Chapter 25: Chapter 18: A Trial and a Meeting

The pack gathered outside the city, finding a spot in the shadow of a natural hill. There was no military gear or civilian garb here; every Wolfkin present only had their natural fur coat to protect them. Janine didn’t growl, demanding obedience. She stepped into a circle of amber eyes, burning from shame and fuming in anger.

“When I brought Terrific low, I swore to become a worthy warlord. When I saw your performance in battle under my leadership, my heart sang, propelling me to greater heights. When Alpha herself bestowed upon me an honorary title, I believed I had finally transformed into the woman I had always aspired to be. Bull-Slayer, she dubbed me!” Janine said loudly, slamming the flat of her weapon against her barrel-shaped chest, accompanied by encouraging howls. She waited for them to cease, not trying to weasel out of the responsibility. “I led you through the Abyss and back, and you never betrayed my expectations. However, I have betrayed you. Bertruda, a member of the Ice Fang Order, challenged me. This battle I lost, the Blessed Mother herself stripped me of the title, ravaged my body, and pointed out my inferiority.” She dropped the weapon in anticipation of judgment. “My shame is our shame! My weakness is our weakness! My command has cost you the great Terrific and honor. Won’t someone rid the pack of this disgrace?! Rage, rage, rage upon the shame I have brought unto you, and strike me down if you deem me unworthy! Sisters and brothers of different mothers, end me if you so choose!”

Their confusion was clear. The rumors had already circulated, misguided, no doubt. The pack directed its wrath not at her, but at the Ice Fangs. Claws crushed rocks, fists tore crevices in the stone floor, and the wolf hag began circling around the warlord, moving on four limbs, agitating the lesser ranks so they could abandon their natural fear and decide. United together, the pack could easily bring down even a warlord.

Impatient One acted first, charging at Janine from the rear and aiming her paw at the wound in the ribs. The warlord elbowed back, sending the shaman into the warrior’s ring. Impatient One down two scouts and landed on several males. She rose, shook the dust from her fur, and bowed to Janine, accepting her superiority.

The dance continued. Janine was surprised that Melina hadn’t led an attack yet. But the woman circled, bristling and sniffing the air like an animal, leading six scouts after her.

“Weak.” Janine whirled around and smacked Anissa, cannoning her through the ranks. “Tear me asunder and reclaim the lost honor! Bathe me in blood as penance for shaming Terrific’s legacy! Pop my eyes and rip out my lying tongue that promised a victory! Paint the ground red with the liar’s blood! Take my limbs one by one so that my agony may bring succor to the fallen!”

The black-furred wave engulfed her. The warlord weathered this storm, taking blows on her forearms, never once releasing her claws. Heavy slaps tossed the scouts upward. A punch in the plexus stole a wolf hag’s breath, and she backhanded the woman up, barely drawing blood. She brought shame, and she should suffer, no matter what tradition said. Blows pounded against her hide, fangs tore at the skin of her legs, but the pack’s restraint puzzled the warlord. A scout jumped, and Impatient One and Anissa grabbed her by the wrists. Janine dodged the kick and caught the scout’s leg between her neck and shoulder. She grabbed her daughters by their waists, easily overpowering them, and slammed them into the scout above.

Melina seized the moment, springing at her from the dark stream that rushed around the warlord. Her claws flashed, directed at Janine’s eyes, and the warlord met them calmly, pushing aside the males trying to gnaw at her feet. A headbutt knocked Melina back, and she sprang to her feet, hissing and rubbing her toes.

Janine understood then. There was no wound—not even a bruise on her forehead. Melina missed on purpose. Even Impatient One held back. The pack took after the warlord, sensing her frustration, and swarmed her, punching and kicking to let their leader loosen up while avoiding going for a kill. They treated her as if she were a male on the verge of breaking. It was a game to lift her spirit, and Janine laughed, accepting their care and support.

