Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Norn von Fueller reached up under her blond hair, to her ear.
She pressed her hand against it.
“Something wrong?” asked Adelheid van Meuller.
“Do you hear a clock going off?” Norn asked, feeling just a bit ridiculous for doing so.
Adelheid smiled with apparent enthusiasm.
“Yes, indeed I do, Norn. It is the biological clock of a young and fertile noblewoman, whose body yearns to bear many children to continue her lineage.” She looked at Norn with a mock aggrieved expression. “Unfortunately, such a future is not for me– I have been abducted and corrupted and no longer serve my naturally-ordained function.”
“Shut up.” Norn said, in a low, dangerous voice.
“Hmph!” Adelheid playfully turned her cheek with a mischievous smile.
Norn lifted her hand from her ear and found the ticking to have stopped.
She tried to put it out of her mind.
Her eyes wandered over to Adelheid was they walked.
“Despite your tongue, you look lovely.” Norn said.
“I know.” Adelheid replied. “You look handsome. Of course, you must, I dressed you.”
“Your handiwork is acceptable.”
“Weak praise.” Adelheid said. She pouted.
“Earn more. Be a good girl for me.” Norn said, her register lowering as she said the last.
Norn could practically see the thrill go down Adelheid’s spine in reaction.
“I’ll show you.” Adelheid mustered the will to speak before averting her gaze, a bit huffy.
They both had social calls to make with the station’s high society, but as ever, Adelheid showcased the sheer excellence she was forced to cultivate as the upper crust of Imbrian nobility. Her outfit was simple in its silhouette, with a figure-hugging, sleeveless red dress and a matching red, long-sleeved half-jacket without buttons. However, the finer details added immensity– her dress had a line of clear vinyl running a tasteful arc down the synthetic fiber exposing her flank, a bit of her stomach and hip, some leg; her jacket had a diamond-shaped back window that exposed a similarly cut-out portion of her dress, thereby revealing her upper back; her accessories, like her heels, bracelets, and the lurid red collar she insisted on wearing, were all rather expensive pieces.
Her fair skin was tastefully flushed with makeup, a gentle red shadow applied precisely around her eyes, dark red lipstick with just enough gloss. Her red hair was partially tied up in a deliberately messy low bun that drew attention to her collar and nape, affixed with pleats. She wore on her hair a golden ornament in the shape of a whale’s tail.
She was ravishing, exquisite, a divine beauty, Norn’s flawless red ruby.
Of course, instead of saying all that, her praise amounted to saying she was, ‘lovely’.
Holding back made it mean more when Adelheid was broken down begging for it.
It was much harder for Norn to evaluate her own self– because she hated herself, but she also loved herself, or least, she required herself. She was her own greatest tool and greatest obstacle, a harrow personal complex. So she remarked that Adelheid had done an ‘acceptable’ job, but Adelheid had been enthusiastic, so Norn figured she must have looked well. Her own hair was styled simple as ever, into a ponytail with a slight arch from the back. But she wore it with a gear-shaped ornament with a ribbon in the Fueller colors, which Adelheid designed by her own hand and had printed out special for the occasion.
Her manner of dress was typical of herself, somewhat plain with a long-sleeved shirt with a slight plunge to the neck, and a pair of dress pants and shoes. However the quality of each of these articles, from the materials to the trim, was exquisite. She wore a half-cape based on the banner of the Fuellers, with embossing meant to evoke a silicon chip and computer board etchings, over the green and blue Fueller colors. Adelheid had done a bit of makeup for her, a tasteful bit of lip gloss, a touch of eyeliner, and brushed and treated her hair personally. It was hard for Norn to concede that her countenance was beautiful, but she was assured that she looked attractive and she was thus confident in herself.
“Remind me, who are you meeting with up there?” Norn asked.
“Herta Kleyn’s son’s bride-to-be, Mia Weingarten.” Adelheid said. “And another friend.”
“Ah, I have heard of her. A pop singer I think– you knew her in school I presume?”
“Luxembourg School for Girls; incubating life-long friendships.” Adelheid mocked.
“Are they getting married soon?” Norn asked, more interested in those particulars.
“Well, we’re living in pretty uncertain times aren’t we Norn? So, maybe?”
There was a sense of trepidation as the Antenora began its official business in Aachen. Much like Aachen itself, their status was in-between states and awaiting its total resolution.
Officially, Norn was the head of the House of Fueller, the ruling family of the former Imbrian Empire– what this meant after Konstantin’s death and the unofficial dissolution of the Empire was anyone’s guess. Aside from Norn’s own personal capacity for violence, there was little official consequence for attacking her or subjecting her to rendition outside of the Palatine, the only area in which the Fuellers still had total military control.
However, Norn was also not keen to return to the Palatine.
She wanted to give Frederich Urning time to tussle with Erich and learn the outcome from afar. And she needed to keep Selene away from Yangtze the Ninth.
So her next destination would most likely be Trelleborg instead.
Meanwhile, Aachen was now one of the last game pieces that the Volkisch Movement had spilled from the board when it upset the order of things in Rhinea. The local, elected liberal ruling class in Aachen must have known this could not last forever, and that the Volkisch would come to pick things up from the floor one day. They had to have any kind of plan to preserve their own lives. But throughout the station, Norn saw nothing but business as usual. Shops were selling guff to untroubled consumers, office workers went to their jobs, finances were diligently tracked, and everyone stared when they saw a black military uniform moving in the crowd as though it was still an anomaly. Did they all know something she did not, or were they all, truly, stupid enough to just sit and do nothing?
In Kreuzung, Violet Lehner made her views on liberals quite plain, and on public channels.
Norn had accepted an invitation to meet with the current governor of Aachen, Herta Kleyn.
Partially to see whether the Kleyn family had anything to offer.
But also out of personal curiosity to see whether they had any kind of future plans.
To think of throwing a wedding under these circumstances seemed rather ludicrous.
If time was ticking for anybody– it was for Herta Kleyn’s liberal government.
With this destination, and these shadows looming over, Adelheid and Norn journeyed up.
Dressed their best for their individual social calls.
At the utter peak of Aachen’s core station, despite the government’s progressive bonafides the top of the tower held the same thing as the top of every other tower in the Imbrium Ocean– the palatial estate belonging to the station’s governor. The elevator banks dropped the pair at the outermost part of a concentric ringed layout, like a strange and enormous orrery, in the center of which was a three-story villa, painted a near-white shade of periwinkle with an angular black roof. Offset square doors and windows, all made of obscured glass, dominated the façade; but the most prominent feature were a trio of large balconies, one just off-center at the peak of the façade, and two others opposite each other. There were two walls separating the outer parts of the rings with the interior, which contained the house and its gardens. These walls had checkpoints with guards.
Norn could not help but notice as she approached that the guards were all Katarrans.
Or at least, all of those that she could see at the checkpoint.
Though she hid this fact, she was of course a Katarran herself and could spot her kind.
In this case the spotting wasn’t difficult.
Tucked under their caps, the guards all had white, or blue or purple hair– common Katarran dye-jobs. Their skin colors were also starkly different from those of Imbrians, with grey-blue, cartoonishly pink and even a mottled red among them. All of them wore a standardized uniform with a jacket, vest, pants and a cap, but no gloves, so she saw that some of them had webbed fingers. Others had fin-like ears or vestigial gill openings.
None of them had guns– that she could see.
Norn and Adelheid approached the checkpoint and identified themselves.
“The Lady of the House is expecting you. Come in, please.” Said a burly guard.
That tacked-on ‘please’ seemed almost sarcastic.
These were still salt-of-the-earth Katarran mercenaries, just dressed up fancy.
No glory to a job like this; but Norn was sure that it must have paid quite well.
Otherwise they wouldn’t even have bothered to memorize any kind of script of any length.
“Hmph. They were leering the whole time.” Adelheid grumbled.
Norn laughed.
“We dressed to be looked at, didn’t we? I’ll kill anyone who touches, don’t worry.”
Through the checkpoint, between the walls of brick and spearpoints, there was more grass.
When they finally entered the inner ring with the house, they were flanked by bright red flowering begonias. Following a short, tiled path, they reached the door to the house, which opened before they could even reach for the handle. Awaiting them inside was a tall young man in a green vest and a white shirt, beckoning them with a very small smile, his heart clearly quite elsewhere but going through the checklist of pleasantries.
“Welcome, Lord von Fueller, Lady van Mueller. I’m Isaiah Kleyn. My mother wanted me to greet you– she is upstairs. As is Mia, Lady van Mueller. She is excited to see you.”
He greeted them warmly but somewhat distantly.
His eyes had a certain intensity to them, and he had a brooding look, with long hair and a soft jaw, the sort of boy who was a product of this liberated time period. Norn had been surrounded by military men her whole life who looked down on such appearances– and yet never realized that the powerful men of the world were not the grizzled bearded navy men but the pretty boys like Konstantin scheming behind their backs.
Norn’s lips curled into a grin. “Pleased to make the acquaintance of the lucky bridegroom!”
She shook Isaiah’s hand and watched him wilt under the attention, avoiding her gaze.
“Thank you, milord.” He said sheepishly.
“We would be so interested in attending!” Norn said. “It’s such an opportune time for a wedding– occasions of joy and unity are most impactful when held in dark times. The bond between lovers is a triumph of the human spirit against the crushing despair of the world!”
“The date is– yet to be determined.” Isaiah had to think on that for a second.
“Well! I understand.” Norn said, her tone so indulgent Adelheid started to roll her eyes.
“Norn let’s not keep him. I’m sure he has his own business.” Adelheid said.
She took Norn’s arm, the intimacy surprising Isaiah, and led her to the stairs.
Norn allowed Adelheid to pull her away and just considered it something to pay back later.
From a surprisingly small and cozy foyer, a set of spiraling steps took the pair all the way to the third story, where they would each depart for opposite sides of the villa. Despite the exterior, the interiors were fairly simple. There were several flower vases, and a few pieces of art, but the false wooden floors and periwinkle walls were mostly barren. Perhaps Herta Kleyn had not had the time to add her own flair to the presidential palace–
or perhaps she had no flair to add.
“Norn, don’t bother them too much.” Adelheid pleaded, before they parted ways.
“I can’t guarantee that.” Norn said, before brushing her fingers across Adelheid’s cheek.
On the eastern balcony, a trio of very different young women shared a white tea table.
Beyond the balcony’s balustrade, there was a projection of a beautiful, shockingly verdant garden below and around the structure, with enclosed rivulets and ornate pillared fences. This illusion was generated by a set of mirrors, speakers and a diffuser; piping in gentle music, the sounds of water flowing from hanging aquaponics down to earth-grown trees, and the smell of herbs, leaves and flowers and the moistened plots of soil.
Adelheid thought the last smell resembled, vaguely, like when Norn ejaculated on her face.
She tried to keep this thought out of her mind as she pretended to be impressed.
“It’s quite a beautifully set scene, Mia!” Adelheid said. “And the spread, my oh my.”
“Ah, thank you, thank you. I really wanted this to be special.” Mia Weingarten said.
Seated with her back to the balustrade, and therefore to the projection, Mia Weingarten almost looked like part of the cozy but extravagant fantasy surrounding them. Her slender body covered in a sweeping white dress as if the wind itself had wrapped around her, with an angled skirt, diaphanous material over the shoulders, bell sleeves and pure white leggings. Her hair, once naturally black, was bleached and dyed a pale blue for appeal, and tied in a ponytail that curled slightly on its ends. Her face had an incredibly youthful beauty to it. Adelheid, with her lurid mind, wanted to say that she had an extremely virginal appeal– but she kept this strictly to herself as well. Mia was not a lurid girl at all.
Her eyes kept lingering momentarily on the collar Adelheid wore.
But she, too, said nothing about it.
“It’s not often I get to dine so fancy and so free! Can I dig in, please?” abruptly asked the third woman on the table, Hannah Schach, clapping her hands together and smiling rapturously at the snacks arrayed before her. With Mia opposite them on the table, Adelheid and Hannah on the other end were seated closer than Adelheid would have liked.
Particularly due to Hannah’s new and unfortunate predilections.
“Oh! Yes, please, help yourselves.” Mia said, extending a hand to gesture at the food.
Between the girls there were a few wooden boards with snacks. One had a tiny cup filled with a spiced sweet syrup, and another with cucumber dressing, along with cheese, tiny pancakes, fruits, honeycomb and sausage. By far the most eyecatching board had thin slices of bright red, fatty beef, cooked rare and drizzled with an olive oil fragrant enough to be a dominating scent. Another board had small cups of expensive fresh vegetables, including luxurious pink radicchio, brightly green spinach, thin-sliced cucumber and accompanying purple turnip slices. Dressings were served separately to keep the greens crisp.
