Chapter 4: The Old Junkyard

Rafay woke up at exactly midnight. Initially, the silence was deafening, but then the hammering of his heart punctured the quiet. Suffux, the early moon, had waned into the shadows, and Harcoth now stood watch. The prospect of reuniting with Ellena and meeting Que today motivated him to hurry into his cylindrical tank, impatient as gusts of perfumed cold water and warm soapy water alternated. Once dry, he donned his marshal’s uniform - a pecan-brown double-breasted tunic with a V-neckline. The fabric was unnecessarily boorish. Spire had obviously used the cheapest crease resistor. Frugality was hardwired into the droid’s system, courtesy of its master. Rafay took a deep breath and headed to the window. The sight of the lawns lightened until the window reflected a gleaming mirror. He ran his hands on the fabric again; there were no creases, but whether it’d survive the flight to the junkyard was unlikely. If there was one thing his father hated, it was creases.

I’ll have to see Father today – the armholes of his uniform began restricting his blood flow.

He slid his hand through an armband and pulled it high up to his arm. It was light blue, nowhere as dark as Harcoth’s sapphire-blue oceans. It was a full moon tonight, shining with extra ferocity. Throwing on a white poncho, he headed out.

Nightjar and Spire seemed to be arguing downstairs: “… so it is you who is designated to obey my directives in this area. Now stop arguing and go wake up the guests, you lazy little bot,” Spire said. “I have half a mind to complain to your manufacturer about your subordination. You’re lucky we don’t know who made your foul, fowl kind.”

A second later, Nightjar flew past Rafay on the stairway, came back, peered at him from head to foot, chirped happily, and was on its way again.

As he arrived in the kitchen, Spire froze. “Master Rafay, you are awake. How self-aware you are. It takes an avalanche to wake Master Kaffee, and he would probably be inclined to roll over and doze off on his other side.”

“How about something to drink?” Rafay asked.

“Coming right up.”

Iras soon arrived. His bloodshot eyes cast a shadow over his perfectly white tunic. Drowsily, he collapsed onto a seat beside Rafay at the kitchen counter. Spire placed a mug in front of Rafay. As he reached out, Iras, still half asleep, grabbed it and took two large gulps. Before Rafay could protest, Iras’s eyes widened. He looked at Rafay, then at the mug, then sprayed what remained in his mouth across the kitchen, covering Spire.

Stunned, Spire shook its fist. “You clumsy FOOL. I just finished polishing.”

Iras lunged over the benchtop to the nearest water fountain to wash his mouth.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he blabbered.

“Spire, what’s in it?” Rafay said.

Still assessing the extent of the mess, the droid said, “Girsh tea, a very popular delicacy. Master Kaffee asked me to throw it away, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it since he hates waste. I, therefore, thought it prudent for the rest of you to finish off.”

Rafay gaped at the liquid remaining in the cup and sighed. The tea was quite pale, nowhere near the ruby pink of quality girsh.

Iras, now wide awake, headed to the living space, his face still contorting with disgust. At one point, he shivered. “My mouth’s so bitter, Raf. What if it stays this way?”

Rafay remained speechless, though relieved. That mug had been meant for him. His fortune didn’t seem so bleak after all.

“Spire, prepare some breakfast for the guests.”

“It is too early for breakfast, sir. I will prepare pre-morning bread.”

Rafay looked outside; it was still dark, “Right, prepare pre-morning bread then. Just make sure there’s some meat and curried tomatoes.”

“That’s extravagant for pre-morning bread. No matter, as you wish.”

With Iras grunting and shuddering in the background – Rafay grabbed the bag of girsh and chucked it into the garbage chute. He then disposed of the remnants of Iras’s cup in the basin, hoping the pipes wouldn’t spit out the odious liquid on his face. He then wiped and polished the benchtop until his reflection glazed on the steel surface.

Rafay paused. “How did you get rid of the smell?”

“Of what, sir?”

“Of the girsh.”

“I treated it, sir. With vinegar and salt.”

“Ugh ... I think my taste buds are dead,” Iras cried.

“That’s impossible if you can still taste the bitterness,” Rafay said.

“Wha—” Iras looked up.

“It’s a good sign,” Rafay said, wiping the benchtop.

“I wish they were dead,” Iras snarled back.

One by one, Taha and Neira trickled into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of fresh bread, fried eggs and roasted meat served with curds. Accompanied by the noise of boots squeaking and chairs hissing against the floor, they each sat and pushed their hooded robes back to devour their breakfast. Rafay’s fingers ran against the blunt edge of his square plate as he waited for Kaffee and Razearious, but when they didn’t show, he helped himself to a piece of the flaky bread and a serving of the soft buttery eggs.

“That sure is an annoying bot, Rafay,” Razearious said as he emerged from the staircase and grabbed one of the rectangular plates. “It shrilled, tickled and pinched me awake.”

Before Rafay could answer, Neira cut in. “What kind of eggs are they, Spire?”

“They are called spiral eggs and laid by the stodo bird,” Spire said with the utmost pride. “They are Master Rafay’s favourite, which is why Master Kaffee bought them during our recent visit to the Androjennes system.”

Neira paused. “Aren’t those becoming extinct?”

“I wonder why,” Razearious said as he gobbled up a forkful. “Cousin, you sure you wanna miss this?”

Iras remained silent in his armchair, staring at the ceiling.

“What’s up with him?” Razearious asked. “Still upset about missing his hard‑earned break?”

The others tittered, but Iras remained unmoved, eyes now closed but face still directed at the heavens, as if asking why?

“He isn’t feeling well,” Rafay said, deflecting the ridicule.

