Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

40. Things that Kill

3rd of Arrestre

I have to find a way to get to the Ag Sector.

That was my first cogent, waking thought before my eyes opened and my new sleeping quarters came into view. Plain white walls. A tiny slit of a window. No cupboards or shelves for personal belongings, no furniture but the bed, nothing but the barest minimum of comfort.

The mattress beneath me was lumpy, but a hundred times softer than the mat from hut 56. I could have slept for another week.

You don't have a week.

My joints creaked in protest as I pushed myself up and began fumbling automatically for my shoes, responding to the sound of the opening bars of Kreigh Agharitz Paradazh blaring from the sonulator coil in the ceiling.

I mumbled the impolite Agriculture Sectorist version under my breath as I shoved my arms back into the sleeves of my jumpsuit and pulled it up. Convenient, how the High Altyran words for 'glorious rise' rhymed so well with the Low Altyran slang for 'runny excrement.'

No sooner had the Coventry's favorite song ended, but a sharp knock at the door immediately preceded a sharp-faced woman of about sixty, who took one look at me, grunted in disgust, then grabbed my arm in her knobby fingers, the better to escort me down the hall and into a room full of clothing.

I was given a new uniform.

My jumpsuit was taken from me and burned, along with my canvas shoes.

The woman informed me in broken Low Altyran that breakfast was always served promptly at the second bell, muttered something in High Altyran about having to fumigate my room, then shooed me out into the hallway again.

~~~

The communications room was still a hive at full capacity, but after ten hours with no further developments, the energy had gone from frantic and distressed to a more steady hum of activity. The light of day had brought back an appearance of normalcy, it seemed. Messages were moving from one office to another, and reports were coming in thick and fast from scouting parties and patrols, but the terrified gossip had quieted.

Shortly after I arrived and sat at my station in the listening room, High General Erkhaldt left to oversee the plans to hunt down the Icewolf. 

I had no intention of 'listening.'

I had to figure out a way to get to the Agriculture Sector.

There was no way I could leave my post without permission.

I had to make it look like I had permission.

In order to do that, I would have to get ahold of a pass card from the general's desk.

And I would have to do it under the nose of the large, grumpy guard the general had sent to watch his office.

When the guard first came lumbering in, I thought my chances of getting a pass had gone to shreds. But then he grabbed one of the empty station chairs and planted himself down next to the door to the office. Facing me. On my side of the door.

Orrelian would have called him a Thief's Best Friend — a watchman who has turned his back on his post, believing the greatest threat would arrive in front of him. Blinking in disbelief, I watched him settle in for guard duty.

He gave me a fierce, meaningful glower, then brought a small waddingpage out of his jacket pocket and began reading.

Right then. I pressed my lips together, an insane plan taking shape. It would be a long game, but maybe... just maybe... If I pulled it off...