Page 42 of Warrior’s Mate

A beat of silence.

"Through what?"

"The old grain conduit."

"The one condemned six years ago?"

"For automated haulers. Not people."

"That distinction does not improve my opinion of the structure."

"You can dislike it after we survive."

He exhaled. "How many moved?"

"Seventy-three. Four hundred nineteen remaining, plus your security people if they join us."

"They will. But not yet."

A burst of weapons fire sounded behind him. He moved, and his next words came between breaths.

"Maelis, listen carefully. We captured one of their field scanners."

"And?"

"It's not configured for targeting."

The cold in her stomach returned.

"What is it configured for?"

"Biometrics. Age bands. Health status. Reproductive markers. Species."

For a moment she could hear the people around her with painful clarity: a child asking for water, an old man coughing, Vesra directing the next family into the conduit.

"They're sorting us."

"Yes."

The word sat between them like wreckage.

"There's more," Kaiven said. "The scanner assigns transport categories."

Maelis stared at the civilian registry filling her display with families, names, occupations, and medical needs—the same kinds of information she had spent years maintaining because records kept communities alive. The Sargans had built their own registry for the opposite reason.

"Can you send me the category structure?"

"Why?"

"Because if I know what they're prioritizing, I know which shelters they'll hit first."

"Maelis—"

"Send it."

This time he did not argue. Data appeared on her screen. She read the categories once, then again. Healthy adults. Skilled technical. Medical. Juvenile. Reproductive priority. Command value. Unclassified labor. She swallowed against bile. There was no category for person.

"They'll go after the clinic," she said.