“Must be the first time he’s ever missed a meal,” Razearious remarked.

Nightjar arrived and started pecking at Razearious’s food.

“It likes you,” Rafay said.

“Lucky me,” Razearious grumbled, swiping the bot away, but it jumped, avoiding his hand and somersaulting to the other side of his plate. “It’s biological, right?”

“Partially, I think. It needs to eat and drink. But if I’m not mistaken, the bones have been repurposed and fitted with some complex circuitry which allows it to perform the functions of a bot.”

Razearious eyed the bot. “I certainly hope it’s not infectious.”

As soon as Rafay finished, he restlessly paced in front of the terrace doors, wondering where on Adessa Kaffee was. The guests took their final bites and then chatted for a while before relocating to the cushions and armchairs of the living space.

At last, Kaffee descended, looking pale and weary, his hair a mess as always. He wore no travelling cloak, and his ageing shirt and pants remained mellow despite being ironed and starched up by Spire.

Rafay stopped pacing. “Sleep, okay?”

“Too well, unfortunately.”

Rafay snorted.

Kaffee grabbed a piece of bread along with a dollop of curd. “Like the eggs?”

“They were great, thanks.”

“All ready, then?” Kaffee looked to the group in the living space as Spire arrived with a sturdy old coat.

Everyone nodded. Kaffee took a few sips of water from the fountain. “Call the lift, Spire.”

“Wouldn’t you like to sit down to eat?” Neira asked.

Kaffee folded his slice of bread with the curd inside. “Nah, I’ll eat on the platform. No point making the airman wait.”

Spire waved towards the corridor. “The lift is here, sir.”

The others got up and disappeared into the hallway while Rafay walked over to Iras and nudged him. Iras opened his eyes, scowled, and then took Rafay’s offered hand.

As they passed the kitchen, Kaffee gazed curiously at Iras. “What the hell happened to him?” he mouthed to Rafay.

Rafay shook his head and muttered, “You don’t want to know.”

Kaffee winked at Spire. “We’ll be back soon. You know how to reach me.”

“Have a pleasant trip, sir,” Spire replied. “Nightjar must accompany you to the platform since the weather is rather misty.”

“Come, little one,” Kaffee said, and the bot took to the air.

Rafay, Iras and Kaffee stepped into the lifting room – an ample space with cosy furniture. Iras collapsed onto a row of cushions while Neira made herself comfortable in an armchair. Rafay joined Razearious and Taha, who stood near a lamp. The contents of the window of level 350 began to ascend as the lift started moving down.

“I’d bet it’s just a peace patrol we’re being summoned to. Unlikely, they’d have anything else for us to do,” Taha said.

“I’ve heard about unrest in Hutsies Neighbourhood.” Razearious yawned. “It has led to a severe crackdown from the local governess. I really don’t wanna go back there to mediate between them.”

“Sure is odd that people insist on electing their own despots,” Taha said.

“And expect us to clean up the mess,” Razearious grunted.

Rafay stood by, too restless to participate. Why would Que suddenly want him to stay in the Order? What had he uncovered about Wasay’s whereabouts?

Don’t give in to this spark of hope. You’ll be disappointed, Hashif would’ve said if he were still alive.

“Level 300. Platform 14,” a soulless-mechanical voice announced.

Rafay stepped out of the lift into a passage, its darkness a grim contrast to the room’s cosiness.

“Lights aren’t working,” Iras said from behind.

“He speaks,” Razearious said with a clap, the noise echoing along the passage.

“Shut up, Raz, and watch your step,” Neira said.

Nightjar’s two eyes lit up like glowing torches, making the corridor appear less dingy. Still, the pronounced echo of water dripping behind the walls made the passage seem narrower, enough for Rafay to feel like the walls were closing in on him.

A sheet of glass slid sideways with their arrival at the end of the corridor, but they did not venture out onto the circular landing pad. The sky was dark owing to the night’s sky but in a grey way due to the effect of the planet’s rings, which slanted across the sky in a steadfast orbit. Slowly, the landing pad moved away from them as a narrow platform extended out of the building with lights on either side at regular intervals. The fine view of the metropolis seemed to be fading away as the mist thickened into a gloomy fog. Soon, the circular landing pad disappeared into the fog, with the platform abruptly invisible from midway. So they waited at the doorway, shivering, the chilly breeze flushing against their faces.

“I bet this platform has one of those invisible walls to prevent people from going off the edge,” Neira said, surveying the platform.

“Just walk over the edge. If you fall, then you’re wrong,” Razearious said, sitting on the floor.

“No need to try. We have them,” Rafay smirked. “They’re somewhat visible at night by a glare at certain angles.”

“Pretty neat, our building doesn’t. It’s great being poor,” Razearious shrugged.

There was a movement in the distance. Rafay flinched, unsure if it was predators or the fog playing tricks.

“What is it? Predators?” Iras asked.

Rafay nodded. “Lately, a throng of wild birds called the Nekhtan have been patrolling the skies here at night. The local authorities have been trying to drive them out, but they often return.”

“Lucky you,” Razearious said. “We have many throngs of them in our area. They start with blinding their prey, so go straight for the eye. Incidents involving kids have been frequent, but the authorities don’t care.”

“But lights are a perfect repellent. They should have a blinding effect on them,” Rafay said, hoping that the spreading mist was not overpowering the lights on the long platform.

“Our area isn’t very well lit, and with power outages, Nekhtans tend to swoop in,” Neira said.

 Nightjar chirped something, and the group looked puzzled. When Kaffee failed to translate for them, Rafay filled them in: “Nightjar says the ship’s running late.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Razearious grumbled.

