Bits of crumbled asphalt crunched beneath Daved's boots as he walked south along the San River. A Xenonite x-craft had dropped him off upstream, at the outskirts of Seoltin. He had walked for a half hour before reaching downtown. The closer he drew to the Prison the uneasier he became.

  On his left, the San forced its way through a mass of trash and rubble, seeping towards the Red Sea miles away on the eastern edge of the Sheeks' Land. On his right, dark streets led away from the river into the heart of the city. They were dwarfed by hideous masses of iron and steel; cold, windowless buildings housing the Sheeks of the planet's capital. The Sheeks of Seoltin had few friends, few acquaintances. Their days were spent in government offices, warehouses, and miles upon miles of factories that churned out the war-flyrs and weapons used to power the Sheek Authority. Cold faces rushed past Daved as he turned away from the river and ventured further into the city. None made eye contact or smiled, but hurried along the narrow streets if only to reach their destinations more quickly, reducing the time spent outside breathing the acrid air that hung over the city. Other than in the prisons and laboratories, there was not a single Hake in the Sheeks' Land. Even though he was a Sheek, he felt uncomfortable by the absence of those bearing the Hake symbol on their breast; Wanderers were loved little more than the Hakes themselves. I have been in every region except the Sheeks' Land. I suppose I was due to visit it. Yet I wish I was here as a Wanderer instead of an apprentice prison guard.

  As he walked, he ran through the Xenonites' plan in his head. There were so many things that could go wrong. What is this green chair that we must go through such trouble to recover it? All he knew was its technical name, a space-time drive, and that it was the key to stopping the Usurpers from reaching the Myria System, from wiping out at least half the population and turning it into another Lexon, another… whatever. No one knew the name of the Vorians' home world, assuming they had one. By the time the Xenonites met the Vorians, the Vorians ruled such vast amounts of space that the Xenonites never made it much further than the Zull-Hew Sector. All that was known was that their inner systems were almost certainly controlled by the Usurpers, for the Vorians bore all the marks of a species so repurposed. Who are these Usurpers that they cause so much chaos? How can this one space-time drive turn back their Sphere?

  An immense mass of weathered concrete and exposed rebar confronted Daved as he turned the corner. There was no mistaking it… here was the Prison of Seoltin, the final destination of all prisoners who survived a long chain of prisons as they made their way up the Sheek chain of authority. This was a prison for those Hakes whom the Sheeks hated and feared most, for those criminals who had exhausted all other democratic options, even for the last few rabadons which were rounded up during the extermination of their kind, the lucky few saved for the sake of science by the Emperor’s order (though they were reported dead to the media to satisfy the general populace). Below the prison, the earth itself was mottled with huge chambers that ran deep into the ground, their bottoms filled with molten rock and pools of acid. Together they formed a web twisting miles into the planet, the deepest and longest of these reaching the Pit of Seoltin itself, though the name was often used for the network as a whole. Somewhere in this labyrinth was the green chair.

  The Xenonites believe it will survive a few weeks longer, thought Daved. But they are not certain. The Sheek Authority publicly claims that it has been destroyed.

  He pulled his pack tightly around his shoulders, making his way up the steps to the prison entrance. Already, an escort of police had formed around him, watching his every move as he approached the building. Even if Rimdar makes it here alive; even if I can ensure he is thrown in the correct chamber; even if he survives the fall; even if he can find the chair; even if it is still functional, still the Hake will die. Daved glanced uneasily at the police as he rang a buzzer hanging by a wire from the side of the prison door. I must work out a way to get him out safely. Though he enters the Pit to die, such should not be the fate of a Ciri, even a Hake.

  The door opened abruptly. “What do you want, bothering me during meal time?” A wart-covered Sheek poked Daved with the end of a blaster. Daved was pretty certain the gun did not work–how could it, when the Xenonites had created a magnetic field rendering all weapons on Shamonj inert–yet he spoke with caution.

  “I am Garqu Zaagfalg.” Daved presented his forged papers. “Sent from Helskay, here to replace Mr. Cabelgrov.”

  The Sheek inspected the papers, then pulled out a needle-tipped syringe, jabbing it into Daved's arm. He felt a sharp pain where it had pierced him, but stood his ground. The Sheek handed the syringe to another waiting behind him who disappeared into the prison.

  “I'm Norgal Barkutt. My buddy Ali's gonna take your sample to the crime lab and run it against the city records. Make sure you're not some Hake spy… ever since we got the chair, there's been no end to them.”

  This caught Daved by surprise. The Xenonites had only the one mission as far as he knew. Or were there others, even many, in hopes that one might succeed? No, it was impossible. They knew only a Sheek had a prayer of getting into the system. So plain Hakes were interested in the chair. They didn't even know what it did… but Rimdar’s calls to find it before the Sheeks discovered it must have convinced them of its value. Perhaps they hoped to sell it to the Hake Authority. Or back to the Sheeks even, if they offered a better price. I shall have to be wary of all. The Sheeple clamor for a treasure they do not understand, at a cost they cannot imagine.

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  Norgal dismissed the police with a nod, drawing Daved inside. “So you're the lucky fellow they found to replace ole Snozzy. He was a character, he was. Runnin' drugs and Yar through the prison. He was living the high life for about a month before he stepped too far. Got into a spat with one of the inmates, I guess.” They passed a dank cell and Norgal pointed at a rusty bell bolted to the wall. “They ring that for water. If they ring it more than once a day, we throw 'em into the Pit. Always bring a companion when delivering the water or you'll end up like poor Snozzy. We found him a couple hours later hanging on the cell door.”

