“So, you say Kaisho-Renalis has taken an interest in our newest addition? How flattering,” Renfol remarks, his high-pitched voice edged with a hardness.

  It’s a little past six in the morning, and Mirem and Lanis sit before the Versk Suit Division Director in his atrium-office. The only sound is a soft tinkling of chimes as Renfol’s eyes take on a distinct glaze, the mind within his bald head momentarily fluttering elsewhere. When he looks at Mirem again, it’s as though he’s examining an especially peculiar orchid in his collection.

  They’ve recounted the events of the past night—at least, most of them. Mirem has handled the talking, skillfully omitting both the Anomaly and the details of Lanis’ Navigator background.

  Fleet doesn’t believe me, so why would Renfol? Lanis thinks. Even now, dependent as she is on Versk’s ability to protect her, she can’t shake the instinct to keep her past as a Navigator secret—and there’s something about Renfol she still doesn’t fully trust.

  Instead, Mirem has limited the events to their core: Alain wants Lanis, enough that her uncle was concerned for her and, more importantly, his niece’s safety. After all, Mirem’s departure from KR was difficult enough. Her role in acquiring what could be a generational AI integration talent might be unforgivable.

  Renfol continues, sighing slightly: “Your past employment has never overly concerned us, Mirem. Nor your familial relation with KR. Talent is talent. But this story… well, it is quite peculiar, wouldn’t you agree? After all, your uncle is an exemplary company man, even if his chosen allegiance is distasteful. Why would he share talent acquisition secrets? Even though Lanis is ex-Fleet, I doubt they would risk a true incident over an untested pilot, no matter her potential. You especially should be aware of Kaisho’s impressive talent pool in that regard.”

  Renfol continues to ruminate, his fingers steepled in front of him, conferring with an unseen intelligence.

  “No,” he murmurs, still smiling slightly, “I detect a high probability that you have omitted some facts. I find this rather discourteous. Regardless,” he continues, holding up a hand to forestall Mirem, who looks like she's about to speak. “The point is somewhat moot. As contract employees, the provision of external security is an impossibility. Though you are, of course, welcome and encouraged to stay in our on-site accommodations.”

  He stands, and Lanis and Mirem follow suit, sharing a glance. “However, there is a chance that this may be remedied. Come, walk with me as I water,” he purrs.

  They follow behind Renfol as he walks to the far edge of the office-atrium, his movements languid, almost dream-like. He picks up a delicate bronze watering pot and begins to move along a row of flowering plants, their gene-altered stems rising nearly halfway to the ceiling. At the edge of her vision Lanis notices Reginold, Renfol’s hulking valet, lurking with his hands crossed demurely in front of him.

  “Have you heard of The Cauldron?” Renfol asks, his voice as smooth as the pouring water. “No, of course not," he simpers. "It’s a new idea, dreamed up by the executives of the Arena marketing board.”

  He sets the watering pot down, and plucks an unnaturally blue flower with his pale fingers. He inhales the scent deeply before continuing, smiling beatifically, his eyes once again unfocused.

  “Thirty Suits, dropped into one of the ruined nuclear exclusion-zone cities. A free-for-all among the slightly lesser-known corps, at least in regard to Suit combat. A survival of the fittest. I believe the term is battle-royale? Yes, that’s it. The top two pilots advance to the at-large brackets of the Premier Open. Of course, no one would expect that from you, Lanis—I’m sure we could provide full employee status to even a top-half finish, as well as a substantial bonus.”

  “The Cauldron? How did we not know about this?” Mirem says, her brow furrowed.

  Renfol smirks coquettishly. “Why, because it was a secret, of course,” he says. His smile drops away as quickly as it formed.

  “Truth be told, we’ve been angling to get a Suit in for the past several months. Fortuitously enough, I was just alerted just this prior night that our application has been successful, thanks in no small part to Murkata-Heisen’s maneuvering.”

  Renfol sighs and closes his eyes, again bringing the flower to his nose before continuing.

  “It is truly the perfect debut, as you will see once you review the rules. If we perform abysmally, which I do not expect, at least the royale format will give us some cover. And if, by some miracle, we perform well… well, that should give us a proper ranking. No need to participate in exhibition matches, or non Arena-sanctioned events to join the A League. Alas, now that we have a guaranteed spot, we need to work on making sure our Suit, and our pilot, are prepared. And we don’t have much time, given the unexpected success of our application, though I have long assured the Cauldron’s board that we would be ready.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “How long do we have?” Lanis says, speaking for the first time.

  Renfol holds up two long, pale fingers, smiling again. This time he shows his teeth, numerous, small and glittering.

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Ether exclaims, as their combat module loads up in the Sim pod.

  “I know, it’s insane,” Lanis replies.