“It says the ship is still not in range, so must be far off.”

Nightjar continued with its chirps.

“Currently, a quarter of the planet is the same as here – covered in fog,” Rafay continued.

Razearious got up, “Can someone tell Nightjar to shut up? It’s depressing enough without these unhelpful facts.” He began tinkering with the utility panel in the wall, and the light around them teetered on.

Neira paused from adjusting her hood. “Good job, Raz.”

Razearious shook his head. “I dunno what I did.”

The corridor behind them no longer seemed narrow and dingy but wide and well-polished.

Some minutes later, Nightjar sounded off bells and whistles flying in circles around their heads, its wings clapping on Rafay’s hair twice. Rafay stared at the sky beyond the platform, where a pair of lights were ripping through the fog from afar. How could he have missed it? It was where he’d been staring the entire time.

“That’s us,” Rafay said, pointing at the sharpening lights.

Rafay hastened onto the platform, with the others clomping close behind. Two-thirds of the way across, it seemed like the bronze-wingless shuttle was preparing to land. It circled the platform from above to taper off its speed before cautiously hovering down. The air expelled from its engines caused the wind on the platform to swirl into dust-filled vortices, which cleared when the ship set down, sending tremors through the floor. The engines whirred a calming hum. The sound confirmed his suspicion; this was only a skycraft with no might to penetrate the stratosphere. A door opened on the shuttle, and a small staircase extended to greet them.

As he boarded, a stream of stale air quickly stalked his nose. It was all rather bleak. The shuttle was clean but soulless – black seats decked out, and the white wall curved into the shape of a capsule. Rafay took the window seat in the first row, giving him an unobstructed view of the outside. The others followed as the droid co‑piloting the ship expressed its disapproval:

“We are behind schedule. Could you be any slower? Board faster!”

“Why wait for us to take our seats—” Razearious grunted as he sat beside Rafay.

“Thank you,” the droid responded curtly.

“I think it heard you,” Rafay said, his fists tightened as he braced for the worst.

Iras was last to board, but his first step on the shuttle coincided with the stairs slamming shut on his backside, ramming him into Kaffee, who hadn’t taken a seat yet. The shuttle whooshed upward from the platform, took aim and shot itself into the night sky, its internal lights darkening. Rafay gaped as Kaffee and Iras vanished. Where the hell were they? He frantically looked around the dim cabin until he concluded that Iras was stuck to the rear windshield. But where was Kaffee?

Iras simply lifted himself up and looked back. He seemed neither hurt nor shaken, only confused like one is after waking from a deep sleep – not quite sure where he was and not so bothered by it. He dropped down onto the seat and fastened his seat belt.

He then reached out for a leg dangling next to his shoulder. It was Kaffee. Iras pulled Kaffee off the windshield onto a seat next to him, leaving a long smear of blood smudged down the glass.

Razearious turned to Rafay in horror, his hands over his mouth.

Rafay leaned ahead to glimpse who the driver was but couldn’t. He wanted to grab them by the scruff and censure them, but what good would it do.

By now, they were flying above the mist and clouds, and the interior lights brightened.

“The ship has reached optimal speed,” a mechanical voice announced. “We will maintain it for the rest of the journey. Roaming the cabin is now safe.”

Taha got up and helped Iras bring Kaffee to the front so Neira could have a look at him. Rafay considered getting up and checking on Kaffee too, but with Taha, Neira, and Iras gathered around, it was best to avoid getting in the way. Meanwhile, Razearious stayed motionless, staring at his boots.

Iras casually sat in the aisle across from Rafay. “He’s fine. Just a bit dazed, that’s all.” He glanced back at the others who were still tending to Kaffee.

Razearious peeked in Iras’s direction a few times and quickly looked away, but Iras seemed in high spirits and oblivious to why things unfolded the way they did. After all, Kaffee had cushioned the blow.

“I think I saw the pilot napping next to the droid,” Iras said.

Rafay’s jaw tightened, “I’ll make a complaint when we get to headquarters.”

As the flight progressed, the shuttle occasionally stopped to pick up more rangers at other gathering points within the Argonas district.

“This is irritating,” Iras said. “Why can’t we go directly to the Yard? They should’ve picked us up after doing all these stops?”

“We’re lucky they picked us up from Laggar. Otherwise, we would’ve been waiting at one of these points with all the other commoners,” Razearious said, still looking at his boots.

Iras looked startled; there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in Razearious’ voice.

The ship stopped again, and three more rangers boarded. Rafay recognised one of them, Baris Lasuli, an acquaintance of Iras.

He was a stout fellow with dirty teeth and an overgrown beard. Scratching his cheek red, he growled, “PILOT, which route are we taking?”

“Ugh.” The pilot jostled awake, paused, then stuck her head out a small hole in the pilot bay door.

“Kreteska,” she barked. A translating device on her cheek relayed: “WHAT?”

Baris stepped back, “Uh … which route are we taking?”

“Deregaska Dunni-yan. Tresta cru-siya,” she snapped. “Dunnihan passage. Trensten is too crowded.”

“Uh, sorry,” Lasuli blubbered. He quickly walked away from her, her head disappearing from the hole.

Lasuli paused at the sight of Iras. He seemed to have bathed in a musty cologne, which cleared Rafay’s sinuses.

“Wondering what this is all about?” Lasuli said gruffly.

“To be honest, I’m trying not to,” Iras said.

“I hear it’s another pointless peace patrol.” He moved on.

Rafay looked back to Kaffee, who was transfixed by the night sky. Taha and Neira sat across the aisle from him, keeping watch. Neira raised her head from Taha’s shoulder. “He seems okay but should get scanned when we arrive. I’ve sent word to the recuperation bay.”