Finally, in the center of the table, there was a three-tiered array of dessert platters.
Macarons, fluffy cheesecake, tiny bundts on small saucers, caramel-topped puddings.
And of course, there was tea, richly sweet, fagrant dark tea with cinnamon and cardamom.
Hannah quickly struck a piece of meat and savored it, having a near orgasmic response.
“Oh! Ohh! Mmm! You can practically taste the money!” She said, wriggling in her seat.
“I’m glad you like it.” Mia said, looking slightly nervous.
Adelheid stared as if she could psychically beam some shame into Hannah Schach.
She raised her teacup to her lips to prevent herself saying anything.
And so the first formalities passed– and the rest of the tea party formalities began.
“I am so thankful that we were all able to meet again.” Mia said.
“I was pleasantly surprised to receive an invitation.” Adelheid said.
“Me too!” Hannah added, chewing on some cheese. “I didn’t think any of my old friends even knew about my new job or anything! I got on the next ship from Stralsund when I got it!”
“I guess it’s no secret for me– I’ve had public appearances with Norn.” Adelheid said.
A little careless to speak on a first-name basis with Lord von Fueller– but it didn’t matter.
Mia was too meek to question it anyway. “Yes! I learned you were serving aboard the Fueller flagship, and then I heard from Madam Kleyn that the Antenora had docked in Aachen.”
Adelheid was not so fond of how easily their arrival was known.
But there was nothing she could do about it– and it was not tea-appropriate to say.
“Hah, is that the kind of gossip a pop megastar has access to? Scary, scary!” Hannah said.
“No, just me specifically I think.” Mia said, laughing. “A perk of being part of the family.”
For a few minutes, all of them made small talk and caught up.
“This might sound conceited, but um, have either you heard any of my songs?”
Mia looked a little bashful around her old friends as she asked this question.
Hannah laughed as she smeared a macaron in the spiced syrup.
“Are you kidding? Of course– ‘Angel in the Deep Abyss’ was inescapable last year.”
“Right. That got used for Raylight commercials and stuff like that.” Mia said, smiling.
Adelheid hardly needed an introduction to Mia Weingarten’s life after school. It was all over the magazines that she kept up with. She was a cover girl, she was interior material, she was on the top 50 charts– and the subject of gossip. Mia’s kind of optimistic, romantic pop was a light in the darkness of the Imbrium for a lot of people, particularly other young girls with big feelings to process. She was hugely popular. The Weingartens were a minor moneyed family, but their connections were enough for Mia to get a push. Most people probably did not know that she loved to play instruments and used to write little love poems in high school– but Adelheid also did not know whether that mattered now either.
How much of the current Mia was herself or a fabrication, Adelheid did not know.
Politely, she simply went along with the assumption that this music belonged to Mia.
That the Mia in front of her was a personal construction, and not a studio efigy.
Hannah Schach seemed to love Mia’s music– but only the songs that played in ads.
Again, the polite curtain over the mouths of the girls prevented any comment on this.
After Mia, Adelheid spoke discreetly about her life as an adjutant aboard the Antenora.
She talked vaguely and at much shorter length about her life: about how dull the bridge was, about how the crew were impersonal and robotic, about how bad the rations were, about getting frequently bored and reading magazines. Then she realized how lazy she must have sounded– and added that she was indispensable to Norn and had to look after her health, kept her organized and even helped her dress for this occasion.
That seemed to finally impress her friends, much more than her lazy, bratty daily life.
“It’s hard to believe two of my besties both joined the Navy.” Mia said.
“Ehh, I’m just like a paper pusher, really.” Hannah said, dipping a meat slice in the syrup.
“Serving aboard the Antenora has had its ups and downs.” Adelheid said vaguely.
Mia smiled and reached out a hand, touching Adelheid’s own.
“Addy, dear, you have to explain yourself further. I’m so curious.”
“Well, the ups, are Norn von Fueller, and the downs, are Norn von Fueller.”
Everyone laughed. Adelheid felt satisfied with her participation in the small talk.
A noblewoman had to know exactly how much to say– and how much more to keep close.
Then, finally, it was the third woman’s turn to speak–
Hannah Schach had become a Volkisch officer– and remained a finance geek.
“Now, this is not financial advice,” Hannah said, putting down her teacup, clapping her hands together and rapidly blinking her egregious eyes– modified with novelty pupils shaped like hooked crosses in wreathes, to resemble the hideous back symbol of the new Volkisch Reichsmark, “but I will say, I have been investing a tidy percentage into the civilian software market the past few years and into very specifically financial technologies. There are a few companies, small right now, but worth watching, who are looking to take us into the future, and I assisted one in particular in securing funding– I cannot say which, lest I be accused of things. You know how it is. Nevertheless– I believe the very fact that we still print and use polymer bank notes is ludicrous, caveman-like, and physical bankchips are not much better. To me, and this is only my opinion, but the future of all money-handling is purely digital, hands-off transactions. But not just transactions– it is also in the digitalization of all potential assets as exchangeable value stores that can appreciate over time!”
She broke out into a laugh, and it was so loud that Mia must have felt pressured to join her.
Adelheid did not laugh with them, and instead sipped her tea for plausible deniability.
She had never liked Hannah Schach, but they could have been said to be friends in the sense that they could be seen to share company. That was the way of the things for Imbrian noblewomen with high expectations placed upon them. Influential and rich women stuck together, as much as their family rivalries allowed, for they had no one else. However, looking at Sturmbannführer Hannah Schach across the tea table, with her, Adelheid felt that she wanted to stick her to plastic explosive and detonate her from a safe distance.
Dressed in a black uniform with a rather brazen and eyecatching cut; a figure-hugging short skirt, high boots squishing her thighs to a remarkable degree, and her large breasts nearly bursting from her shirt and jacket. Her shoulder-length blond hair had a perfunctory brushing, but still looked a bit messy, punctuated by the thin, golden crown-like ornament she wore atop her head, with three gold bits that looked like fins or swept ears. There was a lot of gold decorating her, in chains and pins and rings and bracelets and a gold choker, all of it probably unauthorized for a military officer, not that any Volkisch thug would ever care. Her face was conventionally pretty, but her expressions were so often ridiculous and exaggerated that she lacked the dignified beauty required of a noblewoman.
Across from Mia, the two looked like a dainty angel and a cackling demon sharing a table.
These were the “friends” Adelheid had climbed the tower to meet up with.
“Um, I’ll keep it in mind, Hannah. Can I ask how you ended up in your– current position?”
Mia gestured toward Hannah, but Adelheid thought she was gesturing toward the uniform.
“Well, after Luxembourg I applied to a technical college and graduated top of my cohort in Financial Management– and was registered as a stockbroker by the Imperial Treasury and Finance Authority– and then I just happened to meet Luciana Waldeck.” Hannah said, pausing to nibble on some of the charcuterie, “Back then I was kinda sympathetic to the Libertarians, and even applied to their party, but I worshiped the ground Luciana Waldeck walked on! She made crazy returns investing her inheritance with super-risky moves on emerging companies and leveraged assets, it’s like she was psychic or something! She totally took me under her wing– and then I became really bullish on national socialism!”
Luciana Waldeck did make a lot of money essentially gambling her family’s inheritance.
Adelheid knew that Waldeck presently achieved more notoriety as the founder of the Black Sun Valkyries, an esoteric clique within the Volkisch Movement exclusive to women and girls. There they could be groomed into Waldeck’s insane divine femininity cult– and she apparently targeted other rich idiots too proud of their investment portfolios,
like a certain Hannah Schach.
“Madame Waldeck and I got to know each other a bit more and we became rather close. Then she joined the forces of the Reichskommissar. Now she is going to manage the western Eisental security zone, which comprises tons of Rhineametalle holdings, as well as Agarthicite mines, steel production, consumer goods factory-stations, and even more– and she has asked me to be Finance Commissioner of the Rhine-Sieg-Kries Gau and the planned Wehrkreis Westen zone. I’m quite excited! Sooooo many of the major corporations have presences in Rhine-Sieg-Kries! I’ll be rubbing shoulders with the bigs!”
As she spoke Hannah forked a piece of the beef and dunked it repeatedly in honey.
So this was the caliber of the typical national socialist– greedy, venal, and in power.
Luciana Waldeck also nearly twenty years her senior, but Adelheid was sure that she and Hannah must have been item– aside from the cult allegations, there had been plenty of gossip about Waldeck during her earlier years when she was a fashion icon and briefly an actress. And Hannah was someone more drawn to power than gendered expectation.
Adelheid might not have had much ground to call it shameless, but she felt it still was.
“That sounds so scary!” Mia said. “I would go nuts with worry managing a whole region!”
“Nah, it’s super easy. I’m already doing some napkin math about it in my spare time. With Madame Waldeck there, I’m sure we can get the profit machine moving breakneck.” Hannah said. “The actual problem is like, how uppity the factory workers are, but we can fix that.”
Well, at least Adelheid learned something that might interest Norn.
“Enough about me though– hey, Mia, when’s the wedding happening huh? Will you get it catered? You need to have me on the guest list and order some extras!” Hannah smiled. “If this is how you throw a tea party I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world!”
“Right, of course I wanted to invite all of you.” Mia said. “That’s part of why I set this up.”
“I’ll do my best to attend– present circumstances are a bit difficult.” Adelheid said.
“I can go anywhere I want, I’m Madame Waldeck’s favorite, she’ll pay.” Hannah chortled.
“We’re– still planning. But I did want to reconnect in light of the proposal.” Mia said.
“Isaiah Kleyn right?” Hannah said. “Is he actually an Eloim? Candles and all that?”
Adelheid shot her a look for her insensitivity.
“I suppose so? The Kleyn family are not religious.” Mia said, surprised by the question.
“Hmm, I see, I see.” Hannah said. Her hooked-cross eyes staring mischievously.
Something snapped– Adelheid had enough of Hannah Schach.
“Are you going to enlighten us about race science next, Hannah?” She said. “Will it be as directionless and naïve as all the magical thinking you try to pass off as financial science?”
She couldn’t help but be snide– she had contained herself for far too long now.
Mia turned to her with almost equal shock as she had at Hannah’s insensitive question.
Hannah puffed up her face with indignation. “There’s the nasty-tongued Addy I remember! I was wondering when you were going to finally bite my head off! Well, if you’ve been around the finance world, it’s just a fact that Eloim have outsize influence and power. Bosporus especially is all their doing. But I’ve got nothing against them personally!”
“Miss ‘I’ve got nothing against them’ except for a prepared essay-length tirade. You’re a caricature. I can believe you’d let yourself get roped in with these criminals, you lowlife!”
“Noblewoman Addy still talking like she isn’t disinherited for being a walking scandal!”
“Please stop fighting!”
Mia shouted over the two of them.
Hannah and Adelheid looked at Mia, then at each other, grumbled, and sat reared back.
“Adelheid, I’m not offended at her. Please don’t fight.” Mia pleaded.
Adelheid could hardly believe anyone wouldn’t be offended by Hannah’s entire self now.
Despite this, she accepted her friend’s wishes and simply remained quiet.
“Hannah don’t egg her on anymore. We’re not kids– let’s just calm down.” Mia said.
“I didn’t do anything. But fine.” Hannah said, crossing her arms and turning her cheek.
After settling a truce, there was silence between the trio, the jovial atmosphere dying down.
They sipped their tea; Hannah continued to eat; Adelheid stared into the illusory distance.
All quiet– until Mia bowed her head and her sobbing overtook the light music.
Sobbing that grew in intensity, that brought about tears, that made her makeup run–
“Mia?” Adelheid said, not knowing what to say to follow this acknowledgment.
Mia burst into tears, into ugly, full-bodied sobbing, shaking, bowed over the table.
Holding herself with her arms, rattling the cake stand and the teacups.
“Oh.” Hannah said, finally acknowledging the hostess’ distress.
Head bowed against the table, her arms trying to hide herself, Mia wept with a fury.
Adelheid stood from her seat and approached, tentatively holding her hands over the girl.
“Mia? I’m sorry– I was out of line. Let’s relax and talk about it, okay?” She said.
In truth, she was anxious, a rare emotion for Adelheid– she didn’t know what to do at all.
On some level she felt this was a failure of empathy, and that it made her look bad.
