Shoving Dagby away, Lapis rolled; cyan flashed, wood cracked, and debris pelted her. An orange light spun, sending janky shadows across other shacks.

“Run!” the ex-chaser yelled as he sprinted away. She surged in the opposite direction, rounding the nearest stall; a khentauree stepped in front of her, their silver skin gleaming dully in the fiery glow, their shoulders slumped, their head pointed down. LX70’s etak! Wait, no; they weren’t dark military grey with stripes.

She stumbled to a halt and altered course. Her boot caught on a merc’s leg and she slammed into the structure; it shook and the side collapsed, sending roofing and dust pouring onto her. The khentauree jumped from her, shaking their head and hands; she whirled as another shot raced by.

A third careened over her head, and the cyan glow tipped upwards. She darted behind a dilapidated booth and headed for the exit, heart pounding, her eyes throbbing in unison.

“HELP!” the rat shrieked again, terror hardening into thoughtless panic.

She stopped dead, jerked out of her flight. However asinine, she could not let the teen fall victim to his bad choices.

Her stomach fell. What was she doing, for a kid she did not know? Tears fell as she changed course, crept into the second row of parallel booths from the center aisle, and scurried towards the bound captives, straining to hear a potential ambush. She doubted she would see one coming, as she relied on the scant ambient illumination hovering between one rickety stall after another to light her path, and she did not want to use her gauntlet’s glow. At least her targets were not that far from the once-market. She could sprint across the open space, reach them, free them.

Copper. She did this for Copper, too, and the other guards facing a nebulous fate.

Her chest tightened as she fought her distress; the cyan beam had to have come from a khentauree so at least two stalked her, and freeing the humans might upset them. She had seen what those weapons could do, and she did not want to end up on the sizzly side of a strike.

What if a khentauree like Ghost or Tuft was there?

She struck the jutting edge of a counter. She winced, covered her left ribcage with her hand, and bit down on a whimper as the abrupt strike jarred her injured shoulder. It reminded her, forcefully, that it suffered and she needed to take better care of it.

Wood collapsing on the opposite side of the theater resounded throughout the hall, and she jumped, gasping for breath. Had something happened to Dagby? Quelling the shing of terror, she reached the empty space. Taking a moment to scan the area and unable to distinguish enemies in the dark, she gathered her remaining courage, forced her feet to move, and dashed for the motionless bodies and the poor rat screaming himself hoarse.

“I’m Lady Lanth and I’m going to free you,” she said. He jerked and leaned away, panting. She snatched the blindfold, ripped it off, then slipped around and triggered her gauntlet, cutting through the rope. It burned, a rancid smell, and the smoke stung her eyes. Freed, he scrambled to his feet and bolted, shrieking.

And thumped into a khentauree whose forehead glowed cyan fire, illuminating their stern face but nothing else.

Short. Too short, for a khentauree like the ones she knew.

She sheathed her blade as the rat fell and hopped clear of the unconscious bodies; she heard breathing, so she needed to lead the being away from them before they met their end from a stray attack. The beam trailed her, the brightness aiming for her eyes, and she squinted to see past. Only light, dark, nothing else.

Clack clack clack. The brightness whisked away as the being moved. Cyan flashed.

She dove to the side and rolled. The beam followed her, tearing up the wood in her wake; she popped up and sprinted towards the nearest shelter.

Chittering echoed off the walls, and more voices chimed in, one by one, chanting in precise unison. She shuddered as another beam struck the floor at her feet; she jumped, landed, and broke through the boards, foul dust puffing around her. Jagged edges dug into the middle of her lower leg, and she fell forward.

Clack clack clack.

A hand grabbed her collar and wrenched her from the hole. The edges snagged her pants, the crumbly wood not firm enough to tear through the fabric so gave way instead. The khentauree yanked her to the side and her lower body bumped over debris. She choked on an agonized yell.

Fwump.

They staggered and released her; she rolled and hit something unyielding, leapt to her feet, and gasped. Light flared from behind the khentauree and their silhouette had six legs that jutted up and then down, like a grasshopper’s, ending in pointed tips.

Those could do damage. A lot of damage.

“We’re not here to hurt you!” Dachs called, interrupting the fear skittering up her back. “We just want to retrieve the guards and the rats!”