Rafay nodded and relaxed, gazing at the window; they were passing over a massive procession of fluffy white clouds. The night fell behind them as they chased a glimmering light along the horizon – a magnificent dawn.

*****

They arrived at the Old Junkyard by midday, with one sun submerging into the horizon from where they came and the other not far behind, tailing it from halfway across the sky. As they descended through the clouds, the colossal fortress‑like structure of headquarters gradually became visible, surrounded by its dark green grasslands. Internally, it was one connected whole, yet its bronze façade consisted of cylindrical-shaped towers stacked together to form a very wide “V” with the tines further apart. By this time, their ship descended towards the central tower of the building to what was known as the Grand Entrance. Rafay was already at the door before the ship touched down.

Halfway down, Rafay swung around, “Careful, the unboarding ramp is slippery.”

The platform was large enough for ten ships to land on, but there were only three. An olive-skinned woman approached him with a stretcher bed hovering next to her. She waved at Rafay.

“Bree! I didn’t realise it was you.” Rafay exclaimed.

“Neira sent word about an injury.”

“Oh yeah, it’s Kaffee,” Rafay said, turning to Kaffee, who stood by him like an old dead tree. “They got you a stretcher.”

“Why? Am I injured?” Kaffee said, dazed. He surveyed his hands, which still had some dried-up blood, “Hey, I’m bleeding?”

Rafay hesitated, “Uh—”

“I’m joking, stupid,” Kaffee said, rolling his eyes. “I’m good. I’ll walk.”

Bree smiled and tapped a button on the stretcher. It sped away.

“This is Bree,” Rafay said. “She’s a member of my inner circle … which is a technical term for crew.”

Bree smiled, and Kaffee nodded.

“We can’t crowd this area for too long,” Razearious said. “Let’s move.”

As they reached the entrance, Kaffee paused and read out the indigo inscription on the grand archway, written in the common tongue:

Headquarters of the Arckyle Ossault

High Tower

Location L1C1R88 – P

Under it were the words,

O’ two armies and all others, you shall not escape the righteousness of our judgement.

Flee to the darkest nooks of the universe, yet you shall not escape our authority.

“Aren’t you in pain,” Rafay said. Kaffee twitched, “I’m fine.”

“You need to wash your face,” Iras said, joining them.

Kaffee wiped his face on his shirt. “Just don’t crash into me again.”

As they passed through the archway, they were greeted by a series of security posts lined across an oversized foyer, the size of a stadium – pillarless, the height of the ceilings inconceivable. The architect was trying to make a statement, but Rafay remained oblivious to what it was.

“It’s pretty stunning. Isn’t it?” Bree said. “Never been in this way.”

“I think we got lucky,” Rafay said. “This entrance is normally reserved for delegates and dignitaries.”

A large egg‑shaped droid hovered towards them.

“Proceed as a group for analysis,” it said, with a soft mechanical voice.

Followed by the rest of his inner circle, Rafay took the lead to a station where a group was clearing security.

Another egg‑shaped droid blocked the way. A hatch opened, and over twenty fist‑sized bots swarmed out. The bots proceeded to inspect each of them while the large one inquired of Rafay:

“State Identity and Circle Number.”

Rafay opened his mouth to respond, but someone else spoke.

“Capi‑taaan!” Lonnie, a short man in a laboratory coat longer than himself, hurried from a room on the other side of the partition towards Rafay. “Droid, let them through.”

Rafay held his breath, hoping Lonnie wouldn’t trip on his coat. The fabric seemed thin and waxy.

“Metalloid detected,” a few of the bots chorused. The small one inspecting Rafay came face to face with him. “Proceed to the station for in‑depth analysis.”

“Never mind, you and your companions may go ahead,” Lonnie said breathlessly.

“It’s protocol,” objected the large droid.

Lonnie waved the partition open and beckoned Rafay and his companions through. “His father wrote the protocol.”

“Calling supervisor.”

“I’m the supervisor in charge,” Lonnie replied.

“You will be reported.”

“I’m the guy you report to,” Lonnie said incredulously.

“Correct.” The droid still obstructed Rafay’s path.

Slightly abashed, Lonnie attempted to pull the droid aside. But it and the other smaller bots rounded on Lonnie.

“Aggression alert. Arrest for insubordination.” They all chorused.

They tasered a few warning shots, mostly missing him. But one caught him in the leg, and he jumped.

“Uh oh.” Lonnie turned and ran back towards his office. “Non‑compliant droid. Help!”

He jumped several times to avoid being tasered. “Hey! I made you,” he shouted back indignantly.

Rafay’s lips trembled as he held back a smile. The rest of his inner circle wasn’t as discrete. Such mishaps were common with newer droids tasked to replace sentient beings.

“Let’s go … I think the central shack is this way. It should be in the centre of the high tower.”

They passed a concourse with passers‑by covertly talking about them – some sneered, some stopped talking, while others looked away. Rafay had expected this, so he stared ahead.

Then one passer‑by overtly jeered, “The deserter’s back.”

“But I thought he hadn’t formally departed the Order,” Bree said.

“They’re not talking about Raf. It’s Kaffee,” Razearious said.

“He bolted?” Bree whispered. “Why would we associate with such a person.”

Rafay quickly glanced behind to make sure Kaffee wasn’t in earshot. He wasn’t. He was far back, walking with his head in a sombre bow. Taha and Neira followed close by as if on standby to catch him if he collapsed.

“Not exactly,” Razearious muttered. “He made quite a few enemies last time, and saying that he deserted became a good way of discrediting him. I still can’t believe how Rafay managed to get him back in. I’ll fill you in later.”

