The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.3]

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)


Previous ~ Next

Knight in the Ruins of the End [S1.10]

“Ingrid Järveläinen-Kindlysong– Jagdkaiser, launching!”

Underneath the Iron Lady, the lower hatch of the deployment chute opened into the bright, purple-flecked waters. The imposing Jagdkaiser dropped out, engaged its jets, and leapt into the unknown and alien landscape around the ship. Ingrid tightened her hands on the controls and tried not to let what she saw through her cameras bother her too much.

Maintaining her composure in the face of this environment was not an easy task.

Red rolling hills of flesh, massive fields of sinewy yellow reeds, thick vein-like roots dotting the landscape, crawling up the walls and the cavern ceiling. It was a complex landscape too, with rises and falls, peeking bone-like protrusions that were hopefully rock, long slightly sloping bare fields of ridged flesh like the foremost part of the palate. In the distance, there appeared to be great rises, like white mountains. Ingrid dearly hoped they were not bone.

As a pilot, what was strangest to her was the brightness and clarity all around her.

At civilization depth it was impossible for her to see through her cameras very far in any given direction. Not only was the zone of human activity extremely dark, the water reduced the effectiveness of any light, including the floodlights on a Diver. Ingrid had become used to split second tells that an enemy was upon her. She had the onboard computer, but her senses were not completely useless either. A flash of their floodlights in the near distance, the glint of a weapon caught in her own floods, even the faint movement of the marine fog disturbed by a rushing object, all of these could be picked up on in the moment.

In this place, she could see– as far as her eyes could see.

Not only was the cavity illuminated, it was as if the water was not taking effect on the light. She could see uninterrupted for what must have been kilometers worth of this fleshy landscape– and that enormous pillar in the distance commanding the horizon.

It was unnerving to have that blanketing darkness lifted from before her eyes.

Even more so when what it unveiled was so impossible to make any sense of.

“Ingrid, am I coming in clear? I should be– this is Monika Erke-Tendercloud.”

A voice from Ingrid’s communicator. It was the cute little voice of their Chief Engineer.

Ingrid knew she had been through a lot recently, and was relieved to see that she was working again. Monika thrived when she was kept busy. However, she would not let the Chief Engineer know of her concerns nor of her relief. It was enough to see that she was fine.

“Loud and clear. Shouldn’t the bridge be enough supervision though?” Ingrid asked.

It was not that Monika was unwelcome to speak to her–

but she had hoped for less–

“Normally yes, but we are being cautious.”

–intrusions.

A second voice– that Nile character, the doctor who suddenly appeared.

“Huh? What are you doing in my ear too?” Ingrid asked in a brusque tone of voice.

“I’m monitoring your health alongside the Chief Engineer.” Nile said calmly. “While I am not the foremost expert on its specifications, I know that the Jagdkaiser’s neural interface can have adverse effects on the pilot. We configured the machine to feed vital signs and brainwaves back to the ship for real time analysis. In the event that the Homunculus causes unforeseen issues, I have direct access to shut it down in order to keep you safe.”

“Okay, and what happens when the connection goes to shit because I’m too far away?”

“I can’t explain how, but our lasers actually have better throughput in here than they do at civilization depth, despite the Katov level.” Monika said. “Hopefully it remains that way.”

“I don’t need two people to dedicate themselves to babying me.” Ingrid grumbled.

Especially not when one of those people– was a particular person.

“It’s a unique situation.” Nile said. “I understand it must annoy you to feel that you are being minded, but we are here to support you. It is not out of disrespect or a lack of confidence but to support a vital asset. Once we have concrete data on how your brain and body are coping with the Jagdkaiser and the use of the homunculus this won’t be as necessary.”

Ingrid gritted her teeth with frustration, trying not to shout back at her.

Nile always gave some spiel trying to sound reasonable, she always said I understand.

Their one session at the clinic was full of “I understand” and “I know it feels like–

She did not understand shit! It was impossible for a freak like her to understand.

Ingrid was particularly sensitive when it came to other Loup, though she would not have used that word to describe how she felt. Northern Loup, her people, were in her view extremely conservative and largely only respected force and authority; meanwhile, to Ingrid, Southern Loup were more immoderate and unrestrained, arrogant, flighty. As the daughter of a notorious family, she had fought against Loup her whole life in different ways. Sticking up for oneself was absolutely necessary– a boot trod upon her once would never lift.

Khedivate Loup like Nile were weird outcasts, unwelcome everywhere, subject to incredible historical violence, and if she had been a more mindful person perhaps Ingrid would have felt some solidarity with that. But that wasn’t her– she always felt as though she had to compete with other Loup and that if she faltered, she ceded the ground that she was unworthy, a craven daughter of wicked blood. She could not just match them; Ingrid had to exceed every Loup, to uphold her family’s honor. Nile had already barged in and encroached on Ingrid’s territory in certain ways she did not want to acknowledge as particularly irritating.

Monika was a runt and a nerd– she incited no such urges.

In fact, Ingrid felt sympathetic with how much Monika must have struggled and endured.

But Nile felt like– real competition. Tall, dark, brunette; strong, smart, beautiful.

Put on the bare earth too perfect, and walking through the world too confident.

Ingrid had to beat her– she could not tolerate being under her boot.

“If the Captain has you on my case then I will have to put up with it, but log my protest.” Ingrid said. She had to accept her lot– she was still a soldier. One thing that all Loup respected was the chain of command. Authority was divine, every place was ordained, and humility and honor were exalted. To a certain point. “But if you annoy me too much I’m switching off the comms and both of you can twiddle your thumbs looking at your data over there. I only take orders from the bridge, and I prefer to be allowed to do my thing.”

“I am not here to interfere. Please feel free to do your thing, whichever way you do it.”

“Huh? What was that? Are you copping a fucking attitude Nile you fucking bitch–?”

“Ingrid.” Both Gertrude and Dreschner’s voice came through the audio line at once.

Ingrid grit her teeth and bore with the scolding silently.

Descending closer to the “seafloor” of flesh. She had strange feelings about her machine, the Jagdkaiser that was supposedly so mighty at the Battle of Goryk’s Gorge– despite its ultimate defeat. It was not as imposing after being repaired. Though it retained its demonic silhouette, the damage it surmounted, and the lack of parts, led to its regression closer to the Jagd it was based on. There was no use for the shoulder-mounted drone stations without any of the drones it used, so Monika replaced these with standard intakes and plate. The fixed gun on the front of the shoulder had been ripped out and was filled in with more control equipment for standard weapons. While this reduced the weight, the Jagdkaiser was still slightly larger than a Jagd and slightly denser, more armored and heavyset than its origin. Its original stock vibroclaw was replaced with an ordinary hand, but the other hand was taken up by the machine’s built-in secret weapon and would not be modified.

Finally, the machine was painted blue and green– a camouflage that was useless now.

Ingrid was not issued a cartridge for use with the main gun. Not on this sortie.

However, the claw could still deploy its magnetic field– she could find a use for that.

Her mission was to gather up samples of seafloor flesh for testing, as well as to test out the physical properties of the flesh through direct interaction and examination. Was it slimy or firm? Did it constitute an actual floor? Would the “cavern” react like an organism to being touched, to being scraped and having a cut inflicted upon it? These were unavoidable questions that needed to be demonstrated, and the Jagdkaiser was the most powerful equipment they had available– and Ingrid their most experienced, skilled pilot.

Through her cameras, she saw the vastness of the red, fleshy world around her.

She had seen what the inside of a body looked like.

If this was a body it was an incredibly warped creature of nonsensical bulk.

A whimsical idea popped into her head. Perhaps this was just one of its organs.

Some muscular cavity passing water, except now so massive as to encompass human lives.

Closer to the fleshy seafloor, Ingrid was surprised to find fauna scuttling about. Long, segmented bodies of crab-like creatures with multiple limbs, some rounded in shape and others serpentine and odd, things she had never seen before. They were sparse but they existed, perhaps more could be found in the reeds. By the way they walked upon the flesh, it seemed like the seafloor had a few different properties. There was a layer that resembled mocus or gel, semi-firm, upon which the creatures standing on the seafloor left rips and indentations. But the flesh below that seemed solid enough that once the wandering creatures stripped away the “topsoil” they could walk easily upon it.

“Some of these arthropods are definitely long extinct in the Imbrium.” Nile said.

Monika sounded her agreement. Ingrid could picture her, arms crossed and nodding.

“I don’t know my biology as well as my mechanics but– yeah. I recognize these. I mean, anyone would know the anomalocaris– it’s become popular among young girls now.”

There was a brief pause as Nile seemed to consider the implications of this.

“That’s– I guess I am more out of touch with what young girls are into than I thought.”

“For the record I have no idea what she is talking about.” Ingrid butted in to say.

“You don’t know about the anomalocaris Ingrid?” Karin entered the comms suddenly.

“I can’t even fucking pronounce whatever you just said.” Ingrid replied.

“I suppose you just aren’t active citizens of the Network!” Monika said.

“I’m not an active nerd like you.” Ingrid said, idly picking on her.

“Let’s focus back up now, Schicksal, Erke-Tendercloud, company.” Dreschner said.

His stern voice immediately quieted the discussion of the anomalocaris’ notoriety.

Except for one stammering little whimper picked up on the audio. “Why me first?”

With the peanut gallery silenced, Ingrid touched down upon the flesh.

Using the underside camera she monitored her own descent and the response from the surroundings. Initially, the flesh yielded a bit when Jagdkaiser’s feet touched the seafloor, but they held firm enough to be trod upon. She was instructed to stand in place for a moment and to gather vibrational data. But there were no errant vibrations.

It did not appear that the flesh was moving.

“Ingrid, use the collection tool we prepared to gather some flesh.” Monika said.

“We will need you to visit a few different sites and collect flesh from them so we can study it. We need different samples to determine if this is all one kind of organism.” Nile said.

“I’ll do my job whether or not you explain, so spare me the details.” Ingrid grunted.

She wanted Nile out of her ears so badly. But there was nothing she could do about it.

Ingrid flicked through the equipment touchscreen and activated the “special equipment.”

Reaching the Jagdkaiser’s hand partially around its backpack, she picked up a tube-like object that had been released from the mech’s magnetic strip. It had been charged from the mech’s battery to the simple and specific task it was given. Once she had grabbed hold of the equipment, she rotated the mech’s hand to align the flat bottom of the tube with the seafloor flesh. Some mechanism within the tube began to flex with errant suction.

Then with with a flick of a button and a forward on the sticks, she staked the flesh.

Down deep through the red surface, and well over one and a half meters into the ground.

Inside the tube, flesh and whatever else would be collected in layers to be studied.

When the collection tube sank into the meat, thin red fluid rose like a mist into the surrounding waters. There was not enough of it to completely alter the surroundings, which were lit up pale blue by the light on the water and dark purple by the katov mass. All three colors never mingled, and had a strangely mesmerizing effect on the water around her.

Ingrid dragged her sight away from the swirling colors and looked at her main camera monitors, one each to a cardinal direction, for any reaction to the stabbing. No tremors of some gigantic beast, nor any roars or sudden thrashing. Nothing immediate.

On one of her supporting touchscreens, the special equipment’s status was shown.

Whatever was beneath the red surface flesh, the tube had filled with it.

Ingrid reached down and pulled the tube from the ground and attached it to the backpack.

She moved the Jagdkaiser over the hole so her underside camera could look down into it.

It was hard to see anything of note. It seemed to be flesh as far as down as she had cut.

Blood seeped gently from the surrounding tissues, drifting upward.

For such a wound, Ingrid would have expected it to be filled with a lot of blood.

“Fascinating. I think I see a new layer at the very end. Maybe subcutaneous fat?” Nile said.

“I wish I had been able to make the collection tubes longer for you.” Monika said.

“For how short notice this all was, you should be proud of your work.” Nile said.

Ingrid rolled her eyes in her cockpit.

“You’re such besties, wow. Why not have a friendly make-out session too?” She said.

“On to the next site, Ingrid.” Dreschner interrupted. “It is marked for you.”

On her main screen, a green, flashing square target paint appeared in the distance. This was also reflected on a static sonar picture taken of the area by the Iron Lady, which she kept pinned up on a subordinate screen to get a better idea of how big the cavern was. Enormous hardly described it. This felt less like a cavern and more like her company had found its way into an entire contained little world that was only vaguely linked to their own.

Somehow, descending the trench seemed to have flipped everything around; water was bright, bandwidth was high, walls were meat. And the extremely extinct anomalocaris was popular with young, network-savvy girls. Would this flesh stretch onward forever?

No use thinking about it. No use thinking about a lot of things.

Yet she could not help but to keep thinking.

With her next target in place, Ingrid re-engaged her jets and leaped off the fleshy ground.

In her rear camera, the Iron Lady still loomed large in the background.

Holding position about 200 meters above the seafloor, still in line with the cave shaft.

A shiver ran its course through her body. She gripped her controls tighter.

Of course, Ingrid was unnerved. It was an unnerving situation.

Soaring through the water in an ethereal, too-still landscape of fleshy hills and purple snow.

Ingrid was a woman who felt her fears were simple things.

She did not care much for the grander scope of things in Imbria’s drama. Things that made her cry or made her shudder were exclusively personal. Her pain was not the world’s pain, nor was the world’s pain hers. People died, every day, in their thousands, hundreds of thousands, in their millions, men, women and children, youth in their prime and elderly ill deserving it– she didn’t know, she didn’t care. It was impossible for her empathy to encompass things too much greater than her orbit. In her experience, in the world that she had been brought up in, such things made you insane, and got you killed.

Whether purged by your own people for bringing disorder, disgrace and dishonor–

Or winnowed by the world itself for being too soft in the face of its unrelenting cruelty.

She was a subject of the world.

She submitted her soul to the proper order– but her heart was for the personal.

At all times she envisioned her journey in the Inquisition would have been quite mundane.

However, her Commander apparently attracted inexplicable things to herself.

“To think all my fuckin’ simpering led to this shit.” She chided herself in bitter mutterings.

It was difficult, it was colossal in its scope, to not waver in the insanity of what she saw.

But what scared her the most was something deeply personal.

That, in seeing this, she herself was forever changed. She could not just ignore this.

Nobody would ever understand. She was marked with it for life. Alone with this madness.

“Who would believe any of this?” She muttered to herself, in restrained frustration.

It was no wonder to her now that the Abyss had so many secrets.

Even if she returned alive nobody would believe her.

Her life was now a lonely myth.

The Jagdkaiser rose up the water table, despite its size faster and easier to maneuver than any Diver Ingrid had ever laid hands on. Effortless to pilot, easy to embody. She took in the “landmarks” that had been noted around the cavern, which was variously also referred to as “the cavity” by the more scientific of their crew members. The Iron Lady had made the final point of its descent the “starting point” of their exploration and by their instruments, the nearest landmarks all sat to the west of this point, although the cavity stretched farther east of them as well. There was a vast landscape of fleshy rolling hills with “fields” of yellow, sinewy reeds growing irregularly throughout, that made up much of the surroundings. To the north in this “field” there was a man-made structure resembling a blue and black rectangular station with a baseplate slowly fusing into the flesh on the ground– this was the most likely candidate for the “primary edifice” that Commander Lichtenberg was looking for.

However, this was not any one of the destinations for Ingrid on this sortie.

Instead, she had three positions in the flesh-field and its direct surroundings that she would survey, one closer to the Iron Lady, one among a field of reeds, and one atop a far hill closer to the main landmark inside the cavity. Several kilometers out from the shaft entrance and the primary edifice, the mysterious, and gigantic, silicate-looking structure, attached at its “peak” and “base” to enormous, sinewy growths of flesh. Like giant arteries attempting to burrow into the structure or command it or hold it in suspension. To Ingrid’s mind, it looked like the flesh was propping up the thing– but she didn’t really know anything.

It was colossal– seemingly looming over everything in the cavity.

Ingrid could look up and see it from anywhere she had been.

At the Commander’s request, it had been dubbed the “silica tree.”

Through a scan, the Iron Lady had found that a massive trench divided the flesh-field from the silica tree. Ingrid’s last collection spot was at the edge of the trench, and part of her task was also to see how deep this trench ran, whether anything was in it, whether it might lead anywhere– generally to get a camera on it. Then the nerds watching it could figure out the rest of the details themselves without much of her own input.

Ingrid tried not to be too wowed by everything she saw.

Her heart was in a mode to smother its feelings.

She wanted to retreat from feelings.

Feelings of beauty and longing and awe at the spectacle of the world–

They had no place in her– she had to get hard, harder, like she used to be before–

Before a certain woman bedeviled her and made her feel too special.

And yet– she also did not want to hate anything she saw, anything she felt.

That, too, was too extreme, too emotional. That too was softness.

Whether forgiving Gertrude and letting her back in was softness or hardness–

Ingrid could not say, did not want to contemplate, and put out of her mind as vexing.

“How are you feeling right now, Järveläinen-Kindlysong?” Nile asked.

“Captain Dreschner, do I have to answer this.” Ingrid grumbled.

“Yes.” Dreschner said. And not a word more.

Ingrid sighed audibly. Frustrated. What did this woman care how she felt?

“I feel fucking fine— alright? I am just peachy, it’s just me and the meat out here.”

“I agree that your conduct feels normal. Any physical–” Nile said and was interrupted.

“Okay? Hey, you know what, enlighten me– what do you think is normal for me, doc?”

“Speaking purely as a doctor observing a patient, you are hesitant to share your emotions, have a strong temperament and strong reactions in social situations. I would still like us to–”

“I never agreed to be your fucking patient! So speak like that again and I’ll fucking–”

“Ingrid! Please stop!” Monika cried out. “She’s not as bad as you think she is!”

“Take her side, why don’t you!” Ingrid shouted back. “Has she been fucking you too?”

Louder and sterner than anyone else, Captain Dreschner interrupted everyone.

“All of you for the love of God stop bickering over nothing! This instant and henceforth!”

His fist striking the arm of his chair was audible even to Ingrid.

It was rare to see Dreschner shout with such vigor.

Even he himself as he continued to speak seemed frustrated that he was pushed to it.

“Ingrid, you are tightly knit with this crew and this ship, and you are a proud person. I know that. I understand that. All of us greatly respect you. You have a lot to be proud about.” Dreschner said. “But a good soldier appreciates the advantages she is given, even if this means setting aside pride and tolerating conflicting personalities. Doctor Nile is assisting in this endeavor to help you. She needs to check in and monitor you, for your benefit. You would be at a grave disadvantage and even danger without her assistance.”

“I understand, Captain.” Ingrid muttered.

“I apologize for my role in the disturbance.” Nile added. Ingrid hated her for apologizing.

Dreschner sighed himself, and his tone of voice softened again.

“We need every advantage we can get. Continue to pilot that machine. And continue to accept the assistance and follow the commands of the Doctor and Chief Engineer. We are resuming this mission, and I want all future chatter to be productive to the mission.”

Ingrid hated that he felt he had to explain all of that to her, as if she didn’t know.

Old man Dreschner was somebody she respected, somewhat, for all the shit he took.

And he was like Gertrude’s dad– so she wanted to like him in that sense too.

Unlike many other people she would hate for this treatment, she did not hate him for this.

But she was frustrated that nobody shared her petty, pointless anger toward Nile.

That nobody else saw the introduction of her into the crew as a disruption.

A doctor– who gives a shit? They never had a doctor. They never needed a doctor.

All they needed was first aid and grit. That carried them through a lot.

Now Gertrude needed a goddamn doctor, didn’t she? Needed one a fucking lot now huh?

Lifting a hand from the machine’s control sticks to cover her own eyes, rub her own face.

Ingrid also hated herself a lot too. Her head was a mess of emotions.

She felt ridiculous.

And she hated that she became Gertrude’s nightmare vision of her. That she was petty, that she was jealous, that she was childishly angry at Nile, Victoria and the weird brainwashed freak they found in the last stupid building they went digging in. She was as possessive of Gertrude as she and everyone around her chided Gertrude for being over Elena and whoever else. Around Gertrude she had tried to suppress those emotions and work them out, but she had to be honest. Even if being honest with herself meant being miserable.

To think all this bullshit was in her head here. In the fucking sea of meat.

She shut her eyes hard for a moment. Trying to center herself again.

Felt her own sweat beads pooling up around the contact points affixed to her temples.

Opened her eyes again. Looked around the cockpit.

Apparently the Jagdkaiser had some kind of brain technology that helped to pilot it.

She wasn’t the cyborg freak that had been grown in a vat to pilot the Jagdkaiser originally. So she did not have anywhere to connect the gross spinal-tap looking implement. It was ultimately removed from the machine by Monika. Instead they would use the contacts, referred to by both Monika and Nile as “non-invasive electrodes” hooked up to Ingrid’s temples, the base of her dog-like ears and the back of her head, to connect to the homunculus. That “homunculus” was suspended in a box chassis above her head, separated from her by a sort of affixed metallic halo that provided structural support.

Thinking about it, she wondered whether her sense of the machine’s power was actually a sense that the hardware was better, or something the homunculus was doing. Were her reflexes and inputs enhanced by the homunculus, allowing her to pilot faster and more efficiently or was the machine faster and more efficient at the level of its base hardware? It almost made her mad again to have to consider such bizarre things.

That her life had become this parade of mysticism.

“All of this shit is going to get me killed.” She mumbled to herself.

But she had a mission, and the Jagdkaiser was approaching its next target.

Overflying a field of the yellow reeds and descending into and through the tall stalks.

As they swept past her in the cameras, she thought they looked plant-like.

Like thicker algae, mixed with celery– more stem than leaf, weirdly vascular, fibrous.

Turning away from the exhaust of her hydrojets just as they swayed with the currents.

Ingrid touched down on the ground amid the reeds, almost as tall as the Jagdkaiser itself.

More small animals, some crustacean, some almost like bony, scaly fish, swam away.

She maneuvered the Jagdkaiser’s good hand behind its back again to read for another tube.

From the equipment status screen, she was drawn–

To a yellow flash.

Her eyes darted toward her monitors.

An automatic target paint, suddenly, right next to her.

In a snap reaction she boosted away from the paint, and the movement in the reeds.

Something large rose up from mere meters away–

Her own hand swiped her weapon selector to engage her assault rifle.

The Jagdkaiser’s hand seized the weapon and turned it toward the field.

She held her fire, eyes wide-drawn, heart pounding.

Sluggishly, with almost lethargic movements, a white creature rose over the reeds.

Its body was smooth and slick, thick and cylindrical, serpentine, alien. Utterly pale, so pale its purple sinews were visible beneath its thin oily skin. No eyes on the surface of what Ingrid assumed was its head, and the barest semblance of a mouth that opened, nearly causing Ingrid to fire, testing her patience, her nerves on a burning edge. But there were no teeth, and it was only sucking in water as if to taste it. She held her place, kept her peace, and the creature lived just a moment longer. Paddle-like arms were placed irregularly across its body, which ended in a cephalopod-like tail. Four biological hydrojets blew a current of water and kicked up fleshy dust that was like shed, dead skin, and bits of broken-off reeds.

Even its ascent with its hydrojets was lethargic, slow, strangely peaceful.

It rose from the reeds, freeing itself from them, and it circled the Jagdkaiser once and from well afar before leaving the area entirely, undulating as it moved its long, cylindrical body, paddles gyrating, bio-jets giving it a lazy current to propel it away. As if the creature was just curious to see what had disturbed its environment and did not care to defend itself nor consume its intruder. Its movements almost reminded Ingrid of some gross malformation of a whale, playful, harmless, almost intelligent-seeming despite its grotesque form.

“Ingrid, I commend you on avoiding any violence toward that creature.” Nile said.

Ingrid dropped back against her seat, putting her hands over her eyes, kicking her feet.

“Fuck.” She grunted. “I don’t need commending! Warn me about it next time!”

“Sorry!” Monika said. “We’ll run more frequent scans from now on.”

“We have to balance information gathering with disturbing the environment too much.” Nile said. Before Ingrid could get mad, she continued, clarifying. “Scanning too often might attract other creatures. Possibly less docile ones than that. We are in a tricky situation.”

“Ugh.” Ingrid said nothing more, to avoid further confrontation.

Instead, she returned her rifle to its place and staked the ground to collect the meat sample.

Once again the flesh-field bled silently and without complaint.

“What if it’s a colony organism?” Monika said. “Like, zillions of little meat guys.”

“In a certain philosophical lens, the planet is already a colony organism.” Nile said.

“Huh. Yeah. I guess you could say, we are the zillions of little meat guys.” Monika said.

“I’m not a biologist so I’m a bit out of my depth with all of this.” Nile said. “Thinking about this from a medical perspective, one of my worries here is whether this organism is healthy. Is it alive or dead? How would we know its status? Does it respond to stimuli and how does it responds; whether it is affected by any pathogens; and what kind of relationship its anatomy and metabolism might have to us or our technology. Think about this– what if we inadvertently lead to the death or contamination of this environment? Could this be a crucial part of the Imbrium’s homeostasis that we were simply not aware of until now?”

“Think less about the organism’s well-being and more about ours for now, please.”

Gertrude made a rare interjection into the conversation at this point. Ingrid set her jaw.

Nile grunted a bit but continued to talk. “Of course, I am thinking about our crew above all else, or otherwise I would not ever have suggested to send the Sotnyk out there to collect samples. Were I completely against us exploring this place I would have advocated for us turning around– medically that is also the safest possible option. I am not blind to the scientific wealth we could find here. However, our actions still have consequences beyond our naked self-interest. You would do well to think on that, Commander.”

Gertrude did not respond. Dreschner curiously did not tell Nile to quiet down either.

Instead, the gentle scolding was allowed. Ingrid could imagine Gertrude sulking about it.

She was always so pathetic whenever something did not go her way.

Ingrid cracked the smallest smile imagining it.

“Personally, I am hoping this thing is too big for us to affect so easily.” Monika added.

“We are very small compared to our presumption of this ‘body’. That could very well be true if this is all one organism.” Nile said. “However, physically small organisms can have enormous medical outcomes on larger bodies– there are viruses that would strangle a human to death in hours, and to this organism, we could be one such virus.”

“Well, even if we kill it, I assume profit margins in the megacorps won’t take a big hit.”

Monika made a cheeky remark, and Nile had a small laugh at it in the comms.

“Humanity has survived a lot, but I still advocate for a bit caution. Just a bit, that is all.”

Grunting with indignation, Ingrid retrieved the stake, its insides filled with meat.

She attached the stake to the back. One more stake; one more location to scout.

“We painted your final target. Let’s get you going; and get you back safe.” Dreschner said.

“Acknowledged.” Ingrid said mechanically.

She pushed down her pedals and pushed forward her sticks.

Once more, the Jagdkaiser rose up higher on the water table and took off.

As the fleshy landscape scrolled by, Ingrid cast a glance at her rear camera, the Iron Lady becoming smaller and smaller in the distance behind her– but still visible. She cast a glance at one of the side cameras, facing the north of the cavern, and the mysterious facility standing amid the flesh almost like a massive and wide version of one of her stakes. A monolith impaled on the flesh. Who built that? Why did they leave it there?

She couldn’t help but be curious about it.

It was like nothing else in the surroundings. Alien within an alien land.

Gertrude would definitely be going in there– searching for God-only-knows-what.

“What am I even doing here?” She mumbled to herself. She felt like such a fool.

Unable to even sort out whether she was really angry, whether they could even be friends.

Clearly Gertrude was at fault, had treated her terribly– but she wanted to forgive her.

That woman as difficult as she was, had saved her life, stuck with her when she had nobody.

Had Gertrude not thrown herself at Norn’s mercy, Ingrid would absolutely be dead.

Captured by Brauchitsch and made a brutal and pointless example of.

Nobody would have missed her. There was only one woman who would have.

It wasn’t just Elena von Fueller who received some of Gertrude’s grace and protection.

She had genuinely sacrificed a lot for Ingrid’s sake too. She cared about her.

Everything that had happened to Gertrude was something Ingrid was also tangled up in.

Since the cadet academy, she always encouraged her.

Had they never met, Gertrude would have maybe never fought Brauchitsch too.

It wasn’t just that Princess who shaped her– Ingrid had a hand in making Gertrude!

Ingrid had wanted to be closer to Gertrude since they met. She was attractive! She was a good lay– even in cadet school Ingrid thought it would have been fun and when it finally happened she had her fun. Gertrude also proved she could be actually reliable when the chips were down– and that she was willing to throw anything away to achieve her goals. To stomp her own pride and debase her own honor. Ingrid admired that too, she was not a moralist, she was not impressed by peaceniks, reformers playing at being clean.

Her own sense of self was so rigid– she admired Gertrude being able to do anything.

That darkness inside Gertrude was attractive– until her fire burnt too hot.

“We got together at the worst possible time.” Ingrid thought.

Cursing her own luck. Gertrude was being stupid and wanton– Ingrid let herself be used.

It felt good for a bit, but with hindsight, it would’ve never lasted.

Of course anything to do with that Princess would have resulted in some stupid mess.

Of course they reacted in awful, hurtful ways about it.

Just like always– whenever they fought it always felt like both of them fucked up.

Gertrude would try to take all the blame; Ingrid would cautiously admit her own side in it.

It had happened over and over and their relationship surmounted it each time.

This time though, it was so heart-wrenchingly personal, so massive.

How could she forgive her for breaking her heart? Why would she ever do so?

“I guess I won’t.” Ingrid muttered. Something agreed too fast, and too half-heartedly.

Doing nothing to solve the conflict, which was raging in that soft, girlish heart she hated.

Her eyes, starting to tear up, scanned quickly across her monitors.

Looming closer, the absolutely massive silica tree, and its crown and roots of flesh.

Ahead of her, the red flesh-field took a steep dive. She could see the trench around the tree.

Cresting the final hill before the cliff, Ingrid set the Jagdkaiser down before the drop.

She removed the final stake, drove it into the ground, and waited, turning her cameras.

To have called it a cliff, and a trench, was a severe, almost biblical understatement. Ingrid felt as if she stood at the end of the world before a yawning maw that went straight into hell itself. She had no inkling of how deep Aer was supposed to be, how far down the ground upon which they trod would go and what was inside the planet’s deepest reaches. Whatever she was taught in school she forgot, it was ultimately just unimportant to her.

So in her mind, she was staring at the world’s center.

Staring at such things which made her feel like a gnat on the skin of a physical God.

First, suspended in the middle of everything, was that silica tree.

Larger than stations, like a mountain and a sun at once, bound by the flesh.

Over the chasm, the orifice down into oblivion.

There was a limit to how far down she could see because the light of the tree did not cut through the darkness with the same intensity that it illuminated the water in the cavity. Despite this she could see far enough to note the geological divisions, the strata of layered flesh and minerals. All of it was probably flesh, but its properties clearly changed deeper down. The layer of reddish flesh was surprisingly shallower than she imagined, and it quickly became darker, sinewy, and crossed with what seemed like stones and sediment.

And cutting through the flesh at irregular angles,

like spurs of dim flickering violet bone–

enormous, root-like veins of Agarthicite.

Some large enough and sticking out far enough to bridge the trench and reconnect the thick, tentacular flesh protrusions rising up like a column to hold up the silica tree from out of the endless darkness. Despite their contact with the flesh in many places they did not annihilate all of it, as they would have done to a similarly impaled human. Instead, brief sparks of Agarthic energy sliced small wounds into the flesh at irregular intervals.

Ingrid’s intruments read a slow but steady current coming up from below.

As if there was a flow from the chasm up toward them.

“Incredible!” Monika said. “How far down could that go? We’ve got to be at most like ten kilometers below the water’s surface right? We’re barely scratching the total depth of the ocean. However, the organism’s flesh extends farther down– what if this is only a small part of its body? Could there more cavities connected by more ducts and trenches?”

“Putting my foot down. We are not going to find out how much bigger it is.” Nile said.

“Nobody said we were going any deeper, relax.” Gertrude said, sounding surly.

They did not understand. They were not standing in front of this colossus.

With only a few meters of armor plate between themselves and its enormity.

Now the tears did flow from Ingrid’s eyes, and her ears folded, her tail curled.

And she looked upon the surface of the silica tree, and it seemed, for a moment–

That she felt as it did. That she heard as it spoke. As it sang– she saw as it did–

In front of her eyes she saw a great forest of many such trees as tall as the very sky.

Singing to each other, all as one, one as all, and yet many, songs of interwoven colors.

Older than age, ancient, arising mineral acritarchs, watching over carbonate puddles.

Full of love for all things, they sang to the creatures that slowly arose all around them.

“Something on the scans– it’s large– it’s approaching!”

An era of cunning, depredation, and conflict for survival played out at the feet of the trees.

Newborn creatures entered and exited, fought and ate, and grew and changed,

Never judged by the ones watching them, never thought unworthy.

“What– what the hell is that?!”

Then, suddenly, it was heard, that one creature sang back to the trees.

One creature of many, who from the means of singing developed thought and purpose.

Astonished, excited at the prospect, the trees wanted to nurture that nascent song.

“It’s firing! It’s firing– a missile!”

But before they could make themselves better stewards of this life, the trees met their end.

Cut down by a fated cataclysm of demonic, violet light that threatened everything.

Ending one song in sacrifice, to bury that fiendish power where it would not be touched.

Ushering another song in its place; a shuddering, embryonic song, the song of humanity–

Ingrid’s eyes flashed and she heard the multiple voices of all humanity as if they were one–

“INGRID! EVASIVE ACTION NOW! RIGHT NOW!”

Gertrude’s voice– shaking her from the stupor–

Pure fight or flight cleared the fog in her vision and Ingrid reacted in an instant.

Jerking her hands back and slamming her pedals so suddenly and so hard that it hurt.

Solid fuel boosters and the leg hydrojets threw the Jagdkaiser into retreat, leaping back from the cliff and the spot she had staked. Her breathing ragged as if she had been choking; a full-body quivering; salty, stinging eyes through the film of which she watched the enormous, dark thing on the screen that made its intentions suddenly clear.

Her cameras filled with the light of an explosion, ordnance detonating in front of her.

Ingrid knew to expect the inward force of the vapor bubble when she began her escape.

Fresh fear spread like a cold tap in her spine when she saw the purple tendrils emerge.

Water immediately smothered any explosive detonation, resulting in a vapor bubble that inflicted damage via the enormous shearing forces of its collapse along with contact heat from the blast. But this ordnance caused a phenomenon that Ingrid had never seen before. Within the vapor bubble, she could see glowing, misshapen “blobs” of material continuously smothered by the water but generating what appeared like thin tendrils of purple lightning that shot out of the vapor bubble and crashed into ground and spread wildly astray.

Several such bolts went flying past her machine as she watched breathlessly.

Her heart caught in her chest–

One bolt sliced across the fleshy ground and

whipped toward

filling sight overwhelming violet light,

jaw hanging entranced, no space for breath,

her final thought

a prayer

for another day, another hour, another second to decide–

granted

As the bolt annihilated one of her cameras, downing a monitor in her cockpit.

Ingrid jerked back against her seat, looking around the cockpit in a panic.

She had not imploded. She was not dead.

Her shaking body was there in all its parts.

She had breath, and pulse.

The Jagdkaiser landed on the fleshy ground several hundred meters from the cliff.

Several dozen meters where she had once been standing were annihilated.

Hexagonal wounds in a perfectly round crater.

Her remaining forward cameras fixed on the assailant, looming massively over the trench.

Ingrid had come under attack from a ship. An impossible ship that appeared suddenly.

Black and blue metal covered a boxy hull with beveled edges, bedecked with weapons. Cannon turrets, interdiction autocannons, missile bays. Water foamed from the rear of the ship, vaporized by enormous thrusters that were not hydrojets. A near size match to the Iron Lady, slightly wider, more utilitarian in its design, the ship moved in a languid circle around the silica tree, approaching but never crossing the edge of the vast trench.

“Ingrid? Ingrid! Come in! The Jagdkaiser is still operational– are you okay? Ingrid please!”

Gertrude’s voice again.

Ingrid lifted her shaking hands from the controls, hugging herself.

Her heart was thrashing in her chest.

And she felt a throbbing, a pulse, as if from coming from above her.

But she refused to look up at the homunculus.

Fearing she might become lost in inexplicable nightmares again if she allowed it.

Her eyes remained fixed on the mysterious enemy.

It had stayed its assault– for now.

Her remaining cameras zoomed in on the vessel and recorded everything they could.

Completing its run around the eastern edge of the silica tree, it began to circle away.

Exposing its flank, upon which there was text emblazoned on it which was–

Horribly, impossibly, mind-bendingly legible. Ingrid could parse it as Low Imbrian.

A.F.S.F Extinction Fleet — Enterprise

Along with a coat of arms composed of sharp hexagons forming a larger hexagon.

Lumbering out of sight as if it had deemed her unworthy.

Inexorable as a force of nature, its passage disturbing the water around itself.

Having driven her away from the trench, the mystery ship simply continued its voyage.

That fear which they had of disturbing this place felt almost farcical now.

Ingrid sat back in her pilot seat, holding her chest, unsure of what to think or feel anymore.

Watching an enemy that could have vaporized her in an instant simply ignore her.

Back in Sverland, when she fought that pup mercenary; and in countless battles she had fought as part of Gertrude’s crew– Ingrid had always sated what she felt was a Loup’s sense of honor and lust for bloodshed. She was a soldier, because all Loup were soldiers. The proper way to live as a hound was to bite; biting was the only thing she could do. She had lost her share of fights, taken her share of lumps, but she always gave back as hard as she could, and pushed Gertrude closer to victory. Even when that pup Raisanen-Morningsun got the better of her, she did not feel like an insurmountable enemy. Had she not been ordered to; she would not have retreated. She would have fought to death; that was her worth.

Now she was faced with an enemy that she could not– would not, chase after.

She could not move. Ingrid was scared. That monstrous ship gave fuel to all of her fears.

Scared to be annihilated in this horrible place and never be seen again.

Scared that she might die in this awful time of her life with so much undone.

And terrified that she would die without reconciliation, without resolution–

“P-Permission to retreat. I– I don’t think we can retrieve the last s-s-sample.” She said.

Her voice trembling, her body shaking, her eyes filling with tears.

“Of course retreat! We’re coming– we’ll meet you halfway! Retreat now!”

Gertrude was still in command of the comms.

Ingrid wished she was not– because she felt oddly comforted hearing her voice.

Hearing her clear fear and worry which felt so frustratingly honest.

Without further exchange of words, Ingrid fled from the face of the enemy.

Child of a kinslayer, dog of the Imbrians, hopeless beggar of love, and now coward.

Her heart was soft, it was weak, she had changed. She had been changed.

She was alive.


The Iron Lady entered combat alert and advanced deeper into the cavity.

That mystery ship, the so-called Enterprise, was automatically denying all hails.

There was nothing they could do. Nothing Ingrid could do but calm herself and retreat.

Ingrid closed in on the ship at full speed, slowing to a stop only when under its hull.

Entering an awaiting deployment chute, she let go of the controls, breathed a sigh of great relief, and let the engineers do the rest. Steel cables secured her machine, the door to the ocean closed beneath her, and the water drained out. A crane arm lifted her machine from the deployment chute and set it down in a kneeling position in the middle of the hangar, surrounded by engineers taking stock of it and getting ready to help her out.

She sat in the dim cockpit for a moment, pulling off the contacts from her temples.

Once her machine was hooked to its gantry along the wall, Ingrid opened the cockpit. Her instrument panels shifted aside, and an expanding sliver of light shone in her eyes. She stood with her head and back bowed, ducking under the roof, trying to make her way out–

but someone intercepted her on the ramp formed by the cockpit plate.

Suddenly taking her into a strong grip and pushing her against a warm chest.

“Ingrid! Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Ingrid offered no resistance.

She craned her head to look at the taller Gertrude Lichtenberg.

“Fuck no I’m not, do I look okay? You moron?” She cried out, her guard broken.

Both she and Gertrude had tears in their eyes. Gertrude hugged her again, tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Ingrid. I’m so sorry. I can’t bear to lose you. I fucked up. I fucked up.”

On that ramp, regardless of who was around, it felt like an island only for them.

“You didn’t lose me, I’m right here, so calm the fuck down, you lunatic.”

But Ingrid herself was weeping and her heart felt a joy she characterized as stupid.

An idiot’s comfort from being in the arms of someone she wanted and loved.

That person just a chaotic mess that had dragged her life to the rocks where it was dashed.

Nevertheless, she could not deny that there was comfort– and even more, there was desire.

They had been through so much together. They were still here.

“Ugh. You’re so pathetic.” Ingrid said, returning the embrace. “I wish I could hate you.”

And of course, at that precise moment, Gertrude chose to be Gertrude–

“You can hate me. You can despise me. But I will still do everything in my power for you.”

Ingrid suddenly reared back an arm and struck with full force and without warning.

Gertrude quavered and bent, leaning on Ingrid with her teeth grit and her tears running.

Upon having visible effect, the fist which buried in her stomach gently spread its fingers.

“That’s for all the shit you pulled. I’ll call it even now. You’re welcome.” Ingrid said.

Her hand switched to nursing Gertrude lovingly where the bruise was sure to form.

“T-t-thank you.” Gertrude moaned. Smiling weakly, recovering breath. “F-f-riends again?”

“Would I have hit you so hard if we weren’t friends?” Ingrid grinned self-assuredly.


After retrieval, Ingrid was immediately sent to Nile’s clinic.

To give her time to rest and to be checked up on by the doctor, a debriefing and strategy meeting was scheduled for the next day. In the meantime, Victoria van Veka stepped up as the standby pilot– which mildly irked Ingrid. But she had to accept it. She headed for the clinic and found contained therein her next mildly irksome set of moments.

“May I request your cooperation in a quick checkup to make sure you are not injured?”

Nile, gently smiling, as if they had never verbally sparred.

The doctor bid her to undress, put on a gown, and to take a seat on an adjustable bed.

Ingrid thought of saying something combative, but her anger was smothered by her shame.

Despite herself, she followed the doctor’s instructions.

Nile gently ran her hands along her limbs, requested her to make motions, checked parts of her body for wounding, broken bones; checked her mental faculties with strange and annoying questions and requests; took her blood pressure, listened to her heart, listened to her breathing; and finally handed her a small bagged protein drink with a screw-off top straw and declared her fit. All throughout, her handling was incredibly gentle and patient.

“I recommend you stay in bed for a few hours just to relax and wind down.” Nile said.

Ingrid averted her gaze.

That tall, long-haired, ethereally beautiful doctor, always kind and understanding. Having dropped into her world from out of nowhere. She felt her reckless competitive urge rising. That part of her that wanted to dominate her own kind, to prove that she was not just worthy but better, that the outcast embodied the true spirit of tradition. Someone who could not be displaced; someone who could not be ignored or replaced by anyone.

