Lapis pressed her nose against the small oval window and stared at the treetops below, uncaring that poofy, low grey clouds hid much of the landscape from view, uncaring that the Swift was small, and that squeezing seven onto the purple-hued, padded benches that swung into place from the sleek silver walls made for a too-warm experience. She flew!
The sky, clear and crisp and a light morning blue, spread out above the puffs, the sun a beacon of bright to the east. The Jiy haze did not drown the beauty about her, and delighted awe spread through her chest.
Ciaran’s amusement did not phase her; luckily he sat behind her, so she did not have to witness his smirk. Her childhood obsession now bore fruit, and she refused to miss a moment of this first flight by glaring at him. Cassa and Caitria grinned, and she gratefully thanked them for allowing her to sit on the left side of the bench, where she could peer out a window. Faelan glanced back from his seat next to their beaming uncle, trying hard not to chuckle.
She still did not think it a good idea for him to accompany the small group to Cassa’s lab, but he possessed the charisma and the authority to speak with Gredy about the return of his men and the bodies. While Vali had taken out the second khentauree with a swipe of her claw, she arrived after the mercs suffered casualties.
The tales from the camp fighters who saw the attack worried her. The mercs, with powerful tech weapons, did not cause enough damage to the chassis that it stopped working. That did not bode well for their infiltration of Ambercaast, as they would not have Vali to intercede if they came upon another machine, take its hits, and smash its head. Cassa said terrons had a substance they secreted when threatened, which filled their scales and made them impervious to sharp-clawed attacks, and while meant for protection against each other, the shell had the additional benefit of mitigating tech and blade damage.
Patch’s keen interest in the secretions surprised Cassa, and while he wished for further information, he had to leave. Lapis did not know how many metgals he promised the Minq to take him to Sils’s border workshop so he could get his tech fixed, and then get him back to the camp in time to hunt Hoyt, but by their satisfied grins, he made it lucrative.
What kind of craft did they have, to fly him to another country and back so quickly? A Swift?
“So tell me more about Gredy,” Faelan said, his gaze drifting to Cassa.
She nodded and folded her hands, as if she expected questions. “He and his men appeared a week after Doctor Lovent disappeared. They blocked off access to the city center, set up patrols, and harassed terrons and humans alike. We tried to avoid them as much as possible; Gredy’s been involved in nasty merc business for years, some of which landed him in a federal jail in Meergevenis. He’ll do anything for the right price, and he hasn’t much cared who gets hurt in the process.”
“Wonderful,” Ciaran grumbled.
“Whoever hired him knew about the terrons in the Depths, but he treated them like well-trained dogs rather than intellectual equals. It didn’t go over well. He didn’t realize the Bawik Institute and a Mawai Scientific workstation were here, which seems odd if he knew about the terrons. That’s all inconsequential, I suppose. What he’s really interested in is finding aquatheerdaal.”
“Why does he think the mines are viable?” Faelan asked.
“I doubt he does, but you see, the large mines in Sondercane and Ceethland haven’t produced a load of aquatheerdaal in years, and the smaller ones on Siindlenorth and Pelthine are nearly dry. This is terrible news for all the industries that rely on it as the basis for their tech.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Decades ago, scientists started warning governments, corporations and civic leadership about exhausting the known beds without a new power source, but the industries that use it didn’t want to spend the money on researching other means to power their tech. For them, it’s cheaper to send people to abandoned mines to see if modern techniques can discover veins the previous tech missed.”
“So we really should have grabbed a handful of the stuff,” Ciaran said. Cassa smiled slightly.
“Yes. You’d be rich rich.” She tugged at one of her braids. “The thing is, Gredy isn’t here on behalf of government entities or industries. Someone else is paying him, someone who has access to a lot of funding. His people are well-equipped and tech-heavy.”
“So a third party has seen an opportunity for untold wealth and hired mercs to protect their interests,” Faelan said.
“I believe so. It’s why he wants a terron to sniff out the aquatheerdaal. He brought in electronic devices that are supposed to highlight veins, but they don’t work anywhere near the mines. He didn’t want to melt rock and see if any of the mineral bubbled to the surface, so after a couple of months, he started trying to force terrons to sniff for it, and they refused. Ghinka cut off access to the Depths in response.” She twisted her braid around her finger. “Around that time, merc scouting expeditions disappeared, and Gredy blamed the terrons. Badger thought to take advantage of merc fear and offered to help Gredy as long as he helped Badger become the terron leader in return.”
Lapis turned from the window, her pleasure turning to numbness; she hated the fact that talking lizards, which seemed so mythical and special, held the same political arguments and resentments that humans possessed. Did the lust for power corrupt them as it corrupted monarchies and Lords’ Councils? How sad.
“So why haven’t you sold the aquatheerdaal in the train cars?” Caitria asked.
