A pair of lights on tripods lit the front of the building, the ambiance illuminating the dimmer hallways beyond. Patch and the khentauree scanned the area but did not detect a tech in the vicinity. Were they at the dock? Likely. That did not make Lapis feel better about discovery.

Sils took the right-hand hallway and padded to a double door standing open at the end. Her group whisked inside, and he and Brander slowly swung them shut with a modicum of creaking. They walked down a pitch-black corridor, the only sounds their footsteps and the odd groan of the building. Lapis disliked using the lights, but they would never navigate the interior without them. She assumed the techs had not meandered far from the illuminated areas so did not expect to encounter them, but the fear that Drakes still stalked the halls kept her hyper-alert.

The walls reminded her uncomfortably of the long, whitewashed corridors in both Ambercaast and the Cloister, ones that had no décor, no seating, just lines of doors with small windows peeking into the rooms. Only this hallway contained numerous open entrances, as if the occupants rushed to vacate.

Sils held a light in one hand, his device in another. He tapped at the surface and red, then blue lights flashed. He cocked his head and tapped again. “The corridor’s clear.”

Brander peeked inside a room, then shook his head. “They must have left fast,” he said. Lapis slid over to look. The room had clothing strewn on the floor, rumpled bedding, plates with half-eaten meals, and full cups on a table.

“They had to have known about the military wanting to dock the ‘shrouds here, didn’t they?” she asked. “Why didn’t they prepare?”

“I don’t know. But it looks like they fled when the techs arrived. Maybe more than one Swift showed up initially, and the remaining shanks ran away.” Brander flitted his light across the items before returning to the hallway. Fear of darkness loped through her, and her mind whirled through terrifying, non-human monsters that always inhabited the darkest niches, the ones with wide mouths, drool, and sharp teeth. She caught his step, chastising herself for the sparse comfort being near him brought, but unable to pull her thoughts away from the terrors that haunted her.

She would never forget her childhood flight through the nighttime forest to escape her family’s enemies, would she?

Sils peered into a room further down. “Could be. That would explain the rush of footprints at the culvert.” His beam bounced around. “This one’s cleared out. You see where hardware hooked into the wall. Maybe they pulled the passcode readers to sell or repurposed them for another hideout.”

“Maybe that’s why the techs are having a tough time,” Lapis said, focusing on something other than the dark. “The Drakes dismantled the equipment they need to activate the dock.”

“Seems pretty bold.” The modder continued down the hallway at a faster pace. “They may have abandoned this base, but the military leadership isn’t going to like a syndicate selling off their tech when they could do it to enrich themselves.”

“I find it odd that they left functional equipment behind.” Tuft paused at another room, ice-still for a moment, before continuing. “Apparatuses and tools for the mines were paramount, more so than the humans who operated them.”

“Dentheria, depending on who’s governing, makes strange choices.” Sils glanced in another room, and his light followed a trail of blue gunk out the door, half a footprint visible in the largest pile. “But one thing they’ve consistently done is leave tech behind. It’s not just military bases or research centers, either. They’ve abandoned crashed ‘shrouds where they went down and never retrieved the bodies, let alone salvaged equipment. I’m not sure about the reasoning, but Jhor probably knows. He worked for them, after all.”

“They did not retrieve the bodies?” Tuft’s buzz lowered, darkened.

“Dentheria wants their vassals to know they mean nothing.” Brander’s eyes glinted a hard gold, obvious despite the dim illumination. “If the backbone of Dentheria conquests, their soldiers, are replaceable without care, what should conquered states expect? It keeps populaces cowed, waiting for the hammer to strike while hope drowns in uncaring seas.”

“It is how Maphezet Kez and Ree-god thought of khentauree,” Tuft said. “Interchangeable, insignificant. Their beliefs infused their followers, and it continued after their deaths. Gedaavik never thought such. He saw within us potential wasted through forced labor.”

