Thresholder

Perry hadn’t expected much of the meeting. He didn’t expect much of any meeting, since meetings seemed to be the sort of thing that just multiplied for no reason unless they were kept tightly in check. The culture put a heavy emphasis on symboulions, which seemed to Perry to be meeting factories. Still, this meeting was essentially the only thing happening on the airship, and it had people who would be important, even if they were just one ship of a few, and not yet in close contact with the symboulion that had taken over Berus.

Perry was somewhat surprised that they got right down to business, but it was less of a surprise when he considered that a lot of the people coming over were coming specifically because they had done this sort of thing before. What they were running wasn’t some church-basement social group, it was a single piece of a complex social organism that was attempting to accomplish specific goals. They were very upfront about that from the start.

“We’re coming in to stop the effluence, spread the culture, and get Berus to be on the same page as the rest of the world,” said Casper, a thin man with sharp teeth who was leading the meeting by general assent. At least some of this must have been decided beforehand, since there was no resistance, and fifty-some people had shown up for the meeting. “To give credentials, I started in Shembol helping to organize some of their first symboulions, then went to Gwyndolir where I was part of their Transitional Command Authority, largely serving as mediator and arbitrator. For the last five years I’ve mostly been with the Inter-Cooperative Global Command Authority, and I’d gone to Kerry Coast City specifically in the hopes of making it to Berus before the king was deposed. Obviously there were unforeseen circumstances. We’re here to talk about the conditions on the ground as we understand them, the general goals that we’ll have — and that the Transition Symboulion is expected to have — and how to achieve them. By a show of hands, who has been a part of a transition effort before?”

It felt like a forest of hands was going up around Perry, though when he actually counted, it was a slightly less intimidating three quarters.

“Alright,” said Casper. “That’s good. We’ll do some coordination to get everyone up to speed, but I’ll try to pitch to an audience that more or less understands what’s going to happen — what’s already happening, and given the speed of news, will have been ongoing for two weeks.”

He had the smile of a man who just wanted to make sure that everyone understood everything they needed to know. If Perry hadn’t just heard otherwise, he would have assumed that this was a high school teacher rather than some kind of community organizer.

“Berus is an island nation, or at least it is now. They used to have holdings, especially to the north, but those have all gained independence. We expect that to be the source of some bad feelings on their part, since those holdings enriched the people of Berus to varying degrees,” said Casper. “All that is at least a dozen years in the past, which means that it should be out of the public consciousness, but kings have a way of holding onto old grudges, especially when it means that they can spin a story to their populace. Some people will hate us. By show of hands, who was involved in transition for any of the Lagarian countries?”

Five hands went up around the room, and Casper nodded. “That’s good, because you’ll have experience with Berus and how they do things, but it’s bad, because it reinforces that we’re outsiders who are responsible for perceived hardship. There are going to be all kinds of bumps in the road, and one of the things that it would be good for everyone to remember is that this isn’t just a matter of getting things done, it’s cultural inoculation and social labor. That’s going to be hard, especially in the face of hostility, and if you haven’t done this before, there will be hostility. Mostly, there will be uncertainty.” His eyes briefly met Perry’s before he carried on.

“Berus is majority human, minority melekee and pennic, very very few of anything else,” said Casper. “Legal separation of species was outlawed fifty years ago, but social and economic separation still exists, and from everything I’ve heard, it’s pretty bad, particularly for the pennic, who are isolated to their own enclaves within major cities and who will probably need the most help.” There were two groups of pennic in the room, shrimp-headed little guys, one group of them with pink shells and the other looking more gray. “We’re trying to solve everything for everybody, that’s the culture, but it’s a long road to integration and true equality. There are going to be public buildings that are hostile to the melekee that will need to be fixed, but that’s a years-long problem, not a two weeks problem.” From what Perry knew, ‘hostile’ just meant that they were hard places for the melekee to get around, sometimes not even deliberately so.

