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.
