Olock stood across from Sartan in the crude laboratory, leaning on the makeshift operating chair. It had once been a flight seat in a passenger starship, but Truce had salvaged it from the wreckage after the war. Many sick and wounded had rested in that chair, but the most recently performed operation had little to do with health. To the side, a large cabinet full of tools stood within arm's reach. Medical books lined battered wooden shelves on the far side of the room, and lanterns hung from crude hooks of jagged steel along the wall. Sartan sat opposite Olock on a wooden stool beside a steel-topped counter—also taken from the transport ship—listening to the latest report from one of the patrols.
"They just split up, Boss. Senchil and his men have recaptured Eaisan and his son, but the red-headed kid escaped with the girl. They were headed toward the Barracks."
Truce grinned as he lifted the communicator to his lips. "That won't help them escape, that's for sure. We can certainly use this to our advantage. See that the path to the surface is blocked, and call everyone else to the Audience Chamber. Bring Eaisan and his boy, too. It's almost time to test our new soldier's abilities."
"Yes, Sir," the voice on the other end responded. "And what of the two runaways?"
"Eaisan and his son will draw them into our hands like snakes to a pair of mice. They'll come looking for him, and then they'll be ours."
"Roger, Sir."
Sartan returned his communicator to his belt and glanced at Olock with a knowing smile. The gleam in his eyes came not from the glowing lanterns. "The kyrosen will rise once more, my friend."
Heavy footsteps crossed the laboratory floor behind the two and stopped. Truce didn't even look back. "And what of you, young one? Are you ready for your first challenge?"
Olock looked up briefly before turning away. A sturdy young man, tall for his age but shaped like a fighter, stood in silence as Sartan spoke to him. He was dressed in villager's clothes, with tan pants and folded-down leather boots. A brown cloak was draped over his shoulders, and a cowl covered most of his face. Still, there was no missing the hard stare from the young man's eyes, or the glint of steel beside the left.
"Don't worry," Sartan was saying despite the silence from his newest recruit, "I'm sure you'll do just fine."
"Sir," Olock spoke, swallowing hard. "Is the other . . . device ready yet?"
Truce must've noticed his nervousness. "Do you doubt my design, Olock? You certainly don't seem too trusting of my work."
"It's not that, Sir," Olock said, shaking his head. "I've just found this a bit more troubling than I had anticipated. I don't like the idea of using people as . . . slaves."
Now Sartan looked at him, a hard look of contemplation. "You think me an unfit leader, then? I'm not much for slavery myself, but we have little choice with no willing test subjects to select from. I'd much sooner enslave one of the worms of this planet than one of our own."
"You are a fine leader, Boss. And I agree, I'd much rather use one of the Keroko slimes than one of our own if none are willing. I just hoped someone would volunteer. If it had not been the first experiment, I may have done so myself."
Sartan waved the idea away with his hand. "I've told you before that adults do not make suitable hosts."
"Are there no youths among our families that are willing?"
"Too few to spare. If we want the kyrosen to prosper in the future, we must protect our young. I won't expose them to an unproven technology such as this unless I must."
Olock forced himself to look at the young man again. "Do you think the programming will hold?"
"Time will tell." Sartan took a deep breath. "We'd better get down to the Audience Chamber. I don't want our runaways to get there before us."