  She’s been hearing that a lot today, not only from Sander, who looked like he was on the cusp of a heart attack when Lanis saw him on the hangar floor, but also in the glances of every technician and armor specialist that she passes. Only Ash, surprisingly, has seemed to have taken the news in stride; perhaps it’s because the woman is already working as hard as she can.

  “So, what are the details? What are we going to be using?” Ether is practically vibrating with eagerness. They haven’t yet fully integrated in this session, so they’re lounging in the small meadow of Lanis’ dream-construct, Ether’s short black hair messily blowing in the imagined breeze. She doesn’t wear her white t-shirt stuffed into black pants anymore, like the first time Lanis met her, but rather a Versk pilot jacket over a form-fitting blue uniform. She looks like a modeling agency’s idea of a roguish Heavy Insertion Unit pilot.

  “Wait until you hear about this,” Lanis replies. Then she sends across the full details of the Cauldron’s rules.

  Having already reviewed the rules herself, Lanis can understand why Versk was eager to enter into the competition. The Armored Suits that corporations design and sponsor in the Arena Games have only a few core parameters that they must meet: the pilot pod, for instance, is strictly regulated, along with the weapons systems, which can’t be able to breach the pod. However, beyond this, the corps are allowed free rein to design their Suits. Sander wasn’t joking on the first day that Lanis met him that much of Versk’s designs still leave much to be desired. As he told her when she first met him, Versk has decided to use Murkata-Heisen’s tech to flesh out a competition-worthy Suit, especially with the weapons-systems, but what they’ve sent over is two generations out of date.

  In The Cauldron, however, the weapon load-out will be standardized, as well as the weapon attachment systems. This is to allow for one of the more unique ideas of the competition.

  Weapon drops.

  Apparently, littered about the dead city will be an entire arsenal of weapons systems that any Suit will be able to interchange with its own. Not only that, but nano-bot repair kits, drone systems, detection relays… the list goes on. According to the Cauldron’s prospectus, this will create a “riveting environment of exploration and combat!” As if this wasn’t enough, the area of the battle will slowly shrink over time to prevent any skulking. Any Suit caught outside of the combat zone will find its systems remotely powered down, a dead husk awaiting evac.

  Lanis watches as Ether’s expression shifts—curiosity, realization, then something close to pure glee.

  “This is…” she breathes, eyes wide, “so cool.”

  The standardization makes sense in other ways, too, since most of the Suits entering this competition are from lesser-known corps. All of the heavy-hitters from the Arena A League already qualified for the Premier Open, or other League competitions.

  Then there's the small fact that the competition will be held in a nuclear exclusion zone. The dead city still has a few rather unfortunate hot-spots from Unification War days.

  “Yeah, ‘cool’ is one word for it,” Lanis dryly replies, reading through her own data overlay. Ether flops back into the grass of the dream-construct, folding her arms behind her head.

  “Come on, don’t pretend you’re not excited. A scavenger hunt for weapons? Combat zones shrinking over time? It’s like one of those old battle-sim scenarios. No wonder Versk was desperate to get in.”

  “Desperate enough to throw us into it with two weeks of prep,” Lanis mutters.

  Ether tilts her head, studying her. “We’ve already had three weeks. More than enough time. Don’t tell me you’re worried about that.”

  Lanis exhales, glancing at the gleeful AI beside her. “No, though maybe I should be.”

  She sits down next to Ether on the imagined grass, and they begin to examine the dossier that Versk has already prepared on the Cauldron’s rules together. The Suits will be twenty-five tonners, with the initial weapons load-out limited to a kinetic rifle with a hundred impact rounds and an A.R.M. blade.

  The real wildcard is the battlefield itself. She pulls up the Cauldron’s topographical data—what little there is. A sprawling, half-destroyed metropolis, parts of it still riddled with radiation hot-spots. More buildings are partially collapsed, their skeletal remains forming a labyrinth of cover and verticality. Using the terrain will be key, along with early access to the best system modules; but where they’ll be is anyone’s guess.

  She overlays the map with predicted radiation hot-spots based on Unification War records. The city saw a lot of combat, and it’s littered with damaged micro-reactors that were all the vogue in powering war machines back then. Likely most of them haven't been mapped... and the data suggests that some zones might be best avoided, Adamite-shielded pilot pod or no.

  Lanis covertly watches Ether. The AI is practically beaming.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you too,” Lanis says, grimacing. “Something that could possibly concern us both.”

  “Here, it’s easier if I just show you.” She reaches her arm around Ether, pulling the constructed woman close, and replays the previous night in the privacy of her own mind: Peter Seto’s visit, his warning, the hammering fear in Lanis’ heart, and their arrival to the Versk complex.

  When she’s done, Ether turns to her. The excitement is gone, replaced by something colder, and more calculating.

  She smirks, and then gives Lanis a sharp-toothed grin: “Well, I guess we better show them not to mess with us then.”