The Red Horizon

  Svenhal 10, 1294:

  I wait at a facility with the other girls of the test. I am shocked at the level of modernity, with so many things I don’t recognize, although of course I am a country girl. Unused to any machinery, running water and convenient plumbing, and other things that they have here. The Anier tell us that this place is the center of their work to create a more modern world.

  They describe great turmoil in the Sovereignty following the Prince’s assassination last moon, and even blame it on the Legaleians. This shouldn’t surprise me, but I feel an anxious flutter in my chest over the uncertainty of Mother and Father’s well-being. I know naught of them, and the guards refuse all my questions.

  — From Lhinde’s Diary

  The lounge was a long room with floor and walls paneled in the same utilitarian metal as most of the base, but also included a view of the surrounding ocean through reinforced glass paneling on the outer wall. A nice touch. The dark, murky waters were mesmerizing to look at. Seats and couches lined the room, set with a few table games unfamiliar to me. Two Hellebes occupied the room at the moment, sitting across from one another at a small table and playing a strategy game of some kind.

  As we entered, the closer of the two men looked up, glancing my way briefly before doing a double-take. “Whoa! Curt, she’s here!” His face was youthful and bright-eyed, a feature accentuated by his excitement.

  The other man, significantly broader in shoulder and completely bald, looked up in surprise. “Well, well. So you’re the Mother Heiress?” he said in a bored voice, looking me up and down. “I pictured you being bigger.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, indignance flaring up of its own accord. “You guys are all giant.”

  “Mm, I don’t think so. Trust me, I’ve known a lot of Hellebes, and they’re all twice your size. Is it a female thing?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Sorry for Curt’s lousy attitude,” said the youthful one. “I’m Jed, by the way.” I couldn’t place how old he was, yet I couldn’t help but think he looked barely more than a boy. Perhaps my age. A handsome boy, if I was being honest. Then I remembered what the soldiers had told me on the way here and flushed.

  “Um, what are you playing there?” I asked to cover my brief embarrassment.

  “Oh, this is called Gogi,” he enthused. “It’s a strategic game about placing your own pieces and then capturing your opponent’s pieces. These get flipped over and added to your own pool of pieces you can place.” He demonstrated by taking one of the circular black pieces from his pile and placing it next to one of Curt’s pieces, which already had three surrounding it, and took Curt’s white piece from in between, flipping it over to its black side and placing it next to a half-dozen other black-side-up pieces on his own side of the board. This elicited a grumpy frown from Curt, until he put everything back as it was. The board, currently occupied by a dozen pieces of each color, was composed of a checkered grid outlined by steel plates set into the board. The plates each had a grain that crisscrossed diagonally, contrasting with each other orthogonally while being the same shade.

  “Looks . . . complex,” I said.

  “If you can’t tell, I’m winning,” Jed said proudly, responding to his opponent’s move once more. “As usual.”

  Curt grumbled something under his breath, scratching his bald head.

  Ccal stepped up casually, surveying the board. “I’m always happy to put you in your place, kid.”

  Jed glanced up sharply. “No, that’s okay, Ccal. I like winning.”

  Ccal smirked.

  “Here, let’s get you to the outfitter,” Bddo said, dragging me away. “Later, guys.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Jed,” I said, waving as I followed Bddo.

  The long-legged corporal led me down a series of echoey steel corridors to a door labeled, “Quartermaster,” stopping to knock loudly. He waited a moment, then knocked again. “Hodge! You in there?”

  “What! Who is it?” came a gruff, nasally voice. Soon, a bug-eyed man with the biggest mop of frizzy hair I’d ever seen opened the door, glancing from Bddo to me. “So, you brought the Heiress. What does she need?”

  “Um, hi?” I said tentatively.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The outfitter ignored me.

  “She needs a new gillsuit, you idiot,” Bddo said.

  “Why? She looks perfectly comfortable in that.”

  “She needs a suit for combat purposes.”

  “One that actually fits,” I added. “This is anything but comfortable.”

  Hodge graced me with a brief flicker of his eyes and gave a nasally grunt. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  He made to close the door, and I protested, “You’re not going to take any measurements or anything?”

  The outfitter looked back at me with the utmost exasperation. “I already know we don’t have your size. Do us both a favor and grow some meat on those bones.” With one last wide-eyed glance at Bddo, he said, “Just send her back after they finish with all their exams and stuff, all right?” He slammed the door, somehow managing to avoid shutting his stupid hair in it.

  Bddo sighed. “Sorry, Lyn. Hodge is . . . a little different. He does things his way. Come on, let’s go back to the lounge and wait for the meeting to finish.”

  As he led me back, I asked, “So, what actually is a gillsuit?”