“It belongs to the terrons,” Cassa said firmly. “They don’t want to sell, so it won’t be sold.” She half-smiled. “And, well, I think I’m the only human who knows about the cars, because of Tovi.” She held up her index finger and made a circle. “Nearly all of them are in tunnels that the terrons blocked off years ago. The inland greens were trying to get in and make nests, and they didn’t want them taking up residence, so they closed the Taangis tech doors. Without shelter, the lizards couldn’t survive the cold months, so migrated to warmer climes. Some of them made the Pit their home. I’m not certain whether they chose to live there, or if Dentheria and the Jilvaynan court decided that captured inland greens would make good . . . carrion lizards.” She swallowed. “It isn’t natural for them, you know. They prefer to hunt. But they need to eat, and . . .” She shook her head and closed her eyes.
“So terrons can detect aquatheerdaal?” Caitria asked, a distraction.
“Oh. Yes. It smells like a mineral they need that helps them create their secretion shells. Meergevenis, the Republic of Alleurs and Meurgeld, and other eastern Siindlenorth countries have used them for centuries to discover aquatheerdaal and related minerals. It’s only been in the last two hundred years that governments have seen them as thinking beings and protected them by law throughout the continent. Some Siindlesouth countries still see them as mere animals, though.”
“If they’re as large and strong as Vali and they have armored skin, how did humans keep them caged?” Lapis asked.
“They kidnapped the very young. Terrons who are Tovi’s age can’t produce secretions yet.” Cassa’s voice took on a melancholy note. “There are chemicals that interfere with the hardening process, so once enslaved, their owners forced them to ingest a concoction to keep them vulnerable. Some, like Vali, were old enough they didn’t respond to the mixtures, and they escaped.”
Questions swirled through Lapis. She had so many. How did Vali survive the contamination from the Pit? Why go on Jiy walkabouts? Why not just live with the rest of the terrons in The Depths? How had she learned the hand signs? How did the lizards natively communicate? How large could one of her kind grow? Were their teenage years anything like what humans experienced? Tovi certainly acted like an authority-resentful teen.
“We have a welcoming party,” Rodas said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Probably Kathandra Duwein and her assistant. She sounded very worried when I got in contact with her this morning,” Cassa said.
“And a couple of men dressed in black fatigues.”
“Make sure your buckles are tight,” her uncle said. “We’re landing.”
Was that a good idea?
The platform was round and made from the dusty grey concrete Jilvayna once used to pave roads, before Dentheria forced the crown to return to cobblestones. A crimson circle marked the center and a brighter red ringed the outer edges. Black spots ran between, though Lapis had no idea what they might be for. An iron railing holding up transparent glass ran around the edge of the space, providing a clear view of small, square white buildings scattered along empty roads. Bushes turning bright rainbow colors in anticipation of colder weather divided the structures from one another. Beyond the tall, brown stone wall enclosing the workstation were pine trees interspersed with the broken remains of grey buildings covered in browning vines.
Rustling rose from the back; she glanced at Tamor, who hefted himself into a seat from his curled position on the purple-padded back bench, still looking peaked. She had ignored his clenched-teeth chanting about not puking, though Caitria and Cassa expressed muted sympathy.
“I’ll go first,” he gasped.
“You just want to get off the Swift,” Caitria said drily.
“Yep.”
The craft rocked at landing, and Tamor slapped his hand over his mouth and quivered. Refusing to wait for the ramp to deploy, he hopped over the middle bench between Cass and Caitria, swung the side door open, and leapt out.
Good for him, bravely rushing forth. Maybe he could throw up on the enemy’s black boots and make a truly memorable first encounter. Lapis winced and touched her gauntlets, hoping to calm the rampaging sarcasm that attempted to drown her worry.
A middle-aged woman dressed in a woolen white sweater, comfortable denim, and the white athletic shoes Lapis associated with Grey Streets residents who bought Dentherion-made clothes, rushed from the walkway leading to the building as soon as Cassa stepped down the ramp, her roller-shaped blond curls bouncing about her shoulders. The second woman, a thin brunette with glasses nearly as thick as Phialla’s and wearing a homey brown patchwork dress with obvious stitching, nervously regarded them with an anxious frown.
“Oh, Cassa, we were so worried when we heard that the mercs had you!” the woman exclaimed, hugging her, her luminous umber eyes tearing.
Cassa smiled, hugged back, and looked at Faelan. “This is the Lead Scientist for the Mawai workstation, Kathandra Duwein.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Kathandra, this is Faelan, who’s going to talk to Gredy. But what’s he doing up here?”
She produced a firm, enraged glare, her neatly sculpted eyebrows jutting deep down the bridge of her nose. “I contacted him and told him we’d meet with him in the front conference room, but he bullied his way up here by threatening Shon. I need better security.”
