So far, I’d been playing the role assigned to me in this town—maintenance worker, newcomer, the subject of the Tyrant’s relentless eye. The tracker on my wrist ensured compliance, or at least the appearance of it.

  That was enough for now.

  Chapter 11

  My third day in Northaven started with relative calm. Dawn broke, casting long shadows across the settlement’s snow-covered streets. I joined the maintenance crew as assigned, spending the morning clearing ice from walkways and repairing a damaged section of the perimeter wall.

  The work wasn’t very challenging, but it provided an excellent opportunity to map the settlement’s layout and observe security patterns. Enforcers patrolled at regular intervals, their walkers moving through the streets with clanking steps. Administration officials conducted periodic inspections, their expressions revealing nothing as they checked off items on data tablets.

  My fellow workers maintained a careful distance—close enough to do the work but far enough to avoid actual conversation.

  I noticed they were talking to each other, of course. The tracking bracelet on my wrist was serving as an effective deterrent to social interaction. No one wanted to risk association with a marked newcomer.

  By midday, we’d moved to the southern quadrant, aligning with the coordinates Livy had provided. Environmental Systems was already on-site when we arrived, a team of technicians monitoring air quality and water filtration equipment. Livy directed operations with brassy authority, her copper braid catching the light as she moved between monitoring stations.

  When our paths crossed, her acknowledgment was less than professional. “Maintenance? It’s not good enough to just look pretty. We need access panels cleared for inspection.”

  I followed her gesture toward a series of metal hatches partially buried in snowdrifts. “Right away.”

  As I cleared the snow, Livy approached, kneeling beside me to check a monitoring device embedded near one of the panels.

  “Found what you’re looking for yet, spy-boy?” she asked quietly, her attention seemingly engrossed by her equipment.

  “Still getting oriented,” I replied, ignoring her underlying accusation.

  “You’d best move your ass. Questions have been raised about your arrival.”

  “Questions, huh? Who’s asking them?”

  She adjusted something on her own device. She sidled even closer to me. I could feel her hot breath on my ear. “The surviving enforcer from the north road patrol made it back this morning. He’s been in debriefing with Administrator Voss.”

  This was unwelcome news. I’d hoped for more time before those murders in the night came back to bite me. “Did he happen to offer any interesting descriptions of… anybody?”

  “Enough to raise suspicions.” Livy stood and began to speak out in her usual volume. “Calibration complete. Proceed with the panel access.”

  I continued working, processing this new information while maintaining outward attention on the task. If the surviving enforcer could identify me, my already sketchy position in Northaven would become much worse.

  The remainder of the shift passed without incident, though I noticed increased enforcer presence in the southern quadrant. Additional patrols moved through the area, their attention seemingly casual but their routes intersecting with my work locations with suspicious frequency.

  By late afternoon, we’d completed the scheduled tasks and were preparing to return to the central depot when the tone of a settlement-wide alert system startled everyone in the whole place. The harsh, electronic sound pulsed three times, followed by an automated announcement: “Attention all citizens. Security protocol delta in effect. Return to designated residences for identification verification.”

  Another supervisor, a weathered man who’d spoken perhaps ten words all day, shouted a curse. “They’re doing a full sweep. Someone’s going to get their balls sliced off!”

  The other workers quickly packed up their equipment, their expressions stony and resolute. I followed suit, keeping my movements deliberate and calm despite my growing certainty that the alert related to me.

  “What’s protocol delta?” I asked the supervisor as we walked briskly toward the depot.

  “Settlement lockdown,” he replied tersely. “An enforcer has been killed. They’ll check everyone’s butt crack until they decide who to blame. They have to blame someone—or it will be their asses in the sling.”

  We’d covered perhaps half the distance to the depot when I spotted them—a squad of enforcers on walkers, moving with purpose rather than the usual measured patrol pace. At their center walked a man I recognized despite the distance. The surviving enforcer from the mountain patrol, Klaus.

  He pointed directly at me, shouting something to his companions. The walker squad immediately changed direction, heading toward our maintenance group with renewed urgency.

  “Hey…” my supervisor said, accusingly. “What the fuck did you do?”

  I didn’t bother responding. Time had run out.

  The nearest building was a storage facility with a loading bay on the side facing away from the approaching enforcers. I broke from the group, sprinting toward it while the other workers scattered, wanting no part of whatever was about to happen.

  “Stop!” The command echoed across the open area, followed by the distinctive crack of a railgun discharging.

  The shot went wide, impacting a snowbank to my left. I rounded the corner of the storage facility, using its bulk as temporary cover. The loading bay door stood partly open, offering an escape route into the building’s shadowed interior.

  Inside, I found myself in a cavernous space filled with crates and machinery. The sounds of pursuit grew louder outside—clanking legs crunching through snow, men calling directions. I moved deeper into the facility, searching for an exit on the opposite side.

  My tracking bracelet suddenly emitted a high-pitched tone, a light on its surface switching from green to red. They’d activated remote tracking. I was forced to make a hasty decision and hope the charge didn’t detonate as Voss had threatened.

