Midnight Hollow, Motragi Rangers Command Center
Krandermore, Survivor’s Refuge
4453.2.11 Interstellar
The inside of the large tent was cool, clean, and well-lit. It was ten by five meters, with ample space for several large terminals and a central holographic tank that displayed a surprisingly detailed view of the surrounding area. Janus hadn’t been aware the Motragi used drones to that extent. Satellite technology was beyond Krandermorans, but while small aerial vehicles were used by coldsiders, sun-siders usually eschewed coldside tech.
A dozen operatives, armed and equipped for the field, talked to almost twice that number of researchers and analysts, using the displays to pull up maps, briefs, and images as they discussed upcoming missions. They seemed at ease in the technologically enhanced space, and while Janus hadn’t spent as much time with the rangers in Cofan as Mick had, it implied that the Motragi were far more advanced than they appeared.
“Over here,” their escort said, waving them over to one of the terminals on the right side of the room.
As Janus and Ryler crossed the room, Janus took note of how the Motragi had rigged their power and cooling systems. There was more distribution than even the high-tech space required. They were scattering the heat and load to different parts of the quarter, masking the command post’s location. This was a secret, something the rangers had hidden from Mick even though he’d marched and fought alongside them for over a year.
“We don’t have much time,” the grizzled ranger told them. “My orders are to brief you, give you the data packet, and get you out before anyone notices.”
He proceeded to give Janus and Ryler a complete rundown of the main route and the areas surrounding the stops they were likely to make. It was, for the most part, the same information Nikandros had given them, but it was both more detailed and more recent. For example, the ranger informed them a bridge they’d been planning to cross had been taken out by a mudslide.
“How do the Motragi have better information than the Cult?” Janus asked Ryler.
The cultist hesitated, glancing at the ranger, then said, “It’s the combination of the high particulates and the canopy. If we fly too high, scans don’t penetrate the trees. If we fly too low, field of view goes down, and maintenance goes up. The council made the decision to stop overflights altogether.”
“That’s good to know,” the ranger said, looking at Ryler, then back at Janus. “We use a combination of short-range drones and gliders for mapping, human intelligence for detail, and ULF radio stations for communication. If you know the frequencies and the coordinates for the relay stations, there isn’t a place in this region we can’t receive from or talk to.”
For once, instead of being tragically all-knowing, Ryler looked surprised. Janus barely managed to stop from grinning.
“What about the other teams?” Janus asked.
The ranger pulled the files up on the terminal screen. “Where do you want to start?”
To Janus and Ryler’s surprise, their host had also pulled up the files on the Motragi teams.
“Why are you sharing all this information with us?” Ryler asked.
The old ranger gave him a hard look. “The Motragi pay their debts, Ryler Abraxxis. More importantly, we aren’t going to win this year.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Janus said with half a chuckle, “but why are you so sure?”
The ranger pulled up one of the Pugarian teams. “This is our shared problem, gentlemen.”
Ryler stiffened. They weren’t Pugarians at all.
The “Pugarian” team was made up of one coldsider from Cold Haven, one Motragi, one Pugarian, and a Verazlan named Brago Tlali-Acamatl. All of them were former aspirants. All of them were winners, although some of them hadn’t been seen on Krandermore for over twenty years. They had registered Wayfinder Alura as part of their team, although the cultist had no history with the Trials, at least on Krandermore. “This has to be the compartmentalist team,” Janus said.
“Agreed,” Ryler said. “They’re winners of past Trials, but so are you. This shouldn’t be impossible.”
“That’s not why they were chosen,” the old ranger said.
“Oh?” Ryler said, raising his regular eyebrow.
The ranger nodded. “I’ll defer to your knowledge of your own team. We investigated the coldside settlement you’re supposedly from months ago, and they had no records of you, so I assume you have resources we’re unaware of.”
Janus felt his face heat. The Motragi had known all this time?