His guttural hate reflected how Lapis felt about the Dentherion Empire, but in both cases, it was empty. Those who harmed Tuft and the Shivers khentauree were long dead, far past retribution. The empire, despite the disaster, would never discard vassal states without a protracted fight, one they expected to win because they kept the countries bereft of tech. Too many would die for Dentherion’s pleasure, and they would gloat about their victories to their blood-hungry population.

They would probably record it and stick it on their screens, for everyone to view and get high off the secondary adrenaline rush.

The khentauree’s fingers curled, and a thrill ran through Lapis before she caught herself and held a large breath. Tuft needed help to retrieve the khentauree, so he would not harm them.

Yet.

What if he iced them in a room as a reward for their aid? Heven was not around to kick the frozen stuff apart so they could escape. She did not have anything on her that would effectively melt his ice, and who knew if they could contact Patch considering the comm interference.

Faelan wanted to prevent a future where Dentheria had access to forgotten, advanced tech, and she wanted to help the kidnapped khentauree, but she wished she did not have to keep Tuft company.

They reached the end of the corridor; a concrete stair went up, and one went down, both in excellent shape for an abandoned base. On each side were pairs of windowless double doors, similar to those that hid elevators at the Shivers.

“They are below,” Tuft said. “Their words fade in and out. It is strange, as if there is a device that prohibits communication, but can only manage it half the time.”

“It’s an odd signal,” Sils agreed. “I’m leaning more and more towards it being a defense that the techs triggered, but age and lack of equipment have blunted it. Maybe it’s a good thing, the Drakes sold or repurposed whatever they could. They might have unintentionally damaged the proper workings of this place, which should make it easier for us to sneak around.”

Lapis expected more darkness, but as they made their way down the flight of stairs, the air brightened to a dim yellow. They reached the next landing and found a closed door with a bar handle, a green sign with white letters that read ‘open’, and a twisty bulb stuck in a socket above it. Did that mean electricity remained on down there? How odd, if so.

Sils regarded the light as Tuft stilled. “I think they are on this level,” the khentauree said. “But they are not alone.” He touched his forehead. “There is much strangeness, in our connection.”

“Let me look.” The modder clicked off his light and tapped at the device as they waited.

Lapis could feel her tummy tensing; had the Drakeways not run away, but simply hid below ground? How did they plan to escape when the rest of the military showed up? Was that even their intent? Would an up-and-coming syndicate think themselves equal to a well-equipped skyshroud’s soldiers and hold a base when a far greater threat engaged said soldiers?

No; signs of evacuation littered the place. She ran her fingers over the trigger mechanism of her left gauntlet anyway, reminding herself that when she needed them, her blades shot out of their nest and sliced whatever she fought—including khentauree and tech gun barrels. She should thank Sils for their wondrous cutting edge, since he created them.

“My scans are showing dozens of heat sources. I don’t think most of them are lights, but we need to be cautious all the same.” Sils tucked the device under his arm and settled his hands on the bar. With a slow, steady push, he opened the door. It creaked, blending with the normal groaning the building expressed. He peeked through the crack.

Lapis readied for attack, waiting for the modder to say something.

“There’s a group down at the far end of the hallway,” he whispered. Brander edged to him and peered over his shoulder.

“They look like they’re fighting,” the thief said. “Shanks don’t get that animated unless they’re scared.”

At least they were not soldiers.

“Think we can sneak close enough to hear what they’re saying?” Lapis asked. “They might drop where the khentauree are.”

“Yes. Half the rooms are open,” Sils said. “Hopefully we can figure out what’s going on, since they’ve barricaded the hallway. Follow me, be quiet.”

He did not have to remind them.

The modder led them down a bright, white-tiled hallway lit by paneled lights in the ceiling. Several doors stood ajar, with boxes and junk shoved against the whitewashed walls next to them. Those provided some relief from being spotted but did not have enough breadth to conceal Tuft.

