“I didn't know augmentors could ever need fixing. Another thing learned about you Trigad.”

  The words calmed him. Right, there was a secret entrance here.

  He turned. Faking a jovial tone, he spoke, “Lies! All you see is fine-tuning. No fixing.”

  He was grateful his helmet was there to hide the surprise on his face.

  Barimi was standing next to the speaking guard.

  It wasn't Captain Mirir, he didn't know that guard. Dirakh didn't recognize this one either but his armour didn't have the Captain Guard's colors.

  Barimi was younger than he thought. His face was only more hardened and his body quite lean for his profession too. He wore a brown Life Armour and one that fit his occupation.

  Did Barimi know he was carrying something he wasn't supposed to? Dirakh couldn't tell, the Trigad hunted monsters, handling people was beyond him.

  “Who is he?” Dirakh asked, pointing.

  “Oh, uh, no one — A worker. Where's your load?” the guard asked facing Barimi and the worker hurried back into the secret entrance.

  “Why's he coming through here?” Dirakh asked.

  “Didn't ask. Captain's order, you know how it is.”

  Dirakh shrugged but stopped halfway. Scouty's display caught his eye. The noble was gone. A worker was looking right at it.

  He was walking to a guard, pointing in Scouty's direction.

  The guard continued, “Commander, I've been pondering about what you said to us at the camp and I think I'm going to join up this cycle. Either the Trigad or the Sygad, I don't know yet. I only know being a Citadel guard isn't enough for me...”

  Dirakh stopped listening; he quickly directed Scouty out of the room as the worker spoke to the guard. The hole in the wall was too far away, so he followed the door.

  It led to a bright transverse corridor that intersected with another leading north of the door. He sent Scouty to the left, reason being it was the only area rid of people.

  “...life outside the dome doesn't sound bad at all. I'm sick of the repetition of dome city life. I—I'm not saying that's the only reason I want to join, sir, I'm just— it's not a bad addition, you know?”

  Several heavy doors lined the hallway, all shut. There was no way Dirakh could force any of them open. Scouty wasn't a weaponed drone, putting a hole through such thick walls was impossible.

  There were no other openings Scouty could escape through. He'd let the noble and the 'boss worker' leave his sight. How was he going to find them? He wasn't even sure they had what Araan was looking for, but they had been his best bet of finding anything related to it because she was in charge.

  “...What do you think, Commander Dirakh?” the guard asked.

  His attention finally shifted to him. Barimi had returned carrying a brown stone case half as long as he was tall. It didn't seem very heavy with the way he carried it.

  Barimi was the one they sent, he quickly reminded himself. Barimi being here meant Dirakh knew where Captain Mirir and the boss worker were, or at least were headed to.

  This wasn't a failure in any way.

  To the guard's question Dirakh replied, “You're on duty. Escort the worker to where he needs to be, we'll talk later.”

  “Right,” the guard replied as though he had forgotten as well.

  The guard led Barimi out of the hidden section to the central area of the Citadel's compound.

  Inside, Scouty remained safe in the corner where Dirakh left it but he didn't know for how long. Leaving it there wasn't an option, so he directed Scouty back down the hallway and into the throne room. It was dangerous but no one seemed to be expecting it, no one was looking up. Perhaps no one had taken the worker seriously.

  He saw Barimi and his boss in the central area through Scouty's visual as he flew it to where he stood. Mirir gave them instructions before heading back to the Citadel.

  Dirakh waited till Barimi and his boss were out of the Compound before he made a move. Scouty was back by then and was reattached to the Sand Drifter. Dirakh changed out of his Mantle Armour, kept both sections carefully in the augmentor before sealing it shut and turning it off. It rested on the ground, looking no different from a piece of metal.

  A blue, slanted, squarely piece.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  It wasn't really inconspicuous, if the guards were searching for Scouty, but at least there was cover here. He couldn't hide it anywhere else without losing more ground on Barimi and the case. Besides, moving it might be what would draw more suspicion if there were any.

  Dirakh was starting to surprise himself at how far he was willing to go for a mission Araan had just sprung on him. If nothing came out of this they would leave for Ordanq sooner; failing was in his favour. But deep down he knew Araan was right and something was probably wrong with all of this. It was just like on their first mission as Trigad soldiers where Araan saved him, like his prediction about a possible delacite growth last cycle which he had been right about.

  Like the Aggressor's Exam when they first met, twenty-one cycles ago. If Araan believed something was wrong, it probably was. This time, he was counting on it.

  Dirakh didn't need reason to believe they deserved it, he just did. His own parents may have been outcasts, forced to live like Scavengers on the outside but they treated him better than Kolvak treated their noble son.

  Left to him, he would let them suffer, whatever it was.

  Araan rarely mentioned anything about how it felt being coerced into becoming Alpha-Redinan as a youngling, and the horrors that followed, but that anger never left. It was always visible whenever someone even vaguely mentioned his life here. Somehow, Dirakh had come to share that feeling about this place.

  So why? Why did Dirakh act intrigued and smile at the nobles, why did he bother about succeeding in a mission that would help a sector he detested? Because for a reason he was yet to fully understand, all of it suddenly mattered to Araan. Death sometimes healed what the living couldn't have amended in a thousand cycles. If this was such a moment, Dirakh would do what he could to help.

  It was strange how he'd grown from not knowing Araan to becoming all but brothers with him. The Augmentor Proficiency exam was a tale-worthy introduction but being assigned to the same unit at the start of their career, nearly dying at least ten times each cycle on hunts and having each other's back through each one did the job.