Perry listened, but part of his attention was on the audience rather than the speaker. He was looking at the hard faces of the men that Nima had mentioned, those that had been down in the hold with the lined up hammocks. Perry had gone down there to see where she was set up, but also to scatter some of his store of nanites and get a better view of what was going on. He had Marchand listening in on conversations, but so far there hadn’t been much of note. Granted, they sometimes spoke in hushed whispers that Marchand couldn’t make out without better coverage, but so far the only thing it seemed they might be guilty of was not being fully on-board with the culture. If they were foxes in the henhouse, they were quiet foxes.

They were listening in on the strategy meeting. Some of them would surely get into positions of power in Berus, either sitting on a symboulion or being in charge of some of the work. Perry wasn’t sure how that circle was going to get squared, but he hoped that someone somewhere had a plan for how to deal with bad actors. Symboulions were supposed to be community-driven, and that seemed like a real sticky problem if the community wasn’t actually on your side.

It wasn’t something that Casper was addressing as they went through the ins and outs of what was waiting for them in Berus. The goal seemed to be on shutting down the lanterns and replacing them with something that could sustain the community without creating all sorts of problems, apparently a tall ask. The other main goal was turning privately held locations and collections into commons as much as possible. Transition could be rough, apparently, but Casper had answers, and they had done it many times before in a variety of different cultures.

“We’re going to break for side conversations,” said Casper. “We have a week on this ship, and as much as I enjoy the view, I want us to have some connections and internal community before we land. Stretch those muscles and get ready for long, arduous work.”

People got up from their seats, and Perry wandered a bit with Mette in step behind him.

“This is a nightmare,” she said in a low voice.

“Too many people you don’t know?” asked Perry, which was sort of how he was feeling. What Perry really wanted was a social HUD that would tell him everyone’s name and position. He had some hope for picking that up in some future world, but for now it was just a sea of people and an occasional nudge from Marchand, who was monitoring the situation from the room.

“No, it’s not that,” said Mette. “It’s just … too little structure. I’ve run projects on this scale, trying to do it without leadership is like trying to have a fistfight with one hand tied behind your back.”

“I think I could swing that,” said Perry. “If I had to.”

“Well, sure,” said Mette. “But they’re going up against what sounds like a lot. That was the undercurrent, right? That this is all a bit half-baked, coming because someone murdered the king rather than because it was actually the right time? Perry, I’ve had to do things like this, go in half-assed when there wasn’t any other option. It’s always a shitshow. But there we had someone who was responsible, not a collective that could dodge responsibility.” She was keeping her voice low, but the effect was that she was nearly hissing at his back.

“It’s fine,” said Perry. He had worked his way through the people and found a small group that was talking. Symboulions were big on ‘side conversations’, places where people could chat, and while this wasn’t a proper symboulion, they were playing by some of the same rules.

“You two are new to transition?” asked an elven man who was smiling a little more than necessary. He was bare-chested, in the elven way, not bothered by the slight chill that permeated the airship. His physique was enviable, with every muscle clearly defined. There was a whole load of discourse about elves and their bodies, some of which Perry had been reading through after having met Moss’s wife. Elves were known to be more sexual than other species, and this had caused no small amount of friction, not only because of ‘prudery’, but because some people assumed that elves should be ‘available’. It was old hat though, something that everyone had already gotten fairly sick of, at least if Perry was any judge.

“We’re from Berus,” said Perry. “This will be our first and last.”

“You understand the culture?” asked the elf, looking Perry up and down.

“Fairly well, I think,” said Perry. “Maybe not well enough to teach it, but doing the work, that’s the culture.” He shrugged as though it were nothing. In reality, he’d been cramming hard to understand the ins and outs, partly out of pure curiosity, but also to help him fit in slightly better. The elf smiled.

One of the humans spoke up. “You had time to sample it in Kerry Coast City?” From posture alone he was a serious man, with his arms crossed. Perry might have pegged him as one of the men from Berus who was returning home even without having insider information, but March was whispering in Perry’s ear.

“I had enough,” said Perry. “No one starving, people clothed, housing for all. It’s something that Berus could benefit from.”