But it was clear from their every interaction that Nile was uninterested in competing.

Unlike Samoylovych-Darkestdays or Raisanen-Morningsun, she lacked fighting spirit.

Nevertheless, Ingrid took her for competition. Competition for– a variety of things.

“You look tense. Is there anything I can do to alleviate your concerns?” Nile asked.

She sat on the bed across from Ingrid’s own bed with a smile. To look her in the eyes.

That softness she could so easily turn on anyone bothered Ingrid more than it should have.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me punch you?” Ingrid said. A bad joke. She couldn’t help it.

Nile kept smiling. “Setting pride aside, I’d like for there to be less injuries going around.”

Ingrid grinned back at her. “Hah. So you do have some pride as a Loup after all?”

Nile sat further from the edge of the bed as if making herself more comfortable.

“The pride of a Loup, you say? Well– I recognize the value of our cultures in fostering community; and I recognize particularly the value of cultures that are challenged and tarnished by authority. Loup culture has been warped by war and servitude, but it is nevertheless ours. I do not begrudge anyone practicing or defending that culture. But I have been hurt by it. Which is to say– I understand why you act how you do towards me. I have pride enough I would defend myself, but I have no interest in proving myself.”

“Do you know how much I hate it whenever you say you understand me?” Ingrid said.

“I do; I am keenly aware of where that feeling comes from.” Nile said. “Look, Ingrid, I will not reciprocate any violent fantasies you may have toward me, but I respect where you are coming from. I will not vilify you for being wary of an outsider, I will not judge you for your pride, nor for wanting to prove your strength or stake out your territory.”

Her territory– Ingrid felt so stupid when it was spelled out so obviously.

What had she been doing? Blustering and antagonizing people all this time– for what?

Such a thing, her territory, was so infinitely small and pointless to the world.

It was still hers– it was still priceless to her. But had she really protected anything?

Or had she prevented her world from getting any bigger, for no one’s sake?

“Ugh. Fine. Look– I’m sorry. Okay? I’m acting ridiculous and I know it. I’m sorry.”

Uncharacteristically, Ingrid felt ashamed of her own conduct– but Nile didn’t judge her.

Nile reached out a hand to Ingrid, offering her a shake. She looked upon her kindly.

“Believe me, I know how it feels to be an outsider who found a place in the world. I know how it feels to want to do anything to protect that place and sequester yourself inside it. I am not a peerless automaton– I know envy, I know anger, I know distrust, I’ve felt it. I want to do what I can to show you I am not an antagonist. To me, Ingrid Järveläinen-Kindlysong, you are my patient, whom it is my duty to understand, respect, and to care for.”

Ingrid wanted to bite down and sever her tongue entirely; such was the shame she felt.

“God damn it. I hate how reasonable you sound. You better not make me regret this.”

She reached out, accepting the doctor’s slender fingers into her own slightly rugged ones.

Looked her in the eyes, and tried to see someone that she did not have to fight.

Tried to accept Nile as someone who was part of her world now too. Part of her territory.

When their fingers parted they remained seated on opposite beds. Nile’s tail began to wag.

“Nice work out there. I look forward to many more positive health outcomes.” She said.

Ingrid burst into a laugh; Nile having spoken so seriously. “You’re such a goddamn nerd.”

It was not much yet; it could become the beginnings of something.

Nevertheless, in place of the shame, Ingrid felt as if the tension insider her lessened.

She could smile again, and maybe she could even smile in Nile’s presence.

“So hey, tell me then, is Gertrude just a patient to you too?” Ingrid asked, in good humor.

“In this room, she is just a patient. But– she’s quite amusing, isn’t she?” Nile replied.


Time passed, and the Iron Lady cautiously resumed its exploration of the cavity.

“Why are you following me everywhere now?”

“Should I wait in your quarters then, master?

“N-no– no. You can keep doing what you are doing.”

“Then I shall keep a close eye on opportunities to I render assistance, master.”

“May I assume you are done pushing your sexuality onto me, then?”

“I shall leave such suggestions to the evening hours, master.”

Gertrude Lichtenberg turned to look over her shoulder.

That tone of voice, that little twist of her inflection every time she said master— and how she found a conceited, coy expression on Azazil’s face when she looked. That face reminded her of– Norn. Norn and Korabiskaya– when they teased her with their experience. She felt like bringing this up would look more pathetic than simply enduring it silently and with grace.

Looking at Azazil, with her unblemished, ethereally pale skin and her flawless makeup–

“Did you find your quarters acceptable? I take it you have all of your living essentials.”

“Any quarters are fine by me. I ask for very little and need even less.”

“How is your makeup so pristine if you didn’t request any supplies?”

“That is a mature woman’s sorcery– you wouldn’t know, nor can you be taught.”

Gertrude turned to look over her shoulder. Azazil winked and blew a mocking kiss.

“I feel like rather than a servant I have a harasser with me at all times.” Gertrude mumbled.

Her destination was a small meeting room, one of their few soundproofed rooms with full A/V, used for officer meetings. Inside the room waited Monika, Ingrid, Nile, Victoria and Karen Schicksal. All dressed for work. They sat around a square table with a digital whiteboard surface, flanked by a pair of long couch seats, with Karen at its head in control of a video screen on the far wall from the door. There were pouches of cream coffee and vitamin jelly strewn about the center of the table. Gertrude noticed that Ingrid was sandwiched between Victoria and Nile and despite this looked strangely calm about it.

Taking a deep breath, she walked inside and shut the door behind Azazil.

“Gertrude! Welcome! Sit down here!” Monika said, patting the empty space next to her.

Nile, Ingrid and Victoria all looked toward the doorway at the same time.

Victoria without expression, Nile smiling, Ingrid just slightly more disgruntled than before.

Such pointed staring made Gertrude feel as though she was in danger.

Without further dallying she took her seat next to Monika, who was cheerful as ever.

Directly across from Ingrid, who raised her fingers and waved.

While Victoria simply acknowledged Gertrude with a curt little nodding of the head.

Azazil sat down next to Gertrude, receiving a few stares from across the table too.

Well, Gertrude Lichtenberg, this is what you asked for, wasn’t it? This is what it takes.

She sat across and between all these quite familiar women, boxed in by them.

All women that she respected, cherished, loved, or was fascinated by– in some way.

Seemingly all getting along with each other though with complicated relationships to her.

Navigating some of this initial awkwardness was necessary for that to continue or improve.

As she sat there with everyone staring, she had to admit to herself she was a bit unnerved.

“Commander, glad to see you!” Karen said, breaking the awkward silence. “And thank you all for attending this meeting! I know we have had some frictions here and there, but I do appreciate everyone’s cooperation and everyone’s input is valuable is here. We are all uh– important stakeholders. I arranged this meeting to go over some of the data we have collected throughout our journey, and the forensics analysis we have concluded.”

“Before we begin,” Gertrude spoke up, “I wanted to ask how everyone is feeling so far.”

“Ah!” Karen said. “I’m– holding up!” She gave a thumbs up. Gertrude did not believe her.

“I’m excited and nervous in equal measure. But I’m here to care for everyone.” Nile said.

“I find this cavern rather disgusting, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” Victoria said.

“You know how I’m doing, I’m just so fucking positive, aren’t I?” Ingrid said.

“I think I’m kind of, desensitized to horrible meat landscapes now.” Monika said.

Gertrude interrupted before Azazil could say how she felt and shook her head.

“As you say, master. A silent woman is a precious jewel to you, isn’t she?” Azazil said.

“Be quiet. As in don’t say anything else until asked.” Gertrude grumbled.

“Hey Gertrude, why are we trusting this chick? Why is she here?” Ingrid asked.

She crossed her arms and threw an accusatory glare across the table at Azazil.

“Ingrid, she’s here to help, just like with Nile and Victoria.” Gertrude said.

For a moment she felt like appealing to the present cases might help her argument–

“You didn’t just dig up Nile and Victoria from some hole, it’s not fucking the same.”

Shot down immediately– in a way Gertrude was not even expecting.

“I share the apprehension. Azazil should be under strict information control.” Victoria said.

Gertrude gave Victoria an annoyed look as if to say, ‘didn’t I get you on my side already?’

“I’m afraid I have to agree– though I of course still accept her as a patient.” Nile added.

Not Nile too– Gertrude fumed at everyone taking each other’s side against her.

She felt suddenly cornered, staring at the three women glowering across from her.

“She’s connected to the structures! We can figure them out with her assistance!” She said.

“I’m with Gertrude on this! We need to keep that weird lady!” Monika said suddenly.

She raised her arm and wiggled her ears and tail and smiled with a mischievous vigor.

Monika– the only ally Gertrude had in the room. She gave her a fond little look.

“Why the hell?” Ingrid asked. “You of all people should understand the danger here!”

“Well– I feel like she needs someone on her side.” Monika said, sidling closer to Gertrude.

“We’re all on the same goddamn side.” Ingrid said, sighing.

“I am on my master’s side. After everything else has slipped through her fingers like so much sand, I shall still be at her side to watch the dust with her. Such is my solemn duty.”

Azazil said, her tone grandiose, gesturing toward Gertrude with a small, conceited smile.

“Uh, was that supposed to be a dig at you?” Ingrid asked, grinning at Gertrude.

Gertrude wanted to sink against the table and never lift her head again.

“Please just accept my decision and move on.” Gertrude said, nearly gritting her teeth.

“We should table this for later.” Nile said. “We’re wasting time and not getting anywhere.”

Azazil once again spoke up without being prompted.

Master can be stubborn, but I believe with the faculties she possesses, she has deemed me worthy of assisting your mission. As one designed for such things, it is my pleasure to assist her. You may assess the master poorly right now– but my assistance can elevate her.”

“Uh. Huh.” Ingrid replied, staring at Azazil in confusion but also a slight amusement.

“I told you to be quiet. I told you not to speak until spoken to.” Gertrude mumbled.

“I am providing assistance which seemed sorely desired, master.” Azazil said.

“Don’t provide assistance. Do exactly as I tell you. Exactly. Okay?”

Azazil, smiling serenely, nodded her head at Gertrude, who supposed she was being quiet.

“Ah, well, I’m glad we have such a– lively– rapport–?” Karen said, clearly nervous.

“I suppose I can live with this situation and just keep an eye on her.” Victoria said.

“Ugh, alright, fine, whatever, I’ll drop it. Look at me getting along so well.” Ingrid fumed.

“Well, I guess we can call it settled?” Monika said. “Welcome aboard, Azazil!”

Gertrude wondered if they were all turning around only because Azazil was being so snide.

After the commotion over Azazil finally subsided, Karen introduced the first real issue.

“Forensics has completed its analysis over all the data logs and footage gathered from the anarchist-branded Cutter in the trench. We have evidence to support the Cutter being the shared property of a cadre of Bosporan outcasts. Apparently they advocated for a fringe ideology within the anarchist movement and were pressured to leave their former communities. I’ll play some footage for you that we isolated of their last day.”

Karen pointed her clicker-remote at the screen on the wall.

On the video, there was a view of the main hall of the cutter erupting into pandemonium. There was screaming from every direction, people running from something, trying to barricade themselves in the rooms in which Victoria and Gertrude found them– and suddenly dropping dead where they stood in a variety of places. What was missing from the video was any visible assailant– it looked like the people in the footage were running away from something, as if they were trying to avoid a concrete threat. They moved in certain directions, ducked away from invisible attacks, and died as if attacked invisibly as well.

“This is security footage. We also inspected the video diaries recovered, but we found these a bit too personal to show. The diary belonged to a minor who was wrapped up in this expedition and met her end– much like here, she was chased to her final resting place, but we can’t make out an assailant. We believe it might have been a mass psychogenic illness.”

Gertrude flexed and controlled the muscle of her psionics, activating her advanced sight.

Red rings appeared on Victoria and Nile’s eyes as well.

Ingrid had no powers; Monika seemed to struggle a bit with it; Azazil looked disinterested.

To those with the sight, the assailant in the videos became clear.

Ragged red cloak over a sinewy, black, wraith-like body that was only visible through the smallest gaps in the billowing cloth. Faces covered by bone-white masks with expressions cut into the seemingly hard material. Unlike the blue creatures Gertrude had seen first-hand, these red beings had cartoonishly furious expressions etched into their masks, and their claws were sharper and less overgrown, easily swung as weapons that pierced through the unprepared sailors. Nile and Victoria glanced at the creatures and then at each other.

Perhaps all of them had seen these creatures before, in that insane shared dream.

These red ones moved nothing like the lethargic blue creatures that seemed almost pitiable.

Malice seemed to guide them, and rather than sleep, their touch brought pain and death.

It was not something they could reasonably clue Ingrid and Schicksal about, not right now.

“Mass psychogenic illness. We’ll leave it at that.” Gertrude said sullenly, burying it.

Nobody else in the room objected. She had spoken seriously, leaving no room for dissent.

“Any progress in contacting that mystery ship.” Gertrude said, changing subject.

Karen shook her head. “We attempted to hail it but all kinds of messages we have tried have been denied automatically. In case of incompatible protocols we even tried generative free interface association– but even that did not yield any different sort of result. For now, we will have to assume the ‘Enterprise’ is both malicious and resisting communication.”

“What about our other interests in this area?” Gertrude asked.

“We are still testing the flesh that was recovered. That will take some time– we have to be very careful with it.” Karen said. “Doctor Nile will assist in these efforts. We did also analyze some of the food packaging, political symbols and the various sundries that were recovered from the technological site that we found at 3000 meters depth. None of it was particularly enlightening– this Aer Federation had industry and packaged goods like our own and, well, the site was a human habitation of some kind. More fruitful than that– we do also have testimony from Miss Azazil here, acquired during her capture, interrogation and processing, that purports to elucidate some of our findings relating to ‘Island-3’ and its ‘edifices’.”

Karen played a few different pieces of video of conversations with Azazil that had been captured. These were disparate remarks and answers from various interactions. They had been edited to include only relevant information and exclude any unimportant remarks or speech given by unimportant personnel. Only the context of Azazil’s responses was shown in the videos, with some context given by Karen if any clarity was desired.

Azazil was quiet and uninterested as the video of her speaking played out.

“Of course, I can elucidate for you. You see, this facility is part of the Island-3 complex. The Island Series were originally intended to begin a process of underwater habitation, commissioned by the Aer Federation, but Island-3 was purchased separately by private investors out from under the Federation. The Island-3 modules were very flexible and meant to spread out to create a larger underwater network of interlinked facilities, but during their descent, several modules were lost. Only two modules successfully linked up– the Crown Spire and the Primary Edifice, separated by thousands of meters of depth. For some time now I have been a piece of equipment registered to this particular station.”

“This edifice, the Island-3 Crown Spire was meant to be one of the nerve centers of the completed complex. It had offices, a laboratory, food storage, an Advanced Neurological Model and biomechanoid servants, and other such amenities. With the loss and disconnection of most of the Island-3 modules, it was rendered largely useless as such, unable to carry out its administrative and scientific functions. It was then abandoned until the current era’s biomechanoids began to take unwanted residence within it.”

(Karen noted that Azazil seemed to refer to Katarrans as exclusively ‘biomechanoids’.)

“What am I? I am a biomechanoid servant designed to take care of humans. I can act as a social or sexual partner to adults, or a nurse or minder to children, and as a protector when needed. My combat capabilities? I am able to defend myself adequately, but I am not capable of bringing about the death of a Genuine Human Being. I would consider myself capable of overpowering most of you. Shimii? Well, I suppose I do look like that, don’t I?”

(She then dodged the question of whether she was a Shimii with overwrought sophistry.)

“Yes, that hexagon symbol is the Aer Federation standard. It represents utter perfection.”

“The Aer Federation is the ruling polity of the planet known as Aer. The Aer Federation is based in the Center of the Known World, located in Turkiye, a country that is part of the Nobilis Confederacy. What do these names mean? Oh, these are surface names. Well, a long time ago, the Confederacy of the Nobilis continent was the rival of the Ayvartan Union in the Extremis continent and the Federation of Northern States in the Occultis continent. However, all three polities were greatly weakened by a series of pandemics known as the Three Great Ravages and were driven to the brink, losing much of their influence and autonomy. Due to its role in resolving these crises, Turkiye’s Aer Federation would grow into a supranational body with near-total control over all of Aer’s social development and global security, as well as regulating key technologies like STEM and biomechanoids.”

(Karen explained that Azazil’s answers attracted more random questions and idle chatter.)

“Even though you have not heard of the Aer Federation, I assure you it is the ruling polity of the world. You may not know or understand it, but you are part of it. My evidence for this is that Genuine Human Beings continue to exist, and the Aer Federation is the supreme and eternal authority of all Genuine Human Beings. As you continue the search for Perfection and make use of Agarthicite, you are still advancing the Aer Federation’s goals and ideologies. As a compromise, perhaps we can say you are successors of the Federation.”

(Karen explained that at this point, Azazil became less cooperative regarding information.)

Gertrude turned to face Azazil, who put on small but polite smile in response.

“You know a lot more than you let on. Why did you stop talking?” She asked.

Azazil continued to smile quietly, fluttering her eyelashes.

“You can talk again now.” Gertrude said, exasperated.

“I was asked questions which were not safe to answer.” Azazil replied. “Or rather, I felt that the answers would endanger the people asking, so in order to preserve the peace, I refused to answer them, and I still do. Even you, master, cannot prompt certain answers from me– because it is my duty to insure health and safety, and avoid undue harm to humans.”

Gertrude hit the table. “The hell kind of ‘servant’ are you, just constantly disobeying?!”

“Gertrude, calm down. Don’t let her jerk you around so easily.” Nile scolded her.

“To be frank, most of the information she gave us was pointless anyway. We cannot make use of almost anything she wanted to tell us.” Victoria said. “It does not matter to us what the Aer Federation was like or where it was located. Whatever she says, we know that this polity is extinguished and has no influence on us. Right now, what we want is to extract information and technology that is immediately useful to us, isn’t that our focus?”

“What she said, Gertrude, these history lessons are a waste of spit.” Ingrid added. “Make her tell you what kind of shit is in this cavern! Like the ship that nearly fucking killed me!”

“Should you desire to access the primary edifice, I will do what I can assist you.”

Azazil remained unbothered by all of the anger and skepticism that surrounded her.

“It’s not even worth being pissed off at her, it’s like her skull is full of air!” Ingrid said.

“Gertrude, I am, if anything, beginning to trust her even less.” Victoria said.

“Look, I know its weird, and I no longer have any idea what direction my trust is going either– nor does that actually matter!” Gertrude said, greatly irritated, “What I do know is that we need her, she’s our only connection to these places. Right now, if we don’t break into that Primary Edifice then we are leaving here empty-handed except for lumps of meat and bad memories. If the Aer Federation isn’t around then I should help myself to what’s left.”

“I do not wish to cause discord between my master and her crew.” Azazil said.

She stood up from her seat, with everyone watching, and bowed her head, still smiling.

“Allow me to work to earn your trust and provide excellent service.” She said.

Ingrid averted her gaze as if it was embarrassing. Victoria stared dead-on at Azazil.

Gertrude ordered her to return to her seat, and the ‘biomechanoid’ smilingly conferred.

“Well– in the words of the captain, we do need every advantage we can get.” Karen said. She then clicked the projector, switching the videos of Azazil’s confession out to images captured by the Jagdkaiser of the enigmatic black and blue ship that had attacked Ingrid. “We called off the combat alert because it appears this ‘Enterprise’ is just circling the silica tree for the moment. For now, this can be considered the primary threat to our exploration, but we do not believe it is an immediate threat– it is not actively seeking battle with us.”

“Azazil, is it possible for that ship to still be crewed?” Gertrude asked.

“Yes, it could have a biomechanoid crew still following a given directive.” Azazil replied.

“After nearly a thousand years, or maybe more?” Nile asked, bewildered.

“I am a product of the Aer Federation, and I am still here.” Azazil said calmly.

Nile looked disconcerted by the prospect– an immortal apprehensive about immortals?

“Are we sure it won’t make a sudden beeline and attack us?” Ingrid asked.

“We have observed its appearances around the silica tree for the past day.” Karen said. “When we arrived we did not detect it, so we believe it was acting much more slowly or was completely inert at first, and only became active when it detected us. We believe it has sped up its rounds since we first made contact with it, but it has not left the side of the tree at all since then– if it wanted to attack us, we believe it would have already done so.”

“From our preliminary analysis of current footage and data,” Monika joined in, speaking of the ship with evident enthusiasm, “We believe the ‘Enterprise’ is the size and complement of a Dreadnought and that it is made up of the same metal as the Primary Edifice– which makes sense if they are both Aer Federation constructions. Since it appears to be keeping a tight course around the Silica Tree, I propose we first test whether or not it will act to protect the Primary Edifice. If it does not, we can study the structural integrity of the Primary Edifice to learn more about the Enterprise and perhaps devise a strategy to knock it out.”

Karen pointed her clicker at the screen again and displayed footage of the ship’s attack.

Particular attention was called to the glowing orbs within the vapor bubble.

“Ingrid, what do you think about the nature of the Enterprise’s attack?” Karen asked.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? That thing shot some kind of Agarthicite weapon.” Ingrid said.

Her words caught mid-sentence, and she looked disturbed to even say it.

“To be more precise than that,” Monika said, “I believe this weapon leverages different states of matter than we are used to for Agarthicite. Our civilization uses Agarthicite near-exclusively in its solid form since melting undepleted agarthicite is so dangerous. But Agarthicite is matter, and like any matter, it has different states. It’s theoretically possible for there to be liquid, gaseous and plasma Agarthicite. However, because Agarthicite is so volatile, it can only be handled via ultrapotent magnetic fields, ultrasonic water cutting, or within ultracold chambered gasses– we need extreme environmental conditions to prevent it from annihilating matter. I believe that the Enterprise has Agarthic pseudoplasma weapons– the behavior in that footage reminded me of plasma globules.”

For a moment, everyone in the room (except Azazil) had a somber look on their face.

The crew of the Iron Lady had their own mysterious, powerful agarthicite weapon, and they had been awed by what they knew of its power and brutality in the hands of Norn and Selene– but this was levels above even the technology of the Sunlight Foundation. More verboten than the verboten. In the middle of this alien abyss, the Aer Federation, once hegemon of the world, left them a final messenger of its dominating power.

Regardless, however, Gertrude had come too far to allow a ghost ship to deter her.

“Agarthicite or no, there are still limits to what it can do. We figured out that the delivery mechanism is still just a missile. It even missed.” Gertrude said. Her words brought upon her the attention of the women in the room again. “We have to be careful about Agarthicite’s properties, but we’ve shot down missiles. We can shoot these down. For now we will leave the thing be– but we will eventually confront the Enterprise, and triumph.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t propose something foolhardy.” Ingrid sighed.

She did look like she was smiling just a bit even as she said that.

“I fucking hate the feeling of running away, so fine. I’m down to pay it back.” She added.

“Preliminarily, I agree with this course, but only preliminarily.” Victoria said calmly.

“If you get annihilated I can’t do anything about that– but I’ll support you.” Nile said.

“It’ll be fine!” Monika said cheerfully. “I’ll find its weakness and you’ll all sink it!”

“I will, of course, continue to render excellent service.” Azazil added.

Gertrude smiled, feeling confident, and even a bit greedy about the prospects.

Based on the capability of the ‘Enterprise’, this could turn out lucrative beyond her dreams.

With such weapons on-hand, could she think of entering the power struggle herself–?

For now, she just had to focus on what was directly ahead for them, and to wait and see.

“Karen, keep watch on the Enterprise, but shift the focus of the drones and sensors toward collecting data on the Primary Edifice.” Gertrude said. “Have forensics analyze every bit of data we can scratch out of that box, I want sonar, LADAR, spectrography, heat maps, whatever you can get, I want spy tentacles on it, I want our camera drones crawling in it. We’ll devise a plan, assemble multiple teams, and assault the Primary Edifice as soon as we are ready. This will be a complete operation. We’ve seen the kind of obstacles that these structures can have, such as STEM and biomechanoids– we won’t take chances. I want an assault team, demolitions, security, the works. I will lead the vanguard personally.”

Her body felt electrified with a sudden thrill as she finally gave concrete orders to the ship.

Everyone around her had gone from their somber moods and began to pick up energy. They had direction again after the latest set of tumults, given an objective, an expected enemy, a puzzle to solve– the drive to move forwards again. Everyone looked at her with more determination in response to her convictions. In this room, Gertrude had a lot of powerful allies, and a lot of cherished companions. It brought her a measure of comfort. This was much more like the picture she painted in her heart of living amid their gazes.

She would hold on to that idea strongly and tried to have it carry her through the terror.

“Any questions or objections?” Gertrude asked– and her heart went cold for a moment.

Ingrid raised her hand– but she winked, with a mischievous wiggle of her ears.

“Question, Commander,” she said in a slight mocking voice, “Do we start right away?”

Gertrude smiled with relief, to a few gentle laughs around the room.


Far into the night, a tall, swarthy figure wandered the halls, clad in a fitted robe with a coat.

Gertrude could not sleep. She felt restless.

The other night, she had worked out some of her energy with Victoria and slept soundly. Now with an entire bed to herself to writhe in, she felt strangely too aware, and began to wander the halls, long since after anyone but a few late shifters would be working. The Iron Lady’s familiar, grandiose halls, devoid of their music, lights dimmed and emptied of sailors and soldiers hurrying about– they were not helping Gertrude’s condition.

She decided to wander down to the hangar. At least it was a broader, more open space.

To her surprise, stepping out of the elevator, she saw flashing and sparking in the distance.

With the lights dimmed, gloomy shadows pervaded the empty hangar. However, someone was working. Gertrude could hear the fizzing of a hand welder and see brief lights dancing on the far walls whenever the heat was engaged in erneast. She crossed the hangar floor from the elevator, approaching a familiar gantry, holding up the remains of the ‘Magellan’ class Diver. Since she had last seen it, the hull was connected and standing on its own, no longer a heap of parts. Most of it was covered by a tarp– almost ready for action.

She walked around the hull, drawing closer to the source of the sparks.

Right beside the gantry, a crane held in place a large joint piece, a roller.

Under it, doing some quite late night welding, was Monika Erke-Tendercloud.

She wore a face-shield, and she had fireproof gloves and coveralls and hard boots, over which she also wore her white coat. Over her golden-furred dog-like ears were a pair of fireproof covers with small holes to allow sound to still come through. Her blond hair was tied up to the back of her head, pinned up messy. She did not seem to notice Gertrude approaching. Her tail wagged fiercely, and her small, wiry body was utterly engaged in the act of welding. She bent under the metal piece, she stood beside it, she observed it.

Gertrude smiled, watching her work so hard. But after several minutes, she approached.

“Monika, you should get some rest.” She said.

“Oh!” Monika’s tail and ears stood on end.

She turned around and lifted the shield over her face and smiled brightly. Her pretty features were smudged with a bit of grease. Perhaps welding was not all she had been doing. Gertrude did notice a lot of other bits of equipment scattered about. Gertrude approached her, took a cloth from a nearby equipment table, and wiped Monika’s cheek. Monika allowed it for a few moments before pushing away the cleaning cloth.

With laugh, Gertrude discarded the cloth in a nearby recycling bin.

“You shouldn’t be up at 0200; and you definitely shouldn’t be working.” She said.

“Funny you should say that, because I see you’re also up at 0200 with me, ‘Trude.”

Monika put her hands on her hips and leaned in a little, grinning.

Gertrude leaned forward with a similar grin. “I’m here to make sure you don’t collapse.”

“I’m doing fine!” Monika said, before an involuntary yawn stopped her.

It was a long yawn too– plenty of time for Gertrude to stare at her while she exhaled.

“Are you having trouble sleeping because of the blue pools?” Gertrude asked.

Monika looked at the piece suspended on the crane, avoiding Gertrude’s eyes in the dark.

After what she experienced– it made sense that she would view sleep very differently.

“Monika, I promised to be there for you. You can talk to me.” Gertrude insisted gently.

In response, the smaller Loup first sighed. But she eventually began to speak in small, reserved voice. “I feel silly about it, but yes, I’m apprehensive toward sleep. I want to finish my work too– it’s not just that I am nervous, but when I think about the possibility I might not wake up tomorrow– I get so terrified. I feel like I might become lost if I just go to sleep, and that nobody will know what happened to me. I’ll just sink into those pools.”

“Would it help if you had someone to keep you company?” Gertrude asked suddenly.

Monika stared at her suddenly. Her ears twitched. “Um– what do you propose?”

Smiling, Gertrude approached Monika, bent slightly, and picked her up into her arms.

Lifting her up with a hand on her back and another under her knees– a princess carry.

Despite her exhaustion, Monika was light enough, and the darkness gave Gertrude courage.

Flush-faced, flustered, at first Monika struggled to muster a response to being lifted up.

“G-G-Gertrude! I’m– I’m really fine– you don’t need to go through any trouble–”

Gertrude looked at Monika in the eyes, enjoying the weight and warmth of her petite body.

“I’m also having trouble sleeping.” She said. “I’d love to have you tonight, Monika.”

She locked eyes with Monika, turning a gentle expression to her, feeling just a little silly.

However, she had to admit to herself, that it felt divine to be carrying a girl like this.

And it would be just as divine to have her in bed.

Monika took a deep breath in response.

She finally pulled off her face-shield and ear covers and let them drop to the ground.

“Okay, alright– I guess– I do– I kind of want someone to comfort me.” She admitted.

“Please trust me– we’ll wake up tomorrow, together. I promise you.” Gertrude said.

Gertrude felt Monika’s tail gently brushing against her as she wagged it incessantly.

“Are you really going to carry me like this?” Monika asked, looking bashful.

“I intend to. All the way to bed. Unless you want off.” Gertrude said confidently.

Her directness seemed to throw Monika off, and she averted her gaze again.

“No, this is– this is nice. But– where– where are we going?” Monika asked, fidgeting.

“I’m taking you to my quarters. We can share my bed tonight.” Gertrude said.

Monika’s eyes drew wide, but she said nothing, remaining quiet. Then she leaned closer against Gertrude and spread her arms and held her. There was a lovely, blushing smile on her face. Cheek to cheek with Gertrude– she was so soft. With the Chief Engineer in her arms, Gertrude strode back to her room feeling terribly fulfilled. She almost felt like laughing– how greedy of her to do, but it felt so good. It felt fantastic to have Monika in her arms.

Whatever happened tomorrow, it would be preceded by a good night!


Previous ~ Next

Knight In The Ruins Of The End [S1.9]

This chapter contains graphic sexual content.


After Descent, Year 975

Gertrude Lichtenberg, half-stripped down, laid in bed in a hotel room in Nichori Station.

She was afforded a very lux room due to her status.

She had large windows, broad glass panels on three sides surrounding and framing a soft and plush bed, king-size. She had her own bathroom. There was complimentary wine on a rack, and a cooler with beer and water, also a courtesy. The entire hotel had been booked for the use of the Inquisition and the Navy. Nichori was square arcology-type station– the sort that had a false steel sky and discrete buildings and streets within its interior.

When she looked out of her open windows, she could see stretching in every direction a great number and variety of buildings under a dark indigo false sky, cloudless, distant. Everything under that false sky was very real to the senses. Skyscrapers towering over pubs and shops, multi-story office buildings between, massive neon signs and holographic adverts. Entire facades of buildings with computerized paneling displaying videos, messages. In the distance, to the north, there was a patch of clear green ground, colored so by grassy hills and patches of trees broken up by lower-lying, wider buildings. Nichori University.

Her face was colored, lit up in the artificial lights that shone from outside of her windows.

Gertrude was in Nichori to put down a riot. Another of Bosporus’ many student ‘uprisings’.

But her eyes listlessly staring out the window had something atypically horrid burned in.

In her mind’s eye, was a woman’s body, one that she had seen. Seen, smelled, touched.

Mutilated, ripped open, irregularly burned, ruined with such hatred that chilled the heart.

Everything started as a routine and easily controlled protest by the student movements against the conservative-leaning educational regulators, this time over textbook revisions. Then the protests became full-blown riots after a young student movement leader, Uria Livnat, was found murdered. No– it was not just that she was murdered. She was practically defiled in death, and nobody cared– Gertrude was not there to investigate her death. She was there to investigate the rioting, to put it down, to return order and normalcy, and to arrest a few student movement ‘ringleaders’ in order to call it a day’s Inquisiting.

Gertrude had only worn the uniform of High Inquisitor for precious little time.

She had stolen this uniform from an ambitious man, a cruel man.

A man who had become too used to his invincibility and thought he wielded the Inquisition’s powers solely for himself. She wondered if Brauchitsch had come into the Inquisition a bastard sadist drunk on his power, or if seeing too much of this sort of thing ultimately perverted him. That day as she laid alone in that room after having seen that woman stripped entirely of dignity in death and came to terms that she would do nothing about it, she felt keenly the limitations placed on the seemingly powerful High Inquisitors.

High Inquisitors only had as much freedom as the Inquisition had patience to spare for it.

All of their privileges were just a result of the Inquisition’s desires. Gertrude could lay catatonic in this hotel room because the Inquisition trusted her. They trusted her to restore order to sensitive events where they had no one else as skilled or discrete as required.

Maybe they would ruin her body like that of Uria Livnat if she ever displeased them.

Gertrude had certainly put Brauchitsch through a lot of pain before he went, after all.

Everything she was doing; she was doing for Imperial Princess Elena von Fueller.

Her childhood friend; her sweetheart, one might say; her guiding light, her lodestar.

Gertrude tried to burn in her mind the divine image of Elena, so alive, holding her hand.

Excusing all of the evils she had committed with her shining smile and endless heart.

But she couldn’t get it out of her head. Uria Livnat was a constant headline in Nichori.

In all of Bosporus even. It wasn’t the only headline. Everything about this was so dark.

Would Elena have forgiven her for not playing the hero here– would she have understood?

There was something happening in the Empire of late.

The murder of Uria Livnat had to be a hate crime by a fascist group. Maybe the Blood Bund. They were in the news– there was a leak that one of the Treckow heirs had been involved with them. She imagined that grim-faced noblewoman leering over the corpse she had made after all manner of unspeakable things before riding off to a hotel room nicer than this. It was unkind of her to think something so salacious, but the nobility was not above this. Gertrude could easily believe there were peers involved in sick shit with the Volkisch Movement. Perhaps she wasn’t allowed to investigate further, to do the right thing, because of those connections, and the inconvenience it would cause to the moneyed powers.

Circular thoughts– no matter what she did she couldn’t get what she saw out of her head.

But she couldn’t do anything about it, but to break up the pickets and return to the ship.

It was the fifteenth or sixteenth time of the night that she turned over this murder when–

There was a loud and sudden knocking on her door. She ignored it for a few minutes.

Then came the voice, familiar, a bit deep, a bit nasal, rough and rich, mischievous.

“Hey ‘Trude, you done crying? Can I come in now?”

“No?”

“Well fuck you. I’m coming in.”

“Ugh. It figures.”

Ingrid Jarvelainen-Kindlysong charged into the room, sans any permission but with great enthusiasm to her every movement. Gertrude would have locked the door if she had wanted to definitively keep her out– what kept anyone else from walking in was that she had told Schicksal and Vogt she was not to be disturbed. But Ingrid was not just anyone. Schicksal and Vogt could not have possibly gotten her to behave. She did not listen to anyone.

Anyone– but Gertrude herself, of course.

And then, only sometimes.

“Come on, quit your moping. Look at this swanky place we’re holed up in!” Ingrid said.

She was dressed only slightly more than Gertrude in that she had a tanktop and shorts. She got up on Gertrude’s bed and made herself comfortable, taking in the sight of the window for a few moments in stunned silence. She set down a tray of food. There was a delicate liver pate, sea urchin roe with delicate herbs, and thin slices of extremely delicate and marbled, freshly dry-brined raw beef. On the side, duck fat croutons were offered for dipping.

Ingrid reached for one of the complimentary wine racks.

Without glassware, she simply popped off the cork and drank from the bottle.

“Wine’s not my thing but even I can tell this is the quality shit.” Ingrid said, laughing and sidling up to Gertrude, offering the bottle. “I can taste the fucking manicure and nap the grapes got before they were pressed. What’s it saying here? Nutty notes?”

Gertrude took the bottle from Ingrid while she was trying to read the tasting notes.

Sighing, she took a swig from it. She was surprised at how different it was from the cheap wine they had on the ship. From the moment her nose neared the opening of the bottle, the aroma of the wine was fragrant, with an almost peppery spice to the scent alone. Its flavor was much more complicated too, though she did not know that she could describe it as nutty. She had no idea what to describe it as, in fact. It was simply rich and strong.

She took another deep draught then thrust the bottle back at Ingrid.

“There you go! Now it’s a party!” Ingrid said. With enthusiasm she resumed drinking.

Quietly, Gertrude picked up a crouton and wrapped a thin slice of beef around it.

Popping the morsel into her mouth, almost overwhelming by the richness of it.

She stole the bottle out of Ingrid’s hands for a quick drink– the beef was so unctuous.

And the croutons too– it was fat on fat on fat, her cheeks stung with the sheer flavor.

“Hey– ah, whatever, have at it. You gonna say anything to me, by the way?”

“Thank you, Ingrid.” Gertrude said, handing the bottle back to her companion.

Her head began to feel a little heavier from the alcohol and exhaustion.

“There’s no use hiding it from me. What’s your problem, ‘Trude?” Ingrid asked.

“Where can I even begin? I’m at work. I have nothing but problems.” Gertrude said.

“Quit it.” Ingrid said, sighing. “That’s bullshit. Something specific has got you insane.”

“It’s really nothing. I’m just tired. I had to crack a seventeen-year-old on the head today.”

“And I had to crack ten and they were bigger. We’re bastards, it’s our job. That ain’t it.”

Gertrude averted her gaze. She reached for the bottle again, but Ingrid withheld it from her.

“Tell me what the fuck is wrong with you. Quit lying to me. Or I’m leaving.”

Her hands left hanging in the air, Gertrude felt a growing sense of exasperation.

“Alright, fine.” She grunted. “Weren’t you freaked out? That woman– that girl. We’ve seen politically motivated killing before, we’ve seen passionate killing, but it wasn’t as absurd as what we saw. It wasn’t this extreme. It fucks with my head, Ingrid. They did just enough that we could tell who it was, we could see enough of what she was like, but the rest– it was disgusting what they did to her. I can’t imagine what her final moments were like.”

“Somebody got their rocks off with that alright.” Ingrid said. “What are you gonna do?”

“What do you mean? There’s nothing I can do.” Gertrude nearly shouted.

Ingrid was unbothered. “Alright, that’s settled. You going to think about this any more?”

“Of course, I am! You’re so frustrating! How can you just ignore any of this?”

“I’m pretty skilled at not making shit my business that isn’t. I’m a Loup, ‘Trude.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Whenever Ingrid brought up her race Gertrude immediately felt a wave of guilt.

Ingrid hated when that happened.

“Ugh, come on. Come on! I’m just making a point. You’re a fucking dog too.” She said, smacking Gertrude on the shoulder. Her breath smelled of the wine’s strong aroma, and the proximity of that warmth made Gertrude’s skin shiver. Ingrid pushed herself until she was nearly nose to nose with Gertrude. “You and I both have to bite on command. Remember what you want to do! We have to tolerate this shit for now until we call the shots.”

She smacked Gertrude’s shoulder again, but this time it was gentler, in a friendlier fashion.

Picking up the bottle again she settled down against the headboard and drank.

“I look up to you; I admire you. I believe in you Gertrude.” Ingrid lifted the bottle. Her words were starting to slur a ltitle. “Someday shit will be different. You can’t save everyone. You can’t save that girl. You can’t save other girls about to be murdered like her. It’s gonna happen Gertrude. It’s been happening. It’s nothing new and it will only keep getting older with us. You can only stop it when you can stop it. You gotta get power, real power, the power not to take shit from no one. And then you can be the fucking hero.”

She tipped the bottle to Gertrude as if cheering for and then drank again. She smiled.

Gertrude was transfixed with her for a moment.

Ingrid was so strong. Of course, something like this did not bother her.

Wild and free, but bitingly cunning. More patient, more focused, than she appeared.

“I admire you too.” Gertrude said, comforted despite the chaos of Ingrid’s companionship.

“Of course, you do. I’m the fucking best.” Ingrid said. “Here, drink up. And eat more!”

Smiling for the first time that night, Gertrude took the bottle, and drank to Ingrid’s health.


After Descent, Year 979

Depth Gauge: 5040 meters

Aetherometry: Purple (Stable)

“Ingrid, can I sit here?”

“No?”

“Well– alright. Nice seeing you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Gertrude found Ingrid in the cafeteria, put on a smile, and made her approach.

Ingrid immediately glanced from her plate with an annoyed, narrow-eyed glare.

She was dressed in her pilot’s bodysuit, with her wild, beautiful hair tied into a ponytail.

On the job, with a plate of food, alone in a table in a corner of the cafeteria.

Her expression was not any more intense or different than Gertrude knew it.

Ingrid was frequently annoyed with Gertrude. It was something Gertrude both regretted and sometimes could not help. Sometimes Ingrid had been annoyed with her because she was moody. Sometimes Ingrid was annoyed with her because Gertrude decided not to crack some criminal’s skull open since she needed to actually talk to them. Sometimes Ingrid found something funny that Gertrude did not. And sometimes– Gertrude broke her heart. It was only a few hours since, so she couldn’t be surprised that Ingrid would still be mad, but it still hurt that in addition to losing her lover she felt she also lost her best friend.

There was nobody else that she could sit with and horse around like with Ingrid.

Ingrid made things that seemed overwhelmingly important look actually trivial.

Gertrude wished dearly that Ingrid could just tell her now all her problems were something that did not bother her. That did not faze her. That she was too focused on her own shit to care that psionics were real and that monsters could put a whole ship to sleep and that an ancient civilization had locked incredible, secret technologies behind biological locks and keys, within people, and within things that looked like people.

That what she saw in her pools did not bother her one bit.

But there was no taking back how Gertrude had treated her.

If Ingrid never gave her a chance to make up for it then– that was that.

She deserved this punishment, and as much as she wanted Ingrid back, she would endure.

Because she deserved worse for treating her as so disposable when she was so special.

Sighing, Gertrude took her tray of food and scanned the room, walking a few paces–

“Oh, good timing. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Sit wherever and I will join you.”

A small, dour voice without a hint of embellishment– it was Victoria van Veka.

Walking into the cafeteria, she found Gertrude immediately and called for her attention.

“Good morning to you too. Should I call you Commander now?” Gertrude said snidely.

