Vol 1 - Ch 25 - Beneath the Surface

The tie choked him, stiff and unnatural. He endured as the makeup brush swept across his face, each stroke increasing his headache. The sounds of a crowd cheering on the stage only strengthened the knots in his stomach. The things I do for my job…

“Remember, try not to scare the civvies.” The PR guy dabbed at his forehead, failing to keep his hands steady. His collar damp, eyes darting like a rookie in a firefight.

“Not my first op, sir.” One final adjustment to the full army uniform, his lieutenant pin shining under the light.

Cue given. He shed the cold exterior, flashing a grin like a well-rehearsed maneuver. Remember, do as Matt would. Coming in under a roar of applause, he shook the hand of the presenter, spoke a few empty words, and sat down for the interview. Recruitment propaganda, they called it.

More like damage control.

Orders were orders. He’d carried out worse missions. Smile, shake hands, sell the dream. Just another day’s battlefield

-----

“It’s done!” Caelan lifted the crossbow from the table, testing its weight. “Only took six weeks, but who’s counting?”

“What a beauty!” Thumb raised from the couch, Nashoba grinned despite the bags under his eyes. “Self-loading, dimensional pocket storage, increased draw weight. That thing’s a beast!”

With a chuckle, Caelan put down the weapon. “Now that’s music to my ears.”

“Very true.” Nashoba took a deep breath, body relaxed. “So, who you gonna kill with it?”

The displaced froze for a second, then turned to the zoakri with a smile.” “No one, I told you I want to protect myself, that’s all.”

From the couch, a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “Protection, huh? Yeah, and I hunt rabbits with a cannon. Caelan, I’m not smart like Doc, but I ain’t dumb. So quit bullshiting and give it to me straight.”

One look into his eyes told Caelan he wouldn’t let it go. With a sigh, he sat down on the table, words scrambling in his mind. “I’m going to ambush the man who threw me out of that plane.”

“With that thing over there?” He signaled their shared project with a nod. “Anyone gets shot by that, they dead. Awakened might need two hits, but they also dead.”

"The crossbow is… plan B." Throat cleared, Caelan paused before continuing. "I had Doc teach me a few non-lethal ways to contain the target, rather than ending them."

“Figured Doc knew. Old Goat always does.” With one swift move he got up from the couch, arms stretched above the head. “So, what’s the plan?”

It didn’t take even a second for Caelan to understand. “You are not helping me with this one.”

“Right, you plan to capture the guy who almost killed you once. By yourself, without help.” Eyes narrowed, Nashoba balanced imaginary weights in his hands. “Now, that makes sense.”

A heat spread across Caelan’s body. “He got me off-guard last time. Won’t happen, ever, again. But this time, I’ll be the one laying the trap. That changes everything.”

After a few moments debating with himself, Caelan relented. He explained how he chose the junkyard as the site, mapping it for chokepoints and dead ends.

"Right, it's locked for the night. Now I get why you asked for alternative entrances." Hand on chin, Nashoba thought on it for a moment. "How do you plan to lure this guy out again?"

He’ll start small—whispers of a plane survivor lurking around the junkyard. Enough to spread. Then, I’ll make myself seen. No disguise. No mask. If he’s searching, he won’t be able to resist.

All to make sure it spreads as wide as possible.

“Folk down here love to gossip.” With a nod, the zoakri kept thinking. “But how do ya know your mysterious guy will show up?”

“Twice now, he’s hunted me. Ignored my squadmate like they weren’t even there. No, this bastard wants me. He’s obsessed. Fine. Let’s see if I can turn that obsession against him.”

"Makes sense." He yawned, eyes about to shut down. "Look, I can't put two and two together. We'll talk more about how we can polish that plan of yours tomorrow."

“I told you, you… and he’s gone.”

Teeth clenched, Caelan admired his creation one last time. His and Nashoba’s. With a growl, he covered it up before going to bed. A long day awaited him, he needed the sleep.

