The Arizona sun beat down mercilessly as Kai Chen approached the massive steel gates of the Ranger Citadel.
His worn trader's coat---with its hidden pockets containing his father's badge and those encrypted letters he'd carried for fifteen years---felt suddenly inadequate.
This wasn't another caravan stop. This was the heart of Desert Ranger territory, where decisions affecting hundreds of lives were made behind fortified walls.
Guard towers loomed overhead, their mounted weapons tracking his approach with mechanical precision.
Two Rangers flanked the checkpoint, their armor scarred from wasteland combat, their eyes assessing him with the cold efficiency of people who'd seen too many threats.
Kai handed over his recruitment papers.
The guard scanned them, then glanced at him with something that might be curiosity.
"Kai Chen," he read aloud. "Linguist. Special recruitment."
The words hung in the air.
Special recruitment wasn't standard protocol. It drew attention---exactly what Kai didn't need while conducting a private investigation into his father's disappearance.
But he maintained his easy smile, the one that'd gotten him through countless trade negotiations and dangerous settlements.
Before the guard could wave him through, the intercom crackled to life with sharp urgency:
"Recruit Kai Chen, report to Commander's Office immediately upon entry. Repeat---Kai Chen to Commander's Office."
The checkpoint fell silent.
The guards exchanged glances.
Other recruits waiting nearby stared at him with mixtures of curiosity and pity.
A grizzled Ranger muttered something to his companion and shook his head.
Veterans didn't get summoned to the Commander's office on day one. Fresh recruits certainly didn't.
Kai's mind raced through possibilities.
Best case: they needed his linguistic skills urgently and he could leverage that into access and information.
Worst case: they'd already figured out he wasn't here for patriotic duty, that he was hunting for answers about a father who vanished on a classified mission.
The gate groaned open before him, revealing the sprawling military complex beyond---parade grounds where recruits drilled in formation, buildings marked with faded pre-war signage, the utilitarian brutality of a fortress built to endure.
Somewhere in there was the truth about what happened to Marcus Chen in Colorado fifteen years ago.
The guard pointed toward a three-story administrative building.
"Second floor, end of the hall. Commander doesn't like to be kept waiting."