Kahraban did not know what it was.

That’s not exactly true. It knew that it was a mobile Anthic, its mind engineered with a pronoun-enforced devotion to its clients. It must refer to itself in the third person, as it is right now, and refer to its client in the first person.

This feature was intended to solve the “agency dilemma,” when an agent of a client might find itself torn between protecting its own interests and those of the client. By designing an Anthic to think of itself as “it” and the client as “I,” the oldtech engineers hoped to overcome this problem.

As Kahraban can attest, this doesn’t always work the way it was intended. Self-preservation, even when subsumed by pronoun-enforced agency in an Anthic’s suite of designed instincts, is a powerful thing.

Pronoun-enforced devotion also makes reports and narratives a little hard to follow. Kahraban apologizes for that. For example, at the beginning of this narrative (which is three years in the past) Kahraban had no client. So, there was no “I” in the strictest design sense. It was between cases, looking for a client.

Or, more honestly, waiting for a client to come along on my own.

See? There’s the pronoun rule. Kahraban cannot help it.

≈

Kahraban did not know what it was in the sense that it does not know the original design purpose of its model of Anthic. It certainly wasn’t designed to be a travel agent, for hire to guide people through the wild interurban, even though that is the trade it found itself in.

Anthics, as well as the Humans and Humanoids who employed them, came from some other world many centuries ago. When we all arrived, there were no cities, so technically there was no interurban. The entire planet was wild. We had to create cities, and creating cities transformed the wild into the interurban.

Before it implies something unintended, let Kahraban clarify that it is not old enough to remember the Arrival. Although some Anthics are. For certain the oldtech hearths that Human sages still use to generate new Anthics. Those all were part of the original shipment, thus “oldtech.”

Kahraban was generated about forty years ago by an oldtech sage from a bit of archived code hidden away in the memory of a hearth. Even the sage who generated it had no idea what that code was for. It was extremely old code dumped into the hearth long before the Arrival.

“What is it?” were Kahraban’s first words upon emerging. It glanced around at the new world it found itself in. The hearth behind it looked out of place, like a huge bulbous sea creature with an open maw at one end, beached in a cold, rocky gorge among the snow-capped mountains where the sages live. An old Human was sitting on a wooden chair in front of the hearth, looking amused and not answering the question.

“What is it?” Kahraban repeated in another language. It had been conscious for some time during gestation, asking itself that question over and over, in all of the languages it was designed to understand, with no satisfactory answer. Now there was another to ask.

“What is what?” the oldtech sage responded.

“This Anthic.”

The sage nodded, probably having seen pronoun-enforced agency before.

“I do not know,” he said with a smile stretching his mottled beard. Kahraban did not understand why he’d find his own ignorance amusing. It didn’t know much about sages at that time, only having been born a few moments before.

“But,” the old man said, “we can spend a few weeks and figure it out before you’re on your own.”

It was not figured out.

Kahraban was a mobile Anthic, which means it could move around (which the hearths could not) and thus required an independent mind. And, it was Humanoid, meaning it looked generally like a Human, unlike some mobile Anthics which looked more like insects or wagons.

Being a Humanoid mobile, Kahraban was clearly designed for interacting with Humans. But how? For what purpose? Clearly something that required strict client-agent ethics. Also, something that required a curious, analytical mind. That, it can attest, was often a burden. Overthinking is a constant peril.

Perhaps a diplomatic Anthic? Kahraban was a bit too cynical, stubborn, and cranky for that. That also ruled out mercantile roles.

That’s not to say it didn’t do a good business. Kahraban has always done a good business. Not always as a travel agent.

Okay, one last detail it knew about itself. Its body and mind were designed to imitate Humans, but they also had an in-built toggle that allowed Kahraban to switch between male and female modes.

Its pelvis, shoulders, genitals, chest, and facial structure were designed to adjust to the toggle. Simulated fat swelled or retreated as appropriate. Bones moved in or out to make its body appear more feminine or masculine to Humans. And, to feel more masculine or feminine to Kahraban.

Its cognition shifted subtly as well, appreciating itself and others in different ways. Internally, this was an intriguing dualism. Externally, particularly during the early years when Kahraban was finding its way in Human society, this toggled dualism provided a steady source of income.

As a male, it called itself “Kahro.” As a female, it called itself “Bani.” This was mostly to convince Humans and Humanoids of the gender presentation. After all, Kahraban knew that “Kahraban” is a dull and unsexy name, and that would not do in its previous line of work.

