She was focusing hard enough to see it coming: tons and tons of concrete descending as an uneven sheet. She Shifted again, thinking of the street outside. She arrived there, not quite in front of the main door and a bit further away than she’d planned, but well enough away from the boom of collapse. The poorly repaired windows were broken all over again as the sheets were blown out, as was a cloud of dust following on the heels of fleeing crowd-members. Their shock shifted between the sudden blast and her sudden appearance, but she paid them no heed.

There was no way between the buildings, so she looked up to the roof and risked yet another Shift. She made it to the edge of it and ran along the roof over to the other side.

That back door had led straight out onto the back street. Unfortunately it also led to five immediate avenues of escape, and though her ears were ringing Saketa felt she heard the echoing whine of a vehicle engine.

She leapt down, drawing on strength to hit the street without damage, and picked a random street to run to. She saw only minor foot traffic, reacting to the blast and to her appearance. She turned and ran for another one. She didn’t see him there either.

She’d lost him.

Saketa allowed herself a single, angry swipe at empty air before taking a steadying breath. She walked back to 29 at a regular pace, letting the battle clear out of her system. She lifted the sword up in the air and swung it again, though now with a purpose and more power. The blood flew off the material, splattering on the street, leaving her sword clean.

She sheathed it as she stopped in front of the back door. A member of Usta’s baying crowd had nearly made it out before being pinned down by a big chunk of concrete. His face was red and his eyes desperate as he let out weak little gasps. He was trying to breathe through severely compressed lungs.

Saketa drew on strength again and lifted the chunk just enough to yank the young man out with her other hand. He gasped loudly and desperately. He was cut, bloodied and bruised and his leg was clearly broken. But it looked like he would survive.

“Usta did this,” she told him sternly, pointing a finger at his face. “Simply to escape capture. Think about that, when you decide the company you keep.”

She left him to his gasping and started walking. She hadn’t gotten far when one of the locals, a young woman with unkempt hair, hesitantly approached her.

“Warden?” she asked. “You are a... Kalero Warden?”

“I am,” she replied.

She pointed into the direction she’d come from.

“There was a... public call. I answered it, and the voice asked if you were nearby.”

Her thoughts first turned to her allies in the capital, but they had no way of knowing she was in this exact area. The marshal did, however.

“Did you leave the call open?” she asked.

“I did, yes.”

“Thank you.”

She strode into the direction the woman had indicated, went around a corner and saw a public comm setup on the opposite one. She hurried over and took the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Warden,” said Tomos Tel Usta. “I see you stuck around. Or hear it, rather.”

“And you did not stick around to fight alongside your comrades,” she replied.

“Victory is preparation, and you didn’t allow for much of it. Still, I think I did well enough for now.”

“Fleeing is not victory.”

“Oh, but we are not done yet, Warden.”

His voice shifted away from that hint of levity, into controlled anger.

“You come here to interfere in things that have nothing to do with you, you embarrass me, you kill my boys and you ruin my recruitment drive. You and I are nowhere near done. There is room in the Fourth Fleet ranks for people who can pull in bodies ready to fight. Now...”

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“The resistance to Volkan Vol is growing,” she pointed out. “His wave will break. Best you stand down and turn yourself in while you have something to negotiate with.”

“Do I strike you as the standing down type, Warden? No. I don’t talk. I don’t break. Trust me, people have tried. We’ll meet again before either of us gets off this miserable little mudball, and we’ll see how Fourth Fleet command feels about someone who can bring in a dead Warden. I’ll be seeing you.”

The call ended. Saketa stood there for a few seconds with the receiver in her hands. Then she selected a service language she understood and contacted the capital’s system. Then it was a matter of contacting the spaceport, before finally contacting a particular dock.

“Mal, it is me,” Saketa said as her call was answered.

“Warden,” the man said. “What is your situation?”

“I... found him, but a bit of cunning allowed him to escape for now.”