“Mmm,” said the man, a very noncommittal noise from someone who had just sat through a meeting about how to achieve exactly that in Berus.

“I’m not looking forward to the shock,” said a human woman with a few strands of pink hair. Perry almost thought she wouldn’t have looked out of place in downtown Portland. “It feels like greed.”

“What does?” asked Perry.

“There’s a mindset,” she said, seeming happy for the opening. “It’s a mindset not necessarily of scarcity, but of want, a way of hoarding. It’s not greed, but it feels like greed, and it’s difficult to root out.”

“You would think that you could make enough food for all the people and that would be enough,” said the elf. “But it’s not. You set up a restaurant and they’ll try to take as much as they possibly can, stuffing it into their bags and gorging themselves.” He shook his head.

“Sorry,” said Perry, holding up a hand. “Isn’t the common rejoinder to that, ‘so what?’”

“Taking food home isn’t a problem,” said the woman. “Eating a lot isn’t a problem. The problem is hoarding behavior, taking too much from the commons because of feelings of insecurity. In the case of food, I’ve seen it happen that people will take three extra meals home, then let it all go to waste because they couldn’t eat it fast enough. Making enough food for everyone is a difficult problem, but it’s one that has well-tested solutions. Making enough food for everyone and extra food that will spoil because people aren’t being sensible about their needs, wasting food, that just makes the problem more difficult. Even a robust commons can be destroyed without the culture to back it up.”

“It’s taken as a given that there will be enough food?” asked Perry.

“There are ships bringing in food from all over,” said Casper, who had been making the rounds. “I’m not particularly worried about it, but it’ll be one of the first things the domes will be making, and there’s a strong chance that we might have to keep a lantern or two going just to make sure that no one starves.” He seemed apologetic. “The hoarding behavior is a serious problem, especially for people who have spent any amount of time in starvation. It’s a mindset that needs to be broken, and sometimes it’s a generational one.”

“Meaning?” asked Perry.

“The problem is solved by people dying,” said Mette. She was standing close to Perry.

“It’s not something that we want,” said Casper. “But yes, some people have been scarred in various ways, and a clean slate is easier. The children who grow up having not known hunger think that their parents are weird for needing a full larder.”

“Do you do mitigation?” asked Perry. “Place limits on what people take, give them things that will last for a long time?”

“Some,” said Casper. “It depends on the specifics. I’m only vaguely familiar with the cuisine of Berus, but if there’s something we could produce that would help with the feeling of food insecurity, what would that be?”

“Charker loaf,” said Perry at a very slight delay as Marchand whispered in his ear. “It’s not a prized food, but it keeps for at least a year, maybe more.”

“The big problem is that the libraries will get cleaned out,” said the woman. “You need education first, but education is only half the battle, because people aren’t going to learn how to treat a commons unless they can use a commons and develop the culture, which isn’t going to happen if the commons gets trashed.”

“It’s difficult, Rose,” said Casper, placing his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Watch the language when we get there.”

“It’s attitude more than language,” said the woman. “But I’ll watch it, yes.”

Perry kept his cover intact over another thirty minutes of conversation. The man who claimed to be from Berus didn’t interact with him at all in their small group, not even to ask some of the questions that Perry was prepared for, which seemed odd. They were, in theory, countrymen from a country that was largely isolationist and in a significant amount of trouble. If it had been Perry, he’d have tried to strike up a conversation. Maybe the unpleasant vibes were because of the trouble, the fallen king and dismantled monarchy, or the attacks on Kerry Coast City that seemed to promise a war between Berus and Thirlwell. Still, Perry couldn’t help but read hostility in the man’s face.

Moss and Velli got their introductions to Mette and Nima. Moss grilled them both, and seemed satisfied by the answers, though it was clear that he considered them to be useful apprentices rather than equals.

