Riven (Mirus 2)

“What’s the power source here?” he asked.

“There are solar panels and wind generators that tie in to our tiny power grid. We do a lot of stuff the old-fashioned way, but power tools make repairs and building considerably easier and faster, and we’ve got security features rivaling Area 51.”

Ian noted some of them as they walked. Subtle cameras placed to keep an eye on all the public spaces. Cleverly camouflaged satellites to scan for any external power signatures. There would be jammers to mask their own electronic signals. And he could feel the subtle hum of magic that made a perimeter around the town. Similar to the magic he used to secure his own safe house but on a much larger, much stronger scale.

“How exactly is all this tech being paid for?” he asked.

“Oh, well, remember that drakyn I said ran off all the miners?” The shaman grinned. “Turns out there’s still gold in them there hills, and it fetches a pretty price on the open market.”

The dozen or so people they passed all smiled and waved in welcome. Ian figured that was largely for Marley, but still, it was a strange sensation.

“How many people are here?” he asked.

“Year round, a couple hundred. We have a surge from time to time. Some go, but a lot choose to stay.”

“And do what?” Marley asked. “I mean…it’s so far from everything. What do you all do here?”

“Same kinds of things people did before the world got all digital and over-connected. We live. Work. Play.”

“And apparently stage the occasional rescue?” she put in, shooting a meaningful glance at Ian. “I would presume that’s what the Underground is about. Like an Underground Railroad for Mirus society?”

“Something along those lines. The Underground movement isn’t quite as cohesive as that. There are many cells around the world. Big, small, and everything in-between. Each one is run differently, with different aims. Some are…more extreme in their politics than others. We don’t get involved in that sort of thing if we can help it. Most of us went through some kind of hell to get here, so we’re pacifists unless provoked.”

Ian caught sight of Marley’s father standing with Tara outside the hotel. “And Harm is what, exactly, in all of this?”

“For all intents and purposes, he’s our Alpha. We operate a lot like a pack.” Corin lifted his arm in a wave to catch Harm’s attention. “He calls the shots, keeps us safe. Has been for twenty years.”

A man who takes his duty seriously, thought Ian as Harm headed toward them. One who’d almost single-handedly provided the information to take down a global crime ring and successfully kept a group of this scale hidden from the Council, without, it seemed, unnecessary bloodshed. Harm was apparently as full of unexpected surprises as his daughter.

“You slept well, I trust?” Harm asked.

“Yes, thanks.” At his side, Marley shifted toward him, a faint haze of unease forming around her. Ian squeezed her hand in support.

“You’ll be wanting something to eat, I imagine. Milan’s got the makings for a full breakfast waiting at the saloon. Or lunch, if you prefer.” He gestured expansively back up the street, waited for them to fall into step.

Though Harm spoke with easy hospitality, Ian didn’t miss the watchful gaze. He wondered how quickly the amiability would disappear when the Felis found out that Marley intended to go with him.

The saloon was exactly what it sounded like. Full-on old West bar, with twenty-odd tables and a small stage flanked with bordello red curtains. The only thing it lacked was the swinging doors at the entrance. Someone had made an effort to spruce the place up from what it had likely been during its inception. Potted plants lined the front by the windows, and the plank walls had been whitewashed, brightening the otherwise dim space. The long bar dividing the public space from the kitchens was a deep, gleaming walnut. Ian could just imagine a rowdy patron being tossed and sliding right along that glossy stretch.

As they took their seats, a tall woman with long, tawny eyes and a cap of dark hair emerged from the kitchen. She smiled at them, with a yellow sunburst of pleasure.

“Welcome! I’m Milan. What can I get you? Breakfast? Lunch? Do you have any food allergies? Anything I should know about? Oh, I’m so pleased to meet you, Marley. Harm’s talked so much about you.”

Marley blinked at the unexpected enthusiasm. “Thank you. And no, no food allergies. Were you, by chance, the one who made the coffee Corin brought us?”

“I am. Was it all right? Not too strong, was it? We tend to prefer it able to stand up and carry the mug itself.”

“You are a goddess,” said Marley.

“Wait ’til you taste her cooking,” said Corin.

Milan’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, well I’m glad you liked it. There’s more, if you want.”

“Yes please. And anything you feel like fixing to eat is fine with me. I think the last time we had a proper meal was…well I’m not sure. What day is it?”

Concern popped off Milan in peach streamers. Mouth firming, she declared, “Well you won’t be hungry when you leave. Back in a jiff.”

Harm watched her glide into the kitchen, obvious affection on his face.