I pressed the readout again, stabbing my thumb at the dumb, black, ceramic plate. Same voidmunching message flashed by, exit locked by order of the grand marshal of Rimont, patrician something-or-other, due to conditions of unrest. Security has been dispatched.

  It had to be invisible, because there was not a single Rimont security uniform in sight. Meaning that they knew there was fighting on the third level, and were quite content to wait it out.

  The readout went dark. I jabbed it again, this time with my knuckle, as if that would change things. It didn't.

  Long list of supplementary orders, most of them meaningless. I had no assigned emergency shelter. Neither did I have fire marshal duties.

  The only interesting part was the warning to carry oxygen tanks at all times. That was security speak for don't do anything too crudmunging stupid or we'll vent the entire section. I assumed it was aimed at the secs, to limit the amount of destruction.

  Crud.

  "We need to get back to the Kylians," I told Hao. "They're about to be hit."

  "You think the secs know where they are, captain?" she said.

  No arguments, no attitude, just a question to clarify it. Like a marine sergeant talking to her commanding officer. It made me feel five meters tall. With luck, I wouldn't betray her trust.

  "Grand marshal seems to think so," I said. "Either that or he expects the Kylians to come boiling out, armed to the teeth."

  I squatted, getting eye to eye with Aian who'd collapsed the moment we stopped moving. Kid was in pain, pale as a cotton sheet and sweating, but he tried to tough it out. His head lolled a bit, though, and he was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

  "You know a safe way back to Downbelow-town?" I asked.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  His glassy stare focused on me, and he nodded weakly.

  "Down to the Raised," he said, gesturing feebly off to our right. "Hole in a grate into the sludge tunnels."

  Walking in recycling. That would be an olfactory delight. Maybe I could cut off my nose before we got there. Still, we needed to get back a warning before the Kylians got attacked. Or hunted down in the streets.

  "No chance Maiko or Riina has a com?" I said.

  Aian shook his head, more a weak toss than a shake.

  "No coms," he said. "They can be traced."

  Of course. A com would have helped right now, but at least it reinforced my view that the Kylians weren't complete mung-heads.

  "So we go wade in crud," I said. "Lead on."

  I offering Aian my hand. He clasped it gratefully and I pulled gently, mindful of his broken ribs. He didn't cry out, but a quiet whimper escaped him anyhow. Tough kid.

  Hao came up and supported him on the other side, which surprised me, knowing what she thinks about being touched. She must have taken to the Kylians as well.

  The streets of the third level were deserted, our hurried steps the only sounds. Until they suddenly weren't.

  Armed men everywhere, moving in groups. No wonder the streets were deserted. The Rimont station trouble bump in action.

  I kept a thread of force ahead of me, poking around corners. Occasionally, I imagined that I could feel the hatchling's warmth, but that would be impossible. He was safe in the Bucket, kilometers away. It would have been pointless trying to reach him, and keeping my focused thread of force made my headache turn into a full-blown migraine, strong enough to make me grind my teeth. Such is the price of staying alive.

  Twice, my flailing thread warned me and we were able to hide behind piles of metal junk in alleys as bands of armed secs marched past. Once they wore red-and-gold jackets over black pants, once brown and black street camouflage. Both parties carried rifles, of the same decked out sporting kind as the maseks'.

  "What's going on?" I said, but Aian just shook his head.

  "Don't know," he said. "Never been like this. The Bei Bashers and the masecs usually don't get along."

  He tried to say something else, but coughed blood. After that he stayed silent, focusing on guiding us.

  We made it to the crud tunnel, and it was exactly as bad as I'd thought, organic recycling vat sludge up to my ankles. I'd have to space my boots after this. They'd never get clean.

  At least the pipe was reasonably high, allowing me to walk only gently bent over. Hao scraped her head more than once, scraped the knuckles holding the bag Montar had given us, cursed like a marine every time.

  I guess we hated the sludge pipe equally.

  It was nothing compared to what awaited us in Downbelow-town.