Laying hands on Mia’s shoulders she felt intense shaking, and the pounding of her heart.
Even Selene never had a tantrum like this. Adelheid could only try to quietly comfort Mia.
Hannah remained seated and stared at the two and tried to make herself small and scarce.
“It’s not– It’s not you– I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Mia said, barely raising her head.
“Maybe we ought to just reconvene some other time so Mia can rest.” Hannah said.
Adelheid threw her a glare that looked like it might knock her off her seat.
“Yes– yes, let’s– let’s meet again okay?” Mia stammered out, raising herself up a bit.
She sat back on her chair, Adelheid still holding her shoulders as if she might collapse.
A handkerchief in her slender fingers wet and stained with running makeup and nasal fluid. Had anyone in high society seen such an overt and unsightly display of emotion– It would have been terrible for Mia. For her to show it, meant something had broken.
Her façade had a crack.
Hannah left without further prompting, perhaps assuming Mia could get ahold of her.
Adelheid remained, rubbing her shoulders gently and patting her back as she cleaned up.
“Mia,” Adelheid leaned forward and whispered. “Let’s exchange numbers, okay?”
When they arrived at Aachen, Norn got them all Rhinean-style portables to keep in touch.
On the table, Adelheid laid hers, face-up and unlocked with her profile on the screen.
Mia looked down at it, nodded her head silently, still wracked with gentler sobs.
She added the number to her own portable, and then held Adelheid’s fingers for a moment.
Through that touch, she shared the gratefulness that she could not speak.
Finally, it was Adelheid’s turn to leave Mia’s side. She would have to wait for Norn a bit.
Descending the stairs to the foyer, her portable suddenly buzzed– a message from Mia–
“Adelheid, I had a suspicion, but I confirmed it– you’re actually really strong. You are a disgrace to a powerful family, everyone speaks ill of you behind your back, and you have to fight and be in danger– but you accepted all of that and you’re your own person now. I’m too much of a coward. I can’t make my own way; I can only do what I’m told. No matter how much I cry, I can’t escape this. My family decreed that I’m going to marry a man I don’t love, because otherwise, I will lose my comforts and status. I’m being used as a political prize. If only the emperor hadn’t died; my naivety could have simply lasted forever.”
Staring into her portable, Adelheid sighed deeply and wondered what she could even do.
For as strong as she might have been, Adelheid was also a very special case and very lucky. If Mia did anything as scandalous as Adelheid had done her life would have been destroyed, and she was unlikely to be ready for what that entailed. She was never as rebellious as Adelheid, never as devious, and there was no Norn waiting to safeguard her.
Mia was much more a noblewoman than Adelheid–
because Mia was someone whose life could be shattered so much more completely.
On the opposite end of the villa from Adelheid and her friends, Norn was ushered into a covered balcony with a table. There was no embellishment of the surrounding view. Over the balustrades Norn could only see the far off limits of the steel enclosure, the security walls below, and the top of the Aachen spire overhead. There was a small table with tea and snacks, on wheels so the guests could make use of it as they needed.
Four wooden chairs were arranged in a vague circle.
“Duke Norn von Fueller! Perhaps the most interesting guest I’ve ever had. Have a seat!”
At the head of the group was Herta Kleyn, the hostess.
Her cheery attitude and smiling face– Norn couldn’t help but grin herself.
Matriarch of the Kleyn family, once considered noveau-riche to the nobles outmaneuvered by her merchant ancestors– but in the new order of the world, she was old money.
For a woman in her late fifties, she was only slightly weathered with age, her brown hair interspersed gray, her eyes and lips wrinkling on the edges, her skin slightly spotting on her neck and hands. Dressed in a black coat over a long blue dress with a small cap atop her head. She looked the part of the grand stateswoman, modest and coordinated and without a hair out of place, timeless– sedate. Without a hint of either disorder– or dynamism.
“Our other guests should not be long.” Herta said.
Norn took her seat nearest to Madame Kleyn and helped herself to some tea.
She was so bored she needed whatever slight hit of caffeine she might get from it.
“Whom else shall I have the pleasure of meeting today?” Norn asked.
“Ah, none so illustrious as yourself milord– but they should prove colorful.” Herta said. “You shall see.” She waved her hand as if blowing away Norn’s curious questioning. “I’ve been anxious to ask you, milord, if I may– how fares Syrmia of late? We were such dear friends– if only the circumstances permitted I would have loved to have her here with me now.”
Syrmia von Fueller was Konstantin’s biological sister, and Erich and Elena’s aunt.
In terms of the day to day affairs of the Fueller family, Syrmia did all the actual work.
When Konstantin began to retreat from politics, she took over the running of things.
It was then, perhaps, when she began to envision Norn as a possible successor.
Had the Imbrium Empire not broken apart, surely Syrmia would have tried to crown her.
She and Norn had a history that was both tender and sordid.
Perhaps she had the same kind of history with Herta Kleyn–
Syrmia was certainly capable.
“Syrmia is doing well. She is quite busy, but she is looking after her health. She misses her brother dearly, and the situation of the Imbrium weighs upon her, but she’s a stout-hearted lady. Such things cannot keep her down for long. I can let her know you asked; maybe put you in touch? She would love to hear from you. You were very dear to her.”
Norn was not always wanton– she knew how to project the royal dignity when it mattered.
“That would be fantastic. Thank you, milord. She was dear to me indeed.” Herta said.
“How fares you, if I might myself ask?” Norn said. “Rhinea’s situation is quite complex.”
“It is milord. Despite this, I fare quite well.” Herta said. Norn studied her face closely, but Herta’s expression betrayed no change in emotion. She was clearly anticipating the question. “I believe incoming administrations matter little when one has demonstrated good stewardship of their position. I have spoken with Adam Lehner, and I will speak with Violet Lehner– Mr. Lehner did not seem too interested in trouble and I think Ms. Violet Lehner will only be even more amenable to peace. I am optimistic. Do not worry about me– I would not trouble someone of your stature over these petty regional affairs.”
Norn could have burst out laughing, she was practically screaming inside.
This had to be a front– Herta had to have something up her sleeve somewhere.
If this was what she actually thought, Norn was sipping tea with a corpse.
She would not push the point. It would have been rude.
She already asked and answered the polite question. Now she just had to wait and see what Herta told her less illustrious guests about the situation, and how they responded. While they waited, they talked carefully about the snacks, about Aachen, about the times. Norn, as the woman of higher station, could afford to say very little, and Herta, knowing exactly where she stood, did not push. Instead, she contributed most to the conversation. Aachen was bustling, progressive– a place that was making strides in providing opportunity to everyone that lived within it. Careful language. Aachen’s people were industrious, engaged, active participants in seizing the opportunity of a better life. As for the times, of course, they were awful on the surface; nevertheless, Rhinea marched inexorably to progress.
Progress, was opportunity– the chance for a better, more equitable life.
If you could reach out and seize it. Such was opportunity, that snake-like word.
“Conservative movements come and go but they don’t deliver. We have had conservative presidents before and Rhinea’s progress has marched on because it must. We know the bluster got them into power, but it cannot alone keep them there.” Herta said, when asked about the Volkisch. Norn wondered how much was encompassed in the ‘bluster’ Herta spoke of: the arrests and killings of liberal elites and intellectuals, the Blood Bund’s murders of Eloim and Juzni activists, the horrific border conflict Adam Lehner now waged? Herta moved on from elucidating on this subject quite quickly. “Violet Lehner strikes me as a keen woman who was handed a terrible situation by Thurin. Perhaps the violence that swept up Kreuzung the past week was a failure of individuals that her leadership can resolve.”
This woman was either living in a house of delusions or she was an irreverent liar.
Norn would have been angry, but this was so incredibly brazen she was just confused.
Rarely did she have occasion to talk to liberals.
Herta Kleyn sounded insane to her.
Konstantin’s court had always been repleted with a different strand of delusion, that of the nationalist with a hand on the hilt awaiting any crack in reality into which a sword might fit. But the delusion of the warmonger was aggressive and wanton and as such it had to actively enter into conflict with reality. Herta’s passivity, her certainty that everything was already aligning to her advantage without her lifting a finger or even striking at her most obvious political enemies– that was new and strange to a military woman like Norn.
Norn would not get to probe Herta’s ideological matchstick house any further, however.
Soon, their guests arrived at the entrance to the balcony.
Immediately, Norn began to feel she was seeing into the inside of Herta Kleyn’s sleeve.
She made a mental note that whenever it was polite, she might have to follow it up.
From behind the glass door entered one woman first, who had no intention to sit or walk more than a few steps onto the balcony. She was a tall woman with very fair skin, and long, silvery hair that stretched below the waist. Her tall, furry ears and bushy tail of the same hair color singled her out as a Shimii– but unlike any Shimii Norn had ever seen, she had two tails which waved in the air separately. Her face had a dignified expression with blue-colored lips and eyeshadow and was quite striking. Her body was draped in a long white dress, sleeveless, shoulders bared, with a halter-neck decorated with a golden choker.
She had a rather excellent figure and filled her dress quite exquisitely.
Norn cracked a grin.
However, that grin was the first, flimsy disguise at seeing something which unsettled her.
A sash worn by the woman, with blue, red and golden colors, clipped with,
an emblem,
a miniature figure-eight shield bearing an impression of a horned bull.
“Greetings, esteemed hostess and guest. Allow me to thank you and to usher in my charges for today. My name is Raiza Sarakaeva, Akolouthos in the Varangian Guard of the Mycenaean throne. As is customary, I cross the threshold first, and give introduction, and I then depart, to provide security by the door. I ask for your understanding and a brief silence.”
Into the drama of the age, entered the Mycenae Military Commission of Southern Katarre.
Norn was already somewhat suspicious and disquieted by their presence alone.
But once the woman made herself known, and as a servant then introduced her master,
upon hearing the name spoken by the Shimii, and as the master of Mycenae entered–
“All hail Her Exalted Majesty, Bearer of the Golden Legacy, Astra Palaiologos.”
Norn’s chest went cold. Doubting herself, head racing, had she heard that–
her name, undoubtably– her name? had she heard–?
her name. she heard her name spoken and
shadows extended before her eyes heart sinking synapses fired half-recognitions in par-frozen time breath arrested eyes dilated far past rage
angled toward disgust the shaking world turned before her
shock,
it was shock, she was in shock–
Norn’s whole being arrested as she experienced a hitherto unfelt terror.
Astra Palaiologos was her own name, her name, only her name, her burden to bear.
Her secret shame into which all her fury and horror and disgust was bound, only hers.
And in front of her another woman, another girl, now wore that name.
It took all her strength to prevent herself from standing and attacking like an animal.
It took even more discipline not to freeze time to buy herself a moment to think.
In the span of seconds she had to endure her heart shuddering, electricity under her skin.
And swallow it all to put on a calm face and maintain her façade.
They couldn’t be allowed to know.
“Welcome!” Herta clapped. “I told you, Duke von Fueller, our guests would be colorful!”
At this remark, the “Varangian” at the door shot them a look, before departing.
Then, out the door stepped the so-called Warlord of Mycenae: Astra Palaiologos.
Norn had feared the most that she would see herself walking through the door and not be able to explain any of it. That they had kept something of her, of her blood or hair, some awful preserved token by which they could own her likeness forever and there would simply be a second one of her. But the inheritors of the Royal Household had made their own ruler, not entirely in her image– though, when she looked closely enough there were uncanny things, like the way she stared, her expressions, the way she moved–
Astra Palaiologos of Mycenae was a quite slender girl, with a petite figure, and a soft but regal face that was incredibly beautiful, with remarkably sharp, red eyes that had a piercing gaze. Even a casual glance felt like she was seeing through all of them. It was that more than anything that reminded Norn of herself. The girl had quite copious, soft-textured and long white hair, fluffy and wavy, almost trailing to her feet. Within her hair there were black strands that glowed gently purple with bio-electric discharges. Thicker and girthier forms of these same strands formed a four-pronged crown behind her head, the protrusions almost horn-like, two black tips over the back of her head and two curling around the side– an expression of a non-human donor that Norn could not identify.
Certainly, Astra had to be a Panthalassian– a Katarran pelagid created with rare DNA.
Norn had the DNA of two recovered ancient beasts as part of her pelagis process.
Mycenae’s ultranationalists would not have tolerated any less when creating a new ruler.