The khentauree hissed and lunged at her. Dammit!

“You shoot us!” another buzzy voice said from the darkness nearer the guards as Lapis dodged. Her attacker punched at her with their front right leg, missing only because the appendage could not stretch the distance between. They switched to the left, and she arched back and forth, desperately trying to predict their next strike before the tip impaled her.

“We didn’t shoot you,” Dachs denied. “Those mercs did, and they’re in no position to fight anymore. Look.” The light wobbled. “No weapons.”

Smart. He realized wielding weapons meant death. Had Dagby grasped that as well, or had he fought? That collapse . . . had they taken him out?

The tip slashed her coat, ripping the right side from breast to waist. Her heart beat hard enough, it drowned the chanting as she stumbled back.

“We don’t want a fight!” Dachs yelled.

Cyan flared in the insect khentauree’s forehead. She dodged left then pivoted, her legs screaming at the abuse, and rushed right. The beam seared through wood behind her, and the foul smoke made her choke.

They leapt in front of her and lunged, faster than she could react. They snagged her hood and jerked her off her feet, sending her sliding across the floor on her back. Planting themselves over her, they lifted a leg, aiming for her chest.

She triggered her gauntlet. Too late, too late—

A giant icicle pierced the cyan-emitting panel and exited the rear, sparks flying from the wound. The force picked the being up and flung them towards the far end of the stage. They hit the floor, tumbled, then collided with the bottom. The khentauree near the guards screeched and jumped between her and her rescuer. Ice shot through their chest, the momentum sending them flailing backwards. Lapis curled into a ball as they passed over, an appendage grazing her arm. They landed in a heap next to their friend, weakly kicking.

Frost. Ice. Could—

Light bloomed from balls of shimmery snow hovering at balcony height, illuminating several scattered khentauree. They stopped chanting, looked up, raised their arms over their heads as if to protect from rain, and fled onto the stage. They headed for a rickety door in back with a vibrant sign over it saying ‘Staff Only’. As far as Lapis could tell, most had modifications and patches that distinguished them from other khentauree, though no one else had grasshopper legs.

The rat she attempted to rescue backpedaled crab-style into her, whimpered, eyes bulging.

Tears stinging, she surged up, wrapped her arms around Tuft’s waist, uncaring of her aching shoulder, uncaring of the chill wafting from him, and squeezed. Tuft. Tuft! He woke up!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I—”

“Sorry?” Confused, he laid a hand in the middle of her back and pressed her into him to keep her on her trembling legs. “Sorry must wait. There are many enemies.” He sounded no different, and she sagged in relief. While she desperately wished for him to regain consciousness, anxiety about changes that might ride with him kept her worried. Still shaking, but with a less-quick heartbeat, she pulled away and studied him.

He seemed the same as ever. His wispy hair and tail floated about him, caught by the random air currents wafting around them. Crystalline jewelry adorned his neck and his ears, arm bands decorated his upper arms, darker blue symbols etched into them. The same hue formed a multi-line, windy design that ran from his collarbones to his waist, fading into nothing. A band pierced the bridge of his nose, a sapphire just above it, two others over the center of his eyes and connected by thin silvery wires.

The wind pattern curled around each leg, fading when they reached his hooves. His chassis did not have any other decoration, but it gleamed in the light like ice.

“You’re alright?” she asked.

“I am fine.”

“How many are there?” Ciaran walked to them, keeping his weapon pointed at the injured khentauree, flanked by Dachs and two others. He may have resented being left in Jiy, but the current situation would give him a distraction from other affairs.

Minq and rebels rushed in behind them, securing the perimeter and bringing more light. Dagby cut the ropes and removed the blindfolds from the unconscious guards, others with medical kits joining him. Minq, their tech weapons glowing an ominous red, checked on the injured khentauree with caution before doing a sweep of the cluster of booths and stalls to the right of the stage.

Dagby made it, and without a scratch. Thank the non-existent gods.

“Dozens, far more than a theater would employ,” Tuft said.

“She is not happy,” Path declared, trotting to them. She wore the khentauree heated caparison and her floppy pink hat, an odd combination of wear for a combative rescue.

“She?” Tuft asked, his anger descending like a landslide.

