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Old Core


They set up the mag-lighting, throwing them against the walls and ceiling, and setting them to ultra-bright.

“This,” Kara said, staring around at the wealth of hard-edged black shadows thus produced, “is not particularly festive.”

“In fact, it’s actively alarming,” Win Ton answered, squinting against the glare. “How if we lower the intensity?”

Kara had charge of the key; she touched it, dropping the light level to bright.

“Somewhat less dire,” he judged. “What does one more reduction gain us?”

Another touch on the key, to work-normal.

“The shadows are still with us,” Kara observed.

“True, but they no longer appear bloodthirsty.”

“Any light source that would abolish the shadows,” Bechimo said from the remote patiently standing by, “would harm your eyes.”

“Well, there we are, then,” Kara said, putting the light-key in her pocket. “Let us by all means be safe.”

“Kara, are you nervous?” Bechimo asked. “I detect no dangerous objects or persons within the space.”

“Thank gods for that,” Win Ton said, before Kara could deny being nervous too sharply, and Bechimo felt compelled to correct her. “The space is disconcerting enough without adding in active danger.” He turned to Kara. “Shall we work from the center or the corners?”

“The center,” she said, spinning slowly on a heel, her shadow flickering over the broken racks and scattered tiles that made moving in this dark, cramped space treacherous.

“This must have been a warren even before it was damaged,” she said. “Do you think they used children as techs?”

“Remotes, more likely,” Win Ton said. “Though we’re told Mentor Jones was down here before the event.”

“Moving very carefully, I’ll warrant,” Kara said, stopping her spin as she came to face him again. “Well. Soonest begun, soonest done, as Theo would no doubt remind us. Let us get the pulleys in place.”

Win Ton nodded, touching the comm on his belt.

“Chernak,” he said, looking up to the tall, very dark shadow at the top of the access tube. “Please lower the first pulley.”


Conditions were not agreeable. In addition to being cramped even for two average-sized Liadens to work in, the core was also arid, and too warm, even before they began to exert themselves.

Despite the insalubrious conditions, however, the work went quickly. Win Ton and Kara made a team, while Bechimo’s remote gathered up the smaller broken pieces of tile, and metal shred.

“Tongstele,” Kara said, as they finished loading the bin, and signaled Chernak to bring the pulley up. “What could have shredded tongstele?”

“Clearly, the event, the details of which Clan Korval feels would distress us.”

“Shredded tongstele,” Kara said firmly, “is distressing.”

“Yes,” Win Ton agreed, watching the bin as it ascended. “It is.”


They broke for tea in the chamber above, where Chernak had done wonders, then descended again to the deep core.

“I have spoken at length with Ren Stryker,” Bechimo said, via his remote. “He is a very interesting person. I sent him my analysis of the materials we are clearing, and he ran it through his databases. He is confident that he can process what we give him, and render it, as he has it, more useful to present need.”

Kara sighed.

“Excellent. Useful to present need. Very good.”


They were clearing the far corners and looking forward to a return to the ship, showers, and some rest, when a sound tickled the edge of Win Ton’s ear. He paused, head up, half in doubt—

“What is it?” Kara asked, softly.

He shook his head, actively listening, as Scouts were trained to do.

“An…unusual…sound,” he murmured, straightening further and beginning to scan the immediate area. The sound came again—a chirp, a scrape…a soft rustling.

“There,” he murmured, tipping his head toward a dark upper corner. “It sounds like—”

A segment of darkness tumbled free, wings slicing light and shadow, skimming along the wall and disappearing up the access tube.

“An avian,” Win Ton finished.


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