In dress, Astra looked almost a farce, her short stature and thin body festooned with medals and clad in a garish, gold and black military uniform– or it would have been a farce, without the sheer presence which Astra effortlessly commanded in her every movement. Her long gloves and tall boots, her garrison cap, the various medals and the gold shoulder-chain, she wore them all with a quiet dignity and self-respect. There was something about her which commanded attention. She looked unerringly confident in herself.
“Thank you for the invitation, Madame Kleyn. I am pleased to make new acquaintances.”
Astra stepped forward, but there was another person moving in behind her.
“Per the terms of your invitation I am traveling alongside several of my warriors.” Astra said. “I invited my mentor, Labrys Agamemnon, to join us, but she felt she would look out of place, because she is very tall and large. Instead, I brought the Merarch Odyssia with me.”
Unlike her servant prior, Astra did not introduce Odyssia and simply took her seat.
Once the warlord had sat down, the Merarch entered from the hallway.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I love to talk. My name is Odyssia Metis.”
The Merarch was a tall woman, long-legged, wide-shouldered, dressed in a typical military uniform– hers much darker than it was gold compared to Astra’s uniform. There was a hint of pigments to her, a pale shadow over her eyes and a hint of gloss on her lips, her skin a natural pale gray that turned glittering blue around patches of scales behind her jaw, and on her neck and ears. She wore her long, white-blue hair tied with a dark blue ribbon.
Her permanent expression was a self-amused grin.
Norn immediately felt like she wanted to slap the taste of out that pretty mouth.
After her own introduction, Odyssia sat on the remaining chair, completing the party.
“It’s such an immense pleasure to host such illustrious people from such a distant shore.” Herta said. “Please drink and eat your fill, we can bring out more food and tea at any time. I’ve been so curious to hear about Katarre from its own people– it is so difficult to get news about the events in the warlord states, and yet, a unified territory of Katarre would be the largest and most populated country in the world. I feel that the peoples of the Imbrium should be paying much more attention to Katarre’s future.”
Astra’s strands blinked, perhaps bristling at the question.
Her expression did not change.
Her tone, also, was perfectly measured. Not emotionless, but somewhat dispassionate.
“Mycenae has maintained some contact with its Imbrian neighbor in Veka.” Astra said. “And we have traded with Imbrian states before. But we are also cautious of our need to maintain our independence and self-sufficiency, as well as control information for our own security. We don’t want to be seen like the Republic of Rodos trying to imitate the Cogitans, or Argos practically begging for support from the Hanwans. There are no Imbrian vassalages in the Western Katarre for this reason; therefore also limited contact.”
“Of course, I understand.” Herta said. “I am curious about this journey, that has taken you to this balcony for tea– how did it begin? And how do you feel about it, Your Majesty?”
Properly addressed as a person of lordly stature, Astra seemed to put on a very small smile.
“It all began with a routine transaction. We put out feelers that we were looking to buy materials for arms from Veka, who have large manufactories of gunpowder and massive ironworks. Mycenae is ever vigilant to improve its stocks– we Katarrans believe that a day called Polemos will come when all of Katarre will launch into battle to decide the final rulership of the land. We build our arsenals tirelessly for this task.”
“I’m curious about the conditions for this grand battle– is it near or far?” Herta asked.
Astra shook her head. “We will feel it in our blood and bones when the time comes.”
“Oh, I see.” Herta said, blinking rapidly with confusion.
Imbrians never understood about Katarrans how much mythopoetics played a role in their world and how they conducted themselves. Even in the expressions of Katarran culture in the mercenary diaspora, this always baffled the Imbrians. Superstitious habits, the creation of charms, respect for rituals and prayers, an obsession with achieving great deeds.
Imbrians had seen nothing of what Katarrans were capable of in this regard, Norn knew.
When Norn learned about psionics, a few things she knew about her people began to make more sense because of it. She felt that perhaps Katarrans implicitly understood this underlying current of the world, and this connection that they had or could have, and that their culture expressed this in superstition and cultic beliefs. The backwardness seen by Imbrians was perhaps an emotional advancement that Imbrians themselves lacked– Euphrates and company used to speculate Imbrians were less psionically capable than other cultures precisely because of their hegemonic and racist beliefs.
Not that this explained whether the altars and rituals and warcries had actual power.
Norn had never actually seen such things used in battle, only heard of them.
As ever, she was a being torn in half, Katarran and Imbrian only partially, tragically.
Astra continued her story with what Norn perceived as a hint of smugness.
“After making our business intentions known, we were surprised to receive contact from Rhineametalle representatives, looking to beat the Vekans to an arms deal. It was a very generous offer. They wanted to give us a tour of their facilities, and to schedule a joint military demonstration, in addition to signing off on our purchases in person with their CEO. My mentor and I both believed that this was an opportunity to act on the world stage as a nation and score real legitimacy as claimants to Katarre. So we set out with a Rhinean escort. Tragically, the Empire entered its time of troubles in the middle of our journey.”
“Right, it’s quite unfortunate.” Herta said. She sipped her tea and picked up a macaron before continuing. “Has Your Majesty given consideration to beseeching the nations to put aside their differences and allow you to pass back to Mycenae? Surely no one wants another enemy, and it might even bring about some diplomacy between us all.”
“We have, but for now, we would like to complete our transaction with the Rhineametalle consortium.” Astra said. She paused to finally sip her own tea. “With the Union conquest of the territories south of Rhinea we may actually be dealing only with them to return to Mycenae, so we are not particularly worried about our way back home.”
Norn was surprised to hear a Mycenaean talk about diplomacy with the Union.
But perhaps they had much more in common than either of them realized.
“Ah, yes. Excuse me, Your Majesty, I should introduce my other guest–” Herta began–
“No need,” Odyssia interrupted. “I can feel it in the room. Her power and presence practically flood over us. That is Norn Tauscherer, the champion of the Imbrians, isn’t it? The Praetorian who represents the peak of Imbrian potential? Slayer of the Royal Guards of old Nocht?”
Herta glanced at Norn with a sudden anxiety. “Merarch, I’m afraid that name is–”
“It’s fine, Herta. I don’t expect our guests to know my change of title.” Norn said.
She was more amused than anything. This Odyssia– she truly wanted to make her beg–
“No, it’s not fine.” Astra suddenly said. “Odyssia, you will address her with respect.”
Odyssia looked at Norn with a sudden pathetic little smile.
“It’s Duke Norn von Fueller now.“ Norn said calmly, grinning back.
“My apologies, Duke von Fueller.“ Odyssia said. She bowed her head to Norn.
“Apology accepted. I couldn’t possibly hang this trifle over our guests.” Norn said.
She turned to Astra, who gave a curt nod with her eyes closed in response.
Though she was putting up a strong front, Astra still unsettled Norn.
There was something about seeing her move and talk that felt too familiar. There was something of herself in this girl whose circumstances she did not know, but whose provenance she was all too familiar with. Astra had been made, just like Norn had been made, meticulously bred from a primordial soup of DNA and chemicals in a mechanical, sterile womb. For her to have legitimacy, she must have had DNA from one of the previous rulers or their concubines. Such material was preserved, somewhere– but how did Mycenae happen to chance upon it within the chaos of Katarre’s fallen age?
Or perhaps it was all in her mind– perhaps Mycenae was lying.
Who could confirm?
And yet–
Intuition told her that Astra was of her kin– and she didn’t know how to feel about it.
Was Astra at that very moment thinking the same? That Norn felt far too familiar?
If she was considering it, her expression betrayed nothing.
Hopefully Norn’s own expression and mannerisms were equally secure.
For both of them, perhaps the best outcome was for nothing to be confirmed or learned.
To meet here, go their separate ways, never thinking of what had transpired.
Just another crossing of currents whose waters treaded their distinct, unknownable paths.
No matter what other conflicting things Norn might have felt about the princeling girl.
Who seemed so much like her– too much like her–
“Odyssia, take over answering our hostesses. I’d like to enjoy the sweets.” Astra said.
Her horns briefly glowed a bit as she spied the wheeled cart and its delicacies. A plate of colorful macarons and cake bites, a tray with long croutons to dip in steak tartare and top with vibrant salmon roe, orange-flecked spicy pickles topped with hot chutney, and the decanters of tea. Odyssia helpfully reached out and rolled the table over to her master so Her Majesty could partake of the spoils, and Herta encouraged her to eat.
Astra gingerly picked out a macaron, looked at it, took a bite.
That stoic expression melted, momentarily, with surprise and delight.
Was this the first time she had tasted something so sweet and delicate?
Norn grinned and sat back, waiting for Herta to ask another asinine question of their guests.
“So, anything you want to know about being a real, top Katarran warrior?” Odyssia said.
She looked delighted to be the center of attention.
Had she been on stage Norn would have thrown something and aimed for the face.
Herta thought about her question for a moment, and then asked, smilingly,
“In your position, what do you tend to do for fun and levity? What do you go back to?”
Prompting her guest to smile even wider than ever, while shrugging,
“Well, sometimes you can just seduce one of the numeroi and have a bit of fun–”
As soon as Odyssia was done speaking, Astra shot her a severe look.
Odyssia stopped in her tracks.
From an ordinary perspective this was perhaps just military authority at play.
However, Norn’s eyes could see the black tendrils of aether snaking through the air.
Linking Astra to Odyssia and gripping the latter with a supernatural fear of death.
Norn’s senses had not been wrong– Astra had power.
Not only that, but the shadow behind her, when she called upon her power–
It was this element that was most fearsome. It did not remind Norn of herself, but rather, the otherworldly presence of someone like Arbitrator II. Someone who felt like a monster wrapped in human skin, who occupied a room with an unseen self while their flesh occupied the mere space of a single human being. That uncanny feeling of ancient, primeval strength was not merely Astra’s confidence in herself. It was the purest, rawest power.
What had Mycenae done? What had they unearthed?
Astra’s donor was no ordinary beast.
And clearly, she did not just command respect, but actual power, in Mycenae.
Summarily and invisibly beaten down, Odyssia fell immediately into compliance.
“–well, you know, wine, fine foods, the usual stuff, we’re people just like you are!”
Odyssia remarked, glancing askance, while Herta sipped her tea with embarrassment.
Once her gaze turned, Norn called upon her power and tried to read Odyssia’s aura–
hoping to see the effect Astra’s power had on her–
–and found nothing at all to be read.
She could feel that Odyssia had psionic power, but her aura was completely invisible.
Astra had affected it– so Odyssia was not immune to psionic power.
But her aura– was impossible to read–?
Norn recalled what Selene had once reported about Sonya Shalikova, one of the pilots of the Pandora’s Box. She clearly demonstrated psionic powers, and Selene could feel the power from the enemy pilot, but it was impossible to gauge its directionality, character, texture– because the aura was simply invisible to psionic sight. This made it much more difficult for Selene, who was used to employing her psionic sight as an advantage, to read Shalikova’s movements and fight her. Ultimately, Shalikova defeated Selene in this contest.
Now Norn found herself staring at the face of a woman whose martial power, she felt,
was palpably enormous,
and yet her aura was invisible, hiding her true feelings, intentions, and possibly abilities.
The Mycenaean Military Commission was much more frightening than she had imagined.
Did they know the kind of power they wielded? How far had their research taken them?
Or were their abilities still explicable only through the mythology of Katarran deeds?
Pythian black witchcraft, Mycenaean astrology, old Katarran Kingdom Mageía.
Was that all they knew– or were they on Euphrates’ theoretical level?
Before Herta could ask another stupid question Norn finally interceded with her own.
“Merarch Metis, can you regale us with a tale of your greatest battle?” Norn asked.
Moreso to prevent more boring talk about nothing than to extract information.
Odyssia lit up, practically beaming. “There we go! I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that. Your Majesty, may I tell them about the Great Hunt launched for the Shadow of Tyrins?”
Astra looked up from the sweets table, having just taken a cheesecake bite.
“That was before my time– yes, I’m also interested. Go ahead.” Astra said.
Odyssia cross one leg over the other and leaned forward, sitting rather strangely.
Cocking a grin, practically vibrating with excitement, Odyssia began, “This was something like twenty years ago. I was still a humble numeroi serving at the pleasure of my masters,” Herta began to sip her tea with embarrassment again, reacting to the clear innuendo, much to Odyssia’s continuing amusement, “a powerful Leviathan was sighted multiple times in the Tyrins region, a very deep region with most of our mining stations at the time. It attacked two ore bearing ships, and resisted an attempt to kill it by, according to eyewitnesses, flitting away, disappearing. Miners began to claim they ran into the beast in the mine shafts and the ore processing stations. It was as if it was drawn to the Agarthicite. It was described as a great horse-like beast with long paddled legs, with a mane of fleshy strands that burst with electricity, powerful enough to disrupt even our EM equipment.”