“We’ll mostly be out in the countryside, where the largest lanterns are,” said Moss. “There are half-measures to take, and some of it is manual labor that we can get untrained volunteers to do, but other parts are more complicated, and will need someone who has some relevant skills. From going over the ship, it seems as though I’m one of the few who can get it done, which is a problem I’d like to fix. I can go over some of the basics while we’re waiting for the trip to finish, but we’ll almost certainly depend on materials being shipped over for construction of the first of the domes.”

“Whatever we can do to help,” said Mette. “I’m glad there’s someone in charge.”

“Only by dint of necessity,” said Moss. “And I should warn you that the places we’ll be working will be thick with effluence. It’s more danger than you’d ever have had in Kerry Coast City.”

When the side conversations were finished, Casper got up in front of the group and said some parting words, some of which were directed at things that had been brought up in private conversation. He underscored that being understanding of the people of Berus was vital, and that meeting them with empathy was going to be a sometimes-difficult task that would nevertheless yield great rewards. He ended by saying that private conversation was a better tool than discussing things in large groups with a leader. Perry didn’t really feel that was true, but their society did seem to work somehow.

Nima came back to their room with them, mostly for some private conversation of their own.

“I liked Moss,” said Mette. “He was forthright, and he’s willing to take a command position. I’ve known some very competent engineers who were useless when it came to management.”

“That’s not a dig at Brigitta, I hope?” asked Perry.

“It wasn’t her area of expertise,” said Mette. “It’s a different skill set. Perry, do you think this is safe?”

“Safe how?” asked Perry. “I mean, the answer is no, I don’t think it’s safe, but what’s your biggest worry here?”

“Mobs,” said Nima. Their cabin wasn’t very large, so Nima was resting her back against the door just to get some extra room.

“I’m worried about a resistance movement,” said Mette. “If we’re helping with a large project … that seems like something that someone might want to attack.”

“You have me,” said Perry. “I’m not sure how I would stack up against their military, but against lone individuals, I’d bet on myself.”

“It won’t be lone individuals though, will it?” asked Mette. “It’ll be pieces of their military. There are all kinds of police and soldiers that have been trained, and some of them will have stolen tools and equipment.” She placed her hand on her forehead. “I should have stayed behind.”

“And miss my sparkling conversation?” asked Perry.

“I am feeling like this is going to be difficult,” said Nima. “Helping out people would be one thing, but … being an elf? Someone for them to hate?”

“You’re not even really an elf as they know them,” said Perry. “That should make things easier, right?”

“Should it?” asked Nima.

“The insults won’t land,” said Perry. “The cultural connections aren’t there for you. They’re not stereotypes that you’ve grown up with your whole life.”

“I guess,” said Nima, though she was clearly not convinced.

“We should get some sleep,” said Perry. “Keep an eye out on the men from Berus. I didn’t like the look of them, and if they’re coming back to the country to restore the monarchy, I want to know about it.”

“It wouldn’t really be our business, would it?” asked Nima. “I mean, wouldn’t it be better handled by the locals? What are you going to do, anyway?”

“Perry could stop them single-handedly,” said Mette. “You’ve never seen him fight, have you?”

“How would I have?” asked Nima. “Was he fighting in the city?”

“I didn’t tell her about the video,” said Perry. He let out a sigh. “Look, I’ve held back, you don’t know what I can do, and unfortunately that means that you don’t understand the scope of what the other thresholder can do.”

“And it’s enough to take on an army?” asked Nima.

“Alright, here.” He went to the storage space and opened it up, where the power armor was laid out so that Marchand could be out with all his processing power devoted to monitoring the ship. Perry grabbed the helmet and handed it to Nima.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Put it on,” said Perry.

Nima did as she was asked and slipped the helmet on. “It’s crushing my ears,” she complained. She also looked a little stupid wearing a large helmet on top of her slender frame, but Perry was polite enough not to mention that.

“March, show her the sizzle reel,” said Perry. “Greatest hits, don’t hold back.”

“With embellishments, sir?” asked Marchand, his voice coming from the helmet on Nima’s head. She started at the sound.

“Minor embellishments,” said Perry. “Reconstruct if that allows a better angle and some understanding of what was actually happening.”