  “Dead?”

  “Of course. It's Seoltin. No one survives long here. We'd all go crazy, except the guards are rotated every other month… only three of us are on duty at a time while the others get a break, pushing paper in the high-rises.” They rounded a corner, following a downward-sloping tunnel leading into the bedrock below Seoltin, lined with cells on either side. “Fridays are the worst. A certain percentage of the prison has to be emptied each week to make room for those coming in. Yeah, they're Hakes; yeah they've committed who knows what terrible war crimes to get this far into the system… but that doesn't make killing 'em any easier.”

  “You throw them into the pits?”

  Norgal gave Daved a horrified look. “Look, I don't know what you heard in Helskay, but we're not that heartless! And even if we were, the Authority would never allow it. Prisoners have to be treated humanely.” He coughed uncomfortably. “Minimally, at least.” They were passing a thick, sealed door and he stopped to point it out. “This chamber fills up with gas from the acid pools below. We bring the extras here on Fridays, then ship the bodies across the planet to their hometowns for burial. It's all done good and proper. Even the rabadons get water and meat once a day.”

  “There are rabadons in here? I thought they were extinct!”

  “Just two, though a third is on the way. Apparently some Hake farmers had been keeping it as a pet, and it escaped. It was captured in southern Selfar a few days ago. The other two were secretly placed here in case their DNA was needed for research.”

  “I’m surprised they kept only two.”

  “By the time the Emperor convinced the congress to pass the law, it was too late. The rabadons were hated so much, no one thought ahead. Everyone just wanted 'em dead. Kinda like the Hakes.” Norgal chuckled, but Daved couldn't tell if it was because he too wanted the Hakes dead, or he found the thought ridiculous.

  “How long do they live?”

  “Prisoners? Not long. Maybe two weeks.”

  “No, the rabadons.”

  “No one knows. The only dead ones ever found were those killed during the Hunt.” Norgal punched a code into a door and led Daved into a small office.

  Ali sat at a desk, peering at a computer. “Everything checks out okay on him.” He turned to Daved with an amused expression. “You’ve got high ranks. I can’t imagine what you did in Helskay that they shipped you here to suffer for. But it's not so bad; you'll get used to it.” He looked up at Norgal. “You gave him the tour?”

  “Enough for now.”

  Ali grinned at Daved. “Don't be stupid and you'll do fine. Everything here works like clockwork, just like the city. I'd like to see the Hakes build a place this magnificent.”

  “Oh, don't get started on them again.”

  “They're trying to kill us, you know! Even so, they may poison our air, hack our war-flyrs, start their little riots, yet they'll never build a city as fine as Seoltin.”

  Norgal leaned over, whispering to Daved. “His daughter died last week from a lightning strike. We've never even had lightning here before. He’s quite upset.”

  Ali was still ranting about the Hakes, but Daved remembered he didn't have much time. “What about the green chair… it’s not going to cause any trouble is it?”

  Norgal gave Daved a strange look. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” said Daved, trying to ease the tension that suddenly filled the room. “Just, I heard it was some sort of weapon, or something. It's not going to go off in here, is it?”

  “Ha! Even if it did, it couldn't shake this rock.” Ali pounded on the side of a wall. A patch of concrete fell off, hitting the floor with a thud. “That chair's half a mile below us in the deepest chamber…”

  Norgal was still eying Daved. “The media reported the chair was destroyed in the Pit. Even someone of your rank could not have known otherwise. How do you know it is not destroyed?”

  Daved paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sorry, I just assumed that. Am I wrong? Surely its destruction would have been broadcast on a live feed to the media. And you said yourself the Hakes are trying to steal it, speaking of the chair as something you still have. If I'm going to properly guard this prison, I need to know what I'll be up against.”

  “You're smarter than you look. Ha, when I first saw you, I actually thought, 'That there is one of them no good Wanderers', can you believe that?”

  “He's a level two lieutenant,” said Ali, looking back at the computer screen.

  “Maybe it's a good thing Snozzy was murdered. We could use a fresh mind around here.” He brought Daved over to the computer. “Ali, show him the feed.”

  Ali punched some keys, and an image appeared on the screen. “This footage was taken from our video hornet. It's a camera mounted on a nanobot that can fly into the chambers and check things out. We typically use it to find hot spots or swelling… if one of those goes, entire blocks of the city could sink into the Pit. This building itself was built to cap the chambers, while providing access to them for monitoring. The prison cells were added later.” He pointed to a small spot on the screen. “That’s the chair. The red soup is lava… it's floating around in it.”

  “Or flying,” added Ali. We're not really sure.”

  “Yeah, it moves around unexpectedly. We have no idea what to do about it, so we just keep the chamber sealed and send the hornet around once a week to see if it's dissolved yet.”

  “Those are our orders from our superiors. I don't think anyone knows what the thing is.”

  “Not even the Emperor?”

  “Maybe Gaelen did… but he's long dead. Hakes probably killed him because he knew too much; the chair turned up shortly after his death. I heard there was some detective too, who figured something out… but he's dead as well. Bad luck seems to follow the chair.”

  “Yet, it seems harmless enough. I can't believe it's still intact.”

  Daved pointed to a number on the screen. “Seven. What's that mean?”

  “There are hundreds of chambers leading into the Pit of Seoltin, numbered from south to north. We threw the chair into Chamber Seven.”

  “In honor of the Hake scrolls?”

  Ali smiled. “Exactly! You'll fit in well around here. Just remember… one cup of water a day, and only the rotten meat for the rabadons. We're not running a hotel here.”

  Daved couldn't help but smile. “Certainly not.”