The ones whose memories had awakened found themselves getting more attention from the woman and her underlings, but the General wanted none of that. He feigned ignorance, claiming his actions against the Dogmen were merely reflexive, a moment's passion that did not stick. He could not imagine things going well for him if it was known that not only were his memories restored but that he was the second highest military authority on the planet prior to the event they called the Cataclysm.

As near as he could tell, it was the berserk Core Unit that triggered the Cataclysm. Besides wrecking all the infrastructure that relied on the Core Unit's power, the Cataclysm turned anyone without the potential for the Arcana into statues. The Core Unit then went dormant for some three hundred years before being awakened by the Arcanist Mordekai Grummond, who was apparently in a child's body before fusing with the Core Unit and becoming a grown woman. Everyone who was stricken by the—for lack of a better term—curse three hundred years ago was back in the flesh but without any clear memories of their past life.

The Dogmen saw the so-called Ancients as a threat at worst, a burden at best. Either way, the sentence was the same: a quick death followed by burial in an unmarked grave on the edge of the city. If it were not for Grummond's intervention, that would have been the end of it. Even with his intervention, hundreds deemed unfit by the Dogmen were killed off. It was more merciful than leaving them to starve or die of exposure, but that was still hundreds of Imperial citizens slaughtered by those animals. Who could say what the situation was like elsewhere in the world?

At any rate, their survival rested on a razor's edge and the General sought to improve their chances. His memories were still fragmentary, much like girl calling herself Gally who had been awakened before them. As such, the details were unclear, but he believed disturbances had been occurring throughout the Empire and the Cataclysm might not be an isolated incident. The whole Empire, all of occupied space might have collapsed. It could take hundreds of years to regain the technology to connect the civilized worlds of the galaxy once more. However, if the Empire had survived, perhaps the Father of Humanity was seeking his lost children. It was worth taking the chance.

And so the General was sneaking about in the dark amid the ruins looking for something. There were always at least two layers of backup for everything. Besides larger evacuation shelters intended for the general populace in the event of an emergency and the special bunkers for the upper echelons of society, there was a network of so-called 'boltholes' where a small number of people could take refuge. Most importantly, they were equipped with a satellite uplink. If the equipment was still functional and he could get a signal out, maybe there would be some hope of rescue. With all the factors that had to line up, it was slim hope indeed but worth pursuing before he moved to the next stage of his plan.

It was odd. General Dubcic could not remember when he first met his wife, but the map of the city was clear in his mind. There were ten boltholes within the city limits. This one was closest. They went for this one because the further they went, the greater the risk of getting picked up by a Dogman patrol.

The General had selected five men to accompany him. Two were his surviving bodyguards, Stabsgefreiter Suleimani and Obergefreiter Farro. Farro had not yet awakened, but he followed the General almost as if by instinct. One was a technician from Facility A-37, another was a rank-and-file infantryman, and the remaining man was a civilian who seemed to know how to handle himself, possibly private security or something similar.

The parched soil yielded easily to bare hands, but it would have been faster if they had some shovels. After three hundred years, there was no telling how much sediment may have piled up. The General was not nearly well-versed enough in the earth sciences to even venture a guess.

Unless they wished to make their escape a permanent one, they needed to work quickly. Even if there was less risk now of them being killed for it, they would have to face questions they would rather not answer if they were caught.

After about twenty minutes, it was the infantryman who spoke up, saying, "I think I've found it, Herr General."

After some digging, they revealed the bolthole's entrance, which was disguised to look like an ordinary manhole cover.

Suleimani helped the infantryman lift up the cover. If the General recalled, it was a good sixty kilos thereabouts, far heavier than an actual manhole cover so as to discourage any negligent maintenance personnel who were in the wrong place.

As the General looked down the hole, he said, "Suleimani, on point. Farro, in the rear. I'll go in second. Once we get the door open, the rest of you follow."

Suleimani climbed down and once he was at the bottom, he said, "Clear."

The General then went down next. The meter-wide tube did not open up much at the bottom, so the General and Suleimani were in close quarters as he looked for the panel covering the manual door release.

Once he removed the panel, he told Suleimani, "Pull until it clicks, half-turn, then push it back in."

