The golden cylinder remained open beside Vell's wash basin, with its black needle aimed steadily at his chest. He moved twice around the room, but the needle followed without touching either side of its casing.
[Awakening route available: 200 kilometers before midnight.]
[Failure or refusal: seed retrieval.]
Vell checked the barred door before reading both lines again in complete silence. Eight months outside Orison had taught him that polite words usually covered the worst part.
"What gets retrieved?" Vell asked, keeping the dead Wiretail Kite between himself and the basin.
[The World Forge seed.]
"From where?" he asked, though the needle had already made that answer obvious.
[Current recipient tissue.]
The city had given him several slow ways to die, while the cylinder offered one fast route toward becoming harder to kill. Vell disliked its manners, but the terms were better than anything waiting outside.
"What do I receive at the end?" he asked, lifting the cylinder without placing his fingers near its opening.
[Core ignition: Grade 1.]
[Physical repair applies only to damage caused after route acceptance.]
His left shoulder still ached from the Glassback Boar, so the second line removed his first useful attempt at cheating. The cylinder knew what it wanted from him, which made bargaining pointless but planning necessary.
"Show me the road," Vell said, setting it back beside the basin.
A thin route appeared across the cylinder's inner casing, marked through drainage lines Vell recognized from scavenging maps. It began beneath the quarantine wall, then crossed the abandoned districts before turning east toward the fen.
He cut the remaining kite meat into strips, filled his water skin, then wrapped both knives inside his pack. The six credits went beneath the broken stove, where Pikker would need to burn the shelter before finding them.
The black needle rose from its casing when Vell tightened his last strap. It crossed the room before his hand reached either knife, entering his chest beneath the sternum.
Cold pressure spread behind his heart, forcing both knees against the floor while his damaged shoulder struck the basin. He waited for blood, but the puncture closed before his fingers found it.
[Route accepted. Circuit: 0/200 km.]
[Terminus: midnight.]
The cylinder collapsed into an empty golden shell after the needle vanished inside him. Vell packed the shell beside the meat, unbarred the door, then left before pain gave him a better argument.
Storm-drain main C-4 opened beneath the eastern road beyond the scavenger fires. Old Marsh was still arguing with a patrol clerk near Pikker's wagon, keeping every useful pair of eyes turned elsewhere.
Vell entered the drain through a gap beneath its lowest grate beyond the fires. The route line appeared only when he faced the wrong tunnel, pressing behind his eyes until he corrected himself.
The main channel ran northeast beneath the quarantine wall, where the city had welded three maintenance gates across older passages. Scavengers had cut the first two open, but fresh chain covered the third gate.
Patrol voices approached from the road above before Vell could work on the lock. Halden had apparently purchased silence from one witness and suspicion from everyone else.
"Check every access point," a patrolman said through the grating, "the transport office wants the collar debris recovered before morning."
Vell lowered himself into the runoff trench as two lamps passed overhead. The patrol wanted evidence from the boar, while the only useful piece now rested against his heart.
Waiting would cost twelve minutes according to their usual inspection pattern once the clerk reached it. He chose the narrower overflow pipe instead, because the cylinder had already priced failure higher than another damaged shoulder.
The pipe forced him forward on one arm while chemical water soaked both knees. A broken bracket opened his forearm, leaving blood across the wall before he reached the other side.
Heat gathered beneath the cut only after he pulled free on the far side. The skin tightened slowly across the wound, repairing what the route had damaged while leaving yesterday's bruises untouched.
[Circuit: 14/200 km.]
The overflow pipe surfaced beside an old tram causeway north of the wall. He climbed onto the raised track as the patrol opened the chained gate behind him.
Their delay forced him to run before his breathing had settled after leaving the drain. Each stride pulled at his shoulder, though the needle ignored pain that existed before their agreement.
A Wiretail Kite left a signal post when Vell crossed the first kilometer marker. It held above his right shoulder, turning whenever he turned instead of diving for the meat inside his pack.
The bird was marking prey for its flock, and killing one yesterday had apparently made him easier to identify. Vell kept the track between open marshes, where stopping beneath empty sky would only improve its work.
His first pace failed after eleven kilometers, tightening both calves until each step shortened. The needle repaired small tears after they formed, but every repair arrived behind the injury rather than ahead.
Vell adjusted his stride instead of asking the absent System for any mercy. Longer steps damaged his knees, while shorter ones wasted time, leaving a narrow rhythm his body could survive.
The causeway ended where a fallen tram blocked both rails near the warehouse district. Vell climbed through its broken windows because circling below meant testing water disturbed by several moving backs.
Glass cut his palm on the far door, then the repair closed it after he landed. The Wiretail Kite settled on the tram roof briefly to watch which hand he favored.
"You can report that I am tired," Vell said, wiping the repaired palm against his shirt, "the city already knows."
Its answering cry carried between the warehouses, drawing another call from somewhere ahead. Vell left the open track before the second bird arrived, entering service alleys that ran parallel with the marked route.
The alleys protected him from the flock but narrowed his view to walls and locked loading doors. Fresh Needle Jackal tracks crossed the third lane, all pointing toward the same northern plaza.
