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THIRTY-FIVE




The sun had set. Patrols were crossing through the main square and the only constant light was the glowing splotches of paint that the Edu had strategically placed at each entrance and exit.

Marty himself carried a glass bulb that glowed with phosphorescent green light, tucked inside his clothing for when he’d need it. He moved silently through the dimly lit tunnels of the glacier, his footsteps muffled by the thick layer of ice beneath his boots. The walls around him seemed to close in, the cold biting at his skin despite the thick fur-lined clothes he wore. The narrow passages twisted and turned, forming a labyrinthine maze that felt as if it were deliberately designed to disorient and confuse anyone who dared to navigate it. But Marty was focused, his mind sharp with purpose.

As he pushed deeper into the heart of the glacier, the faint sounds of grinding, humming, and wheezing began to echo through the corridors. The noises grew louder with every step, a symphony of mechanical groans that sent shivers down his spine. He knew he was getting close. The machine room—Kareem had described a secret entrance to the dungeon via that room.

Marty’s breath fogged in the frigid air as he finally reached a thick metal door. He walked into the empty room, panned his gaze to the left and grinned. Just as Kareem had said. The door was old, and as he walked to it, his senses tingled as he looked for anything out of place.

Marty pressed his ear against the door, listening intently. The faintest sound of clanking reached him, but he couldn’t be sure if that was due to the din from the room he was in or something on the other side of the door.

With a deep breath, Marty steeled himself and reached for the lever. It clicked once as he slowly pulled it open, revealing in his phosphorescent light a long hall and at its end a narrow staircase descending into darkness. The cold was even more intense here, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. He slipped into the shadows, using the gloom to his advantage as he began his descent. He kept his bulb of light concealed, waiting for when he’d really need it. Though these passages were long unused, faint splotches of phosphorescent paint remained on the walls here and there, enough to navigate by.

The air grew thicker, almost stifling, as he moved farther down. The grinding of machinery above faded into a distant rumble, replaced by an eerie silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The dungeon was close. He could feel it.

Marty reached the bottom of the stairs and paused, peering into the darkness. The dim light from above barely reached this far, leaving the corridor ahead in almost complete darkness. This passage was clearly not used often, because he had yet to encounter a place where some of the luminescent paint wasn’t applied somewhere. He moved slowly, his eyes straining to make out anything in the darkness. The walls here were smooth and flat, unnaturally so, as if they had been carved out with advanced tools.

After what felt like an eternity, Marty spotted a faint glow ahead—a small, flickering light coming from a crack in the wall. He approached cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. Peering through the crack, he could see a large chamber, lined with doors to smaller rooms. The dull light cast long, ominous shadows, but he could just make out prison cells, each with figures of prisoners huddled within.

Marty stepped into the dungeon and scanned the room. He spotted a pair of Grays standing watch over a bank of cells on the far end of this level of the dungeon. A winding set of steps at the center of the floor likely led to other levels, and maybe even more prison cells.

Crouching low, Marty blended with the shadows and approached one of the nearest cells. He stooped and flashed his fluorescent bulb into the window set into the door, just for a moment.

One of the Neshili prisoners, a thin man in a tattered tunic and leather kilt, stirred and sat up. He looked wide-eyed at Marty.

Marty put a finger to his lips, motioning for silence, and the ragged prisoner nodded. He tapped at the person next to him, leaned down and whispered something Marty couldn’t make out.

Another of the prisoners sat bolt upright and stared open-mouthed at Marty.

A chill raced up and down Marty’s spine as he locked eyes with Dawa, Surjan’s former queen.

Marty inched closer to the cell. He could see the tension in her body, the way her hands tightened into fists as she recognized him. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but her eyes were sharp, focused on him with an intensity that almost took his breath away.

He glanced over his shoulder and found that the stairs blocked his view of the guards, which meant they couldn’t see him, either.

“Dawa,” he whispered urgently. “It’s Marty. We have a plan.”

She slowly scooted closer to the bars of the cell, then tilted her head slightly, indicating that she was listening. He couldn’t make out her expression in the shadows.

“We’re going to free you,” Marty continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of you. But we need you to pass the word to the others—make sure they know that help is coming. When the time comes, you’ll need to be ready to move quickly.”