Because Nima wasn’t wearing the rest of the armor, the sounds could be heard faintly while she watched what Marchand was showing her. Perry sat silently with his arms folded. He was at least partly testing out what kind of impact this would make, because he had thought there was some need to have something that would demonstrate his accomplishments. There was a television in the shelfspace, one that he’d stolen from the Natrix during his brief respite there in the time when he’d had the ring and hadn’t been under an enormous time crunch. He didn’t want to play that hand yet though.

The ‘sizzle reel’ was six minutes long. It showed a bunch of fights out of context, sometimes with a few seconds before each of them just to establish what had been going on. Marchand didn’t have footage of everything, but he had enough to create something impressive. It crossed worlds, changing between them without much warning, and Perry could make out only a few spoken lines. It was still a work in progress, something that they were going to have to spend more time on.

When Nima was finished, she took the helmet off and slowly handed it to Perry. Her face had gone pale, though the tips of her ears were red where they’d been uncomfortably pressed up against the inside of the helmet.

“How many people have you killed?” she asked.

Perry shrugged. “Impossible to say. Sometimes you stab someone and don’t ever find out whether it was a mortal wound or not.”

“I’ve killed one,” said Nima. Her hands were trembling as she wiped a bit of sweat away from her forehead. “That was … why did you show that to me?”

“So you understand what we’re up against,” said Perry. “So you understand what it might be like once we find the other thresholder.”

“If you had shown me that in the city, I don’t think I would have come with you,” said Nima. “I’m not — I’m not cut out for this. I can’t do that, I could never do that.”

“You said you won your last world,” said Perry. “That was the man you killed.”

“A man,” said Nima. “One man. And that was different, I wasn’t cutting through dozens of people.” She was probably referring to the orcs, which Perry thought was a bit different, because that was a matter of war.

“If you’re my ally, then whoever is out there waiting for us is going to be stronger than me,” said Perry. “They’re almost certainly not going to be reluctant to kill.”

Nima shook her head slightly. “I need to think about this. Give me a moment.”

“Take the night,” said Perry with a nod. “I just need you to understand what we might be walking into. It might be worse than anything these people fighting amongst themselves could come up with, worse than bombs being dropped on the city, worse than demons in the streets.”

“Why me?” asked Nima.

“You went through the portal,” said Perry.

Nima nodded glumly. She left without another word.

“Was that the intent of the sizzle reel?” asked Mette once Nima had gone.

“She needs to see what I can do,” said Perry. “She needs at least a taste of what she’s in for. She’s painfully unready, and she’s my ally here.”

“Just so you know, I’m not very ready either,” said Mette.

“You’ll do fine,” said Perry. “No one is going to ask you to fight.”

“They’re not?” asked Mette. She had raised an eyebrow. “Because it seems like if I stick around with you, the fighting is inevitable, and I’m not going to be a hostage, not again.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Perry.

“Ha ha,” said Mette. She gave him a pout, which lasted for only a moment. She looked over at the bed. “Not as much room as in the apartment.”

“If you need to, there’s the shelfspace,” said Perry. He had moved a bed and a couch into it, creating a little living area, though he didn’t want to be there long term. There was also the issue of the ring, which wouldn’t move with the airship if he closed the aperture entirely, but the easy solution was to just leave it open a crack. Getting stranded in the ocean wouldn’t be that much of a problem, but it would be annoying.

“Do you find Nima attractive?” asked Mette.

“Uh,” said Perry. “I don’t think I’ve seen an unattractive elf yet. She’s not quite an elf like they are, but outwardly she fits in.”

“Do you find me attractive?” asked Mette.

Perry looked at her. She was on the bed, and had laid herself out. She was in shape, for an engineer, and didn’t really look like she’d had four children. She wasn’t much older than him. She didn’t compare to any elf in terms of sheer hotness, but he’d seen plenty of her flirtation over the years they’d known each other, and she did have her appeal. It was a sweatpants-in-the-morning appeal, a drinking-coffee-while-looking-at-a-computer-screen appeal. Mette was indeed the sort of woman he’d have gone for back on Earth, and she wasn’t really that exceptional.

