The corporal guard’s name was Kyle, and he proved to be a nice guy, once the officers decided Dillon was no threat. Sidra shadowed them but did not speak to Dillon at all. The pair took him to the mess hall, where he ate a meal as good as many he’d known at the Academy. While he ate, Kyle told him, “I was a corporal in the supply depot. All my future held was eight more years of sheer boredom. No chance of any real duties.” He pointed to his left knee. Dillon had already noticed how he slightly dragged his leg with each step. “Had this since birth.”
“But they drafted you anyway?”
“Oh, no. I enlisted. It was my ticket out. At least at the supply depot I ate well. Most of my unit share two traits—hard beginnings and a desire to better ourselves.”
“How did you come together?”
“Through Logan,” Kyle replied. “So he should be the one to explain.”
Thankfully, it was approaching their downtime, because Dillon was at the end of a very long day. He was assigned a bunk in a barracks with about a dozen male troopers. He had intended to stay awake and see what useful items might arise during the lights-off chatter. But he was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.
The next morning they breakfasted in the mess, then waited in the front room for orders. Dillon saw another squad arrive with four new prisoners in tow. The captives were ushered back through a side door, which opened long enough for him to spy a trio of holding cages.
Logan’s leash proved both long and flexible. First Vance and then Nicolette took Dillon on forays into the market area. They clearly enjoyed watching Dillon’s reaction to his first sight of a crystal dome. A river of silver formed a pendant across the black sea.
The market held a tawdry, careworn air. It reminded Dillon of stories he’d read about the Marrakech casbah, the sort of place tourists might come looking for trouble, and find it. He imagined that when the place was in full swing, almost anything could be had for a price, including the buyer’s own limbs. Dillon thought the vast cavern held an almost irresistible appeal.
They showed him the guarded tunnel leading to Clan Havoc’s main holds. They explained the wandering planet’s unique history. When Logan joined them at a restaurant for bowls of some unnamed stew, Dillon asked, “How did you find the walkers?”
Logan finished his bowl and asked for tea. He then turned back to Dillon and waited. There were five of them at the table—Logan, Dillon, Kyle, Nicolette, and Sidra. Dillon ate and waited with them. The stew tasted good, a lot better than many of the meals he’d eaten at the Academy. Of course, he was on an airless planet and had seen no area set aside for growing real food. Dillon could see the headline now: Former Praetorian cadet, recently released from prison, dies on secret mission after eating rat stew spiced with tunnel fungus.
Then he realized Logan was waiting for him to answer his own question. Dillon said, “There’s a specialist division of transiters called Watchers. One of the abilities that all senior personnel must learn is how to detect a potential transiter, even when the individual doesn’t know they hold the gift. That’s how we were found.”
Nicolette asked, “We?”
“I have a twin brother. Sean.”
“He walks the ghost paths as well?”
The ghost paths. Dillon loved how that sounded. “He does.”
“How many specialties for the walkers are there?”
“A lot. But they break down into six main groups. Admin, Instructors, Messengers, Watchers, Diplomats, and Praetorian.”
Nicolette continued to play interrogator, allowing Logan to sit back, sip his tea, and observe. “No merchants?”
“That would put us into direct conflict with planetary interests,” he replied, giving them the party line. “Some transiters disagree. But that’s the status quo for now.”
“All of you develop weaponry?”
“Just Praetorians. The planetary Assembly likes to pretend we don’t exist.”
Logan cradled his mug and said, “To answer your question, I sniffed out the ghost-walkers. As you said, it happened before they knew it was even possible.”
Dillon nodded. “With training, you can learn to sniff from half a world away.”
“Even when I can’t ghost-walk myself?”
He shrugged. “Everybody has abilities that come easy, others that only surface after a lot of work. My guess is, a few months of intense instruction and you’ll develop that ability as well.”
“I would like that,” Logan said. “A great deal.”
Dillon’s next question was interrupted by Vance rushing into the stall. “You need to come right now!”
Logan rose from the table and told Kyle, “Take our guest for another sortie.”
“No, no,” Vance protested. “He must come as well.”
“What are you saying?”
He pointed back toward their temporary headquarters. “A prisoner just confirmed the weapon Dillon seeks is real.”