“Regardless of the reason, let’s start from where we are.” Elina placed a terminal on a table and it projected a holographic map onto the wall behind her. The girl placed a finger on the icon in the far north, pointing to Birchshell. A great mountain range separated it from the areas closer to Iterna, tapering to the southeast and leading into the Ravaged Lands and the Wastes. “We are here. As you can see...” a series of army bases flashed on the map, leading in a zigzag line to Stonehelm. “...our path takes us above the Oathtakers’ perimeter. We could’ve been in Stonehelm under the hour, but I suppose they don’t want to lose us anymore, given what’s happened.” She let the laughter fade and tapped on the wall, attracting attention. “It is high time we learned about the local people. How many of you have ever met a member of the Insectoid Commune or a troll before?”

  “The first time I saw them was during the mission,” Vasily declared.

  “We met members of the commune in juvie.” Rowen exchanged glances with Jumail. “Looks aside, perfectly normal people, if a bit abrasive.”

  “Then some explanations are in order,” Elina said. “Trolls are the first group of Abnormals who met the Oathtakers shortly after the Extinction. Through some quirk of evolution, they had gained impressive regeneration. And by impressive, I mean that short of having their brains ripped out, they don’t die. Of course, there are limitations; if a troll happens to lose an entire body and is left with only a head, he or she will die within a few hours or days.”

  “Why is that?” Ratcatcher asked. “If your body can regenerate itself, shouldn’t you just regrow the lost parts?”

  “Calories.” Vasily said, stuffing himself with pizza. He noticed Esmeralda’s empty tray and put some more food in it, along with refiling glasses for everyone. “Unlike a power or a good old-fashioned nanomachine restoration, the trolls rely on their body’s reserves to regenerate. It’s a finite resource...” He slapped Carlos’ hand away before the boy could grab his pizza. “...and once it’s gone, bam! No more regeneration.”

  “It’s a simplistic answer, but you are right,” Elina agreed. “Trolls, as a whole, lack the means to express emotions. That doesn’t mean they can’t experience them!” She stopped Edward’s words. “Yes, I know you felt them, but the others didn’t. All their feelings are somehow locked inside their heads, and a troll can feel pure horror and at the same time maintaining a calm expression on their faces.”

  “No playing cards with them, got it.” Rowen’s words elicited another round of chuckles from the trainees.

  “In every other sense of the word, the trolls are just as ordinary as I or you,” Elina continued with a smile. “You might hear genuine emotions out of some of them, but that means that such individuals use compact voice modulators attached to their chords. It is…”

  “I’ll explain it!” Carlos raised a hand. Elina nodded gracefully and almost lunged at a plate in front of her, devouring food as Carlos spoke. “You see, the Barjoni family owns several companies all over Iterna. After relations were established with the other countries, we... I mean, the Barjonis decided to expand their sphere of influence. Weapons aside, the people of the wastes showed interest in exquisite clothing, perfume, medicine, jewelry, and the list goes on. Amidst this all, one of the Family subsidiaries produced this ingenious little thing.” Carlos took a square object out of his pocket. It fit comfortably in the palm of his hand and had a dynamic on both sides of the small metal box. The boy threw it up, caught it, and start talking. “Hi everyone, name’s Elina Vincent, and my favorite pastime is visiting nudist beaches and posting photos of them on my web page. Also, I enjoy dressing up as a furry and sneaking into the Wolf Tribe’s villages at night to…” Elina leapt across the table, grasping the device out of the laughing teen’s hands.

  Ratcatcher listened in awe. Carlos was speaking, but not even an echo of his voice could be heard! Instead, the device sucked in his every word in one dynamic, and the synthesized voice coming out of the other dynamic imitated Elina’s voice with perfect clarity. And it wasn’t a monotonous sound either! Human happiness and playfulness flowed seamlessly in every syllable.

  Augustus said nothing about the ruckus. Unlike soldiers in the army, who displayed professionalism and manners in everyday life, explorators had a slightly different role. They had to blend into any situation, find a common thing to joke about with a racist elite, and earn their trust before robbing them of anything dangerous. Or lend a hand or an ear to someone who has fallen on hard times, and learn more about the inner workings of the region. The only thing required of their moral character was to uphold Iternian ideals. Never undermine democracy in its crib. Do not harm children. Protect Iterna’s image. Complete a mission with less blood. So familiarity and bonding were encouraged, and special instructors worked with trainees, teaching them how to act and pretend.