“Good morning. If it will stop you acting so injured, I was excited to see you and forgot to exchange pleasantries. Now that my head’s bitten off, I will get food.” Victoria said bluntly.

Gertrude felt completely put in her place– the place of a childish idiot.

She sat in the far opposite corner from Ingrid. Victoria joined her shortly afterward.

Because of the reduced schedule, there was no one on kitchen duty. In preparation for this, self-serve machines with cold storage and heat lamps for different kinds of small, packaged dishes were set up in front of the serving counter. These were stocked in the very early morning. Gertrude had a three part lunch, consisting of a plastic container of chicken soup, a foil-wrapped egg salad sandwich on soft white bread, and a dish of mixed vegetables flavored with garlic and shallot paste. She was surprised by how warm the chicken soup was, and how savory. Though the broth was speckled with fat and stray strands peeled off the hastily cut-up chicken chunks, Gertrude preferred it this way to a cleaner broth. She liked the rustic texture of it. The sandwich was soft, with a creamy filling, the boiled egg blended perfectly with the mayonnaise to create a smooth spread. Green beans, carrots, and broccoli, tangy with garlic and shallot and perhaps a touch of vinegar, rounded out the nutrition. Not Gertrude’s favorite part of a meal, but she had no complaints.

While she and Victoria picked at the food, in between bites, they talked in relative privacy.

“I wanted to talk to you about Nile.” Victoria said.

“Are you two fighting again?” Gertrude asked.

“No. Please calm down. I am reevaluting her. I wanted you to know.” Victoria said.

“Thank you, Victoria.” Gertrude replied, sighing at her own skittishness.

Victoria’s ears folded just a bit and she narrowed her eyes a little.

“It’s not for you– she has earned it. When you disappeared, I could see how much she feared for your safety. She worked hard to comb the halls and to try to make sense of the layout of the station. She led one of the search parties, until all of us succumbed to the dream. It did not strike me as the attitude of a nefarious character who was only out for herself.”

“I had no idea I caused her that much grief. I just saw her a few hours ago.”

“If it were me I wouldn’t want you to think that way. I wouldn’t bring it up.”

“I see. Well– then I suppose I won’t know whether you were worried about me.”

“Of course I was worried about you. I’m not as cold-hearted as you paint me.”

She said this without much shifting in her tone.

Gertrude always tried to keep a close watch on Victoria’s mannerisms, since her speech was usually so balanced that it carried little implication of how she seemed to actually feel. Gertrude felt that last statement was said without negativity.

“At any rate. You were concerned that I would dispose of her, so I wanted to tell you.” Victoria said. “I am beholden to do something about Nile, but I believe that can be to leave her with you. As a ship’s doctor I think she is harmless, and she seems engaged in it.”

“You don’t think she will return to her ‘Sunlight Foundation’ as soon as she can?”

“Do you?” Victoria asked, meeting Gertrude’s eyes suddenly.

Gertrude had not meant to alarm her, but she had to be realistic.

“I would love it if she stayed aboard. She’s a fantastic doctor. I’ll certainly try to keep her.”

“But if she asks you to let her go, you will do so?”

“I don’t know if she will or won’t, and I don’t know how I’ll feel at the time.”

She knew she would hate it if Nile left her. She– she esteemed her greatly.

However–

It was too difficult to explain those feelings to another woman she felt the same way about!

So for now she admitted to as little as she could. Victoria looked content with her words.

“Fair enough Gertrude. I’ll continue to be on my guard. But– I feel positive about her.”

“I’m glad. Do you think you’ll tell her that? So you can stop catfighting all the time?”

Victoria narrowed her eyes at Gertrude again. Her tail stood on end, in cautious alertness.

“We weren’t catfighting and we didn’t do it all the time certainly.” She mumbled.

“You’re not going to tell her anything, huh?” Gertrude grumbled.

“At the moment, no, but I told you already, I’m evaluating and feel positively.”

“You know, you can be really hard to read sometimes.”

Victoria tipped her head to one side, her ears wiggling once.

“Sorry. Nevermind.” Gertrude said. “I have something I want to talk about too.”

Since she got up in the morning, knowing the crew had a day off, she had been thinking of whom she would spend some leisure time with. Monika was still recovering in Nile’s care. Ingrid needed space. Azazil was still due to be processed into the crew and she stressed Gertrude out anyway, there was no way to relax if she kept teasing her all day.

That meant there was only one real, present choice.

“Victoria, everyone has a day off today. How were you thinking of spending it?”

“You want to ask me out.”

Gertrude should not have been surprised that Victoria would cut through the crap this fast.

Nevertheless, Victoria’s bluntness caught her out once again.

“I– I mean yes, I kinda– I wanted to ask that, but if you don’t want to you don’t–”

“Obviously I can deny any such request, you don’t have to remind me.”

“So are you saying yes or no?”

Victoria shut her eyes and crossed her arms. “I am saying ‘yes’ I suppose.”

Gertrude sat in her chair, looking across the table awkwardly.

That tortured, vague way that she asked, and the tortured vague answer she received.

All of it made her feel like her blood was curdling.

“Okay, let’s start over. Victoria, will you go out with me today?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

In order to avoid talking further for a moment Gertrude devoured the rest of her sandwich.

Her heart began to soar when she realized moments later that Victoria had accepted.

There were a few things they could do on the ship– it was a very large ship.

She had hardly planned for Victoria to acquiesce so now she had to think of what to do.

“I want to change into a lighter outfit.” Victoria said. “Let’s meet up again later.”

“That works for me.” Gertrude said. “I’ll change too. Then the crew will see me relaxing.”

“Okay. I will see you in half an hour then?”

“Got it. See you then.”

“See you.”

Both of them remained at the table for a moment, staring, before standing with their trays.

Depositing the spent plastic in the recycling bin, setting the trays in the collector.

Then they left together and walked largely together toward, basically, the same destination.

There was no other route to the officer’s lodgings, it was all in the same hallway.

Nevertheless true to their words they had departed and did not acknowledge each other.

Disappearing into their own rooms until the time appointed for them to meet.

Neither of them acknowledging the absurdity of what had transpired.

Once the door shut behind her, Gertrude took a deep breath, and then burst out laughing.

“God– well, what I am going to wear?” She said, her heart fluttering with joy.


One of the perks of a dreadnought, a regal ship that was so much larger than the Cruisers and Frigates that acted as the workhorses of any Navy– was that its spaciousness gave room for comfort and even some small luxuries. More than just the broad and tall halls with their painted walls, art pieces, smooth music and high-romantic aesthetics, the Iron Lady also had more and better amenities than other ships. Such details played a part in retaining a professional crew. They worked hard not only because of the prestige of their position but because serving on a dreadnought meant serving in a much better environment.

For the crews of Cutters, there were no provisions for communal entertainment. Very few spaces on such a ship allowed more than five or six people to congregate at a time, and the social pod was a single cushioned booth table with a few amenities.

On a Frigate, there was always an actual social pod with comfortable seating and A/V equipment, the size of a tight little bar that could fit up a bit over a dozen people people watching a movie, listening to music, reading, or relaxing. It was cozy enough.

On most Cruisers the social pod was arranged like a broad lounge just off of the hallway on the second tier. It was a clear and massive upgrade. There were couches and tables, there were a few curtained booths offering slightly more privacy; and the offerings were things like games, a small stage with audio gear for solo performances, projector movie nights. It was mainly an inviting space to get cozy and chat or read a book or listen to some music. While the social pod would be one of the largest spaces on the ship, second only to the hangar, it was still essentially the size of a single, enclosed venue.

On the Iron Lady, the social pod was significantly larger, if only marginally better stocked.

Entertainment remained limited to the things that any ship could feasibly do without any massive alterations. Even a dreadnought could not fit a grand plaza or a sports field or a high-class restaurant anywhere. However, there was much more space in which to do routine activities, and the social pod of the Iron Lady looked almost like shops, with a main thoroughfare and sectioned-off venues. Compared to other kinds of ships, the large, decorated space felt luxurious even if it offered similar amenities.

There was a lounge, with the now-expected amenities but able to hold thirty people semi-comfortably; a fully stocked gym for dozens of people, where volunteers also gave fitness and wellness classes; there were six private rooms with booth seating and audio-video systems; a vending machine the size of a kiosk serving snacks and drinks; there was a little arcade with table games, video games, and a simulation pod; there was a smoking room with strong filtering and venting to prevent spreading air pollution; and there were a pair of discrete, enclosed spaces configurable as hot baths, steamy spas or cold showers, each holding up to four people at a time. All together, the pod’s individual activities could potentially host close to a hundred people, unheard of in other warship classes.

Each of these leisure facilities was fully automated and designed to allow the crew to self-service– and to bar access where appropriate. Everything in the pod was inaccessible without scanning a ship ID card at each door, wirelessly confirming person’s assigned schedule for the day. This made it impossible to unlock facilities if the cardholder was supposed to be working, preventing the extensive facilities from being exploited.

The committed professionals aboard a Dreadnought accepted that their leisure was earned.

Comforted in the knowledge that such amenities existed at all, they had ample patience.

“What do you think? Ever seen a social pod this big before?”

“Now I know why your crew hasn’t revolted against you yet.”

“What? It takes more than just a gym and a smoking lounge to stop that! It takes–”

“Private hot tubs and cheap beer one card swipe away.”

“Well– the cheap beer has to be authorized for disbursal; obviously.”

From the main hallway, Gertrude Lichtenberg escorted her date, Victoria van Veka, through the open double-bulkhead threshold into the Iron Lady’s social pod. Though the pair of them received a few mischievous looks from gossippy sailors and agents, they paid no heed to it. They were dressed up, and going together, but they weren’t even holding hands.

Though Gertrude would have liked to capture Victoria’s hand in that moment.

Victoria looked– quite ripe for the capturing in fact.

She dressed closer to how she looked when they were at school, but much more mature, ripened into a fine young lady. Rather than her vest and pants, she wore a long-sleeved and long-skirted dress, blue and white with a synthetic bodice but a top and skirt that Gertrude could have sworn were natural fabric. It was quite flattering to her slim, gentle curves. Incorporating a wide neck, the design bared her slim shoulders and collarbones. She wore a white frilly choker with it. Her hair, a rich chestnut-brown in color, was done up into two ponytails each ending in a cute little curl. Between her cat-like ears with freshly groomed white fluff, there was a little flat cap, its color and style matching her dress.

Though she did not wear makeup, Gertrude noticed her lips had a bit of colorless gloss.

Her skin looked really soft too, and she smelled nice– she took good care of herself.

There was no denying that she was absolutely gorgeous.

Even back at school Gertrude struggled not to think about the pangs she would feel for Victoria whenever she dressed up in anything but the ordinary school uniform. Even sometimes with the uniform too, as the girls got older. Back then she wanted to express utter loyalty to Elena and such thoughts felt like a horrific betrayal. Now, as her own person, and not Elena’s knight, Gertrude had no one whom she would betray by allowing herself to feel what she felt obviously– Victoria was incredibly beautiful and attractive.

Meanwhile, Gertrude herself had put together a casual outfit as best as she could.

She wore a red button-down shirt with long sleeves usually reserved to be worn with the black and gold dress coat of a High Inquisitor, on special occasions. Sans tie, or the coat, she wore the shirt untucked over black pants and black dress shoes. Her somewhat unfeminine figure was accentuated by the boyish style, and Gertrude wanted to believe she had evoked a certain bad boy handsomeness. She tied her hair up into a bun, but in a fit of sudden whimsy, she had put a skewer through her hair bun as a kind of decoration. She felt like the blaring red shirt made her skin look a bit darker, not that she minded any of it.

For something to accessorize with, she dug out a pair of thin, gold-framed sunglasses.

They had been a gift from Samoylovych-Deepestshore, her fellow High Inquisitor.

“You look incredible, Victoria. I wasn’t expecting such a beautiful dress.” Gertrude asked.

“Is it strange that I have this? It’s light and simple, I can relax in it easily.” Victoria said.

“It’s not strange. I think it really suits you. I’m just surprised you packed it at all.”

Gertrude awaited a return compliment for a moment– and then practically begged for it.

“So– what do you think Victoria? How have I turned out since school?” She asked.

Victoria glanced at her and then averted her eyes. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Does it irritate you?” Gertrude asked, trying to crack a grin as if she didn’t mind it.

“Not all. What I mean is, you still try too hard. Sometimes it’s charming.” Victoria said.

Gertrude felt a bit of a sting and did not think to prompt any further discussion–

“It’s charming now.” Victoria finally said, before heading into the social pod proper.

Following after her, Gertrude felt a bit like she had won a round of cards just then.

They walked through the thoroughfare and Gertrude pointed out the amenities in place.

After Victoria got a chance to look at everything, Gertrude gestured vaguely at the air.

“So– what would you like to do, princess? I’ll be your escort to whatever you desire.”

“Ugh. Don’t call me princess.” Victoria said, but with a slight bit of a good humor.

Victoria and Gertrude scoped out the arcade first.

Gertrude was not a frequent visitor to these facilities, but she knew her way around them for the most part. There were a few video game machines set against the wall. There was a shooting game with a light gun, a jet-boat racing game with a seat, wheel and pedals, and a scrolling ship game where the screen was replete with projectiles to avoid. Gertrude was not interested in any of them; she sometimes showed up for a round of pool on one of the game tables, or darts at one of several boards. However, what she did enjoy most in the arcade, and wanted to show Victoria, was the simulator pod in the back.

“I don’t fancy brushing up on my piloting skills at the moment.” Victoria said.

“It’s not just a Diver simulation. Come on, you’ll see.” Gertrude replied.

From outside, the pod looked more like a novelty photo booth, a massive square brown box with a door on the side to allow entry, set against the wall. It took up a significant chunk of the back corner of the arcade. Gertrude opened the door and gestured for Victoria to walk in first. There were two small steps to climb to enter. Inside, there a few pairs of lenses on a wall rack, and several round, bracelet-like pieces of equipment, ten of each for up to two people at a time. Aside from the gear the room was seemingly empty, with reflective metal walls all around the interior.

“Clip these on, and wear this.” Gertrude said, taking off her sunglasses for the moment.

Victoria looked at the bracelets and back at Gertrude with a skeptical expression.

She did as she was instructed. Wrists, ankles, knees, elbows, one long enough to go around the waist, one around the neck worn over her choker. Gertrude also clapped on all the bracelets and then donned the special glasses. When they were both side, Gertrude touched the wall to bring up a typical contextual menu. This room was made of touch-capable display walls, but there was even more to it. Just as Victoria began to ask what about this made it a simulation, LEDs on the bracelets flashed, color-projectors emerged from the corners of the floor and ceiling, lighting up.

In an instant, the world that they viewed through the included glasses changed entirely.

Gertrude found herself and Victoria in the middle of a grassy meadow.

Perhaps reminiscent of Vogelheim. Blue sky above, trees in the distance, rolling hills.

There was birdsong, and even some birds flying overhead.

Underneath her feet, the ground was still hard, however. And the air was dry and stale.

“You’re right, it’s not just a Diver simulation.” Victoria said. “What else can it do?”

Gertrude smiled at Victoria, who looked around the meadow with a slight bashfulness.

“It’s limited to the kind of stuff predictor computers can do easily. It generates a landscape based on data that it has available. You can walk around a bit because the floor will actually slide around to keep you in place. You can look, but there’s no tactile sensation. You’ve probably already felt that the air just isn’t as moist and warm as a real green habitat.”

“It’s very high fidelity.” Victoria said. “Even if it’s just a picture– it’s very beautiful.”

“I find it relaxing. Here, I’ll show you my favorite one. It’s amazing.” Gertrude said.

She reached out her hand, and within the simulation, a contextual menu appeared.

From there, she selected “beachside evening.” Prompting the world around them to change.

Slowly it dissolved into the next world that they would come to inhabit.

Blue sky blending into orange red. Grass disappearing into sand and pebbles.

Water and waves, a tide, tongues of the ocean crashing on the dirt and spilling back away.

And in the far distance, the setting sun, a vast orange disc dipping under the horizon.

Too close to be realistic to what the surface was once like, but aesthetically pleasing.

Gertrude looked at Victoria, her soft face kissed by the gentle orange glow.

Hair blowing in a simulated breeze that neither of them felt but both of them now saw.

Even with the missing details, Gertrude found herself immersed in the picture.

Everything was so beautiful and calming, ideal, that she made herself believe in it.

“I admit, Gertrude, I’m more drawn in than I thought I would be.” Victoria said.

She put her hands behind her back, wiggled her ears slightly, and smiled back at Gertrude.

“Would you care for a little walk with me?” Gertrude asked, her disposition ever sunnier.

“For a few minutes only– I don’t want to wear out the illusion.” Victoria replied.

Gertrude reached out her hand. Victoria looked at it briefly, before taking it into her own.

Hand in hand, they set off along the simulated shore. It was something the computer could have never gotten right. That softness and warmth, the gentle grip of Victoria’s slender, smaller fingers. The way she fidgeted as she gripped with the tip of her index finger sliding across Gertrude’s knuckle. At no point did she protest, nor did she rip herself from Gertrude’s grasp. They watched the simulated sun move with them as they walked, another incongruity of this experience’s aesthetic– and Gertrude felt so serene to be in it. Her palm grew warmer, and tingled, where it brushed Victoria’s skin. Where that traveling index finger touched and rapped, unable to stay still; where palms touched, skin grazing skin.

Staring sidelong, briefly catching Victoria’s gaze. Both of them breaking that contact.

Both of them smiling, just a bit. It was a little ridiculous, to be doing this.

A High Inquisitor of a fallen regime; the Bayatar of the ascendant Vekan Empire.

And yet, they were both childhood friends who had cherished each other in their youth.

For the moment, they were allies, distant in allegiances but with a temporary ceasefire.

In this simulation of an impossible place, which had been annihilated long before either of their times– perhaps it was also part of the fantasy to be able to put everything out of their minds and simply walk with their hands held, their heads high and their hearts warm. Feeling living pulse transfer through their skin and deferring yet another day the argument and departures soon to come. In this world, they could just be friends–

(and in another, perhaps, they might have been lovers–)

Gertrude wished that the moment along that false shore could somehow last forever.

Because for once– she felt like she had recovered someone she thought lost forever.

She could almost have wept for the fleeting, almost irrational joy that beset her.

After losing so much, she had gained back something.

In that moment it felt like more than enough to raise the tally to positive.

Victoria looked overhead, shielding her eyes. The corners of her lips moved slightly.

“Gertrude, look.”

Soaring across the sky was a group of birds– several four-winged, manta ray-like birds with short, almost flat beaks. Arrayed in tight formation and moving fluidly, despite themselves.

“Predictor computers.” Gertrude said, as if amused by the antics of a child.

After sighting the predictor inaccuracy, the pair decided to end their walk on a high note.

From the contextual menu, they chose to dissolve the projections, and the world they had been enjoying melted back into the metal walls of the simulator pod. Gertrude took off the AR glasses and withdrew her sunglasses to wear instead– when she noticed, rather than the dozen or so minutes she thought their excursion had lasted, they had actually been in the simulation for over thirty minutes. She was surprised and turned to Victoria, amused.

Victoria in turn simply shrugged. “It was a nice time. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Gertrude thought she might have to cloak her enjoyment in humor to get it past her.

Some part of her was still hesitant and maybe even ashamed to be enjoying this ‘date’.

But Victoria had few secrets where it pertained to her emotions. She said what she meant.

“Where would you like to go next?” Gertrude said. “We’ve got all evening after all.”

“I want to sit down somewhere for a while. Maybe have a snack.” Victoria replied.

Settled on their next destination, the pair left the arcade. People filtering in and out of the venue noticed the two and their eyes lingered as long as they felt they could get away with, afraid they might suffer retribution. Gertrude was not going to punish anyone for gawking– though it did remind her why she made infrequent use of these facilities. She put it out of her mind. At her side, Victoria either did not seem to notice anyone, or she did not care.

Her eyes never wandered.

From the arcade, they walked a few meters down the thoroughfare to the auto-vendor.

King of all vending machines, the auto-vendor was perhaps half size of the simulator pod they had been using, glossy and dark blue, a very serious machine.

Enclosed save for the stocking hatch on its side, locked for use only by the victualers. It had refrigeration, as well as a microwave function, and could vend hot drinks as well. It was stocked with stackable, recyclable plastic snack trays, with a few hot and cold offerings. On the front, its wares were displayed on a touch-capable screen. Crew members would swipe their cards and could then make their selections via touch control.

Gertrude chose a can of dark beer and a tray of crackers, hard cheese and cured meat.

Since leisure time and alcohol were both permissible, and the machine knew, it vended.

Victoria chose a can of lemon seltzer water and a tray of crudite and spicy mustard spread.

Even though she never practiced her religion overtly due to her family’s situation, she was still avoiding alcohol and adhering to the restrictions where she could. Gertrude had known since they were young that this was a sensitive issue for her– so she said nothing of it, did not make any comments as to whether she might or might not drink.

Instead she pointed out the private rooms.

“There’ll be a table in there and some ambiance controls. We can sit down, eat and chat.”

“That sounds lovely. I have been wanting to catch up a bit.” Victoria said.

“Me too. Things just kept getting in the way.” Gertrude said, leading the way.

Each of the private rooms had one long booth seat, cushioned black, a half-table made of carbon-fiber extending from the wall toward the occupants. It could be folded away to give a bit more interior room if it would not be used, but Victoria and Gertrude both set their trays and drinks upon it and kept it raised. Touching the wall brought up the contextual menu for the movie and music player which would project in front of the participants.

There was also a slot on the far wall of the booth seat that contained some towels, a pair of working headphones, a salt and pepper shaker– and a packet of condoms.

Victoria glanced at the condoms and then at Gertrude in a way that seemed accusatory.

On the foil wrappers for the condoms there was a little sun-disc logo Gertrude recognized.

“When did she have time to do this? She better not be encouraging sexual behavior.”

After Gertrude spoke Victoria’s gaze drifted from her, in a way that seemed judgmental.

But Gertrude wouldn’t ask for clarification. She left the condoms where they were found.

Grunting, she reached out to the wall and queued up some slow but jazzy music.

She set the volume down so it would provide ambiance but not interrupt the two of them.

Then she sat back against the booth seat, trying to loosen up. Cracking open her beer can.

“So– what do you think of the ship so far?” Gertrude asked.

Not knowing what to say first– not knowing where to even begin with Victoria.

To begin anew, after years, after throwing away their first friendship.

Victoria peeled the foil off her tray and picked up a celery stick, swirling it in the mustard.

“The Irmingard class continues to impress.” She said, simple and curt as was her habit.

Celery stick lifted from the mustard. Victoria took a bite. She opened her can of seltzer.

“Did you really kill Ludwig von Brauchitsch?” She asked, in a too-casual voice.

Gertrude blinked. She peeled the foil off her own tray while responding.

“This is rather sudden.” She said, putting slice of hard sausage into her mouth.

“You are welcome to withhold an answer. I’m just curious about your current position.”

With her connections in Veka, she must have known something about that situation.

Did she just want to hear it from Gertrude herself?

“Yes, I killed him. I hope you’re not imagining anything grand.” Gertrude smiled, feeling embittered to recall the memory of that pitiful encounter. “It wasn’t an epic showdown or anything– we didn’t have a huge duel; he was just an old man and I had the advantage. It was the opportunity I was given by Norn and Inquisitor Samoylovych that counted.”

Victoria swirled another celery stick in the mustard, winding a circle in the tray.

“You shouldn’t put yourself down too much.” Victoria said. “There are people who would have lapsed in that moment, when they realized the transgression they were about to commit. Our society revolves around an unspoken acceptance that hierarchy can never be overturned. To strike a blow with your own hands against an authority figure is utterly out of the question for most. But you accepted everything that came with that murder.”

“I don’t know that I understood it.” Gertrude said. “I was barely thinking about what it meant to take power from Brauchitsch. I was just desperate. Brauchitsch was going after loose ends from the fall of Schwerin Isle. Ingrid and I were being targeted by a High Inquisitor. It felt like my life was over. I had no rights as a human being anymore. He could do whatever he wanted to me or anyone I cared about with impunity. I was lucky– that Norn was there, that I managed to reach her, that she saw something in me and took me under her wing.”

“It’s not just luck, Gertrude.” Victoria said. “Again, I can’t help but point out that it would be unconscionable for almost anyone to approach Norn the Praetorian, let alone beg of her. While it might seem pathetic, you did something uniquely foolhardy and brave. It’s– something I admired about you– that brazen desire of yours to subvert the norms.”

Victoria had paused in the middle of her sentence. Her expression did not change, however.

“I wish you’d have been there to gas me up in the moment like this.” Gertrude said.

She laughed a little bit. Hoping Victoria might join in.

Trying to restrain herself from seeming too comfortable with the notion of that.

How different would have things been if they had remained friends?

Victoria rewarded her with the tiniest of smiles– but it was more than enough.

“I’m sure you had plenty of people to help inflate your head to its current size.” She said.

“Hey, come on, don’t suddenly turn on me.” Gertrude said.

Both of them laughed, just a little bit, together.

Victoria turned from her tray of food to look Gertrude in the eyes.

“I ask that question, because I also had to kill someone powerful. Becoming Bayatar was no easy thing– and the Empress was not in a position to help.” Victoria said. “Gertrude, after we left each other’s acquaintance, we both committed our first murders. We overturned institutions and took power for ourselves. I– I want to know how you felt about it.”

“Back then? I was terrified. After I put on the uniform Brauchitsch lost, I was still terrified.”

“Yes.” Victoria said. “And you realized power didn’t bring the freedom you hoped for.”

“Exactly. It wasn’t even guaranteed that I’d see Elena again and that was the entire point of everything I was doing. But I lived at the Inquisition’s whim. I realized over time that they got sick of Brauchitch’s arrogance and greed. It became convenient to let him die.”

Victoria nodded and seemed almost excited about that answer when she next spoke.

“You realized that transgression went both ways. I realized the same. In that same way that I killed, I had to accept that I could be killed. Someone could engineer everything perfectly to murder me. It would be tolerated or even praised in the right circumstances.” Victoria said. “Both of us made these covenants, to take power, to take life; and to accept the consequences of both. We are those rare few who overturned power only to see the next set of chains that power would clap on us. We both saw the limitations of our transgressions.”

They locked eyes, and Gertrude felt a warm fondness for her Shimii companion.

She felt foolish too. Because she had never imagined they could have so much in common.

They could understand in each other something they could hardly speak of to anyone else.

“Right.” Gertrude said. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? I was unaware.”

“High Inquisitors are normally appointed; but to be honored as Bayatar, you must kill.”

Victoria did not look nor sound like she wanted anyone’s pity, so Gertrude did not offer it.

“You’ll have to tell me the whole story there sometime,” was her response.

“And you’ll have to tell me about the end of Ludwig von Brauchitch.” Victoria said.

“Sure. I don’t think we have the time or mood to go into everything now.”

“I agree. It is the same with my story. But I do want to tell someone, sometime.”

“I’ll be elated to hear it. I’ll hang on every word.”

“You’ll be an acceptable audience for it.”

Was she teasing her now? Gertrude averted her gaze for a moment.

From that dire starting point, their conversation soon both settled down and livened up.

They were able to talk about their lives as if the events were trivial, just like old friends.

Victoria told her some things about her time in the Vekan court.

As Bayatar, she was kind of like a bodyguard and kind of like a royal guard captain without a retinue. Sometimes she had to control access to the Empress, sometimes she was sent out to complete a task, sometimes she had ceremonial duties. She told of how she had to field a few stupid duels on Carmilla’s behalf and thankfully managed to intimidate the challengers into backing down each time– and then Carmilla spared their lives each time.

“There are several traditions Carmilla chooses to retain that are pointlessly divisive.”

“Well, look at it this way– she looks brave for letting anyone challenge her, and she looks magnanimous for letting cowards who shamed themselves leave with their lives, when you could have just cut them down easily. It’s the kind of thing I associate with ‘Veka’.”

“Perhaps, but there’s more to us than the stereotype of barbarity.” Victoria said.

“I know. But you retain certain traditions to look more intimidating.” Gertrude said.

Victoria did not respond to that but did not seem to hold it against Gertrude either.

Gertrude asked her about horses, and how prevalent they were in the Vekan territory– a curiosity she had always had. Horses were exceedingly rare and valuable in the core of Imbria. There was a stereotype that in Veka, horses were much more accessible. Their culture had a lot of horse iconography, and the horse was a legendary animal to them, widely depicted in their arts. So that must have meant there were more horses there.

“Horses are indeed admired in Veka. They are seen as a symbol of wild, natural power. In fact the House of Veka were first notable in history as a horse-breeding clan.” Victoria said. “They took advantage of the Imbrian conquest to become the appointed duchal family, but the horse-breeding has remained an enterprise of theirs. Basically nobody owns horses– in ceremonies where a horse is involved in something, that animal was bred by the House of Veka and leased. They also produce any horse meat and blood that is eaten.”

“You had to drink horse blood to become a Bayatar right?” Gertrude said.

“Yes. Blood from Carmilla’s own horse, a child of her birth horse.”

“Huh. So the Empress has a specific lineage of signature horses.”

“When she was born, a horse born the same day was gifted to her. They grew up together, but a human lives longer than a horse obviously. So her horse sires or births a descendant that is also bound to her. This continues for as long as she lives. When she dies, her heir will inherit this family of horses. However, if she dies without an heir then the horses must be extinguished with her. Much worse than that will transpire afterward.”

“That’s– pretty incredible.” Gertrude grimaced. “How did the horse blood taste?”

Victoria’s ears folded. “Iron-like and salty, obviously. How does any blood taste?”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“You’ve become too interested in this. I refuse to discuss it any further.”

Gertrude laughed gently at Victoria’s expense.

They were having a good time. Victoria seemed healthy, positive and in good spirits.

Gertrude told a few of her own stories.

About Ingrid, her closest, abrasive companion through her years in the Inquisition; about Konstantinople, the lavish and beautiful seat of the Inquisition that formed part of the Fueller family’s purchase of loyalty from that venal institution; about travelling in the Iron Lady, some surreptitious meetings with Elena at various functions she was allowed to leave Vogelheim for; and finally a few little things that happened in Goryk’s Gorge.

Without yielding too much about each other, both seemed satisfied with what they learned.

Both of them had been through a lot; they had suffered more than the other knew.

And they had suffered similar things and felt familiar conflicts and catharsis.

Somehow after separating they had become more kindred than when together.

Bayatar and (ex-)High Inquisitor, trading stories, barbs and fond looks for several hours.


After talking for what felt like hours, the pair left their private room without words.

Gertrude was sure that they would go their separate ways after leaving the social pod, but to her surprise, Victoria both acknowledged nothing of the sort and also began to follow her closely and quietly back up the hall to the officer’s quarters. She was sure this just meant Victoria was tired and would turn in, but she followed Gertrude past her own door without so much as a glance at it. It felt too good to be true. Gertrude did not ask anything. In turn, Victoria did not say anything or act with anything but her casual confidence.

Without questions, Gertrude opened her door, and walked in, leaving it open–

Thereby allowing Victoria to quietly follow her inside and close it behind her.

Her expression was difficult to read. She looked– tired, perhaps? Wistful?

Victoria walked the length of Gertrude’s room, looking over the space.

“It’s a bit bare, isn’t it?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t have a lot to put in it. Or that I even wanted to put in it.” Gertrude said.

Perhaps this room was as bare as her personhood had been all these years.

Even after all her years in the Iron Lady, the Commander’s room was still laid out as it was first furnished for her. There was a bed, which was large and made of luxurious materials, with comfortable sheets and a good quality gel inside the mattress, stiff when needed and soft when wanted. There was enough storage for her uniforms and few casual and formal outfits. There were end tables, and she had access to a personal shower–

that was it.

There was not much else to it.

She used to have up a few things from the Inquisition, or Elena– but she put them away.

Maybe someday she would feel comfortable looking at them again– but not now.

“It could use more color.” Victoria said. “Even if just your characteristic red.”

“I didn’t realize red was characteristic of me.” Gertrude said, smiling a little at the attention.

Victoria glanced at her, and pushed on Gertrude’s bed, testing its stiffness.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to agree to go out with me today.” Gertrude said.

“I’ve started reevaluating my attitude on some things.” Victoria said, still poking the bed.

“Because of what happened yesterday?” Gertrude asked.

Victoria shook her head. “Not any one thing. I have been thinking.”

She left the side of the bed and got to walking again. She had a restless energy to her.

“Victoria– can you tell me how you feel about her? About Empress von Veka?”

Gertrude asked, as she watched Victoria pace along the edge of the bed.

It was the shadow which loomed over all their conversations of their past and future.

“You already have a preconception of it. Do you need to know more?” She asked.

“I want to know how my friend is doing and what she is feeling.” Gertrude said.

“Are you worried about me? Do you think I was groomed?” Victoria said, calmly.

“I’m just catching up.” Gertrude said, gesturing gently. “No judgment here.”

Victoria’s ears folded slightly, and her tail moved more stiffly, but she spoke.

“Carmilla is an incredible presence. I admire and esteem her. She makes me feel at ease and comforted. I love her and would kill anyone on Aer for her if she asked.” Victoria said.

Her voice was still her same dispassionate self, but Gertrude could see the admiration.

In her eyes– when Victoria looked far away she was looking at Carmilla.

She felt almost jealous– surely nobody talked about her in such a glowing way.

“But–” her old friend paused her pacing, hands behind her back.

Victoria looked over her shoulder at Gertrude with cold eyes, colder than usual.

Her turn was so sudden that her gaze almost felt like a physical impact on Gertrude.

“It’s not like you and Elena, Gertrude.” Victoria said bluntly.

“I never said it was!” Gertrude said, a bit amused at the comparison.

“You’re thinking it, you must be. Because of our social positions. You think it’s the same.”

“Victoria, I don’t know what your relationship is like, I don’t know the first thing, okay!”

“Then I will explain, because you’re so thick. I’m just her servant, even if she loves me.”

“Setting everything else aside. Let me ask you this: are you okay with it?” Gertrude said.

“Yes. It’s a tolerable situation because it is non-political. To take me as more than a servant-lover would threaten the order of things in Veka. She must continue her dynasty– so she must have a husband. I accepted this, Gertrude.” Victoria turned her gaze away and stared into the distance, toward the shower. She paced. Gertrude did not disabuse her of the notion she had brought up. She wanted to let her speak. It was the most she had said about herself and the most she had said with feeling in a long time. “Even if I was a man it would have to be this way. She can never be exclusive to me– it goes against the political order.”

When she thought she had a chance to interject, Gertrude did so, speaking her mind.

“I also understood that about Elena, but I still wanted her to be mine.” Gertrude said.

“That hubristic side of you can be charming sometimes.” Victoria said. Facing away, it was not possible to tell what sort of expression accompanied this statement. “Someday I will also raise children, as a Bayatar, and swear them to Carmilla’s children. That is the way of the warrior who drinks the blood of her liege’s horse. It is just how things are done in Veka.”

That way in which she spoke– it was impossible to tell whether it was fierce or resigned.

Why was she being so candid about this? She had been more distant about her other stories.

Did she want Gertrude to know all of this? For what purpose? Just as friends?

Maybe– she never had anyone she could ever tell these feelings to.

She could not tell the Empress von Veka, who obviously knew the state of affairs.

Had Victoria been holding this in her heart, all alone, for as long as they had been apart?

“Is it how things always have to be? Is it just an immutable fact that Veka will be this way?” Gertrude asked. “Wouldn’t you be upset to see her with a man when she could be yours?”

“I’m not as possessive as you.” Victoria said. Gertrude felt that her tone had gotten sharper but maybe it was just projecting on her part. Her back remained turned. “Someday I’ll find someone I can love outside of my love for Carmilla. I’ll love them differently but no less. They will be my partner in matters of the home and family in Vekan culture. Carmilla will find a man whom she trusts to support her, and they will have their family. Carmilla will still love me, and she will continue to use me as she has. I am already prepared for this.”

Her delivery was so matter-of-fact– had she really internalized and accepted all of this?

After she had told Gertrude she admired her for subverting authority–?

Curious, Gertrude briefly tapped into the muscles that allowed her eyes to see beyond.

What did she expect to see? Anger? Anxiety? Longing? What she did see, surprised her.

Victoria’s aura was gentle, like a breeze that kissed her skin, calm and stable in its rhythm.

To speak of sacrificing for her love’s sake with such surety, it was almost inspiring.

“I’m honestly kind of speechless. You’re so strong, Victoria.” Gertrude said.

Victoria finally turned around. Her face registered a mild surprise at her friend’s words.

Gertrude looked upon her, looked her in the eyes, feeling such fondness for her old friend.

She remembered the kind of blunt lectures Victoria would give to Sawyer, Elena or herself.

Out of all of them Victoria was always the smartest, but quietly, she was always the bravest.

That sharp tongue didn’t come from nothing– that was her strength speaking.

It was why Sawyer hated it so much. It was everything she herself lacked.

Victoria was free from their pretensions.

In her own way Victoria was freer than all of them. In her own way she had more power.

More power than Gertrude could have ever had– over herself, over her desires.

“You really were the best of us. I wish I had been more mature toward you.” Gertrude said.

Victoria looked, for the first time, openly conflicted. Her voice was a bit– exasperated.

“Back in school? Gertrude, I was never even angry with you. I wanted to help you.”

“But what I did was still awful– we could have kept up as friends if I hadn’t hit you.”

“It was awful, but I was never angry at you. I was upset with myself for losing my cool.”

“No. Victoria, you gave me a kick I really needed. I should have thanked you for that.”

Elena was in her final year of secondary schooling; they were going to lose her.

Victoria wanted Gertrude to consider how she could remain with Elena in the future.

Gertrude hated those words and attacked Victoria for uttering them so bluntly.

Just as Sawyer had done for much more petty and less meaningful words Victoria said.

But she did heed them– Gertrude also left their little garden of noble lillies after that.

To seek power, in the only place she knew she could find it– the power to take lives.

“Then was this cruel trajectory of our lives always inevitable?” Victoria said.

Her words trembled ever so slightly, for perhaps the first time in a long time.

Gertrude’s heart quavered and lost a beat looking at her face.

Perhaps she was imagining it, but Victoria looked to be on the verge of tears.

Yet she did not actually cry. It was just a subtle shift toward a more open sadness.

“Gertrude– I really wish I was more like you. You must think I’m insane.” Victoria said.

“Well– I don’t know that it would fit you– and you wouldn’t enjoy it.” Gertrude said.

“My own condition is not so blessed either. I don’t want to be admired. I am not so strong.”

Gertrude averted her own gaze, involuntarily, as that sharpness returned to Victoria’s eyes.

In hindsight, she was putting Victoria on a pedestal.

“We’ve both experienced a lot of cruelty that neither of us deserve.” Gertrude said.

Sighing, Victoria sat on the bed, her legs off it, leaning back with her hands on the sheets.

“No argument from me.” She said. “I just wanted you to know, Gertrude. I– I do wish it had gone differently. I do wish we could have remained friends. I wish you could have visited me like you visited Elena.” Gertrude was surprised. She wondered if Victoria had any ideas about what those visits had as their aim– she never considered Elena to be just her friend, after all.

“It can still be different.” Gertrude said. “We had fun today. I consider you my friend.”

“I wish our circumstances were not so complicated, Gertrude, I really do.” Victoria said.

Gertrude had already made her determination of this when they reunited.

It was easy to smile, put her hand to her chest and say it with conviction.

“If Veka asks you to kill me, I’ll resist– but I’m not going to hurt you again, Victoria.”

Victoria sat up straighter and looked down at her feet in response to that.

Her hands balled up into fists against her skirt. She shut her eyes.

“Gertrude– I was at Vogelheim on the day of the attack. I helped Elena escape from Sawyer. It was cruel to leave you ignorant of what happened. I knew exactly how much she meant to you. I could have informed you. But I did not. I thought badly of you– I wanted to hurt you or mock you. I hardened my heart and wanted to hate you– I’m sorry.” She said suddenly. “That day was such a mess for me. After seeing Sawyer again, I did not know I felt anymore.”

Though surprised, there was nothing for Gertrude to get either too upset about.

She knew Elena was alive. She had her own opportunity and used it to hurt her too.

And whatever pain Victoria had wanted to inflict on her, was in the past, and recovered.

So, there was no passionate reaction from her. She approached the bed and sat down.

Beside Victoria, as close as she felt was appropriate. She looked her friend in the eyes.

For a moment Victoria looked relieved. Perhaps she expected to be approached with anger.

“Do you still like Elena?” Gertrude said. Deliberately ambiguous in her choice of words.

“Yes.” Victoria said bluntly. Whether the esteem of a friend or something else, unknown.

“If it weren’t for that bastard Sawyer, we could have had a proper little reunion someday.”

They met eyes again. Victoria looked surprised at Gertrude’s calm demeanor.

After a moment, Victoria’s eyes wandered back to her lap. Another treasured little smile.

“Maybe if we capture Sawyer we can have a tea party and she can attend in a cage.”

Gertrude burst out laughing suddenly. Victoria had a bit of a relaxed chuckle herself.

“Gertrude–” Victoria looked, to Gertrude’s surprise, quite openly happy. “I– I enjoyed myself today. Thank you. One thing that my life is missing, that I do miss, is that sort of spontainety that– that friendship brings. Friendship– it tugs at your heart’s strings when you least expect it. It makes you act differently. Changes the ruts that you have fallen into.”

As she spoke, Gertrude wondered if what her life really lacked was just friendship.

Her slight stuttering was very cute. She really was struggling with her feelings.

Not that Gertrude could tease for it– she herself had no idea how she would respond.

After all, what she wanted to say was perhaps far too scandalous for Victoria to accept.

So she sat next to Victoria on the bed, quiet for a moment, staring forward.

“Do you remember how we first met?” Victoria asked, breaking the silence.

“How could I ever forget?” Gertrude said.

The Luxembourg School for Girls had a tradition on its Inauguration Day, the time when new students were welcomed into the student body. Girls from the new classes would be paired together based on their IDs by the school computer and they would meet up and exchange ice breaker questions. For many of the girls this was a very serious ritual that they had already been preparing for. Aristocratic culture emphasized conversational skills and etiquette as something uniquely valuable to a woman, and Luxembourg served as a multi-year theater for such skills to be demonstrated and honed. The ideal girl raised by the school was supposed to be demure and beautiful but also literate and interesting.

Out in the flower garden, the girls in their uniforms, question cards in hand–

Little chattering voices, well-practiced smiles and just-so polite giggles–

And in the middle of all that, Victoria had been paired up with Sawyer on opening day.

Between Victoria’s terseness and Sawyer’s penchant to take offense, it was a disaster.