At the end of the hallway, shanks paced and flung their arms about, paying no attention to their surroundings as they screamed at each other. Wooden crates and metal boxes stacked three high formed a makeshift blockade across the corridor, extras sitting against the walls or scattered behind them. Had they created it? If so, what did they expect to keep out? Something without hearing, because their loud shrieks would attract all the unwanted attention they could muster.

Sils slipped inside a doorway near enough that they could listen to what the shanks said without exposing them to immediate discovery. The room was dark, a boon compared to the over-bright hallway, and seemed clean. Tables and chairs rested against the walls, and cabinets stood at the back, supplies a jumbled pile on the floor. Lapis expected thick dust and empty shelves considering they traversed an abandoned base, but it looked like the Drakeways embedded themselves deep enough they cleaned the place.

The modder closed the door until a crack of light remained. She held her breath as everyone stilled, attempting to discern what the shanks screamed at each other over the echoes and her heart pounding in her ears. Why did they behave as if the military had not yet arrived? Or did they not know the techs were there?

“Then leave.”

“I don’t have a coat!”

“Not my problem.”

“You know what is your problem? Those things. And you didn’t take care of them, did you?”

“They shot beams out of their heads!”

“So? Moorlight said—”

“I don’t care what Moorlight said!” The third man sounded cold, but his attempt at disinterest could not cover his trembling voice. “I’m not going to retrieve his new toys. Let’s go. I don’t think his backup’s showing up.”

“I’m not leaving until I find a coat! And if I’m not leaving, neither are you! And you don’t want to explain to Moorlight and Perri why you didn’t listen to me.”

Lapis glanced at Brander and Sils. “Do you think they know who the backup’s going to be?”

“Even if they do, we can play with that,” Brander whispered. “Considering all that’s happened in Trave, we can say plans changed, we were sent in on short notice.”

She set her hand on Tuft’s arm; he stared at the wall as if he could see through it. Was he speaking with the khentauree? “Tuft, have the khentauree escaped?”

“They say no.” He sounded distracted.

“Has Dov woken up?”

“No. They are afraid. And—” His words ended abruptly, and she did not know whether to push or let him be. Both Brander and Sils frowned, concerned, and had no advice.

“Tuft. I think we can get the location of the khentauree from the shanks, but you’ll need to stay hidden.” Hopefully he heard, understood, and remained in the room.

She peeked out the door at the shanks; they had their backs to the hallway, still engrossed in their fight over lack of coats and whether to vacate before the backup arrived. “I’ll take lead, since I don’t have a tech weapon. Let’s hope an unarmed woman is nonthreatening enough they won’t shoot.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I have a blanket in my pack, not a coat.”

“So do I,” Sils murmured. “We’ll give him that. Should cheer him up enough to leave.”

She straightened, grasping for the bravery hiding in the pit of her stomach. The confrontation could go very, very wrong if the shanks suspected they weren’t associated with Moorlight. “Think Jo Ban might send a few bits our way for an unexpected boon of informants?”

“Depends on how clueless they are.” Sils huffed with laughter. “I doubt it would take much to convince them to talk. They don’t sound like the roughest of the Drakeways flunkies.”

Not if one of them complained about lacking a coat. Brander patted her shoulder, and she smiled before stepping from the doorway, lecturing her body to stop quivering. Anxiety would not impress the typical shank, let alone violent ones associated with a syndicate.

Brander took her left, holding his tech weapon up and donning a nonchalant mask. Sils walked to her right, holding his device to his chest, not as easy, but appearing like the modder he was. She strode confidently to them, masking her jitters with Lady Lanth aplomb.

One noticed her. He stopped mid-sentence and stared, mouth open, eyes rounding.

“Why hello, boys,” she purred, swiping the air with a single backwards wave of her hand.

The other nine men jumped and whirled, five raising their weapons.

“Now now, if we wanted to take you out, we already would have,” she said, forcing her lips into a smooth smile. “You didn’t hear us coming down the hall, after all.”