“But this team,” the ranger said, tapping the screen, “I have records on all of them, and I know exactly why they were picked. The data doesn’t lie. The five of them have killed more people during the Trials than any other aspirants in the past century.”
“That’s why you said the Motragi wouldn’t win this year,” Janus said.
The ranger nodded. “We’ve told our teams to stay clear of them, even if it means losing. That’s why we’re helping you. With any luck, the two of you will take each other out and let the rest of us run a clean race, although I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Janus tried to focus on the information on the terminal, but he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. The compartmentalists didn’t just want to beat them; they wanted them dead, and they’d sent a team of specialists to do it.
“Did you know about this?” Janus asked Ryler.
“We’re competing against another faction within the cult,” Ryler said. “I don’t have access to my usual resources.”
It was clear from the recent photos the Motragi had taken that the former aspirants hadn’t aged as much as they should have, but they had aged, which spoke to additional training or assignments since they’d last been seen.
The comps had probably put them to use before, and while Janus was still limited when it came to his understanding of the cult’s resources and human settlements in Survivor’s Refuge, he knew of at least one other incident where former aspirants had been used as death squads: the fall of Prometheus Base, the dome Janus had been born in.
Based on timelines, any of the people on the screen could have been there. He could be looking at the people who breached dome admin and killed his parents.
***
The old ranger left them at a different entrance to the Motragi quarter than they’d come in through.
“I can’t believe they hid an entire low-frequency network from us,” Ryler said, half to Janus and half to himself.
“Are you kidding?” Janus asked. “My entire dome was destroyed because they didn’t hide things from the cult. Are you really surprised that other groups have figured out you aren’t exactly trustworthy?”
Ryler looked pained. “That’s not what the majority of the cult is about.”
“Just stop,” Janus said, putting his hand on Ryler’s shoulder. “I’m going to save you the trouble. I don’t trust the cult, either, and you’re not going to tell Nikandros about this.”
“I have to report this, Janus.”
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“You don’t. You’re on my team. I’m an aspirant in the Trials. That means something to you, doesn’t it?”
Ryler hesitated.
Janus continued. “If you report this to Nikandros, even if you think he’s trustworthy, there’s a chance this leaks. The comps will do something stupid, intentionally or not, and then the Motragi will know their network is compromised. Then what?”
“They change the network, or they go silent.”
“Exactly, and that means we lose our best source of intel and support thus far. Would Nikandros want that?”
“No,” Ryler said, although he clearly didn’t like it.
Janus winked and slapped his shoulder. “Good. Now, did you know the comps were trying to murder us?”
Ryler glanced at the passing crowd. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
Janus followed his gaze and nodded. It was rare to see a coldsider and a high-ranking cultist arguing, especially on the sun side of Midnight Hollow. “Let’s finish our recon and head back. I want to brief the others.”
Ryler took a deep breath and nodded. It was clear to Janus that, while Ryler had depths of knowledge and experience Janus had never suspected when they were growing up together, the cultist hadn’t had to deal with as much ambiguity as Janus had. Ryler had grown up as a prodigy in a wealthy family in Prime Dome, with his secret rank in the cult on top of that. He’d rarely had to compromise, whereas Janus, for better or worse, had done nothing but compromise since he was twelve years old. Even when he’d stood his ground on maintenance tasks because he’d known he was right, he’d known it would cost him later.
It was an area in which his former friend would have to grow if he wanted to survive the Trials.
“Strength through struggle, Ryler,” Janus said.
Ryler laughed. “Screw you, Janus. I’ll do what you’ve told me to, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
In spite of his words, Ryler was smiling. It reminded Janus of the days they’d made fun of stuck-up Primers and found ways to go around a flawed system when it was the right thing to do. The Ryler Abraxxis who Janus had grown up with was the master of repurposing, and he delighted in breaking the rules to help people who needed it.
It was like, for a moment, Janus finally recognized him. Maybe Ryler wasn’t as far gone as he thought.