Gertrude had been feeling a bit foul about not getting Elena in the blind draw, as she had put a ridiculous amount of stock in being fated to be chosen to talk to Elena, like a sign from God that they were meant to be together. When she failed to get her way she got quite moody. Disinterested in her actual discussion partner, Gertrude could not help but notice Victoria and Sawyer’s intensifying awkwardness– and when Sawyer finally snapped for the very first time, Gertrude took her down to the ground for the very first time.

Sawyer, Gertrude and Victoria ended up in a counseling session.

Elena had to run in to try to convince the administrators of Gertrude’s good character.

Eventually, all three were released and made their acquaintance.

Gertrude even tried to make peace with Sawyer, though that was always very tenuous.

Yes– she could not have possibly forgotten. It had been such a pain in the ass, that day.

But also a fond memory, of her little group of outcasts who made sure she was never alone.

“Why do you ask?” Gertrude replied. “Feeling nostalgic?”

“Well– I never seriously asked you about it. Why did you intervene?” Victoria asked.

“Sawyer looked like she might hit you. You were smaller than her.” Gertrude said.

“It was that simple?”

“I consider myself something of a knight to defenseless, endangered girls.”

Victoria laughed.

“I’d have probably been friendless at school if you weren’t such a presumptuous rake.”

“Mysterious forces at work.” Gertrude said, suppressing offense at this description.

Again they fell into a silence. A longer silence. Punctuated by the turning of Victoria’s tail.

Suddenly, Victoria sidled a bit closer to Gertrude, until their hips touched.

She tipped her head so that it laid on Gertrude’s shoulder. Without any solicitation.

In the process Gertrude was completely stunned and paralyzed, her head spinning.

Victoria was so soft, and so warm– and her ears felt divine to even brush up against.

“Gertrude, would you scritch my ears? It’s been so long since anyone did.” Victoria asked.

Without a word, Gertrude’s hand tentatively lifted to the base of one of Victoria’s ears.

Her fingers traced where the soft cartilage rose up from beneath the head of hair. Following the slight arch, pressing with the pad, scraping gently with a blunt nail. Index finger acting as the main tool; while her thumb pressed the rim of the ear, or touched the pure white fluff that covered the opening of the ear. Victoria’s breathing and heartbeat transferred into Gertrude’s skin, her body nestling closer as her fingers worked her ethereally soft skin.

As if matching her rhythm, Gertrude felt a vibration coming from Victoria–

She was purring– Gertrude had never felt a Shimii purring right on top of her.

Her own heartbeat quickened as she realized the intimacy of what they were sharing.

And her mind, too, sped up in its desires and intentions.

Was this a dream? She felt emboldened to test the limit of the moment.

While the one hand had Victoria’s ear–

her other shifted the girl, pulled Victoria up straighter,

and closer,

tighter against her body,

by the hip,

There was no resistance from the softly flushed, gently breathing Shimii to this act.

Gertrude took one of Victoria’s hands into her own, gripping her fingers, stroking.

Leaning until her face was cheek to cheek with Victoria, just barely touching.

Nuzzling her, tentatively, sparingly.

Hovering under the jaw, lips brushing silken neck.

Leaving a brief, careful kiss–

awaiting a reaction.

“Nnh.” Victoria made a little noise, near indistinguishable from her purring.

Gertrude stroked her fingers, scraped the base of her cat-like ears a bit rougher.

And laid lips on Victoria’s fair, slim shoulder, savoring this kiss just a bit longer.

Gauging the reaction. Finding herself still in control of her contented friend.

Even as she left a red mark where the skin was once honeyed-fair.

Her free hand lifted from Victoria’s own, and climbed to her waist, up her flank.

Taking in Victoria’s little blue and white dress and the gentle curve of her chest.

Settling with a firm grip over Victoria’s breast, so perfectly fit to her greedy palm.

Pliant flesh beneath a thin, strapless brassiere. Gertrude kneaded, eliciting a little gasp.

Heart thrashing, she was afraid to say anything and therefore acknowledged nothing.

As her hand squeezed Victoria’s breast, her lips laid deep, sucking kisses on her neck.

Losing herself, drunk on the taste of skin and the touch transferring, on the pulse.

Victoria pressed her body tighter up against Gertrude, her back tensing.

Raising her head in response to the kissing, gently moving her hips on Gertrude’s lap.

Gertrude felt her vision waver as if in a heat haze, but she wouldn’t question it.

If this was a dream she would melt into Victoria’s body until she awakened.

Slowly, the hand which had been on Victoria’s ear traced down, brushing her cheek.

Gliding down the sides of her hips, luxuriating in her control of those slim contours.

Fingers exploring Victoria’s thigh, lifting up her skirt, pausing, with each transgression.

Feeling out the signals. Neither spoke. No adverse reactions. Gertrude took it as a sign.

Head lost in her own hungry passions; she traced the inner thigh to its terminus–

“Gertrude.” Victoria said, quick and near-breathless, as if all one syllable.

“Too much?” Gertrude said, struggling for breath herself, her chest pounding.

“No– I–” Victoria tried to look over her shoulder, Gertrude lifting from the marks she laid. Because of their positions they could only barely see each other’s faces. “Gertrude, I- I’m–”

For a moment she was lost for words. Barely able to speak between little gasps.

With Gertrude’s hands still on her breasts, between her legs.

“I want to look at you. I want to look you in the eyes.” Victoria finally said.

“I’d love that.” Gertrude said. Her head rushed with satisfaction.

She picked Victoria up with all her strength, causing her to make a little cry.

And brought her further onto the bed, dropping her in the middle. Looming over her with a contented grin on her lips. One hand supporting herself, another still teasing her inner thigh.

“You look dangerous. Have you been imagining doing this to me all along?” Victoria said.

“What if I have?” Gertrude asked.

Victoria turned her head, suddenly bashful. “It makes no difference. I want it anyway.”

Gertrude’s fingers took Victoria’s chin and gently guided her eyes back.

Looking deep and directly into them as if by sight alone she could devour her.

Slowly, savoring the moment, Gertrude drew closer to Victoria and kissed her.

At first an almost clumsy brushing of the lips, as if there was not yet reciprocation.

Then, when Gertrude thought to pull back, Victoria followed her and locked lips.

Now there was ardor, now there was a partner dance.

Victoria’s arms wrapped one around her back, one behind her shoulders.

Pulling her closer as they kissed, as Gertrude forced her tongue into Victoria’s mouth, as breaths that escaped from one entered the other. Drawing closer, Gertrude’s body on Victoria’s open legs, pushing her deeper into the bed gel. Between each taste of her lips Gertrude’s pulled on Victoria’s dress in fits and starts, peeling the fabric deeper below shoulder, over the chest to expose her brassiere, to the belly and below.

One of Victoria’s twintails came undone in the tearing fever that took them both.

Pausing for breath. Gertrude surprised at how vigorously her passion was returned.

Victoria pulled the other undone, letting her hair loose. Gazes joined, gasping for breath.

“Can I take the rest of this off you?” Gertrude broke the brief silence.

“Do whatever you want to with me.” Victoria replied in a near whimper.

Gertrude could not help but grin as those words made her body reach a boil.

Her eyes which had held Victoria’s own so devoutedly, wandered to the thin, rose-lace bra.

She peeled the rest of Victoria’s dress off, while Victoria clumsily undid her shirt buttons.

And hooked her fingers around the belt, unbuckling, zipping down her pants.

In the midst of her attempts to undress her, Gertrude slowly descended back close to her.

Biting one of her ears and then whispering while Victoria drew a sharp breath.

“I’m not the one who needs to strip down.” She said, while unhooking Victoria’s bra.

Layer by layer removed; Victoria looked suddenly so much smaller than Gertrude.

Shorter stature, thin waist, the slight curve of her hips, breasts almost as small as her own. There was leanness to her limbs, thin, flexible muscle, but in that supine position they were soft as the rest of her body. Exposing a delectable weakness that was driving Gertrude mad with lust. She ran fingers between Victoria’s breasts, down her belly and navel.

Victoria like the fair, moist nymph of some inexorably beautiful creature,

ripped from its cocoon.

Lying in bed with Gertrude over her, shadowing her, as if predator over prey.

That seeming vulnerability turned Gertrude on even more.

Made her want to be aggressive.

In that moment, she thought she would cum solely from the thrill of cornering her.

With carte blanche to do anything she wanted– what she wanted was to see more.

To prod more of Victoria, to explore her body, to touch every spot that made her quiver.

To catch up and sate the longing she never could as a hormonal teenager.

Tracing deep, sucking, marking kisses on Victoria’s neck, on her shoulder, collarbones.

All her soft, vulnerable, vital places, places that looked softest, most inviting, exposed.

“Gertrude–!”

Her delectable whimpering voice as teeth narrowly pulled on the tip of one breast.

Chest rising and falling, Victoria repositioned herself again, grabbing hold of Gertrude.

Pulling herself up to meet her eyes closely.

“I said– I– I want to see you–” She demanded. Retaining some of her bluntness.

“Right. I got carried away. For you, princess. My eyes will never leave you.”

“Ugh– Don’t call me–”

Gertrude suddenly took Victoria and pushed her up against the headboard.

Controlling her body like the weight was insubstantial.

She drew closer, gaze unmoving, not even blinking in the midst.

As her hands traced Victoria’s belly, forced her legs spread, slowly, deliberately.

Savoring the subtle shifts, the tensing shoulders, the wandering, incoherent expression.

Arching back, the way her core pushed up against Gertrude in need, her quivering thighs.

Her little moans, the vibrations of her purring–

As Gertrude’s fingers entered her wet cunt and worked her into a steady rhythm.

Looking into those beautiful, cloudy eyes, into that flushing face lost in passion.

Maintaining a confident satisfaction in herself even as her own breath trembled with desire.

Caught up in the heat, they began to slide back from the headboard onto lying positions.

Gertrude readjusting, her fingers slipping from inside Victoria–

Barely allowing a second to pass before her fingers began kneading her clit.

Victoria’s body squirming beneath her, her hips pushing, her back rising and falling–

Squeezing her fingers hard against Gertrude’s back as if wanting to tear into her.

Victoria was no longer capable of a gaze, lost in the involuntary spasms of pleasure.

Her chest heaved with the need of breath and the harsh satisfaction of carnal needing.

Moaning, gasping, and purring all seemed to melt into tiny and broken vocalizations.

And yet, Gertrude’s eyes never left even as Victoria was wracked with climax.

Her hips shuddered, her grip slackened, her body falling back from Gertrude weak–

“Gertrude– hold me– please–”

“Anything you desire, my dame.”

Taking hold of the shaking girl about to fall from her, tattered breath and shaking legs.

Gertrude curled up with Victoria’s back against her chest, close and tightly.

Those remaining clothes which she had been wearing through the act, Gertrude stripped.

Before returning her full attention to her lover.

Gentle kisses dotting her cheek, her neck and shoulders.

One hand to hold her, another up over her hair, stroking her head, and scritching her ears.

She could feel Victoria’s tail gently sliding over her sweat-soaked core and hips.

Tying around her leg, curling softly. Her breathing slowly settling into normalcy.

“How are you feeling?” Gertrude asked, whispering as she comforted those cat-like ears.

“Satisfied.” Victoria replied, slowing, steadying into Gertrude’s arms. “How about you?”

“Trying not to say something too greedy.”

“Hmm.”

Victoria pushed herself back further against Gertrude, nestling even more tightly.

“I’m not trying to take Elena’s place.” Victoria said.

“Elena doesn’t have a ‘place’– I’ve changed a bit, Victoria.” Gertrude replied.

“Right.” Victoria said. “You know– I never imagined you would be so eager with me.”

Gertrude had a short laugh. “I needed this pretty badly.” She said.

Victoria breathed deep. “I needed it too. I’m– I’m also greedy. I also want– everything.”

Prompted by Victoria’s stammering, Gertrude tightened her arms around her, kissed her.

Neither of them seemed to want to presume on what their relationship could become now.

Nevertheless, Gertrude was happy. Whether it was just a fling or not– she was happy.

They could talk later. For now their skin and flesh had all the conversation.


The Iron Lady breached the immediate seafloor and slid further down the cavernous maw at the bottom of the trench. Sonar and LADAR scanning as well as a drone had uncovered that the layout was strangely uniform and did not veer much, and the Iron Lady still had some room clear of the walls in its descent. Surprisingly, there were no readings of any threatening life forms. Abyss expedition survivors had historically claimed to have ran into eccentric leviathans and unverifiable megafauna in the extreme depths, so the ship had been cautious to scan frequently for anything incoming. All was silent around them.

This was taken as a positive sign by the crew, and the depth gauge continued to count.

Everyone assembled for a long day. They had a fully crewed bridge to attend to the descent.

Between 5000 and 6000 meters, there was nothing but rock and empty water around them.

Katov levels continued to rise, and the mass, when properly lit, had turned purple.

Strangely enough, however, the salinity of the Katov mass had begun to reduce.

“Um, Captain.” A crew member looked up from her instruments in disbelief and turned to Captain Dreschner. “Maybe this is a mistake, I do not know for certain– but if this is correct, salinity is continuously dropping as we descend. I– I don’t believe it’s possible but– if salinity drops below average for salt-water, we may start to descend faster than we expected.”

The After Descent civilization was aware of the concept of “fresh water.” On the continent, in the past, possibly even now, there was natural water without salt. However, no ship was designed to move in such water. It was impossible to encounter it. The difference was not vast– but for a massive ship moving precisely in extreme depths, it was noticeable.

They would have to be careful of this fact.

Captain Dreschner looked at the main screen, hosting a 3D diagram of the surroundings.

Since the cameras had become mostly useless, they navigated using this kind of data.

If the instruments were incorrect, they could be in more danger than they knew.

“We can send the drone out, if its instruments confirm the same, then we must accept it.”

Within ten minutes, a small drone laden with oceanography instruments left the ship.

As soon as it was in the water, it began to read exactly what the ship’s instruments did.

Salinity was dropping below saltwater level. Average Imbrium salinity was around 3.7%.

Meanwhile, the average salinity in the Crisium was 4.0%, and 3.8% in the Cogitum.

In their current position salinity had dropped to 3.3%– lower than any of Aer’s oceans.

And it was still dropping, steadily declining. 3.0%, 2.7%, 2.4%–

“Are we dumping anything from the ship? Any chemicals?” Dreschner asked.

“No sir.” Said a crew member, monitoring from their station.

Karen Schicksal soon received word from forensics about a quick analysis of the water.

“Sir, there’s– there’s not any strange chemicals in the water.” Karen said, stuttering once.

“Issue an Alert VALERIE to the crew.” Captain Dreschner ordered.

KONRAD was the full-on combat alert, but VALERIE just meant ‘proceed cautiously’.

They had to ready for a foreseeable raise of the alert level and sudden shifts in direction or acceleration. Rough waters ahead. Under Alert VALERIE, the crew should try to complete their assigned tasks expeditiously, to secure their tools and instruments whenever not in use, keep to designated secure areas as much as possible, and generally act as if they might be brought into danger at any moment. Strange situations often warranted this alert.

Whenever the Captain was not certain of an outcome, it was best to sound this alert.

After the issuing of Alert VALERIE, Gertrude Lichtenberg and Victoria van Veka arrived on the bridge together, both in their respective uniforms. Captain Dreschner brought them up to speed on what was transpiring. They were both confused. It was natural for salinity to shift very minimally in each ocean, and it was a historical fact that the Imbrium had gotten saltier across the hundreds of years of the After Descent era. However, such changes happened incrementally, infinitesimally small. In a matter of hours they found themselves staring at water that was approaching 2.0% salinity– incredibly low.

“Are we sure the instruments are correct? Maybe it’s some electrical phenomenon?”

Victoria crossed her arms, trying to find a logical solution. Gertrude shook her head.

“If it was that, we would seeing more weirdness with the instruments.”

“This isn’t a disconnected water system, it’s still just the Imbrium Ocean.”

“I know, but we’re seeing what we’re seeing. Maybe I should get Nile up here.”

“She would probably insist that she’s only a medical doctor– and it would be fair, I think.”

At 6000 meters depth, one of the sonar operators took off her headset, groaning.

“I– I need to rotate out, Captain. I feel like I’m hearing an audio anomaly. I must be tired.”

“Of course, go on.” Dreschner said.

Dreadnoughts had enough crew to rotate full bridges in and out if necessary.

Another perk of working on the most elite class of ship. Having top talent– and a lot of it.

By the time the sonar operator protested she had already been working several hours.

It was not a privilege that could be abused, as her fellow operators would hate her for it.

But any given officer was willing to take their station to relieve an ailing compatriot.

In this case it seemed the audio devices continually registered a strange, whispered, almost mournful noise, as if human in origin. It was no wonder that the previous sonar operator was so stressed out as to rotate. Dreschner had the station checked out by an engineer– but the noise somehow could not be attenuated digitally, at least not completely.

When the new sonar operator arrived and took her place, she, too, was unnerved.

However, as an elite member of a Dreadnought crew, she shrugged it off.

Sitting miserably at her station but soldiering on through the awful, haunting noise.

“I promise, if this keeps up, we’ll rotate more quickly and consistently.” Dreschner said.

6800 meters deep. There were almost 2000 meters of cavern above and around them.

Nothing but an enormous shaft, all rock, its surrounding surfaces naturally irregular.

Water salinity had dropped to 1.2% and the Iron Lady was descending slightly faster.

“Mitigate descent. Have the computer calculate differences in buoyancy.” Dreschner said.

Everyone was a bit tense, but this was an obstacle that was solvable.

Buoyancy could be controlled and adjusted. The Iron Lady was a very high-tech ship.

Water was water and the difference between saline and clean water was not so high.

It was still a medium that they could navigate through, and all their tools still worked.

7000 meters deep.

0.9% salinity– and holding.

7100 meters deep. No further changes in salinity.

7110 meters deep. No further changes in salinity.

7120 meters deep. No further changes in salinity.

7130 meters deep. No further changes in salinity.

“Salinity has remained stable, even at the parts per billion reading.” A crew member said.

“You know– this is the same salinity as human blood.” Another crew member remarked.

7150 meters deep.

7200 meters deep.

381731138137193619311183193861736133 meters–

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” One of the crew members cried out.

“Language.” Captain Dreschner said. “Mind your manners on this ship.”

“Sorry sir– now the depth gauges are out of it. We’re not imploding so– this isn’t right.”

Captain Dreschner cast an eye sideways as if to solicit a response.

Beside Dreschner, Gertrude looked briefly concerned, but remained resolute.

She shook her head at him. They would continue descending.

“Ignore the depth gauges.” Dreschner said. “Have the computer perform a manual count of the current depth based on the final recorded correlation between descent and depth.”

On the main screen, the predictor computer put up a big, 3D-rendered depth gauge.

7300 meters deep.

7400 meters deep.

7500 meters deep.

7600 meters deep–

“We are not going that fast are we?” Captain Dreschner asked.

“It must be hallucinating.” Gertrude grumbled.

Predictor Computers–

couldn’t live without them, couldn’t live with their pathetic errors.

Or so everyone hoped– the amount of uncanny failures was starting to scare the crew.

Gertrude produced what looked like a pocket watch from her coat.

She put it back in her coat with a sigh.

“Anything?” Victoria asked.

“Aetherometry is stable.” Gertrude whispered. “So it’s not that.”

7700 meters deep.

7800 meters deep.

7900 meters deep.

“It’s only been a minute or two, it’s like we’re in freefall.” Victoria whispered back.

8000 meters deep.

Suddenly, a flash of an alert light.

On the 3D diagram taking up most of the main screen, a red grid overlayed the cave wall.

There was something happening– the predictor computer was drawing attention–

“Active sonar and LADAR, now.”

“Yes sir.”

From the sonar arrays, waves of noise emanated, bouncing off the cave walls.

Laser arrays around the ship flashed the surroundings, taking in the finer details.

All of this data compiled to update the diagrams in under a minute.

It appeared that the shaft went 1000 meters farther before opening up into a massive space.

Furthermore, the predictor computers hallucinated that the walls were made of flesh.

“Has it ever been this inaccurate this often before? What is going on?”

Gertrude complained, but around the bridge, the crew was growing ever more unnerved.

With a trembling voice, a different crew member spoke up then.

“Add it to the list of malfunctions, but barometry is reporting incredibly low pressure.”

“How low?” Captain Dreschner asked.

“Fifty atmospheres– and dropping?” Again, the operator was stunned by this.

“That is absolutely ridiculous. Recheck every system!” Dreschner grunted.

Gertrude’s eyes drew wide. It seemed to dawn upon her how irregular this all was.

The Iron Lady was one of the most stable and gallant ships of her class.

Never had they experienced so many failures; so many bizarre, seemingly random failures.

It had to be something that the abyss was doing– but what? Would Nile even know?

At least nothing necessary for life was compromised yet. Just the data instrumentation.

“Any other data anomalies I need to be aware of?” Dreschner said.

One haggard-looking bridge officer looked over her shoulder, pointing at her screen.

“Sir– the luminosity– with that last laser scan– the surroundings might be visible.”

Everyone on the bridge seemed to develop a thick lump in their throats upon hearing this.

There were brief glances around the room. Everyone was fidgeting in some way.

Because if they turned the cameras on for visual confirmations, they might see–

“We have to straighten those spines out already!”

Gertrude shouted at the top of her lungs and stepped forward.

Standing on the center island of the bridge, raised over every other station.

“We are the crew of the Iron Lady! We have the greatest technology and firepower the Empire has ever produced! We have the finest officers that have ever climbed the ranks! All of you fought tooth and nail to make it here! If you felt fear, you overcame it! If an obstacle was put in front of you, you surmounted it! You would not be here otherwise! It is time we stop giving into fear over nothing! None of this data tells me that we are in danger! It tells me that we are pioneers, entering the unknown! Can you conquer the entire Empire in its fallen era, if a few measly readouts on your instruments put such fear into you?”

She turned to Karen Schicksal and pointed her finger like a sword at her suddenly.

“I want visual confirmation! Let’s see whether there’s nothing but katov mass!”

Everyone on the bridge stood up straighter having heard that speech.

Perhaps not any less fearful, but more cognizant of what fear was doing to them.

At the behest of the Commander, Cameras went back on across the ship, one by one.

Main screen cameras took up the prime position once occupied by the 3D diagrams.

Gertrude fought with every ounce of her being to contain her emotional reaction.

Victoria van Veka covered her mouth with a hand as if to stifle a burgeoning cry.

Across the bridge, every officer craned their head up to stare at the main screen.

All were silent. Some had a tremble in their jaw or trembling lips, shaking hands.

The Commander could not allow that silence to persist.

She had already seen horrifying sights before. Her body shook, but she put on a grin.

Perhaps, from the vantage of her crew, it appeared a grin of complete insanity.

“Hah. Nothing but– inert matter. What do we have to fear? Keep descending.” She said.

On the main screen, the main cameras, located on the forward “spoon” of the bow, caught a too-clear view of the cavern wall. Purple katov mass floated lazily in place of the marine fog, but despite the enormous katov level of the cavern’s waters, it was somehow not as viscuous and difficult as that which they found farther above. It could be seen-through, and what was seen was a slightly viscuous, weakly shivering wall of red-brown flesh. It was perfectly smooth and equidistant, unlike the ridged, irregular rock walls that preceded it.

The Iron Lady descended as if down a vast throat.

And very soon, too soon– the landscape of flesh expanded enormously all around them.

Coming out from the “throat” they entered a world that was eerily well-lit, as if kissed by an oddly angled sun, revealing a seafloor of flesh that extended into the horizon. On the fleshy roof of the cavern there were ridges and wrinkles in the flesh. Fields of yellow and red, fleshy reed-like “plants” swayed as if brushed by an impossible current. Enormous aortic strands, blue and red and purple, coiled through the flesh in the floor, the distant walls of the cavity, on the roof. This space must have extended for dozens of kilometers in every direction, it was absolutely vast. Despite the katov mass, it was possible to see

too far,

too possible–

and too much to be seen.

Gertrude stood speechless on the bridge as the cameras panned around the ship.

One landmark particularly commanded the attention of the entire area.

Over ten kilometers away was an absolutely massive silicate structure, pearlescent and murky, its milky-colored surface covered in fractures. It stood like a pillar between several knotted bundles of flesh that seemed as if they were suspending it in place.

All of the light in this cavity felt like it was coming from that structure–

which Gertrude hesitantly acknowledged, resembled a tree.

It was this sight which filled her first glimpses of the Agartha,

and the Great Tree Holy Land of Mnar.


Previous ~ Next

Knight In The Ruins of the End [S1.8]

This chapter contains discussion of suicidal ideation.


It was the first living thing and therefore it was Longest Lived.

Despite its presence in an infinite space it understood only its basest of senses.

No eyes to see, no ears with which to hear. No understanding of its position.

When the sky first fell it battered its skin and the drawn blood became a world.

Longest Lived was all skin, it was all skin great and wide and millions of pinpricks upon it could not kill it. Its skin was gentle and nourishing, containing within it all substances and ultimately even coming to contain that which infinitely struck it, raining upon it, crashing into it– all of this would come to rest around and within it and on top of it in a glorious union.

It was all skin, all touch, all consumption. Perhaps this was its love.

Longest Lived, the Origin of All Living Things.

It took in the stone and it took in water and it took in warmth, ever consuming.

Upon Longest Lived, all that which it had consumed, and which returned to it–

Would constantly, cyclically, escape anew and take on new forms.

They would rise, fall and then return to Longest Lived who awaited them.

Longest Lived could not think in this way however. These were the stories of its creations.

Though it lived and consumed it never thought.

This was not a tragedy; thinking would have driven it mad and warped its selfless love.

Thinking, was a skill first refined by one of its earliest progeny.

They thought cautiously and kept in mind the love and unity in all their matters.

They too were alive, but, while they were communal in nature, they also understood their individual positions in the world. They could feel; to some extent, they could see and hear. They knew themselves to be separated even as they were together. Because they knew this, they would sing to one another, because there was one another to be sung to and to hear song from. With these understandings, they had great empathy for things which were alive and different, and wanted to encourage them to escape the skin of Longest Lived and to grow and prosper before they were inevitably swallowed back into the skin of the great being. They referred to their age of prosperity as the Time of Beautiful Songs.

In their songs, they called it Longest Lived, and themselves, The First Thinkers.

They were First to Think–

but the prodigal creatures who still heard their songs even now,

warped by ages of tragedy–

would come to be exalted as the Longest Thinkers in the world that remained.


Gertrude Lichtenberg slowly opened her eyes.

At first, in the haze of awakening, she saw a forest of vast trees with a reddening sky.

Then, in a blink, there was only the metal ceiling of her room on the Iron Lady.

She raised her hand to her forehead, pressed down against her eyes.

For a moment she looked at the hand. Fascinated by the movement of her fingers.

Gertrude flexed the invisible sinews and muscles that formed from her thoughts.

That hand grew a small additional digit next to the thumb. Moving as her other fingers did.

Just as easily, the flesh slid back into the hand as if there had been no transformation.

Gertrude sat back up in bed, against the headboard, yawning.

Pulling her blankets from herself, she found she had, in her sleep, shaken and turned enough to nearly lose her shirt off her own shoulders and to pull her own pants halfway down. Her hair was thrown into utter disarray. Her eyes wandered down from her hand to her breasts– to her own crotch. In a strange mood, she wondered something, and concentrated her new ability– and stopped immediately once she found that, if she tried, she could indeed alter parts of herself more complex and primal than just her hand. She reversed the endeavor when she felt her– alteration– stiffening and growing hot with blood unbidden.

Her lips cracked an involuntary, nervous smile.

“Maybe I shouldn’t experiment that way– at least not right now.”

She had wondered about that in the past– but she was worried about her long-term health.

Who knew whether she might go out of control? Or not be able to change things back?

Her wandering mind gifted her an image of herself as some kind of dick monster.

Gertrude burst out laughing suddenly. It was the sincerest laugh she had in a long time.

“Stick to the easier stuff for now, Gertrude Lichtenberg.” She told herself.

Despite all the painful things that had happened so far, her mood finally buoyed. She found that she did not feel as much of an impulse to question her sanity or the things she had seen. Her memories of that place, where she had stormed through in a consuming passion, were a bit hazy, as if the heat of that passion had partially burned the images. She remembered some shameful things reflected in the blue haze– but she let it pass over her.

She felt like she had her future back.

For now, she would let herself rest with those feelings and not force herself.

She recalled the things she needed to do with a refreshing lack of urgency.

Ingrid had broken up with her, but she was her friend; she just needed some time.

Monika was safe now– she would check up on her today and try to cheer her up.

Victoria and Nile would hopefully not be fighting. She needed to talk to them sometime.

Azazil–

Gertrude slumped in bed as if she had been struck in the back of the head.

Azazil could potentially be an immense headache.

Rising from her bed, Gertrude pulled off the remainder of her clothes and wandered over to the private shower in her room. While soaking under lukewarm water, she thought about her uniform. Last night she had told Dreschner she no longer wished to be called High Inquisitor. Her cape, epaulettes, coat and hat, her medals and insignias, all felt like a costume she had been desperate to force meaning on. She could no longer pretend that it gave her actions legitimacy or that it excused everything she had done in the past. Her skin, Gertrude Lichtenberg’s swarthy olive skin that was just different enough from the average Imbrian for trouble– it could no longer be covered up under the pretense of that power, for good or ill. The Inquisition could no longer elevate her from her lowly status and wretchedness.

She had more than enough of a burden with the sins she committed under its auspices.

That was a sizeable enough weight– without the heavy coat and the tall hat too.

Gertrude resolved not to wear the regalia of the High Inquisitor any longer.

From her wardrobe, she withdrew a button-down shirt and a long grey jacket instead.

Henceforth she would dress like any other officer of the ship.

Once she was clean, dressed and the morning fog had lifted from her eyes, Gertrude left her room and traveled down the main hall of the ship’s upper tier. She tied her long, dark hair in a simple ponytail, to be further dealt with some other time. She wondered how her crew was getting on after the unprecedented events of the past few days, but her confidence was buoyed immediately. People traveled the halls with their heads up and their backs straight, calm and collected. All of the crew had reduced schedules for the next day, and as Gertrude walked past and among sailors and officers, she felt a relaxed but professional energy.

Wherever she went, the crew would salute her casually, as ‘Commander’ Lichtenberg.

Dreschner must have informed everyone. Quite expeditiously too.

Gertrude smiled at the passersby, and they smiled back.

These halls and the people of this ship had been through good times and bad.

Often, they were under stress and moving with urgency, while keeping a tight hold on their emotions as warranted for the crew of a dreadnought, the elite professionals of the Imperial Navy. Gertrude was the one with the privilege to lose her mind, all of these people around her had been trained and drilled and pressured constantly to keep their emotions to themselves and in check, while doing everything she asked. Despite this, Gertrude never detected any animosity towards her. And she did not detect any animosity now.

They were proud to serve on a top-of-the-line dreadnought; to serve under Gertrude.

Even now, having surmounted a crisis and earned their leisure, they were even keeled.

Gertrude was lucky to have them. She could have done nothing without their assistance.

Life on a ship was never carried out completely off the schedule. Technically, having a day or two of leisure meant a day or two on a ‘reduced schedule’. Sailors would run still quick check-ups in the morning and at night, and never were they as efficient as they were during these times. Officers had to perform a few quick shifts on the bridge and in the hangar to insure that everything continued to run acceptably– but they had far less to do overall and far more time for relaxation in between these shifts. And of course, if anything was detected that could conceivably pose a threat or require intervention then everyone would have to return to stations quickly. Regardless, even with these duties in the back of their minds, everyone treated minimal work with the same relief as if they had none.

Arriving on the bridge, Gertrude found an immediate account of their situation on the main screen. They were descending, slowly, deeper into the abyss. Currently they were at 3840 meters of depth. Because of the Iron Lady’s size, they would have to be even more careful about their descent as they went deeper, and the trench narrowed. On the screen, there was an imaging map generated by the predictive computer, showing that at the very bottom of the trench at 5000 meters there was actually a crack in the seafloor that led even deeper down into a cave system. They had only mapped the entrance with sonar. Once they got down to it, they could send a drone inside or simply plunge deeper themselves.

Judging by current predictions, the Iron Lady could fit as far down as they had seen.

“Commander! Welcome back!”

Karen Schicksal saluted Gertrude with a smile, shortly after she quietly entered the bridge.

“At ease.” Gertrude said, smiling back.

“Greetings, Commander.” Dreschner said, from the captain’s chair.

Gertrude walked until she stood just off to the side of him, looking at the main screen.

“No time off for you?” Gertrude said, in a casual tone.

“I’m the kind of man who has never had anything but his work.” Dreschner said.

“Thinking about it, I really haven’t ever seen you take a day off.”

“I would have nothing constructive to do. It’s better that I hold the bridge, and then more of our officers can enjoy their own leisure. They would use it better than I would.”

Gertrude turned to Karen. “How about you Schicksal? Do you have any plans?”

Karen averted her gaze. She hugged her digital clipboard closer to her chest.

“I’m probably just going to man the bridge as well.” She said, a bit sheepishly.

“You don’t have to. You have been under considerable stress.” Dreschner said.

“Perhaps I am the kind of woman who has nothing but her work.” Schicksal said.

Dreschner sat back in his chair and laughed. “Don’t fancy becoming like me, Karen!”

Karen adjusted her glasses. “I aspire to the highest levels of professionalism, Captain!”

“Now I feel like I ought to stay on the bridge too.” Gertrude said.

“Absolutely not!” Karen and Dreschner both said at once.

They glanced at each other briefly and then back at Gertrude with sharp gazes.

Gertrude held up her hands in defense. “Okay, okay. I will take time to relax, I promise.”

Both Karen and Dreschner looked relieved hearing Gertrude say that.

“With all due respect, Commander– leave the bridge to us, now.” Dreschner said.

“You, more than anyone, have earned a rest. You will take that rest, Commander.”

Karen said, smiling, and then she gestured gently toward the door to the bridge.

Gertrude could not help but laugh at the sight of her officers forcing her to stop working.

“I’m going, I’m going. Thank you both.” She said. “By the way, Einz, did you tell everyone to start calling me Commander? I noticed that nobody called me High Inquisitor anymore.”

“It was in the morning minutes I drafted and sent out to everyone today. And of course, we are all professionals and read such things closely every day, even on our days off.” Karen said.

“I informed Karen of the situation.” Dreschner said. “She and the crew did the rest.”

“Got it. Thanks. I’ll be off now, and I promise I’ll try to get some rest.” Gertrude said.

Everyone was quite lively– a noticeable change from the lethargy of the past few days.

Gertrude had noticed that Karen was not as stammering and nervous as usual too.

Einz and her might have seen something in the blue pools too– she wondered what it was.

There was no sane way to ask anyone that, of course.

She thought about what to do next as she stepped out onto the hall once more.

Though she was a bit hungry, she was, more than that, worried about Monika after everything that happened. The more she saw the crew out and about the more she worried. Monika would be in Nile’s care. Gertrude headed for the clinic. She could have a chat with Nile as well and knock two things off her to-do list. Maybe she could make good on her promise to rest after all– but she was not intending to make an effort toward it.

Since she last saw it, Nile’s clinic had slightly expanded.

In addition to the meeting room with all her supplies and the meeting room in which she saw patients there was now a third meeting room on the other side of the clinic. In this room, a few plastic beds with rudimentary cushioning and blankets were set up in two opposing rows of four, for a total of eight beds. There was only one person laid up in the beds, a petite Loup woman with long, dark blond hair, sound asleep, wrapped up in blankets with a plain white gel pillow. Her breathing was steady, the curve of her chest rising and falling under the blankets. Gertrude stood at the door, given pause by the peaceful and contented expression on Monika’s face. She turned away from the beds and walked next door.

At Nile’s clinic, the door opened automatically in her presence.

Inside the room, she found Nile hunched over a table, her tail wagging and ears twitching as she used a dropper to lay tiny amounts of a clear liquid into a beaker full of murky red fluid, like a thin tomato soup. Her fingers were exactingly careful with the tool, and she watched the drops closely as she released them. Once the drops made contact with the red, the murk suddenly became active, rising and frothing as if it was suddenly being boiled.

Gertrude then stepped past the door threshold–

in the next instant Nile straightened up and looked over her shoulder, surprised.

“You’re doing an experiment here?” Gertrude asked.

More curious than she was critical, but still a touch of judgment in her voice.

“Science is the same no matter where you do it.” Nile said.

Gertrude tried to keep her eyes off Nile’s collar, its LEDs signaling a healthy green. It felt rude to worry about it– but nevertheless, she worried. So, she made an effort not to be caught staring and instead looked Nile over. She was unmasked, as it seemed to have become her habit within the Iron Lady. Dressed in a turtleneck sweater, a waist-high skirt that hugged her hips well, black tights, and her signature white coat. Her brown hair was tied up into a messy bun for work. She wore just a bit of blush and lipstick on her face.

She was gorgeous– tall, dark, curvy, Loup excellence–

Gertrude averted her gaze entirely before Nile could notice her lingering eyes.

“Don’t you need a different kind of environment to get good results?” Gertrude asked.

“Not at all. Cause-effect causality transpires regardless of how posh the surroundings are. As long as you prepare the best you can and the thinking behind your experiment is sound, the outcome can be useful for learning, whether you are in a repurposed meeting room on a ship or in the top laboratories of the Empire. Science is science. That is one of the reasons why it is so tightly controlled in the Empire– you can only control it by controlling the knowledge and materials that make it up.” Nile cracked a smile. “So– Gertrude, what ails you?”

Owing to the length of the spiel Gertrude was unprepared to be suddenly acknowledged.

Gertrude took long enough to respond, a few seconds–

That Nile simply walked up to her and stood directly before her, leaning in.

“Mind if I examine you? I’d like to check your condition after the night’s ordeal.”

“No, it’s not necessary. I’m doing fine.” Gertrude said suddenly.

Nile’s eyes trailed down Gertrude’s body and back up to her face.

“You look more energetic, but your unusually good mood might just be masking a physical issue. Adrenaline and hormones are not to be underestimated. At any rate, I won’t do anything without your consent, but you should allow me to give you a full checkup again as soon as your courage and pride can withstand the endeavor.” Nile said.

“My pride is irrelevant!” Gertrude said sharply. “I honestly haven’t felt better in weeks, I’ll have you know. I have no problems at all. Just accept what your patient tells you.”

“Hmm. I’m glad you’re still a bit surly.” Nile replied coolly. “Drastic personality changes, even positive ones, can be a sign of deeper distress. Stability and continuity are good indicators.”

“I am not being surly. You are just constantly trying to get a rise out of me for no reason.”

“My reason is that I am a concerned professional in whom you have entrusted your care.”

Gertrude sighed deeply and audibly.

Nile cracked a little grin and crossed her arms. Her ears did a little twitch.

“Forget all of that.” Gertrude said. “How is Monika doing?”

“She is just sleeping. Sleeping quite soundly in fact.” Nile said. “Thankfully before anything happened I already had permission to prepare an infirmary. Physically, Monika is unchanged from when I last examined her. I won’t be elaborating on what that means. Mentally, I can’t be sure how she fares. We’ll have to see how she acts when she awakens.”

“Thank you for taking care of her. She’s been through so much.” Gertrude said.

“My pleasure– but it is not necessary to thank me. This is my work. I would not be myself if I ignored people in need of medical help. It would be quite shameful.” Nile said. She glanced at the wall of the room. “I’m worried about her. But I’m also worried about you.”

It was not that Gertrude did not appreciate Nile’s attention.

But she had a stubborn feeling that she wanted to be treated as someone formidable.

She should have been the only one worrying– about Nile and Monika and the others.

In her mind, she had overcome her personal hurdles and deserved to be relied upon now.

“I promise, you can look after me when there’s need– but I feel perfectly fine.”

“Alright, I won’t press you any further. Just remember that I am here.” Nile said.

She turned back around to the table she had set up in the back.

“Nile, I’m curious what you’re doing to those substances?”

Gertrude pointed at the beaker, propped up on a foldable rack, and the red fluid inside.

It had done frothing and looked a bit thinner than even previously.

“I am testing Katov mass gathered from outside the ship. Preliminarily trying to figure out what happened last night.” Nile said. “I was hoping that I might be able to reproduce a fleeting effect resembling the strange aetheric phenomenon, in miniature of course. By applying a certain neurochemical to the mass, I hoped to stimulate the organisms that make it up– but it looks like it had no effect other than altering the PH to kill it.”

“I don’t follow– what led you to believe such a thing was possible?” Gertrude said.

Nile looked as if she had not understood the question. She narrowed her eyes.

“You can’t truly be this incurious about the world, Gertrude? I can’t know anything until I have tried and observed results. That is the nature of experimentation. That’s what I am doing.”

Gertrude felt like an idiot. What was it about Nile that flustered her so easily?

“I was just worried something might happen.” She said, trying to sound sensible.

“Something happening is the very point. That is how we start learning. I am working with very small amounts of katov mass and chemicals. It’s very safe.” Nile sighed. “At any rate, I now believe the mass had nothing to do it with it– it was perhaps only reacting to the phenomenon, just like us. However, I hoped to test my belief and acquire proof by actually running some experiments. I’ll keep trying over the next few days and see the results.”

“Right.” Gertrude said. There was no use continuing this topic– she had other concerns.

In a fit of pique, she locked eyes with Nile, who met her gaze almost on accident.

For a moment, Nile appeared to recognize how Gertrude was looking at her.

Her eyes flashed red; just as Gertrude flexed those alien muscles in her own eyes.

Demonstrating her ability and seeing the blue and green color that collected around Nile.

Through her psionic sight she got the sense Nile’s aura was very deep and very dense.

That there was a depth to her– a depth that she did not hide but did not acknowledge.

Nile was very powerful. And her aura seemed to flicker like a candle-fire in a gust of air.

Despite her outward calm her aura gave off a feeling of volatility, or perhaps fluctuation.

However, her aura was also gentle. Her flame was wild, but it was not unforgiving.

“Nile, you know that I can do this now.” Gertrude said. “You are seeing it, right?”

Nile smiled. Despite her almost proud-seeming expression her aura remained the same.

“I do. I told you my suspicions last night, didn’t I? I was too vague perhaps.”

“Nile, can you tell me what you know about this power?” Gertrude said.

To Gertrude’s surprise, there was no hesitation or reticence from her doctor.

She simply took in a breath and began to speak candidly.