  Dirakh left the compound without a hassle as his familiarity with the guards came in handy. Barimi was out of sight but with the roads on either side still closed, the road ahead was the only path they could have followed. He soon reached one of the branching main roads where he boarded one of the many, open-top vehicles that offered public transport.

  Kolvak city was bustling with activities. The gathering of nobles, the burial arrangements further east of the city, people barely spared a second glance at the yellow cyperan wearing blue.

  The High-rim market was in the central area downtown. Why it was named 'High-rim' made more sense when he reached it. Busy, noisy and wide, one end of the market grounds was elevated like a flattened, circular hill as tall as the citadel walls. The other sloped steeply into the entrance. Small metal buildings lined everywhere around the hill and rock buildings were built on the lower sloping area; both sides were busy as cyperans flowed in and out.

  The wares ranged from portable cooling gas containers to life armours, folds of raw cadmani material and even parts for Sygad mechs. Yet those were only the surface things he could spot as he looked around for Barimi.

  Dirakh didn't search for long. The bright, pristine quality of the stone case made Barimi stand out. He stood alone, leaning against a dilapidated rock building at the bottom of the elevated parts of the market. His boss wasn't with him.

  Dirakh watched Barimi from afar, directly opposite his position. He masked his face with a rag he found by the wayside so the ground worker wouldn't notice. Barimi was pacing back and forth.

  Is something wrong?

  Suddenly the missing boss ran past Dirakh, brushing him as he hurried toward Barimi. He looked messy, his voice loud and frantic.

  “Where's the safest path out of the market?!” The boss's speech was so fast Dirakh barely understood it. He didn't seem to care that people looked at him.

  “I don't understand—” Barimi started and his boss struck him. The younger worker stared shocked.

  “Straight question, straight answer. How do we leave here without being seen?”

  “It's a central market, boss, there's no secret passage way,” Barimi said, timidly.

  Dirakh moved closer. He couldn't let them out of his sight.

  “Leave the case—I'm not dying for a damned royal. Follow me! If they find you, they find me eventually,” the boss said and turned around suddenly. He looked right at Dirakh, then past him. He stumbled, moving backwards and broke into a run. Barimi followed, carrying the case.

  A moment later and Dirakh found the ones he was running from. There were eight of them, all wearing helmets and dirt colored life armours.

  Dirakh followed but was stopped by a tug on his arm. The one who tugged wasn't masked like the others but she seemed intent on stopping him from following Barimi. She was short but strong, wearing a shade of brown life armour that didn't quite match her light green skin tone. She didn't look like she was one of the attackers but her fierce look gave him a sense that she knew what she was stopping from doing.

  Suddenly, he felt more cautious. How many like her were in the market, hidden in plain sight, waiting for someone like him?

  With a tug of his own, he freed his arm.

  “This does not concern you, Pomian outsider.” Dirakh eyes must have carried his confusion as she added, “Your mask does not hide your hands.”

  Pomia, he thought. The city Miranna Karatini ruled. The heir-designate's mother. They were known for taking outsiders. The color of his skin must've made him seem like he was one of hers.

  “I'm not one of Tisiryk's followers,” he told her. He might as well have tried to convince her that he was green-skinned with the look she gave him.

  Dirakh turned around and searched. He spotted the last of the masked attackers making a turn around a building, further east of the market.

  He moved. The market lady tried to grab him again but he evaded, running after the masked ones.

  People cleared out of the way as he went after them. He carefully followed the trail they left, marked by the way people avoided or stared at the area as if a spectacle had just happened.

  It led to two abandoned, run down metallic buildings near the end of the market on the opposite side of the hill. The sudden blasts of plasma shots tearing through one of the buildings marked the one he was looking for.

  Dirakh approached with caution as quietly as possible on the crunchy dirt. Being Trigad made him well trained in making himself nearly silent so there was no reaction till he reached the building.

  He looked inside.

  Lots of blood and a headless body.

  Barimi was kneeling beside the body. Bare of life armour, he was choking on the smell as the yellow blood fumes enveloped him. He was pleading but his words were too mumbled to comprehend.

  The masked ones didn't seem to care. One of them fixed his rifle on Barimi while the others were more focused on the two trying to open the marble case.

  “It's opened and... It is inside,” one of them said, “Finish him.”

  Dirakh charged into the room and he didn't let them react to it. In the same motion, he shoved the rifle and its wielder into the wall. He bounced off the wall and Dirakh slammed his helmeted head against it as hard as he could. He dropped limply and didn't rise.

  Quickly, Dirakh picked up the fallen cyperan's rifle, firing as he dragged Barimi out of the building. It kept the other seven from picking up theirs and firing back.

  He headed back into the main market, aiming to blend into the crowd. He didn't get far as Barimi resisted moving further.

  “The case,” Barimi said. “You can't let them go with it.”

  “You just got out and you want to go back in? What, is the case carrying endless wealth?”

  Dirakh didn't get an answer as three plasma shots hit Barimi. None killed him, but one wounded Barimi's forearm. Around them, four bodies lay dead. As people noticed it, the market broke into chaos.

  The seven masked soldiers were standing not so far away, one carrying the closed case on his back with a strap. From the chaotic crowd, more masked cyperans emerged, flashing rifles as they did.

  They approached slowly, aiming as they walked.

  With Barimi on the floor, screaming and writhing in pain, Dirakh struggled with watching him and the attackers simultaneously. His fist clenched hard.

  Araan just had to be right, he thought.