They were in a mixed, clanless area that bordered the Motragi encampment, about five blocks west of Main Street. That was good in that there were fewer attentive eyes on them. The people here wore simpler clothes as if they didn’t want to draw the attention of the main sun-side clans, but they looked happier to Janus. They’d come to trade, sign partnerships, and celebrate. They smiled, and they laughed. They drank and embraced. Sometimes, they fought.
It made Janus miss Sector Six in Prime Dome, even though there had been more bad days than good.
And just like home, someone had to come and spoil it. There were splashes of Motragi brown and Pugarian green in the crowd, but an arrow of Verazlan yellow and red pushed through the center of the street, and people parted like water before them.
The leader of the Verazlan group was either important or wanted people to think he was. The centerpiece of his outfit was a resplendent headdress that added twenty centimeters to his already impressive stature. Feathers of varying lengths and hues cascaded down the central ridge. They were brilliantly colored, from rich shades of emerald green to electric blues and fiery oranges, which swayed with every movement. The rest of the outfit was made of layers of rare fabrics in bold shades that nevertheless exposed ample amounts of well-muscled, oiled skin, creating a spectacle that was hard to look away from. Satin, sequins, and metallic accents shimmered and caught the light of paper lanterns. The patterns seemed to come alive with every confident swing of the noble’s broad shoulders.
Janus and Ryler chose to give them a wider berth than was strictly necessary.
“Remind me why we couldn’t take a Motragi slot instead of a Verazlan one?” Janus said under his breath.
“Even if the Motragi had bypassed the committee’s selection, they just told us they won’t fight the comps. Besides, the Verazlan have their perks.”
“What perks, exactly?” Janus asked, looking over his shoulder as the group passed, intimidating or annoying everyone and looking quite pleased about it.
“They got you to move. How many people can say they diverted the great Janus Invarian from his course?”
“They’re superficial bullies, just like Koni.”
Ryler shrugged. “We all have our flaws, Janus.”
“It doesn’t mean I have to put up with them.” Janus summarized his conversation with Lira on the subject of Koni and their hopes of finding a replacement. “Will Nikandros allow it?”
“Nikandros won’t interfere with how you run the team, not even to help. He can’t, not without giving the compartmentalists permission to do the same. But we do need someone from clan Verazlan to sponsor us, and I think Koni can be a powerful ally if she chooses to be.”
“That’s exactly the…” Janus trailed off as he saw a clanless child walk in front of the lead Verazlan, and he cringed as the clansman bowled the kid over. It didn’t stop there, though. Instead of helping, the Verazlan started yelling. Janus got a sick feeling in his stomach as he hurried toward the shouting, and the crowd took a reflexive step back. He heard the stinging sound of a slap.
The kid started wailing, but no one stepped in to help. The Verazlan raised his hand to strike again.
Janus grabbed him by the wrist. “That’s enough!”
The Verazlan turned on him slowly, eyes flicking to his wrist. “Let go.”
“Back off,” Janus countered, releasing the man’s wrist. “The kid just ran out. It was an accident. It’s what kids do.”
The kid’s mom had reached him and was holding him tight, putting her body between him and the Verazlan.
“That child needs to learn to be aware of his surroundings,” the Verazlan growled, “or he will die in the jungle.”
“This isn’t the jungle,” Janus said, aware that everyone was watching. “And you’re not a predator, you’re just an ass.”
The Verazlan’s eyes widened, and Janus realized he might have pushed things too far. Rage gathered on the Verazlan’s brows like a storm, his muscles tensed, and Janus knew he was about to have to fight for his life.
“Apologies, honored friend,” Ryler said, stepping between them and pushing Janus back. “Janus is an aspirant, but he seems to have forgotten the Trials haven’t started yet.”
The Verazlan blinked in confusion. “I don’t recognize him. Who does he represent?”
“Clan Verazlan,” Ryler said. “Koni Atl-Verazlan is his sponsor.”
