CHAPTER 1



Cold is the night that falls.

Yet,

Fast are the wolves that race the storm.

I’m not one to run from a fight. But when I’m outnumbered and a storm is brewing, I’m not going to be a chump either. Storms on Tundar only mean more ice and near instant death from hypothermia.

The three corporate commandos blocking my way don’t seem to notice the coming storm, as they’re still pretty hell-bent on kicking my ass. The ugliest one smacks a pipe into his palm while one of the smaller guys moves slowly to my left, trying to flank me. I mark him as the one to take out first. Especially since he’s now standing between me and my exit.

I usually pick my marks better than this. With the corporate presence growing on-world by the day, the commandos seemed like quick chits. But these guys weren’t as green as some of the other corporate tourists. They must work for one of the bigger corporations. Or worse, the Corporate Assembly. I should’ve known better with the race coming up, but it’s not the first time I’ve chosen the wrong pockets to pick. Some days I wish there were more than just mining or sledding jobs on this frozen wasteland of a planet. Then maybe I wouldn’t be stuck picking pockets.

The wind picks up slightly and I can smell ice in the air. Tundar ice has a certain scent, like a wild caress and the kiss of a cold, cold death. It smells of promise.

I inch backward and the ugly guy smirks. He thinks he’s won.

He’s not wrong.

But he doesn’t know the Ket like I do.

I kick hard at the ground, spraying ice dust in his face, and he jerks back. Small guy lunges my way but I’m already ahead of him. My other leg spins and collides with the side of his head. I’m unbalanced by the force of impact and we both go down.

But I scramble away from him and slide myself in the opposite direction, fingers grasping at the manhole cover that none of them noticed. There’s always another way out in this city. And it’s always down. But the corpo commandos are still tourists on Tundar, here for the racing season and gone before true winter hits. They don’t know the extent of the Ket’s underbelly.

I rip the manhole open and disappear into the dark before the commandos can catch up. By the time they make it down the ladder, I’m three streets over planning my next exit.

It’s almost dusk. If I head over to Boss Kalba’s den, I can probably lift a few extra chits from the drunk gamblers betting on the fights. I can’t remember if tonight is flesh fights or hounds. But it doesn’t matter. There’s always pockets to be picked at the dens. And Boss Kalba’s fights are the most popular in the city.

Decision made, I double back through a passage that leads to one of the main avenues. As I come to an intersection with a bigger tunnel, I have to dodge the incoming people flowing underground to avoid the storm.

I hear a voice shout out behind me, but I quickly lose myself in the crowd. Unfastening my cloak, I tuck it under my arm while slowing my pace and shuffling along as the tunnel opens up into a main strip. Shops and stalls decked in neon line the walls. Holofeeds work better down here, so the strip is a maze of shops and bright corpo ads flashing things I’ll never be able to afford.

I let myself melt into the crowd, pausing here and there. I pretend to browse some arken blades while unbraiding my unruly hair, though the wistful longing in my gaze isn’t faked. But there’s really no point in drooling over the corpo knives. Not when the ion storms get so strong here the electric impulses that power the arc of deadly light on the dull side of the blade grow unstable. Definitely no point buying a fancy bladed laser when the fancy parts won’t work. Like most things on this strip, they cost more than I could ever steal. Doesn’t matter. The only thing I’m willing to spend that many chits on is a ticket off this frozen rock.

I feel more than see the three chumps pushing through the crowd behind me. I fluff my frizz of dark hair, knowing they’re looking for a girl with two braids and a cloak with silver markings. None of which is me. For now.

I make my way over to an intersecting tunnel that will take me straight to Kalba’s den. Just as I clear the crowd, a shout follows me.

Crap.

I sling my cloak back on and break into a sprint. Three minutes, two turns, and I’ll be home free. Footsteps pound behind me and I push my legs. Faster. Faster.

This will definitely be the last time I steal from corporate military troopers. With all this incessant running, I wish I’d stolen more than the measly ten chits in my pocket. Wish I’d taken the lot. Shouts and footsteps get closer and I curse, forcing everything I’ve got into pumping my legs even faster. I can contemplate my life choices after I shake these guys.

I spy the ladder that leads to the back of Kalba’s den. The main entrance beckons in the tunnel beyond. I could shoot for the main door and pray these chumps lose me in the crowds. Or I can take the ladder. I know that it opens up to the pens where the fighting animals are kept. There will be fewer people to hide behind in the pens but it’ll be much harder for these bigger commandos to follow me through the narrow shaft.

Without breaking my pace, I leap at the ladder and scramble to the top. I hear the shuffling below as the three men struggle into the narrow space.

I jerk the latch open and press against the cover but it barely budges.

What the hell?

I throw my shoulder into it, pressing into it as hard as I can. It opens a fraction and then shuts again.

I feel fingertips on my boots and I shove again, practically jumping off the ladder rung as I slam my shoulder into the metal. There’s a squeal from the other side but it finally opens.

I scramble up and out, quickly slamming the cover back into place and locking it. Then I plop my butt down right on top of the damn thing.

The banging from the men below reverberates through the metal and up my spine. But the cover holds. No one bursts through.

My lungs are still burning as I finally look around me. The pens have been rearranged since the last time I was in here, picking up an injured wolf with my mothers five years ago. Where the manhole was in a forgotten corner before, the space has now been filled in with more cages for the fighting beasts. Of course they’ve expanded; it’s the way of the syndicates just like it’s the way of the corpos. Nothing is ever enough. And now I’m surrounded by fenced walls and cheap hay with restless animals pacing back and forth inside the cages. This probably isn’t the best place for me to be.

A low growl from behind me raises the hair on my neck.

Because now I’m sitting inside one of those cages.


Copyright © 2021 by Meg Long.

Epilogue copyright © 2022 by Meg Long