“To put a stop to it, the Commission deployed an entire Turma, a fleet section, with 25 ships and thousands of men. Such was the importance of this mission and slaying this beast. Our supply lines to Tyrin were crucial to our survival. I was part of the numeroi, the footsoldiers, of this Turma. This was a time when Heavy Divers had only just entered into military understanding. The Commission came to learn of Divers from the Union revolution, through news from Veka. We were beginning to make our own– by modifying the very labor hardware also used by miners. The Commission also began to test using modified hardsuits and sealed power armors instead. If you were thrown into one of those, all you had were heavy personnel-size weapons and some petroleum-fired jets.”
Odyssia put a fist to her chest. Herta looked horrified at the prospect.
“So there I was, with nothing but a machine gun, a diamond blade, and my hardsuit!”
“Oh my, how frightening!” Herta said. “Could you even see at such depths?”
“Barely anything! I only had one light on my hardsuit, and obviously no computers!”
“Goodness!”
Norn glanced at Herta with narrowed eyes, while the old woman clutched her heart.
“My officers didn’t like me at all, I was too freewheeling, and a libertine and I did not respond to their advances– well, I was rebellious.” Odyssia stopped herself from another sexual remark when Astra shot her another glare. She shrugged and continued her story. “After spotting the beast, the fleet concentrated fire, but it avoided everything! So they get this bright idea to launch numeroi out to fight it in hardsuits with personal weapons. Enough troop saturation and someone would hit it! Because the hardsuits were not designed for fighting, the weapons were actually welded to it on bands so we wouldn’t drop them, and improvised triggers were placed inside the hands of the suits for us.”
“Those weapons were worth more than your life at that time.” Astra added.
“They probably still are!” Odyssia said, earning her a narrow-eyed stare from Her Majesty. “Anyway, so we’re all getting thrown out of a chute that’s meant for mines or drones, since we didn’t have dedicated deployment chutes back then like we do now. Of course, it’s an absolute slaughter out there, I’m seeing and hearing suits popping everywhere which means a bunch of numeroi are joining the marine fog. In the distance, all I can really see beyond my floodlight is the snaking purple streaks of the Shadow of Tyrins. One bolt of lightning from its horns and it was over for anyone there. Nobody could stand against it!”
“How did you conquer such horrendous odds?” Herta asked, on the edge of her seat.
“Well– first, I turned my floodlight off. Then, I kicked the numeroi in front of me in the back of the head.” Odyssia said. Herta gasped and averted her gaze. Odyssia continued, proudly, seeing nothing wrong. “Their floodlight started wiggling all over the damn place and attracted the thing’s attention. It was the size of the kind of Divers we have now, it was huge, and it cleaved right through my compatriot with its tail and popped them like a bubble. But their sacrifice was not in vain– I threw all my fuel into blasting right into it, engaged my saw, and I started chopping like you’ve never seen! Like a woman possessed! I figured out that it was avoiding the muzzle flashes and blasts, so I did not use my gun. I dug so deep into that thing’s hide I probably made a little womb in it for myself. There was gore going everywhere, my visor was caked in it, and I didn’t stop chopping at it. When I was rescued, I was so freaked out I tried to chop at my superior officer and got tied up and beaten.”
“When all was said and done, we lost two ships, and 500 men.” Astra said. Her strands lit up a bit. “That much I knew from the official records. Anything else do with the Shadow of Tyrins is myth and legend. All commanders of the mission were sworn to secrecy and most of the numeroi saw nothing at all. At the time, it was thought to be an embarrassment. Not so much now. Truth be told I only vaguely knew of Odyssia’s involvement in the matter.”
“Heh, well, I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t slain the beast. My superiors were incredibly keen on killing me or worse, but even they had to admit it was too useful to have an insane killer on their side who could tackle the danger so they wouldn’t have to.” Odyssia said. “After that, I was raised from a Numeroi to a Domestikos, as a formality, but I still basically just did dirty work and killed tough opponents– I was basically the designated hero of my Tagma and that was it. But I got better rations and I was bothered a lot less.”
“And now, here you are,” Norn said, “have you earned some peace as a Merarch?”
Odyssia crossed her arms and leaned back. “Nope! I still basically do the same shit.”
Astra glanced at her and shook her head. “Manners.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Odyssia said, shrugging again. “But you haven’t heard the end of the story yet. Nobody will believe this next part, even if they believe the rest. But I must still tell it. When I was killing the beast, soaked in its blood, I received visions. Visions of it traveling a long, lonely current, fighting and killing, eating anything it defeated, growing stronger, bigger, stranger. Painstakingly acquiring the abilities it demonstrated. And as I killed it, I felt like I became it for a moment, wandering my own path, an endless journey of battle from which I grew and learned and defeated countless opponents. A journey taking ever farther from home. I saw my own future in the spilling gore of that beast!”
“Incredible.” Herta said, her excitement for this much more dulled than the previous events.
“To me, the beast was saying– as long as your two feet keep moving, you’ll keep fighting. But you’ll be invincible, as long as you don’t let anyone block your path or tie you down.” Odyssia shut her eyes and seemed to contemplate her own words for a moment,
looking much too satisfied.
Astra grunted. “You are tied down. You still have to answer to your orders.”
“That doesn’t count, Your Majesty!” Odyssia replied. “That’s every Katarran ever!”
She gave her master a big smile that seemed to mollify her.
“Well– I’m glad you’ve found peace of mind in the midst of your service.” Astra said.
“Thank you for the story, that was fascinating.” Herta said.
With how much the Mycenaean talked, there was no interest in Norn’s own stories.
So she simply got to sit and take in Odyssia’s boasting, Herta’s naivety, and Astra.
Astra Palaiologos. That was her name. It was also Norn’s name.
Some part of it did not sit right with Norn. It made her feel angry and helpless.
However, she could not afford any response. She had too many troubles as it was.
As much as she liked to sell herself as invincible, there was only so much she could do.
Navigating the Imbrium Empire’s collapse would already take everything she had.
To go to war with Mycenae for digging up the grave of what she was meant to be–
Or worse– for some foolish idea that this girl needed a rescue Norn never received–
It was not possible. She had to disabuse herself of the notion completely, and immediately.
Sipping tea, having cakes, watching from across the room. That was all she would do.
Hoping that this Astra Palaiologos would be less abused than the one that preceded her.
Since their arrival in Aachen, the Brigand immediately launched a multitude of missions with most of its top personnel and that of the Rostock involved, along with some help from the John Brown, particularly Burke Zepp and Marina McKennedy. They had experience with such things; the missions would focus on reconnaissance, information gathering, and expanding their contacts in the station. Kalika and Homa established a presence in the Shimii Wohnbezirk; Illya and Valeriya scouted out the Uhlan barracks and kept an eye on the station’s security forces; several pilots were sent to scout the habitations, the commercial districts, and the office spaces as plainclothes travelers; Murati had been deployed to a somewhat dubious expedition into the Gau offices, uniformed as a fascist.
Even the Captain and Commissar had left the ship on important business.
This left the bridge under Alexandra Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa, who normally had nothing to do while docked and could be reasonably left in charge.
With limited authority— except in case of a truly dire emergency.
All of these preparations required haste, and the usual deliberations had to be skipped or abbreviated to set the pace. There was little time to be cautious, and a lot to be done. Their objectives had to be underway or accomplished before the United Front gathered– the true goal behind these various maneuvers was to hopefully achieve advantage for the National Volksarmee in the upcoming talks. Knowing the station, discovering the strength and reach of their allies and enemies, formulating a plan, all of this was crucial to not walking in blind and looking foolish in front of the Eisern Front and Reichbanner Schwarzrot.
They did not hope to come out of the talks as the undisputed major influence of the Front.
Certainly the Eisern anarchists would not allow this to happen, even if the demsocs did.
However, they could not enter the room with flagging ambitions either.
That would have been a waste of everyone’s time.
There would be fiery passions flying in the United Front, and they had to be able to stand as equal partners at least. To show their resources, capabilities, and determination, the Volksarmee had to work hard in the precious time they had before the meetings. So they would comb the station, compile data, set up watches, pick up informants. It would not be wasted work even after the United Front– someday, Aachen would be a battlefield.
Hopefully not soon; and hopefully, they would have reliable allies at their side then.
Because most of these activities involved the officers and special guests of the Volksarmee, the sailors and some of the remaining officers remained on the ships and continued their day-to-day routines. But there was one project, in the very heart of the UNX-001 Brigand, that did involve several officers and did not involve Aachen itself.
Despite this it was a project of grand importance.
“Welcome to the third ‘Project to Learn About Weird Stuff’ on the Brigand!”
“You can’t call it the third one– the others were ‘Meetings to Discuss Weird Stuff’.”
“Ah, whatever, I can do what I want because I’m the officer in charge of it!”
Karuniya Maharapratham and Braya Zachikova welcomed their guests to the laboratory.
Those guests being Arabella, or Arbitrator I; and Olga Athanasiou, or Hunter I.
Karuniya had interacted with them several times already; and now she had access to a bevy of reports with additional information about who they actually were.
Arabella had come aboard the ship under mysterious circumstances during the events at Goryk’s Gorge, over a month now before their arrival at Aachen. Back then, her hair was white and red and her skin complexion very pale– now she was wearing her hair in a blue color, and her horns, smooth and vascular and sprouting from under her messy bangs, also had blue tips. Her skin was a little bit ruddier than before, suggesting she had picked up or was forcing color to it. Her body was otherwise the same as before, lean and lightly muscled with gentle curves, dressed in the teal jacket and button-down shirt and skirt that made up the Treasure Box Transports uniform worn around the Brigand.
Olga, meanwhile, had undergone no transformations since they met her. She was pretending to be an armored gurnard Katarran woman, the same kind as several other members of the Volksarmee, with curved horns coming from the back of her head that framed a plain white-haired ponytail. Her skin was very pale, and her figure was a bit fuller than Arabella’s, while her stature was a bit shorter. She wore a simple black hoodie and pants and wore an expression halfway between uncaring and annoyed at all times.
What had changed about them was that Karuniya now knew what they really were.
It had been easy to tell everyone they were Katarrans, and Olga successfully pretended to be Katarran in society for years– which was interesting, owing to the social position of Katarrans, this was not necessarily an advantageous identity to adopt. Regardless, what they actually were was a sentient species of hominids theoretically parallel to humanity known as the “Omenseers.” What Karuniya knew so far about the Omenseers is they were allegedly an ancient culture not necessarily of hominid origin, but which at some point, was revived through experiments on spliced hominid DNA to create the ones they knew now, using something similar to the Pelagis Process that Katarrans used to reproduce.
A lot of the information she had access to about them was sketchy and confusing.
Euphrates and Tigris had conjectures about the provenance of the original “Omenseers,” believing them to be a near-prehistoric race of soft-bodied fish-like organisms that might have lived in caves– nothing but a physical conjecture based on rationalizations, irrelevant to the current Omenseers who were not soft-bodied fish-like organisms living in caves, who possessed psychic abilities, and who, when asked, had no idea how this could possibly involve them in any way. Karuniya completely discarded this information, not as necessarily untrue, but as presently useless. They were not going to crack the origin of humanity here.
Arabella apparently had genetic memories which she recently recovered and then lost again due to the traumatic experiences she underwent in Kreuzung. She was apparently created as a bioweapon by the Surface Era civilization and condemned by her former masters, whom she spoke about with semi-religious anxiety. Before acquiring these memories, she would say the Omenseers were a facsimile of an ancient culture– whether she meant a culture of the Surface Era or even before that, was anyone’s guess.
There had always been theories and conjectures that the Surface Era civilization was far more advanced than the After Descent civilization, but that most of their technology was lost above. These were largely crafted after the Fueller Reformation in the 930s, when thinkers like Mordecai were given space and opportunity to voice criticism on the development of the Imbrian Empire and its systemic disparities.
Mordecai argued that the upper classes of the Pre-Descent world likely had a purely extractive relationship to the new ocean polities. Wishing to hoard their wealth on the surface, they leveraged their social control toward the retention of an imperial core above the waves, thereby limiting the total development of the ocean habitations and locking them out of potentially transformative technologies, such as the blueprints for the Base Code. They were locked into the role of consumers, until the exporter nations of the surface were completely destroyed or collapsed, orphaning the Ocean. Other less political theories were that likely many Surface technologies were useless underwater, such as higher-bandwidth forms of radio-electric communications, and yes, certain theoretical weapons and optical technologies, and therefore they were excluded from the ocean; and that the surface civilization ended suddenly before ocean-adapted technology was fully ready.