The assault ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the pack knelt, howling at the sky in shame and longing, mourning the defeat of their warlord and the loss of the honor that Terrific had built in the pack. But this howling had another note, and it was not one of reproach. Support. A warlord is responsible for the pack, but the reverse is also true. Their disharmonious song lamented about failing to protect and guide the inexperienced warlord, and this share of the burden touched Janine.

“This is how it is today!” Janine roared, transforming the grief into words. “We are weak. Honorless. The white-furred threw us into dust and walked all over us, and this is! Only! My! Fault! Not theirs! Not yours! A lost honor simply waits to be restored! If deeds do not support an honorable name, it becomes meaningless! I swear on my life to earn another honorable name and give it to the pack in Terrific’s memory! And how could it be otherwise when I have such a magnificent pack as you? We won it once, and we shall do it again, felling humanity’s foes and shielding the tribe! Rise, my kin. What happened, happened. It is time to tend to the future.”

The pack members eagerly assembled their ranks, fired by her words. Misery turned to ambition. The Wolfkins adored a good comeback.

“There will be no honorable duels or retaliation against our cousins,” Janine warned them, picking up and raising her axe in silent threat. “Oh no, kin of mine, we won’t walk an easy road. We will not steal what was rightfully taken from us. Thievery is not the Wolf Tribe’s way! We will prove by our actions that we deserve new glory! A new honor! Save those who cannot protect themselves! Devour those who prey on the timid! Guard the state and usher in a new, better age for all mankind! For the Blessed Mother and Dynast!”

“For the state and our tribe!” The pack roared back.

“Dismissed. Anyone caught attacking an ice boy will be skinned alive.” Disappointment appeared in the ambitious eyes. Doubtless, some planned a few ritual matches today. Janine smiled, warmly addressing them as a comrade. “Duty is eternal, and thus we have innumerable chances to regain what was lost. Rest, my kin. The night was hard, yet the weight of our responsibilities only strengthens us. Melina!”

“Warlord!” The wolf hag pressed a paw to her chest.

“If Chak has no further use for us, stage war games. Ygrite’s fireworks have proved quite effective. See that our warriors and males learn to use grenade launchers. And teach them how to lay minefields again, just for fun.” These words elicited a mournful ‘boo’ from the males and warriors. “Repetition is the mother of learning,” Janine told them, turning to Anissa. “Inspect our repaired power armors. I don’t care about scuffs, but if there are any hydraulics or joints that don’t work, report them to me immediately so I can kick the maintenance team’s collective butt. Request laser rifles for the scouts. No need to let Ashbringer and Alpha hog everything.”

“By your will!” the wolf hags answered.

“Impatient One, the health of the pack is on you in Soulless One’s absence.” Janine nodded towards the shaman. “A scout has caught an infection.” To save her honor, she omitted the woman’s name. “If one can get ill, so can the other. No foolish bravery; send anyone sick to the medic, by force, if necessary.”

Janine spotted Bertruda Mountaintop and Camelia Winterson as she was leaving the trial’s grounds. Bertruda’s limping leg and swollen nose brought the warlord a touch of satisfaction. The women wore simple white cloaks over plain cloth in place of their sumptuous official uniforms. Another form of insult, no doubt. A line of soldiers formed in their path, preventing them from approaching Janine.

“Warlord!” Bertruda called. The treated nostrils warped her elegant and youthful speech, and her voice sounded raspy and nasal. “A moment of your time… please,” she added through force.

“Rest, Sword Saint Bull-Slayer,” Janine said, ignoring the false humility. “You have a duty to your house to be in top shape.”

The Ice Fang Order had cost her enough. She wished she had nothing more to do with them, except to fight by their side in future battles. The shamans spoke true: when black and white meddle in the lives of one another, misery follows.

****

Till Ingo stepped into the den of death, undaunted, more annoyed at how perilous it was to arrive here.