-----

The second the door opened, Rosa launched herself at Nashoba. His scowl melted the second he caught her. "Hey little pea, how's Grumpy and Auntie treating ya?” She showed him a drawing in response. An illustration of five figures of different heights holding hands, a house at the back. “That’s great! Is that all of us?”

She nodded so hard she almost fell over.

"Looks like we have an artist in the family now! One who paints."

Doc grabbed Caelan’s arm as he passed by. “Clinic. Now.”

Caelan’s body tensed up. The old goat only dragged him along like this when it was life or death. He followed without question. "Who are we saving this time?"

“We ain’t going to patch idiots up this time.” A lab coat got thrown in his direction. “Don’t wear it till we get there. Emergency visit this time.”

Caelan grabbed his tools, shoved his coat under his arm, and sprinted after Doc. “If we aren’t healing anyone, what’s the objective?”

Doc didn’t look back, only bulldozed his way through the crowd. “We going to take out a parasite from a woman.”

Once more, Caelan felt a conflicting gratitude to the Rot altering his body. “Doesn’t that fall under healing, sir?”

“Not when we’re doing it to a baby.”

“Wait, what?”

-----

Twelve hours in, Doc began the delivery at last. Caelan wiped the sweat off his brow—was it hers or his? He'd seen men bleed out on the battlefield, but this? Think I’d rather go to boot camp for a month.

The zoakri couple had called for Doc the second the first contraction came. It took the woman eight hours to go into active labor. Four more hours under constant monitoring from Doc so he could begin the delivery. Finishing with two hours of guidance, and getting the child out.

Mothers are amazing, holy crap.

A boy, thin fur covering his whole body, wolf characteristics like his father. The mother, sporting deer antlers, smiled as she hugged her son. Doc had set aside his tools, putting the placenta in a jar, before sealing it.

"Baby looks good. His breathing's strong, heartbeat steady. Keep him warm, close to you." Gloves out, the medic let out a big sigh. "Eyes on all, always. Any signs of fever or trouble breathing, bring him to me. If anything else feels wrong, also come. Nurse every few hours, brats eat like wild lorkesh.”

“Thank you so much, Doc!” The father held onto the physician’s hands. “You have no idea how much it meant to us!”

“If you have time to be all sappy, go see to the wife.” Doc huffed, flicked a hand toward Caelan, and kept walking.

They both left the home under a barrage of thankful words. Past midnight, no one walked the streets. Caelan checked all over the alley, ears at ready in case soldiers came up. Meanwhile, Doc walked like that didn't matter.

“Got a plan for the curfew, boss?” Caelan thought back to the crossbow, locked inside a safe outside the outpost.

“Don’t overheat your little brain and just follow.”

With a sigh, he did as instructed. Still kept his vigilance and kept looking for exit points if needed. Better paranoid than dead.

Doc moved with steps of certainty, never once wavering from his path. He stopped in the middle of a shadowed alley, the only light coming from the windows above. With a grumble and some fumbling on the wall, he pushed something and a click echoed.

A piece of the wall slid sideways, which revealed a pair of eyes. “Password?”

"It's me, your uncooked fart!" The short man slammed his massive fist on the wall. "Will you let us in before someone spots us?"

"Oh shit, is that you Doc? Sorry, couldn't see you from up here." The hidden man roared in laughter at his joke. "One second, I'll let you guys in.”

Caelan held back his reactions as the hidden door opened, following Doc inside. A rough bunch of armed people greeted them, their eyes on him at all times. Only when the medic called and named him as the assistant, they eased their hands off their spears.

Past the first room, a security checkpoint. Men with staffs and wands on elevated positions, a narrow corridor to form a kill zone from above. Path blocked by a barrier with slits over it, letting defenders thrust their spears from safety. A textbook kill zone. Narrow entry, high ground advantage, choke points. A handful of trained fighters could wipe out an army here.