  “Oh. That’s what most of us soldiers wear.” He slapped his chest. “These things are made to be form-fitting and versatile, resistant to weather and wear, and they have a breathable layer that lets Geothermic energy through both ways for when you need it. It helps keep your body cool and keeps the vapors and radiation from building up. Those can be toxic in high concentrations.”

  “But . . . don’t you store all that inside anyway? Why doesn’t it hurt us?”

  “Because the properties of planetary energy change as we release it. Just like the air we breathe. That’s why it can’t just be recycled infinitely. It has to make its way back to the earth and be recycled, and so we have to draw more.”

  I nodded. Interesting.

  Back in the lounge, we found Ccal sitting across from Jed in a game of Gogi, while Curt looked on with greater interest than he probably meant to let on. Bddo and I sat down on a nearby couch and watched the Gogi game unfold. Periodically, Bddo would make commentary explaining how little he understood about the game or complaining about how strategy took brain power, which took extra calories he didn’t want to spend. I could sympathize, though right now, it was something to distract my nervous mind from waiting.

  Hodge had mentioned examinations . . . I knew they were coming. No big deal, I told myself, as I had been put through a lifetime’s worth already in the imperial laboratories. What was one more? Physiological, biological, neurological. I didn’t know what the leaders were discussing in the meeting, but . . . it had to be about me.

  At long last, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the Board Room, and soon a whole group of important people emerged into the lounge doorway. Zent, Vass and Getts, and three others new to me.

  “Lynchazel,” said Vass, “This is our head researcher, Dr. Dekla.” He motioned to the giant mountain of a man beside him, the first truly heavyset Hellebes I’d laid eyes on and certainly the one with the most chins. “He will conduct a quick physical analysis.”

  I rose reluctantly and approached the massive scientist, giving him a small head bob.

  “Lady Heiress,” he said in a voice so dispassionate it must have been practiced. Dry as old paper and then some. “If you’ll follow me.” He turned and waddled off with heavy thumps, and I followed. After a few minutes, just enough turns for me to get completely disoriented, we arrived at his lab. He propped the door open with a hand the size and shape of a ham and followed me inside.

  I was greeted by the nostalgic sight of white tables and more instruments than I could count. It was like coming home, if home was a dreaded nightmare I wanted to forget about. But I did as Dr. Dekla instructed, disrobing and donning a thin, sheetlike garment far too big for me. I climbed up on the high table and the doctor proceeded to prick me with many needles, drawing blood samples and checking vitals. He took Geothermic readings, measured energy levels and pumped me full of various types of radiation for good measure. Then I laid down and he sent me into a full-body scanner. Oh, I always hated that one.

  The entire time, Dekla intoned his comments and instructions in the driest monotone, putting all the doctors I’d dealt with previously to shame. Was the man even alive? His loud breathing was my best indicator. At long last, he allowed me to get up and change into my too-big jumpsuit, turning away only out of disinterest as he regarded his assessments and recordings. He reported none of his findings to me, but merely said, “You may go now. We will conduct another checkup in a little while.”

  Little while could have meant a few hours or a few weeks—hopefully closer to the latter. I wasted no time leaving the office, shutting the door behind me extra firmly and looking around, wondering for a moment which way I’d even come from. Then I had a moment of clear memory, sharper recollection than I was usually afforded while awake, and the path manifested itself in my mind. In a couple of minutes, I was back in the lobby. I met Zent first, who was speaking with one of the men who’d been in on the private meeting: a heavily muscled officer with dark skin. As I approached, the man turned to regard me, face hard and impassive. I couldn’t read his expression.

  “Lyn,” Zent said, gesturing to his companion, “This is Musha. Master-at-arms and retired military trainer for the Elites.”

  Now that Zent said the word retired, I took another look at the man, noting that his close-cut hair was indeed greying. He had grey facial hair, cut similarly close. But I never would have taken him for old, so toned was his body and solid his stance. Even his face displayed muscles I didn’t know existed.

  “Good to meet you, sir,” I said with a small bow. “I’m Lynchazel.”

  The man remained straight-backed, eyes unblinking. “I know who you are,” he said gruffly. He stepped forward, taking me by both shoulders. I had to struggle to not shy away. Zent made no move to keep him away. “Weak. You’re weak, and I’ve been tasked with turning you into a weapon.”

  I gulped, nodding. I thought it best not to reply to that. Why they thought that necessary . . . well, I got the impression that arguing would do me no good.

  “We’ve decided to train you for two weeks,” Zent said. “Not a long period of time. Musha is tough, but he’s effective and he knows his stuff. Do everything he says without complaining, prove you’ve grown as a result, and the Red Horizon will let you in on our next mission.”

  Musha let me go.

  “And . . . when do I start?” I asked.

  “We’ll meet in the Iron Dojang in one hour,” Musha replied.