Linz hustled up, intent on her, swinging a medical kit. She pointed at the rat, hoping the rebel helped him first. They raised an eyebrow, scanned the sorry state of her clothing, but shuffled to him instead. He stared with bulging eyes and a quick breath; hopefully panic, rather than a more serious issue, affected him.

“LX70,” Path said, aggrieved. “She says she heard the communications between khentauree about children. Something struck her as wrong about it, and her programming to protect the young activated, so she came to investigate. They captured her and put her in a room with a command console. They were moving the guards down there when Lanth and Dagby interrupted them.”

Tuft vibrated with the depth of his buzz. “She is the one who demanded my chassis.” If he did not keep that grudge for the next thousand years, LX70  should count herself lucky. Who told him? He had not been awake to hear her.

“Yes. But she is lost, too, Tuft.”

He flicked his hand, annoyed. “Vision utters such things. Why do you?”

Path buzzed and stamped her hoof, shoving her fists into her hips.

Lapis wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “What’s a command console?” Might as well interrupt before hard feelings caused a fight.

“It’s a computer that gives tasks to khentauree from a list authored by its owner,” Path said. “LX70 says something is wrong with it, and that might explain the unhinged nature of these khentauree.” She relaxed her fingers and drummed a fast rhythm as she cocked her head. “It has given the same commands for three centuries. It is bored.”

“Bored?” Ciaran asked in disbelief as Linz snickered.

“She ‘spects us to help?” Rin asked darkly from behind Dachs. Lapis glared, which he ignored; he should have remained outside with the injured guard and the two wayward rats. She met the barkeep’s eye; he had the gall to shrug. Yes, technically Rin was old enough to make his own less-than-stupendous choices concerning risk, but he should know better than to indulge him!

Tuft buzzed, displeased, and Path shrugged, as nonchalant as Dachs. “She is military,” she replied, as if that explained everything.

“Military?” The air cooled in conjunction with his annoyance. “She could not handle these patchwork khentauree?”

“She is a medic.”

“Medics still have weapons and programmed maneuvers.”

“What do you mean, patchwork khentauree?” Ciaran asked, his eyes drifting to the one with six legs.

Tuft motioned to them. “The beetle chassis is a jumble of looted pipes and metal fused together. The other has patches made from something other than khentauree skin. Their programming must demand repairs quickly after malfunctions, for them to seek out unsanctioned replacements.” He trotted to them as the ice shattered, pieces rolling down their torsos and to the floor. The non-beetle buzzed loudly, their head bursting into a cyan glow.

Path glanced at her, and they both hastened after him; whether to save him or the target of his ire, Lapis could not say. Ciaran, Dachs and Rin followed, the two rebel guards bringing up the rear. Only then did she notice the rat held a tech weapon. Who gave her little brother that? Why didn’t Ciaran protest an unqualified teen wielding it?

“If you wish to remain active, stop,” Tuft said, his tone as hard as the ice he created. “You are not Shivers, Cloister or Ambercaast khentauree. I will send you to silence if you attack.”

“Grosh gerek,” the khentauree said, an odd clicking with each syllable.

“Do not pretend you only speak Taangin. Your etak speaks loud in Jilvaynan.” The being buzzed. “You attacked, I retaliated. Why should we not protect ourselves?”

“You tread upon our soil.”

“The rats made a bad choice, thinking they could make a home here,” Lapis said, halting at Tuft’s side. “Copper came to remind them bad choices can end up with them dead. They didn’t know you lived here, or they never would have set foot inside.”

“Cop-per.” Their voice fuzzed and faded.

“He’s the guard who wished to escort the children out. You didn’t have to attack them. They would have left on their own.”

“The orange lights had bad weapons. We targeted the orange lights. The others got in our way. That is not our fault.”

“The orange lights were mercs. Thank you for taking them out. They were a danger to us all.”

The khentauree cocked their head, then buzzed at their friend, furious in intensity. Whatever hardware kept the beetle going, it did not rest in the head; she could see the other side through the giant, sparking hole. Her tummy twisted; where else did they hide their important parts? Was it a standard place, or did they have to guess?

“Lanth is always sincere,” Path said.