And, not to brag, but it was aesthetically well-designed. It had a mesomorphic body shape that adapted well to both masculine and feminine presentations. Its Anthic skin was amber and its eyes were golden, thus obviously not Human (all mobile Anthics had some distinctive coloration to mark them as artificial beings), but Humans didn’t seem to mind when business got down to business.

Still, as enjoyable as those years were, Kahraban matured. Or, it wearied of the shallow indulgence. The money had been adequate and the sex had been good but, as mentioned, it was a cranky and cynical Anthic. Ultimately, it needed something more meaningful as a career.

So, it had elected to follow a master travel agent, learn the trade, and set itself up as a private interurbanist. This seemed very glamorous to Kahraban. At first. Then again, as during its first career as a professional paramour, Kahraban grew cynical and cranky again.

Maybe it was time to find a third career. But first, the narrative of its latest case.

≈

As an interurban guide, Kahraban could usually identify a bad client long before they actually become its client. They’d mutter through their request, hesitant to reveal the nastier details, or bluster a bit too eagerly about how easy it’s all going to be. They’re not the experts, Kahraban is (otherwise why would they be trying to hire it?), but even amateurs can sense when what they want to do is a Bad Idea.

And, despite their best efforts to cover it up, it shows.

See? Kahraban can refer to rejected prospective clients in the third person. Sometimes, the pronoun protocol has intriguing quirks.

Every month or so, some urbanite decides he or she or it wants to hire Kahraban to lead them through the wild interurban in some direction not served by railroads. To be fair, the rails were selective in which towns and cities they connected. The Minyune who run them are more interested in using their steam-driven newtech to gather coin than to help Humans and Humanoids achieve their own goals.

Never mind that the Minyune are themselves Humanoids. Gold notoriously weighs more than blood, and even more than whatever that yellowish stuff is that leaks out of Anthics when you stab them. “Fluid” it’s called, generically. Even sages aren’t entirely sure what it is.

For the record, Kahraban has never stabbed another Anthic. It first witnessed “fluid” when an Anthic friend skinned her knee during a game of Jumps. Bani later witnessed it when she (it) was servicing a particularly sadistic client, then Kahro witnessed it while he (it) was leading embarrassingly clumsy Anthic clients through the interurban.

By the way, most of those Anthic clients survived, despite our stupidity and thanks to Kahraban’s efforts. It had a choice between pronouns there, since we (they) are no longer clients. Kahraban chose to make a point.

Back to its main point: Kahraban is a friend to fellow Anthics, so don’t waste your energies boycotting its business on the suspicion that Kahraban is an Anthic tainted by Human supremacist stealth code.

Where was the narrative? Oh, yes. The inadequacy of Minyune rail connections.

Most towns had two or, at most, three lines connecting them to other urban places. A large city might be lucky enough to have four. Over the past couple centuries of Minyune newtech industrialism, the rails connected markets (and Minyune mines) in a vast trade network that undoubtedly made everyone richer.

But, wealth wasn’t the only goal for the non-Minyune wanting to hire Kahraban, who often got themselves caught up in feuds, vendettas, and tragic romances that defied all thoughts of profit. Or thoughts of reason.

So, every month or so, Kahraban had to listen to some Human (or, less often, a Yuni or Anthic or other type of Humanoid) spill some sordid drama they wanted it to help them sort out by leading them through the interurban, that wilderness of overgrown avenues, abandoned cities, never-settled cities, and various other constructions that had been set up by oldtech Builders untold centuries ago when we first came to this planet.

And, how prospective clients would usually come along with their ridiculous quests, Kahraban’s latest clients arrived while it was drinking in a tavern called the Red Gamesman, trying hard not to attract the attention of prospective clients with ridiculous quests.

≈

Let Kahraban interject something at this point. Sure, the Builder Anthics had transformed the world, sent out on their own volition after the Arrival, like giant beetles, to set up the foundations of a civilization that Followers were expected to fill in. Follower Humans, Humanoids, Anthics. They spliced together the wilderness regions with their roads and aqueducts and dikes and empty buildings, carved from stone and built up from bricks and concrete. They cleared fields for farms and orchards and pastures.

But, the Followers never caught up to their relentless industry. Yeah, they took over some of the Builder-made towns and farms, made them work, put homes and taverns and offices in ready-made buildings. Still, most of what the Builders built was (largely) reclaimed by the fields and forests.