  Explorators worked alone in the field, rarely forming teams of twos and threes. Some hired mercenaries to assist them, often helping those mercenaries gain Iternian citizenship in return. Others, such as Instructor Augustus, worked alone, escorting diplomatic missions to survey locations only to disappear and snatch the prize later. Several explorators even worked by proxy, never leaving Iterna’s borders and finding accomplices on site via the Net. No two were alike, and any style was welcome as long as the job got done.

  But the instructor’s eyes examined the trainees, and his ears listened to every word. If something goes awry, he will assume command.

  “Greetings everyone! I am Carlos, and I’m an idiot.” The device changed Elina’s voice to Carlos’ as the pouting trainee returned to her seat. “I never wash my hands and prefer to eat delicacies found in a trash bin.”

  “Hey, don’t project your kinks on me,” Carlos laughed. “Anyway, this device right here was made to help mute people. It went out of fashion sometime after cloning organs became widely available. Naturally, the military and the Shadows still used it, but how do you sell the voice modulator to the masses?”

  “By marketing it as a tool for singing songs?” Ratcatcher suggested. Noticing Esmi’s expression, she continued. “I mean, I am a terrible singer.”

  “Don’t steal my title,” Jumail chuckled.

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  “No, really!” She insisted. “If only you had heard me sing…”

  “We heard,” Esmeralda and Edward said in unison, “and we are fans of your songs, Thunderstreak.”

  Ratcatcher blushed, horrified at the realization that someone she knew had seen her perform and sing. Worse, that bastard Rowen picked up a terminal and started searching for it, gesturing for the others to listen. All she could do was sit there, pretending to be a troll, while the tip of her tail twitched nervously.

  “Hey, that’s not bad at all!” Elina said. “Why didn’t you start a singing career? Could’ve raked in millions by now! Wow, there’s even a message from the Elite on one of your songs!” the trainee gasped with envy.

  “Such a weird contradiction. An angelic voice coming out of a brutish visage…” Carlos pondered thoughtfully. “Lizzie, if you have finished marketing your songs, will you perform at the next New Year’s Eve? I’ll work things out with the Matriarch.”

  “Kill me,” Ratcatcher asked. Her damn mouth. Why is it always her damned mouth? They didn’t know!

  “Moving on. Ratcatcher…”

  “Eliza. You will address your fellow comrade as a human, Carlos,” Augustus interrupted, and the boy nodded, his eyes drooping. Ratcatcher wanted to speak up, but saw a thumbs down from Carlos. There was no point in fighting a losing battle.

  “Yes, of course. Eliza guessed correctly. Who wouldn’t want to sing as your favorite singer? But then our family faced an unexpected problem. And guess what that problem was?”

  “A terrorist attack!” Esmeralda suggested.

  “Copyright,” Jumail boomed, scratching pieces of potato off his mandibles into his mouth. “And it wasn’t an unexpected problem. This whole thing was a disaster in the making. I am genuinely baffled as to why none of your researchers thought about just what they were unleashing on the market.”

  “Bingo!” Carlos gave Jumail a high-five. “Singers started losing royalties, the music industry got poorer, and the government came down on us like a hawk, shutting down production. We... I mean, the Barjonis, kept the defensive contracts, but as for the civil ones, tough luck. And then a stroke of luck happened! You know how most of the major Abnormal groups have some sort of person who represents them? The Ice Fangs have their elders, the Orais have their interlopers, the Supreme Shaman of the Wolfkins attended the historic signing of the peace treaty between the great nations, and so on… A group of trolls’ representatives learned about this device and decided, huh, it can help us! Without going into details, the government gave us permission, but made us install special software to prevent the synthesizing of famous singers’ voices”. He switched on the voice and said: “Planet, this is Eliza Vong, and I am a fan of...” He stopped when his own voice came out of the device.

  “Can I be unregistered?” Ratcatcher whispered. If… No, when Liam learns of it. Planet, she’ll face all the teasing! Nothing will save her! Why did she sign those papers? Why did she agree to participate… Oh, right, the credits.