“If this is all some very roundabout way to get pregnant for the good of the Natrix, I would almost respect it,” said Perry.

“I know you do pair-bonding on your Earth,” said Mette. “Is this about Brigitta?”

“It’s about birth control,” said Perry. “I’m not a monk, but —”

“Brigittta made that very clear,” said Mette.

“I don’t want you to get pregnant,” said Perry. “Because I don’t want to leave a child behind. I mean technically we could bring a child along with us, but that would be too dangerous and — look, if all you wanted was a bit of fun, sure, but it would have to be the kind of fun that doesn’t risk a pregnancy.”

“Nanite condom,” Mette said without any pause whatsoever.

“I’m not really looking for a girlfriend at the moment,” said Perry as Mette unbuttoned her blouse.

“I don’t even know what a girlfriend is,” said Mette.

~~~~

She talked a lot after, though her talking slowed down as she drifted off to sleep, and she ended in mid-sentence. She had a lot of thoughts about loneliness and connection, and it really did seem to Perry like she hadn’t meant it as a bit of fun. At the same time, he couldn’t deny that it had instantly erased a good amount of internal stress for him.

Perry was awakened by a painful sound coming from his ear. He realized after a moment that he’d forgotten to take the earbud out before he fell asleep, then as awareness returned to him, he realized that didn’t explain the noise — which stopped almost as soon as he blinked himself away.

“Sir, I thought you should know that the men you asked me to keep a special eye on are attempting to take over the airship,” said Marchand.

“What?” asked Perry, still blinking. Mette was beside him, and he removed her arm from his chest, then carefully extracted himself from the bed. He started getting dressed as Marchand spoke.

“Their plan appears to involve using a variety of weapons to take over the engine room of the airship,” said Marchand. “As soon as you have your helmet on, I’ll show you a map, but it would suffice to say that this would create a significant problem. I am unclear on their plan of action following their takeover, but they’ve stolen the lanterns from the mess.”

“Casualties so far?” asked Perry.

“None, sir,” said Marchand. “They’re still on the move. They plan to kill the crew of the airship and deal with everyone else later, though from what I gather, this is likely to involve either lethal solutions or hostage-taking.”

“There are two hundred people,” said Perry. He grabbed the helmet from storage. “What are their numbers?”

“Thirty-six, sir,” said Marchand. “Their weapons are mostly knives, but a third of them have those magical masks, which seem as though they might be quite worrisome to deal with.”

“Shit,” said Perry. With the helmet on, he was getting a full readout of what Marchand knew, which was mostly that offensive action was taking place now. The crew area was connected to the main cabins by a long walkway, and they were moving along it. “No time for armor then.”

“No, sir,” said Marchand. “I would suggest that in the future you simply sleep armored, but I fear that would conflict with your activities.”

Perry glanced at the bed. “Wake Mette, I’m going to go stop some terrorists.”

“Sir, I believe these would be better classified as enemy combatants,” said Marchand.

“Stay in my ear, tell me where to go,” said Perry.

He left the room without having bothered to put a shirt on. They had knives, but he wasn’t all that worried about getting stabbed. He knew his worth against regular guys, even if they were regular guys with a fair amount of training. If they had guns, he might be a little worried, because deflecting a bullet with a sword was difficult to do. The masks were something else though, and those maybe called for getting armored and shooting them dead, but putting on the armor took time that Perry really didn’t think he had, not if he wanted to minimize loss of life.

The Caster had long central corridors, two of them on the level Perry was on, separating the cabins. Perry ran down the corridor on bare feet, arriving at the back end of the main cabin in a matter of seconds. There were men standing there, though only one of them was facing his way. They had come up from the lower level, and just as Marchand had said, they had knives that had clearly been smuggled aboard — though there had been no check of luggage, so ‘smuggled’ was being generous. A very small non-magical lantern was giving them light.

“We’re taking this airship,” said the man who was closest to Perry. There were perhaps twenty feet between them, and the man had a knife. It was one of the ones who had come to the meeting, though his name escaped Perry. “You go back to your cabin if you know what’s good for you.”

