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with the single-mindedness of true Kraal, her inevitable rise in rank would similarly increase that of her allies.
    Skalet had no idea how to stop any of it, short of disobeying Ersh and fleeing this world.
    Case in point, this afternoon’s trip out to the antenna array. Skalet would have let someone else take the dangerous duty—and praise—but such excursions were her only escape from the populated tunnels and tiny rooms of the outpost.
    And there was, she admitted, a peculiar satisfaction in pushing this form to its limits. There could be no radiation released outside the protection of the walls and snow cover—a snow cover that had to be routinely reduced or they’d be buried permanently. Such radiation would not only risk discovery of what was to be a secret from all Kraal but House Bryll, but would also ruin the observations being made by the sensitive equipment—the reason for being here in the first place.
    This meant no light or beacons to guide her from the safety of the outpost to the array. Instead, Skalet reached for and found the guide line leading from the dome entrance to the distant equipment. If she let go, it was a step in any direction to be completely lost. If she was in truth what she seemed, it would be a long while before her frozen body would be recovered.
    They’d lost two techs this winter, before her arrival, a distressing tally even for the Kraal.
    Skalet knew every step of this journey, the ramplike rise to the surface from the dome entrance, the hit of wind, the emptiness to every side.
    But even she kept her glove, stiff and frozen, on the line there and back.
    It took as long to peel off the rock-hard layers of frozen cold-weather gear as it had to stagger out to the array, dig free the ladder’s base, climb the ladder, dig free the chipping tools, and hammer clear the tracks, wires, and supports. All the while the wind. All the while the knowledge that nothing else stood above ground. Hopefully.
    Skalet fought her numb fingers and toes, hanging her coats by their hoods on the hooks lining the corridor walls. No space was wasted. Her gloves went into mesh hanging from the ceiling, taking advantage of the warmer air to dry. Boot liners joined the gloves. Drops of sweat melted from her hair and she swept the loose strands impatiently beneath their strapping. She’d shave the stuff, but to be inconspicuous among the fashion-obsessed Kraal of this era meant shoulder-length locks confined by annoying leather bands. Inefficient.
    A similarly-banded head popped out from one of the small round doors. “Good timing, Icicle.”
    Skalet raised one eyebrow. “How so, Lieutenant?”
    Lieutenant Maven-ro, a capable sparring partner when not exhibiting a curiosity the equal of a certain Web-kin’s, and as little welcome, flicked her fingers against the bright red tattoo curled on her right cheek. House Bryll held her affiliation, that promise of unquestioned obedience, if not the return vow of unwavering protection. Front line Kraal soldiers understood their worth. Skalet’s own cheek bore a twin mark, though applied in paint rather than imbedded ink. “We’ve guests.”
    Guests? How had she missed an arriving transport? Alarmed, Skalet reached for the knives in her belt. The energy weapons the Kraal favored were forbidden within the domes. Fire was the enemy; extinguishers hung at intervals on every wall and drills woke them just as regularly. Were these guests a new threat?
    â€œAn unexpected visit, but by one who is entitled to do so.” Maven-ro’s eyes gleamed approval. “Come. A meeting’s called. Your presence is commanded, Icicle. If you’ve sufficiently thawed, that is.”
    Humor. The Kraal, like other Humans, were prone to its use in stressful situations. Skalet saw no purpose to it.
    The thought of some Kraal authority interested in her didn’t help her feel any better.

    Meetings were held in the one