The Verazlan bully’s jaw bulged, and for the first time, Janus realized that Koni might be as important as she thought she was. Her clan-mate was obviously trapped by his own classist entitlement. If they’d been alone, Janus was pretty sure he’d have backed down immediately, like a trained hunting lizard. Unfortunately, and through the Verazlan’s own fault and instigation from beginning to end, the altercation had been public, and the clanless crowd was the last audience a Verazlan would stand to be humiliated in front of.
Ryler cleared his throat. “Clearly, all have learned their lesson here, honored friend, but if there is any debt to be paid, the Cult of the Survivor will pay it. Strike me instead of the child.” Ryler clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin slightly, offering the Verazlan his cheek.
“That won’t be necessary, honored wayfinder,” the Verazlan grumbled, stepping around Ryler and Janus in a way he neither ran into them nor backed down.
“Strength through struggle, brother!” Ryler called after the Verazlan.
“Strength through blood, Wayfinder!” the Verazlan answered without turning, and his retinue followed him through the parting crowd.
The mother gave Janus a grateful nod and hurried her sniffling child away.
“Thanks,” Janus told Ryler.
Ryler chuckled and shook his head. “That damned Invarian temper. I’d tell you to think before you rushed in next time, but it would be blasphemous to tell an honored emissary he’s an idiot.”
“I take it back,” Janus said, grinning. “I wish he’d hit you.”
“I would have tazed his ass into the ground,” Ryler said more seriously. “The Verazlan don’t get everything right when it comes to strength, but they’re not entirely wrong.”
Janus nodded, looking at the crowd the Verazlan had disappeared into. No one else had stepped in, and no one but the mother had acknowledged what he did. It didn’t matter that the onlookers could have torn the Verazlan and his party apart. The Verazlan had the strength and will to act, and he’d almost gotten away with it as a result. As for Koni, her name alone had held an entire Verazlan party in check, even though they’d likely come to this part of Midnight Hollow looking for trouble.
“You want to see if we can find the Pugarians?” Ryler asked.
Janus shook his head. “Let’s get back. I want to tell the others what we’ve learned, and I want to see if Lira found a replacement for Koni. If she hasn’t, I will acknowledge she may have more to offer than I thought.”
“I’ve always appreciated that about you, Janus,” Ryler said, leading the way back toward the main street.
“What?” Janus asked, following.
“You make mistakes. You make a lot of mistakes.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
Ryler gave him a crooked smile. “But you don’t often make the same mistake twice. If we can just keep you alive long enough, you might just save us all.”
Janus made a face. “You sound like Nikandros.”
Some of the humor vanished from Ryler’s face, and he seemed to turn inward. “It may surprise you to find some of us are shaped by our situations, Janus. We can’t all do what we want and expect the worlds to follow.”
Janus was surprised. It was the exact opposite of what he’d thought, that Ryler was too inflexible. “Are you in trouble?” he asked, concerned for his friend.
Ryler crooked an eyebrow at him. “Nikandros and I are trying to fight a faction of the cult that has dominated our architecture for hundreds of years, and their standard response to deviance is to kill it. My family is still on Irkalla, Janus, and they’re associated with yours. Do you really think they’ll escape the cull?” The stiffness Janus had learned to dread had returned to Ryler’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Janus said. “I was focused on my own problems. I didn’t think about yours.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ryler said. “But you also don’t have to. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, Janus. I need you to win. There is more at stake here than just our families, and while you might not agree with the cult or my position in it, I chose to shoulder that burden.”
Janus nodded. Maybe that was it after all. He didn’t know what the cult’s policy was on culling its own members, and he knew from experience that Nikandros viewed most people as disposable, Janus and his team included. Only the inevitability of his faith mattered to the architect, or at least that was how it seemed from the outside looking in. Ryler had concerns he couldn’t or wouldn’t share, and if he did, Janus wouldn’t have a frame of reference to understand.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t try. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. Nikandros can be downright scary sometimes. I can’t imagine what it’s like dealing with him on top of all the other things.”
“He’s not scary, Janus,” Ryler said, closing himself off. “He’s necessary, and so am I.”