Karuniya was deeply interested in working on these lines of reasoning– if Arabella was a surface relic, then her memories could concern much more than the Omenseers exclusively. It could mean blowing wide open several other mysteries about the world. Whether it was possible to extract this information was unknown, but she would try.
Olga, meanwhile, had a simplistic and soldier-like view that reminded Karuniya of a certain someone that she knew– Olga did not trouble herself with scientific inquiry. She added to the collective knowledge the detail that Leviathans were able to become Omenseers, if they achieved psionic powers like the kind that Murati had disclosed. She also elucidated on the Omenseer caste system, a seemingly arbitrary social control lever devised by their supreme leader, Arbitrator II, who was apparently Arabella’s biological sister. It seemed that in the Omenseer society, function preceded form– if the Arbitrator created a ‘Hunter’ then they were leaner and lighter and quicker, but also a bit sadistic. But Olga did not know whether Arbitrator II chose and then implanted these traits, or if she found creatures that possessed these traits in some form and then set their caste based on these discoveries.
Despite these disclosures and any implications they might have had, Olga was utterly untroubled about her origins, and did not dwell on existential questions about herself or about her species. Whether or not she was human did not matter to her; whether or not she was a created or natural being did not matter to her; her present state and the Volksarmee’s goals was everything to her and she abhorred distractions from them.
Her own genetic memories were a thoroughly tertiary concern to her.
However, she agreed to participate in this project in order to–
“–I just want to make Erika happy.” Olga mumbled.
Meanwhile, Arabella also agreed to cooperate because–
“–I just want Braya to be happy.” Arabella declared.
“You don’t need to make me happy! I’ll be– I’ll be fine either way.” Zachikova grumbled.
And so, after some brief interviews and going over old information, the Project proceeded.
At the head of the project was Karuniya Maharapratham.
She was required to describe herself as part of the initial history of the Project, which touched upon personnel– but what could be said about Karuniya Maharapratham, a woman that was beyond description? She was beautiful, exceedingly so, with vibrant honey-brown skin and long, silky dark hair and a soft and pretty face; she was exceptionally intelligent, the recipient of multiple aptitude certifications and holder of two degrees; she was unfailingly charismatic, with an eclectic sense of humor and a hyper-modern eye for fashion, and a sexual powerhouse able to rope in the most eligible bachelor on Solstice, Murati Nakara, into following her around the Imbrium like she was tethered on a–
“You’re taking years to fill out a form that has like four fields on it!” Zachikova shouted.
Assisting in the project was Braya Zachikova, a short woman of diminutive build with thin limbs, narrow hips, a flat chest and ghostly pale skin. Her tawny brown hair was tied into a silly and pretentious spiraling ponytail, and thick, angled antennae took the place of her ears. She had a negative attitude and dour bearing. Her face might have been attractive had she ever even attempted a smile, and if she got any sleep to get those black bags out from under her robot eyes, and if she went outside or stood under a–
“Why are you filling out my part of the report?! Let me look at what you’re writing–!”
“Leave me alone!” Karuniya cried, holding the portable away from Zachikova’s grasp.
“I don’t have all day to stand here and watch you two bicker.” Olga grumbled.
Once all the formalities were out of the way,
Zachikova and Karuniya formally welcomed their guests and got to business.
“At the Captain and the Volksarmee Premier’s request, we are going undertake a project to further study and understand Omenseer physiology. While I have a scientific interest in this, the ultimate goal of the project is a military one– if Omenseers are biological weapons, we would like to understand the ways their bodies work for the purpose of carrying out our mission.” Karuniya said, smiling brightly and holding a portable computer in her hands as she spoke. “For now, our immediate goals are exploratory, but our ultimate goal is to restore Arabella’s alleged DNA storage and to establish Omenseer-friendly logistics, create health supplementation for our Omenseers, and perhaps design Omenseer weaponry that takes into account your unique abilities for combat purposes. These are long-term ambitions– we’re nowhere near any of this, but I want to give us some goals to pursue.”
“Thank you so much!” Arabella said. “I’m sorry for being a burden! I am in your care!”
“You’re not a burden!” Zachikova protested. “Stop apologizing.”
“I’m hoping this doesn’t take up too much of my time.” Olga mumbled.
Karuniya continued explaining the purpose of the project–
“A secondary concern is we want to understand whether Omenseer and Human physiology are compatible and in what ways they might not be. We want to avoid making any dangerous assumptions. For example, are Omenseer tissues like ours? Or do they have novel behaviors? Can Omenseers derive nutrition from our food, and what is their body’s metabolic response to it? And perhaps even uncover mysteries such as: can Omenseers have sex with humans? I’m vaguely aware of this actually happening, but I wonder if it would–”
“You’ll wonder nothing. We are not bothering with that.” Zachikova grunted.
She stared daggers at a Karuniya that began to wear a conspiratorial grin on her face.
“I just think, since both of our subjects have very close human partners–”
“That’s enough of that train of thought, Professor Pervert!” Olga shouted.
“I’m on Mushroom Lady’s side on this issue!” Arabella also shouted.
Karuniya’s eyes darted toward Olga and then Arabella, her face draining of color.
“Professor Pervert?! Mushroom lady?!” She cried out in despair.
“Can we please move on already!?” Zachikova shouted, joining the chorus.
Once everyone’s emotions had settled, a glum Karuniya resumed productivity.
“To begin, we’re going to have to gather an initial pool of biological materials so I can get started identifying your genetic or enzymatic properties. I will henceforth be responsible for the health of our Omenseer personnel the same way as Dr. Kappel is responsible for the health of our human personnel. I have some medical training, and she instructed me on proper collection methodology and Union regulations. I have medical supplies available that I hope can be universally useful even if your physiology is significantly different to humans. We will take several samples, establish an initial biomedical profile, and run tests.”
Zachikova looked at the Chief Science Officer beside her with narrow-eyed skepticism.
“Describe to them what you’re actually going to do to them!” Zachikova demanded.
“I have lots of tests prepared.” Karuniya said. “Skin, hair, blood, bone marrow, fluids–”
“Bone marrow? Isn’t this going a bit overboard? What is it even for?” Zachikova asked.
“I’m going to compare everything to a template normal human, Murati.” Karuniya said.
Zachikova narrowed her eyes ever more. “Wait– Why did you choose Murati for this?”
“I mean, she’s a very excellent human don’t you think?” Karuniya said, smiling. “Plus I have access to her genetic material very easily. I don’t have to involve anyone else if I use hers.”
Zachikova blinked and then crossed her arms, staring daggers at Karuniya.
Arabella and Olga both looked unbothered by the prospect of bone marrow extractions.
Nor by Karuniya somehow collecting and keeping Murati’s fluids.
“I’m not doing it for funsies! I’m helping her with her health stuff!” Karuniya said.
“You’re a sick person. I can’t believe I ever trusted you.” Zachikova replied in a low voice.
“Why are you being so sensitive, this medical stuff is extremely routine and–”
“Why are you so INsensitive! Ask yourself that and repent, you mad scientist!”
Arabella raised her hand suddenly. “Braya is scared of the doctor, Miss Mushrooms–”
“It’s Maharapratham!” Karuniya shouted just as suddenly.
“–please be understanding of her needs if you can.” Arabella finished, unperturbed.
“I was afraid of going to the doctor because of you, Arabella!” Zachikova said.
Olga turned around and quietly started to walk away until Karuniya rushed to get her back.
Once the proceedings were returned to order for the upteenth time, Karinuya retrieved a pair of wheeled tables bearing a few boxes of medical equipment, such as long hollow needles in sterile packaging for retrieving bone marrow, and smaller needles with blood collection tubes. There were swabs and scraping pads for collecting skin samples, and small containers rated for different kinds of fluids as well as for the hair and marrow samples. This gave the Omenseers in attendance a preview of what the next step in the process would look like. Karuniya retrieved a medical mask, gloves and sterilizing gel.
“Okay! We’re going to start with Arabella, collect blood and skin, and go to Olga.”
Karuniya gestured for Arabella to sit down on a chair she wheeled to one of the tables.
Arabella nodded her head and took her seat. Karuniya pulled up the sleeve of her uniform and took her blood pressure, and then wrapped a band tight around Arabella’s arm to check for a good vein to draw blood from. All of these things she had been instructed on before, both at the Academy where she took a few courses on medical assistantship and nursing, and by Dr. Kappel preparing her for this new role. She had a bit of leeway as it seemed that Omenseers had the ability to recover from very ghastly wounds.
Still– she did not want to hurt Arabella and was exactingly careful.
“Have you ever had any shots Arabella? Or any kind of bloodwork?” Karuniya asked.
“Braya stuck a needle in me, in Kreuzung. It filled my veins with her love.” Arabella said.
“That was morphine.” Zachikova said, sighing.
Karuniya warned Arabella gently that the needle was going in and began the blood draw.
While drawing the blood into the tubes, she turned to Zachikova.
“You know, we have no idea whether she would be affected by our medicines.” She said.
Zachikova shrugged. “She was nearly cut in half! You would’ve done the same!”
“I did feel a little bit woozy now that I recall.” Arabella said. “But I was also very nervous.”
“You were also bleeding out! Being woozy is not evidence of anything.” Zachikova said.
“Interesting. We’ll test pharmacokinetics on you some time.” Karuniya said.
Four tubes slowly and gently filled with perfectly ordinary-looking red blood.
Arabella received a plain bandage in return.
Karuniya set the collected matter aside on a test tube stand labeled ‘Arabella’. She changed her gloves, cleaning her hands with antibacterial gel in between applying a new set of gloves, and withdrew the next set of tools. A package ncluding scrubbing pads and a solution to moisten and loosen skin for collection. Karuniya applied the fluid to the pad, pressed it on the skin and scraped on Arabella’s outstretched arm several times, in long, gentle up and down motions. Once she was done with one arm, she confined the scrubbing pad to prepared test tube, opened a second package, and she performed the procedure on the other arm, labeling and putting away the samples after she was done.
She changed her gloves again, beginning to hum a little tune as she did so.
There was something satisfying about working with people.
She understood how Dr. Kappel had so much enthusiasm despite the gravity of her work.
Though she was mostly qualified for what she was doing, she was not a medic by profession and hardly ever had cause to take care of anyone. While collecting samples hardly qualified as bedside manner, it made her feel fulfilled to do something so concrete for the crew. Given how hard everyone else had been working– Karuniya had felt a little bit useless before.
Even with her newfound role as Murati’s co-pilot– it was nice to have science to do.
More than just growing mushrooms– or killing people.
Piloting a Diver was not anything she imagined taking pride in.
Having a scientific project that would help them understand and care for (and make use of) the Omenseers in their crew, and advance humanity’s knowledge of another hominid, that was the kind of thing she had dreamed of doing. It was not oceanography, but she nursed a vain little hope that it would really, truly matter. And in mattering, it might perhaps make her matter a little more. Maybe her name would be remembered in the future.
“Alright, Zachikova, I’ll have you take Arabella aside, behind that divider,” Karuniya said, pointing to a prepared space curtained off with a mobile divider, “And help her collect the fluid and hair samples. You’ll just follow this booklet, and use these tubes, they’re already labeled. Everything you need is right there.” She pointed to the table where there was another sample collection kit already prepared. “While you’re doing that, I’ll take Olga’s blood and deal with her. Tell me when you’re done.” Karuniya signaled for Olga.
Zachikova picked up the box and took Arabella by the arm, who looked happy to be pulled.
Olga stepped forward with her hands in her pockets, sighing.
Karuniya repeated the skin swabbing and the blood draw with greater confidence.
Her patient was quiet and cooperative, and responded very little to small talk questions.
“How are things usually on the Rostock? I haven’t had a chance to board.”
“They’re unruly as hell, but they get things done.”
“Have you known Premier Kairos long?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a big communist die-hard like her?”
“It’s whatever– I only believe in Erika being in charge.”
“Um. Are you eating anything tasty after we’re done?”
“No.”
Once the blood and skin samples were collected, Olga once again tried to leave.
Karuniya once again urged her to stay– and also lifted her portable computer again.
She had to call someone.
“Please hold on. I’m not done with the blood just yet.”
Olga grumbled. “You only took four from Arabella. Why do you want even more of mine?”