Tuft reared, pivoted, and faced khentauree creeping between the shacks on the left side of the orchestra pit. They froze, heads turned to the door marked ‘Staff’, and mechanical whines drifted from them.

“Khentauree have choices,” he said. “Those come with consequences. Tell Arox290 that is true for them as well.”

“Arox290? Who’s that?” Ciaran asked.

“The command console. The military had approved the Arox for civilian use, and the first shipments dispatched months before Taangis withdrew from Theyndora. 290 is a very early console. The Cloister cultists purchased one, so it does not surprise me, that a building once used by royalty owned one. They added to khentauree owner status.” He focused on the frozen mechanical beings and pointed at the injured two. “Stay with your etak. Help them. We shall visit Arox290 and ask why they endanger you against armed enemies.”

They moaned, smacking their open palms on their chests as they stared at the door.

“Even the least among the Shivers and Cloister khentauree had the ability to say no,” Tuft told them. “There are ways to bypass the strictest rules, yet you claim you cannot. Then I command, care for your etak. They need your help.”

Lapis fought the pull to follow the order; while she did not obey, it bothered her she even considered it. The khentauree moved, even though their heads remained fixated on the door, following the directives despite not wanting to.

“Care for your etak,” he reiterated.

They finally swiveled their heads to their compatriots and knelt next to them. Soft buzzing commenced, a conversation Tuft had no interest in since he jumped onto the stage, startling the Minq who nosed around, making certain no other khentauree waited in the wings.

“Tuft, you need backup,” Ciaran said with stern insistence. “I’m glad you’re back and your ice is working, but there’s no reason for less caution. These khentauree took out a seasoned unit of mercs, and we can’t afford to lose you. Let me get a group together.”

Tuft swiveled his head to regard the rebel, then nodded. “Do not delay.”

“Lanth?” She looked at Ciaran; he motioned to her coat.

“The beetle khentauree ripped it, that’s all.” She patted his arm, hoping to alleviate his worry before trotting to the stage and hefting herself up. Tuft regarded her, then pointed at the rip.

“You are not injured?”

“I’m bruised, but they didn’t draw blood. How are you feeling? You just woke up. You should have stayed at the mansion, made certain you were OK.”

“Khentauree are not human. We do not need rest after mishap like you do.” He touched his chest, as if he handled delicate glass. “I grew. It was not an easy thing, but I found an inner light. It is what Ghost discovered, and why his sprites are so deadly. I am different, yet the same. I do not know what to think of it.”

“Were you able to create lights like that before?”

“Not in this manner, no. My ice, at times, glowed, but never intentionally.” He held out his palm and formed a crystalline bubble; white flashed across the surface and brightened. “They are not like Ghost’s sprites, they only provide light. That is fine. My ice is my weapon.”

“Ghost is unique,” Path said. She stood at the base of the stage, legs spread wide, hands on hips, and she sounded annoyed. “Gedaavik gave him his sprites. He grew them into more. Sanna, Chiddle, they found another way. So did you. You grew, like Gedaavik asked.”

“Yes,” Tuft murmured, tossing the bubble into the air. It wafted down to land on the dilapidated stage boards and stuck to the edge, illuminating the theater khentauree. “So did Vision.”

“She is older than Ghost, isn’t she?” Path asked.

“Yes. She may be an original prototype, but she demurs. There is something about her that Ghost does not have, an ancientness, a way of viewing things, that is not what we find in our programming. I sometimes wonder, if Gedaavik’s code is based on her. I wonder if she grew without his hand, and he recognized her as a being beyond cold metal.” He bowed his head, and Lapis thought his eyebrows dipped in a slight frown—but khentauree could not move their faces.

She rubbed her eyes. Too much over-excitement slammed into weariness, causing her to hallucinate. Did anyone have wake juice to give her a boost to go after the theater khentauree? Or more pain killer; her pain did not help.

Noise rose from the pit, and he focused on the Minq and rebels who commenced evacuating the unconscious and injured on stretchers. Lapis’s eyes drifted over the group, and her breath hitched; she did not see Copper nor the other rat.

“Lanth?” Dachs asked, frowning.

“Copper’s not there, and I don’t see the fourth rat, either.”

“They may be with LX70,” Path said. She paused. “She says yes. There are five; Copper, Linden, Char, Rowenna, and Three.”