  Moving quickly, I grabbed a pry bar from a nearby tool rack and wedged it into the seam of the bracelet. The device was designed to resist tampering, but proper leverage can overcome most security measures. With a sharp twist and some tolerable contusions, the bracelet’s locking mechanism snapped, allowing me to tear it from my wrist.

  Either I was a lucky bastard, or maybe the talk about the bracelet having an explosive was a bluff. Either way, I tossed the still-active tracker behind a row of large containers, hoping it would buy me precious minutes of misdirection. Then I continued toward what appeared to be an administrative section at the facility’s rear.

  Shouts echoed through the storage area as enforcers entered through the loading bay. Orders were given and footsteps spread out across the concrete floor. They were conducting a systematic search, closing off escape routes as they advanced.

  The administrative section offered just what I needed—a window overlooking the settlement’s outer perimeter. Through it, I could see the wall about thirty yards away. Beyond that lay the wilderness of Jarl, harsh but offering the concealment I now required.

  The window didn’t open—designed to keep Jarl’s frigid air outside rather than facilitate ventilation. I used the pry bar to try and break the seal and—when that didn’t work—the heavy axe to shatter the glass. The sound was going to give away my position, but speed now mattered more than stealth.

  As expected, shouts immediately responded to the noise. Heavy footsteps rushed toward the administrative section. I cleared the remaining glass from the frame and launched myself through the opening, landing in deep snow that cushioned the impact.

  “There! Eastern side!” someone yelled from inside the facility.

  I sprinted toward the perimeter wall, aware of enforcer walkers converging from both directions. The wall stood fifteen feet high, constructed from sharpened logs and salvaged metal sheets. Under normal circumstances, scaling it would require climbing equipment. But the snowdrift against the wall’s base provided a natural ramp, reducing the effective height.

  Reaching the wall, I drove the ironwood axe into a seam between logs, creating a handhold. A shot cracked behind me, splintering wood inches from my head. I pulled myself upward, using the axe as leverage, found a handhold in a gap between logs, and then retrieved the axe for another strike higher up.

  Three climbing strikes brought me to the wall’s top. Another shot narrowly missed as I hauled myself over the edge. The drop on the exterior side was steeper, with less snow accumulated to break the fall. I had no choice—enforcers were already positioning walkers to block possible escape routes along the wall’s top.

  I landed hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs despite my attempt to roll with the fall. Pain flared in my ankle—not broken, but strained. No time to worry about that now. The wilderness beyond the wall offered my only chance.

  The terrain outside Northaven sloped gradually upward toward distant foothills. Sparse stands of those burgundy-barked trees provided limited cover interspersed with open snowfields. In daylight, pursuit would be simple—tracks in snow, clear lines of sight. My only advantage was a head start and the trackless wilds of Jarl.

  Behind me, alarms continued to sound within the settlement. Orders were shouted, walkers deployed. I pushed forward, ignoring the burn in my ankle, making for the nearest tree line where at least some concealment might be possible.

  The afternoon light worked against me, the low-hanging red suns creating long shadows that would make movement visible at considerable distance. I needed to put significant ground between myself and the settlement before nightfall, then use darkness to change direction and confuse pursuit.

  I’d covered perhaps half a mile when I spotted the first pursuit team—three walkers emerging through a secondary gate in Northaven’s wall. They moved with the mechanical efficiency I’d come to recognize, their riders scanning the landscape methodically. The machines had long legs that were adapted to the terrain. This allowed them to navigate the snow with much greater speed than a human on foot could manage.

  The treeline ahead offered minimal concealment, nothing substantial enough to hide from a determined search. I needed an alternative strategy. My gaze fell on a frozen stream cutting across the terrain to my right—its course leading toward a more densely wooded area in the distance.

  I altered course, sliding down the stream bank onto the ice. Walking on the frozen surface would leave fewer tracks, and the lowered position might keep me below the enforcers’ line of sight long enough to reach better cover.

  The ice held my weight, although ominous creaking suggested it might change its mind and send me plunging into the deadly water below. After quickly leaving a short false trail on the opposite bank and heading the ‘wrong’ way, I got back on the ice, and I moved as quickly as safety allowed, following the stream’s winding course toward the distant woods.

  Occasional glances behind confirmed the walkers were spreading out in a search pattern, but they hadn’t yet identified my trail. The stream’s banks rose higher as I progressed, providing improved concealment from distant observers.

  After twenty minutes of careful progress, the stream led into the denser woodland I’d spotted. Here, the burgundy trees grew in tighter clusters, their blue-green needles forming a canopy that reduced the snowpack on the ground beneath. The frozen stream continued through the forest, occasionally disappearing beneath fallen logs or ice formations.

  The sound of walkers grew more distant, suggesting the initial search was concentrating in the wrong area. Still, I maintained my pace, knowing that trackers would eventually find where I’d descended to the streambed.

  As twilight approached, the temperature dropped further. My exertions had kept me warm while moving, but stopping would quickly lead to dangerous cooling. The proper Jarl clothing I’d acquired provided reasonable insulation, but even the best cold-weather gear had limits—for one thing, I couldn’t afford to get wet.