He parked his private flying platform on top of the crawler, using its landing pads for the first time in a century. His ship was an oval-shaped, elegant flyer, a relic from the bygone era used by rich tourists in the Old World. He had found it, restored its engines, and modernized it to endure the rigors of this transitory era. The students weren’t happy when he steered his ship straight into a sandstorm, but if he had to leave the cozy atmosphere of his laboratories, he might as well perform a series of empyreal tests.

Ravager demanded his urgent attendance, but Till Ingo never permitted others to dictate his daily routine. He visited the Inevitable’s anti-matter plant and was appalled by the inefficiency of the engineering crew. After giving a few pointers, Till strode to the cybernetic bay, somewhat pleased to see that the two Wolfkins had accepted the augmentation. The inappropriate sterile environment had deeply offended him, prompting him to personally perform an operation to graft an unconventional limb onto a male Wolfkin, with the intention of speaking to the boy in the future. There were some flaws in the design, naturally, and he had corrected the fuel injection system for the flamethrower, but the transforming fingers earned an A grade from him.

Then he inspected the rest of the ship. His company had poured impressive resources into upgrading this behemoth, and his heart wept for the disasters and hardships it had so bravely endured. Ingo Development may not be responsible for any failed gears and outdated cybernetics compartments, but this did not absolve him from leaving his pretty girl alone. Even the crew was rude, insisting on addressing the Inevitable as a man. These buffoons wouldn’t know what a class is, even if it smashed them into a pulp. Ingo calmed down and assigned several students to perform immediate repairs. The rest will have to wait, but he will ensure a full-scale restoration of this venerable machine, by blackmail, if needed. If the anti-matter plant explodes, the Core Lands themselves will feel the tremors of this cataclysmic eruption.

Only then did he see fit to go to the rendezvous point, accompanied by a single bodyguard. He frowned at the amateurish energy cables running up the tower. His guide explained that these supported the life support systems above. Shaking his head, Till summoned his students and ordered them to assemble a more elegant solution—one that would not risk frying a careless living human at a touch. Sure, Techno-Queen was a barbarian, but there was no reason for them to stoop to her level.

Climbing up the elevator shaft, he heard a rumble. The commander was getting impatient. That fact didn’t bother him as much as his panting while his bodyguard moved nimbly up the ladder, testing the way for him. He should’ve moderated his visits to restaurants.

At the top, he took the bodyguard’s hand and climbed up through the destruction Ravager’s arrival had left behind. After catching his breath, Till Ingo entered the royal hall of Techno Queen. There were no electric lights, every ounce of energy had been diverted to keep the victims alive, and the engineers had built a makeshift patch by welding crude metal to the walls to prevent the poisonous toxic air from seeping in and darkness reigned over the place. The implants in his eyes activated, allowing him to see the place clearly.

There was a time when Till believed it would be difficult for anyone to match the depravity of Blood Graf. It saddened him to be proven wrong. He could somehow understand the reasoning behind the blatant depopulation. But the sight of the mutilated bodies hanging in the harnesses awakened emotions in him he thought he had long since discarded.

Till Ingo was pissed. He sped up, walking by the room’s edge, surveying the tortured people. Only his footsteps, the heavy breathing on the throne and occasional groans broke the silence. Missing lungs, removed kidneys, deliberately reshaped bones, veins and muscles that bore the burns and inflammation, and empty eye sockets. The doctors here did what they could, but these people were near death. It would take a miracle to remove them from the harnesses.

Or diligence and competence. This he had in abundance.

The microprocessors activated and sparked warning signals. ‘DANGER! DANGER! IMMEDIATE EVACUATION IS REQUIRED! SECURING ESCAPE ROUTES!’ Till Ingo banished the letters and maps from his eyes, sending a calming impulse to his four young helpers. These weren’t AIs, nor even the famous VIs of Iterna, but more rudimentary intelligences that nestled in his lobes. He installed them himself and gave them the ability to learn in an attempt to recreate the beautiful helpers of the Old World.

“Till Ingo. Late as always,” the one who had called him said, half snarling, half saying. Ravager shifted on the remains of the throne, illuminating him with the light of her eyes.