“Yours is special,” Karuniya smiled, “please just wait a moment, you’ll see.”
Moments later, a disgruntled-looking woman entered the laboratory, carrying something.
“Hey, wait,” Olga shouted, “what is going on here?”
Without so much as a wave of the hand, Logia Minardo walked past Olga and stood beside Karuniya holding a plate covered with a cloche. A comely older woman with shoulder-length, dark hair, impeccable makeup, and a curvy and rugged body, Minardo, who was known for her affable and energetic personality, wore an uncharacteristically disgruntled look on her face. She stared at Olga with a particularly sharp glare that Olga definitely noticed.
Karuniya clapped her hands.
“Olga Athanasiou, meet our beautiful head chef, Logia Minardo!” Karuniya said.
“I know who she is.” Olga said. “What’s she doing here and why is she mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you.” Minardo said. “I’m mad at the world– and disappointed.”
“What does that even mean?” Olga shouted, waving her hands helplessly.
Karuniya gestured toward the plate and the cloche covering it.
“You see Olga, I want to test to see if there may be an enzymatic difference between an Omenseer eating human meat and one who has not eaten any. I want to test this hypothesis by having you eat some human meat now and then give additional blood afterward. That way I can compare your blood when starved of human tissue; to Arabella’s blood who has recently eaten human tissue; and also to your blood after eating human tissue. It will give me more data to analyze! I know you have reservations, but I thought this might go down easier if it was prepared properly– so I received special dispensation from the captain to involve our resident expert chef, the widely beloved Logia Minardo, to cook the meat.”
At Karuniya’s side, Minardo stared at Olga with a combination of exhaustion and disgust.
Olga gritted her teeth and closed her fists. She glared death and violence at Karuniya.
“…Steak, with a peppercorn cream sauce.” Minardo said, voice devoid of emotion. “Reverse seared and butter-basted, in a cast iron pan that was immediately ferricycled afterward.”
Unveiling from beneath the fancy cloche, a finely cut steak in an unctuous-looking sauce.
So served and so dressed, it well disguised this was cut out from a dead Volkich soldier.
After learning more about Omenseers, the Captain and Commissar had begrudgingly decided to retain the corpses they had and preserve them just in case. Karuniya had some ideas for how she might use the remains to make Omenseer supplementation.
For now, however, all she had was a very simple preparation– human steak.
All smiles, she gestured toward the food almost like a presenter at a show.
“Doesn’t it look good? Alright, eat up, and after two hours I’ll take your blood again.”
“I have to sit around here for two more hours?” Olga whole body slumped.
“The Premier said you have to cooperate!” Karuniya replied, with a sing-song voice.
Zachikova soon reappeared with Arabella in tow and their fluid test kit completed.
She glared just as violently and disrespectfully as Olga was glaring at Karuniya.
Karuniya, meanwhile, simply shrugged her shoulders with an inassailable smile.
They could call her whatever they wanted, but she was soaring with excitement.
Thus, the inauspicious but important beginning of the Brigand’s Omenseer project.
Like most stations, Aachen Station had use of the space beneath the baseplate as well as the actual towers themselves. In addition to the maintenance area, there were a few areas off-set of the baseplate and reachable by elevators. The first was the Shimii Wohnbezirk, but besides that, there was also an additional habitat about a third of the size of the Wohnbezirk. When the primary stab was dug out to insert Aachen’s core pylon, a residential and storage area for the workers was constructed offset the pylon. Once the station was completed, this area was abandoned, until a few enterprising souls claimed pieces of it and made it a seedy but lively residential and commerce area. Here, the wretched underclass of Imbrian society mingled with the Katarran underworld, both unwanted.
“Chloe, will we actually be safe down here?”
“Oh yeah, don’t worry– we’re not looking for trouble, and I’m pretty tough y’know!”
Chloe Kuri flexed her unimpressive biceps while Elena Lettiere watched, unimpressed.
As the foremost intelligence agent and chief gossip among the crew of the Rostock, Chloe Kuri had become a known figure even among the crew of the Brigand. A member of Erika Kairos’ inner circle, Chloe loved to collect and trade secrets and personal information and was in her own words also a hobbyist thief and lockpick. Her small stature and sharply practiced lightness of feet assisted her in sneaking around the station– or so she said. She was a short and curvy Katarran with silver hair and girlish features, dressed in a hooded cape over a cut-off top and shorts. Always smiling, and quite excitable.
Elena had learned from the “gossiping aunties” of the Brigand that Chloe Kuri had helped a few people in Kreuzung during the last days of their stay. She helped purchase contraband and advertised her information services to various people, either in exchange for extra rations or equally juicy secrets to that which she could divulge. Elena sought Chloe Kuri, hoping that the petite Katarran might be able to find out any information about a certain friend of hers among the Katarran whisper networks– in exchange, Elena disclosed to Chloe her status as Princess von Fueller– which Chloe already knew about.
“It was a funny attempt though– I appreciate it! I’ll help you out pro-bono!”
Or rather– Chloe would help out– in exchange for being dubbed a knight.
Elena pretended she could knight Chloe in any way that mattered, and Chloe was satisfied.
Now, Chloe was upholding her end of the bargain.
But not in a way Elena had envisioned.
“When we arrived I immediately scouted out the Katarran spots like I usually do. I heard about an informant who showed up recently but already has become legendary for the amount of information she brought to Aachen from other parts of the Imbrium. She’s really made an impression on the Katarrans around here! She’s a bit eccentric and uses a lot of code names– calls herself All-Seeing Eye. It’s worth a shot asking her!”
When Elena voiced concerns about descending below the baseplate, Chloe smiled wide,
“Ask for forgiveness, not permission. That’s how Katarrans get things done!”
Elena suspected this was less a Katarran thing and more of a Chloe thing.
Nevertheless, she snuck out with Chloe with such ease that at first it felt like a setup.
In a corner of the Stockheim dock station, they found a cramped cargo lift used for small loads and found that it had been modified to withstand the weight of human beings. Nervous, but willing to go to some lengths for information about her friend, Elena followed Chloe’s instructions, and the two of them shared a cramped lift all the way down below the baseplate. They arrived at a landing with a half-closed shutter, and Chloe easily squeezed through. Even for a skinny girl like Elena, it was a tight fit– she couldn’t imagine any ordinary Katarrans fitting through that way. This was definitely another Chloe special.
“Chloe, are you sure this is the right way down? This seems dangerous.”
“This is Chloe’s way down– there’s probably other ones, but this is the one I know.”
They had only been here two days and she already had ramshackle shortcuts?
Nevertheless, following a few turns around maintenance tunnels, they exited out onto–
“Haaren,” the parallel world of Katarrans and crime beneath Aachen station.
According to Chloe, it was derisively named after a former hunting ground of the Nocht Dynasty– contrasting the exorbitant luxury and waste of a place built entirely for kingly sporting pursuits with a habitat of depressing limitations occupied exclusively by self-described lowlives. Underground Haaren was rather vertical– each small block containing a handful buildings that straddled a ramp down to the next level, with the highest level seeing the rock ceiling held up by pillar supports, and the rest seeing in their too-near sky only the plate that held up the tier above. In total there were maybe thirty buildings, but there were more dwellings and businesses in the form of street kiosks and tents pitched in alleyways and corners. There were snaking paths through the space that were improsived around whatever was erected in their way, navigable only because Elena could see ahead of herself where people were going, and thus, where she was allowed to go.
Grimy streets, slick with droplets of water that leaked in through the firmaments, and lit by dim neon signage, LCD screens enticing the street wanderers to drink, gamble and fuck, and small torches, running out of battery, rigged up to poles. There was an immense press of human bodies slipping into the alleys, standing before the kiosks, sitting miserably on the streets, and going into and out of the bars, shops, brothels and inns. There was a soup kitchen being run by a group called “Kamma,” along with a few bunkhouses that looked to be managed by religious people. Most of the people around the illicit businesses were Katarrans while most of the sad and bedraggled folk were Imbrians, Loup and Shimii, a strange inversion from the social positions that Elena imagined. Not that there weren’t poor Katarrans– almost everywhere, there was a Katarran being roughed up.
“Stay close to me and be careful.” Chloe said as they walked in from the elevator bank.
Avoiding a fight that had broken out between two Katarrans outside a bar.
Elena had been given a hooded cloak to wear, covering up her features. She had freshly dyed her hair black, and with her face covered, she hoped nobody would realize she was a pretty young girl and try to do anything– between her and Chloe, they were the smallest people around on the streets. She grew increasingly nervous as they walked.
Around them, the shops had all kinds of things available. Most sold snacks or handmade textiles, mainly fried or dried foods and squares of synthetic cloth. Some promoted military parts of dubious provenance for sale, including Imperial transponders and communications systems that purported the ability to fool patrols or supply ships, as well as “military-grade” weapons. Others had uncooked food in various conditions, mainly fish.
“Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
While they walked, Elena leaned over Chloe’s shoulder to whisper.
“Are there places like this everywhere?” She asked.
“There’s a lot of ‘em!” Chloe said. “Every station has some abandoned areas and some less-traveled ones. A lot are remnants of the shafts dug by workers who were setting down the Core Pylon and building out around it. When people can’t afford to live in the core station, they don’t just disappear, they have to go somewhere. There’s nothing but the station and the ocean, so they go wherever the law doesn’t follow. I think most stations would rather they just eat each other down here than take up even more prison cells.”
“I see.” Elena said, her voice trembling a bit. She was so shocked to see all of this.
She knew, intellectually, that places like this were bound to exist.
Because space in a core station was at a premium, and you had to pay for lodging.
Therefore, it had to follow– those who were not able to pay had to go somewhere.
In Kreuzung, she heard that homeless people were beaten on the street.
So clearly, they had to go somewhere that nobody was looking at.
Everything Chloe said made complete sense– but seeing it was another matter.
Elena felt so deeply foolish walking through the crowds of hard-done folks.
What if she had inherited the crown– could she have ever turned this around?
No– that was a foolish thought too. Because the crown would have blinded her.
These people would have just remained invisible to her.
Only a proletarian could see them and maybe even understand them.
Now that she could see them, see the dirty choked-up streets and the tents and the overflowing alleyways and the fact that these people had nothing here but a red light district and some charity, everything ruled over by the huge neon signs advertising booze and sex– the idea of an underworld was made manifest before her. It was not a lurid fantasy anymore. Even though these people had some measure of freedom to do what they pleased, they were visibly hurting, deeply hurting. Elena could not help but to feel a mixture of the seedy underworld fantasy but also a measure of regret and perhaps even pity.
“Don’t pity them too much.” Chloe said, perhaps realizing what Elena’s silence might have meant. “They wouldn’t want you to. More than your pity, what they would want is your help. But if you give them money, it will only tide them over for a moment. To truly help, just support the Premier and the mission. Remember we’re down here for a reason.”
“Right.” Elena said, trying to cast eyes away from any faces in the crowd.
“Besides, it might sound cruel, but these places can be really convenient for us.”
Elena did not think it was cruel– because she thought of Chloe as a member of this place.
Someone who moved beneath the eyes of the Imbrians living peacefully in the station.
Of course it was convenient for her. It was what she knew, it was part of her strength.
If she were a leviathan, this was the ocean she swam through.
Regardless, they were, indeed, down in Haaren for a specific goal.
“Thank you, Chloe, for everything.”
“Don’t mention it. No more talking for now, okay?”
Chloe led Elena down several tiers of the Haaren substructure.
In each, they saw more of the same, though the lower tiers had more habitations and less crowded streets, as if all the action was focused more on the higher tiers. Even below ground, the peak was the economic center, and the very bottom was the remnants and cast-offs. But the very bottom was where Chloe led Elena. There was much less construction on the last tier, and many more tents and makeshift dwellings for the poor.
In the back of the bottom tier, there was an enormous, out of commission pipe.
“This is capped, leads nowhere– but she’s living in there. All-Seeing-Eye.” Chloe said.
She looked excited, as if she had been waiting to meet the mysterious informant herself.
Elena could see a faint glimmer of light deep within the pipe.
There was about a meter and a half between the ground floor and the lip of the pipe, so Elena had a bit of an awkward climb up onto it. Chloe helped her up, and she then reached out a hand to help Chloe up onto the pipe as well. Once they were both standing within it, they walked deeper inside. Elena thought the pipe might have been moist, but it was perhaps the driest place in Haaren, completely dry, without even a hint of rust on the grey steel structure around them, and none of the leaks outside.
Lights had indeed been installed– there were a few LED strips linked with snaking cable.