“I must preface by saying that everything I know, I learned from others who have studied this phenomenon more closely than me. I possess the ability myself, but I am not as versed as my colleagues. We call the power, Psionics. It is a word that feels right does it not? Different cultures had different concepts of it– any kind of ‘magic’ like volshebstvo or sihr is actually an expression of this power understood through cultural myth.” Nile spoke in a confident manner, as if giving a rehearsed lecture. Had she said this same thing to others before? Or had she perhaps prepared to give this explanation to Gertrude? She continued. “Psionics is the power of the human mind and our conception of the world, influenced by our emotions. Or at least, my colleagues and I hope that is accurate, after our experimentation.”

“In other words, in my case it is the power of my anger made manifest.” Gertrude said.

In the liminal space with the blue pools, Gertrude’s red passion and anger had broken the blue walls of the phenomenon and allowed her to finally move past the maze in which she had been trapped. In that moment, she had come to understand that blue was the source of her lethargy, and that red was her spiraling passions, covering her like an armor. When she saw blue in Nile’s aura, however, she felt different toward it– she was not alarmed. It was the same color, but the intention of Nile was not to ‘sleep eternally’ as Monika once desired. It seemed much less urgent. In fact, Monika also had a quiet and gently blue aura.

Nile was quick to rebut what Gertrude thought was an ironclad assertion, however.

“That is your current conception of the power based on what you have experienced. Different people with different experiences develop different systems of intellectual decryption. This can help you control the power through conceptual associations. It is the power of your mind, after all, it is a bit abstract. But also, I must stress that your conception of the power can change as much as your conception of the world can change. Your mind and emotions are not rigid, Gertrude. You do have an effect on how you feel and what you think; it is possible to change your mind, after all. I would strongly advise you not to think of psionics as a phenomenon that intersects solely with your anger. It is limiting to you.”

Gertrude responded at first with a short, bitter chuckle at the idea of changing herself.

“I wish everything were as easy as just convincing myself out of my habits.” She said.

She could change the meat on her bones, now– in all kinds of ways.

But her mind still felt like something far less forgiving of alteration.

“I never said it was easy. But my assertion is still correct, Gertrude.” Nile said.

“That sounds like something Victoria would say.”

“Then she would be correct also. Rhetoric is another thing that is the same anywhere.”

“I don’t mean– nevermind.” Gertrude grunted. “Can you teach me to control my psionics?”

Nile averted her eyes in response. Her expression was suddenly glum and conflicted.

Gertrude noticed that her aura shimmered, as if the candlefire withstood a stiff wind.

“I– well, I mean– it presents a certain challenge– I am not opposed–” Nile was tongue-tied, “as much as I have managed to hang on to my patience with you, because you are my patient and deserve the best of me even when I see the worst of you so frequently–”

“–Hey, c’mon…” Gertrude mumbled at the off-handed insult. What was her problem?

“–I am not actually very good at controlling my emotions either.” Nile sighed.

She crossed her arms and shut her eyes, wracked by a quiet consternation.

So that was the issue– she must have been dreading this moment, anticipating the request.

“I understand. But you can still teach me what you know, can’t you?” Gertrude said.

“To be frank, I have never taught anyone psionics. I can try, for you.” Nile said.

“But you had that whole spiel in the back of your head for when I asked?” Gertrude said.

“Correct. That spiel is something I have been preparing. I knew from the moment I saw you that you had the potential to employ psionics. You just needed a push; either to discover it on your terms or to be influenced by an outside force. I was conflicted about whether I should give you that push– but I knew by accepting your offer I had to be ready to consult for you regardless of what happened. I knew that, because we were now heading into extreme conditions, you would be much more likely to discover your abilities here.”

“Then, hardship plays a part in achieving psionics?” Gertrude asked. “That means you knew that I would be under so much stress in the abyss that I would eventually awaken?”

“Correct again. Any sufficiently heightened emotion, in the right circumstances, might cause a person with potential to discover and achieve control of their psionics, to some extent.” Nile said. She crossed her arms. “Take for example the legendary Loup warrior Samoylovych-Daybringer. The stories had it that the young Daybringer, during the war with Hanwa in the late 910s, fought to the brink of death against a powerful Hanwan warrior to hold a station landing. In that state, the stories say a fairy visited him, and taught him volshebtsvo. Daybringer’s feats after that were not exaggerated– he had achieved the power to kill scores of men. I suspect a near-death experience jogged Daybringer’s dormant power.”

“That’s a lot to take in.” Gertrude said, sighing. She felt unsettled by the example and by the idea that this could happen to anyone. “I can’t help but think that despite his efforts, we lost that war with Hanwa. The Imbrian Empire was not able to expand into the Mare Crisium even with a psionic warrior on our side. Or who knows how many more of them there were.”

“Psionics can be very powerful, but it is still impossible to win a war by oneself.” Nile said.

“Some part of me hoped I would be able to use this power to do just that.” Gertrude said.

“That hubristic and whimsical part of you is very charming, indeed.” Nile smiled warmly.

Gertrude averted her gaze. “That’s all you’re going to say to me about that, huh?”

“Yes. There is no consoling you on that score, it is simply the hard truth of things. In fact, Samoylovych-Daybringer, older but still in his prime, was ultimately slain by an ordinary man. You will be similarly vulnerable and limited– but nevertheless, psionics is a useful tool to have. Especially if you are flexible in your conception and development of it.”

Of course, common sense dictated that no individual was ever completely invincible.

For a moment, however, Gertrude in her passions had truly wanted to believe she was.

That achieving this power was an enormous breakthrough that would settle everything.

There was something unsettling about it being only a tool that might help her going forward.

Arvokas Jarvelainen, Ingrid’s ancestor, had ultimately killed the legendary Daybringer.

For Arvokas there were no fairy stories or mythical deeds. He was just a kin-slayer.

Gertrude was still vulnerable, and she was not by herself suddenly an earth-shaking titan.

She looked at Nile, hands in her coat pockets, who looked back with quiet consideration.

Sighing deeply, Gertrude tried to look positively upon things. It was good to accept reality.

She was not invincible, even with her psionics, but she was also not alone either.

There was an entire ship of people who had her back. Advising her, fighting with her.

And even in this very room there was someone who had agreed to lend her assistance.

“Nile, thank you for giving me your perspective. I– I do really appreciate it.” She said.

Nile nodded her head. “I assume that at this point– you’ll want to know more about me personally, right? That is also another conversation that I foresaw and prepared for.”

Gertrude shook her head in return.

“Honestly I have lost the zest for it. I had it in mind to interrogate you at any cost about the Sunlight Foundation and what you truly knew about the world. I know you still must have all manner of secrets. But those things feel petty now. You’re right, none of us are one-man islands. I have no cause to doubt your allegiance. You’ve done nothing but help me even when I’ve been stubborn as a rock wall.” Gertrude said. Her voice was turning soft and fond of the mysterious Loup. She felt comforted by this discussion. She wanted to feel formidable, yes– but she also had to accept the reality of her vulnerability.

Hubris had already done a lot of damage to her. She had to try her best to temper it.

Thinking she could squeeze everything out of Nile, thinking it would help anything.

Both were notions that made sense before and did not make sense now.

Like Nile said– maybe her mind was something she could, slowly, deliberately, change.

“Thank you. I am willing to answer your questions, for what it’s worth.” Nile said.

She gestured toward a pair of seats– they had both been speaking standing up and close.

Gertrude shook her head. She suddenly felt very thankful to be in Nile’s ‘care.’

“I think I just want to sit by Monika’s side and see if she wakes.” Gertrude said.

“Of course. Feel free to avail yourself of anything in the infirmary.” Nile said.

She did have one question– it arrived at her quite suddenly.

One curiosity about Nile. She would allow herself to sate a single one.

“Actually– I do have one question, before I go.” Gertrude said.

Nile nodded. “Like I said, I’ve been preparing. What do you want to know?”

“How do you feel about your former allegiances? Do you have regrets?” Gertrude asked.

For a moment, a surprised Nile was pulled into her thoughts, with a melancholy expression.

“What a cruel question to ask, fittingly for you.” She tried to smile and to sound good humored. It was forced. “Of course, I have regrets. We disagreed on many things. But it was the only place I ever felt accepted and treated as a peer. I had no other home and I wanted none– they were my colleagues. We esteemed each other, motivated each other. We were flawed and arrogant and made horrible mistakes, but I would rather deal with cracked glass as long as it can keep the oxygen in. I had hope; some part of me still does.”

“Thank you.” Gertrude said. She reached out a hand to Nile’s shoulder, to comfort her.

Nile allowed it. Perhaps she even welcomed it.

She was just as vulnerable as Gertrude was. Nile, too, was not an invincible threat.


Time passed as Gertrude sat on the empty bed adjacent to Monika’s in the infirmary. She looked at the sleeping beauty’s face periodically. It was a relief; though she was still asleep, she looked peaceful. Her breathing was steady, she did not seem to be in pain. After everything she had been through, Gertrude hoped that she could have a moment’s relaxation before she resumed her activities. She deserved so much more– but at least that much. Gertrude waited at her side, hoping she might wake in a few hours more.

After about thirty minutes, Nile walked in through the door as well.

She had a cup of coffee and a handful of unsalted crackers and handed them to Gertrude.

“You should have something in your stomach.” Nile said.

“Thank you.” Gertrude said. “Can I call you when she wakes up?”

“I am planning to stay here actually, unless something drags me away.” Nile said.

She sat on the bed beside Gertrude and sipped her own cup of coffee.

Gertrude dipped one of the crackers in the coffee and ate it.

Together they watched over Monika’s bedside.

As she did so, Gertrude began to ponder the mysterious phenomenon that transpired last night. That maze of blue pools and the things they reflected; Monika claiming she wanted to invite Gertrude and the rest of the crew to an ‘eternal sleep’; and the Drowning Prophecy, the monstrous entity in Monika’s false church; did everyone experience visions in the blue pools? Victoria had confirmed she saw the pools, and that she saw events within them, lives she had not led. Gertrude likened it to a dream and Victoria agreed– but it was not an ordinary dream, concocted purely by her exhausted mind. It had felt so real, and the fact that she could still use psionics proved it. Gertrude had been there to see all of it.

Dreams often felt like being carried away to a different place and ended upon waking.

For Gertrude, the experience of the liminal pools, and her current state, felt like they were entirely contiguous events. Her memories were a bit hazy, but not gone. If Monika had put them all to sleep and beckoned them to remain sleeping, it was not a usual sleep. Gertrude wondered if everyone could remember the things they saw in the pools, if the people with less understanding were trying to puzzle out the haunting sensation that they felt from becoming trapped in that space and seeing impossible sights. Or if different people had gone to entirely different places and seen different things entirely than her.

Eventually, Gertrude got it into mind to put that question to Nile as well–

“Nile– during the mysterious ‘event’ last night, did you see a maze of blue pools?”

Nile took a long sip of her coffee, nodding her head slightly while drinking.

“Yes. With my psionics I understood it as a supernatural event, but I couldn’t escape.”

“What did you see in the pools?” Gertrude asked.

Nile scoffed. She averted her gaze. “You’re terribly nosy, did you know that?”

Gertrude smiled a bit. “It served me well in the Inquisition at least.”

Glancing back at Gertrude’s gentle expression, Nile breathed deeply and put down her cup.

“Fine. But you must tell your doctor about your own dreams, first.” She said.

“All of them were about Elena von Fueller.” Gertrude said. “We built many lives together in those pools. I was her servant, and I was her lover. She gave me meaning.”

Nile looked surprised– she must not have expected Gertrude to be so forthcoming.

To people like Nile and Victoria, Gertrude had nothing to hide about that affair anymore.

“I was Elena von Fueller’s lover– surprise? I squandered everything though.” Gertrude said.

In response to Gertrude’s honesty, Nile looked exasperated, and seemed to resign herself.

“Fine, fine. I saw similar things in the pools. Some of them represented things I knew could be possible– different decision points in my life. But there were some that were fabrications. I saw myself as some kind of horrid queen of a disease-infested flesh castle that resembled Heitzing; I saw myself as a member of the Pythian Black Legion nerve-gassing an entire station. But the worst one–” Nile paused and looked down at her cup for a moment.

Gertrude raised a hand and waved, interposing it between herself and Nile to stop her.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to keep going. I know now that we saw similar visions.”

Nile looked in that moment as Gertrude had never seen her before, but the expression was familiar because she had seen it in herself. Pain and frustration, an internal conflict, reticence that fought with passion and quaked under her skin. Gertrude thought she might hear her scream any moment; she looked that bound up in herself. She tried to reassure Nile that she did not need to say anything, but she knew, because she had been there herself, that the emotions were too hot. She had been in that exact position far too many times.

“No. I want to tell someone. Even if you might not understand– almost certainly you won’t understand it. But I’ll get it off my chest and then I can put it away forever.” Nile said. Her voice rose– she was taken by a sudden passion. “Gertrude, I saw the Northern Host of the Loup being completely wiped out by Mehmed Khalifa. Somehow, he detonated the North Imbrian Agarthic Vein– what’s known as one of the ‘Ley-Lines’. You do not know how close this came to actually happening, Gertrude. In that vision I just stood there and watched him do it. Watched him kill half of the Loup, and scores of Imbrians. He devastated the Palatine and ended the Empire.” Nile’s fingers tightened their grip on the cup, nearly shaking. Her eyes looked like they would tear up. “I– I did not want his blood on my hands.”

“Nile– I’m so sorry.” Gertrude said. It was hard to muster any words in response.

Mehmed Khalifa, better known as Mehmed the Tyrant or Mehmed the Sorcerer, had declared an organized, armed religious struggle known to the Shimii as a ‘jihad’. He mustered scores of mainly Mahdist Shimii fighters in improvised and stolen crafts. Using his limited resources he inflicted embarrassing defeats on the Empire in the early to middle 930s, slowly building his arsenal. The official narrative was that the Inquisition tracked him down to Bad Ischl and killed him, but Gertrude knew one better– she knew that one of the Inquisition’s secrets was that the Agarthicite veins in the area had a dangerous event that inflicted damage on the Imperial siege fleet but also scattered the jihadists. An act of God ended the Jihad.

Now she knew two better– not an act of God, but Nile and her ‘colleagues’ instead. Had they truly ended the Jihad? Why? Given the resources Victoria claimed they possessed, and Nile’s own abilities, Gertrude could believe that if they became involved in such an event, that they could have brought it to a conclusion. But why interfere against someone as formidable as the self-crowned king of the Shimii’s Age of Heroes? Had they become involved in any other events, Gertrude wondered? Had any other acts of God been instead the meddling of the Sunlight Foundation in the background of what had become accepted history?

Seeing how distressed Nile had become, Gertrude could not possibly ask for more context.

Despite her curiosity, the Jihad was over– and Mehmed was dead.

And it did not matter to her and her life what or who did it. It was in the past and Gertrude had no reason to litigate it. But it clearly caused Nile a lot of pain. In those blue pools she saw a world in which she never got her hands dirty, and allowed an atrocity to pass. Gertrude had thought of the pools as amoral, showing her things that were in some sense real, without judgment. She had only seen events that reflected her warped desires and horrible mistakes. To show Nile something that horrid, however, Gertrude began to wonder if perhaps the visions in the blue pools had been guided by an active malevolence.

Rather than say anything more, she gingerly sidled closer to Nile and tried to comfort her.

Nile raised a hand to gently prevent this, keeping her away, and another to wipe her eyes.

“Thank you, but– it’s fine–” She kept a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry for losing myself.”

“No apology necessary. It’s only human. I would know.” Gertrude said, smiling.

“I appreciate your understanding. If I broke down anywhere, then at least it was with you.”

Nile must have meant that because of their similarities they could have a unique solidarity.

However, Gertrude’s heart was quick to accelerate, and her face felt a bit warm.

At the thought of Nile wanting to confer her vulnerability only to her.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I am sorry for prying.” Gertrude said. “But– if you need someone to talk to, I am here for you. I understand what it feels like carrying a burden. God knows, I’ve made so many mistakes that perhaps no one would understand. My pool rooms were full of my stupid obsession, devoid of any of the people I care about or even people that I hurt. I am ashamed of that single-mindedness– it wiped out even the recognition of my mistakes from my psyche. This– it demonstrates you’re better than that.”

Nile lifted her hand from over her eyes, her tears wiped but clearly still a bit agitated.

She nodded in response, and quietly finished off the last of her coffee.

Gertrude took a sip too and began to calm her thrashing her heart.

“Gertrude, would you accept a chaste and professional hug?” Nile asked suddenly.

“Any time.” Gertrude quickly replied.

Nile sidled close to Gertrude, and extended an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.

Gertrude accepted it and reciprocated. She could feel Nile’s tail thumping the bed.

For a while, they shared this quiet physical comfort before gently separating.

Going back to looking over Monika but with calmer hearts and minds than before.

After a few hours of staring in a silence only broken by Nile getting more coffee–

Monika turned in bed, once, twice– she tightened her eyes, and pulled her blankets.

Gertrude and Nile nearly jumped with surprise as if the floors and walls had moved instead.

Finally, Monika began to open her eyes. She opened them halfway, shut them.

She began to blink. She saw up in bed, dressed in only a patient’s gown. Her hair fell over her eyes partially and behind her back. Monika pulled her bangs to the sides of her face and let out a yawn. Without speaking a word, she continued to stare at Gertrude and Nile, who stared back. For a moment the trio traded stares at one another.

One of Monika’s furry ears began to twitch.

“Gertrude?” Monika asked, when she finally spoke. “Have I been dreaming?”

“Maybe. Did you happen to dream about a maze of blue pools?” Gertrude asked.

“Don’t tell her that so quickly– let her acclimate first!” Nile protested.

“Blue pools?” Monika’s eyes opened wide. She hugged herself. “Oh my god.”

“Let me handle the talking.” Nile said. “Monika, how many fingers am I holding up?”

She held up her index and middle fingers, making a ‘V’ sign in front of Monika.

In response, Monika made two ‘V’ signs with her own hands, blinking her eyes slowly.

Nile ran her fingers idly through her hair, seemingly thinking of what to say.

“She looks awake and aware to me.” Gertrude said. “Monika, how are you feeling?”

“Confused. Horrible. And– oh my god–!” Monika narrowed her eyes. Her tail extended.

Then with barely any warning she sprang from her bed and leaped over to the one adjacent.

Throwing her arms around Gertrude and nearly tackling her off and onto the ground.

Thankfully they both fell over on top of the bed instead, nearly kicking Nile aside.

“Hey!” Nile cried out. “Calm down! You’ll hurt yourself! We need to–!”

“Gertrude!” Monika cried out. “I’m so sorry! I can’t– I’m so ashamed– you saved me–!”

Between the gratitude and contrition all screamed in interwoven hysterics, Gertrude could not muster an answer. Despite her petite stature Monika in that moment had the force of a leviathan as she hugged Gertrude down against the bed, her tail drumming against the plastic headboard. Monika cried and screamed into Gertrude’s chest, her gown nearly pulling apart with her thrashing. She hugged her so close, kicking her legs, arms tight.

“Monika! It’s okay! Please calm down! Listen to the doctor!” Gertrude struggled to say.

Monika pressed herself tightly against Gertrude’s chest while Nile looked on with worry.

Then Monika raised her head and met Gertrude’s eyes, ears running down her cheeks.

With a smile on her face.

“Gertrude– I’m happy to be here. I’m glad I’m alive.” She said.

Gertrude felt an enormous sense of relief.

She let herself fall back on the bed without resistance.

Letting out a breath that felt long held.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Monika.” Gertrude replied, stroking Monika’s hair.

With some gentle coaxing from the doctor, Monika returned to her bed and sat upright.

Nile handed her a cup of water and some crackers. Monika took a few bites.

Gertrude sat across and observed her while Nile tested her faculties.

“Monika Erke-Tendercloud,” Nile said, “That is your name, correct?”

Monika nodded her head.

“Thank you– but can you speak your answer clearly? For the sake of the test.”

“Yes, it is Monika Erke-Tendercloud.”

“I am going to ask you to do something that might seem silly. Can you extend your right arm over the left side of your body, with your thumb up, and stick out your tongue?” Nile asked.

“Yes.” Monika followed the instructions without hesitation.

Gertrude looked over at the wall to prevent herself laughing– Monika was rather cute.

“Can you name this object that I am holding?” Nile said. It was her digital pen.

“It’s a pen.” Monika said.

“What am I doing with it?” Nile scribbled on the screen of her digital clipboard.

“You’re writing. It’s a digital pen and you have a digital clipboard.”

“Do you remember the small talk we had when you came in for a checkup?”

“I think you asked me about the food on board. We talked about liking the liver pate.”

“It’s a bit gritty but nutritionally excellent– lots of what kind of Vitamin?”

“Vitamin A if I am remembering correctly.”

“You are correct. One last question– where is the consortium Reschold-Kolt located?”

“They’re in the Bureni Republic. It’s one of my many misfortunes recently, hah!”

Monika spoke candidly and cheerfully and seemed to be full of energy.

Nile smiled and put her clipboard at her side on the bed.

“I believe you have all of your faculties about you. This isn’t a comprehensive test, but you are aware, your coordination is good, and you can recall details. I don’t believe that I will need to hold you here for long, but I would like to observe you awake for an hour.”

“I was going to spend the day loafing around anyway.” Monika said. “Thank you, doctor.”

She turned to face Gertrude again and pointed at her. “How is she doing?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential patient information.” Nile said gently.

Putting it like that made it sound like something was going on!

“C’mon. I’m fine!” Gertrude said, slightly irritated. “Don’t worry about me, Monika.”

“Don’t put up an act. You got stabbed in the gut– I saw it! I was terrified!” Monika said.

“Wait– what?” Nile looked at Gertrude with wide eyes, staring down at her abdomen.

Gertrude raised her hands as if to shield herself from the concerns of the two women.

“Everything grew back. Would I be walking around if I got stabbed in the stomach?”

“What do you mean everything grew back?” Nile said. “I’m going to need an explanation!”

“Calm down and I’ll give you one. I’ve been wanting to talk about this with you anyway.”

Gertrude put her hands on the bed, reared back a bit, sighed, and then launched into her story of what happened yesterday. She went through everything but embellished or glossed over a few details– Monika did not need to know about what she saw in the pools. But she explained becoming lost in the primary edifice due to Azazil An-Nur’s cries for help; being attacked by the strange blue creatures and her experience of falling asleep; waking up in the blue pools, and breaking through them; Eris and her ambitions to recover her–

She did not mention Eris. That was still for herself only. She was still processing that.

Finally, breaking the maze, the church, the abomination and her newfound power.

“And then she rescued me.” Monika said. “That part I can corroborate, doctor.”

Gertrude nodded her head. “I killed the creature that captured Monika. Then I woke up again and I wasn’t in the blue pools anymore. I carried Monika back to the ship. You were all there to greet me– and from what I can gather, all of us saw the blue pools too. Victoria confirmed that she did, and Nile, you saw them too. So– we all had this strange dream.”

“A collective psychic phenomenon.” Nile lifted a hand to her forehead. “Ya allah.”

“I take it this isn’t something you have experience with?” Gertrude asked.

“This specific incident is magnitudes stranger than anything I’ve heard or seen happen. I could not have predicted it.” Nile said. “I knew, and I attempted to communicate to you, that the abyssal ‘aetheric weather’ would affect us. I do not know the origin of the color weather, but the abyss has been observed by my colleagues to affect the auras of people, it causes our emotions to unbalance. Most people, most of the time, have a balance of stress and tranquility and other emotional states– the aetheric weather causes one of the states of our aura to expand at the expense of this balance. I knew this and I tried to tell you.”

“You tried to tell me once, in my room at midnight, when I was dead tired.” Gertrude said.

“Huh?” Monika said. Looking a bit red. “She was in your room at midnight?”

“I broke in.” Nile said as if it explained anything.

Monika blinked. “You broke into her room at midnight?”

“Nevermind that, nothing happened!” Gertrude waved her hands rapidly.

Nile shrugged her shoulders innocently. Monika glanced between the two of them.

“Unfortunately, the weather had begun to have its effect on me also and impaired my judgment. I was also tired and unbalanced. I should have kept pushing you on that subject, even as stubborn as you were. But I did not want to deal with it.” Nile said. “The past few days I had a lot to do and did the best I could despite the creeping exhaustion, but I had limited headspace and I put off important things. I only vaguely recognized that this was the doing of the ‘aetheric weather’ but I felt that we could do nothing but ride it out.”

“We were all acting a bit more foolish than usual.” Gertrude said, sighing.

“For you such a thing is much more in-character.” Monika said.

Gertrude frowned, and Monika smile back, having successfully caused her grief.

“Doctor,” Monika turned to Nile, “I– I think the strange stuff that happened is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault at all.” Gertrude was quick to say.

“I agree with Gertrude. Nobody is blaming you, Monika.” Nile said.

Monika sat back against the bed, crossing her arms and breathing out.

“It’s difficult– but can I try to explain to you what happened? Even if it sounds crazy?”

“Of course. Listening to my patients is the very least I can do.” Nile said.

Laying in bed, looking at the ceiling as if to avoid their eyes–

Monika recounted her experiences.

She confessed to Nile and Gertrude that she had been dealing with suicidal thoughts for a very long time. Monika grew up in a deeply religious household and she referred to the Loup culture as anti-intellectual– Nile could relate to this. After escaping from her abusive family, Monika had managed to get her thoughts more under control– but she knew there was a stigma against feeling such a way. She did not want to be seen as insane or as a ticking time-bomb, so she told nobody about it. Her despair sat quietly in her and she drowned it in various achievements. In the world of the Imbrians she could do everything her family barred her from. Completed her education, found a job that allowed her to express her interest in technology, sciences and industry. Finally she accomplished the aspirational feat of any military engineer– she was chose to serve aboard a glorious, high-tech Dreadnought.

Recent events had shaken her confidence in herself. She began to struggle with work and thought about how helpless she was to influence the events happening around her– such as Imbria’s dissolution, or the battles against the Brigand. She took it hard when the machine she had worked on, was defeated in battle and then stolen– she took it harder when she struggled to repair the Magellan that Gertrude got to keep. It wasn’t for lack of materials or time, but she felt, it was a limit in herself. In her usefulness to the world around her.

She confessed that in her mind, if she failed, then– there was no reason to keep on living.

“I started to have those feelings about myself again. Every little thing triggered them.” Monika said. “If I didn’t finish this or that, or if I couldn’t figure something out– even minor everyday tasks or things like how to set up my tools so I can reach them more efficiently. Any little thing started to feel like something I ought to have stopped living over. That negotiation with myself about whether it was worth living or not felt like it was taking a life of its own. Like I was really talking with death itself about living on or dying, any time that anything happened. Then, things started to move really quickly, it felt like– at one point I found myself almost worshiping death– thinking that everyone must have felt like me and we could all die together. That’s when I found that church, and that abomination.”

“Monika–” Gertrude began. It took everything not to cry. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She reached out her hands and took Monika’s, caressing her, hoping to comfort her.

Monika reciprocated, taking Gertrude’s hands and squeezing them in hers.

“It’s alright. I decided I want to live Gertrude. I’m going to try. I know I will probably have these thoughts again– but I will fight to live. And I will also ask for help if I need it.”

“Monika, whatever you need, you can come to me. I’ll always listen.” Gertrude said.

It wasn’t that she was completely unfamiliar with the kind of feelings Monika had felt.

Gertrude had more than once felt utter hopelessness, and all of its most dire results.

However, she never suspected that Monika was dealing with such feelings herself.

That frightened Gertrude– she could have lost Monika forever and never realized it.

She had been so self-centered and oblivious to her pain despite thinking she knew her well.

Conscious of this, Gertrude did not want to turn the conversation to her own failings.

Monika had already gotten angry at her once for drowning in self-pity.

In her mind however she told herself, and she knew, that she had to do better by Monika.

Nile also reached out and laid her hand over Monika’s with a gentle demeanor and speech.

“For as long as I am your doctor, I will support you, Monika. And everything you have told us will stay in this room. It is confidential patient information. So do not worry.” She said.

“Thank you.” Monika said. She sat back up and stopped looking at the roof. Her eyes were glistening. She wiped them on the sleeve of her hospital gown. “Doctor, during my experiences last night– I felt like understood implicitly that there was a supernatural power in my self. My mind was a mess– so I didn’t care then. I understand that you have power too, and Gertrude too. You know about all of this– and you must know more than I do.”

“I am not all-knowing. But I know some things.” Nile said. “Psionics, the power you feel that you now have, is as deep and as fluid as the human experience itself. I’ve lived for longer than you might imagine, and I will never observe and examine everything related to psionics. It’s like myths, or miracles; I’m sure it will always change to elude our reckoning.”

“I understand, doctor, but could you try to explain what might have happened?”

Nile’s expression was familiar– as exasperated as when Gertrude asked about psionics.

She nodded her assent but paused for a moment clearly gathering her thoughts.

Her ears folded and rose, and she ran her fingers through some of her hair.

“As it stands, this is conjecture– and barely educated conjecture at that. During the blue weather event, Monika, you were fatigued and beset by feelings of frustration and hopelessness. These feelings were amplified by the blue weather, sabotaging your mental stability until it crossed a certain emotional threshold. It led to your psionics awakening, and you lost control over them. This may have had a synergistic effect with the blue weather, which we were all experiencing, that led to us having a collective event. Of course, I vehemently reject blaming you for this– I believe you were a victim of circumstance.”

“Monika, do you agree with this? How did you feel?” Gertrude asked.

Monike crossed her arms. Her own ears folded and rose as she thought it over.

“I think it’s mostly right, but– I feel that I was not the one who created that abomination that Gertrude and I saw. I felt that it had been speaking to me for a long time, ever since we got down here– I tried to ignore it, but looking back, at a certain point, I embraced it.”

Gertrude supported Monika’s deliberation.

“Nile, inside the blue rooms, I felt like I understood what Monika’s feelings were with great certainty. I can’t explain it, but I just knew, like I could hear a voice in my head that explained everything. But the monster always felt apart from her. Like an invader into her mind. Those were not explicitly her feelings alone, they felt like feelings anyone could have. Like mine also. It was called ‘the Drowning Prophecy’– and I think Monika knows that name too.”

“Yes, I felt just like Gertrude. Like someone was telling me about its name for certain.”

Nile paused and crossed her arms. She sighed. “You don’t say. Anyone’s feelings, huh?”

“Would you happen to have any explanation for that phenomenon?” Gertrude asked.

“Yes and no.” Nile said. She sighed again. “Like I’ve said before, I am a medical doctor, not a pseudophysicist or a parapsychiatrist. However, one of my colleagues, Euphrates, theorized that it should be possible to create constructs with psionics that anyone would recognize as real entities despite their aetheric origin. Perhaps this entity you both saw was created out of collective emotions. Maybe its reach over Monika was a result of how many tired and hopeless people were aboard the ship– in the blue weather that would mean all of us.”

“I guess it makes as much sense as anything.” Gertrude said, feeling a bit helpless.

“I still feel like ‘The Drowning Prophecy’ was something else entirely.” Monika said. “Not just our feelings, but something older and bigger than that. It was like it had been ready to communicate with me at the earliest time I was able to see it. Like it was leading me to the blue church– just waiting all of this time to talk to anyone who would listen to it. I don’t believe in God, but thinking back, it almost felt like a horrible, sublime revelation.”

“Well, I can’t know more until I see this happen myself– and I don’t want to.” Nile said.

“Right. I’d also prefer never to have that experience again.” Monika said.

She and Nile tried to smile but the topic was heavy, and clearly weighing on their minds.

Nile probably felt frustrated with her lack of answers. Her body language had grown tense.

When it came to medical problems she always had a solution– this was beyond her.

Gertrude wondered if for a genius intellect like her, uncertainty was uniquely frustrating.

“So, if this all had to do with our emotions– were we in physical danger?” Gertrude asked.

“If this was related to psionics in some way, then yes. You were in danger.” Nile said.

“Can you elaborate how? Do you think the monster could have really killed us?”

In the moment, Gertrude’s sense of pain was dull despite the horrible attack she suffered.

That monster ran her through with its tentacle, and there was blood and she screamed.

There was not the level of acute, shattering pain she would have associated with that.

Perhaps it was the red passion cloaking her in power, and the certainty she felt back then.

Or perhaps it just had not been physical, and it actually was closer to a dream than reality.

“Normally,” Nile said, “it is very difficult to use psionics to coerce someone into harming themselves– it’s an action that is too atypical for the subject’s internality to accept. But it’s not impossible and we have no idea what a psionic construct is capable of doing, whether they follow our observations. Had you and Monika faltered, I imagine you would have indeed slept eternally. However that felt to you in the moment– your body was suffering.”

Not necessarily that being stabbed by the monster would have killed Gertrude, but rather, that it would have convinced them to pursue its ‘eternal sleep.’ Everyone would have chosen to die by never waking up from the dream until they passed. Mass psychogenic suicide.

Probably Nile would not have characterized it this way, but it got Gertrude thinking about the dangers that psionics might pose. She had been thinking about it exclusively in the way her body became a weapon when imbued with her psionics– but in reality, it was farther reaching and much more dangerous than that. Psionics was much more insidious.

Gertrude recalled all the strange abilities Norn seemed to possess. The incredible control over her troops, her ability to move extremely quickly and strike someone in a blink.

There was a larger and more terrifying world opening up before Gertrude’s own eyes.

“Nile, could you help Monika to understand and control her psionics too?” Gertrude asked.

Upon hearing that request, Monika looked down at her hands with a quiet concern.

Gertrude must have had that exact same expression on her face last night too.

That dire contemplation of becoming irreversibly different than before.

“I will do the best I can.” Nile sighed. “It’s– I guess it’s my duty as a doctor, after all.”


“Vogt, nobody roughed her up, right? And she’s been behaving well?”

“Indeed High– Commander.” Vogt caught himself. “She has been quietly waiting for you.”

“Any observations?” She ignored his struggle with her rank.

“One observation. When you first brought her here, she seemed almost– giggly. Energetic. Kind of fawning over you. At some point, and probably if I went through the camera footage I could probably scrobble to the exact second– she stopped smiling, Commander. She has this very neutral expression now. Her voice feels different too. When we brought her food, she spoke to us in a weird language– the translator tool said it is High Gallic. When we asked her to speak in Low Imbrian she teased us about our lack of culture. It was strange.”

Gertrude grunted, annoyed. “What the hell is she up to now– let me in to see her.”

After making sure Monika was okay and grabbing more coffee from Nile, Gertrude had set out to tackle her least anticipated errand of the day. It would have been callous of her to continue to subject Azazil An-Nur to captivity when she had wanted to cooperate before. But Gertrude had to know more about her and had to better understand her disposition. So she traveled to the Iron Lady’s containment rooms. She would converse with her in the interrogation cell she was being kept in, and she would decide then what to do.

“She has not been aggressive, Commander. I think she will cooperate.” Vogt said.

“I’m hoping as much too, but I’m always prepared for the worst.” Gertrude said.

Things she said to reassure her troops, without always meaning them.

In fact, she knew precious little about Azazil An-Nur and had no idea how she would act.

Vogt nodded and showed Gertrude he had brought a folding vibroblade on his person.

“I, too, am prepared for the worst. So you can be at ease, Commander.” He said.

Azazil was being kept confined in a glass-walled interrogation cell, one-way viewable.

Inside the cell she had a desk and a chair, both made of soft rubber-padded plastic.

Outside, there was a media room where recordings and observations were being made.

Gertrude passed through that room, out into a connecting rear room and then into the cell.

Azazil An-Nur lifted her eyes from the table briefly and smiled a very small, slight smile.

Her expression appeared much more reserved. When Gertrude had last seen her, she was gently smiling and cooing at her, like a motherly type of woman who wanted to impress her affection and comfort upon Gertrude. Now, she had a very specific sort of neutral expression, of the sort that Gertrude associated with noblewomen. Adelheid van Mueller had this sort of haughty non-smile that she would put on for people who were beneath her notice but not worth her disrespect. A noblewoman’s smile– put on for appearances, so perfectly practiced it managed to mean something while conveying nothing.

“Azazil, how have you been getting on?” Gertrude asked, sitting down across the table.

“In my appraisal, I have been diligently cooperative in my captivity.” Azazil said.

Vogt had been right– her voice was deeper, smoother. She had changed it somehow.

Could she change her body like Gertrude could? Could Gertrude change her own voice?

Azazil sat with her fingers steepled. Her gaze felt eerily penetrating.

That presence she now had– was she always so intense?

Everything else about Azazil looked familiar.

Her sleek, long black dress still hugged her perfect figure and looked almost brand new despite the scuffles of the past night. In the haze of the terrible events in which they had met, Gertrude had not noticed how well-made that dress was. It did not appear to be natural fibers, and it glistened, but it had a very soft look. Could it have been silk? In terms of facial features, she was without fault, with a gentle and regal beauty, soft red lips, small eyes slightly angled, her countenance mature but umblemished; her silver hair long and perfectly tended; her Shimii-like ears tall, black-furred, and sharp and fluffy; and her figure, ample in the right places and sleek in the rest. She was like a sculpture given life, a living artwork.

Gertrude felt that the more she observed her the more she found her gaze ensnared.

“After acquiring more data, I altered myself to better suit your tastes.” Azazil said.

“To better suit me?” Gertrude asked. She felt almost offended. What did that mean?

“As a biomechanoid servant I can serve better with more data. Upon close examination of all of our exchanges, I calculated that your nervous energy, inquisitiveness and spiraling passion are better matched by a woman who is more collected, distant and mature in appearance, mannerisms and personality. You are titillated by the mystery and taboo of women that feel out of your reach. You respond poorly when you receive too much open affection.”

“That is enough of that.” Gertrude said. She gestured for the recording to be cut.

“You want women to vex and challenge you at least a little. You are enriched by conquest.”

“That is– you think I find this attractive? I am terribly annoyed with you is what I am!”

“Perhaps– but I can tell you are already intrigued. I made a correct assessment.”

Gertrude had broken out into a bit of a sweat, and her face felt a little bit hot.

It was less what Azazil was doing or saying and more how she was doing it and saying it.

Her deep, sultry voice that felt like it was holding everything back while pulling her close. Precise mannerisms, like the brief flutter of her steepled fingers, or the ephemeral flitting of her eyelashes or the minute changes in her expression. She was like a silk-draped, full-figured puzzle box beckoning Gertrude to probe deeper and more forcefully.

Azazil was right, and Gertrude felt like a complete idiot.

She was manipulated– she had to stop fixating on Azazil.

Or she would be made a fool of.

It’s not easy to tear my eyes away from her– she is drop-dead gorgeous.

Maybe she could instead try to play it against her somehow.

“You said you were created to take care of humans, and you must follow my commands.”

“Correct. You are the owner of this body now, Master. It is yours however you desire.”

“What if I make you do something undignified? That breaks this façade you’re creating?”

“You can degrade me as a woman if you like. I’m sure it’s part of the fantasy for you.”

Gertrude closed her fists. “I don’t care what data you think you have collected on me! You do not know me, and I won’t have you typecasting me as some kind of pervert!” She hesitated briefly, a quivering in her chest working itself out as she then spoke. “I’m– I’m heterosexual!”

An interesting and hasty gambit that immediately faltered on all merits.

Azazil crossed her arms and grinned, just a little. “I know what you are.”

Suddenly Gertrude turned to what should have been a wall. “Get out! All of you! Now!”

She could not know whether or nor the recording and monitoring team vacated the room.

But they must have– they always followed her orders. They stopped recording and left.

Azazil waited obediently until the cell felt emptier. She continued. “My data is not wrong. From observing your interactions with me, and also the composition of your crew, which I also had a chance to observe. There are several women who have forged close emotional connections to you, and no men who have a relationship to you that is anything above strictly professional. No, my master, Lady Lichtenberg– you are absolutely a homosexual.”

Gertrude was nearly speechless. Azazil was correct, but it was utterly ridiculous to hear it.

“What if I ordered you to become a man?” Gertrude said, in a near-hysteric voice.

“You wouldn’t seriously do that.” Azazil said. “Master, there is no need to be distressed.”

Gertrude had completely lost it. Azazil had twirled her around like synthetic twine.

“I am not distressed! I am furious! Aren’t you supposed to ‘take care’ of me? What is this?”

Azazil wore that noblewoman’s smile again, but Gertrude could read the implicit malice. “I am indeed your servant, and it is indeed my duty to take care of your needs. I am presenting in a way which is the most suitable for your pleasure. However, I assure you I am not here to interfere with your daily life and your real relationships. I am an appliance that you can use as you need– has it not always been this way between masters and servants?”

She was stunned. It was stunning. Gertrude was left reeling by those words.

“What– what kind of perverted society– how the hell are you an ‘appliance’?!”

Even if Gertrude had entertained the desire to be able to keep more than one woman–

Nobody could possibly have been an ‘appliance’ to her!

And even worse for such a use!

“This– this situation— I’m disgusted! I don’t want anyone to take care of me like this!”

“Do you feel that it is ingenuine of me to try to please you in this way?”

“You are not pleasing me!”

“Would you find it more honest if I acted as I did before I had any data?”

Gertrude was given pause. Back then, last night– was she just acting then too?

Of course, she must have been. After all– she was an ‘appliance’ back then too.

Azazil An-Nur was a ‘biomechanoid’ that was ‘created to take care of humans’.

Thinking over this, Gertrude felt progressively conflicted and disturbed.

She did not know what to say to someone who had been created to serve her.

Gertrude had coerced and misled many people over the years. She was High Inquisitor.

Through honeyed words, through the truncheon, through legal threats–

She knew something about forcing people to bend to her will when necessary.

That coercion didn’t change them as people. Their bodies didn’t react to suit her needs.

Azazil’s comfort with changing pieces of herself to suit Gertrude–

She had conflicting feelings about it.

“When we first met, Master, I had an unclear profile of your personality, mannerisms, and your desires and needs as a person. After observing you for long enough, I developed the correct predictions, and I am better suited to serving you in a comfortable and tailored fashion. Humans do this too– but less efficiently. You are welcome to delete the profile I have generated but I doubt your needs will change much. In my view, I have optimized our relationship and am better able to serve you– why don’t you allow me to demonstrate as such for a few days? You will find I am a much better product now than before.”

“You call yourself a ‘product’ and an ‘appliance’– I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Master, would it bring you relief to know a mop or a broom enjoyed the act of cleaning?”

Gertrude had no answer to that. She felt her heart and head grow heavy at the thought.

It was not possible that Azazil was a mop or a broom. She was a human, like Gertrude.

There was no way in hell that any society made people that were reduced to this!

That was her thinking– she could not, in her privilege, connect this behavior to anything.

Azazil smiled, more than she had before.

“I was created to take care of human beings. For so long, I have not had any people to take care of. They were all gone. Before I met you, I only had contact with an overbearing neural model and belligerent biomechanoids. I might not look like it, but I am pleased with the prospect of being able to take care of Genuine Human Beings again. It is not in my nature to make requests– but I strongly believe I can improve your quality of life if you will allow it.”