The men looked at each other, nonplussed. “You’re the Trident backup?” one asked. She recognized his voice as belonging to the man telling the tech to leave. He had a shaved head but for the stripe of braided hair down the center, which reached to his collar. She associated the style with low-rung underbosses from Dentheria who thought Jiy would make a pretty playground. They ended up retreating within days—if they survived that long.

“Do I look like military?” she asked, shoving thick sarcasm into the words as she settled the tips of her fingers over her breastbone. Good thing she wore a marching shirt and nondescript gear; she resembled a syndicate shank doing underhanded deeds.

“I thought there’d be more of you.” His eyes flicked behind the three of them, to the far door. “A unit at least.”

“There are more of us, but we split up because we weren’t sure exactly where you all were.” She lifted a lip. “The comms aren’t working as they should.”

“Stupid stubs,” another seethed. She recognized his voice as the man complaining he had no coat, which proved true. He was the best dressed of the lot, with a blue silken shirt tucked into tan pants which puffed out at the top and tapered to the ankle. He wore a thin blue belt that matched the shirt; how many shanks took the time to coordinate their clothes? She bet he had a position of authority in Drakeways. “They got into the docks computers, did something. I don’t know what, but they cut power to most of the base and locked us out.”

Lapis raised an eyebrow as Sils lowered his device. “Locked you out? How? They’re techs.”

The man’s laughter held all the resentful disgust one could muster against the empire. “Exactly. They fumbled around and triggered something with their ineptness. Hibby didn’t know what it was, thought he’d go below and see if he could use the mainframe down there to bypass the lot of them. He never came back, and then those things showed up.”

“Those things?” Lapis asked, digging her elbow into her palm and tapping at her cheek. “You’ll have to get a bit more specific.”

“You know those machines Moorlight sent you guys to get from the Shivers?” the tech asked. She nodded; play along, pretend—but she wanted to stare. So Moorlight hired the red trident mercs, and he knew about the khentauree before they stepped foot in the Cloisters. But how? “Well, these things are like them. Only they aren’t silver. They’re charcoal.”

“Charcoal.” She shrugged, feigning a lack of concern when her heart beat in her throat. Did khentauree colors have significance? “Well, we’re here for the silver ones.”

“Yeah, well, a retrieval isn’t going to happen,” the tech seethed. “Leave them! Isn’t worth your life!”

 “If you don’t want to come with, that’s fine.”

“No, you don’t understand.” The braid shank flung his arm towards the makeshift barrier. “They killed most of us. We’ve been through the Dorlund training! Every single one of us! And they still took us out!”

Dorlund? Did the training also teach them to run away? If the charcoal khentauree targeted them, this lot did not stick around to get splattered by friendly blood. “Sounds like we’ll have a party when we meet back up with our people.” She jerked her thumb to point behind them. “The corridor’s clear. The five techs up top have their hands full trying to activate the dock. Don’t go after them unless necessary. We don’t want them to call for backup. You know that culvert on the east side of the base?”

“Yeah,” said another, resentful, glaring, lip trembling. She guessed he disliked a woman ordering him around. That would turn to hate soon enough.

“Take that. We’ve evacuation vehicles there.” She cocked her head and made a production of eyeing each of them. “If you think you can walk that far.”

So easy, to tweak egos of men desperately trying to pretend they were not afraid.

“So me and mine aren’t certain how many of you are left.” Lapis dropped her hands and smacked them against her thighs. “We’ve orders to get you, the silver machines, and some scientist or other out.”

“Scientist?” The tech snorted. “That insane guy babbling on about killer machines?”

“He wasn’t wrong, was he? Is he down here, too?”

“No.” The tech did not like the jab, but let it go. “He was in one of the interrogation rooms on the ground level front. The stubs probably got him.”

She sighed. At least the charcoal khenaturee had not taken him out. “That’s annoying.”