He answered all questions as well as possible. They had crafted a good enough background for Caelan weeks prior, to avoid suspicion. In short, the son of Doc’s friend coming over to learn medicine.

Simple, yet effective.

Ten minutes of grilling later, the guards finally stepped aside. Blast doors groaned open, revealing a world hidden beneath the outpost. Holding his breath, Caelan widened his eyes to take it all.

“Welcome to the Shadow Market, gentlemen.”

A vast space stretched out before him, a vast cathedral of flickering firelight and whispered deals. Cloaked figures haggled over rare goods, their voices lost in the murmur of the underground bazaar. Armed guards stood watch, armed with staffs and wands. Aethertec components, weapons, and even medicine are on display. Caelan exhaled, letting it all sink in. Now I get how Doc gets all the supplies for the clinic.

"Stop gawking like a nobleman in love with his reflection." Further ahead, Doc called to him. "Come, let's have a drink for a job well done."

The young man rushed to catch up. “What is this place? Some kind of smuggler’s den?”

Doc nodded. “Kinda. The outpost was built over it, buried and forgotten—until the undesirables dug it back up.”

His fingers traced the Damascus steel of a displayed blade, but movement at the edge of his vision pulled his attention. A man stood at an auction stand, gesturing toward something locked in a cage. Before Caelan could focus, Doc's iron grip yanked him away. 'Don't look,' the old man muttered. 'You'll sleep better.

The idea reminded him of the people indoctrinated by the Children of the Stars. It made Caelan's eyes turn as cold as a blizzard.

Both went into the Hole in the Ground, an apt name indeed. Climbing down the rope stairs, Caelan smelled all kinds of sweet fragrances. Men and women of the rough type smoked from hookahs of all shapes and colors. Its smoke formed a haze that had the Displaced desperate for a bath.

“Let’s go to the back. Can’t stand this place.”

To his surprise, the lower floor was clear of mist. Instead, alcoves lined the space, filled with cushions and low tables. Doc took out his heavy boots before going into the farthest from the door, with Caelan following suit. It didn’t take long before a young feline zoakri came over, face covered in freckles.

“Oh, hey Doc.” She became all smiles when she leaned in for a hug. “Been a while since you visited. How’s the wife?”

“Annoying, as usual. Just how I like it.” He nodded to Caelan as she gave them menus. “New assistant. Helped me deliver the Kaeshi’s kid just now.”

"We sure can always use more of your stock around here!" The woman then came in and hugged the stiffened Caelan. "Nice to meet you, sweetie, you can call me Iris."

Some heat reached his cheeks, while he managed to hold back the rest. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Caelan.”

She gasped, hand over mouth in a theatrical manner. “Oh my, do I look old enough to be called that? Scandalous!”

For a split second, his brain scrambled for a response. Then instinct took over. He leaned in, smirk ready. “I’m just not used to being ambushed by such a gorgeous woman. Forgive any indiscretion on my part.”

She beamed him a smile. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing! You have any spare one where you found this one, Doc?”

“Thank the matron, there isn’t.” Doc gave back the menu. “Beer, dark. Chicken wings portion, extra spicy on the sauce.”

“How about you, sweetie?”

He almost echoed Doc’s order—then hesitated. He thought of Leopold, his distaste for alcohol. If he doesn’t like it, he can speak up. Still, he couldn’t have the words coming out.

"I'll have water and a smile if you please." The young man ended his request with a wink.

Isis chuckled, nudging him. “Doc, I want to take him home tonight. You mind?”

“Don’t think so. Ye would flay me alive.” She gave them a laugh and went away to get their meal. As soon as she got out of sight, Caelan dropped the smirk. “The way you executors can fake that never fails to be creepy.”

Thoughts froze for a moment from the affirmation. All Caelan did was mimic how Matt once flirted with a waitress. Which became his wife and the mother of his child. It dawned on him that the many publicity stunts of the “Professor” couldn’t have been all a waste. You never know how something might come in handy later on.