“Chloe, should we call something out?” Elena whispered as they walked.
Chloe cupped her hands around her face as if to amplify her voice and began to shout.
“We come seeking information! Please reveal yourself, famous informant!”
This seemed terribly silly and nothing at all like what Elena imagined she would say–
“I’m quite revealed already. Move closer and we’ll deal.”
And yet, it provoked a cordial-sounding reply from further ahead.
After a few more paces they could see the cap at the end of the pipe, with a few more LED strips affixed to the area than normal. At the far end, a person who had been laying alone on the floor pulled a battery-heated blanket from over herself and stood before them. At her feet, there were a few silvery packages and emptied bottles of water. She was a short and thin woman, not as short as Chloe, but a bit shorter than Elena, whom others considered girlish in height and figure. She had small forehead horns– likely a Katarran.
It was difficult to see in the dim yellowish light from the LED strips, but Elena thought the woman’s hair was a very pale color, maybe with a bit of pink to it. Two braids met in the back of her head, from which two long tails of her hair also extended, and she had neat, blunt bangs up front, a rather elaborate hair style for someone living in a pipe. Her clothing was very tight, with a long, uniform red and black plastic dress-jacket, the buttons offset to the left of her slim chest. Flourishes of cloth on her sleeves made them look like fins.
Far too fancy altogether to fit in with the rest of Haaren.
Discarded in another corner was a cloak with a symbol on it Elena had never seen before.
A sun partially obscured by a heavy dithering, with a rainbow-colored ring around it.
“You are the information trader called All-Seeing Eye, is that right?” Chloe asked.
“Even if you just ask her, can we even know that this is the right person?” Elena asked.
All-Seeing-Eye looked at them with an inexpressive face– and sharp, golden eyes.
“That is correct. I have no way of proving my identity. You will simply have to accept the risk as you would do for any transaction. You will find few people more knowledgeable than I am in Haaren. For the right price, I can elucidate anything for you– or even tell you a fortune.”
“A lot of the Katarrans around here talk a great deal about you.” Chloe said.
“They have reason to. I have assisted a few; and I have read the doom of several more.”
“Right.” Chloe said. She turned to Elena, “apparently, she correctly predicted the gambling fortunes of a few mercs around here, and predicted the deaths of two others, who, well, yeah. Not around anymore.” Chloe smiled and crossed her arms. “That’s how she first came into prominence, but she also had information that led to a big hit on a supply ship too, and news about Veka and the Palatine too. Everyone says she’s legit.”
“Then why isn’t she being swarmed with people demanding her information?” Elena asked.
“Hmph.” All-Seeing Eye shut her eyes and crossed her arms. “Because I assert myself.”
“Well, it’s more because– you have to understand, Katarrans, and especially mercs, we can be really superstitious folks! You might not get it if I just tell you, but this lady is way too ominous. So a lot of people around here will talk up how great she is, but they aren’t going to risk getting a bad fortune from her, or being given information about how their hits and heists might crash and burn on them.” Chloe said, smiling a bit nervously.
Elena felt a sudden bit of chill. “So why did you recommend her to me?”
Chloe shrugged. “You’re an Imbrian! You don’t believe in anything right?”
“Well, first of all, I’ll have you know, I identify with my mother’s elven heritage–”
“–Okay?”
“–and secondly, I’m actually getting a bit freaked out here!” Elena shouted.
Suddenly, All-Seeing Eye reached out her hand and laid gentle fingers on Elena’s cheek.
Quieting her whining instantly, and just as instantly setting her heart to a rapid beat.
She eased Elena’s chin toward herself and looked her directly in the eyes.
For the first time, All-Seeing Eye smiled. Elena dared not move a muscle in her grasp.
Her face was pretty, girlish and delicate, but her gaze was rather intimidating.
“I will be leaving Aachen soon. For you, I will listen to one final request, for a small fee.”
She lifted her hand from Elena’s face, and Elena took a step back, still surprised.
For as lithe as this woman was, she commanded an immense presence.
“What’s the fee?” Chloe asked, taking charge since Elena was temporarily out of sorts.
“I want a bit of her hair. I’ll preserve it and use it for no deleterious purpose.”
“Elven hair, huh? You’re not going to do any kind of Mageía with it are you?”
All-Seeing Eye cracked a smug grin at Chloe, whose body language turned a bit defensive.
“Hmph. If you’re a Katarran you should know that no serious Mageía can be done for such a small sacrifice. Were I to ask for her blood or teeth perhaps. As it stands you are near to offending me– take the price or leave it, it is final, and I will soon be gone. All I intend to do with her hair is to offer it to my lord, the Demon King, as a small obeisance.”
“Demon king? Now that’s a really trustworthy codename! Are you a Pythian?” Chloe said.
“How limited your imagination. I grow tired of your skepticism.” All-Seeing Eye said.
“I’ll do it. Don’t worry about me, Chloe. I don’t care even if she does try to curse me.”
Elena mastered herself, embarassed at how easily she had been stunned by the woman.
She had not risked admonishment from the captain and snuck out to this unpleasant place to simply walk back empty-handed. Some part of her could feel it when she was touched by All-Seeing Eye, and when their gazes met. They had formed a deeper connection than was visible. This woman had power and meant what she said. This was a small price for her to ask, and Elena could stand to gain from dealing with her. And somehow, she also knew– that a touch as gentle as All-Seeing Eye’s could not have been meant in malice.
All-Seeing Eye was not capable of malice, she thought. She had no basis for this.
But it was her feeling— maybe it was some latent bit of psionics in her that still worked.
“Very well. What is your request?” All-Seeing Eye said.
Chloe looked at Elena with a soft, supportive gaze.
Elena took a deep breath. Her body tensed, and she felt a thrill of anticipation.
“Can you tell me what you know about Inquisitor Gertrude Lichtenberg? Has she been seen recently, or made any kind of statements, or done anything that you know?” Elena said.
“Very well.”
Those words nearly made Elena’s heart stop with surprise.
And she thought she saw a small smile as All-Seeing Eye answered her affirmatively.
She walked over to her cloak, and from under it, withdrew a portable computer.
Returning to Elena’s side, and making sure to block Chloe’s field of vision–
All-Seeing Eye showed Elena a few tidbits of information that sent her spirits soaring.
Records of a Vekan ship, the Aranjagaan, making contact with the Iron Lady!
Judging by the date– it was just after they had departed Goryk’s Gorge.
By now, this was quite a few weeks in the past for all of them.
“As you can see from these records, she was peacefully seen off by the Vekans in the direction of Konstantinople where she would assuredly be safe from harm.” All-Seeing Eye said, her voice barely above a whisper close to Elena’s ear. “Does this satisfy your heart? Perhaps you want a fortune, to insure you might yet meet again?”
“No. It’s okay.” Elena said.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, and shook her head.
All-Seeing Eye shut her portable computer off, holding it by the handle with a hand.
Then, she swiped one of her fingers at Elena’s hair, a flourish that glinted in the dim light.
Demonstrating after that she had taken a few innocuous locks of her hair as the payment.
“Then that is our transaction. Honored to do business, in the name of the Demon King.”
All-Seeing Eye bowed to Elena, with one hand outstretched, and another over her heart.
Then, she returned to her heated blanket, shut it off, and began to collect her trash.
Chloe stood off to the side, staring at her with narrowed eyes.
“Hey, I’m so sorry– this chick’s a total quack! I should have never–” Chloe began–
Elena shook her head, weeping, but still smiling. “No, it’s fine, Chloe. It’s great.”
“It’s great?” Chloe asked, clearly confused.
“I’m completely satisfied. Thank you so much. Let’s get back before we get yelled at.”
Her heart felt like it had been drained of a horribly constraining pressure.
It was not a lot of information, but it was enough.
Gertrude had left Goryk Gorge, and at the Vekan border, she avoided a confrontation and was allowed to leave for Konstantinople. Most of Sverland was Union territory now, which meant that if the Vekans did not get her, and the Iron Lady continued to sail independently of Norn– then Gertrude must have made it to safety in Konstantinople.
They might still meet again someday.
No– they definitely would. Elena did not need a fortune to know that.
It felt silly to think about the future when the present was so tenuous.
But she wanted to believe.
“Someday, I’ll show her the new person I am now. And we can start over.” She whispered.
Her tears were tears of joy. Her friend, her old love, was still alive out there.
Elena was sure that they would share their apologies and get to talk again someday.
Soon, that Chloe Kuri and her mysterious elf left All-Seeing Eye’s makeshift home.
She did not see them out, did not need to. Their transaction was over.
And what a fine transaction it was. All-Seeing Eye was quite pleased with it.
Her stay in Haaren was over too. Her next destination was Trelleborg.
Another new horizon in her wanderings to support her master’s passionate ambition.
Transacting was her business, but not her true purpose.
She was the spearhead of the Demon King, scouting the western side of the civil war.
Nevertheless, her transactions in Haaren had been satisfactory. She had learned some useful information, demonstrated the might that was held in the hand of the Demon King, and the Katarrans were largely congenial to her presence. It had not been difficult to travel to Aachen, and the stay had been peaceful, so she deemed it a successful visit.
However, Aachen was heading for turbulence.
There was a dangerous current in the Aether, she could feel it.
She had to stay ahead of it, for now.
For the sake of her mission, this was not the place to hold her ground.
It was just another transitory stop on the journey that her Demon King decreed.
Maybe with more time, she would have checked the depths of the Aachen Massif–
–but she was ill equipped to dig too deep anyway.
“Let me see– was my hunch correct?”
All-Seeing Eye put the strands of hair she had collected into the palm of her hand.
Looking at them and channeling the power to unveil their true form.
Biokinesis.
In the dim light in the capped pipe, the black hairs turned a gentle indigo.
Elven heritage— and not just any elven heritage either.
“Elena von Fueller.” All-Seeing Eye said, smiling. “My lord will be pleased to hear of this.”
She gently, almost reverently, placed the hair into a small container.
This, she stowed into pockets in her coat, along with her portable computer and blanket.
Everything fit a little too well, as if the coat was shifting its size to fit everything snugly.
All of her trash she put into a bag that she would throw out along the way.
All-Seeing Eye felt strangely satisfied. It was amusing to have encountered that girl.
“We’ll meet again, Elena von Fueller. I don’t need a fortune to tell you that much. Perhaps someday I can retrieve you for her– she will never say, but it would surely please her.”
Elena and whoever was guaranteeing her safety. Their paths would cross again someday.
Whether in association or conflict, it was yet to be determined.
But not now– in the maze-like currents of the Aether, this was but a liminal space for them.
“Alright, alright, you damn social fascists all got me to sit down, so now what?”
“Well– of course, I have thoroughly planned out a multi-point agenda for us–!”
“Moravskyi, you blowhard, don’t think you’ll have the room to yourself just being loud!”
In the backroom of a little pub that was entirely bought out for the purpose–
Around a long square table with drinks and snacks and a half-dozen portable computers–
A sharp-gazed Katarran woman with smoke blue hair and a barrel-chested, bearded man leaned across the table practically growling in each other’s faces with anger. Beside them, a dainty woman in a white dress with perfectly styled pink hair waved her hands helplessly while an older, brown-haired woman sighed. Around them, a collection of assorted attendants and supporters watched the unruly proceedings with exasperation, embarassment, helplessness, apathy and even a vaguely concealed delight.
It was the opening day of the United Front deliberations.
The communist Nationale Volksarmee and their newly-acquired allies and assets,
The Reichbanner Schwarzrot and the vast finances of the Luxembourg heiress,
The disparate anarchist Eisern Front and the leaders of its enigmatic three arrows,
All had managed to gather in Aachen to reach an agreement about their shared enemy.
And perhaps to decide the future of the Eisental region, and maybe all of Rhinea–
But almost immediately–
Erika Kairos and Taras Moravskyi howled at one another an instant away from brawling.
Gloria Innocence Luxembourg tried to get them all to look at her slide presentation.
And off the side of this farce–
Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya and Commissar Aaliyah Bashara watched,
faces drained of color with exhaustion and disbelief and ears ringing from the shouts.
They turned to face one another with the same quietly screaming despair in their eyes.
What are we supposed to do now?!
While the Volkisch lurked in the far distance, scheming to pick up the pieces they had overturned, the United Front squabbled over the rules at the game table.
☭Eisental United Front Status☭
Nationale Volksarmee (Deadlocked)
Reichsbanner Schwarzrot (Presiding)
Eisern Front (Deadlocked)