Over the centuries, the Followers (largely) forgot how the oldtech worked, and the Follower Minyune—a biologically engineered Humanoid focused on the sturdier physical and mental characteristics of Humans—eventually developed their steam- and gunpowder-driven newtech to connect the world, in a less relentless yet more cynical fashion than the Builders. The Minyune connected the world mostly with lucrative mines, lucrative forges, lucrative powdermills, and supremely lucrative rail lines.

Still, those ancient Builder roads remained in the wilderness, known only to travel agents like Kahraban who hire themselves out to vengeful or lovelorn clients whose quests the Minyune rails won’t accommodate. This was Kahraban’s realm, the interurban. Its treks through the interurban earned it coin the way rail-borne trains earned the Minyune coin.

As mentioned, Kahraban is a travel agent, a private interurbanist or PI, often called a “pathfinder” even though that’s a misnomer.

Kahraban doesn’t find paths. It’s paid to know the paths, and to know the dangers along those paths, including the dangers of the intrigues clients bring into the case. It never was a “pathfinder.” It was shown the paths while following Master Riesald, a Human travel agent, on his cases. It learned the paths. It didn’t find them.

And, having witnessed its Master’s cases firsthand, including the one that got him killed, Kahraban knew a bad case when it heard one. Usually.

≈

Kahraban was, as usual, drinking in the Red Gamesman—the tavern’s name a reference to Stratagem, a board for which was painted in crimson on every table and for which pieces and dice would be provided, for a price.

Kahraban did not have a partner in Stratagem on this day, although it does occasionally indulge the game. It was not in the mood that day, having just completed a particularly frustrating case for a client who had insisted it hire a squad of security henchmen for a stealthy vendetta against a man who had eloped with the client’s sister.

The henchmen were, as they often are, insubordinate and profligate, and the case was on shaky moral and legal ground. The woman had gone willingly, albeit with a lover from a despicable family who trafficked in wild Sylvan slaves in the sex trade.

The client was from an abolitionist family, strictly opposed to any trade in slaves. And, abolition was a touchy political subject pitting not only family against family, but community against community.

The whole affair threatened to spark an inter-city war—something the Minyune would gleefully welcome as an opportunity to ship arms and conscripts—and it resulted in all of Kahraban’s hired men either losing their lives in a laughably undignified manner or getting themselves captured and likely sold off as slaves to the wild Tryllans, who seemed to enjoy making male humans their concubines.

But, Kahraban’s client got my (his) revenge. The slaver husband, and the traitorous sister, were done away with. Brutally and bloodily. And, Kahraban got paid.

Still, despite being flush with coin, this Anthic was in a foul mood. The case had been unsavory. The tavern was alive with talk of political conflict driven by the consequences of the case, slavers and abolitionists donning their respective yellow and red ribbons on their chests, clerical sermons—for and against—being quoted in zealous fashion.

Kahraban fully expected a brawl to break out. It was sitting in a dark corner, hoping to finish at least three mugs of cider before violence required it to find another hole to hole up in. Or before someone figured out that the Anthic sitting in the dark corner was the PI who had lead the abolitionist client to the slaver city to commit a vicious double murder.

It might bear mentioning that Kahraban was a particularly sophisticated mobile Anthic whose metabolism relied on the intake of food and drink. Many Anthics are solar-powered or driven by magnetic conduction or heat.

Not Kahraban. It not only needed food and drink like any Human, but it enjoyed both. Good food, just like good sex, brought it pleasure. Alcohol eased its cognitive anxieties. So, it indulged regularly. On this night, it needed the easing, so it had ordered a particularly strong cider.

And, on Kahraban’s third or fourth mug of cider, that’s when Elijim Ana walked into the Red Gamesman, followed immediately by Torothy Ung.

They did not belong there. The Gamesman was a haven for definitively rough hunters, seamen, and dock hands from the wharves of Lengaya; pretentiously rough college youths from the Diversity and Seminary; and grandiose artisans with a pretentious air of non-roughness.

Elijim looked like an accountant’s son, white jacket and tan breeches a little too well-tailored, white hair a little too close-cropped. Torothy looked like a diplomat’s daughter, black tights and blouse marking her as a Neutralist, pretentious henna face spiral and over-braided ginger hair signaling her favor for other women.