They arrived at a fork.

“Kaf, the recuperation bay is along that passage.” Rafay pointed. “Taha and Neira, can you go with him?”

Taha nodded, placing a hand on Kaffee’s shoulder.

The rest of the party turned right into the central shack – a grand hall with a high-sloped ceiling, ample light and cushions strewn around bonfires. Silver ornaments hung from the ceiling abstractly representing the Kasmanian segment of the galaxy, while at the hall’s centre was a golden sphere representing the planet Adessa.

“Is Adessa really the centre of Kasmania?” Iras asked.

“They’re exaggerating,” Rafay snorted.

But the hall’s main feature was a glass wall at the higher end of the slanted ceiling, from which a large hangar was visible. While all noise of the sky and spacecrafts was blocked out, a few people sitting near the wall placed their hands on the shuddering glass to feel the vibrative signature of the crafts coming and going.

Bree led them over to the edge of the hall where her twin, Tassie, waited in an armchair. Her gaze fixed on the fireplace in the wall.

“We’re here,” Bree said.

Tassie got up to greet them, the faint freckles on her face became visible up close. Like her sister, she was olive-skinned, but her’s glowed with a hint of pink. She blushed as she looked past Rafay’s ear. Rafay turned to find Razearious standing there with a smug smile.

“So, Rafay …” Tassie abruptly started, straightening her face. “… sorry we couldn’t make it to Laggar Heights last night. We were too hungover from the equinox celebrations. Never had so much to eat and drink.”

“I figured,” Rafay chuckled.

“What about you?” Tassie asked. “You do anything special?”

“I caught up on sleep, that’s all,” Rafay said as he dropped into an armchair. “Raz, did you go?”

“I wish,” Razearious’ face darkened. “Taha and Neira weren’t interested. And Iras was going some other place. I tried getting a shuttle but ended up getting nowher—”

“This place is nothing like the shack in Igon Tower,” Iras said, oblivious to their conversation. “Where are the food repositories and the sheet pan racks?”

“If you want something to eat, you’d need to ask one of the droids. They’ve been doing the rounds,” Tassie said. “At least, that’s what people here seem to be doing. Otherwise, go to the kitchens, one level down.”

“Anyone of you need a drink?” Iras asked.

Rafay nodded; Tassie, Bree and Razearious did not.

Iras raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Among the droids hovering around, the nearest one abruptly stopped and made its way to him.

“Droid, get us some cushions. We have more people coming. And two bowls of water.”

The egg‑shaped droid made of gleaming copper flashed a pattern on its enclosed oval screen, accompanied by an audible reply: “Coming up”.

The droid turned and resumed its rounds until Rafay beckoned it to return.

“Is my father in the building?”

The droid analysed Rafay’s face, then his blue marshal’s armband.

“Wilbur Shadijin is not in the building at this time,” it said. “His droid, KC‑38, informs me they will be arriving imminently. It also informs me that your father is quite displeased with you.”—the armholes to Rafay’s tunic started tightening again—“The central systems of the building inform me that after four and a half hours, you and your inner circle are to report to the conference quarters at Level 107, Column 64, Row 56.”

“That’s all.” Rafay waved it away. He was careful not to thank it; no point being lectured in front of his friends.

By this time, another droid had deposited some cushions near the fireplace. An airtray arrived behind it, and Rafay and Iras took a bowl each. Iras put the bowl to his lips and drained the liquid. Then his head tilted down, and he slowly spewed it back into the bowl.

“So sour, tastes like sweat. It’s from a local spring, isn’t it? I’m a member of Marshal Shadijin’s team. Get us something foreign – Anguinian or Chroniun.”

The droid turned to Rafay.

“Get him something better,” Rafay said, sipping; it was a little sour but not worth the fuss.

“Why are you drinking this stuff?” Iras asked.

“I don’t mind it.” Rafay shrugged. “I’d suggest not getting used to such opulence. I won’t always be around to connect you to better things.”

“Too late for that warning.” Iras grinned. “Besides, you’re not going anywhere.”

Rafay gazed around for Ellena to no avail. “What time is it?”

“Time for a pre‑lunch morsel back at Laggar Heights. I’m starving. After that damn tea, I feared I’d never eat again,” Iras said, scanning the area for a droid.

Instead, he went pale as Enavlein’s team members approached them, one with a slick smile and the other with glossy blonde hair.

“Tassie m’girl, more scorching than the fire, just the person we need. We have a vacancy on our team if you’re interested.”

Tassie smiled, “No thanks, Argus. Besides, the sun’s hotter, I’m sure. Better not look to it for a replacement.”

Argus smacked his lips, hiding a smile.

Rafay stayed frozen in his seat, unsure of what to do at the sight of another bunch of hounds with saliva-soaked tongues hanging from their mouths.

Luckily, his relationship with Ellena was not an offshoot of such conquests. She was sitting next to Neira at a table when Neira was called away. They exchanged shy glances at first, started a temporary relationship days later, and then formal vows a few months after.

“Iras – Enavlein and Hara send their regards,” the guy with the greasy hair said.

They walked away, snickering.

The enthusiasm on Iras’s face seemed to dampen as he shrunk back into his seat.

“I’ll get even with him,” Iras said.

Rafay didn’t know what to make of all this. But Taha was right: Enavlein hadn’t taken Rafay and Ellena’s union all that well. Besides, how the hell was he to know that Enavlein fancied Ellena? Now was Enavlein’s opportunity to show his true class; for one thing, it was steeped in immaturity.

An hour later, Taha and Neira arrived with an airtray of food hovering behind them.

