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"Thane….Thane Krios."
"You can help over there, Thane Krios," the drell pointed to a group hauling up ropes and buckets full of a suffocating dust as sweet as flowers. He was led over.
"What am I to do?" He stopped beside two of the laborers and noted one assisting with the metal callion they were transferring back down the hole at their feet—it was eight arms wide. The laborer was smaller than the rest—hair on its head, clear eyes in the sclera with dark inner discs….Human.
"You," a laborer (drell) beside him pushed Thane out of the way, "…help him center that pot and don't fall in." Thane moved to the right of the human guiding the callion line with some concentration in the softer face.
"If you can reach and steady it," the human said, surprising Thane by speaking Rakhïken, "I can concentrate on lowering this without it swinging and pulling us down with it….there's a current of air from below makes it hard to guide it. Just follow it down by walking the stumps in the wall, see…" he looked down and Thane did the same, albeit with a glance to his rear—unnoticed before, thick pegs protruded from the wall and spiraled into the blueish darkness below. "See them?"
"Yes," Thane balanced onto the first peg stump, having to sit and slide over the edge rump-first. Dust on his fingers left handprints on the coarse metal—human prints covered it. Thane spiraled down the steps, guiding the callion as they above guided the cabling and lowered it slow for him to catch on.
The tunnel echoed with their feet. "Where will this lead, I wonder."
"Archives, intake, probably security," Aaron said, voice soft to prevent its carry through the hollow space.
Keeping his voice as low, "…Hopefully not. What's the plan if there is security?"
"You're the one with this wild plan," Laura whispered. "We could say we're bringing you for the Compact?"
"That's not…" Roun thought, "….that might work."
"Well, let's get our story straight—what do we know about the processing, Laura?"
"Aaron, you know the hanari take the passengers from The Duke….this is a bad idea."
"What's Feron tell you, Laura?"
"He says there's a chamber they're brought to…one filled with sculptures of deities."
"Deities?"
"It's an introduction of sorts," Laura went on in recollection—moments of pillowtalk with Feron, "…the Primacy wants the immigrants to see symbols of Rakhic gods in the sculptures…helps them to adjust, I guess." She glanced at Roun.
"Clever….manipulative yet subtle."
"Kalahira, Amonkira, Feron's told me the names of—"
"First of all, it's Kala," Roun argued back unnecessarily, his religious dignity incensed, "…and Amon and Kira cannot be combined—that's blasphemous."
"I don't know much about Rakhana's deity system, but Feron says it's acceptable enough to those moving—"
"I suppose they have a choice?" His gray discs penetrated her through the affront she had shared. "They have to accept it, or not be here."
"Don't be upset with her," Aaron whispered, "…she's only sharing Feron's input."
"True," Roun glanced between both of them, "….I'm sorry, I get offended when I hear the perversion of my own mithras for the subjugation of others. I suffer from my own principles."
"Why don't you just see it like this—the hanari are willing enough to erect a belief system that combines your gods with their ideologies?"
"It doesn't matter…leaving Rakhana means running from the chaos, and chaos is everywhere. Arash, protect us from our lies." Roun's gaze lifted through the mouth of the tunnel—ahead were pews and aisles radiating from figures he recognized and resented. "Kala….This is terrible."