Those tracks made the direct route dangerous, yet the patrol engines behind him had reached the tram. Vell continued north, using delivery numbers to avoid the dens marked by bones near their entrances.
A hauler turned into the next cross street before he reached cover. Its hunters carried long rifles toward the fen, with a Glassback plate tied across the roof as proof of their intended kill.
"Sergeant wants the boar standing when the cameras arrive," one hunter said, striking the roof twice as they passed.
The wounded boar had survived the checkpoint, which meant every rifle team in the district would soon occupy the eastern road. Vell increased his pace because their hunt was forming across the route he still needed.
The marked line turned down a maintenance ramp into a drained canal. Following it removed the hauler from sight, but it also placed Vell below street level with the kite circling above.
Ash-Tunneler boreholes covered the canal floor in staggered rows, each opening warm and loosening the mud around it. Their breathing traveled between holes, showing where the creatures waited beneath the surface.
Vell watched three breaths before stepping onto the first strip of firm ground. Each Tunneler pulled air before shifting upward, giving him a short interval between the sound and breaking soil.
He crossed during those intervals, planting each foot where old cart tracks compressed the canal bed. The route forced him diagonally through the colony, so speed mattered less than refusing one careless step.
The Wiretail Kite dropped lower when Vell reached the deepest section above the exposed canal. Its shadow crossed a borehole, provoking the animal below into striking early beneath his left foot.
Mud burst around his ankle while a plated head caught the sole of his boot. Vell threw himself onto a drainage shelf, losing skin from both hands as the Tunneler snapped behind him.
Repair heat closed the scrapes, but his ankle remained swollen from the impact rather than torn tissue. The distinction cost him several limping steps before he rebuilt his pace.
The kite had changed from a witness into an active problem during the crossing. Vell cut a strip of meat while moving, then tied it around a loose canal bolt with flight tendon.
He threw the bundle into the next borehole just before the bird stooped. The kite followed the meat, pulling up when three Ash-Tunnelers broke through beneath it.
[Circuit: 61/200 km.]
Jackal calls reached him before the hall entrance, repeating from both sides of the plaza. The pack had followed the kite's marking cries, turning the open ground ahead into a closing net.
The route crossed through an old market whose shutters had failed years earlier. Rats occupied every stall inside, but they defended food rather than hunted in coordinated pairs.
Vell chose the animals with simpler motives rather than the cleaner floor. He entered the hall while the first Needle Jackal stepped onto the canal ramp behind him.
Rat bodies shifted across the floor around his ankles, drawn by the meat scent still clinging to his pack. He removed the remaining strips, keeping one while throwing the others beneath separate stalls.
The swarm divided around the impacts, opening a narrow path through the center aisle. Vell walked instead of running, because panic would scatter the food before the rats settled.
A jackal entered behind him and struck the first moving cluster near the entrance. Its forelegs carried it over three stalls, landing among rats that changed targets without hesitation.
The second jackal avoided that mistake by taking the counter ledges above Vell. He pulled the last meat strip across the floor with tendon, making its scent trail continue toward the fighting animal.
When the ledge hunter dropped, its partner turned toward the moving food. Both jackals met beneath a hanging rack while Vell climbed the service stairs at the rear.
One recognized the trick before the rats reached them while Vell was still climbing. It followed him upward, its Needle-Step bursts striking every third stair faster than his damaged ankle could answer.
Vell looped the tendon around a railing post, holding the free end until the jackal committed to its next burst. The line caught its chest, turning speed into a sideways impact that tore the railing loose.
The jackal fell into the swarm with half the staircase beneath the broken railing. Vell lost his tendon but kept his throat, which remained a fair trade until he found another kite.
He crossed the roof toward the connected buildings while the market fight spread below. The marked route continued over two connected buildings, letting him leave the jackals trapped behind their own pursuit.
[Circuit: 84/200 km.]
Vell crossed refuse lanes, generator fences, plus an empty school yard while the moon climbed over Orison's wall. He measured time through water and pain, because both supplies were leaving faster than distance.
At kilometer ninety-six, the route turned east toward the fen causeway. Rifle reports began before he saw the road, each volley followed by the wounded Glassback Boar's broken squeal.
He slowed inside the reeds near the road until his breathing matched the shots. Six rifle teams held the raised road, leaving no safe crossing through three kilometers of black water.
A staked calf struggled beneath the third support while hunters waited behind portable shields. The boar charged whenever the bait chain pulled, exposing its wounded foreleg to every rifle on the span.
The same beast had carried Rynn's cylinder toward Vell, but the hunters treated it as a recording opportunity. They wounded it enough to keep the charge angry, then let it retreat so another team could film their turn.
[Circuit: 102/200 km.]
[Time remaining: 4 hours, 11 minutes.]
Ninety-eight kilometers remained beyond the only road solid enough to cross. Swimming would feed the fen, while waiting would let the seed retrieve itself from his chest.
Vell watched the teams reset after another volley from inside the reeds. When the boar charged the calf, every rifle turned toward the marsh for exactly eleven seconds.
Eleven seconds would not carry him across the whole causeway before their rifles returned. It was still the first useful thing the hunters had given him.