Pushing the bad thought out of his head, Zan re-focused on the present.

The way we came is as good as blocked, Zan thought. So only the way ahead is next…

Looking ahead, Zan saw — or saw as much as he could tell from such a limited visibility — a less densely packed part of the camp without large roadways transporting war materials.

Turning to his companions, Zan kept his voice low. He said, “Any ideas where the prison would be, Whiskey?”

She thought for a moment before replying. “I would wager deeper within the camp, but not so deep as to be on the very edge. They would want to process the prisoners quickly. I assume. If they need manual laborers, they wouldn’t want to risk them escaping and fleeing into the wilderness, possibly to join up with any of the many resistance fighters in the occupied territories.”

“The heart, then?” Zan asked. Whiskey nodded.

It’s a direction, at least…

To their front, the camp flayed itself open to dozens of points of entry. But Zan knew they couldn’t move without first knowing if any more searchlights were near.

“Anyone see the searchlights? In the darkened areas, I mean?” Zan asked.

Everyone squinted, trying to see what was ahead of them. Yet no one found anything which could be said to be an unlit searchlight firepit. If they lit the searchlights behind us, Zan thought. Then the enemy might already know intruders are in the camp. Maybe they are expecting us?

‘No,’ Zan settled. We have to go, now.

Zan took off and moved to a position deeper area within, possibly the supply depot? He didn’t know for sure, obviously, but felt there was a lot more war material stockpiled here than in the first section of the encampment.

Coming upon a tightly defined part of the depot with many winding passages, Zan had to bring himself to a sudden halt. A searchlight lit up in front of him — literally a foot in front of him.

Shoving himself backward, his back collided with Whiskey, who grunted at the unexpected crash. Zan uttered an apology but ordered a quick retreat once he saw the searchlight scanning the local area. Ushering his companions back, they tried a new way. But found that way blocked by yet another searchlight.

“Team, we’ve got to change the dynamic. Where are these searchlights coming from? Do we want to try and split up and take them all out before moving ahead?” Zan asked.

Jiehong spoke with an energy and said, “Sounds like a great plan… if we want to get killed! You think splitting up in this place is a good idea?”

“Calm down. I only asked if it was a good idea. Clearly it’s not…”

“I don’t think going our own ways is a good plan,” Whiskey said. “Zan is right, though. We have to change the dynamic, the plan, the — whatever you want to call it. We’re at the enemy’s mercy. That is not what we need moving forward.”

“What do you suggest?” Zan asked.

“First, let’s get out of the depot.”

“How? An idea?”

“Yeah, by this—” Whiskey said, motioning for the team to follow her.

Zan and Jiehong both did without reservations. She had the fire to lead. Any one of them was as likely as the other to lead the group into a death trap. So, Whiskey ought as well to have her turn.

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Leading the party on a bottlenecked chase through the depot, taking sharp turns which were mere feet away from patrolling soldiers, Zan was glad when the march ended. How they didn’t run into anything was beyond him, however. Sheer luck?

“Look! A clearing within the depot. And a way up to some guard towers. See the pulley-elevator system they’ve worked up?” Whiskey said.

He saw what Whiskey meant. Both he and Jiehong: to their direct front was a space for the automotrons to stack endlessly the cargo of the invasion. Just outside the labor space was a large watch tower. But the bottom of the tower had guards… did Whiskey want to engage them in combat and —

To answer Zan’s question before he asked, Whiskey, from her back, took out a hunting bow, then an arrow. Zan saw in the moonlight an armored tip. Whatever she forged her arrowhead from, it was more than a typical sharpened rock or iron.

Releasing the arrow, it struck true and destroyed one guard while somehow still having enough penetrating power to blast apart the head of another. “Now!” Whiskey urged.

Running on instinct, Zan pushed ahead, his regard to whether it was safe to do so completely gone. Zan moved to position with no need to be asked and slew the two close by guards with swift blade work.

“I get what ya mean. Jiehong, let’s be real. You’re too big to have the bridge pull you up. The counterweight wouldn’t work. I’ll go up. I’m the leader, right?” Zan said. Jiehong remained silent.

Seeing nearby a basic system of weights and counter-balances, Zan cut the pulley’s counterweight. The pulley fell, thus lowering the center almost slab of wood, which acted as an elevator. Standing on it was an enemy, but a well-placed arrow by Whiskey ended it long before any attempt to call for backup was possible. Once on the ground, Zan stood stark in the center and motioned for his teammates to reattach the counterweights, giving the elevator rise.

Zan rose quickly within the shoddily constructed wooden structure. Within the center of the tall tower, Zan stood alone. He thanked the gods for that much since if other golems had been stationed atop the watchtower, Zan doubted he would have the room to slay them… which would have meant too much heat for them to withstand.

Pushing from his mind abstract anxieties, fears for situations he had no control over, Zan searched the encampment for anything which looked like a prisoner’s quarters.

Frantically, he searched. Not helping matters were the sounds he heard from below. The rumble of horses and other beasts of burden, the grind of wheels and the wind. But more than anything, his party mates clambered for his attention. “Enemies coming!” Jiehong said. “Hurry up!” Whiskey said soon after.

He wanted to say, “Yeah, lower me down, I know exactly where we need to go!” But Zan couldn’t say that because he was not magic.

Speaking of: Zan scanned the sky to see if the Slipstream — the source of magic throughout creation — had returned.

It had not.

‘Worth a shot,’ Zan muttered.

He returned to scanning the horizon, his breath uneven.

“We’ll be back! Enemy patrol incoming!” Jiehong shouted under his breath.

Now Zan’s heart froze. What if they looked up and discovered him? Then all chaos and the flames of perdition would lap at his soul like a cat’s tongue on cream.

With the crawling minutes passing, Zan continued his search on the horizon. Then a thought occurred to him: what was he afraid of? How would the automotrons find him? By looking up? With what necks?

For the first time since the mission began, Zan smiled, genuinely smiled. He felt safe. Or safer than his compatriots on the ground. Where were they hiding?

Finally, adjusting to the panoramic scope of the camp, turning all which way to get in all the sights, Zan finally found what he figured was the best way forward.

Toward one direction, lots of stables and construction, the enemy clearly intending on using this territory as the advance base for the furthering of the invasion.

In another direction, tents… what for and what was inside, he did not know. But many tents meant many places to hide secrets. Prisoners were not secrets and it would not be economical for the enemy to house so many prisoners in tents. Sure, Zan didn’t know too much about how the enemy handled their captives during war, but if they were taking slaves, they would not be handling organic life-forms too well.

The third direction was merely the way they already had come. So Zan ruled out anything more existing there, though the unfortunate possibility remained they had somehow missed the prisoner pen. Unlikely, though, Zan thought.

The fourth direction Zan scanned, he found places more likely for place prisoners to be kept.

It looked to him like an open-air mud-pit but knew it had to be more. From up high, it would have looked that way, which was why it confused him. What use would automotrons have for grazing ground for livestock? They’re wooden machines! Only after considering the entire breadth of the camp did Zan realize, ‘It’s not a grazing field. It’s an open-air prison covered by a tarp.’

He had what he needed.

Whistling to his friends below, Zan was ready to be lowered when, suddenly, a searchlight from a nearby watch tower blasted him full on with light.

In the distance, an alarm went off.