Juna crouched on the quarry outcrop while the relay's faint hum climbed through the wind from the sheltered chamber below. Three hundred paces below, ten armed guards ringed an optical table while four conscript messengers waited beside its signal brazier.
Their hands hovered near the fuel baskets as Hajin and Hans crept along the captured escort corridor below.
Her ears flattened as the commander rested his fingers on the table's lower lever, "Ten at the table, four messengers at the brazier, and the map feed's live."
"Lever?" Hajin's voice crackled through the communication bead in her ear.
"Under the table, and the bastard's petting it like a lapdog."
"Then nobody touches that fitting," he hissed, "take the lever hand first, we need the table intact, and Hans is coming through the rear approach."
"I know how a lever works."
"Yeah, yeah, just don't sneeze on it."
Her tail lashed once as the nearest bowman turned his head toward the fading storm above the quarry.