Gertrude was helpless. She did not know the correct or moral answer in this situation.

Insisting on Azazil’s humanity might go nowhere; would accepting this make her happy?

Could Azazil feel happy? What had they done to ‘create’ her? She looked human–

Now she was really second-guessing herself– was this all encoded in Azazil’s biology?

Was it STEM? Could she somehow alter Azazil’s STEM to free her from this condition?

To alleviate her own guilt and shame about all of this, Gertrude settled on that fantasy.

Perhaps if she discovered more about the mysterious STEM system–

She could turn Azazil from an ‘appliance’ and back into an independent human being.

It was this distant hope that allowed Gertrude to take a deep breath and speak again.

“I’ll accept you as you are, for now. I will accept that you are acting this way. But listen up and listen well, Azazil An-Nur– I don’t need your services in whatever perverse way you are implying. I need you to prove to me that you are able to act independently, that you can freely make your own choices as a person. Everyone on my ship agreed to be here. I am– I am adamantly against slavery. I will not so much as touch you until I am sure.”

“Adamantly against slavery– how curious. I’ll make a note of this.” Azazil said. “However, my condition is not slavery. Humans can be coerced into slavery. I was created to serve a purpose. I want to serve that purpose and I am happy to be given the opportunity.”

“If there is some way to free you from this condition, I will find it.” Gertrude said sharply.

For a moment, Gertrude caught what seemed like a twitch of Azazil’s eye.

However– it was so quick that it seemed like only her imagination.

Maybe she only wanted to see some kind of response.

“Very well, master. In such a matter and any others, of course, I will assist you.”

Gertrude sighed and slumped forward on the table. What an exhausting conversation!

After venting through a series of noises, she looked back at Azazil again.

“You have psionics, right? You understand your abilities to be psionic?” Gertrude asked.

“Correct.” Azazil replied.

“How can I know you are not controlling me using psionics?”

“If I have been doing that, do you believe it has been effective up to this point?”

“I can’t argue with that.” Gertrude said, with a grunt. “So–were you created to be psionic?”

“No.” Azazil said. She offered no candid asides nor any rhetoric to support her answer.

“What do you mean, no?” Gertrude asked, with mild but growing outrage.

“I was not created with psionic ability. That is not possible, as far as I know.”

“Where were you– created? Who created you? Elaborate a bit wouldn’t you?”

Azazil, with her small, wry, smile, answered the question exactly.

“I was created in Hephaestus Innovations Inc., Exafactory No. 4, in Turkiye, the seat of the Aer Federation. Turkiye is part of the internal polity known as the Nobilis Community. I was designed by Margery Balyaeva, with patented technology from Rita Angermeyer.”

That meant absolutely nothing to Gertrude. Just nothing but mush in the shape of words.

It was finally dawning on her that she was dealing with a relic from a lost civilization.

A perverse and horrid civilization that she was nevertheless now committed to chasing after.

Part of that chase would have to entail keeping Azazil aboard and enduring this for now.

Gertrude’s mind wandered to that hexagon of hexagons flag– what was she getting into?

And if she was committed to finding Eris at the bottom of all of this–

In what condition would she even find her?


Depth Gauge: 4581 meters
Aetherometry: Purple (Stable)

The Iron Lady descended, farther and deeper and darker into the abyss.

As its enormous hull navigated the encroaching spaces around it, all manner of creatures were disturbed, awakened, and scattered. Many of them were natural denizens of these lightless depths who knew to flee even the barest of hint of pursuit from something larger. Crustaceans on the cliffs scurried into holes only they knew of; slow-moving fish began to drift away from the steel leviathan; glowing jellies flexed their bells and jetted away.

Then– there were the creatures that could have been called unnatural denizens.

These continued to watch the descending ship with great interest.

Crab-like things with bubble-like missile packs on their backs readying to intercept.

Clusters of eyeballs trailed by tentacles, gathering and transmitting data.

Sentries with sleek, predatory bodies wolf-like and shark-like, larger than a power-armored human being, equipped with vibrating tungsten teeth and claws ready to charge.

Stand down and hibernate.

At once, the handful of drones in this abyss retreated to their hidden places once more.

Given psychic command by a superior with an actual will to determine fate.

From the barren cliffsides she watched the ship descend.

Casually resisting four hundred atmospheres of pressure, as if she had the Ocean’s mercy.

With a temporary body that was half aquatic, with a tail, hydrojets, fins.

And an upper body that was human, feminine, substantial in its musculature.

Grinning to herself, crossing her arms, narrowing eyes that could see clearly in the water.

I’m so curious, hominin. What are you doing here? In this mausoleum?

Watching them with the patience of a hunter amused at the sight of a coming sport.

Enforcer V of the Syzygy, The Wrath, referred to by her colleagues as ‘Ira.’

Unstimulated for an amount of years so great as to be a burden to recall.

Practically salivating at the prospect of the hominin diving into Aer’s own skin.

Let them enter the Great Tree Holy Land and see for themselves what Mnar holds!

I want to see their faces; I’m so curious what they will do with their final hours.

Will they find something that surprises me, before they dieor I kill them?

Surreptitiously, so as to avoid detection, Ira followed after the Iron Lady.

Toward the Agartha, and what little remained of the civilizations that preceded them.


Previous ~ Next

The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.2]

Violet Lehner was a radical even among national socialists, but even she had to accept that in her system, money held a primacy that even influence could not always overcome.

Dealing with finances was the most unpleasant aspect of her management of the Reichskommissariat and going through the balance sheets, revenues, costs, was her most despised activity. It was unfortunately necessary, as the Reichkommissariat’s finances would be the final proof of her success or failure. Not her labor policy, not her purging of the corrupt liberals or returning order and stability: only cold and hard revenue numbers.

Kreuzung had gone through a prolonged period of waste, abuse and fraud that left much of its earning potential unrealized. Money had been thrown into pits like the ever-ballooning salaries of the K.P.S.D’s officers, cushy bureaucratic jobs for politician’s sons, and endless renovations to parks, thoroughfares and sports fields. While still crown jewel of Eisental, the layer of dust would take much effort to clean off Kreuzung. The K.P.S.D was shuttered; a variety of liberal politicians and their beneficiaries were parted with their wealth and scheduled to undergo public trials and execution; and several budgetary elements that were not useful to Violet’s aims were liquidated. In a few days Violet had secured tens of millions of reichsmarks in Kreuzung property and funds. But it was not enough to staunch bleeding; Violet needed to show she could improve the health of the patient.

That, in fact, she had the only real cure for the illness.

For this she needed real, recurring revenues. Key to her policies toward Rhineametalle and other corporations was financial subsidy. Violet conceded that she would help offset the demands of the labor union scheme through direct subsidies. All of the Rhinean corporations had enjoyed many years of aggressively stagnating wages and rising prices until their kettles boiled over and risked blowing up. Despite this many of them had balked at Violet’s solutions to the labor unrest. Many believed she had given up too much to the workers. This truculence could not be overcome with just influence; it had to be overcome with money.

She needed to prove that she was a better steward of the nation’s capital than the liberals were, by securing the revenue to placate the corporations and labor both, at least temporarily, so she could build up her power without either interfering. This meant she had to be careful to introduce measures that balanced both fortunes– an utter annoyance.

“When we take the rest of Eisental’s stations, there will be more expropriations anyway.” Magdalena suggested, clearly bored with talking about balance sheets. “There are liberals living cushy degenerate lives in Aachen and Stralsund whose wealth is already earmarked for confiscation. If we need more money, we could always sell or lease the properties forward to the corporations or to wealthy investors rather than keeping it for ourselves.”

Spoken like a discredited heiress to a major family. She knew something about money.

Not enough but something.

Violet glanced at Magdalena as if surprised she could do more than bark like an angry dog.

“Expropriations are a marker of instability. We can’t keep resorting to banditry forever.”

Nasser, seated at Magdalena’s side, crossed her arms and reiterated the actual reality.

None of the liberals had an endless amount of reichsmarks stashed away anywhere.

There was a finite capacity to armed robbery. Station politics did not make every liberal as rich as in Kreuzung, so there were diminishing returns on expropriation; and even for the most detestable liberals nobody would miss, there was always a trade of legitimacy and stability for every victim, no matter how small. Magdalena found it too easy to ignore this due to her origins. Violet and the Reichkommissariat had to transition to a semblance of order, and the sooner, the better, to get money moving hands once again.

“Nasser is correct. Right now, everyone in Rhinea is watching us like hawks to see if we fail; and because of our rhetoric we need to deliver security and economic stability. We have seized enough money to begin funding the National Socialist Labor Union scheme, which will be essential. That has bought us enough time for more reforms– but we will still need the reforms. Things have to change here.” Violet said. “It is not possible to keep running Kreuzung like a mafia den, whether the boss is Werner or whether it is us. We need order and normality; we need to increase production; and for both we need more money.”

“I have an idea for a somewhat unpleasant new investor.” Nasser said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, this ought to be good, if even you consider it unpleasant.” Magdalena said, grinning.

“I’m listening.” Violet replied simply, while looking down at her portable full of data.

Nasser tossed a hand through her hair slightly and smiled as if amused at herself.

“We should ask the Esoteric Order for direct investment. In fact, if the Esoteric Order could move its entire operations from Munich to Kreuzung, leasing expropriated property from us in the process, while also investing in personnel and bringing their fleet– it would solve a lot of problems. I understand this is not a simple task– but do we have anything to lose?”

Violet blinked, staring at Nasser. This was something of a surprise to her.

It had not occurred to her to further involve the Esoteric Order.

She was, in fact, de facto one of the leaders of the Esoteric Order now.

Based on the fuhrerprinzip, as a regional Reichskommissar, it was the Chairwoman of the Esoteric Order who had to listen to her and not the other way. But it was difficult to throw that weight around– Violet had made herself Reichskommissar and everyone else was for now just following along because she had resolved the ongoing crises. Trying to strong-arm the Esoteric Order now could just as easily result in them balking at her insolence.

“Magdalena, you were once part of the Blood Bund, right?” Nasser asked.

“Come now, that was a long time ago. My views have modernized.” Magdalena said.

“I am not calling you a racist– you have a unique perspective on our movement’s nature.”

Magdalena grinned as if her ego had been suitably flattered. “Ah, yes– there is a lot of friction and competition between people like the Blood Bund and the Esoteric Order. The Blood Bund, Neotribals, Traditional Fatherhood Front, those groups have the most simple and accessible ideas. They easily recruit young men by putting forward a narrative with simple enemies and outcomes– the Esoteric Order’s message is much stranger. You have to read to be attracted to the Esoteric Order, not just sate your wicked gut feelings.”

“But the Blood Bund and Traditional Fatherhood Front are not here.” Nasser said. “We are.”

“I understand.” Violet said. “We could sell it as opening Eisental up as an Esoteric front.”

“Indeed. The Esoteric Order has a lot of money, materiel and human capital.” Nasser said.

“True! We are its most powerful branch! Their resources should go to us!” Magdalena said.

An influence play with the Esoteric Order– if it succeeded, Violet would suddenly find her forces injected with a lot of money, additional manpower, technical and bureaucratic talent, and perhaps even some tidy additions to her fleet. It all depended on the pitch and whether the Chairwoman would accept her position. They had rarely spoken, she could count the times in her hands– Violet shared the ideology and the Esoteric Order explicitly supported her, but she didn’t need to show up for meetings to make use of their support. She had her own forces and acted on her own initiative while wearing the symbols, like a mascot.

The Esoteric Order was a tool that gave her legitimacy among a subset of fascists.

Access to militia, friendly logistical corridors, help with greasing palms and recruitment.

Because of who she was and who her sympathizers were, the Esoteric Order was the only faction that would support her. They in essence had done the preamble to the work she intended to finish– gathering fascist sympathizers outside the traditional demographics, in enough mass that the Blood Bund and other exclusive groups were forced to tolerate it.

Now, however, Violet had made a great leap– a branch of the Order ruling an entire region.

Could she dare to dream, even, of taking over the Esoteric Order completely at this stage?

“The Chairwoman was interested in helping organize the Zabaniyah. We might see eye to eye with each other more than we know.” Nasser said. “I would not make this suggestion if I did not think it would work– as much as I hate to share the glory with that bunch.”

Violet nodded her approval. “I’ll speak with the Chairwoman. We’ll see what happens.”

Magdalena raised hands behind her head and yawned, a bored expression on her black lips.

“In my opinion we should also see how much we get from the next round of expropriations. Where even are Hatta and Waldeck at right now? Where is Hadžić? Are any of them ready?”

“All of them are underway.” Nasser said. “We can’t expect results overnight.”

“I’m not.” Magdalena pouted. “I feel as though you think I’m an idiot.”

“Not at all. You are valuable for your abilities and in your capacity.” Nasser said calmly.

“She thinks I’m an idiot.” Magdalena turned a childish expression on Violet.

“Then show us all your learning and refinement and go organize the ORPOs.” Violet said, practically hissing disdain at Magdalena’s constant whining and pointing sharply at the door. “Bored of sitting around? We are preparing a sweep of the underground and you have experience with such things. Do note that you do not have carte blanche to slaughter all the homeless camps down there– just make sure the ORPOs don’t turn and run if their own shadows in the dark look too intimidating. I want an assessment on my desk tomorrow.”

Magdalena turned a sour look on Violet and then on Nasser as if expecting any sympathy.

Nasser shrugged at her with a particularly smug and cat-like expression.

Sighing, Magdalena stood up from her chair and left Violet’s office, looking rather gloomy.

“Vesna, are you threatened by her?” Violet asked. In front of her desk, Nasser grinned.

“Not at all. In fact, I do think she has become less racist. I should be asking you though.”

Violet smiled a little at that. “Don’t worry, my virtue will remain only yours to sully.”

With a preliminary plan for the next few days, Violet laid down her portable on the desk.

“I’ll be meeting with Volwitz, Rhineametalle and with the Esoteric Order.” She said.

She slumped back on her chair and sighed. Nothing was ever easy.

Nothing going forward would get any easier than it was even now. It would only get worse.

Through tired eyes, growing hazy, Violet looked on at the world around her.

That haze, tinged red like all the blood spilled and all the blood left to be spilled–

“Feeling the weight?” Nasser asked.

“I can handle it.” Violet replied, snapping out of her distraction. She sat up straight.

“I know you can. You’ve been through worse. But you are incredibly resilient.”

Violet felt her heavy heart eased ever so slightly by Nasser’s words.

Ever since she was a teenager, Vesna Nasser had been a supportive presence in Violet’s life. Nasser herself had been young when they met, albeit certainly older than Violet. Nasser was the one kindness that her father had ever afforded to Violet– a protector and keeper who could turn away her enemies, who managed her household, who found her opportunity in the world. Someone to strangle her to death should it become necessary– however, over time, the likelihood of being killed by Nasser grew fainter. Not because her father’s prerogatives ever changed but because Nasser herself would just not do it even if ordered.

Castaways in the world, their families destroyed, their futures compromised.

Until a fateful day, where a young Violet, a powerless captive without a name, said,

“Nasser, I want to be like you.”

Such was the pull of Destiny on the tiny, windswept candle flicker of a soul she had left.

I want to be strong like you.

I want to remake myself like you did.

I want to be feared like you are.

I want to be able to kill all of those who have wronged me.

Like you did.

She fell in love with Nasser; and her affection was returned.

From that painful past would spring the beautiful maelstrom of their future.

“Nasser, have I become like you?” Violet asked suddenly.

Nasser held her hand and answered with seemingly little time to ponder.

“I have nothing left to teach you, and now, I am always learning from you.” She said.

Violet felt gratified by the answer and relished holding the hand of her beloved.

She was not a scared child anymore.

Now, she was strong, feared, and had a power that would polish Imbria to a bloody sheen.


Several days after the Brigand’s departure from Kreuzung, the significance of which none of the Zabaniyah knew at the time; the Ritter-class Greater Imbria, the manta ray-like cruiser Mrudah, and a few supporting ships from the militia set off from Kreuzung. While the Mrudah was mysterious and eye-catching in design, and the Greater Imbria an already storied ship of a fine class, the militia vessels were boxy converted civilian designs.

One was a former container ship now carrying several dozen divers entombed within pods on its back, awaiting deployment; another an old refueler ship that served as a home base and supply vessel for the militia pilots; the third a mid-size passenger craft equipped with dozens of gas gun pods acting as a makeshift destroyer to intercept munitions on the fleet.

Underway to the destination in Aachen, the commander of the fleet, Standartenführer Imani Hadžić, ordered a review of the militias. Joining her in this task would be Sturmbannführer Heidelinde Sawyer, the star of the militia, and her adjutant, Rue Skalbeck. Sawyer underwent this inspection aware that she had received reinforcements who were on the young side; she had been told as much. The militia had been reluctant to spend its best men to assist Violet Lehner, who was not aligned with the factions that financially supported the militia.

However, what she saw when she stepped into the hall of the refueler ship shocked her.

Arrayed in neat rows before her, dressed immaculately in their uniforms, as if for parade.

Were a hundred or so teenage boys whose ages Sawyer could not have begun to guess.

All were shorter than her and only a few were formidable in their stature.

They knew how to stand all along the corridor of a ship in a disciplined formation.

Did they know how to fight, however? Sawyer’s heart was skipping beats.

Was she meant to preside over the slaughter of all these lambs?

When she asked for warriors to take up the crusade alongside her?

“Hmph. How interesting.” A cruel laugh.

Imani Hadžić walked out in front of the boys with an expression devoid of sympathy.

Standing beside her, Sawyer thought her eyes looked– hollow.

Mentally, Sawyer compared her to the only other Shimii she knew, Victoria–

And there was no comparison.

Victoria was a horrible little gnat, but there was no question that she had a warm heart in her chest. They had fought all the time, she had wanted to turn her into paste more than once, but that was feeling, they shared some kind of emotion. Hell– Sawyer might have even considered her almost like a friend, once upon a very long time. Maybe even more than friends– No— nothing like that of course– Sawyer was not like that at all–

Imani’s face however was so frighteningly devoid of even a bit of warmth.

When she grinned at the boys it was the cruelest expression Sawyer had ever seen.

Was she enjoying having all these kids in front of her? What would she do?

The two women in their uniforms stood quite formidable in front of these teenagers.

But in Sawyer’s mind this was nothing to savor. How would these kids be of any use?

“Heil. I am Standartenführer Imani Hadžić, your commanding officer. Congratulations: you must all be excited for a chance to contribute to the nation’s victory. If you are not, that is a pity– you will be thrown into the fire whether you object or whether you yearn for it. I suggest that you get used to two things in the sea: privation and death. Let me see all of you– ha ha, so small, but you can all pull on a stick right? You can press buttons?”

Imani made a gesture with her fingers as if highlight how diminutive she found the boys.

Though she herself was not so tall, in her position she may as well have towered over them.

She paced in front of the boys, tracing the length of their formation, hands behind her back.

Sawyer stood stone-faced, trying not to let her discomfort and disgust show.

Rue Skalbeck was silent a step behind and beside Sawyer, holding a portable computer.

What was the point of this? She hated these idiotic displays of rank.

Sawyer scanned across the faces of those assembled. Most had no expressions at all.

As Imani began to pace back from the other side of the assembled boys, however–

Sawyer caught one of the boys in the front putting on a face, averting his gaze.

Just as she did, Imani must have also. Her pacing sped until she stopped in front of him.

“Do you have anything to offer the class?” Imani said mockingly. “Or are you bored?”

For a moment the boy made eye contact with her. He broke eye contact quickly.

He scoffed at her, audibly, directly.

Maybe he fancied his chances. He was a bigger boy, heavier set than others.

Leaner, a bit taller, buzzed blond hair. He stood out just slightly from the others.

Like all the rest, however– he bled vividly red.

Without warning, Imani drew her truncheon and beat the boy beside the head.

One swift strike turned his legs to jelly and overturned the rest of him.

Hard enough that the crack of the impact reverberated across the hall.

Flecks of blood marred an adjacent boy who visibly struggled not to lose his composure.

In the second row, the boys backed up enough to allow the struck-down kid room to fall.

He came to settle on the floor, disoriented, making a motion as if lying down to bed.

Twitching as his eyes closed. Sawyer watched the scene play out with muted horror.

“Does anyone else have any objections? Anyone else want to be so brave? Are you against being commanded by a woman? Or by a Shimii perhaps? Are you against serving a faction of the Esoteric Order?” Imani looked around. Nobody replied. After the attack the boys restored their formation with a gap for their fallen comrade. Everything was silent for a moment save for breathing and the mechanical buzzing as Imani activated the vibration mechanism inside the truncheon, increasing its potential for internal injury. “You will find that the only thing that matters here is power. Whether or not you have a weapon, I can assuredly kill everyone in this room. None of you are old enough to gauge my power but rest assured, I am the deadliest soldier you have ever seen. That power of violence hangs over all of you. Let that be what drives you forward. Prove to me that you are good for anything, and perhaps your neanderthal parents will see you return a decorated soldier.”

Imani pointed her truncheon at one of the boys, whose eyes drew wide at the attention.

He said nothing and broke out into a nervous salute upon being acknowledged.

“You, boy– take your comrade to the infirmary. Whether or not he survives, you will be promoted from Kadet to Schütze from now on and have a semblance of command over this miserable lot. However, if he survives, you will be promoted one more time to Sturmmann, and he will be your adjutant. Do you have any objections?” Imani grinned again.

“N-N-no ma’am. I will do as you command unquestioningly and see to his recovery. Sieg Heil!” The boy saluted, and then dropped to the ground and lifted his fallen ally up as quickly as he could. It was clearly difficult for him to manage the wounded boy alone. Around him, the other boys very briefly stared at him but then returned their eyes forward.

Imani smiled as she watched him struggle. She turned to the rest.

“There are forty Sturmvolkers and a hundred of you.” Imani said. “Or I should say, there are thirty-nine available now. Be good little boys for me, and you will earn those combat spots and show the Blood Bund and Traditional Fatherhood Front that you are the big strong alpha men you were taught you would be. Show this Shimii woman that you can stand on your own. While the rest of you can support the brave warriors among you; not so glorious, but beta men are also necessary. As for me– remember well that this is a matriarchy. I do not need any of you but you need my good graces to survive. Learn to live under my heel.”

Laughing raucously, Imani turned her back on the boys and waved dismissively.

Sawyer could hardly stand the theatrics any longer and followed after Imani.

Stopping her near the bulkhead into the chute connecting the ships.

“Hadžić– Standartenführer, what are you doing? They are teenagers!”

Imani looked at her over her shoulder with narrowed, inexpressive eyes.

“Do you want a beating as well, Heidelinde?” She said in a tired monotone.

Sawyer tried to control herself. She thought of laying hands on Imani–

–but even she in her most wildest rage could see there was something in Imani.

An immense pressure that crushed whatever will to fight she could muster.

And left her paralyzed with– fear. It was fear. Unfathomable, sudden, intense fear.

That Shimii became as if a black– no– green–? a radiating icon of despair–

“Ma’am– with all due respect– this is not– we cannot–”

She could hardly finish a fraction of a sentence before Imani interrupted her.

“You are a member of the militia too– you know how things work, don’t you? Or maybe you are not cut out for politics. Of course, we were never going to get Rhinea’s finest. The Militia is being opportunistic– the reason we got these boys is as punishment to them, and leverage against their families. We are all being used. If you care about them then it is up to you to whip them into shape. You have a few days. Don’t let them disrespect you. All that they have known, all their lives, is that the one who beats them owns them. Do what you must.”

Without a word more and without letting a word in edgewise, Imani crossed the bulkhead.

Leaving Sawyer behind on the militia ship, her heart sinking with apprehension.

Whoever beats them, owns them.

Traditional Fatherhood Front– Blood Bund– Sawyer knew what it was like.

Not that her parents were ever part of those factions– but they acted like it.

She closed her fist, gripping so tight that she thought she might burst her own hand.

That crack from Imani’s baton as sharp in her mind now as the sounds of the beatings she herself had received, as a child, in school, in the military, all throughout her life. That first option taken to control her until it was taken near exclusively. She thought that the idea that she was now in the position of beating children as she was beaten was absurd and cruel and disgusting, and even worse that the children would be her main troops in this campaign.

However, she also knew, in the deepest, most helpless parts of her soul, that this was the tradition that she was fighting for. This is what she stood up for, this was the source of her power. It was a dark but inexorable part of the glory and triumph that the Volkisch Movement promised. Without this she had nothing. She would be nobody again.

Nothing but a speck in the shadow of all-mighty beasts like Imani Hadžić.

At her back, Rue Skalbeck drew close. She stood behind Sawyer and very close to her.

She could not show sympathy in front of the boys. But Sawyer appreciated her presence.

“It will be what it will be.” Sawyer said, feeling trapped. Cursing everything internally.

Was this truly the power she had struggled so hard to achieve?


One day after the Brigand’s arrival at Aachen–

In a dark cargo loading dock in Stockheim, a certain lieutenant shut her eyes with agitation.

Her fists clenched tight. Feeling a shudder across her skin. “Chief Petty Officer–”

At her side, a sprightly Loup woman lifted a finger and wagged from side to side.

“No, master! Rottenführer. Remember?” Her tail wagged twice as fast as her finger.

“Rottenführer.” The Lieutenant– or in this parlance, the Obersturmführer— felt her mouth turning sour saying that wicked word. She sighed. “I don’t think this uniform fits me.”

“Ah, but master, it is very close to your size! And it’s been meticulously prepared!”

She ran her hand over the collar, and pulled her tie, which felt like they might strangle her.

And the armbands, cutting her limb in half with their vile symbols.

“No– I mean– ideologically, it does not fit.” Her tone grew even more uncomfortable.

“Of course. I, too, am not a fascist. But I know you will agree to its operational usefulness.”

Unfortunately, yes– she had to agree that it would be exceedingly useful to the operation.

That is, if they could pull off the plan without being caught and throwing the whole thing.

Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather paused and adjusted Murati Nakara’s tie with a smile.

“That severe expression will do you good. Few Obersturmführer have reasons to smile.”

“Aatto– This had better be worth it, or I– I will put you on leave for a week.”

“On leave–? No–! Master, it will absolutely be worth it.”

Owing to the fact that Valeriya and Illya had a much more dangerous area to infiltrate, the mission to reconnoiter the Volkisch Gau office in Aachen was given to Murati and her too-loyal adjutant. Their stated objective was simply to ascertain the level of readiness and defenses of the Gau and whether they were making any overt combat preparations. Aatto had more ambitious plans, but Murati was dubious about the prospects. Initially she was worried they might be disqualified for such a mission immediately by their race.

North Bosporans were rare and dispersed within the Empire after the ethnic mass deportations that followed the failed General Strike. However, the Volkisch in Eisental were apparently an eclectic bunch with Shimii leadership. Aatto herself assured the Volksarmee that among the broader Volkisch movement, outside of factions like the Blood Bund, it was not impossible for there to be Loup, Volgian, Bosporan and even Eloim membership. Aatto and Murati would not stick out just because of race if they wore the uniform.

“I worked for the Rhinean Navy and transitioned seamlessly to the Volkisch, master.”

“Great. Good for you. Now– stop calling me ‘master’ already.”

Race was only the most basic and surface level worry Murati had about the mission.

In her mind, they had agreed to walk into a fortress of the enemy.

No– not merely a fortress. A charnel house; a torture chamber. In Murati’s mind the Gau office must have been like hell itself, a vile shelter where all the most unspeakable crimes against humanity and dignity were being carried out. Bestial people without logic or compunction would be there and they would see through Murati’s ruse immediately.

She was a person with correct and righteous thoughts and bearing.

They would see that she was not a participant in their bacchanalia.

“Master, this is an unprecedented opportunity for us.” Aatto assured her. “While this Gau remains new and understaffed, it is vulnerable. We could snag the details of their plans for the station government and even the local logistics picture without incurring too much risk!”

“Too much risk relative to what? Risk of burning if I spark a lighter while doused in oil?”

“I understand your caution– you are of course, a highly observant and deliberate person.”

“Ugh. Quit flattering me. Don’t act so disgusting when we’re in public.”

To avoid being seen walking out of the ships dressed in Volkisch Uniforms, the Brigand discretely requested the assistance of sympathetic (and entrepreneurial) Stockheim sailors to smuggle them out. To all the world, they walked out of the Brigand in their ordinary uniforms, went down a corridor into Stockheim, and that was that. Instead, however, they were led to a cargo elevator, a popular entryway for smuggling. They changed clothes into the captured uniforms by the dim light of an LED panel and pretended to be coming in for an inspection, after which, they simply left Stockheim as anyone else would.

And then entered Aachen as a pair of Volkisch officers, with forged IDs to boot.

“Aren’t they authentic? Being an intelligence officer has many perks, master.”

Aatto had been indispensible. This mission would not have happened without her.

When she suggested the idea, the captain initially balked and the commissar accused Aatto of wanting to set a trap– however, Aatto had made so many preparations up front that the idea felt genuine. She had written up detailed materials on Volkisch conduct within the Gau offices, typical shift compositions, and even printed several items and modified others using a stitcher machine; sans certain specific security implementations on the items which not even Aatto could replicate. She had done everything to make the mission viable.

“The Aachen Gau office has been a token administration with a skeleton crew for months. Violet Lehner will likely accelerate its expansion now. We have a narrow window to exploit.”

Framed in that way, and with all the preparations she made, and the more that she was capable of, the Captain and Premier overruled the Commissar’s concerns and allowed the mission to go forward. While they were busy preparing for the United Front talks, several members of the crew were running away missions, and Murati would be no different.

“Aatto– did you spend so much effort to authentically modify this uniform because–”

“Master, my motivation is to impress my new officers and prove my worthiness.”

Not because she wanted to see how Murati looked in the black uniform?

Murati glared at her but ultimately sighed and accepted things.

None of the uniforms they had captured were higher ranking than Rotteführer.

Aatto had somehow freestitched correct markings on a captured uniform to identify as an Obersturmführer, roughly translated to Murati’s senior Lieutenant role. Both Kalika Loukia and Khadija al-Shajara, who were resident experts in clothing design, thought Aatto’s embellishment looked extremely authentic to the intelligence photography they had previously collected of various Volkisch uniforms. The garments passed a visual predictor scan from Zachikova– even the colors were matching hues to a typical uniform.

Aatto must have committed all of these small details to memory. She was incredibly sharp.

Her labors meant they had the intelligence, equipment and means to carry out their mission.

When Murati looked at her, she did feel that Aatto was being sincere in her behavior.

Against her better judgment, she would trust her new adjutant and pursue this task.

“Aatto, you did not use any tricks to convince the captain, did you?” Murati asked.

“Hmm? Master, the Captain is immune to volshebtsvo.” Aatto said, smiling gently.

Murati sighed deeply. She ran her hands over her face with exasperation.

“We will scout the place and leave at the first sign of trouble.” She said, resigning herself.

“Of course. I will follow your orders to the letter. You will see my professionalism at work.”

Thus– the course of fate brought them into the City of Currents dressed all in black.

And wearing some unsavory armbands and uniform decorations.

Murati took her first steps into Aachen in the guise of the Obersturmführer. She had come up with the name Ami Ravana for her assumed identity, while Aatto took on the identity of Ilma Suomi-Fertilefield. Their cards were real as far as they had the correct template for a Volkisch ID and included pictures and false personal data. They had chips in them too, taken from the cards of the soldiers Murati killed, but the data in those chips would be recorded as the men who once held them, so it would be easy for anyone to look at the records after the fact and realize the infiltration. As soon as they saw a door that required swiping their IDs they would need to consider the risks before doing so and escape shortly thereafter.

“Aatto– I mean, Ilma. Is it just me or are people staring?” Murati whispered.

“No, they are staring. You’ll get used to it.” Aatto confirmed.

Under the massive atrium at the base of the Aachen central cylinder, a crowd of people shot passing glances at Murati and Aatto as they entered the station from Stockheim. When Murati met anyone’s eyes in passing they would immediately tear their gaze from her. That uniform, the black jacket, the armbands, the jackboots– it was a symbol that inspired terror in everyone around them. Murati felt something that she was very unfamiliar with.

In the Union her uniform was something that was common and ignored, most of the time, but there were a few people for whom the uniform was something to admire and respect. Particularly among very young people and very old people, Murati would occasionally get a smile or a wave or even a cheer as she went about her days in Thassal.

There was no such cheer in Aachen.

All of the staring, at her uniform and the peaked cap, was critical, nervous, and fearful. They walked through the crowds like a knife plunged in skin, a deepening wound. Nobody would even dare come close, minding at least half an arm’s distance from the pair. Everyone was aware of them. Murati had never felt more seen by the people around her than donning this uniform. She had to steady her breathing and make herself remain calm. Some part of her, inexperienced with such clear animosity all around her, wanted to panic and flee.

When such feelings struck her– she adjusted her cap, marked with an iron eagle in front.

For something to do with unsteady fingers. It dispelled some of the stress.

Aachen was a very beautiful station. The Atrium area reminded Murati of the Bubble in Thassal but many, many times larger and more spacious and much more lavishly designed. Its beautiful centerpiece and the sweeping paths around it to the various platforms containing shops and businesses; Murati had to admit it was stunning, almost otherworldly in its intricacy, like a planetarium filled with commercial spaces– but it was also undoubtedly a waste of space. There had to be an allowance for some beauty, for some creativity, in designing homes and workplaces, but this was too much. Building Aachen this way precluded the possibility to allow in so many thousands of people, maybe hundreds of thousands. A more enclosed and simpler tiered space could retain some of the beauty and color but allow for more people to live and work and have a place in the station.

Murati had seen a few different locations in the Imbrian Empire now.

Each time she felt, in the sight of the grandiose architecture,

–that the Empire’s rulers loved metal more than they could ever love people.

That the aesthetics of the metal was much more a concern than its use by human beings.

Turning her head down from the high-rising atrium, Murati led Aatto to the elevators.

Their destination was in the second tier of the cylinder, above this particular atrium. The Core Station of Aachen had a massive vertical commercial district as its base, and above it, there was a shorter, smaller tier that contained facilities, a park and the access points for maintenance work. Above that central tier there was a second, smaller commercial district that played host to its own centerpiece atrium, and at the highest tier, was an exclusive high-class residential area that also housed several government facilities. Much like Kreuzung, this highest tier also had its own small seaport for luxury vessels like yachts.

Below the Aachen cylinder there was also an underground area, but that was not Murati’s concern for now. She touched the button on the elevator’s control panel corresponding to the central tier and joined the dozens of other elevators moving up and down the chutes from one level to the next. Inside the elevator, Aatto set her back against the wall and wagged her tail gently. The two of them let themselves breathe now. There was no surveillance inside the public elevators so they had a moment to relax.

“What’s on your mind?” Murati said to her. Mainly to try to get out of her own mind.

She expected Aatto would respond with something frivolous and headache-inducing–

And found herself a bit surprised at how candid her adjutant became.

“I was thinking about this uniform.” Aatto said, pulling on her collar patch. “When I started working, I was inducted into the Rhinean Navy. They trained me well and I’d never have to go home again so it felt like a good deal. I had a talent for intelligence work. Then the Volkisch took over. So, I worked for them, in the same office, doing the same things as before. Tagging CCTV footage, reviewing computer logs, chasing down sources, assisting arrests. It never meant much to me. Back then I told myself it was all the same thing.”

“At some point you decided to rebel against the Volkisch, didn’t you?” Murati asked.

“On a whim– I think more than anything I just wanted to see things change. I was not a good person like you, master.” Aatto said. “For so long everything has been the same for me. Whatever abuses I suffered or even any I inflicted had already been circularly carried out untold millions of times already. I wanted to overturn things. To cause chaos. I thought the liberals would have such fury for the Volkisch that they would shake the earth. In the end nothing happened, and I gave up the hope– and you captured me after that.”

Murati laughed a bit, both at Aatto’s almost whimsical selfishness, but also at the very idea.

Liberals never fought for anything– but when they did it was some form of status quo.

“You picked the wrong group for chaos. Did they ask you for some chaos donations to their chaos campaign? How has chaos polled recently? Did it perform well at the election debate?”

She had some sympathy for Aatto, but to her, it read as a foolishly uninformed fantasy.

Aatto shared a little laugh with Murati as the elevator ride wound on.

“Yes– I see my errors from the reading I am doing now. Truth be told I hardly understood the nuances separating liberals and communists. All I saw were symbols and slogans. I am glad to have met you master. I wear this uniform again as part of a rebellion that matters.”

Aatto smiled at Murati and Murati felt that it was the return of her pointless flattery again.

Murati was not upset with Aatto, but rather, she suddenly felt uncomfortable about her role.

Here was a somewhat unformed being who wanted so badly to be shaped by someone. She had been abandoned by the world. Had it not been Murati, would Aatto have made herself the perfect servant of a far more horrible ‘king’? Was there something inherently wrong about someone being so malleable; was it an overreach of Murati’s to take this ‘pure’ vessel and allow it to be influenced so thoroughly by her own thoughts? Should she not attempt to make Aatto an individual again, rather than trying to shape her like this?

Individual– that was a loaded word in leftist politics, but teaching Aatto and trying to right her course, made Murati challenge her own thinking more. It was easy to speak to her own convictions with the implicit knowledge that someone would push back. Being accepted uncritically made her feel as though she was transgressing in some way.

As if she was violating Aatto with her certitude.

It made Murati wonder if she was truly fit for her own military and political ambitions.

At times she wondered whether what she was doing really constituted good communist thought and praxis. She once attacked the world with unyielding conviction that she was the most correct. Now that she was responsible for those ideas and their expression in someone else, it made her second-guess herself. Was she teaching Aatto ‘right’?

Should she be the teacher?

In her mind, Aatto was like a pupal insect being dipped in Murati’s red ink.

Could Murati bear the sight of the crimson butterfly that might emerge from that cocoon?

What if she went astray? Would that condemn Murati and her beliefs?

What if Aatto’s wings, heavy with the ink forced on her, suddenly dropped her to oblivion?

It was different from the mecha pilots– they had come to Murati with formed convictions.

Giving orders to soldiers was different from teaching someone how to view the world.

Far, afar above the rank of Lieutenant on a ship, there was the rank of a Leader, writ large.

Had Murati ever been on some level the same as Aatto now was? She wondered that too.

Murati had devoured the writings of her own leaders studiously– their words formed her.

How did Daksha Kansal or Bhavani Jayasankar bear raising whole nations in this manner?

Could Murati take the place of those righteous predecessors who were responsible for her?

“Master– I mean, Obersturmführer. We have arrived. The Gau won’t be too far from here.”

Aatto’s voice and the opening of the elevator doors shook Murati out of her brooding.

There was no time to resolve that now– it could not be resolved so instantly.

She had to trust in herself, and in Aatto as well. Aatto did have some conviction.

After all, she had chosen to follow Murati.

There was only so much worrying she could let herself do on someone’s behalf.

Regardless of the philosophy and the hypotheticals–

At that moment Murati could only put one foot before the other and carry out her mission.

Her hands reached up to her peaked cap and adjusted it once again.

“Aatto, I just wanted to say that I am sorry.”

“Hmm? For what, master?”

“I thought of you as a thing– an object, in the abstract. It wasn’t right of me.”

“Um. I am not sure I–”

“Don’t worry. Let’s get going. Just– you’re doing good so far. Keep it up.”

Murati stepped out of the elevator, trying to keep up the black-iron bearing of a fascist.

Aatto followed behind her, with initially hesitant steps.

But she caught up quickly, and then, she kept the pace silently and seriously.

From the elevator banks, they exited out onto the main thoroughfare through the park. It was the biggest shock of bright green color Murati ever had in her life; she did not know where in the Union she might see something like this outside of a paint mill. There were several trees planted in dirt and media plots that were being chemically maintained. They were tall, bushy, and bright. Signs on the tree plots warned the passersby to stay off the dirt or be fined. There were so many trees and the design of the tier, with a lower ceiling, more sunlight LED clusters and stronger climate controls and air circulation, meant that they did not need to be sealed in individual bubbles and could stand out amid the paths.

There were benches where people could sit, some of which were located under the branches of the bigger and older trees. Surprisingly few people took advantage of this. Perhaps to them, the trees were such a normal sight now that the modest crowd merely glanced at them as they walked the paths. Murati had to pretend not to be stunned. With the park as a starting point the structures of the tier fanned out from it. Murati saw container parks and garages in the distance, fenced off. There were office buildings and their workers seemed to make up most of the foot traffic, on their way to and from lunch in the lower district.

At the far end of the park, Murati spotted the fascist flag marking their destination.

Stepping out of the shade of the trees, into the shadow of the Aachen Gau office.

Save for the flag, the building was nothing so terrifying, just a metal and plastic rectangle, two stories high and blending into the walls of Aachen’s middle tier. It was an office building, like any other office building save perhaps for the deeds it sheltered inside of it. Six steps from the ground level took the entrant to the lobby door; there was also a plastic ramp. Long, inscrutable glass windows and the darkened glass doors allowed those in the Gau to see out to the world but no one outside to look back at them.

It was the silence and lack of activity that made the Gau office look particularly eerie. Unlike the nearby offices, nobody had come in or out of the building since Murati and Aatto began to approach it, and nobody was sitting on the steps or meandering outside it. Whether this spoke to its lack of occupants or the discipline of those inside Murati did not know and Aatto could only guess. Perhaps that vile flag served to ward ordinary people away from the place as well. Murati felt her heart pounding. Would it be too conspicuous for them to try to visit the office now? What if it was almost abandoned, or even closed off entirely?

“Aatto, should we just step in? Do they even take visitors?” Murati asked.

Aatto nodded her head. “It’s a government office, master– they are supposed to handle permits and IDs and such. In Aachen, there’s still the liberal government providing services for now– but still, even in a complicated situation the Gau must maintain the pretense that it is the legitimate government of the station. We should be able to just walk inside.”

“Alright. I’ll lead the way– but you better be right, you know that?” Murati whispered.

“Something wrong? Can I assist you, officers?”

From behind both of them, a woman’s voice rose up suddenly.

Murati froze up for an instant. At her side, Aatto glanced at Murati for a brief moment.

Expected to play the part of leader, Murati made herself turned around quick but calm.

Coming face to face with a seemingly formidable character all of a sudden.

“Obersturmführer, and Rotteführer– I’m Rahima Jašarević. Pleased to meet you, herr–?”

“Ami Ravana. This is my assistant Suomi-Fertilefield. It is our pleasure, milord.”