“That is... unfortunate,” Mal said. “You know why we need him. And how badly we need him.”

“I do,” Saketa said, mindful of their earlier discussion about not revealing any details over a public comm. “I have not given up.”

“I didn’t expect you to. How are things over there?”

“Dreadful, frankly,” she replied. “The city is dominated by fear. People are cast into their own shadows, seeking enemies. And people like my quarry are helping it all along, although I may have made some difference in that tonight. What about the capital?”

“Tense,” Mal replied. “We don’t really dare leave the spaceport. The comms are wild with rumours about the governor’s next step in establishing order.”

“And I take it that none of the restrictions are being lifted?”

“No, Warden.”

The man sighed.

“Look... do you want us to try to come pick you up? I think my pilot has a decent chance of making it work, but it will be a bit of a gamble. The governor is getting ever more serious about flight restrictions.”

“No need to gamble,” she said. “Stay there and keep an eye on things. I need a reliable flight off this planet, once I have my prey. And I should return to the matter. I will call-”

The call ended.

Due to circumstances, at night comms will only be open for emergency services. Thank you.

So read the bright orange text that flashed across the machine’s little screen. Saketa wasn’t sure she agreed with this move by the authorities, but there was nothing she could do about it, and so she didn’t waste energy dwelling on it.

She stepped away from the array, closed her eyes and took a few meditative breaths. She felt inclined to take Usta at his word; he would not simply flee the planet or hide in the wilderness. He wanted another fight with her. The marshal and his officers were far too busy with their own immediate problems to be of any more help. So she might as well be fully rested for whatever was to come.

Temporary measures had been taken by the city to house those left homeless by the fallen tower, or refugees from the countryside. Her first stop was a sports hall, but a quick glance inside told her that it was far beyond capacity. People leaving the dinner line with bowls in hand had to carefully step over people resting on blankets on the floor.

Her second stop was an open field between two apartment buildings. Perhaps it was a park, though she saw no large plants. Perhaps they’d been cut down to make crude furniture, or used for fuel.

Portable canopies had been set up, almost sufficing to form a continuous roof over the rows of emergency beds and a handful of tents marked with various services. Aside from a few children crying with fatigue, the air was strangely muted. Most seemed to simply wish to take a break from their worries. Perhaps the fear of serving as the spark for yet another blaze kept the people so quiet.

No one monitored comings or goings, and so Saketa simply strode beneath the nearest canopy. She selected the centre of the park as her place for the night, partly for maximum visibility as she walked by people. She couldn’t solve this city’s problems by herself, but if her presence could keep people just a little bit more civil, then she ought to at least try.

Saketa found herself a simple folding bed behind a food tent and sat down. An energy bar from a pouch on her belt served as dinner, after which she took off her boots. They were well designed, tailored to her feet by the crafters back home. Still, her toes welcomed freedom and she wiggled them for a bit before drawing the sword.

She sat cross-legged with it in her lap, using it as her focus, her anchor, as she meditated. She immersed herself in the energies of the universe, and her own part in both halves of them. She looked within and focused on the fact that she had taken human life earlier. She examined her own reasons for the act. It was risky to start doling out evaluations of the men’s worth, so she focused on the simple fact that they had been every bit as human as she was.

She saw her own glow, and in it the desire to protect, to save lives by having a hand in ending this war, and her entirely human instincts of self-defence. She also saw her shadow, where lurked insidious judgement, anger at the men for what they represented and how they’d conducted themselves, and a dark satisfaction at having slain them. And having been faced and accepted without being embraced, those little bits of darkness would have no power over her.

Thus balanced, Saketa sheathed the sword. Then she placed both blades next to her on the bed and closed her eyes. Mental discipline easily drowned out the soft, surrounding buzz of human beings and her own thoughts, and she readily slid into sleep.

Soon enough there were faint images of dreams, an utterly black sky, and a figure standing over her.