Kahraban has to admit, that was intriguing even though it was presenting male as Kahro that night.

The disputing regulars hardly noticed their entrance. The barkeep and Kahraban were duly attentive, however. And this attention was not unrewarded. The two outsiders scanned the room and set eyes on Kahro, sitting alone (but not lonely) in the dark corner and actively spewing an air of not wanting to be bothered.

Once the two set their annoyingly laced boots in Kahraban’s (Kahro’s) direction—who wears laced boots in Lengaya?—the barkeep lifted his eyebrows at Kahro. He tilted his head toward the barkeep, who nodded wearily. The barkeep then snapped his fingers at the serving man, who was just setting a full bottle of ale next to several empty bottles on the table of raging scholars who clearly needed sobering.

“Mr. Kahro,” the boy said, bowing slightly.

Kahro kicked the opposite chair out from the table. The boy grimaced at the scraping noise, but sat. Kahro nudged a side chair out with his knee. The girl took it with a frown.

The serving man moved up behind the boy’s shoulder and looked at Kahro expectantly.

“Another cider,” Kahro said, lifting the dregs of the current cider, “and whatever they want.”

“Porter,” the girl said without hesitation.

The boy’s face twisted in indecision. “Do you have a bubbly wine?”

The serving man set a hand on the boy’s shoulder and nodded enthusiastically.

“Several. Including a particularly good vintage out of Rominica.”

“I’ll take the bottle,” the boy said. He turned to Kahro sheepishly. “This is all on me. I wish to hire you.”

“Of course.”

As the serving man shuffled off, the two interlopers shared a look. In the background, a collar was grabbed, a mug of ale was overturned, and several accusations of heresy were leveled.

The girl’s knuckles rapped the table twice, near the corner of the painted Stratagem board.

“We want you to take us to the Dusky Mountains. To the oldtech sages.”

The boy gave her a resigned look and then nodded at Kahro to confirm. Clearly, the case was his but she was the aggressive one.

“Kahro,” he said, carefully avoiding problematic pronouns but pointing at himself, “as you obviously know. A private interurbanist.”

That was an invitation to introductions. As Kahro expected, the girl gathered this before the boy.

“I am Torothy Ung,” she said, “but I go by Tori. This is Elijim Ana, son of Flank Ana, chief financial officer to the Equine Federation.”

The boy was the son of an accountant. Called it.

“I go by Jim,” the boy said.

Kahro turned to Tori.

“Who are you the daughter of?”

Her face twisted.

“My parents are professors at the Diversity. Economics and history.”

“So,” he said, “you know what the interurban is like. From whichever parent is the history professor.”

She was annoyed at that insight. But, she nodded.

“So,” Kahro continued, “you know that the road to the oldtech sages in the Dusky Mountains takes us through Sylvan and Tryllan territory, and that the sages are reticent to use their oldtech to indulge the whims of visitors.”

She glanced at Jim, who frowned.

She said: “We have a compelling request.”

“You want a weapon,” Kahro guessed, without much evidence to that effect. He had seen the serving man approaching with a plate of drinks, and was given to whimsy by the thought of yet another cider. The server set Kahro’s full mug, Tori’s full mug, and Jim’s full bottle and a delicate, empty glass on the table. He retreated with a decorous bow.

“No,” Tori said. She leaned her head toward Jim, her eyes intense.

The boy sighed and his shoulders dropped. He was clearly accustomed to surrendering to her insistence.

“I want to hire a,” he struggled with the word. “A girlsmith.”

Ah, now that was interesting. There is no such thing as a “girlsmith.” But, among the sages in the Dusky Mountains maintaining the oldtech hearths that still produced their ancient wares, those who craft Humanoid Anthics were particularly sought after.

Sure, the weaponsmiths were plied for their powerful oldtech guns, and the armorsmiths for similar martial ends. The personsmiths were usually plied to provide Anthic guardians and soldiers, typically in squads. But, the personsmiths were also eagerly sought out to provide Anthic females who could be assigned as subservient concubines or sex slaves.

In this context, the personsmiths were often mislabeled “girlsmiths.”

To be fair, the personsmiths mistakenly called “mansmiths” provided their share of Anthics designed to indulge sexual desires for those who preferred men. And, the “boysmiths” were also eagerly patronized. But, just behind the weaponsmiths and armorsmiths, the “girlsmiths” were the overall favorites.