Dawa’s eyes narrowed, her mind clearly working as she assessed the situation. “How?” she asked, her voice low and measured. “How can we get out?”

Marty glanced once again over his shoulder. “You don’t need to know right now, just know that help is coming and let the others know. We’ll be back.”

Dawa nodded, her expression hardening with resolve. “We’ll be ready.”

Marty felt a surge of relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of the danger ahead. “It won’t be long, trust me.”

Dawa’s hand gripped the bars of her cell, her knuckles white. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet strength. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Marty gave a quick nod and slipped back into the shadows, his heart racing as he retraced his steps. The tension was thick in the air, the weight of what was to come pressing down on him with every step. But there was no turning back now. At least now he knew the rough layout of the dungeon. It seemed lightly guarded, and certainly the bottom floor had many prisoners. A plan of sorts was falling into place and other elements of it were already in motion. Soon these prisoners would either be free—or facing the full wrath of the Herders.

His pace quickened as he ascended the hidden staircase, the grinding and humming of the machinery grew louder. Marty’s thoughts were already racing ahead, planning their escape, knowing that every second counted.


Kareem moved with purpose, his senses heightened as he navigated the maze of corridors beneath the ship. The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the cold metal walls, making the narrow passages feel even more claustrophobic. Beside him, the Grays moved in near silence, their slender forms gliding through the darkness with practiced ease. Despite their lack of obvious expression, Kareem felt the tension radiating from them. They were deep in Herder territory now, a place where even the Grays of the Farmer faction were not welcome.

The plan was simple in theory: locate the bomb that the Herder faction had in its control and steal it before it could be used. The Farmers knew roughly where it might be stored, but the exact location was a mystery. The added complication was the presence of humans in this hostile environment. The Herders would not take kindly to any intrusion, least of all from the Farmer faction or any human ally like Kareem. Even though Kareem couldn’t tell the factions apart, the Grays evidently could, and they didn’t need to tell him that they were walking on a razor’s edge.

Kareem felt the cool metal of his ankh against his leg as he moved, his fingers itching to draw it. But this wasn’t a search-and-destroy mission; it was a theft, a delicate operation requiring stealth, not force. Still, the weight of the weapon was a comfort in this alien labyrinth.

Somewhere in this area, Surjan with the help of other Grays was setting up the distraction. The plan was to create enough chaos to draw attention away from their target location, giving them the precious time needed to find and secure the bomb.

As they approached the first set of doors, Kareem already detected the faint scent of smoke beginning to waft through the corridors. That was almost certainly Surjan’s doing. Now it was up to them.

The Gray leading the group halted at the door, casting a glance back at Kareem before cautiously pressing a panel to open it. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a small, dimly lit room. Inside, a barrel-shaped container sat in the center of the floor, its surface smooth and unmarked.

Kareem’s heart raced. This had to be it. He stepped forward, his breath catching as he reached out to touch the cold metal surface of the container. But as he turned it over, a sinking feeling hit him. It was empty. No wires, no explosive materials—nothing.

“Damn it,” Kareem muttered under his breath. The Grays exchanged a quick series of glances. Time wasn’t on their side.

“We need to keep looking,” one of the Grays whispered.

The smoke was getting thicker now, filling the corridor and stinging his eyes. They moved quickly, their pace hastening as they opened door after door, each time hoping to find the bomb, each time coming up empty-handed. The fire Surjan had started was spreading faster than anticipated, and Kareem felt the heat beginning to seep through the walls.

The anxiety was palpable, every second ticking away with an almost audible thrum in his ears. Kareem’s heart pounded in his chest, the fear of discovery growing with each step. They had to find it, and soon.

Suddenly, a loud, piercing alarm blared through the corridors, making Kareem’s blood run cold. The Herders knew. They had been discovered. The Grays exchanged frantic looks, their calm shattered as the reality of their situation set in.

“Keep moving,” Kareem urged, his voice barely audible over the wail of the alarm. “We’re close, I can feel it.”

They pressed on, the smoke now so thick that it was difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Every breath burned in Kareem’s lungs, but he pushed forward, driven by the urgency of their mission.