As Caelan opened his mouth to question Doc, a shiver ran down his spine. One short man, the face of a rat, came closer, two bodyguards in tow. "Doc! Where have you been, you old bastard?"

Doc offered a respectful bow. “Busy with the clinic. Getting old. The usual.”

"And this must be the new slave boy?" The man burst into a peal of squeaky laughter. "Antonio Di Gaspardo, at your service.

For a small man, his handshake carried surprising weight. “I’m Caelan, the new slave.”

“Looks solid. Has to be, to handle good old Doc huh?” Antonio patted his back, almost dropping Caelan’s face on the table. “Anyway, just came to say a quick hello. Lots of business to be made. Speaking of, are you taken, my boy?”

The widower froze for a second, before answering in a flat tone. “Not… at the moment, no.”

"Then you come to see me if you want some fun. Any of our boys or girls can help with that! The least I could do was with Doc fixing the idiots under my care all the time. Even if he does cost a pretty penny." With a tip of his hat, he bid his farewells.

Caelan watched him leave before something clicked.

"I haven't seen you charge anyone for treatment." Head turned to Doc, who seemed very interested in the paint job of the wall. "Seems like it's just for a select few."

"What I do in my clinic ain’t your damn business.” Doc let out a sharp breath, face darkening with irritation.

"Not judging you, just unexpected, that's all." Hands raised as a peace offering. After a quick analysis of the surroundings, Caelan noticed curtains drawn all around. "Any reason why you brought us here?"

“Because I like beer and wings.”

Caelan scoffed at that, eyes growing cold. “Thought you hated bullshit more than anyone else.”

Once Doc finished a series of grumblings, he sighed. In one motion, he separated their space from the rest, aethertec runes glowing at the curtain. “Sound-proofing. Lots of clients value their privacy.”

“Are we going to keep avoiding the subject? In that case, how’s your day? The weather seems quite cloudy these days, don’t you think?”

With a guttural growl, Doc's shoulders fell. "Fine. There's an entrance to the Tunnels close to the junkyard. If shit hits the fan, you can retreat there."

Eyebrow raised, Caelan calculated the distance from their location to there. “I’m guessing there’s a network of underground tunnels. Or a very big market. Which is it?”

"How do you think smugglers come in and out of the outpost?"

“Makes sense…” A realization hit Caelan like a sledgehammer. “Insurgents of the Verdant Dawn also use the tunnels, don’t they?”

It took a long time for Doc to answer. “If they’ve got the coin, sure.”

“Nashoba doesn’t know, does he? If he did, he wouldn’t risk going to your house on foot after the attacks.”

"No. And he better stay that way." It felt as if Doc had grown to twice his size. "I won't put him in unnecessary danger."

“Love you too, boss.” Imaginary glass raised in a toast, Caelan leaned against the cushions. “Well, contingencies are always an advantage.”

“You’ll also want Antonio’s help with spreading rumors. His… employees can gossip a lot, and a noble hiding will have them in heat.”

“Now that’s a nice mental image.”

The food arrived, a gigantic portion of deep-fried wings, with a greenish-red sauce and the drinks. Caelan salivated at the smell of herbs and fat, hunger the best spice of all. The sound of his teeth breaking the crust and the juices spilling into his mouth had him forget all his troubles.

At least for a few moments.

“You sure it’s healthy to eat this much so late at night?” He released a powerful burp, body craving a bed.

Doc finished his third jug of beer. "For you, one hundred percent. I already have a foot in the grave, so fuck it."

"More poetic words have never been said!" Glass of water raised and motioned for a toast. "To one less Unspoken in the world."

Doc blinked, his gaze unfocused but heavy. Then, he lifted his drink, spilling some over the bones. "Hear, hear."

The sound of glass on wood echoed like the bells announcing the end of times.