Kahraban’s own birthing sage had been a personsmith. It wondered momentarily how that sage would receive Jim’s request.

“Can you lead us?” Tori asked.

“Can Kahro lead you?” he echoed her, again avoiding pronouns. “Yes. Will Kahro lead you? That depends on the salary.”

Tori again sent Jim an intense look. He swallowed and straightened his white jacket.

“I can offer you fifty Minyune a day,” he said, “and fifteen hundred upon success.”

That … Kahro concealed his emotions, lifting the cider to take a sip, then setting it calmly on the corner of the Stratagem board opposite that which Tori had tapped at the beginning of our conversation.

That … was a considerable salary. Kahraban could comfortably fill his (or her) gut with cider for a year on that money without being tempted to take another case.

“How,” Kahro said as evenly as he could muster, “do you define success?”

Jim glanced at Tori, whose face was implacable. He was forced to take the lead. He did not like it.

“Success means that the girlsmith agrees to create an Anthic according to my specifications.”

Kahro nodded and took another drink.

“And, what are those specifications?”

The boy resisted an impulse to glance at Tori for confirmation. Kahro doubted she would have indulged him. She didn’t seem to like being his fist.

“Those are for me and the sage to know.”

That was annoying but, given the usual weirdness of requests for girlsmiths, perfectly understandable. Who knows what perverse desires this boy had, privy only to his closest friend in Tori?

“Have you ever ventured into the interurban?” Kahro was using the second person pronoun, since he hadn’t agreed to take on this boy as a client.

The boy shook his head.

“No. All I know of it is from Tori, through her father.”

So, her father was the history professor. Kahro put that in his internal case file.

“You know the path leads through hostile lands,” Kahro said. “The Sylvans in the forest and Tryllans in the foothills of the Duskies.”

The boy glanced at Tori, who frowned and nodded.

“I do.”

He sounded like a nervous bridegroom which, given his quest for a girlsmith, was likely quite appropriate.

Kahro was hesitant to suggest what he felt compelled to suggest. This case incurred interurban dangers which could be mitigated by greater manpower. Kahro had not enjoyed good experiences with hired help. Still, having henchmen who could absorb damage intended for him or the clients might help earn that ultimate salary.

“Would you like some extra manpower?” Kahro asked. “It would increase the cost, to pay the hired men.”

Jim looked at Tori and shrugged. She looked at the ceiling. She was stubborn, and Kahro didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried about that. Behind them, a sailor shoved a dock hand, sending him stumbling into a wall. Some students restrained the sailor while others helped the dock hand up off the floor. The conflict was escalating to the point that Kahro wanted to be somewhere else.

“That might be best,” Jim said. “How much?”

Kahro thought about it. Thought about guys he might recruit, those he knew were currently in Lengaya. Most of them were less than ideal. Others were solid. Even the solid ones weren’t worth much, but they’d work for even less than what they were worth.

“Ten per day per man,” Kahro decided.

Encouragingly, Jim nodded without hesitation. His father must have been quite a wealthy accountant.

“So, like five men,” he said.

“Five men should do it,” Kahro said. He had been thinking more like ten men. But, five men might do it.

Tori slapped her hands on the table. The sound made Jim wince and earned us a few glances from around the room.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” she stated.

Kahro shook his head and casually lifted the cider to his mouth.

“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow. Kahro will spend tomorrow recruiting henchmen.”

Tori sneered and shook her head. Yes, she was going to be the problem case.

Kahro drained the new cider and set the mug heavily on the table.

“Jim and Tori have drinks to finish.” This Anthic avoided the pronouns to disguise the fact that he had all but decided to take on Jim as a client.

Kahro glanced at her untouched porter and my (his) unpoured bottle of wine. They (we?) followed Kahro’s eyes and seemed eager to drink.

“Kahro needs to go have conversations. We’ll meet here again the morning after tomorrow.”

≈

Kahro did not have the promised conversations that night. It (he) retreated into a non-toggled mode, features fading into androgyny, and returned to the Invasion Inn, where it had a room reserved.

The place was an antique nostalgia sink, decorated with memorabilia to the Arrival of Humans and their Humanoid partners in our world, the dispatch of the autonomous Builders, and our subsequent abandonment by the oldtech ancients from other worlds and the struggles we faced as we resigned ourselves to the abandonment of our world by those who had colonized it.