“He desperately wants his men back,” Faelan said, casually regarding the mercs as he moved to stand next to Tamor. The one in front who glared at them had scalp-short hair, thin slits for eyes, heavy jowls and a thick beard that hid several chins. His shirt threatened to burst at the seams, and the multi-pocketed marching vest strained to stay zipped. His paunch fell to his crotch, and many somethings poked out from the pockets of his pants. The wide laces could not pull the edges of the sturdy boots over the tongues, leaving significant gaps.
His lighter cast compared to the deep tans of the three men flanking him, and the ill-fit of his attire, proved he normally did not get his hands dirty in his affairs, but sent peons to do the work.
When Lapis pictured mercs, she imagined them being like the chasers who took hunting stakes; his image never would have crossed her mind.
“You have my men!” he shouted, making certain to draw all attention. His voice lacked the booming quality she expected of people in charge; its whiny pitch would never rise above battle noises in the field.
She mentally laughed; what was she thinking? She doubted he ever encountered the field.
“Your men are at our camp,” Faelan agreed. He projected far better than the other man, his voice clear and firm. “We saved them from khentauree last night. Unfortunately not all survived the encounter.”
Gredy’s face instantly transformed from merchant-white to dockworker red. “They’re dead?”
“Not all of them. They want to return here, but I’m afraid the forest isn’t safe enough for foot travel.”
“Foot travel?” he asked, outraged. “They drove—”
“We can discuss this inside, out of the cold,” Kathandra said, snagging Cassa’s hand and hurrying them both towards the warehouse-style doorway. It led into a white building with peeling yellow accents, wide windows that circled the three stories and exposed the interior offices, and a tall antenna on top. The brunette squeaked and bustled through the men as they spanned the walkway. They did not carry weapons or sheaths, so either they had hidden tech or a blade in a pocket, or they thought Jilvaynan natives were not a threat. The women stopped, and Kathandra planted her hands on her hips, seething.
A thump from the Swift echoed across the platform. Everyone looked at Ciaran and Rodas, who dragged the stretcher containing the machine away from the flying machine. The camp did not have a box large enough for the thing, and the stretcher easily attached to the bottom.
“What’s that?” Gredy asked as a mangled arm flopped out and bumped and scraped about, leaving a trail of flashy silver behind.
“The khentauree,” Cassa called.
Faelan and Tamor preceded them, the Minq close enough to her brother that if a merc took exception to the rebel, he could interfere. Caitria fell into step behind them, Ciaran and Rodas trailing her and lugging the heavy machine. Lapis brought up the rear; if the men did something, she could react faster than the two rebels weighed down by their load.
She queasily glanced at the khentauree; it had not moved after that final twitch, but she distrusted it. Yes, Vali had smooshed its head, but that did not guarantee the demise of a non-organic mechanism that may not have its brains in the right place.
The disgust of the mercs as the rebels hauled the thing past them tweaked her unease; their lack of shock concerned her. Everyone else had reacted with aghast distress, and she doubted these men had a heartier constitution than Minq enforcers. Had they encountered moving machines before?
“Is that?” one of the men asked, his mouth pulled down, his nose wrinkled in angry revulsion as he backed away from the stretcher.
“This is one of the two machines that killed your buddies,” Lapis said. “It shoots cyan tech beams and Cassa says it’s unusual in a couple of other ways.”
“How did it kill them?” Gredy asked, deep distrust replacing his petulance.
“I don’t know, I didn’t stick around long enough to watch. You’ll have to talk to a Minq about that.”
“Those look like claw marks,” a second merc said, squinting at the torso.
“A terron took him out.”
“A terron?” Gredy asked, snapping his head towards her. He snarled, reached out and snatched her upper left arm, dragging her near enough, she could smell the stink of beer on his breath. She triggered her right blade, and he reared back before the edge took the tip of his nose.
“Let. Me. Go.”
He stumbled to the side and released her, his hand rising to his burgundy face.
“I may be a chaser, not a merc, but don’t think I‘m an idle guard.”
“Using that?” the second merc laughed.
Did he have no appreciation for a blade? Pivoting, she lowered her weapon to waist level, just as Gredy regained his composure; he stepped forward and turned into her, attempting to grab her upper arm again. The tip cut across his pants and thick, woven belt, sending them sagging past his ass, exposing bright blue, skimpy underthings that looked like tight swimwear.
“Lanth!” Faelan snapped, annoyed. She sheathed her blade and hustled on, her cheeks burning, hoping she did not resemble a bonfire. She did not mean to do that, and Ciaran’s and Rodas’s laughter would only make the man angry. People like Gredy hated it when women upstaged them, and she just embarrassed him, not only in front of his men, but scientists and rebels and a Minq, too.
So much for her intimidating the enemy. She infuriated him instead. That did not bode well for the rest of the visit.
Shrieking with rage, Gredy waddle-rushed at her, one hand holding up his pants, the other clenching something small and boomerang-shaped. She jumped to the side, faster than he could react, and tripped him, sending him headlong onto Ciaran. The rebel stumbled, dropping the metal poles, and the khentauree landed with a loud bang.
And began to beep.