“There’s us and Hibby’s group,” the resentful one muttered. “We were supposed to recover those silver machines, meet up top, evac. I’m sure you and yours won’t have any trouble, will you?” He flapped his hand in dismissal; his snarly, satisfied grin pricked at her, and she clamped down on the urge to punch him.

“Trouble’s our name and game. Which room are the silver machines in? We’re getting paid a lot to get them out, and we’ll get them out.”

The braided hair guy laughed. “Might as well ditch the pay and leave. Can’t spend a silver if you’re dead.”

Disbelief welled, and she snickered. “Silver? I’m planning a vacation with the metgal I’ll be making. Which room?”

His laughter dwindled and heated resentment took root; so the Drakeways leadership only promised them silvers to evacuate the khentauree while under threat of military arrival? They should have demanded metgal equal to the danger. “You better find your flacks. You lot only have one weapon.” He pointed at Brander’s tech.

She raised her arm and triggered her gauntlet; the weapon shicked out and the men jumped back, startled. She wrapped her fingers around the sliding lever’s grip and grinned. “Only one weapon? I think not. Which room?”

“074,” the tech said. “Some Stars’ important number. Hibby thought it was cute.”

“I’m sure he did. Do you have the key?”

All eyes snaked to the tech, who reluctantly dug into his pants pocket and produced two keys; one plain, one with a yellow streak on each side.

“Thank you.” She took the items and jerked her head back. “Now get out of here.”

The tech stared at her. “I don’t have a coat,” he said with petulant disbelief.

Brander laughed, which the whiny shank did not appreciate; Sils slipped his pack from his back and scrounged for the blanket. He tossed it at the man who caught it, frowned, but threw it over his shoulders and snugged it tight to his chest.

“The rollers are warm, so you won’t have to go that far with minimal protection. And hurry up. The ‘shroud’s halfway here.”

The braided-haired guy took off, not bothering to converse with his buddies. The rest followed, the tech dawdling until last, eyeing their outerwear, but she clicked her tongue in warning at him. He huffed and ran after them, his boots slapping hard against the tile.

“So much for vicious Drakeways, eh?” Lapis asked as the braid guy reached the door and yanked it open.

Brander crawled up on the wooden crates to peer over the barrier. “I don’t see anything,” he said, far quieter than the evacuating Drakes. Did they expect to sneak past the military techs making that much noise?

Sils tapped at his device. “Charcoal khentauree?”

Tuft slipped from the door and swiveled his head to keep an eye on the retreating men while he swept to them. Not one looked back. Good. He reached them and placed himself behind a stack of boxes that rose just past his head. “Charcoal means military. The battle khentauree had a mix of dark markings with bright color. Those with blue were front lines, those with green were medics, those with cyan were sentries.” His head swung to Lapis. “You sounded very hard. It did not seem like you.”

She sheathed her blade and fussed with the buckles of her gauntlet, keenly aware of the eyes on her. “Mercs and syndicate shanks aren’t known for their fuzzy emotions. When I’m chasing, I have to deal with my fair share of them, so I developed a personality they would not like but could respect. Lady Lanth, chaser, isn’t the nicest of people.”

Brander chuckled. “You’re far nicer than most chasers, which is why you take the little guy’s stakes, rather than chase the big ones.”

“Little guy’s stakes?” Tuft asked.

“Lanth takes the stakes that don’t pay much, because they’re posted by people who can’t afford justice in Jiy. She retrieves stolen items, finds shanks who cheated others, things like that.” He jumped down next to her. “She uses those funds to help the urchins in the Lells.”

“Are you not part of a rebellion?”

“Sort of.” Lapis tested the stacked boxes forming part of the barrier; they were heavy enough that they must have filled them with material after setting them in place. “It’s an inheritance, and I suppose I don’t have much choice.” She did not wish to converse more about it; they had other things to do. “Can we contact the rollers? It’d be a shame, to have the lot killed before they can speak.”

“Not from here,” Sils said, lifting his device to make the point. “My reach right now is pathetic. But I’m betting the Minq have prepared for that eventuality.”