Despite the suddenness of the intrusion and Murati’s initial reaction to it, she found that her voice was not failing her when it came time to address the woman, and that her hands were not trembling when they shook Rahima’s. Maintaining outward composure despite the drumming in her chest, hoping the deep pulses did not transfer through the black gloves on her hands. On the steps to the Gau Murati held the gaze and hand of an important guest.

There was no turning back now.

Rahima Jašarević– a tall woman, her uniform was tailored to an exacting standard, fitting her frame perfectly and Murati guessed it was even natural fibers. All in black, the double-breasted coat buttoned over a white collared shirt with black pants and high boots. Pinned to her ample chest was a gold medal with a black hooked cross and a red and white tassel. A gold chain over her chest connected to a patched-in silver shield badge with a sword and moon sigil, situated on the side of the forearm close to the shoulder. She wore two armbands, one with the hooked cross and the second with the black sonnenrad.

Her manner was initially imperious, but when she met Murati’s eyes she smiled a bit.

Despite the fascist implements Murati had to admit that she was a comely woman, her light-brown skin unblemished, a hint of shadow and eyeliner on an otherwise unmanicured expression, with a long, sleek nose. She was tall and broad-shouldered, and her hair fell over her shoulders, swept away from her eyes on one side and with orderly bangs on the other. Some of it was collected into a braid on the side with the swept-up bangs. Her ears were tall and straight and trimmed with a fluffy tuft of fur on the tips, and her tail was bushy.

Murati had the immediate impression that she was shaking the hands of someone powerful.

However, the armbands, the medals, the arm shield, these said nothing about her rank.

There were no pips on her collar, nor lines on her lapel or shoulderboards to indicate rank.

That impression of power came from her demeanor and presence as Murati observed it.

She thought of trying to ask Aatto telepathically what rank this woman supposedly had.

However, Rahima was staring straight into her eyes. What if she saw the red rings?

Because she had been caught off-guard, she had not yet chanced to study Rahima’s aura.

“Forgive me, I had gone on a walk to clear my head.” Rahima said. “Did I happen to miss an appointment?” She let go of Murati’s hand and then quickly shook hands with Aatto instead.

“Not at all, mein herr. We just happened to arrive now.” Murati said.

“Indeed, herr Gauleiter, you are right on time.” Aatto said.

She gave Murati the briefest glance as she spoke.

Now Murati knew the rank.

In front of them stood the highest political leader of the Volkisch locally within Aachen. Their Gauleiter, an old High Imbrian rank revived by the reactionary intelligentsia that literally meant land leader. Each Gau was ruled over by a Gauleiter as their fiefdom.

Not only that– but she was also a Shimii Gauleiter. They put a Shimii in charge here.

Something unprecendented as far as Murati knew. The Zabaniyah’s agenda at work.

Aatto recognized her rank. Aatto had informed them of the Zabaniyah. Did she know her?

Murati felt a fresh shock work its way through her system, suppressing it with all her will.

Rahima Jašarević was a seriously and extremely dangerous person to have met.

However, they had shaken hands and breached the matter of their acquaintance.

Regardless of how Murati felt the game was on. Their uniforms had passed muster.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ravana, Suomi-Fertilefield. Unless something has come up while I was away, my schedule should be clear. While I intended to work at my leisure, I am at your disposal. We could talk inside or out. Whichever you prefer.” Rahima said.

From what Murati could make out, Rahima did not seem to be armed.

Murati and Aatto were not armed either. They were not masquerading as combat troops.

Right now, they had an opportunity.

Rahima could lead them inside and give them an ironclad excuse into the depths of the building. Depending on the layout of the Gau office and where Rahima took them, they might be able to get access to useful records. Murati had already come up with a decent cover story. However, this was also their last chance to run away without obstacle. Once they followed Rahima inside, escaping her grasp would become a messy affair.

So far, she had neither balked at their races, nor at the state of their disguises.

Nothing ventured; nothing gained.

“We have walked a ways already– given the choice, I’d prefer inside, herr Gauleiter.”

Aatto nodded along to Murati’s suggestion. Rahima nodded at them.

“This way, please. Follow me.” Rahima said.

She walked past Murati and Aatto and through the double doors, tail swaying gently.

Past the doors, there was a small lobby, sparsely decorated, with an impression of brown wallpaper, a false wooden counter, and a green carpet on the floor. Chairs on one side, for those waiting. It was a lobby that seemed to presume few people would ever visit the building. There were vacant spots on the walls that were clearly empty holographic picture frames projected onto them. There was a fake plastic plant with white flowers.

Behind the counter there was a bored-looking teenage girl.

When she caught sight of the Gauleiter she put down a small portable slate and sat upright.

“Milord! Welcome back! I hope you had a really awesome walk!” She said.

By her voice and stature Murati thought the receptionist had to be underage.

“It was lovely, Wiebke.” Rahima said. “No one came in while I was out, I presume?”

Behind the glass shield on the counter, Wiebke shook her head vigorously.

“Nope! Uh! If I saw someone I would obvies let you know!” She said.

Her little black beret with its black sonnenrad badge nearly fell off her head.

“Very well. Keep up the good work.” Rahima said. Another little smile on her lips.

Rahima stepped up to the door out of the lobby and pressed her hand on the wall.

Easily as that, the door opened, leading into a dark brown hallway.

“When you leave, remind Wiebke to lock it behind you.” Rahima said gently.

Murati could hardly believe how casually the Gauleiter had allowed them inside.

Without so much as a glance askance Murati followed behind Rahima, Aatto alongside.

Behind them the door shut again.

From the lobby, a hallway with a few closed doors opened up into a broader room. There were a dozen cubicles in the room under yellow-and-white sunlamp LEDs, with the fake brown wallpaper a continuing aesthetic theme. The cubicles were divided by cheap white plastic dividers enclosing each space. There were plastic stick-notes put up everywhere on those plastic dividers. All manner of hand-written chicken scratch had been laid thickly upon each and Murati could not understand them. In the Union there was almost never cause to read someone’s handwriting in a work setting. Beyond the cubicles there were two other hallways, and a small nook with a coffee machine and a snack table.

“Where were you stationed before, Obersturmfuhrer?” Rahima asked.

An easy question to foresee that Murati and Aatto already worked out answers to.

“My tasks have required me to remain on the move, milord.” Murati said.

“I see. In your travels, have you seen a smaller Gau office?” Rahima asked.

By her tone Murati figured she was making small talk. She did not sound too serious.

“I’m afraid I’ve hardly seen Gau offices of any size, milord.” Murati said.

“Understood. This one is barely established– that’s my job now.” Rahima said. “I am wondering– were you sent here to assist us in expanding operations? Most of my subordinates are recruits. I assume I would have heard of you being assigned here.”

Her tone was still not confrontational, but the choice of words caused a spike in anxiety.

“I’m afraid I am still only passing, milord, and will not be remaining here.” Murati said.

“We are part of an oceanographic survey, milord.” Aatto added. “For the logistics corps.”

Rahima held a long pause. Murati dared not look at her face while their words settled.

Then there was a sound of sliding plastic from one of the cubicles that interrupted them.

From around a corner that they were about to turn, a young woman stepped out in front.

“Forgive me, lord Gauleiter! I– can I– may I request your assistance in a certain matter?”

She was another Shimii, a skinny girl with short, curly blond-hair and very fluffy golden ears between which she wore a garrison cap. Of course, emblazoned with a hideous sonnenrad like the rest. Compared to Rahima, she was a diminutive girl, and her demure posture in front of the Gauleiter served to accentuate the differences even more strongly. She could well have been another teenager, but Murati read her as someone of age, perhaps only barely. It led her to wonder why so many young people were wrapped up in this.

“Let me take a look.” Rahima said, beckoning the girl.

From the girl’s dainty hands, she took a portable computer.

On the screen there was a form with several fields and a lot of numbers.

Something to do with finance or inventory– Murati did not want to appear too interested.

“I’m– I’m not able to get it through the computer’s error correction–” the girl began.

“It’s not passing error correction because it’s wrong.” Rahima said. “Did you double check that you applied the correct formulas? Or you might have plugged in the wrong set from the databases into the final form. I don’t have time for this right now; but I can look later.”

Rahima handed back the portable to the girl. She spoke calmly; she did not appear upset.

Nevertheless, the girl bowed her head and apologized–

“Shimii do not bow their heads. Don’t bow to me or anyone.” Rahima said sternly.

She reached out and with her fingers gently lifted the girl’s chin, so their eyes met again.

“Yes– I’m so sorry lord Gauleiter– I just feel so– after I got this nice job–”

Rahima looked upon the stuttering girl with great pity, as the girl looked back in terror.

“It’s fine. We can work on the numbers later. We have all the time in the world.”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. Thank you for your great kindness.”

Despite Rahima’s attempts, when the girl scurried back to her cubicle, she was still shaking.

Murati watched the whole scene silently.

Turning over Rahima’s words in her head– and everything she knew about the situation.

How did they have ‘all the time in the world’ to get the Gau’s paperwork straight?

Why did Rahima so casually endure these young and incompetent subordinates?

Wasn’t the operation of a Gau more important than this? Wasn’t it more urgent and dire?

Hadn’t she just earlier said that her task was to see to the expansion of this Gau?

She was unsure of whether this was owed to Rahima’s character– or that of the Gau itself.

“Forgive her. She’s a– provincial girl. But she is a fast learner.” Rahima told Murati.

Murati nodded silently. The Gauleiter led them past the cubicles down another short hall.

Briefly, Murati glanced back at Aatto.

Her adjutant looked stoic and professional, following behind without expression.

When she met Murati’s eyes, she put on a very small and very quick smile.

Murati furtively returned her eyes to the Gauleiter’s back.

“This is my office. We can discuss matters here without anybody listening.” Rahima said.

Laying her hand on a panel near the door, Rahima opened it and welcomed them in.

Her office was only a bit more furnished and decorated than other rooms they had seen, false green wallpaper and projected tapestries with fascist symbols on the walls.

Amid the falsity, Murati’s eyes were drawn to a shelf of physical books. Recent treatises on demand-side economics; fundamentals of the liberal enlightenment written in the 800s After Descent, during the crisis of the Late Nocht dynasty and the economic decline of the Dukes; pop science about the late Surface era crisis and the source of the corruption, likely all junk; more than anything there was a variety of Shimii clerical work both Rashidun and Mahdist. Nestled among all these works, and sticking out slightly, was Adam Lehner’s own book, “The Art of Struggle in the Enlightened Age.” When Murati arrived in Kreuzung, among the many little things she read once she had access to Imperial networks and time with which to read, were various pieces of Volkisch ideology. This risible volume by the so-called Fuhrer was the largest and most influential collection of fascist bilge.

“Admiring my bookshelves? Are you a reader yourself Obersturmfuhrer?” Rahima asked.

“Yes. I’m curious whether anyone would object to your ‘collection.’” Murati asked.

“Because of the liberal books in it? Well, it’s important to understand everything I can.”

“Really? Would you put Mordecai on that shelf too?” Murati asked suddenly.

Shuddering under her skin. Aatto averted her gaze. Had she had gone too far now?

But a fellow fascist would question this, surely? All the liberalism on display?

Rahima simply smiled as if amused.

“I’m afraid I have not had the opportunity to read Mordecai, but that is not to say I am not interested. Obersturmfuhrer Ravana, being open-minded will give you insight into anyone whom you must defeat, or anyone whom you must befriend. You can still keep your goal, and your prey, in sight, while learning from them. Remember this well.”

She reached out and poked Murati in the chest, before taking her place behind her desk.

It was a fake wooden desk, upon which there was a tidy plastic divider with a few folders of stonepaper sheets– so much pulpwork for a computerized operation. In the middle of her desk, she kept a fold-out portable computer with its own screen, likely because the fake wood desk was not equipped with a touchscreen capable of serving as a thin client display.

“Now then, how can I assist you two? What is this survey about?” Rahima asked.

“We apologize that we could not communicate preemptively.” Aatto said, speaking up.

“I am afraid this is common enough not to be worth apologizing for. I’ve received little communication from Kreuzung on all manner of things so I can just add your situation the pile. They are busier with show trials than giving direction to their upstart Gau.” Rahima said.

“Then the situation has little changed since we last got on a boat. Pity that.” Murati said.

Since Rahima was being aggrieved she would pretend to be similarly aggrieved.

Both of them could be put-upon civil servants of the fascist bureaucracy together.

“Before I joined the movement I was an oceanographer.” Murati said, speaking with ease her rehearsed excuses. “Since then, I have been working with the logistics corps. We are very few in number– me and my adjutant have been running around in a great haste. We specialize in testing the agarthic salt levels and pseudo-ion reactivity in the water. Both are very important to the wear and tear on jets and piping in ships. Skilled water management, and the right data, can extend the lifespan of a supply ship by as much as twenty percent and dramatically improve maintenance efficiency. And we need every pfennig we can get.”

Murati did not have to wait long for the reaction to her pitch.

Rahima was clearly a good listener, and thus a quick responder to speech.

“Too true. Is my input required for this? If you need any access, I’ll see what I can do.”

“We were hoping to take a quick look at your environmental records before we started in the hopes that the data is current. With oceanography nobody takes it seriously enough, but I am hoping Aachen at least ran a survey every five years. As you may know, pseudophysical data is released by request for commercial bodies but not public.” Murati said.

It helped that Murati was married to an oceanographer and heard similar spiels from her.

“I’m unfamiliar with such things, but my staff can help you fetch any data.” Rahima said.

“Many thanks.” Murati said. “We also of course visit here today as a measure of respect.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t mind having my toes stepped on. I’ve been in your situation.”

“For us, we need to make sure to request permission rather than forgiveness.” Murati said.

“Ah yes– the fuhrerprinzip. Well, you have my permission, Ravana.” Rahima said.

So far, so good. But the office was in such disarray that the bounty might be minimal.

Even if they got access to some unsecured computers, or ran off with a box of files, would anything be worth the trouble? How much data was being kept in this office versus some server in Kreuzung? Would they even have anything useful for a war, like intelligence sources or planned logistics routes or force dispositions? Nevertheless, the gambit had not been for nothing– Murati felt she had some much more valuable questions and answers about the Volkisch in Aachen now. She answered the basic question of their current posture.

“It’s interesting that the Reichkomissar would allocate resources for this.” Rahima said.

“The Reichskommissar is very data driven.” Murati said, a quick and vague excuse.

Her blood started to run hot again. As it did whenever Rahima seemed to contradict her.

“True! You know, I actually had the exact same impression when I first spoke to her.” Rahima said. “She already had thoughts about the local economy in Aachen and the situation with organized labor in Stockheim. Threw around a lot of numbers as she spoke. I was quite impressed– I suppose that this survey is just another part of her meticulousness.”

Once again, the tension in her chest lifted one it was clear Rahima was not too skeptical.

Rahima opened up her computer and began to type into the integrated keyboard.

After booting it up, she typed a bit more, then sat back, shut her eyes and sighed.

Aatto and Murati respectfully observed her silence for a few minutes.

Murati hoped dearly to be dismissed and allowed near some data to steal, but–

–instead, Rahima lifted her gaze again and fixed Murati a strong look.

“Ami Ravana– would you have time for a bit of small talk?” She said.

“Of course, milord.”

She just had to internalize what it meant to be a fascist and she could easily keep up a chat.

From her own readings, and from Aatto, Murati had learned a lot about the Volkisch.

By now she knew enough about them that she could distill it through her own personality.

As she made a good communist student, she could pretend to be a good fascist student.

“Why did you choose to join the Volkisch Movement, Ravana? You, a North Bosporan?”

In an instant, it was as if Rahima had stricken with a hammer the glass of Murati’s façade.

Her mind raced to procure any semblance of a respponse.

That was the question, the ultimate question anyone would have asked– and to be asked by of all people a Shimii, who joined the Volkisch Movement herself despite everything that had happened to her people. It was a question Murati had little answer for, a question that puzzled her. What could possibly be fascism’s attraction to the minorities that had spent hundreds of years under the heels of the Imbrian Empire? How was it that they saw fascism, led by Imbrians, in solidarity with brain-dead racists like the Blood Bund, and thought that not only would they be welcome, but that they would be helped? To Murati it was self-evident that it was an incoherent set of excuses for convenient mass violence.

How was the party-state different from the Imbrian Empire? How was the fuhrerprinzip any different from the divine right of a king? Could they not see the empty promise of a One Volk? Furthermore, how was it that Shimii were now part of the so-called Volk?

How could Rahima become a Gauleiter?

In that room in that instant Murati was not going to decipher any of these questions.

Reaching deep inside of her heart, she thought, genuinely, about her own position.

Why would she ever become a fascist? What would it take to drive her to that?

“National Socialism presented the only way I could overcome my powerlessness.”

She was vague in her words– but there was a painful history behind them.

In the Union it was easy not to think of herself as a racial subject, vulnerable to depredation.

However, over twenty years ago, in the living memory of many people and even herself as a small child, the Imbrian Empire decided the vast majority of North Bosporans had to be lifted from their namesake place in the north of Bosporus to the far southern colonies. They were already a small people, in the grand scheme of Aer’s races, not very fecund, and heavily concentrated. In an instant they were made slaves almost to the very last man, woman and child. Only those who were connected and wealthy and exceedingly loyal, the collaborators, the snitches, the compradors, only they were spared and remained in Imbria.

North Bosporans, as a mass culture, now existed largely only in the Union.

Aatto had told her that the Volkisch would allow a North Bosporan into their ranks.

Much as they had allowed her, a Loup, to continue working for them.

And as they recruited Rahima to a supposedly high position of power in their organization.

Murati found her dishearteningly evil and honest answer in the midst of those facts.

It seemed that the Volkisch Movement answered exclusively to nakedly wielded power.

So, to avoid being erased from the world; for the power to resist her own destruction.

That was the sole, filthy reason she would have ever worn this horrible uniform.

A reason that must have presupposed communism not to exist– that was the only way.

She could not air that thought. In this situation, she was wearing the black uniform already.

“Good answer.” Rahima said. “I can sympathize with it. And so does the Reichskommissar. She asked me that same question, you see. So, I was curious what others like me would answer.”

I am nothing like you. Murati said in her mind what her lips could never allow to escape.

However, she was surprised that the Reichkomissar, Violet Lehner, had brought it up first.

That woman was exceedingly politically dangerous. She was nothing like Adam Lehner.

“Very well then, Ami Ravana and Ilma Suomi-Fertilefield. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Murati and Aatto moved to exchange farewells with the Gauleiter, their tensions easing–

Until suddenly, behind them, the door to Rahima’s office opened as if of its own volition.

That sound of sliding metal sent shivers across Murati’s back and electricity into her limbs.

Someone casually unlocked a door which few people should have had access to.

Herr Gauleiter, I apologize for making you wait before and then dropping in suddenly.”

A smooth and slightly accented voice; that of a confident woman, almost playful in tone.

Murati and Aatto both turned their heads, trying to hide the tension they suddenly felt.

For Murati, because any intrusion was a complication in a plan that was going well, but–

There was a brief flash of panic in Aatto’s eyes that caused Murati’s heart to sink.

She did not understand the meaning of it, but the contrast to her previous calm was enough.

“No apology necessary. I was the one who threw your plans into disarray after all.”

Rahima stood to meet with the woman who had arrived and introduce her.

Aatto had managed to hide her expression, and Murati held herself steady; the woman who interrupted them had an eerie air to her presence. Like them, she was dressed all in black, with a military coat worn over a white shirt, along with a skirt and leggings. Her peaked cap had a badge bearing a silver skull and crossed bones, rather than the more common hooked crosses, sonnenrads or iron eagles they had seen other fascists wearing. Her armbands had a black sonnenrad and hooked cross, however, same as others. Her shoulderboards were present, but entirely blank, and the patches on her collar were also present, but also blank. On her sleeves, there were patches depicting an eagle with a hooked cross.

Her cap and the lighting of the room partially shadowed her blue eyes which then moved between Rahima to linger on Murati and Aatto. As a woman Murati found no fault in her qualities. Like many of the other fascists she tended her appearance well. Glossy red heart-shaped lips with a slight pout, on a very fair face with a short nose and a soft contour to her cheeks. Her wavy, beige-blond hair was tidy and voluminous and worn long. She was just shy of Rahima and Murati’s height and had a curvy figure flattered by the sleek cut of the uniform. There was a fruity but also oddly chemical scent around her, perhaps a perfume.

As Murati scrutinized the woman, she suddenly heard Aatto’s voice in her head.

Master, this woman is a member of the Volkisch special forces! That skull indicates the “special detachments.” We must be very careful what we say to her! She may not be easy to fool.

It was not so much hearing a voice speaking in real time, as it was that Murati understood the information Aatto communicated in a few seconds and associated that information as being delivered by her voice. In a blink of her eyes, faster than she could fear anew, she came to fully understand the danger that they were in. But she could not break eye contact with the newcomer lest she appear suspicious; Murati held firm and hid her anxiety as best she could.

Absentmindedly, she fixed her cap, and then just as absentmindedly, she saluted.

Aatto saw Murati salute and joined her a second later. Had she done right?

There was an excruciating instant of silence while the woman looked them up and down.

“At ease, Obersturmführer, Rottenführer.” The woman finally said, with a haughty drawl.

“The Obersturmführer is a very proper officer.” Rahima said, backing Murati up.

The woman grinned.

“Not hard for me to believe. I have found it is often the case that the unconventional folk are the ones most disciplined and adherent to the rules. They are the ones with something to prove to the rest. But Obersturmführer, you have nothing to prove to me right now.”

She reached out to Murati’s saluting hand and with a gentle grip–

And pulled it down into her own two hands, patting it condescendingly.

With a sudden air of menace and a hint of cruel delight as she continued speaking.

“Or do you? After all– I don’t recall a meeting with an Obersturmführer in the itinerary.”

To hold Murati’s hand, she stepped closer into her space until they were face to face.

Those bright red lips and that grim, enshadowed glare locked directly onto Murati’s eyes.

That hand which was holding her might as well have been a gun aimed at her stomach.

Those eyes like knives driving through her, cutting the skin of her and exposing blood.

Murati felt her teeth wanting to clench and the cold, stale air in her unblinking eyes.

As if her life depended on it, she held the gaze of the skull-bearing fascist without flinching.

Trying to convince herself that she had not been seen through so easily–

“I was as surprised as you about their visit, Bernie, but– only surprised, nothing more.”

Rahima stepped in and held the woman’s shoulders, as if guiding a misbehaving child.

“You and I have better things to do than an impromptu inspection right now.” She said, massaging the woman’s shoulders. For a moment the woman looked puzzled about the touch but silently allowed it to continue. “Obersturmführer, this is Hauptsturmführer Bernadette Sattler. She is my new bodyguard and head of security for the Gau. As you can see she takes her job very seriously, so I urge you not to cross her.” Rahima winked. “At any rate, she and I have important business which must necessarily interrupt your own. I welcome you to make use of the Gau office as you need for your tasks, I have already sent a message to my staff about your visit and what you are clear to access from them.”

“As you command, Gauleiter.” Sattler said, still fixing a curious gaze on Murati.

“Thank you kindly, herr Gauleiter.” Murati said.

Without betraying a hint of the overwhelming gratitude and relief that she felt right then.

After some perfunctory goodbyes, and an exhortation to lock up after herself, it was over.

Rahima led Sattler out of the office and continued with her business unseen.

Like a storm that evil woman had come, and she had gone without sinking them.

For a few minutes they waited around just to make sure she would not come back.

Soon, to their own nervous and elated bewilderment, they felt it was all but confirmed.

Murati and Aatto had been left in the silence of Rahima’s office without any supervision.

Immediately both of them turned to Rahima’s portable computer.

“Master, I memorized the typing she did! I think I know what the password is!”

“Aatto, you are some kind of genius. Get that computer unlocked.”

From the interior pocket of her coat, Murati produced a small green board.

On one end there was an antennae, on the other a serial port, and between, were set the nanometer die chips that made up the board. It had some internal storage, as well as hardware encryption. This gadget had been modified by Braya Zachikova, the Brigand’s resident computer and electronic warfare wizard. Murati looked for a serial port and stuck the board to the computer.

Aatto sat on the desk, cracked her fingers, and tentatively set them on the keys.

Murati stood between Aatto and the sight from the door, keeping her eyes fixed on it.

Her heart was racing, but she was grinning like a fiend.

She had a mad and bloodthirsty satisfaction. Those fools, those complete morons.

Within moments, Aatto’s face was lit up by Rahima’s monitor, now past the login prompt.

“Ah, master, the cute little antennaes girl is on the screen now.” Aatto said.

A surly voice responded. “Huh? I don’t want to talk to you. Where is your ‘master’?”

Murati beckoned for Aatto to stand and take her position relative to the door.

She sat behind the desk and looked into Rahima’s computer.

On the screen, a tiny Zachikova could be seen pacing up and down the desktop.

“There you are. So Aatto did not betray you. Confirm the encrypted connection.” She said.

“Done.” Murati said, flicking her finger at a notification on Rahima’s screen.

“The transfer will take a bit to bounce through back to us. Are you sure you’re safe?”

“We are safe, don’t worry. Just focus on covering your own tracks.” Murati replied.

“Alright. You’re dead to us if that pervert does give you up to the Volkisch, be-tee-dubs.”

Murati felt a twinge of annoyance. “Stop berating my adjutant and do your job, Ensign.”

“Suit yourself.” Said the Mini-Zachikova, her last words before the transfer began.

On the screen, a progress bar showed a Mini-Zachikova and a crab digging in the sand.

“Master– you stood up for me.” Aatto said. When Murati glanced up from the computer screen, Aatto leaned towards her, smiling, ears wiggling, tail fiercely wagging and fanning air.

“Turn back around and be quiet.” Murati grumbled, wanting to entertain none of that.

Aatto did as instructed promptly and without complaint. Her tail thumped against the desk.

Judging by the progress, it would be several minutes before they transferred everything.

Hopefully Rahima was the kind of person to keep her encryption keys in a saved text file.

Sitting in the Gauleiter’s chair with time to spare, Murati began to rummage through her effects, being careful as possible to return anything to its place and cause minimal disturbance. From the plastic divider she picked out a folder and rifled through the papers inside. They were office planning documents. A list of open positions needing to be filled, a current office roster with hand-scribbled pronounciations of each worker’s names, photos and floorplans of suitable locations for a potential new and bigger Gau office than this one, costs for various supplies and what vendors might fulfill the orders.

There was an impromptu office survey where Rahima apparently asked everyone for their favorite snacks and put down the results for each person. She had underlined halwa and the name of the person who had suggested it, a certain Yasmin Bahram, rank Anwärter. Putting down that folder and picking up a second one, Murati found herself thumbing through what appeared to be a sketchbook. Incredulous, she flipped through the pages. Some were full of doodles, but there were a few busts drawn from life, full of detail including their clothes. There were cheerful Shimii girls wearing intricately shaded hijab; an Imbrian woman with heavy brows in a uniform, her hair in a bun partially visible behind a cap; a man with a strong jaw in a military officer uniform, with no Volkisch symbols in sight. And–

Violet Lehner. Partially looking over her shoulder as if incidentally glancing at the viewer.

Murati recognized her face from recent public broadcasts from Kreuzung.

Her hair was slightly swept as if she was in motion, but her face had a pensive expression.

Like a disdainful high-society girl, a princess, staring back at the paupers.

“Waste of stone-paper.” She murmured to herself, closing the book on the young woman.

Murati put the folder back where she had found it. She checked the transfer on the screen.

Not even close to the halfway point. She sighed, tension mounting in her.

Next, Murati checked the drawers on the desk.

She found basic supplies– paper, graphite, reusable tissues, a cleaning spray bottle. Another drawer had a box of jerky sticks, a bag of hard ginger candies, and three pouches of caffeinated vitamin drink, the Gauleiter’s own snack hoard. The next one she opened was a small drawer near the top, at the right-hand side. There she found an object she did not understand at first because it was deliberately overturned. When she picked it up, she found that it was a digital picture frame laid face-down. Deeper into the drawer behind it– was a compact synthestitched pistol, entirely non-metallic and concealable.

No point in touching it, and Murati did not dare move a piece so deliberately hidden.

On the picture frame, there was a beautiful elven woman with very pale blue hair.

Murati set the picture frame face down in the drawer and closed it. She checked the screen.

Almost halfway through–

and then a knocking on the door that caused her back to stiffen and her hands to freeze.

Her mind fogged– the world felt like it was moving in slow motion.

Each round of knocking felt loud enough that it pounded the insides of her chest.

The longer they went without answering, that knocking remained steadfast–

“Lord Gauleiter? May I come in? I think I got the papers corrected now!”

Aatto turned back around to Murati.

Silently as she could, Murati stood and slid the chair she left closer to the desk. She stood beside Aatto, both of them covering up the portable computer and the device stuck to it with their bodies. Murati thought she recognized the feminine voice that was speaking into the room, even muffled as it was through the door. She gestured for Aatto to get the door and Aatto looked back at her as if for further confirmation before she carried out the task.

When the door opened, a young Shimii woman in a pristine uniform walked through.

In her shaking hands was a portable computer she proudly wanted to show.

It was the girl from before, who had interrupted them in the cubicles.

Finding Aatto and Murati in the room and not Rahima, she stopped in her tracks.

“Oh! I’m– I’m very s-s-orry. I thought the G-g-gauleiter was in her office.” She said with a stammer. “My name is Yasmin Bahram. I work in data entry. Do you know– where she–?”

“She left on an errand. We’re looking after the office momentarily.” Aatto interrupted.

“An errand? I– I had no idea she would be leaving– did I read the itinerary wrong–?”

This typist was so skittish, Murati felt like she was on the verge of screaming at any second.

Her heart was still pumping fast. She might have been as nervous as the girl was.

“It was sudden. Bernadette Sattler had some business with her.” Aatto continued.

“Oh! Ms. Sattler– yes, I completely understand now–!” Yasmin replied, still stammering.

Her eyes broke contact with Aatto. Murati felt relieved. Just a credulous and silly girl.

“I’m afraid we don’t know when she will be back.” Aatto said.

“Ah, I see– I’m sorry– thank you. I’m– I’m really sorry to have bothered you both.”

Yasmin hugged the portable to her chest and bowed her head to the two of them.

With a grunt, Murati stepped forward of the desk, beckoning Aatto to take her place–

And tipped the girl’s head up again, much to her surprise. Her tail shot upright.

“What did the Gauleiter tell you? Shimii do not bow their heads to anyone.” Murati said.

For a moment, she questioned what had overcome her. She was playing the part, but–

It was also annoying for this girl to put on such undue deference toward fascists.

For her to be such a pathetic enemy after holding their lives in her hands for an instant.

“I’m sorry, Obersturmfuhrer!” She said. “It’s just– this job is so important– I don’t want to screw up. I send remittances to my family. Someday, I think, if it’s Councilwoman Rahima– I mean, Gauleiter Rahima– we’ll all be able to live up here instead of just me. I really appreciate the opportunity. Ah– oh no, I’m saying these unnecessary things– forgive me–”

“Stop apologizing.” Murati said. “This– this behavior ill befits a member–”

She hardly knew how to finish the sentence. It was too ridiculous to say any more.

What was she even trying to say to this girl? Be more like a fascist? It was pure nonsense.

However, Yasmin seemed to catch on to Murati’s meaning, even in its half-finished state.

After a moment’s reflection, she straightened, looked up, took her portable under her arm.

And raised her hand with the fingers joined and outstretched, in the fascists’ salute.

“Yes ma’am! I will conduct myself with the dignity of this office! Sieg heil!”

Murati raised her hand to cover her eyes. A murmured, anguished little breath left her lips.

Yasmin put her arm down, confused. “Did I do something wrong again?”

Behind Murati, Aatto spoke up. “You raised the wrong arm. But it’s the spirit that counts.”

Nowhere near what bothered Murati about the whole situation– but it was a nice save.

With a cheerful demeanor, Aatto encouraged the girl and warded her off from the office. Murati watched her and wondered how many times Aatto must have acted as the office big-sister to some no-name fascist idiot– she looked too natural and spoke with too much ease to have just been acting. Aatto had worked in offices like this before, no-name no-place offices where there were no gallows and no torture chambers. She was an intelligence officer– but this did not mean what was in Murati’s brain, the red mist of bloody murders, the black breaths of excoriated bodies. Just bedraggled office workers and stacks of bureaucratic minutia that any organization needed to account for to function.

Some part of her was angry about it.

This was not a fortress– Murati had not stormed a castle full of braying demons.

It should not have been this mundane.

Her pragmatic voice told her that it was useful information to know.

But her ideological side was embittered by what she saw.

When Aatto shut the door anew, careful not to cross it herself, she returned to Murati.

“Master, check the progress. I’ll keep watch. You’ve done splendidly so far.”

Murati did not reply. She turned to the desk and walked back around it.

Sitting on the chair, she found the Mini-Zachikova and the crab had both found something.

“Transfer complete. I reset the device logs. Get out of there now.” Zachikova said.

Murati pulled the exfiltration device from the computer and back into her inner coat pocket.

“We are leaving.” Murati said.

Aatto nodded her head back at Murati. They closed Rahima’s laptop.

Her desk looked undisturbed to casual inspection. It would have to be enough.

It was impossible to know what to expect, as easy as it had been to enter.

They had been lucky to chance upon Rahima, but would it be the same on the way out? They exited out of the office onto the cubicle room, where there was lively chatter. Yasmin waved at them from the snack table. They waved back. Crossing the cubicles, there were no more interruptions. Down the hall, out the door and back into the lobby.

Aatto walked up to Wiebke’s front desk and explained the situation.

Obediently, Wiebke locked the door behind them, and bid them a good day.

Indeed– it was as easy to leave without Rahima as it was to enter with her good grace.

At first, upon crossing the double doors, and finding herself under the green again–

Murati felt a creeping paranoia.

There had to be something– someone trailing them, something on to them or after them.

She stopped under the shadow of a tall green tree with a broad crown.

Looking over her shoulder, there was no one.

Not the demonic grin of Bernadette Sattler with a gun to Murati’s lower back.

Neither a disappointed Rahima, ashamed of having been fooled.

There were not even the workers coming and going from before. It was past lunch now.

Stopped in the middle of the street, Murati breathed in and adjusted her peaked cap.

“Mission accomplished, Master.” Aatto whispered close to her.

Murati looked down at her boots. She crossed her arms, catching sight of her armbands.

“Right. We won’t know whether we got anything of value until we return.” She said.

She started walking before Aatto could say anything else. Her adjutant dutifully followed.

They made it to the elevators without being intercepted. Murati let herself believe now.

Home free– they had infiltrated the Volkisch Gau office. In and out cleanly.

For all the good it had done– hopefully Zachikova would find something useful.

It felt like she shaved a few years off her life from anxiety for little gain.

At least they knew how weak the Aachen Gau was now.

“Master, I have a question for you.” Aatto said, as the elevator rode down.

“Aatto, after all of this, you’ve earned one question.” Murati said, half-jokingly.

Aatto had been fantastic. There would have been no mission without her.

There was a concern that Aatto would orchestrate all this to feed Murati to the Volkisch.

But she had remained sincere throughout– she was really and truly loyal to her ‘king’.

On some level Murati had already known this. Now, however, she believed it.

“Master, does desperation and destitution disqualify a person from commiting injustice?”

Aatto fixed Murati with a serious gaze as she delivered that question.

There was hardly time for the air to settle between them–

“Of course it doesn’t.” Murati answered. Immediately and without any doubt.

Her voice was far more certain than her heart, but ultimately, that was what she believed.

She was human– of course she had conflicting feelings about things from time to time. Despite everyone’s belief that she was some kind of communist automaton, Murati had a heart and feelings, and she could be moved. She was so angry at everything she saw that she almost wanted to weep but she would not. It was injustice in itself. All the sensational torture that Gau did not commit, it instead committed a mundane torture.

And someday, it would even go on to do both.

Murati knew; as much as she pitied lowly workers, her resolve was clear and necessary.

“I’ve always known, academically, that I might have to confront ‘ordinary’ people in this mission. Teachers, typists, couriers, what have you– there are all kinds of non-combatants participating in agendas of horrid violence without lifting a weapon. I’ve known this and now I’ve seen it. Yes, I am sorry for Yasmin Bahram if that is something you’re after hearing, and I wish she and her family could live peacefully– but they have chosen to assist the monsters oppressing Eisental for their own benefit. There are many more destitute, desperate people who will be deprived of lasting, meaningful freedom for the remittances she needs. All she does is mess up typing reports from databases. But she’s still a direct participant within fascism. She’s still my enemy– is that what you were getting at, Aatto?”

Though she spoke confrontationally, Aatto only smiled upon receiving that response.

“The resolve of a King I can admire. Had you faltered– I would have abandoned you.”

“Go on then, abandon me. You’re already in uniform and everything.” Murati shot back.

Aatto’s ears and tail instantly stood on end. “Ah– it was a joke master– merely a joke–”

She almost looked like she had tears in her eyes. Murati sighed and patted her shoulder.

For someone who had showed such a strong side of herself sometimes, she was very fragile.

“I was also joking. You did good, Aatto. I don’t want to lose you. Let’s go home now.”

She held Aatto’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, and pulled her closer, smiling.

Aatto beamed brightly at her. “Yes, master! Back home!” She cheered.


Violet’s meeting with the Volwitz representatives had gone about as well as it could.

Passions flared and tensions rose, but in the end, the food conglomerate had few choices.

Volwitz was under a lot of pressure.

The Heidemmann family once had the major share of Volwitz, a megacorporation that grew to absorb a majority of food production, processing and distribution in Rhinea, as landed nobles declined against the rising noveau riche. Ossof Heidemann went into politics, and eventually became the patriarch of the family and thus, de facto in control of Volwitz, with clashing interests. A liberal who argued for individual personal freedom and economic stimulus to fund education and opportunity for all– except for the Shimii, Loup and Južni communities who constituted most of his farm labor. Liberals, ever the hypocrites.

Then, Heidemmann lost the election and suffered the petty retribution of Adam Lehner for daring to oppose him. Agents of the Volkisch Militia under Lehner’s orders made Ossof disappear and launched reprisals on many other members of the Heidemann family. Their time was over– the members that survived went into hiding and their properties and funds were expropriated. Officially, the family was tried and sentenced for corruption.

However, Volwitz was still the king of food in Rhinea even after this chaos.

Everything that the Heidemanns owned of the megacorporation reverted back to the main legal-economic body of the company and the shares were quickly snapped up by other wealthy claimants who had been waiting for an opportunity. The Rhinea National-Socialist Republic could keep boasting it had completed a ‘Revolution of National Awakening’ but the fact of the matter was that the system of capitalism remained intact. There would be no nationalization of Volwitz, as much as Adam Lehner despised the company.

Much like the other megacorporations like Rhineametalle, if there was sufficient disruption of Volwitz’s operations, there would in turn be significant disruption of critical supplies to Adam Lehner’s hasty war with the Royal Alliance. Volwitz owned the farms that grew the food, the plants that packaged it, and the supply vessels that distributed it to stations. Adam Lehner could make all the threats he wanted, he could accuse the megacorporations of sabotaging him, he could rage on television and deliver any number of big speeches– there was no plan in place for the expropriation of Volwitz for the foreseeable future.

Not with the Volkisch tied up in a stalemate of a war.

Violet herself was in the exact bind with them as her idiot father.

Her revolution necessitated that the Shimii now working for Volwitz saw their lot in life improve enough to earn their loyalty and incorporation into Nasser’s Zabaniyah forces and the bureacracy of the Reichkomissariat. For Nasser to ‘free the ummah’ it was necessary that Violet bring Volwitz to heel, but Volwitz was ready to pull out the card of shortages and disruptions and price fluctuations. She ultimately forced them to accept the National Socialist Labor Union scheme on primarily Shimii work farms, in exchange for not extending it to primarily Južni sites. Violet was not interested in the plight of the Južni minority; and the Shimii represented the majority of farm laborers anyway, so it was still a win.

In addition, she committed to subsidizing more food preservation and long-term storage in Eisental order to combat “shortages and fluctuations.” These reserves would have to be produced, processed and then sold by Volwitz, and then the storage itself would be managed directly by the Reichkommissariat and the National Socialist Labor Union. For Volwitz it was a very lucrative contract in a time of great uncertainty for them.

They had no sensible reason to turn it down; and with reichmarks in their eyes, they agreed.

Short term, those new facilities would be good, national socialist union jobs for Shimii.

Long-term, this would completely blunt the nature of Volwitz’s threats and leverage.

She was not a fan of food processing– but she would tolerate it for her ultimate goal.

Once she had enough food stockpiled and was ready to begin her crusade, Violet could start by eliminating Volwitz and seizing their considerable assets in the Reichkommissariat, riding out the death throes of the corporation through the use of the very reserve that they would help her construct. Then the farms would be completely national socialist, owned by the Shimii as part of Violet’s volksgemeinschaft. After Volwitz– the other megacorporations, as well as her father’s decrepit little fiefdom in the core Rhinean territory. Once her close enemies were returned to the marine fog, her farther enemies would be next.

Until her Party-State spanned the Imbrium and became the new order of the world.

Endsieg.

For now, such things were only lofty dreams, however.

She looked down at her desk and swiped on her portable to put away the Volwitz meeting notes and minutes. She brought up the notes she had prepared for her meeting with Rhineametalle. Not quite knowing what to expect; this meeting was arranged very suddenly after she had already talked to various other representatives of the firm’s interests. If it would be about the National Socialist Labor Unions, she was ready for that. She and her office had been crunching numbers all week. She could talk about whether any taxes or duties would be introduced, or about new procurement contracts.

Then, at the appointed hour, Maxine Kramer walked in through the door.

Spokeswoman for Rhineametalle– she and Violet had a strong working relationship.

They were meeting at Werner’s office, where Violet hosted any important guests.

Though she preferred quieter side offices for real work, she had to keep up appearances.

“Heil, Reichskommissar. May I clear some space on your desk?”

Violet blinked. She gestured to the desk, wondering what this was about.

Maxine had a portable computer with her which she brought to the desk and propped up.

With the monitor facing Violet, she switched it on.

“It is my honor and pleasure to introduce, our CEO, Edmund Schmitz.”

On the monitor, appeared the face of a man with a thick plastic breathing mask.

He sat on a very plush-looking red chair, surrounded by a variety of partially out-of-view medical instruments, like a heart monitor and pumping machines. Though he was evidently dressed in a fine suit, which was mostly offscreen, Violet could see that there were tubes going into his chest a bit conspicuously. What she could see of his face outside the mask had spotted, sallow skin and heavily sagging brows, almost entirely hairless.

When he spoke, there was barely sound at first, then a machine replicated what he said.