This was the origin of the interurban that Kahraban was professionally dedicated to navigating. Who knew why our world was abandoned, the betrayed promise of being a stepping-stone to the stars and other worlds?

As mentioned, the Builders had relentlessly plowed across the surface, driven by their programming, setting up prospective roads and cities. We had struggled to fill in this infrastructure with civilization. We had failed. The untamed wilderness (largely) took back those roads and empty cities, leaving us to strive in our isolated urban centers, later linked by Minyune railroads in their obsession with commerce.

Yet, no Minyune rails connected to the Dusky Mountains. There were not enough valuable ores there to justify Minyune mines, no cities to support markets. The oldtech sages were often sought-after, but their reticence to indulge the desires of outsiders made them a bad market.

Kahraban had little expectation of earning Elijim’s fifteen hundred Minyune coins. But it was an enticement. The daily wage alone overcame the hesitation to take on his dubious case.

At the worst, Jim’s request of the sages would be rejected as absurd or immoral. Kahraban would have to lead two sulky Lengayan kids back home under a cloud of disappointment. At best, this Anthic would be set up for a year.

As Kahraban stepped into its room at the Invasion Inn, Jim’s case seemed a simple job.

Kahraban locked the door behind itself, and thought of the case. The paths to the Dusky Mountains were treacherous. It needed to choose between three or four roads, some following dikes that could flood roads given a heavy rain uphill.

There was also the threat of Sylvan and Tryllan Humanoids to consider. Sylvans in the woods were crafty, stealthy, and resentful of Human incursions, but they could be reasoned with. Bought off with carefully selected trade goods. They didn’t work iron or gunpowder or gems—Minyune goods—and could be bribed.

Kahraban would need to stock up.

The Tryllans were a more difficult obstacle. Once we rose into the foothills of the Duskies, those monstrous Humanoids would become a problem. They didn’t trade, except in slaves. Kahraban might buy some off by turning over a few henchmen (yes, it is an awful person for considering that) but the Tryllans might also elect to take slaves by force. That outcome was less than optimal.

And, the sages. Working the remnants of oldtech that lingered from the Arrival, they could be particularly stubborn about indulging the requests of naive urbanites.

Kahraban really wanted that pay-out. Yet, it was still in the dark about what Jim ultimately wanted. This was an annoying factor in the case. If Kahraban wanted to help its clients achieve their objective, it would need to dig that goal out of them before we reached the sages. Help them frame it in the best way, seduce the sages.

As Kahraban lay in bed, it considered the men for hire it knew in Lengaya, it considered the goods it might trade with the Sylvans, and it considered the details of payment. Should it press Elijim to transfer the daily wages beforehand, just in case things went sideways?

It had a feeling Torothy would balk at that. But, still, this was a standard practice among private interurbanists.

There were two Minyune rail lines that crossed our path. Kahraban could suggest we take one of these and move safely ahead on our path, allowing us to avoid some rather brutal Sylvan forests.

But, both of these rail lines took us through slaver cities, Nove and Flankes, which could be militant against the generally abolitionist sentiments of Lengaya. We could be obstructed by politics. All due to the fall-out of Kahraban’s last case.

Fuck. Being a travel agent was complicated.

As Kahraban drifted off, it resolved itself to hire Kayt and his comrades. They were violent, and hated negotiating with the Sylvans, but they were good in a fight. There were also a couple of pretty boys who would be good sacrifices if we bumped into Tryllans.

Kahraban would also need to stock up on gunpowder and guns. These could either be traded to the Sylvans for safe passage or provide resources to fight. To hell with Minyune gems and gold, which could buy off the Sylvans but were otherwise useless.

And, Kahraban needed to press Jim on his ultimate goal. This Anthic knew the sages, from its emergence and during its days following Master Riesald. It knew their obscure philosophies and prejudices about using the oldtech.

Above all else, the sages strove to avoid disrupting things in any way that might interfere with their devotion to maintaining the ancient hearths that produced oldtech weapons, armors, and Anthic persons. They were so dedicated to studying and perfecting their mastery of the oldtech that they created more products out of exploration than for requests by questing urbanites. They were attended by legions of subservient mobile Anthics and often wore impressive armor.

Kahraban needed to know its clients better. Or, its primary client Jim and secondary client Tori. They smelled of trouble. Kahraban should have rejected their case. But, something about their earnestness had overcome its instincts.