“They’ve given Kaffee a medicinal cocktail for the pain. He needs to eat, though, for it to work.” Neira adjusted her hood and took a seat between Tassie and Bree. “Taha and I have brought food from the kitchens for everyone.”

There were pockets of bread filled with multiple breeds of egg and meats, vegetables and dairy, all seasoned with exotic spices. They each took a serving until it was Rafay’s turn, and he reached out for a pocket. It had a woody aroma with a tangy and floral taste.

As Razearious reached out for a serving, Neira tapped his hand aside.

“Sorry, these three servings are for Kaffee. He should be here soon. He needs to eat.”

Razearious withdrew his hand, disappointed.

“And trust me,” Neira continued. “You’re better off having something else; these are packed with extra nutrition, so won’t be up to your usual standards.”

“Not my fault – nutritious stuff always tastes terrible,” Razearious mumbled.

“Now that we’re all here. There’s something I wanted to say,” Rafay began. “My position as marshal and my father’s temper suggest he won’t be able to use his connections to protect us. So if any of you wants, I can get you off.”

But the group scoffed at the idea. Being part of Rafay’s inner circle, they were counting on continuing to serve Rafay wherever his captaincy took him, and they told him as much.

“I do hope they don’t decide to remove us from serving under your command,” Tassie said.

“And replace us with more competent people?” Razearious smirked.

“We could be competent … if they’d give us something interesting to do,” Tassie said.

“They won’t,” Bree said. “A senior ranger retains their inner circle upon assuming captaincy. They’re only assigned a new inner circle under exceptional circumstances, and even then, the captain or marshal can appeal the change.”

“Unless he becomes captain soon after getting the inner circle killed,” Razearious pointed out. “That’d certainly be awkward.”

“No laughing matter,” Bree snapped back. “That happens too, and quite often.”

“I’m guessing nepotism played a role in all those cases.” Razearious laughed. “No offence, Rafay. I’m certainly not complaining – the food you get us is much better than what others of our station are worthy of.”

“I would’ve thought Rafay’s elevation would only make life easier for us, but it’ll be exciting if we get to have some risky adventures,” Tassie said.

Rafay hadn’t realised they were so bored with the carefree lifestyle that being associated with him entailed. It worried him because he knew they were not alone in feeling this way. Lately, such restlessness had become widespread in the Order. He had surmised that this sickness had infected those who had taken commodities like peace and comfort for granted, a disease that had become widespread during peacetime. Though it had not always been so, Kasmania in recent decades had been a peaceful part of the galaxy, and uncertainty was often rare to come by. Rangers of the Arckyle Order kept the peace. They were seen as champions of stability, maintaining an established system against the scattered threat of unruly rabblers and the plots hatched from the fantasies of anarchists. He suspected that the prospect of seeing some real danger would stay a stimulating venture to his friends so long as it remained unlikely.

As another hour passed, Rafay stared at the embers rising from the fire.

“Hey!” Iras clapped to get his attention. “I want Enavlein to look me in the eye and tell me why.”

Razearious rolled his eyes. “Bad idea, cuz. What if he pokes it? Won’t be pleasant. Besides, getting beat up ain’t gonna help.”

Taha sighed, and Rafay returned his gaze to the fire.

“It’d be stupid to get into a fight over a girl. You’re not a child anymore,” Bree told Iras.

“If only that’d stick,” Razearious muttered thoughtfully.

“Please don’t make a scene, Iras,” Taha said. “They’ll blame us for not stopping you.”

“They should,” Tassie exclaimed. “It’s a good rule that the Order punishes bystanders, especially friends, for not preventing a fistfight. It’s reduced the occurrence of brawls by ninety per cent. I mean, we all need someone to count on to keep us from our worst impulses, whether that’s fight or flight.”

“Iras and fight? I don’t think so. Iras and flight …”—Razearious nodded towards him—“Need I say more?”

“I’d go for the middle road.” Iras said, with an air of superiority. “Go for a fight when there’s someone there to stop you. The fear on your opponent’s face is his defeat.”

They all broke into laughter.

The sight of the walking corpse that was Rallee Kaffee made Rafay forget what they were laughing about. Somehow thinner and paler, Kaffee dropped into an armchair.

“Nice outfit,” Rafay said. “You alright, buddy?”

Kaffee smirked, tugging his new tunic in an attempt to loosen it. It was ash-grey and designated for newer recruits. He placed a mesh bag on his lap with his old jacket inside.

“The food must be stale now. Should I get some fresh pockets made?” Bree asked.

Kaffee didn’t appear to hear her. He seemed edgy and nervous, scanning the room as if making complex calculations. Taha handed him the tray. Kaffee seemed to relax a little, picking at his stale meal.

A strong, muscular man approached the group. His salt and pepper hairdo made Rafay want to sneeze. Enavlein.

He smiled at the girls, then turned to Iras. “How are you, buddy? Been too long.”

Iras’s face contorted, his hands clenching. Rafay and Taha knew this expression. It meant, “You’re up, boys”. He closed his eyes and turned to them, seething. “I’m gonna kill him”.

Enavlein’s face whitened, and he cowered back in astonishment as Iras charged towards him. The only thing between him and Iras’s wrath was Taha and Rafay physically holding Iras back.

“Iras, don’t!” Rafay huffed, clutching Iras’s shoulder with one hand and elbow with the other.

“Just let it go!” Taha yelled, holding Iras’s other arm.

As Rafay struggled to hold onto Iras, Tassie shrieked. “Razearious! What are you waiting for? Do something before someone gets hurt!”

Rafay caught a glimpse of Razearious. He seemed torn between Iras’s rabid mania and Tassie’s scream. Suddenly, he leapt onto Iras from behind.

