house. The roller will get us to the base, but the roads will be snowy trash the entire way and there’s no guarantee we won’t get stuck.”

Another snowy outing? Lapis looked in her cup, then at the door, and wondered if she could retrieve more wake juice and ignore the promise of cold until she had to deal with it.

Patch solved the problem by handing her his empty bowl with a small, boyish grin. Of course he wanted more. With an exaggerated, suffering sigh and a quick kiss, she shuffled out of the room. Whatever else Sils said, Patch would tell her later.

She walked down the sparse, grey-washed hallway and into the cozy, powder-green, tiled kitchen; the pilot stood before the stove, frying a mix of meat, eggs, and tubers, in a pan large enough she meant for all of them to partake. Considering how delectable it smelled, Lapis would happily oblige. Toast already sat in three neat piles on the long, scuffed table, and the door guard slid a platter of cubed fruit and vegetables next to it. She smiled and nodded to a hutch on the far side of the room, where a clear glass pot sat on a heating element and a steaming device dribbled wake juice into a carafe.

“When Patch visits, we make lots,” the guard said.

“He must love you forever for that,” Lapis said with a sad shake of her head. Both laughed.

“You wouldn’t think it, but his wake juice obsession is an in-joke among the Minq in Jiy,” the pilot told her. “The lengths he goes to, to get a jug of it.” She leaned away from the stove. “And he isn’t dead from guzzling it.”

“Glad he isn’t, but I don’t understand it.” Lapis set the mugs down and gave her partner a generous refill before trickling juice into her own. “I’d probably burst if I drank the amount he does.” She pursed her lips at them. “And then he falls right asleep when he wants to, too.”

They both groaned.

Rin hopped into the kitchen, a mug in his hands, and grinned at them. She raised an eyebrow and motioned to the glass pot.

“Not gotten enough of watching the screen yet?”

Red spread across his cheeks as the two other women laughed. As soon as he finished his shower, he rushed to the room and sat, entranced, by the images playing across the screen. Lapis understood his fascination to an extent, but he already had experience with pictures. What about the news entertained him so much?

“I can’t tease,” the pilot said. “I’m from Jiy. The Minq headquarters has some nice stuff, but the first time I visited Dentheria, I was awed by all the screens, the flashing pictures, the loud music in every store. It seemed like a dream, to watch an image move. And the signs glow, and the—”

“The signs glow?” Rin asked, skeptical.

“Huge ones, backlit by a rainbow of tech lights.” She wagged her finger at him. “They aren’t half as pretty as the streets right now, with strings of small lights and glittering ribbons and garlands. Dentheria celebrates the Starlit Nights and decorates accordingly. It’s supposed to bring joy after the first snows, so people get festive long before it happens, and the celebration continues into the first week of End Year 3. Then everyone gets sober for Seven Nights.”

Lapis had not celebrated Starlit Nights since her childhood. The tithe requirements in Jiy to participate in the religious ceremonies left the rats in the cold, and she refused to honor religious institutions that only favored the wealthy. Many businesses closed in reverence, but Dachs kept the Eaves open, disdainful of the celebration.

So did the Night Market, but the stalls there made tons of bits off jovial people wanting to see a theater act, then eat afterwards. Money drove them, just in a different way.

The pilot nodded, as if trailing her thoughts. “Dentheria doesn’t practice Jiy’s overblown religious rites,” she said. “People here have fun. They give presents, they go out to drink and dance. They’ll stand outside and look up at the stars they can’t see because of the haze and sing. It’s a grand experience. Oh, there’s a few who try to browbeat others into keeping it a family gathering holiday, but no one listens.”

A touch of cold air drifted to the room, followed by the door slamming. The guard peeked into the hallway and waved. “Hey, Vay, what’s up?”

A woman bundled in a Minq uniform coat of deep red and a humongous hat and scarf combo stopped in the doorway. “Nothing much, Tenny. Just messages,” she said. “After last night, the military’s monitoring comms too closely, so I’m a courier.” She unwrapped the scarf; despite the protection, her nose and cheeks still blazed a bright crimson. “They sent out a warrant for Amarie. News has it all over, with Lady Maurojay asking what, exactly, her granddaughter has done. She spoke at the Allesha march, gave interviews, and left before the clashes broke out. There’s a recording of her at the Grand Sterling attending Lady Elcharay’s holiday bash, so everyone knows she wasn’t anywhere near the riots.”

“We put her up?” the pilot asked.

“Yep. She’s with Jo Ban and Vu Ne right now. Lord Aventen asked it as a personal favor, so he’s going to owe Jo Ban a lot.” Vey jerked her chin at the pilot. “Pheno, if things get worse, Vu Ne wants you to fly her to Jiy. Lord Wembis even said in an interview the Lords’ Council wants to make an example of her, so there’s no doubt what they plan. It’s best if she’s not around to suffer it.” She tugged off her gloves and banged them against her thigh. “Lord Aventen’s district had a protest in support of her right after the announcement. Thousands attended, and I think it scared the Lords.”

“Hey, Vey.” Patch smiled at the messenger, then made a line to Lapis and his mug. The kitchen erupted in laughter, which he raised an eyebrow at before downing the contents.

“Hey, Patch. I got a message for you, too.” Vey unbuttoned her coat and dug into a thin bag of hard brown leather at her waist. She pulled a green envelope from within, shuffled to him, handed it over, and returned to the hallway before heading to the meeting room.

Patch glanced at it, set the bowl down, and opened it. He scanned the contents, then handed the page to Lapis. She skimmed it and made a face.

“My brother can’t find someone else to play courier?”

“We’re close,” Patch said. “Hey Rin, up to a stroll after breakfast?”

He beamed bright enough that Lapis shielded her eyes. Of course, if Patch offered, not even being thrown into the Pit would stop him from accepting. Her partner kissed the side of her head.

“What do you want to do?”

“Sleep.” She would see plenty of Trave as they snuck around; she did not need to gawk at it any earlier than that.

“Alright.” No argument, and she appreciated the lack of push. She needed time to settle, and he recognized her unease. He always did. She slid her arm around his back, pressed against his warmth, and sucked in his muskiness; he clutched her close, the stability she desired when her insides ran around like frightened squirrels.

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