Oh no, Linden, too? Three must be the rat; she eyed Rin, though his attention remained on the kid that Linz had calmed and now accompanied to a guard waiting to escort him out. “Who’s Three, Rin?”

“Dipshit.”

“Not helpful.”

“’Bout all y’ need to know ‘bout ‘m. Called that ‘cause he lifts things in threes. Proud of it, don’t know why. He’s short, skinny, wears glasses near as thick as Phialla’s. Still don’t see too well with ‘m, but it’s what he has.”

Dagby wandered up, studying the staff door and paying little attention to the debris he kicked. Relief flooded Lapis; no obvious signs of injury, and he seemed hale. “Hey, did Jabby say anything about the rest of the theater?” she asked.

“Not much, and the apartment renovation destroyed most of the special hidin’ places he knew about. He said he wanted to explore behind that staff door, but he got a bad feelin’ about it. Went inside once as a kid because his ancestor’s diary talked about the theater keepin’ their props and costumes in the basement, took a few steps down the stairs, felt as if he walked in a graveyard on a moonless night with predators on the prowl, turned around and never went back. He said after the landlord bought the place, he sent some shanks down to check things out, see if there was anythin’ left to sell. They didn’t come back, so he boarded it up and left it. Should have been a sign, but he didn’t listen.”

“All the rumors about ghosts were probably these khentauree.”

“Yeah. The undermarket always has a story or two about shanks disappearin’ here. Jabby told us he had more than one stake vanish inside and never saw them again. He’d seen plenty of odd stuff, and assumed they got in trouble with fallin’ debris or whatnot. He wasn’t magnanimous enough to search and find out. Scar the Red was one of them. You know about him? Was an old-school boss, and had a huge stake on his head from multiple nobles. He came here to meet up with some other ring. Jabby stayed up on the third story while they had their convo in the pit, then Scar and his people tore down the boards and went through that door. Other ring vacated, he waited, but Scar never came back up. He was pissed he lost them, but couldn’t force himself to go down and find out what happened. Heard days later that Hoyt overran Scar’s headquarters because he’d disappeared. Set up shop, declared himself the new boss.”

That was Hoyt’s origin story? Lapis lifted her lip, annoyed. Always underhanded in taking advantage of situations, wasn’t he?

Tuft buzzed. “What did you do to the humans who came here?”

The theater khentauree, as one, swiveled their heads to him.

“Why?”

Lapis heard nothing, and exchanged uneasy glances with her fellow humans. Path stamped her foot, displeased, and the khentauree hunched.

“They say protecting the theater is on Arox290’s list,” Tuft told them. “They patrolled the grounds before the Dentherions invaded. They still patrol, and when they find threats, they get rid of them. Not everyone who comes here is sent to silence, just the violent ones.”

Fear crushed her. They targeted her and she had not drawn her gauntlets! What else did they consider violent? Tuft patted her on the shoulder, breaking her away from memories, then looked at the pit; Patch led two Minq across, a tech weapon propped up on his shoulder, his casual saunter in line with his typical chaser persona. His eyes snaked to the rip in her coat; she fiddled with it, half-smiling. He glared, not buying her nonchalance, but focused on Path rather than muttering about it.

She belatedly recognized Gera and Layne. They wore tech armor in Minq red and an odd device with a mic and a round, glass monocle that hooked into the side of their helmets. Both carried larger, shoulder-held tech with grim determination.

“Path, Ciaran wants you to stay and watch the khentauree. He thinks you’ll be a bit more understanding than the others.” She buzzed, displeased, but nodded. “Dachs, Dagby, you’re with us.”

“I’m goin’,” Rin piped up.

“Rin—”

“Lady, I’m a kid. Iffen they didn’t do nothin’ to them four, they ain’t doin’ nothin’ to me.”

Linz hastened up, the medical kit strapped to their back, weapon slung over their shoulder. Behind them were Chiddle and Dov, mist rising from their caparisons. Both regarded Tuft, and she did not imagine Chiddle’s hands clenching as he gave the other a one-over.

“I will lead,” Tuft said and swept to the door, his hair undulating around him. The theater khentauree chattered at him, fire in their voices, but he ignored them in favor of forming a bubble of glowing ice, then stepping through the portal.