Exile of the Pan Arcanum by Eric N. Lard

Author:Eric N. Lard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
Published: 2024-10-29T19:50:47+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Intake

Epriot Prime, Articles Corwin, New Varhus Detention Center (Camp Zun-Karlduum)

There were more effective ways to remove human hair, but few were as humiliatingly personal as being held down and gone over the top to literal bottom with a set of motorized clippers. Rutker had a high tolerance for discomfort. And even humiliation. Both were temporary. He was, however, relieved to leave the temporary intake facility with all the parts he went in with.

The Chareth-Ul’s minions, large centipede-faced creatures with four thin but surprisingly strong arms, had taken his power armor and left him with a set of confoundingly complicated robes, leggings, and arm wraps. He looked like he’d mugged a monk. Everyone around was wearing the exact same outfit. And haircut. He’d caught his reflection in a window and wasn’t even sure if he was looking at himself or someone else.

Separated from the others, he scuffed through puddled water on the parade ground tarmac as he was herded toward the trainee encampment. He had no idea if they were released before or after him, but assumed they were all sent to different sections of the encampment to amplify the feeling of being helpless and alone.

Humiliate. Isolate. Demoralize. The re-education had already begun. Next was to apply a constant, low-grade level of discomfort. Not enough to cause a revolt, but just enough to wear down the detainees and make them compliant. That’s what all this tent business was about.

Supposedly there were empty bunks already stocked with personal necessities, he just had to find one. Rutker had other things in mind first. He glanced back over his shoulder at the intake facility, a converted office space facing the parade ground proper. Five Deathhounds guarded the office complex. Four others were being retrofitted in a motor pool building farther on. And their shuttle? It had lifted off of its own accord within seconds of their stepping foot on the tarmac. No luck using that to escape when the time came.

Rutker wondered what happened to the Gefkarri ambassador, Theal. After he’d been separated from the other two pilots, she had been ushered, with little respect or regard for her position, into another room in the facility. If he were being honest, it gave him no small amount of enjoyment to watch, but it certainly didn’t improve their situation.

But this was no time to relish difficulties heaped on an adversary. Especially when that adversary seemed more or less to share a common enemy with oneself. Theal seemed resourceful enough, and as much as the Chareth-Ul blustered, Rutker just couldn’t imagine Delvadr blowing off the help against the Void that the Gefkarri represented.

But then, he didn’t know the Chareth-Ul at all. His only exposure to them was through the Deathhounds, which, if that was any indication, maybe he needed to reconsider his next steps.

Rutker shivered and rubbed his newly shorn head as an early winter breeze rose up. To make matters worse, the robes he was given did little to fend off the chill. Another carefully crafted inconvenience.

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