“Rafay?” a soft voice behind him said. A voice that awakened a storm of emotion and pain. He knew the thin lips of the speaker. There’d be a tiny mole at the end of her upper lip. Ellena.

Distracted, Rafay loosened his grip on Iras’s arm. In that second, Iras was propelled forward by Razearious’s thrust. The two men flew past Enavlein and smashed into Kaffee, whose eyes only had time to widen at the sight of the incoming duo.

Rafay looked to Ellena’s face – smooth as a pearl, her eyes glistening with threatening tears. Given the chaos surrounding them, embracing her without anyone noticing would’ve been easy.

She only said, “You busy?”

Rafay gulped painfully. “I’ll be along. You know where.”

Ellena smiled, momentarily making him whole. Then, she turned and left.

Rafay twisted around to deal with his friends.

Razearious and Iras looked shaken, confused by the debacle.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Iras said. “Who the hell let go of me?”

Meanwhile, Enavlein had disappeared.

With Taha trying to drag him away, Kaffee raged. “What the hell is wrong with you, Iras?”

Taha waved away onlookers attracted by the noise. “It was just an accident.”

Rafay gave Iras a hand, helping him up. A ranger strolling by pat Iras on the back, “Fearless as always.”

Iras recovered his bearings enough to wink back.

“He’s a master of chaos,” someone else laughed. “Who was the target?”

“Beats me,” Baris Yasuli grinned, his dirty teeth on full display. He gave Iras a casual salute.

More generally, it seemed Iras’s target had been forgotten. But Rafay had seen the look of fear in Enavlein’s eyes; it was a sight to behold. Too bad there weren’t any other witnesses. Even if there were, none came forward.

“He’s cursed …” Taha said, surveying Kaffee.

Kaffee scowled helplessly around, his new tunic ruined with blood from his nose and head.

“I guess we’ll take him back to the recuperation bay,” Taha said. “Razearious. Grab his other arm and put it around your neck. We’ll prop him up between us.”

With nothing left for him to do, Rafay slipped away with a jittery feeling in his belly. Leaving the shack, he wandered the halls and found the familiar gloomy, dingy passage he was looking for – an area that had fallen into disrepair. As Rafay arrived, Ellena was looking out of a mud-stained window. She flicked the emerald-green hood on her head, and it slipped onto her shoulders. Her eyes met Rafay’s, and they hastened to embrace midway.

“Are you okay?” Ellena asked, kissing him around his face. “What was that raucous with your friends about?”

“Iras. Making an idiot of himself,” Rafay said, kissing her.

When their lips were worn out, they looked around for a clean armchair and settled onto it, Ellena on Rafay’s lap.

“So, how did you get reinstated?” Rafay asked.

“My uncle took care of that. It’s like I never left. He’s placed me in your inner circle.”

“That’s a relief. Now, I’ve got to think of a way to tell my circle about you. They’re a nosy bunch.”

“We don’t have a choice but to lie – say we’re in a temporary union,” Ellena said. “Saying we’re not in a relationship will make things more difficult.”

“Lying about a marriage is not a good way to start a life together – it’s a bad omen.”

“We don’t have a choice, Rafa!” she said, fondling his cheek. Rafay felt something in him stirring as if he were falling under her mystical thumb.

He nodded meekly. There was no other way. “I know there’s no other choice.”

“What about Kaffee?” Rafay asked.

“That was difficult. But it’s all taken care of. He’s been permitted as an adjunct.”

Nepotism can do wonders, Rafay thought. Hashif never approved of Rafay using his connections this way, but Rafay had no choice now.

He looked into her grey eyes. They twinkled every time he made contact with them. Rafay didn’t know if they only did that for him, but he believed they did. There was still lots to talk about; six months is a long time for newlyweds to spend apart, and there was still a spark in their relationship in denial of diminishing. But their jaws had been worn out from the making out that preceded it. So a silence ensued, with Ellena’s head resting on his chest.

“Ellena, umm, regarding Amos, I mean Enavlein – how did he take your decision to leave his team and the Order?”

Ellena’s head shifted, still clinging to his chest, “He wasn’t happy. He must’ve guessed it had something to do with you. He wanted to talk to me. But Que—”

Ellena looked up, her eyes wide. She’d dropped his name.

“No harm done. It’s just an alias; besides, I use it all the time.” Rafay reassured her, stroking her cheek. It was smooth as a pearl.

“Well, it was suggested I not respond to Amos. He stopped a while later … I bet he’ll be surprised when he sees me back here.”

Rafay quietly nodded.

She went on, “His parents also reached out to my parents. They said that my associating with you was dangerous. That I should not trust you.”

“That’s good advice,” Rafay said bitterly. “And I warned you too, you’re not gonna get a happy or safe life with me.”

She withdrew from his chest and raised her face to face him. “You’re mine.”

Her lips met his. Again, a swirl radiated throughout his body from lip to foot – her hold over him was esoteric.

Ellena started to get up. “I have to go see my uncle,” she whispered. “He’ll tell me where and when you need to meet him. He says it’s imperative to meet before you go home tonight.”

“I don’t know how I got through the last few months without you,” Rafay said.

She hugged him back. “I was miserable, too.”

Rafay stood quietly as Ellena’s footsteps receded away, a void taking hold in his heart, growing from the outset of her departure. It seemed their hour together had ended as quickly as a blissful dream.

He took a deep breath. He would not be leaving Ellena tonight. He no longer cared if his father or the Order knew they were together. He would perjure himself and state that they were in a temporary union.