‘Psychic manipulation detected!’ warned a little one. Ravager’s voice was captivating and melodic; it drew you in, perfectly mimicking a situation from the distant past when the boy Ingo slipped into the realm of dreams at his sisters’ side, wrapped in soft blankets. Even as she stood, covered in dirt and her pupils dilating and shrinking, the commander’s voice had an unnatural charisma, a promise that everything would be all right if you just listened to her, and his little helpers activated a countermeasure program to protect the scientist from mind control. No wonder the Wolf Tribe held her in such divine reverence.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Not that Till had any need for assistance. To resist Wyrms’ influence, he installed chemical and mechanical anti-mind control systems in his body. Sufficient willpower was enough for Ravager’s pathetic attempts.

Banshee dropped to her knees between Ingo and Ravager. His bodyguard had the palest of white skin; her green irises stretched so far that the white of her eyes couldn’t be seen. Banshee preferred white, but knowing the commander’s problems, she wore a green bodysuit today, twin pistols at her hips and knives in sheaths on her forelegs. Golden necklaces adorned her slender neck, while bronze earrings covered the outer parts of her sharp ears.

Her features had an unfinished, even ugly shape. Lips stretched to the ears; eyebrows had protruding solidified muscle ridges that blended into the surrounding skin; the nose was almost flat; and there was barely any space between the ears and the head. Strands of her black hair fused into several thick locks that could not be separated even by instruments. An ugly duckling, but her evolution was not yet complete. She might yet become a beautiful princess.

“Greeting, commander,” Banshee sang, and the strained expression vanished from Ravager’s muzzle. She grinned and patted the young woman.

“No formalities, Banshee,” Ravager said. She rubbed her eyes, regaining her senses. “How are your studies?”

“Excellent so far,” Banshee replied. “Thank you for naming me your daughter and convincing my father to put his name on my birth certificate.”

“Your creator,” Till Ingo corrected.

“Think nothing of it,” Ravager assured Banshee, ignoring him. “Everybody should have someone they can call a parent, real or not. If you wish, the Wolf Tribe’s doors are always open. We are a rowdy bunch, but we stand by our own, Banshee.”

“I’d rather find my path.” The woman smiled. “Domination and rank conflicts are not to my taste.”

“Correct choice.” Ravager returned the smile. “Be a good girl and stay away from violence.”

“If you have finished exchanging pleasantries, may we proceed to business?” Till Ingo asked. He wore a white coat, buttoned vest, and linen pants, not bothering to soothe Ravager’s sensibilities. He had to compromise and replace his shoes with crude boots. Regular rejuvenation kept the gray from touching his hair and the wrinkles from his skin.

“Come on, Banshee, let the grown-ups play,” joked Zero from beside the throne. “Met any handsome boys?”

“Still six, big sister,” Banshee replied, and the two laughed.

Even today, it surprised Ingo how alike and different the two sisters were. Physically, Zero was identical to Ravager in everything, aside from the massive size. Where Ravager stood six meters tall, Zero barely reached four meters, and her limbs were thinner. Their eyes had the same glow, but where Ravager stalked around on four limbs, never letting her guard down, Zero exuded friendliness and walked on two legs.

She wore a yellow t-shirt and shorts; her helmet hung from her waist. Dozens of leather belts wrapped around her limbs. After the battle, Zero cleaned herself, meticulously combed her lush fur, and sprayed peach perfume on herself. A silver necklace with a locket was around her neck, and Zero had gathered her long hair into a mohawk, dying it from its natural dark to soft blue and yellow. She embraced Banshee and took her by the hands with such sincerity that Till almost believed there was no weapon on her. Almost.

“They.” Ravager pointed at the people on the wall. “Can you fix them?”

“Elementary,” Till Ingo agreed. “Frankly, I don’t understand why you bothered to drag me all the way out here. Cybernetics could have done it in less than a month. Prostheses for limbs, oculars for eyes, blood pumps…”

“Enough games!” Ravager fangs appeared close to his face, and Ingo raised a hand to push the gigantic snout aside.