Finally, they reached one last door, the metal cold against Kareem’s hand as he grasped the handle. He exchanged a quick, tense glance with the Grays beside him before yanking the door open, revealing a darkened room beyond.


The air in the dungeon was thick with tension, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on Marty as he crept through the dimly lit corridors. The plan was simple, but it was fraught with danger: attack the prison guards, free the prisoners, and make a run for the magma tube before the Herders could realize what was happening. The Farmer faction Grays flanked him, their expressions unreadable, but Marty felt the anticipation radiating off them. They were ready.

As they approached the lowest level of the prison, Marty’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the guards stationed about fifty feet away. The Herders were armed with a club that had glowing bands encircling it. He’d been warned by Yotto that such things existed, and the best he could make out was that they were some form of stun weapon—likely similar to a Taser. The guards were alert, their cold eyes scanning the area. But they had no idea what was coming. Marty took a deep breath, centering himself. His martial arts training had always been a source of strength, a way to control the chaos within him. Now, it was going to be their key to survival.

The signal came—a subtle nod from the lead Farmer Gray—and then everything happened in a blur. Marty surged forward, his body moving with practiced precision. He closed the distance between himself and the nearest guard in seconds, his foot striking out in a powerful kick that connected with the Herder’s midsection. The guard doubled over, gasping for breath, but Marty didn’t give him a chance to recover. A quick, fluid motion brought his elbow down on the guard’s neck, and the Herder crumpled to the ground.

The Farmer faction Grays moved in sync with him, their weapons—improvised from those Kareem had gathered in prior skirmishes—flashing in the dim light. They fought with brutal efficiency, their strikes precise and deadly. Marty had to admit, these Grays knew how to handle themselves in a fight.

Another guard lunged at Marty, but he sidestepped the attack, grabbing the Herder’s arm and twisting it behind his back. With a swift motion, he slammed the guard into the wall, the impact echoing through the corridor. The Herder slumped, unconscious, and Marty moved on to the next target.

The dungeon erupted into chaos as other guards poured down the central staircase, whooping and brandishing stun-maces.

One of the prisoners yelled a warning and Marty ducked, nearly getting zapped by one of the clubs before smashing a fist into the Gray’s neck, crushing his windpipe and sweeping his legs out from under him.

The sound of weapons clashing, bodies hitting the ground, and the shouts of the prisoners filled the air. Marty’s heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him as he fought his way through the guards. He had to keep moving, keep fighting—there was no room for hesitation.

Finally, the last of the chamber’s guards fell. The Grays that were with him claimed new weapons and half of them raced up the stairs to both eliminate any remaining guards and begin executing the rescue. Marty turned to the remaining Grays with him, nodding in silent acknowledgment, and one of them pulled a large lever, opening all of the doors on the floor.

They had done it—the prisoners were free.

“Move! Now!” Marty shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. The humans scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. They knew the plan, knew that this was their only chance at escape.

Marty led the way, his breath coming in ragged gasps as they raced up the stairs and through the corridors toward the magma tube. The Farmer Grays followed, their weapons at the ready, while the prisoners ran as fast as their weary bodies would allow.

But as they burst into the darkness of the main square, in sight of the entrance to the tube, Marty’s heart sank. The Herders were already closing in, their cold eyes locked on the fleeing group. The sight of them, moving with eerie calm, sent a jolt of fear through him. They had to get to the tube before the Herders cut them off.

“Faster!” Marty urged, his voice tinged with desperation. The prisoners pushed themselves harder, but it was clear they were running on fumes. And then, just as they reached the mouth of the magma tube, with shrieking Herders hot on their tails, Marty saw Kareem sprinting toward them.

Kareem’s expression was a mix of frustration and defeat, and as he skidded to a stop beside Marty, his hands were empty. “We couldn’t find the bomb,” he gasped, his chest heaving. “I’m sorry.”

Marty’s stomach dropped. The bomb had been their ace in the hole, the one thing that could have given them a fighting chance against the Herders. With the bomb, they didn’t have to win, they just had to get the refugees through the tunnel and then set off the explosives.

And now, without the bomb . . . 

It was time to face their enemy.



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