Elmira

Today, dark clouds hung lower than usual, whisking by at breakneck speeds. With weather like this, the supply ship bound for the red moon might not even be able to lift.

Gio’s gonna have to wait another day, she thought, sending a silent prayer for the strikers.

Thirty years ago, she joined the resistance on the ground, helping out with relief packages, arguing with the local mob about the best way to aid their brethren above until a system was put in place. It was the little things, but it made all the difference to her, and whether the night’s sleep would be good or bad.

Funny. Before her assignment here, she would not have lent the inhabitants of the moon a single thought, much less energy to do something about the cruel state of affairs they suffered under.

Her gaze followed a flock of birds flying towards the horizon. She fiddled with a receiver, waiting for it to make a noise. A sharp, muffled bell came through, making her stomach jolt. The bell rang out again in rapid succession, the code for immediate abortion of launch. Looking at the clouds, she could tell why. The jet streams made it impossible to lift from the plateau. The scream of frustration never left her throat, but the corner of the device she carried dug into her flesh.

She rested her head against the hard, cold stone, gathering courage to get up while fighting the immediate urge to toss the blasted thing over the edge. This was the fifth failure. Fifth. The strikers were running out of time.

Throwing one last long look at Qi-Betrí, El unfolded herself and crept along the edge, clinging to the handholds as a blast of wind rushed up the cliff and took hold of her coat. When the coast was clear, she slipped over the wall, as soundless and invisible as a shadow.

A mile or so later, she slipped by the guards at the eastern gate. They glanced her way, the way people glance when they try hard not to look, as she dropped a small satchel on the ground. One of them would snatch it up before she’d even cleared the area.

A long time ago, they had reached a tentative agreement. She provided them with qattu guo, a type of leaf native to most continents. When chewed, it provided a fairly pleasant high, and in return, they did not report her comings and goings to their boss.

Getting their relationship to that point had taken some creativity on her part. Several deals and a few shady alliances, the usual in a corrupt and criminal society, but now she had a steady supplier in the fourth quarter, where she, incidentally, also had a shack. Squeezed into a space where two roofs overlapped, it had a roof of its own that kept most of the water out. She made a point to spend as little time as possible there, and what she didn’t want for other eyes to see, she carried on her person always.

The fourth quarter huddled around the western gate and was the largest of eleven. Which, in the grand scheme of things, meant squat. No street was better than the next. No matter where you went, you were as safe as you would be meeting a hungry saber on the plains.

Given the circumstances, the fourth quarter was a quiet neighborhood thanks to the new local underworld leader. A young man by name of Korp, with black beady eyes and a nose for profit. No one bothered her cause of him, nor would anyone sell El the Rogue out lest they pay the price. That alone had saved her life on a few occasions. All she had to do was run messages and supplies. It was a fair deal and didn’t take up too much time. He was a good chap, but she’d never dream of making the mistake of underestimating him or overstepping her welcome.

The eastern gate, on the other hand, led straight into the eleventh and newest quarter. The difference between the approach and the Base was staggering. Here, the streets bustled. Revelers who started the evening early stumbled around in twos and threes. Others lounged, hoping to catch some rare sizzling rays of the sun wrapped up in too many layers. Tents had their walls tied up, revealing the various goings-on inside. Not all of it family-friendly, either. Some of it even less so.

She flipped her collar up so it covered the lower half of her face and pushed on. Within a few steps, she had passed by two card games and three crap games surrounded by the usual hustle and bustle and laughter. Life seemed almost normal. Almost. It angered her. They’d become soft. Lazy. Recklessly jovial. She shouldn’t care, but she did anyway. They were souls after all, even if they were on the wrong side.

“Scuse me, miss,” a man slurred behind her, trying to remain upright. “If I could trouble you to step aside a moment?”

He hiccoughed. It didn’t seem to occur to him that there was plenty of space on either side he could pass.

“Not at all,” she said, amused, stepping out of his way.

The man was rounder, his uniform dirty and patched, and red blotches covered his skin. There was a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead that he absently wiped away with his sleeve.

“Much obliged.” He attempted to touch his hat.

His face contorted into a deep frown until his entire body swayed dangerously from side to side, and the first heavy step was taken. In this way, he shuffled off, holding his arms out for balance.

It was such a strange thing that she found herself watching him move painstakingly through the crowd until he collided with the corner of a house and disappeared out of view. Shaking her head, she moved on, skirting the crowds and keeping an eye out for the tell-tale red sashes of the Syndicate Police Force.

Being a new quarter, the housing around here was not as crowded together as the rest of the Base. Which is why, when El reached an intersection where the Eastern Road met with Templar, the scope of her home came into full view.

The Syndicate’s grand hurrah sprawled out across the blackened plateau like a leaking bucket. Expanding slowly and steadily with each new wave of recruits until it got walled in by Qi-Betrí on one side and the fire mountains on the other. While not enormous by any means, it still took the better part of half a day just to get from one end to the other because of the winding streets that confused even the maze runners.

