He returned the pistol and buckled the belt.

Last came the golok.

Its scabbard had been made from ground-up tiplod shell held together with resin and dyed brown, the surface darkened further by years of rain and humidity. It was smooth in some places and grainy in others. The blade within was native to Tilmuhl, broad and forward-weighted, useful for brush, rope, wood, food, and men in approximately that order.

On a human, the scabbard would have looked large. On Koldin, it looked enormous.

He tied it high enough that the tip would not drag, and low enough that it would clear his ribs when drawn. The weight altered the balance of his gait by a fraction. His body corrected for it without asking him.

The barracks had begun to wake around him. A man sat upright and stared at nothing. Another searched beneath his cot for one missing boot. Somebody in the corridor swore at a towel that had fallen into the washbasin.

Koldin put on his hat and left.

Morning had gathered strength while he dressed. The base no longer seemed asleep, though it had not yet become fully alive. A pair of mechanics stood beside the mud-covered vehicle near the repair shed, one holding a compression tester and the other looking into the open engine bay with the resigned expression of a doctor examining a terminal patient. Steam rose from the kitchen building. Somewhere a whistle blew once and received no answer.

Obs’rt’s quarters occupied the end room of the administration block. The door had been built for humans and widened later, though not enough. The baxxid could pass through it only by drawing part of his long body inward and angling his head in a certain way. 

Koldin knocked against the frame.

“Enter.”

Obs’rt occupied most of the room even while at rest. His serpentine body curved behind the desk and disappeared beneath it. A khaki garment covered the visible sections of his torso, his subdued second-lieutenant’s insignia stitched near the upper fastening. One bladed forelimb rested beside a stack of forms. The other had been fitted with an artificial hand, fine-jointed and almost human in its construction, which held a pencil over a document.

Six eyes moved toward Koldin at slightly different intervals. The room smelled of paper and hot metal.

“You are awake,” the baxxid said. Obs'st practically spoke like a yinglet or human, his vocal cords having an nearly imperceptible warm-up period when he spoke with words; this took years of practice and discipline to achieve convincingly.

“Seems so.”

Obs’rt looked briefly at the wall clock.

“Your patrol period begins in fourteen minutes.”

“I know.”

“You are here early.”

“I know zhat too.”

The baxxid’s lower throat produced a faint resonant murmur, perhaps amusement, perhaps merely breath moving through anatomy not intended for regular speech. He returned his attention to the papers. One concerned vehicle allocations. Another listed missing ammunition. A third appeared to have been signed by four people, none of whom had agreed to be responsible for whatever it authorized.

Koldin waited. Obs’rt shifted one page aside.

“Standard town patrol. Eastern road, central market, freight yard, then the old airport perimeter. Nothing major.”

“Alone?”

“Defort joins you after midday. He is presently assisting communications.”

“Meaning?”

“The antenna has fallen down again.”

“Ah.”

“You may inspect the water stand near the southern junction. There were complaints yesterday.”

“About zhe water?”

“About the man selling it.”

“What did he do?”

“No one has explained that coherently.”

Koldin nodded. This was enough of a plan to begin with. In Lenkerk, all precise plans became approximate once exposed to the town.

Obs’rt lowered his pencil.

“Report anything unusual.”

“What counts as unusual?”

“All things not usual.”

“Zhat narrows it.”

“I have confidence in your judgment.”

Koldin gave him a flat look.

Obs’rt resumed writing. The interview was over.

Outside the administration block, the sun had climbed above the eastern trees and insects were already buzzing. The heat had already come in full force, carrying with it the smell of mud, fuel, standing water, and vegetation beginning to cook beneath its own moisture. Koldin crossed the yard, acknowledged the guard at the gate, and stepped out through the wire.

The town received him without ceremony.

A heavy motorized carriage came clattering along the road, its engine striking unevenly beneath a long metal hood. Workers filled the benches in the open rear, knees touching, lunch tins and tools held between their feet. Some wore mine clothes. Others wore mill aprons or the faded shirts of teamster crews. The carriage passed close enough to spray Koldin’s lower legs with a fan of thin mud.

He stopped. The driver glanced back once and continued.

Koldin looked down at himself, then at the retreating vehicle. He considered raising one hand, then decided this would accomplish nothing.

Across the road an old man sat on an upturned crate plucking a gulluk. The bird lay limp across his knees while pale feathers drifted into the mud and adhered to it. The man glanced at Koldin, then returned to his work and pulled another handful free.