“Your nose is dry,” he told her.

“Yeah, we are working on it!” Zero distracted from discussing the latest gossip. “Big sis told me to shove the apple juice…”

“Up the ass,” Ravager grumbled. “Give me clean water or blood. I don’t like sugary or sour drinks.”

“The juice isn’t sour!” Zero argued. “There are many vitamins in it. If you had just tried it…”

“My nose told me otherwise.” Ravager lowered her head, maintaining eye contact with Till Ingo. “You’ve got something funny in your head.”

“They say hello too,” Till replied. The machines in his head panicked and begged him to keep their presence a secret. “The little boys and girls are useful for calculations.”

“Biological parts,” Ravager said after a pause. “Can you do it? Can you restore them?”

“Perhaps.” Till put his finger to his lips. His assistants calmed down and retrieved the financial data. “Yes. It’ll take time, but we have the resources. Why though? Most of them are Normies. Prosthetics would allow them to transcend the limitations of the flesh. They would gain fingers capable of breaking stones, eyes to see through the thick storm, stomachs to digest and drink the most dangerous and exquisite dishes…”

“And lose the warmth of an embrace, the joy of having their own children, and the simple happiness of touch. These mechanical aberrations of yours would serve them as an eternal reminder of the horrors they have lived through, of the things they have lost and suffered…” Ravager stopped.

“Don’t you care a bit too much?” Ingo probed. “We can wake up one of them and ask if they’d want to walk free as soon as possible or…”

“No!” Ravager tensed. “Let them dream. Let them sleep.” She turned and stomped toward the throne. “You ask why I care? Ingo, in the battle against Blood Graf, I heard a cub. He was what, about two or three years old, at most, with a cut on his chest and his parents dead. He was screaming under a pile of corpses, his blood spurting, empowering Blood Graf. As the hook and axe sliced through my body, he called for help, hoping that someone would save him. And there I was, so strong!” Ravager rose to two legs and flexed her muscles. “Mighty! Invulnerable! Useless! By the time I finished the bastard, the cub had expired, smothered by his very dead parents. Have you any idea how often I hear similar cries? Caring... All I can do is care; it’s the only thing that keeps me sane when I hear people dying in places I can’t even reach. I can’t save everyone; I am a monster fit for butchery, but I can give these ones a good future rather than miserable existences devoid of human senses.”

“Very dramatic,” Till said.

He had long concluded that something had happened to Ravager in the past—something that had warped her view of medical personnel and mechanical progress. But what? The Dynast found the Wolf Tribe in the Desolation, a region in the far north, shortly before severe seismic tremors forced him to relocate south. Ingo wanted to see the Wolf Tribe’s birthplace and learn what he could do to correct this aversion to natural extensions of human life.

For technology had not supplanted flesh. Not in the least. The two worked in tandem, living in symbiosis. Sure, he met some oddballs on his journey and listened to rumors of a near-mystical group that replaced all their organs except their brains, but those were extreme cases that undoubtedly led to tragedies and were most likely blown out of proportion. Today’s surgeons and cybernetics left enough flesh for the mind to be at ease, and orphanages offered a steady supply of sons and daughters to raise. There was nothing to fear.

“I can potentially grow the limbs, but the cost will be astronomical,” Till admitted. “We are not Iterna. After the incident, I shifted our focus away from genetic research. To convince the board to fund such a charity, I need something more effective than combat drones and weapons of mass destruction, which we will never use.”

Seven years ago, Ingo Development set out to create an analog of the Iternian biological monstrosities. Mindless beasts, ready to serve and die at the Dynast’s word. Only theirs were to be better, endowed with powers thanks to the added Glow. Banshee and her siblings were the result. As soon as Till understood what was cooking in his vats, he immediately halted further experimentation and called Ravager, admitting what he had done and asking if he should flush the results before they could be ‘born’.