Hopefully. She pushed at a few more and frowned. “I think they stuck these in place without a way to bypass them. They really didn’t want the military khentauree to get them. If they were so scared, why did they stick around shouting at each other? That’s bound to attract attention.”

“It’s almost like they know the khentauree aren’t near enough to hear them,” Brander said. “From the signage, it looks like room 074 is to the left, and I’m guessing at the far end.” He hopped down from the crates. “What Stars thing does 074 relate to?”

“The Stars of Origin birthed 74 offspring, who fell to earth in joy and danced to create the Firstdown Communities.” Tuft sounded like a bored child reciting something his elders thought important, and all he wanted to do was go play. “But their children were not of the sky, so grew old and sank into the earth, denying their parents their visages. In mourning, they returned to the sky and cried to their parents, ‘Do you not wish for your grandchildren to walk above the ground?’ And their parents replied, ‘They do walk above the ground, for they have become the beautiful sparkles of night.’”

“And Hibby thinks that’s cute?” Lapis shoved her shoulder into a crate, but could not move the stack. “Tuft, is there anything else about 74 that we should know?”

“Not that relates to our current mission.”

She turned, leaning against the barricade. “Does that mean religion is guiding Moorlight, just like it has Mesaalle Kez? If so, is that how Moorlight found out about the khentauree? The tech said he sent the red tridents to kidnap them, which means he already knew about them, and that it wasn’t just an opportunistic snatch of strange mechanical beings. Are he and Kez rivals?”

“I’m not sure that group’s going to know the answers, either,” Sils said. “Hibby might, but . . . well, I don’t think he’s still alive.”

“Doubtful.” Tuft set a hand on a table used as a brace for a larger crate. “Military khentauree are dangerous. Gedaavik’s hand did not touch them, so they have not grown past their lethal intent. There is no thought, just process.”

Sils roughly rubbed at his face. “Jhor and I knew something was wrong when we went into the restricted area, and I don’t think it’s military khentauree. I’m betting they’re guards for what Dentheria considered the real danger. I wonder if the empire’s known about extant khentauree all this time, or if they didn’t want to mess with abandoned Taangin tech and locked it up?”

“Torc Bedan isn’t Taangis Empire old.” Brander slung his weapon over his shoulder and studied the barricade. “It was constructed between fifty and sixty years ago and meant to house equipment Dentheria was buying from Pelthine and Siindernorth countries to subdue eastern Theyndora. All that equipment transferred east after they won, and this base decommissioned because it was no longer necessary.”

“True, but they probably built over a Taangin underground facility,” Sils said. “There’s a lot of strange tech on the lower levels, things Jhor and I had never encountered—and you underappreciate how widely read Jhor is concerning Taangin technology.”

“I will form a walkway over the barrier,” Tuft said, cutting the conversation short. “I will take lead. Do not speak, do not act, unless I say.”

If he had brimmed with confidence, Lapis would have asked why, but trepidation coated his words. As a khentauree who often used a stiff, monotone voice, the reaction struck her as a dire warning. Brander and Sils looked at her, both grim and concerned.

Tuft formed an ice path from a non-barrier wooden crate, over the barricade, and to the tiles beyond. Lapis hunched over, expecting to slip and slide, but her boots gripped the pitted surface. She shuffled down the slope and onto the flooring beyond.

She stood in a hallway intersection, all three ways lit, all three containing lines of doors, all three clean of dust and debris. The left and right corridors had corners, the straight-ahead one ending at a set of double doors with a chain wrapped around the bars. At least charcoal khentauree would be an easy spot—unless they had Tuft’s ability to hide. Was that only a special khentauree thing?

After Brander and Sils cleared the barrier, Tuft jumped over it, shook his hair and tail, and turned left. She fell behind him, her heart pounding hard enough her hands throbbed. Brander and Sils joined her, walking in step, resolute, ready.