Like the end of most joyous dreams, Rafay soon found himself back in reality, with Iras yapping away. “I didn’t count on my idiot friends letting go of me.”

Luckily, Rafay caught a glimpse of a droid hovering around the edge of the hall. Its platinum colour set it apart from the copper ones floating around. Rafay would’ve recognised it anywhere since it’d been his caretaker from his earliest memory – KC‑38, his parents’ droid. It got into the faces of everyone in its path, scanning them before moving to the next person.

“Stay out of trouble. I’ll be back.” Rafay told his friends, getting up.

The droid froze. He’d been spotted. Immediately, it sped towards him, ducking, turning and knocking a few people over to get to its object.

“Master Rafay. Or should I say Marshal Shadijin?” KC‑38 greeted him. “You seem to be in the highest of spirits. Your father wishes to see you.”

Rafay nodded. “Is he furious?”

“I am afraid so. Your decision to stay in the Order came as a surprise.”

“Where is he?”

“He is located along”—it paused to calculate—“Level 118, near Column 56, along the Sacred Gallery. Follow me.”

Given the distance of the location, it wasn’t feasible to walk. So the droid led Rafay to the nearest cubical, a mobile lift at one of the corners of the shack. It seemed to be floating, but this was illusory. If one paid close attention to the floor under it or the ceiling above, they would realise that it was placed on physical tracks.

KC-38 followed him into the cubicle. Inside were seats at each corner. Two walls were opaque, while the other two consisted of see-through glass.

In the junkyard, mobile lifts could travel in various directions. Sideways, up and down, front and back, carrying them along a maze of predefined tracks to their destination. Being in the company of his father’s droid meant Rafay would have all the shortcuts at his disposal, which amounted to an express route with little traffic holding them up.

Towards the end of the trip, they stopped behind another cubicle. Rafay didn’t know the person who got out of the other lift. But he did recognise the tall, broad-shouldered man leaning against a railing of a vast terrace – his father.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Wilbur turned around, a frown on his massive forehead as he waved at Rafay. As he left the terrace, his snow-white cape fluttered behind. He wore a tunic similar to Rafay’s, but it was matte-black, the material so fine that no dust or impurity could ever taint the fabric. A long bar of gemstones clipped to his upper chest. Rafay noted his father’s jet-black hair had started to whiten. Wilbur hugged Rafay, then led him to a long, seemingly unending corridor.

As they walked, Wilbur seemed to tense. “Rafay, I don’t know what to do with you. You told me you wanted to leave the Order and travel with that Kaffee character.”—He took a deep breath, then went on—“I didn’t want you to. I wanted you to stay in the Order and follow in my footsteps. But you were adamant, so I accepted your choice. I gave you my blessing to leave. Now you turn around and end up staying without telling me …”

“I’m sorry,” Rafay said, a lump seemed to be constricting his throat. Holding back the truth from his father was painful enough, but revealing it would be far worse. Whenever he mentioned his brother’s name, his father would turn pale to the backdrop of his mother sobbing. Rafay didn’t have the luxury of masking his pain by pretending Wasay had never existed.

So, he stayed silent as his father continued to vent. “First, you wanted to be a cosmographer, then a merchant and then a pilot. Sometimes, I think your only aim is to do the opposite of what I want from you.”

They entered another long corridor with high ceilings and glass walls giving a view of green indoor gardens sitting a few levels below, on each side. The gardens acted as outdoor retreats for office people, a change in scenery. A few people lay napping in hammocks and on the grass under trees.

Wilbur continued. “I fear the results of my keeping you from the frontlines of peacekeeping. It lends weight to your inexperience in the context of your upcoming assignment.”

“I’ve asked Kaffee to join me.”

Wilbur cringed. “Oh, I wasn’t aware … interesting …”

“I got one of Uncle Throgone’s deputies to get him back in the Order,” Rafay said, having worked on this lie for a while, simple and ambiguous.

“Well … you’ll need an experienced pilot like him, but keeping him in line will be the problem. Surprised you convinced him to come.”

Rafay’s chest tingled as he held back a gasp since his father had always despised Kaffee.

“But if you had told me about your decision to stay in the order, I would have kept you out of this upcoming assignment,” Wilbur said. “Being caught off‑guard alongside my rift with Mortemar has led to your being given a key part of this assignment.”

With the opportunity to pivot in front of him, Rafay quickly took it. “What’s wrong with Uncle Mort now?”

Wilbur hesitated. “Uh, we had another falling out recently. He’s after my job; thinks he can better root out factionalism in the Order.”

To be perfectly honest, Rafay couldn’t blame Mortemar. Rafay’s upcoming meeting with Que was a perfect example of how the many out-of-control dissenting factions within the Order operated. Perhaps his godfather had a point in questioning Wilbur’s administrative capabilities.

“I guess that means he’s not my godfather anymore,” Rafay said sarcastically.

“You’re too old for one,” Wilbur laughed. “And besides, he’ll come around. He always comes to his senses in the end.”

“Marshal Shadijin, the conference is about to commence,” KC‑38 said from behind.

“Which reminds me, pay close attention to what the instructor says. It will be of the utmost importance to your assignment. After the conference, your inner circle will need to attend a conclave for a briefing.”

“What’s it going to be about?”

“You’ll find out. Mortemar will be there, and some other senior figures.”

“That big, huh?” Rafay said.

“Too many wheels in motion. It’s out of my hands now,” Wilbur said gravely.

Rafay didn’t press. He took his father’s hand, kissed it, hugged him, and parted.

“Escort him, KC,” Wilbur said from behind.

KC‑38 caught up with Rafay as he headed to the nearest lift. Rafay turned back and caught his father attempting a troubled smile.

*****