They had had their differences in the past, arguing and often blackmailing one another into compliance. But this time, she almost killed him. Ingo did not know what had set her off, but Ravager demanded that he take responsibility for bringing new lives into the world. Eighteen ‘mutants’ were born with the same level of intelligence as a normal infant and grew up at a steady pace, maturing no differently than a normal human. Banshee was a unique case. She left the vat on her own, surprising the researchers with her knowledge of language, and has since served as Ingo’s bodyguard, accompanying him on the retrieval missions.

“How about a robot capable of matching a warlord?” Ravager’s words piqued Ingo’s interest. The commander walked over to the pile of metal in the middle of the room and lifted a destroyed form. “The machine is destroyed, yes, but its processors and software made adequate decisions in the battle against Warlord Janine. Should you improve it, you may even create that automatic surgeon you have dreamed of for so long, Ingo.” The broken machine crashed to the ground, and Ravager was already beside him, whispering softly, almost lovingly, into his ear. “And that’s not the only thing I have to give. I had an engineer extract data from the databanks, and he successfully retrieved the most intriguing research Techno-Queen had left behind. The level of automation in her devices was most impressive. But to perfect her degenerate servants, she had tinkered and concocted another device, one that had allowed her tools to operate on her body, preserving her youth and giving her resistance to mind control. An idea for a prediction machine.” Till froze and shook his hands. If this is true... “Imperfect, yes, but the basis should be of interest to you, shouldn’t it?”

“Curious.” Till calmed himself. He often forgot that behind the bestial visage was a cunning general and potential politician. Ravager’s ingenious brain worked at a different speed than his own. In the short time it had taken her to arrive in this hall and witness the depravity, she had already calculated a way to entrap him and the Dynast into aiding her. “And…” he tried to push his luck.

“And nothing.” She pressed her muzzle to his face, renewing the scent-mark of friendship. The helpers in his head warned him of the chemical imbalance spreading through his body, and Ingo calmed them by turning off the countermeasures. “Take what is offered before I demand more from your company, my old friend.”

“We have an accord,” Till said at once.

Prediction engine. A machine capable of analyzing the present situation and predicting the future based on these factors. He had created several prototypes, but they all fell short of his expectations, ending up unusable in both combat and civilian life. If he failed to develop a working prototype again, Techno-Queen’s device for blocking mental waves would still make a killing when sold to the military.

Sadly, the emotion-transmitting device will be harder to monetize, but not impossible. Soldiers and heavily augmented individuals will undoubtedly enjoy experiencing the emotions of someone who has had a lavish visit to a brothel or a rejuvenating massage. Yes, there are ways to take advantage of Techno-Queen’s evil and earn tokens. At the very least, he’ll do it to spite the vengeful idiot.

Ravager exhaled, her shoulders slumping as if she had lifted a great weight from her back. Her pupils dilated and shrank again, and she let Zero massage her temples to calm herself. Till pitied her. A brilliant mind tainted by an event in her past. It took great effort for her to maintain a civilized facade.

The worst part was that she wanted to be a civilized person. Ingo was sure of it. He heard her clumsily teaching words to Banshee’s brothers and sisters, trying to sing to their elder sister over the communication, and turning it off when she risked telling them a cruel lesson because of her innate bloodlust. There was genuine joy in Ravager’s amber eyes when she persuaded one of the lesser bioweapons to apologize to his sister for accidentally shoving her.

A most curious conundrum. Till did not buy Ravager’s self-loathing insistence on being a monster. The woman must be brought to heel; she must lose, and lose badly, but be spared, showing the futility of her belief that defeat will lead to death or something worse. Till believed that this could serve as a point of inner healing for the affliction that plagued her mind. But the Dynast had refused his idea, believing it to be a betrayal of the oath he had made, and Outsider recommended Ingo not to pester Ravager any further. Sentimental fools.