The threat served to alert the others to Perry’s presence, and Perry watched as they got ready for him. There was, unfortunately, very little time to waste. The corridor was narrow, barely large enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder, which meant that Perry would have to take them one at a time.

The big question was whether to go lethal or not. These were loyalists, clearly, members of the kingdom of Berus who’d made a coordinated return to their homeland. They were temporarily the enemy, but the goal was to have them integrated into the culture, and Perry was pretty sure that killing thirty-some people wasn’t going to endear him to anyone. That might especially be the case if Perry succeeded in killing them all before they got too far into their plan, which would make him look like a total sociopath.

Perry let out a long steadying breath. “Tell me you give up and I won’t do more than break your arm. That goes for all of you.”

He lunged at the first of them, fearless of the long knife. He was simply too fast and too powerful to get hit. He grabbed the hand that held the knife, crushed the fingers with his brute strength, then turned the knife the other way around and made the man’s own hand guide his own knife into his own heart.

“Alright,” said Perry, leaping back a step. “Does that change anyone’s mind?”

They came at him, two at a time, bumping each other’s shoulders. He caught a knife between his fingers and palm, preventing it from slicing into him, and with his other hand, he delivered an open-handed slap that lifted the man off his feet. While still holding the knife, Perry delivered a slap to the other man, and this time felt the crack of bone. The knife was released, and Perry flipped it around to get a firm grip on it, then stepped forward and went on the attack.

It was shocking how poorly defended the neck was. All it really took to kill someone was to draw a knife across the front of their neck, and it didn’t even need to be all that deep. Perry killed two men while moving forward, getting blood on himself in the process. He’d left one alive behind him, one of the men he’d slapped, and spun to catch him in the side of the head with an extended kick, which sent him face first into a cabin door.

That left only one of them standing. He dropped his knife to the ground and raised his hands.

“Arm,” said Perry. He stuck the knife in the wall to hold it there.

“What?” asked the man.

“Give me your arm,” said Perry.

The man held out his arm. He was trembling. From everything Perry knew, this guy was a soldier or spy from Berus, and had likely never seen action. There hadn’t been a war for Berus to fight in since they’d lost their colonies, and that was long enough ago that a twenty-year-old wouldn’t have been involved. Maybe he would have a rap sheet if Perry could look through his eyes and see into his past, but for now he was just a trembling kid.

Perry grabbed the forearm with both hands, his grip like iron, and began to twist. The man cried out in pain, and Perry released before the bone could snap. The man fell to the floor and clutched his arm.

“I want you to know that I could have,” said Perry. He pulled the knife from the wall and pushed through the door they’d been next to.

Logically, Perry didn’t want a challenge, he wanted to cut through them like a knife through tender steak. The next group was standing in the vestibule where the stairs from the lower decks met the corridors of the upper deck. Knife in hand, Perry went through them easily, though he broke his knife in the process and had to finish the last of them off with a grasshopper punch to the chest. Perry took more knives off them, re-arming himself.

There was something unsatisfying about it all, at least after that first group, and he kept thinking that he should do something to make it more interesting, like taking them all out with jaw-cracking slaps, or turning their own knives on them, or standing in one place and killing them as they came to him without moving from where he was planted. He was pretty sure that he could have done any of those, though he didn’t try, because overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer.

There were four hallways for the cabins, splitting the levels, and Perry assumed that there were more men down each of them, keeping people in their rooms and making sure that no one made any trouble. It’s what he would have done, if he had thirty-some people to take over the airship. He could deal with them easily in groups of five or six, even if a few of them were wearing masks or had heavy lanterns, but doing that when the crew were under threat seemed ill-advised. Perry briefly opened up his shelfspace and made sure that his sword was in reach, then went to where he thought the action would be: the walkway to the engine room.

He almost immediately felt the effects of the masks.