  The stream eventually joined a larger waterway, this one only partially frozen. Open water flowed in the center channel, bordered by ice shelves extending from each bank. This presented both opportunity and risk—the water would lower my temperature, but crossing here would effectively eliminate my trail.

  I tested the ice nearest the bank. It held, but cracked alarmingly when I ventured further. The open water channel was too wide to jump safely given the uncertain landing surface.

  A fallen tree upstream provided the solution. It spanned nearly the entire waterway, its trunk partially submerged but offering a natural bridge. I carefully made my way about two thirds across, the wood slick with ice but stable enough to support my weight.

  Right when I had that “I made it” feeling—that’s when I fell.

  My front foot slipped, and I slammed my ribs on the log as I tried to hang on. The wind was knocked out of me even before I hit the frigid waterway. If I had been able to breathe at the time, the icy water would have taken my breath away. I began to drift with the current back the way I’d come—toward the enforcers.

  Chapter 12

  I couldn’t afford to panic. Pushing off of anything I could find with my feet, I floundered toward the opposite bank.

  I managed to start short panting breaths as I waded into shallow water. At least the axe was still in my belt. Numb fingers gripped the axe and carefully drew it. I used it to hook bare tree roots and pull myself out.

  On the far side, I tried to breathe normally again but paused to listen. The good news was also the bad news. The forest had fallen silent as daylight faded near completely. So, it was dark, but it was also cold and getting colder.

  The nocturnal predators of Jarl hadn’t come out to play yet, but in the distance, barely audible, came the squeaking and clattering sounds of walkers still searching. They hadn’t given up, but their efforts now seemed misdirected, focusing on areas I’d already left behind.

  Night had fallen quickly on Jarl, the twin moons rising to cast their competing illumination across the snow-covered landscape. The temperature continued to drop, and I was freezing my ass off under my soggy layers of survival gear. I needed shelter, fire, and rest, pronto. The fire was the most urgent thing—but the light and heat might give me away, if they had drones or observation cameras scanning from the ship overhead.

  The forest thickened as I continued away from Northaven, the terrain gradually rising toward the foothills I’d descended days earlier. Finding suitable shelter was a pain in the ass—the landscape offered few natural caves or overhangs, and building an effective snow shelter would require time I couldn’t afford while pursuit remained active.

  After another hour of increasingly difficult travel, I was still freezing my ass off and traveling in a lurching trudge more than a jog. I spotted what appeared to be artificial light through the trees. It was the warm glow of windows rather than the harsher illumination of enforcer equipment. Approaching cautiously, I discovered a small homestead nestled against a hillside, protected from the worst of Jarl’s winds.

  The structure appeared to be a combination of colony scraps and local timber, similar to the buildings in Northaven but more rustic in execution. A low stone wall surrounded a compound containing the main dwelling, a barn-like structure, and what looked like storage facilities. Smoke rose from a chimney, carrying the scent of burning wood and cooking odors.

  Mmmm… that smelled good. My gut rumbled in appreciation. Thoughts of stealing a warm spot in the barn and maybe even a hot meal immediately gripped my mind.

  Lights moved within the compound—people going about evening routines, unaware of my observation from the forest’s edge. The homestead offered potential shelter, food, and information, but approaching strangers on Jarl had proven to yield unpredictable results. My experiences with the Halverson brothers and Northaven’s paranoid populace suggested caution.

  My supplies were limited to what I carried—the ironwood axe, the enforcer’s sidearm, and a small utility knife I’d acquired from the maintenance depot. No food, no water, no fire-starting equipment. On the other hand, I had no choice. Exposure through the night would kill me—I was already risking hypothermia and frostbite.

  Decision made, I approached the homestead openly, making enough noise to announce my presence rather than startle the occupants. The sound of my approach triggered a response within the compound—lights converging toward the main gate and people calling questions.

  “Hello!” I called in the friendliest tone I could muster. “Traveler seeking shelter!”

  The spotlight mounted above the gate clicked on, bathing me in harsh white light. I raised a hand to shield my eyes, keeping the other visible and empty to demonstrate peaceful intent.

  “Identify yourself,” a gruff male commanded from behind the light. “Where you from?”

  “Name’s Malcolm,” I replied, maintaining my cover identity. “Recently of Northaven, but moving on.”

  “Northaven?” The man was openly suspicious. “Enforcer business?”

  “No… I had a disagreement with the local authorities. I’m looking for someplace quieter.”

  A whispered consultation followed, too low to make out the words. Then the spotlight dimmed slightly, allowing me to see the gates more clearly. Two men stood there, both armed with what appeared to be hunting rifles, their expressions were guarded but not overtly hostile.

  “You appear to be coated in ice, fool. Is that the case?”

  “Um, yeah… I fell in the stream.”

  There was some laughter. “Well, maybe you’re new around here and no one has told you, but you shouldn’t ought to go swimming after dark!”

  This brought on another gale of rough humor. These guys didn’t get a lot of stand-up comedy out here on the frontier, I guess. The funny-man’s accent had a twang, and his buddy snickered under his breath.