Fine, if he had to, he’d do it himself. First, he would prove to the Wolf Tribe the safety and potential of his devices. And the completion of the prediction engine was one of the many steps in that direction.

“Pity,” Till heard Banshee’s voice. The woman stood over a headless corpse, examining the once-powerful local ruler. “She was born different, so much smarter and useful than I could ever be. And yet here she is.”

“Tch. Different. She had nothing but hate and vanity on her side,” Till said. He approached and kicked the dead, sending her rolling. “You can have everything in life, but without life, you have nothing. You surpass her by the virtue of being a moderately decent person alone. Know how she died, Banshee? She had tried to strike a deal, pleading for her life, reduced to nothing when facing the same fate she had planned for others. In the end, she died akin to a junkie; only her overdose was authority, and her death was flashier.”

“Don’t lump junkies in with the likes of her,” Ravager grumbled. “True, there are vicious pups among them, but on average, they are content wasting their lives in some ditch. This whore would rather waste the lives of the innocent.” She pointed at Banshee’s face. “Let this be a lesson to you, cub. No one is infallible. Make no idols. Make your choices according to your conscience.”

“Speaking of choices.” Banshee tried to take Ravager by the finger, but the commander jerked her arm away. “I plan to enlist in the First Army.”

“No,” Ravager and Till said in unison.

“If you would just listen…”

“You will not waste your life in pointless battles!” Ravager’s fur rose on her nape.

“Don’t listen to her…” Till Ingo started talking.

“What do you mean, don’t listen to me? I know what I am saying!” Ravager growled at him.

“Your argumentation is emotional and weak. And you are too young, Banshee,” Till said to his creation.

“Well, aren’t you two nagging just like husband and wife?” Zero chuckled and raised her paws in surrender when they faced her. “Give little sis a chance to explain! Surely, if her arguments are wrong, it won’t be hard for you to refute them. But from where I stand, if she is old enough to work as a bodyguard…”

“I’m paying her!” Till interjected. “And she’s never in danger!”

“Irrelevant,” Zero shot him down. “If she is old enough to work, she is old enough to make her own decisions.”

“It’s really nothing bad.” Banshee nodded. “The First Army is recruiting Normies to form a unit in the east.”

“In the Heatlands?” Ravager grabbed her chin. “The temperature there reaches fifty degrees Celsius. What on earth are Normies supposed to do in that hellish heat?”

“Guard duty,” Ingo told her. “Outsider had toppled a nation there and evacuated the people. Unlike this region, the Heatlands have several prosperous mines, and the Dynast would like to see them continue to work. Is this correct, Banshee?”

“Yes!” the woman replied. “The soldiers will live in the new mining complexes, and such sturdy targets are of no interest to raiders. And if the Normies can handle the job, then it’s perfect for me to take my first steps in life.”

“We can buy you an apartment…”

“A gilded cage is nevertheless a cage.” Zero shrugged at Ravager’s look. “What? You saw the inside of the lab; it’s boring in there. The kids will go to school soon, and what is Banshee supposed to do? She seems to have calculated well. There is little chance of anyone attacking her in there; the First does not know of her origin, so there are no kid gloves waiting to treat the little sister. If she gets kicked out, too bad, but hey, at least she tried.” Zero raised a finger to stop Ravager from arguing. “Ravy, you have more pressing concerns to solve.”

“Is this about a warlord?” Banshee asked. “I heard murmurs on the street. The tribe’s riled up about some injustice.”

“My mistake, not theirs.” Ravager glanced at the entrance. “Another proof of my fallibility. I lashed out, not learning about the situation, and drove a wedge between those under my command. It doesn’t concern you, Till, Banshee. I will fix it soon enough.” She turned to Till. “Shall I break open the tower for you…”

“No!” Till Ingo shouted in her face. “Do nothing! Leave the extraction to the professionals. As for you, young lady,” he addressed Banshee. “You and I are going to talk about your little plan. If it is indeed safe, as you say, consider me in favor of it.”