  “Barjoni Multimedia had opened a branch in the Oathtakers’ lands, and trade flourished.” Carlos jumped at the table, gesturing with his arms above his head. “Trolls, some of their kind, either bought compact modulators or visited a medical center to have them surgically implanted amidst their vocal cords. Imagine what a glorious future could be borne out of cooperation between the Family and the Oathtakers. But alas, a most heinous and unpredictable betrayal has occurred. Ah, you will never guess what it was…”

  “Bad guys invaded!” Esmeralda suggested.

  “The Trolls reverse-engineered the voice modulators,” Vasily said. “What? It’s what I would’ve done.”

  “Yes….” Carlos hissed. “They stole…”

  “Reverse-engineered them to make them cheaper,” Edward corrected him.

  “Reverse-engineered!” Carlos raised his voice and slammed his back against the seat. “How can you even use this word?! Their own version of the device is crude, inelegant, unpleasant to the eye, prone to breaking shortly after a year, and requires constant maintenance! Barjoni Multimedia values its reputation; our Iternian goods could work for decades! Cheaper... What good is it if you end up spending the same amount just to maintain the damn thing?”

  “You’re just salty that others are making a profit.” Elina smiled and took Carlos by the hand. The boy returned the smile, and she rose from the table. “In short, the Oathtakers often send their own to study in Iternian universities and buy our gear, creating their own bootleg versions.”

  “The Oathtakers are smart enough to dismantle Iternian equipment and make their own copies.” Ratcatcher nodded. “Impressive. What else should we know of their nation?”

  “Faith plays an important role in their government,” Elina said. “And I’m not saying this casually. Do you know that in Iterna it is customary for the children who don’t attend the Academy to take the power-suppressing pills?” Seeing the nods, the girl continued. “The Oathtakers have an uneasy relationship with this drug. Try to understand that they truly believe that God has granted powers to believers and nonbelievers in equal measure in order to make both groups learn to cooperate and compromise. People with powers and Abnormals are blessed in their eyes, and in the trolls’ eyes even more. So how then can you suppress this gift? Using power-suppressing drugs has undeniable benefits in medical operations or keeping criminals in prison, but try to avoid mentioning them all at once when talking to a troll. Sure, most of them are not overly religious, but there is no need to risk stirring the pot. We are their guests, after all.”

  Elina pressed a few buttons on the terminal, and a new set of pictures appeared on the wall. The trainees saw trolls, happy families of them, and soldiers in the army, protected by exoskeletons and body armor. Next came images of priests leading the rites and trolls clad in full-power armor, wielding oversized cannons connected to their backpacks by chords.

  “Case and point,” Elina continued. “Despite making up a sizeable civilian population, the trolls form roughly thirty percent of the Oathtakers’ army, far more than any other Abnormal group in the world. Even the Wolfkins of the Wolf Tribe, all of whom serve in the Reclaimers’ armies, don’t come close to taking such a percentage. Normal soldiers and special forces are self-explanatory, I think, but there are two groups who might be unusual to you.”

  “You mean Crusaders and Templars.” Jumail nodded, clapping his human hands together and making Elina shiver. “Oh, I forgot…”

  “No, no, it is my fault!” Elina responded quickly. “You are absolutely right. They are part of the military, but at the same time they serve the faith directly rather than answering to military command. The Templars are the ones who protect small shrines, animistic places of worship, and processions carrying sacred relics through the Oathtakers’ lands. They could often be seen standing guard in the church, motionless as statues. Crusaders are the ones who venture out and fight enemies who threaten the faith head on. In times of peace, these men and women assist the police in hunting down dangerous criminals or monsters. Any troll is free to leave the Templars and join the Crusaders, and vice versa.”

  “Well, if the groups are interchangeable, what is the bloody point of their separate existence?” Vasily scratched his chin.

  “Fashion and presentation!” Carlos clapped his hands. “Have you seen the Templar helmets? Awesome! I will find someone to make me a horned helmet.”

  “Yes, and the next time we run from an oversized robot, we’ll shudder from a proud cry of ‘Help me, mu horns are stuck’ behind us. Brilliant idea; I don’t see how it could go wrong,” Ratcatcher joked, earning laughter from the others and a big grin from Carlos.

  “One more thing about the trolls.” Elina tapped the wall again. “In the rare event that you meet a preschool troll, don’t play with them. If the child is lost, lead the poor being to the police, but keep your senses sharp. When you can regenerate organs, gouging out an eye doesn’t look so bad. But they don’t know yet that you can’t do the same, so stay alert. Next, the Insectoid Commune.”