General Dubcic did not do this himself because, as it was clear with Suleimani, the door release was not the easiest thing to move. If someone like Suleimani struggled with it, the General was sure to give himself an aneurysm if he tried it.

When Suleimani succeeded in releasing the lock, there was a hiss that made the General hopeful. It would seem the seal had not been broken, so the inside should have been fairly well-protected from the ravages of the years.

They would not get anywhere without power. No battery could hold a charge this long, obviously, but so long as the tanks had not leaked, the hydrogen for the generator's fuel cells would still be usable. To get things running, there was a handcrank intended to prime the system and should their fuel run out, they could theoretically maintain operations through manual power if they were economical with their usage.

Suleimani went to work and it did not take long before the dim emergency lighting came on. So far, so good.

The General stuck his head out the door and said, "The rest of you, get down here."

The four men descended the ladder and stepped into the shelter. It was an octagonal chamber with each wall about two meters in length. Three walls were dedicated to rack space, each with four racks stacked with the bare minimum space between them, much like junior enlisted berthing spaces on a warship. One wall had two narrow closet-like spaces, the toilet and the 'shower', which just meant a space where the bashful could wipe themselves down in relative privacy. Another was more general storage space and on either side of the door was the generator and the communications equipment.

The civilian stepped forward and said, "If you'll permit me, Herr General, I believe I can help."

No one else was willing to take on the task with the same confidence, so General Dubcic nodded for the civilian to go ahead.

Suleimani looked to the General for confirmation before he withdrew. The civilian took one of the hydrogen tanks and after double-checking the instructions printed on the generator, he installed the tank, then turned the valve to inject the fuel cells with the hydrogen. With the charge Suleimani had built up, the generator hummed to life and the regular lights came on. General Dubcic never thought he would find the soft blue-white glow of artificial lighting to be so comforting.

He did not relish the moment for long, promptly telling the technician, "See if you can't boot up that console now."

The console powered up. It was an old-fashioned but robust design, intended to be long-lasting but surely never as long as this.

The General was thankful that the designers opted for simple mechanics as much as possible rather than the slickest modern conveniences. Had the bolthole been more advanced, it likely would not have still been functional. Even as it stood, they were pushing the limits.

The technician pointed to the screen and said, "We're already transmitting, sir. We just have to wait for a reply."

The General scowled and said, "For your sake, for all our sakes, you better hope it's not forever." He clapped his hands. "Alright, men, idle hands are the devil's workshop. I want the complete stock of what we have here."

They then went to work checking out all the assorted storage spaces to account for the bolthole's supplies. There was food, potable water and oxygen enough to support twelve people for a week, in addition to clothing, blankets, a reasonably well-equipped medkit and a few packs of survival gear in the event the occupants needed to leave the bolthole. It would take time to ensure everything was in good working order.

With the food in particular, despite it being freeze-dried and vacuum-sealed, they would be rolling the dice if they tried to eat it, but after weeks of the meager offerings the Dogmen had provided them, it was a chance they were willing to take.

It had been a little over an hour since they entered the bolthole and they were preparing to sample one of the meals when a beeping sound from the console got the technician's attention.

The coded distress signal would have additional information for friendlies, which could raise the priority level of relief operations. The coded portion would just appear like noise to anyone without access to the Imperial database. Even if a hostile were to attempt to decode it, there would be nothing useful to be gleaned from it. They had nothing to lose by it, so there was no reason not to do it.

General Dubcic thought that he might just become a believer in divine Providence as his personal code was one of those memories that remained wholly intact. Once he punched in the code, he let the technician transmit the signal.

The technician watched the screen for a while before saying, "I think it worked, sir. The satellite's relaying the signal."

"We need to keep the signal going as long as possible. Our choices are sneaking back over here when we can or holing up. If the supplies here are all usable, we could possibly stretch them for a max of two months. If any of the other boltholes in the city are salvageable, we can manage longer, but either way we've got to worry about those damn dogs."

General Dubcic recognized the pouch as that of an M56 survival rifle. It was intended for hunting small game, but in the right hands, it could work as an antipersonnel weapon. Presumably each of the three survival kits had one of these rifles and each of the boltholes would be similarly equipped.

The General took the leather pouch and felt the weight of it. The corner of his mouth twisted into the faintest hint of a smile as he said, "It's a start."