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walls came to life, and the holofield once again filled the tunnel. A large three-dimensional arrow appeared in the air in front of Bingwen, pointing at his chest. Then another arrow appeared behind it, and another, extending all the way down the tunnel in front of him. Similar arrows from side tunnels hovered to his right and left, pointing at him.
    â€œHe’ll know we’re here now.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter. He’s not going anywhere.”
    They would follow the arrows right to him. It was the same system rescuers used to find lost soldiers after the exercises. Or the arrows could be used to guide the soldier toward the exit. The holofield was working against him, he realized, and since it filled the tunnel, he couldn’t escape it or hide.
    Bingwen paused to think. He had two advantages. One, the men clearly had no experience with the tunnels. And two, Bingwen’s size—he could move much faster than they could through the narrow passages. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he was up against, however.
    What weapons were these men carrying? If they needed his death to look like an accident, it would be handwork, most likely. Choking or smothering or a broken neck. Hard to make a laser wound through the heart look like an accident. Yet weapons would still come in handy. They needed to subdue him, catch him, force him to comply. A knife would be useful, as would a slaser.
    Then there was their equipment. Harnesses, helmets with radios—not standard-issue gear. Someone had equipped them. Li, most likely, or someone operating under his orders. Which meant Bingwen would be wise to assume they had every piece of field hardware at their disposal.
    He decided to test that theory.
    He tapped his wrist pad and turned on the simulation. The Formic holos were so lifelike and fierce and terrifying that at least one new recruit cracked each week, dropping to the tunnel floor and crying for rescue like an abandoned child. The holos would be especially unnerving to someone who had never experienced them before and who might not even know they were part of the training.
    The soldiers’ screams a moment later confirmed that fact. Bingwen heard the soft, high-pitched whine of their lasers. And then one man shouted for the other to calm down. “They’re not real. It’s a sim.”
    â€œWell turn it off.”
    â€œI don’t know how. Ignore them.”
    â€œI can’t ignore them. They’re charging us.”
    Bingwen of course had Formics coming for him as well, but he paid them no mind, and they shattered into pixels when they reached him. He moved to the nearest holo projector, and wired in his tablet. He could not turn off the arrows with his wrist pad, for it was not a command he had initiated. But he could change their target. He did so and the arrows flipped, pointing at one of the men in the tunnels.
    Bingwen took a side tunnel then and made his way east, connecting with another tunnel system that had a separate exit to the surface accessible via a gradual slope and a few switchbacks. It took Bingwen ten minutes to reach the surface, but when he did, all was quiet. He came out with his lights off and scanned the area with his night vision. The winch tower was two hundred meters to his right. Bingwen zoomed in with his optics and was relieved to see that the winch cable was still extended down into the tunnel, meaning the men had not yet found their way out. Not surprising. Even if they had known the way, they would not have had time to crawl through all the narrow places Bingwen had ensured would be between them and their exit.
    He sprinted to the winch tower and reeled in the cable, tying it off at the top. Then he removed the pieces of transmitter hardware he had installed on the tower months ago. Finally he tapped at his wrist pad again to increase the number of Formics in the simulation below from a dozen at any given time to a thousand. The holofield would