For this was a maze proper, and that title came with a lot of coin and even more respect. That’s why she’d shot at becoming the best of them.

There was no plan to the layout. People pitched their tents and shacks wherever they saw fit. The only area off-limits being the raised hill in the middle of the southern half. That was the Inner Circle’s turf, and everyone who valued their life gave them a wide berth.

Regent Eldter had been right in his assumption. Since she arrived, hubs had popped up, which in time developed into quarters. Mess tents and mobile hospitals that weren’t so mobile anymore, craftworkers setting up shop on corners and rivaling gangs fighting for territory in an ever-changing landscape without mercy. Where soldiers went, so did the scraps of society, doing the best of an unpleasant situation.

“You El?” a shrill voice with the lilt of a native sangoran asked.

She eyed the young, scruffy-looking dwarven boy who appeared out of the shadows next to an alley. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

“The Man.” The boy shifted from foot to foot, but had the steady look of a stubborn child. “Well?”

She almost laughed had he not worn that solemn expression. She highly doubted someone that important would use such a youngling to run a message. But it piqued her interest enough.

“I am. What do you want?”

“Got a message for ya.”

He reached into a pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of paper. She held out her hand and waited. The boy clutched it a little harder, shaking his head.

“I want my money first.”

“Hardly. I gotta see it’s for me first.”

The boy looked like he was about to protest, but shoved it into her hand with a scowl when he couldn’t figure out a good reason not to. She turned it over. The seal was intact. That was something. A seven-turned spiral with an arrow running through, drawn in blood-red on gold.

The air turned thicker. The Man, as the boy put it, was none other than the infamous Kollisi, whose path to the top was painted in death and blood and ash.

In smeared ink across the front, she read “El, Maze Hunter.” She gave the boy a cold look before she broke the seal and unfolded it. The hand was barely legible, probably written in haste and with little care.

        2 Cye, 8^{th bell}

       On behalf of General Kollisi, I have been asked to request your assistance regarding the acquisition of one (1) bor transistor. I have been told you can do the impossible in one day. Prove it.

       Regards,

Colonel Boll of the First Platoon

The paper crumbled in her fist as she slowly looked up to fix the boy with her stare.

“I’m just a messenger.” The boy threw his hands up. “I got no nothing with what it says.”

“You’ve had this for a full day?” she asked, keeping her voice level as she pronounced every word. “What. Did. You. Do. Boy? Nap on the way?”

“Ain’t my fault. I just moved planetside.” He glared, folding his arms. “I got it to ya, didn’t I?”

She cursed, looking up at the fading light. There was no time to give him a piece of her mind. There was no time to go to the shipyards, it’d take at least half a day. Same with the scrapyard, and the odds of finding it at the market were slim to none. There was, however, one other option.

He looked her up and down, eyeing the pouch tucked into her belt. “The man said I’d get five copper.”

“Forget it,” she retorted as calmly as she could manage. “You bollixed it.”

“He promised me.”

“Then go ask him for it.”

“Maybe I will,” he said with much more confidence than his eyes had.

She scoffed and set off down an alley to her right. To her annoyance, the boy tagged her. He tailed her for three blocks before she realized he was as stubborn as he was stupid. That had to stop. She swirled on him, the daggers looser in their sheaths.

Like gas trapped in a canister, the question came blurting out faster than his tongue could wrap itself around the words. “Are you really the Maze Hunter? The one who caught Howarth the Goliath?”

She half-smiled at his boyish excitement. Howarth. The oaf who’d tried to assassinate Captain O’Hagan in the middle of a white-out. That it had been an orchestration on her part, the culmination of years of manipulations and whispers, wasn’t anyone’s business.

“So I am told.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, her daggers still close to her touch. “I get what I want, and I never get lost. Now get lost.”

Only a moment’s hesitation held him back before he shrugged and headed down an alley, hands shoved deep into his pockets. She stared after him. How could the colonel have used such an imbecile for a messenger? The others had at least half a brain, most of them working as guides for newcomers. That, or she’d found notes with requests stuffed into her pillow, which she was sure was just a power move used to keep her quiet and in line. Worked like a charm.

Lately, the requests became more frequent. Something was in the works. If she could only figure out what. There’d been blueprints in Arman’s workshop, the engineer who worked for Kollisi, but she’d never been close enough to read more than a few words. And the parts themselves… They were odd. Like this one. A transistor made out of bor. Bor was an alloy that got banned after the Sundering, because of its use in Veil-tech. It was one of the few metals known that could withstand the strain of trans-realm travel. Her own karai’i was made out of it in part.

“What is he planning?”

"Patience,” the voice in the back of her mind whispered. “Focus. No trace.”

"Like Howarth,” she replied, fighting the smile.