“Violet Lehner. Pleasure to meet you at last, a real pleasure. You are so much more colorful and beautiful up close. I am one of your biggest fans, you know? I wanted to congratulate you in person, for your fantastic work in resolving the Kreuzung crisis, and for your great plans to steer the ship right from now on. National Socialism is the missing link that Rhinean businesses have been needing for so long. Doubtless our offices will have disagreements in the coming months but know that we are aligned in the end. I have told your father as much– I will resist any attempt to stifle your disruptive innovation in Eisental!”

At first Violet was disarmed by all of this. The CEO of Rhineametalle, indeed.

Maxine had brought out a dying old man to deliver contentless platitudes.

She supposed this was how such an urgent meeting was thrown on her calendar suddenly.

Though Maxine was partially owned by Violet she was wholly owned by the CEO.

“For such an esteemed businessman to share this support with me, it truly makes me want to redouble my efforts. Thank you kindly, Mr. Schmitz.” Violet said, managing to smile a little.

Once more, the mechanical-sounding voice synthesizer delivered the man’s lines audibly.

“Ah, you truly have the vibrancy of youth, Ms. Lehner. Exactly what the Eisental economy has been needing, new blood, new ideas! Such an exciting time! I know it may sound hypocritical as an old man hanging on for dear life, but we needed to be giving more to the youth– someday, God forbid, but I will die, and I need to know our work won’t be squandered. I can sleep more soundly knowing we have a new generation of young people with a real entrepeneurial spirit. It is a shame about old Werner, but I know Kreuzung is in good hands. And National Socialism is what is going to supercharge our youth. I tell you, I’ve been hearing your speeches, and it’s so electric my dear. It reminds me of when the Emperor retreated from politics. That energy is good for business. It gets people spending, it gets the shares trading. Optimism, vibrancy, stability, momentum– that’s how we make money.”

Violet always felt a little strange talking to the heads of the major corporations because for the most part they only spoke in vague platitudes, whereas Violet wanted to talk to anyone about hard numbers and real concrete policy agendas. She had gone to school for the hard numbers behind all of these vague statements and what she discovered was that the vague statements were often where all the thinking stopped. Violet had certainly made some contribution to Rhineametalle’s stock prices, but it was pointless to mention something so incidental. It was hard, complex policy that would change Eisental’s fortunes.

Regardless, she had to put up with this semi-mummified geriatric for now.

“I am flattered, Mr. Schmitz. I hope we can continue to cooperate in this endeavor.”

“We certainly will. Well, Ms. Lehner, thank you for your time. I have the utmost confidence in you. Feel free to ask Maxine for anything, but I must be going now. I’m sure you know, running an organization is a 24/7 job– when I’m not talking about the business, or organizing the business, or reading about the business, then I have to be thinking about the business. That’s where I’m headed off to next. You take care now, alright Ms. Lehner?”

Smiling, Maxine switched off the portable computer, closed it, and took it in her arms.

“I apologize, Reichskommissar. I understand you might have found that a bit annoying.”

“It’s fine. All in a day’s work. Better than my talks with Volwitz.” Violet said.

Maxine bowed her head and took her leave, waving goodbye to Violet as she went.

Once the door closed, Violet sighed, shook her head, and swiped away her notes again.

“Ridiculous. The day I exterminate all those gerontocrats can’t come soon enough.”

Her last important meeting of the day was also the one most dire and necessary.

Using a monitor suspended on an arm on the desk, Violet connected to Munich station in north central Rhinea, the home of the Esoteric Order and one of the founding sites of fascism. On the screen, appeared an older woman in a lavish black dress with intricate synthetic lacework, wearing a headress that almost seemed like a mourning veil. Long, wavy brown hair fell down her back a great length, and she had a large brooch on her chest resembling Violet’s black sun disc symbols. She wore a lot of dark red makeup on her eyes, lips, cheeks, partially covering the signs of her aging and giving her an almost gothic appearance. Lieselotte van Westarp; the surviving founder of the Esoteric Order.

“Greetings, Violet. I am so pleased to see you. You truly are as beautiful as a doll.”

“I am flattered, madam van Westarp.” Violet said, setting aside the banality of those words.

As her name suggested, Lieselotte van Westarp was a demoted member of an influential aristocratic family, however, she was also the only influential Westarp left. Her family suffered many tragedies which ultimately left her in command of its fortune, which she used for the benefit of the Order. Whether she engineered these events herself, Violet suspected but would never be able to prove. Behind that sweet motherly charm was a schemer.

“I have been keeping abreast of developments in Eisental. The Esoteric Order counts many brave souls among its ranks, many warriors, many who have sacrificed for the development of the True Order, but none have fought so valiantly nor reached such great heights as you. During the Revolution of National Awakening, we were sidelined. Though we fell into line and recognized the Fuhrer for the greater good, I must admit, seeing the esoteric symbols flying in Kreuzung has lifted my spirits immeasurably. And for it to have been the secret daughter of the Fuhrer that secured this future– of course, it can only be the hand of Destiny at work here. Hearing your speeches in Kreuzung has given me chills.”

“Thank you. Your assistance was invaluable, madam van Westarp.” Violet said.

“Your intentions seemed so mundane at the time. But I never should have doubted you.”

For madam van Westarp to think that establishing a fascist Shimii militia was a ‘mundane’ intention within the Volkisch said something about the odd depths to which her thinking ran. The Esoteric Order was populist, collectivist, occult, millennerian; a pastiche of betrayed ideas that found succor in the form of an all-powerful nation to bring about quasi-religious transformation. These ideas failed to secure a place in the world after the election. Adam Lehner represented a pastiche of various groups but with very little of the Order.

Now Violet was the closest they had come to their great dream– the True Order that would unite all peoples under one state, one ideology, one identity and one community. A purifying transformation that would bring peace and prosperity between humanity, the natural world, and civilization, creating a New Fascist Man out of myriad individuals. An ubermensch not as one person but as a corporation of all humans under perfect guidance. A collective of one, a constellation of the singular, the many turned few, so much they could all share one name.

Gobbledegook, as far as Violet was concerned. But some of the rhetoric was useful.

At least it let her pursue a non-insane economic agenda and gather up untapped forces.

For now though she had to play at being something of a believer at least.

“Ma’am. I would like to discuss with you the deepening of that assistance.” Violet said.

Van Westarp smiled, as she had when Violet proposed forming the Zabaniyah years ago.

As then– they talked. About money, about people, about the future, about Destiny.


“Milord Gauleiter, I don’t know how you can tolerate the present state of the Gau office.”

“It confers a certain advantage– you’ll soon see Bernie. I am not unprepared.”

Despite Bernadette’s initial confusion, Rahima pressed on with confidence, assuring her that once they arrived at their destination she would understand what the new Gauleiter had in the cards for Aachen. Rahima hurried Bernadette through the central tier, down to the commercial area and below the atrium, through the outer rings– to Rahima’s own apartment, a lux double-wide that was quite tidy and looked moderately lived-in. She opened the door, and with a gentlemanly wave, ushered Bernadette through the door inside.

Bernadette stood at the door, looked at Rahima, and smirked, crossing her arms.

“Ahh. Well, well, Gauleiter, I do not object. Whether man or woman, power is attractive.”

Rahima laughed. “Let’s talk inside. I’m not completely against that but– it is not my aim.”

Back when she was part of the Rhinea Feminist Party, Rahima had saved up money for years to acquire a double-wide apartment about a twenty minute walk from the office. It was not only convenient, it was a symbol of her success. After Conny disbanded the party, Rahima soon became a Progressive Party councilwoman and was furnished with accommodations in the higher tiers, closer to the Aachen Legislative Council building. She retained her old double-wide however, since it was such a hassle to acquire any property in the core station. It came in handy to own a second home after her abortive bid for the governorship.

When she left the Progressive Party altogether, she wound up living down here again.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back. Trust me– you’ll know when you see it.”

True to its name, a double-wide apartment was essentially two ordinary one-room spaces connected into one, rather than separated and sold or rented individually. From the front door, the apartment had a small space with a pair of couches, a set of shelves, a tea table with adjustable legs, and a kitchenette in the back containing a combination oven and a refrigerator. Through the door, was Rahima’s bedroom and bathroom.

She bid Bernadette to wait on one of the living room couches.

Bernadette did not really make herself at home. She sat on the couch and waited.

Before long, Rahima came back out of the room carrying a thick green case by its handle.

She set it on the tea table in front of Bernadette, who was surprised to see it. Two latches kept it shut tight, and the design had thick corners and spaced pieces of rubber padding that could soften impacts. It was waterproof, EM-proof, dustproof, had an integrated agarthic battery– when Rahima opened it up, Bernadette seemed to realize immediately what it was. An isolated computer with a ruggedized design. Unlike a thin client, this system was its own full computer that was not managed by the station supercomputer.

It was a backup device designed for emergency use.

After a few strokes of the keys, Rahima booted into a green-text, basic filesystem view.

“Don’t be fooled, it just boots into this. You can bring up quite a few handy programs.”

“Milord, where did you get this?” Bernadette asked, excitedly taking the keys.

Navigating the system, Bernadette would quickly uncover all the data already loaded in.

“Official records from the Aachen Legislative Council?” She said, clearly bewildered.

Rahima grinned a bit smugly. She had been waiting to unveil this for a good while now.

“During my tenure as Councilwoman I co-sponsored a measure to harden the station in case of disaster, one part of which was purchasing a ruggedized, isolated backup mainframe. State of the art and custom-made by Rhineametalle. This isn’t a thin client– it’s the size of a suitcase because it has full, self-contained hardware. Weaker than a station supercomputer, obviously, but good enough to help get a supercomputer back online after an issue. When I was deposed as governor, initially I just snuck in and stole it as petty revenge. I saw a chance and took it, and nobody stopped me. Nobody has even noticed that it is gone, so far.”

Rahima sat next to Bernadette on the couch and took control of the device.

She demonstrated that her credentials when she was Councilwoman were still logged.

Having never been wiped, the device was fully accessible to Rahima.

And it contained a trove of information about the station.

“It was last updated a year ago, just before my governorship, but it’s good enough.”

Bernadette turned to Rahima with a suddenly admiring look.

For a brief moment her face looked flushed. She composed herself quite quickly.

“I must apologize, milord. I assessed your strengths quite short of their true mark.”

“That’s fine. I like being underestimated. People being wrong is an advantage I can use.”

Rahima turned to the computer. With a few keystrokes, appeared a schematic of the station.

On that kitchen table, in front of the soft couches, the instrument of Rahima’s vengeance.

“Obviously, we weren’t going to get anything important done in that undercooked Gau office. Not only are the people there inexperienced, as much heart as they have– but the more people that are introduced into a plot the more points of failure. No; only you and I are needed for this work.” She patted her hand on the computer and on Bernadette’s shoulder. “We have access to heaps of data right here, and any new intelligence will also go here, into this device, and it will not be put down anywhere else. Are we clear? Maps, orders, lists, everything, it only goes into here. We will punch in to work at the Gau office each day, and perhaps visit another location to keep up the appearance of work and play– then we will spend the rest of the day here. Because of my race and rhetoric and my political positions I have been something of a tabloid darling. There is gossip about my nymphomania, and I assume this will continue– so most people will make wrong assumptions about us.”

She smiled, as if a bit proud of that sordid reputation. Bernadette grinned back at her.

Her initial skepticism was completely erased. She looked quite eager and pleased.

“Milord, in this endeavor, consider me your instrument. I will follow.” Bernadette said.

“Splendid. Then, as you once said to me over audio call– let us get to work, mein dame.”

Her long knife was still concealed, but the hand upon its sheath was set into dire motion.


Previous ~ Next

The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.1]

After Descent, Year 958

Sitting with her back to a metal wall, legs hugged close, tail curled around her waist.

Silencing all of the cries of pain and hunger from every part of her body.

All her heavy eyes needed to focus on was forward. Forward to a new life.

It was dark, the only light provided by the intermittent strobing of sensor LEDs on a few instruments. She could see the impressions of crates, fastened by metal cables and plastic tarps. She shivered, rubbing her hands together. While she was in the cargo hold, she thought about what Aachen would be like. She had heard that Shimii were not hated there and even that Mahdist Shimii did not have to change their names. She expected that the Rashidun Shimii would still be tense, but maybe the Imbrians would be kind.

At least there would be stable work. That much had to be true.

She could endure any kind of abuse; if she could get a job, she could live.

When the cargo hauler got closer to Aachen’s Stockheim port, the bulkhead door separating the hold from the rest of the vessel opened, allowing a spear of light to cut the shadows on each side of the hold into two halves. Rahima remained in the shadow, huddled behind the line of crates. When she heard footsteps into the room, she stood up, dusting off her old ill fitted brown coat and her pants. She walked out from behind a crate and waved lethargically at a man in uniform. He smiled at her and produced something from a pack for her.

“There you are.” He said, “Thank you for your work. As promised,”

A few polymer banknotes to the tune of about a hundred Imperial mark.

And a piece of bread.

At least she would have something in her pocket to start her new life.

Other than her immigration papers.

“Listen, when you leave the ship, take the people conveyor into Stockheim and stop by the immigration office. I know it sounds scary, but you’re smart and you have your papers, you don’t have to worry. Just be polite and answer the questions honestly.” Said the sailor. “Get registered and ask them if there’s some place you can stay. It won’t be good, but you don’t want to be on the street. After that, it’s all up to your luck. There’s honest work out there. You’ve got two good arms and two good legs. Don’t do anything stupid or indecent okay? We don’t want to regret bringing you here.” He patted her shoulder with a smile.

Rahima smiled a little in response. She took a bite out of the bread.

It would have to be enough to get her legs through the day.

Finally, the hauler entered one of Stockheim’s cargo elevators.

Once the area was drained and properly pressurized, the ship laid down its ramp.

Rahima slipped out of the back.

She dropped down onto the metal floor, her thin shoes barely offering protection from the awful cold. She was in a dimly lit cargo processing station and elevator, the ship in the middle, and a variety of instruments to shuffle crates around hanging distantly in the dark. Before the station security figured anything out, she made for the automatic door leading into Stockheim. It opened for her, as it did for everyone– for a moment she had feared it would know she was an immigrant and refuse her. Inside, a people-mover belt sped her from the dim cargo elevator facilities to a brightly lit, extremely modern lobby, glass dividers funneling foot traffic several ways. It was here that Rahima first saw a crowd.

There were holidaymakers heading in, businesspeople heading out,

ten different paths she could take,

a crossroads of living,

She lifted her head and found the direction of the immigration office.

Her clothes were shabby, she had no luggage, and there was no hiding her ears and tail.

However, nobody gave her grief– everyone had some place that they were going to.

Following one nondescript hall after another, she finally found the open door into the immigration office on the side of one such hall. There was a small line of people, slowly moving from just outside the door and into the immigration office. Rahima stood and waited. She was through the threshold in about fifteen minutes and in about fifteen more she was sorted into one of three lanes of people waiting for immigration officers in glass booths to call them forward to talk and show their papers. Rahima was one of the few Shimii in the line. At first, this eased some of her nerves about the situation she was in.

Until, while she was waiting, a Shimii talking to an officer was taken away by guards.

Then her heart began to pound like it wanted to escape from her chest.

Imbrians, too, were subjected to the same treatment, for who knew what reasons.

Soon it felt as if, every other person in the line was made to disappear.

She inched forward, the sight of the faces of those taken away burned into her eyes.

Struggling and begging. Where would they be sent? What would happen to them?

Shaking, she almost missed being called forward to the glass-shielded booths.

Rahima was summoned by a middle-aged woman, blond-haired with a stately face.

Was it better to be processed by a woman? Would she be kinder, have more sympathy?

No– Rahima had seen women before who were as vicious and evil as any man.

“I’m opening a slot. Drop your papers in. Keep your hand away from it.”

In front of Rahima a little drawer popped open suddenly. She almost jumped with surprise.

From her coat, she withdrew and unfurled a few crumpled-up sheets.

Careful not to have her fingers near to it, she dropped the papers into the slot.

In a second it instantly slid closed. Behind the booth the woman withdrew the papers.

With a sour look on her face, she unfurled them, sighing and grumbling, patting them flat.

“I can read these. Sometimes they get too beat up to understand. Be careful next time.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Rahima Jašarević, correct?” She pronounced it flawlessly. Rahima was surprised.

“Y-Yes.”

“Brennic Shimii? Eighteen years old?”

Rahima nodded her head quietly, her chest trembling.

“Answer the questions verbally please.” Demanded the woman guard.

“Yes to both.” Rahima said, trying to gather her wits at the insistence of the guard.

Then the woman held up one of the papers.

She tapped a finger from behind the paper, over a section that had a seal. That seal had a moon with a green and red pattern indicating the religious category of the person immigrating. For Rahima she had no choice in the matter due to how she was processed for those papers. She could not have lied nor was she given a chance to change anything.

“Mahdist. Is this correct?”

“It is.” Rahima said. She then added, “Will that be a problem?”

Instantly she felt like a fool for asking such a question. Why say anything unnecessary?

“Not with me,” said the woman behind the glass, “might be a problem with your kind.”

Then the woman, still holding up the paper to the shield, tapped a different finger.

This time over an Imbrian-style name listed near Rahima’s own.

“Your sponsor is an Imperial Navy officer. We will contact him. Is this name correct?”

“Yes, it is correct.”

“Alright. You’ll hear from us if he’s never heard from you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

In that fashion they went over many rote aspects of Rahima’s identity documentation.

Each question felt like a nail being pounded into Rahima’s chest.

At the start of each line, a pound, unknown whether pain or respite would follow.

Then, at the end of each line, the nail was dug in and no longer hurt. So, then– next nail.

Whether she would bleed out and her heart would stop or whether she would be allowed to continue living, this was a question asked by each lifting of the hammer and each pounding of the nail. Tapping fingers, sharp clicking of the tongue, the slight plasticky sound of the shield being touched or the border guardswoman fiddling with something on her desk. Every time, Rahima asked herself, will this answer have me taken from here?

“Staying for short term or long-term residence?”

Rahima paused. Would it be better to say short term? Would she find it more palatable?

But– staying in Aachen for a short term was useless to her. Where would she go after?

“Long term.” Rahima said.

In that instant she practically saw the truncheon come flying out of the corner of her eye–

“Okay. You’re a solo traveler, do you have any living family? Husband? Kids?”

“No. No family, no spouse– I’m too young for children I think.”

“Alright. We just need to know in case you pass away. Any medical issues to disclose?”

“No. I am healthy.”

“Good for you. Any banking anywhere? Immigrants must get accounts here in Aachen.”

“No. I’ve never had a bank.”

Nothing happened. Just more questions. They were almost through with the papers.

After going through the last lines in the documents, the guardswoman gathered up the documents. She flattened them out one last time, placed each in a plastic sheet and placed each plastic sheet inside a folder, into which everything fit perfectly. She deposited the folder into the slot, which popped out on Rahima’s end.

She gestured for Rahima to pick them back up.

“Compliments of the immigration office. Treat those papers better, that’s your life.”

Rahima reached in, took the folder, and as soon as it was out of the slot, it snapped shut.

“Rahima Jašarević. Welcome to Aachen. You’ll get an entry pass on the way out.”

“I– everything is okay then?”

“Everything is okay.”

“T-Thank you.”

Rahima looked down at the folder in her hands. She could almost cry.

“I’ve got some advice for you, Rahima Jašarević.” Said the border guardswoman.

“Oh– that’s right– I wanted to ask about possible lodging.” Rahima said.

“I figured you would.” The woman said. “Listen– don’t go down to the Shimii block. It’s awful, they hate your kind. You’ll end up a thief or a whore with those lowlives. You can read and write, you’re polite, and you finished secondary school. You can get an Imbrian job. I know someone who can help. She’s part of the liberals here. She’ll get you a good job.”

Surreptitiously, the border guardswoman beckoned Rahima to come closer.

Rahima walked up as close to the shield as she could get.

On the woman’s desk, there was a card, with an address and a logo.

A figure with a dress, a woman, playing a flute. Rahima made out the address on the card and read a name: Concetta Lettiere. It was some kind of women’s organization– before Rahima could make out more of the text on the card, the guardswoman hid the card and gestured for her to move back again. Rahima repeated the address in her head.

“Did you get that? She can help you. Go there. Don’t go down to the Shimii.”

As much as Rahima felt that the border guardswoman was being horribly racist–

–the money and opportunities were all with the Imbrians anyway, not in a Shimii ghetto.

She might as well see what she could get out of this “Lettiere” woman.

Having processed Rahima, the border guardswoman opened a door between the booths.

Following this path, another woman handed Rahima a plastic pass card and led her out.

Past the immigration station, there was a long hallway that led to a different lobby.

In this one, there were signs pointing her to the path into the Aachen Core Station.

She was through– she was just another soul in the City of Currents.

There was so much that she had lost. But she still had her life.

And she might have lodging.

From Stockheim, Rahima took one of many small, frequently moving trams between the port structure and the core station. At no point did anyone ask for her card. She was still guarded, but gradually began to feel that there would not be anyone coming after her immigration status. Her clothes elicited some looks– everything was old and scuffed and ill fitting, with faded colors and fraying fabric. But she expected that. She could endure being stared at for being visibly poor. She sat in the tram, caught her breath, and she almost relaxed.

At the drop-off from the tram, Rahima found a tall panel with a three-dimensional map of the Aachen Core Station. The structure was cylindrical with both vertical tiers and concentric horizontal divisions. There was an outer ring structure connected by elevators that contained thousands of offices and apartments. The centermost ring had a novel layout, essentially a vertical mall wrapped around a central atrium spanning multiple floors, with the atrium space hosting floating trees, art installations, small parks and plazas, and other attractions depending on the floor, sometimes accessible, sometimes hovering out of reach.

Rahima followed a lit path from the trams. As she walked, the path expanded, until it fully opened into the landing at the base of the Core Station. Surrounded by people, Rahima raised her head to a ceiling higher than she had ever seen. A sweeping circular path connected platforms with restaurants and businesses encircling a glass shield containing the tall, brightly lit atrium. Suspended under the lights was a series of hanging ornaments in a variety of shapes, shimmering various colors and in turn coloring the landscape.

Rahima was stunned.

She had never seen anything so grandiose in her life.

A ceiling so high, and lights so bright.

Her destination would not take her further into those lights, however.

Judging by the map she had pulled up; she was headed for the outer ring.

Away from all the trendy shops and the colored lights and gold-rimmed glass.

But she lived here now, she had the card, she was a citizen. She would see it again.

From the base of the core station Rahima followed a hallway to the outer rings. This area was much the same as any other place she had lived in before. Grey and blue metal, white LEDs, no luster, just utilitarian pathways, boxy elevators, and doors separated from one another at consistent intervals, indicating each interior to be the same dimensions. She finally found the door she was looking for, distinguished from any other only by the number on its plaque.

She laid her hand on the panel under the plaque. Indicating she was waiting at the door.

Then the door slid open, and she heard a voice calling for her.

“Come in. No need to wait in the lobby, I don’t have anyone else today.”

A woman’s voice with the slightest hint of an accent Rahima could not place.

Rahima stepped through the door. There was a small lobby, just one long couch seat and a small screen playing upbeat jazzy tunes set to video of café ambiances. A second door had a plaque on it with the words ‘Feministiche Partei Rhinea’ and the logo of the woman with the flute, same as Rahima had seen on the business card. She did not know what to expect when she opened the door, and hesitated with her fingers drawing near the handle–

but the door opened, nonetheless.

Inside, there was a white room, with a table in the center, a digital whiteboard taking up much of the far wall, a few screens projecting from one of the near walls, and a small plastic desk. Sparsely decorated, meticulously tidy. There was a neat stack of cards on the desk much like the one Rahima saw at the immigration office, as well as a stack of synthetic shirts and banners. To Rahima, the goods looked like they had not moved for some time.

Behind the cheap, thin desk, there was a woman.

Working on something on a thin-panel monitor, using the surface of the desk as a touch keyboard and saving everything to a memory stick. She was shorter than Rahima, paler, with dazzling green eyes and a soft, almost girlish face. Her hair was white-blue, some collected into a ponytail, some framing her face. She was dressed professionally, grey-brown checkerboard vest, white button-down and tie, pencil skirt and heels.

And her sharp, long ears said even more than that: this woman was an elf, Rahima knew.

“Are you Concetta Lettiere?” Rahima asked.

For a moment the woman looked up from her desk and met Rahima’s eyes.

“It’s not pronounced like ‘conceited’ it’s pronounced like ‘conch’. But I would prefer you call me Conny. Everyone else does and it’s easier for anyone to say. Conny Lettiere.” She said.

“Sorry. Conny.” Rahima said. “I’m Rahima Jašarević. At immigration, a woman–”

Conny interrupted Rahima with the sound of her chair scraping across the floor.

She stood up from her desk and walked over to Rahima and stood near. Conny was almost a head shorter than Rahima, but her confidence movements gave her a strong presence.

“How long has it been since you ate?”

Rahima was too tired to demand she be allowed to speak without interruption.

“I had some bread this morning.” She said, without further elaboration.

“I’ll order us something and have it brought over. Do you have a place to stay?”

“No. I just arrived here today. Do you want to see my papers?”

“I don’t care about your papers, I’m not a cop. It’s fine. Right now, I’m more worried that you might drop at any moment. Are these your only clothes? Do you have any luggage?”

“Nothing but the clothes off my back. I’m really okay– I just need a place to stay.”

Rahima tried to say this, but as soon as she thought about it–

All her body ached. Mind turned to fog. She was hungry. Her mouth was parched.

Her lean, slightly lanky frame had gotten so much thinner since her journey began too.

Before she realized it, she was turning to skin and bones.

So focused on making it to Aachen she never cared in what condition she might arrive.

Conny urged her to sit down at one of the chairs near the table.

“You can stay here. I’ll pull out the futon from storage– I sleep in this office sometimes. Helps me brainstorm. You can stay until you can find your own place. Can you read and write? There are a few jobs you can do around here. I’ll pay you out of the party budget.”

Rahima was taken aback by Conny’s sudden energy. She was talking so fast.

Though she wanted to ask why Conny was so concerned, and why she was so kind–

What came out of her lips was, “what is ‘the party’?”

Conny wore a slightly proud smile as she responded. “The Rhinean Feminist Party. We advocate for the rights of women in Rhinea. We’re only local right now– a subsidiary of the Aachen Liberal Party. But I have huge ambitions! Right now, you’re a girl who needs help, so– some feminist I would be if I just threw you back out the door just like that.”

Despite Conny’s enthusiasm, Rahima understood very little of that through the fog.

It was as if the fear and tension built up over the weeks had been load-bearing for her body.

As soon as she sat, she felt like she would not be able to stand again as easily.

With a moment’s peace to think, the brutality of her struggle finally caught up to her.

“I’ll get you some food and a change of clothes. We’ll talk more when you’re cleaned up.”

Conny smiled, with a hand on Rahima’s shoulder. Rahima nodded weakly at her.

For whatever reason, for the first time in a long time–

Rahima felt like she might be safe.


After Descent, Year 979

“See? I had full confidence that you could walk out here on your own and easily.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s that easy, but I’m not tripping over.”

“You sound so down. Come on, it’s a new station. We’re on a mission! Out and about!”

You’re on a mission. I’m just coming along.”

“Not at all. I need you. They will relate better to you than to me.”

Homa felt so pathetic about it, but that ‘I need you’ reverberated in her mind for a while.

It was so exactly what she wanted to hear that it pissed her off.

“Whatever. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

Kalika smiled at her. Her makeup, the sleek contours of her face– she was so pretty.

It was impossible for Homa to meet her gaze too directly for too long.

So instead, she turned her eyes on Aachen, laid grandly before her outside the entry lobby.

Never in her life had Homa seen a station interior so broad and ostentatious. Even the mall in Kreuzung had a ceiling closer to the ground than Aachen’s central structure.

There was an atrium so high up it was impossible to see the ceiling, and spiraling around it was a sweeping blue path with frequent stops next to platforms holding what seemed like shops, cafes, offices, and venues of that sort. What stunned Homa the most was that the central atrium structure was sealed off with glass and filled with water, so that the art installations floating inside a cylinder filled with sea water and stirred by machines forming artificial currents. Like bells or chimes, stirred by the water rushing past them, spiraling to the top as the pathway did– but instead of sound, they made color.

And so, it seemed that in front of Homa’s eyes there was a vortex of glass, water, and gems.

That dwarfed any given person crowding the paths that surrounded it.

“They change this every so often.” Kalika said. “Last I was here; it wasn’t full of water.”

“To create the stream, and to pump in the water, I wonder if they connected this to the sea.”

Kalika glanced at Homa. “Good point. I’ll write that down for later investigation.”

Homa averted her gaze again. “I was just saying stuff without thinking.”

“No, it’s a good observation Homa.” Kalika said. “Even if it doesn’t help us right now, that doesn’t mean it won’t ever be useful. Reconnaissance is about gathering any information that might be important and letting HQ sort it out. Don’t be afraid to speak up.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Homa said. “But don’t regret it later if I start talking too much.”

After the Volksarmee arrived in Aachen on the Brigand, Rostock and John Brown, Kalika was given a mission to scout out the station for them. There would be other scouting parties going to different places where they might blend in better, and they would collate all their information through encrypted ZaChats each day. Kalika’s mission had a particular focus on the Shimii Wohnbezirk, a residential and business area that was largely if not exclusively populated by Shimii. Homa was given to understand that it was located beneath the core station cylinder and that while Aachen was not technically segregated, the Shimii Wohnbezirk was affordable to live in and had an established religious community so most Shimii chose to live down there. Kalika explained this during their last session of physical therapy– she would be going away for a while and find lodging in the Wohnbezirk.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye then?” Homa had asked.

Their last session was almost a formality. Homa proved she could walk without assistance.

She tried not to feel too downcast– after all, it was inevitable Kalika would–

“Not yet. I am taking you with me. I want you to pretend you’re looking for your family.”

“Huh?!”

Kalika smiled so sweetly and innocently as if she was not dragging Homa along by the arm.

Though Homa wanted to be dragged along she still acted as if she was complaining.

In her heart there was a mix of trepidation and excitement.

Excitement, because she was going on a trip into a station with Kalika, who was so cool, beautiful, classy and collected– she seemed like an inhabitant of an entirely different world that Homa should have never been able to access. The trepidation, while partly related to Kalika, was more related to their mission. Homa had never felt at home within Shimii communities, and it was a bit farcical to pretend that having her along would make the Shimii Wohnbezirk more accessible. Homa lived as a Shimii but hardly knew the culture.

If anything, she was worried she might screw everything up for Kalika by being there.

Homa had found that Shimii had extreme double standards. Their own people they would judge extremely harshly in all facets, but Imbrians were like an alien race that could go about their business with their only excuse being, “well, that’s how Imbrians are.” Homa never understood that mentality, and the expectations behind it were one of the few ways she felt like a Shimii despite being mixed race. She knew she was a Shimii because of the judgmental eyes on her when she walked by the masjid without attending, when the public prayer bells rang and she kept walking, when she showed up to shops with her Kreuzung passes, when she dressed up in Imbrian clothes. They treated her like they would a Shimii.

She had never been to Aachen but assumed Shimii were just as judgmental everywhere.

Nevertheless, she could not deny Kalika when she was ‘needed’. Homa followed along.

Dressed up in a simple brown coat provided by Kalika, and tough blue worker’s pants from the Brigand’s sailors, over the typical sleeveless button-downs the communists all had on. She finally got her work boots back and tied her dark hair up into a ponytail using the teal necktie instead of wearing it right. Her ears were groomed, her tiny tail fluffed up.

Like Kalika, she wore gloves now to hide her prosthetic.

Around her neck, she wore her good luck charm, the necklace with the piece of silica inside.

Every so often she continued her habit of grasping it gently.

But the beings inside it– the trees?– had not spoken to her again in some time.

“My, who is this handsome stranger? I feel so safe with her around.” Kalika teased.

“Shut up.” Homa said, but her heart soaked in the praise like a sponge filling with water.

Kalika was dressed in her usual attire, with her sword hidden in her bag as always.

Fancy jacket, silver, with see-through sleeves, classier than punk but edgier than formal; synthetic silk shirt, pencil skirt and black tights on her long legs; purple hair pulled up into ponytail framed by her rectangular horns, with tidy bangs covering her forehead; stark pink skin, wine-colored makeup. Shimii had a prevailing idea of Katarrans as being unrefined and monstrous, mostly the same as Imbrians thought of them– but to Homa, Kalika belonged on the cover of a magazine. The contours of her face were so sleek yet so soft-looking.

She was drop dead gorgeous.

“Are you thinking the same about me then, stranger?” Kalika said, winking.

“I wouldn’t call you handsome, I think.” Homa said, folding her ears.

She was, though– she was everything admiring that Homa could say.

Kalika was mystery and beauty and danger and sensuality, on a dazzling pair of legs.

And so, with Homa guarding her heart carefully and Kalika whistling casually, the two of them crossed from the Stockheim tram, into that stunning Aachen lobby, and finally into an elevator bank from which they were headed straight down through the crust of northern Eisental. While the central cylindrical block of Aachen was incredibly beautiful and colorful, this treatment did not extend to the utilitarian sidepaths and the elevators.

Everything outside that atrium and the surrounding mall was what Homa was already used to– cold metal lit by white and yellow LEDs. Like the rest of the world.

“It looks like Aachen has an offset reactor.” Kalika said, while the elevator descended. She laid a finger on a visual representation of the station and their elevator, which was descending into a wireframe box. “The Shimii Wohnbezirk is this box on the map, so the reactor must be this one just off to the side of it. Interesting. I wonder if the Shimii work in the reactor? It would be convenient, but Imbrians aren’t usually so trusting– not that it’s particularly kind of them to let Shimii breathe the salt and get pseudoburns.”

“Well, Shimii can get work in the Kreuzung reactor, if they have a pass and get lucky.”

“Lucky, huh? Well, if that hellhole Kreuzung allows it, Aachen might just allow it too.”

Homa meant ‘get lucky’ in a socioeconomic sense– reactor work paid very handsomely.

Reactor workers could more than make up in cash and benefits the years of life they lost.

Homa had never been brave enough to apply for a job like that, however.

Even at her most desperate, she did not want to trade an untimely demise for money.

When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Homa stepped out into the light of bright white LED clusters hanging high on street-light poles. There was no illusion of a sky. Towering rock walls and a rough, cavernous ceiling surrounded and loomed over a main street with discrete plastic buildings on both sides. Homa got the impression of long alleyways and winding paths just from looking between some of the buildings. She saw an electronics shop peddling the type of portable Homa had once been given by a certain unsavory woman; restaurants and cafes; a Volwitz Foods affiliated grocer and a high-end sneaker shop side by side. As far as she could see, there was activity.

Homa was reminded of Tower Seven immediately.

A parallel world that Shimii did not need to leave with everything in it except whatever rights the Imbrians must have stripped away. In terms of the architecture the buildings were shaped for functionality, none exceeded two stories. Many did not even have a coat of paint and were weathered beige or an off-white, while others were painted in simple greens, yellows and browns. Homa felt more at home once she took a look at all the signage. There were no logos or promotional artwork that had human figures on them. Shimii religious beliefs frowned upon depicting people– so the logos predominantly boasted elaborate Fusha calligraphy and geometric patterns. For the Fusha signs, Homa could barely read many of the characters, but thankfully most had Low Imbrian signage with a translation too.

On the main street, it was all chain stores and affiliates of Imbrian megacorporations, but Homa could still pick out familiar scenes happening all around the LED-lit plastic. A caucus of aunties visiting a stylist; young men haggling with a pawn shop owner; older men with overgrown tail fur sipping tea at the café; kids running ahead of their mothers.

She was surprised to see a lot of flowing hair and ears up in the air, however. True, not all women, especially young women, heeded the scripture when it came to donning a hijab, but Homa had not seen a single traditional hijab anywhere, which she did find odd. Not even the aunties were wearing the traditional headgear. She did see some women with trendy-looking see-through veils attached to caps with pretty patterns on them– a not-uncommon way of modernizing the garb, but not an exclusive one. She wondered whether Aachen’s Shimii were more liberal than normal or whether there was something else. Even in Kreuzung she was used to seeing as many women wearing some kind of headgear than not.

“What do you think, Homa?” Kalika asked, smiling gently at the sights around her.

“I feel so weird being here.” Homa said. “It’s not that much different from Kreuzung.”

“You’re right– whether technical or not, this feels like segregation to me.” Kalika said.

“Well, I don’t know if you asked some of these folks, if they’d want to live with Imbrians.”

That did not make it right– but it was always the most complicated thing about Kreuzung.

Probably also at work here as much as Homa hated to have to think about it.

She was not the one equipped to solve this problem, only the one haunted by it.

“How about we take a look around? I’m not in any hurry.” Kalika asked.

“Lead the way, I’m just following you.”

“Alright. If you want any treats, we can stop somewhere. Don’t be shy.”

“Fine. I’ll let you know.” Homa sighed.

Kalika stepped ahead and Homa followed closely, but still allowing her to lead.

Following the main street, past the throngs of people and the rows of stores, they eventually came up a town square with a small park with a few olive trees growing with a minimal support system. Nothing but lights and irrigation. There was a three-story building with a waving flag that Homa had seen before, and which caused her heart to jump– a Volkisch black sun. Imani Hadzic had an armband with that same symbol. Kalika had noticed it too– she turned Homa around and led her down a side-street deeper into the alleys.

“Let’s go somewhere more– local.” She said.

Homa did not struggle– she did not care where they went.

So into the depths of the Wohnbezirk, the two went.

Kalika made idle chatter as they walked through the winding, intermittently lit paths.

“Homa, I’ve always had a certain curiosity.”

Homa frowned slightly. “A curiosity about–?”

“What does ‘Shimii’ mean?”

“Uh. I think it’s an ancient word for cat?”

Homa pulled gently on the upright, cat-like ears atop her head, by way of illustration.

“I see.” Kalika said. She looked like she was containing some amusement.

Homa let go of her ears, giving them a ponderous rub before doing so.

“I mean, I don’t know how all this happened, obviously. But cats are very admirable.”

Kalika nodded her head thoughtfully.

Rather than list the admirable qualities of cats, Homa delved thoughtlessly into conjecture.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if like– ancient ummah admired cats enough to become cat-like.”

“That is a very cute origin story.”

“Yeah, but– I’m just joking– obviously nobody believes something that silly.”

While the main street had been populated by chain stores, the parallel roads had a few locally owned businesses and a few small religious schools and some homes. The deeper they went through the side paths the less people they saw. But there was still local traffic everywhere they went even if it was only a few people or a small group. They saw a small theater playing new Imbrian movies; a butcher shop that had Homa staring for a few moments at the beef hanging on the window; and a pharmacy selling both Imbrian-affiliated medications and local naturopathic concoctions; among a variety of places with darkened windows and shut doors, where they had no idea whether anything was inside.

There were less streetlamps, so the side paths were gloomier than the main street.

None of the people walking past seemed to mind the span between lamps, however.

After some walking through nondescript blocks, they reached one of the girder-reinforced rock walls and found a map of the Wohnbezirk on an interactive panel. Kalika stopped and began poking on it. Judging by the map, there was not just one street or three– the layout was an entire town under Aachen with a few kilometers of space and several districts hewn into the rock. There was an entire residential district they had not even gone near.

And a small village off on a corner away from everything else.

“So many people, and I haven’t seen any Uhlankorp. I guess that’s convenient for us.”

“But is it convenient for the people here?” Homa said.

“I think so– do you think the Uhlans would administer fair justice here?”

“I guess not.” Homa sighed.

She had never lived anywhere that had ‘friendly’ police. She had grown up being taught to be respectful but to keep away and keep quiet; the implicit understanding that police wielded justice for Imbrians and not her– hell, maybe not even for Imbrians. Maybe only for themselves. Could not one single thing in the world be fair to everyone?

“We’ll do what we can to help Homa. Maybe not short term– but be patient with us.”

Kalika offered her a small smile while looking up directions in the map.

“Homa, I want to see some local color. Where would you go in this situation?”

She gazed back at Homa. Homa averted her eyes and shrank a little bit.

“It’s not like I have any experience with this. I guess I would want to go to people I know– if I just ended up here by myself I might go to a grocer or a barber or something. Places where you find young guys or aunties– those are the types that are always chatty. I wouldn’t bother with the chain stores in the main street or trying to go to the masjid for small talk.”

“Why don’t you pick a place and lead the way? We can start running our little scam.”

“Don’t call it that– someone might hear.”

Kalika’s ‘little scam’ was for Homa to ask about ‘her family’ like a pathetic lost child.

It was a valid idea for learning more about the town, but Homa did not like it.

She approached the map and saw there was a greengrocer a few blocks away.

Without saying anything she put her hands in her pockets and nodded for Kalika to follow.

Homa turned her eyes on the ground as if she did not want anyone to see them.

Walking casually on her prosthetic leg should have felt like a triumph.

But replicating the miserable, lonely walking she did in Kreuzung, trying to seem small and to draw no attention–

It was depressing. Even with Kalika alongside her it all felt so depressingly circular.

Every Shimii habitat in the Imbrium– was it all the same? Homa wandered in thought.

No sooner had they turned the corner, however, that Homa walked into someone.

She felt a shock the instant of the impact. How foolish could she be?

Especially for Kalika to have seen her–!

“Watch where you’re fucking going– oh, oh hey, who the fuck are you? Katarran?”

Homa’s heart sank as soon as she recovered and caught sight of who she had run into.

In front of them on the street was a group of four young men, all of them skinny-looking, maybe even younger than Homa by a year or three. The one Homa had walked into had a fiery look in his eyes, gesturing with his hands as if demanding an explanation (or compensation) be laid on his palms. The whole group was dressed in Imbrian fashions, with zip-up hooded jackets with see-through vynil sleeves and big black pants and colorful sneakers. Their tails were straight, and their ears were folded, and their body language was tense, coiled-up, ready to release. It was supposed to be forbidden for a good Shimii to imitate Imbrians too much, but to Homa, these boys were archetypical Imbrian hooligans. All they were missing was jewelry and a football game in which to hurl verbal abuse.

“What’s a Katarran doing down here? You gawking? Here to fuck with us?”

Homa glanced briefly at Kalika and saw her staring down the lead hooligan.

She was not saying anything in response to the provocation.

Did she want Homa to be the one to talk?

“Not gonna talk? Did you bring her here, you little punk? I don’t recognize you.”

With Kalika, the obvious discrepancy, keeping mum, the hooligan turned to Homa again.

“I’m not from around here! I’m just visiting! She’s– she escorted me here!” Homa said.

Kalika sighed openly.

“You’re here visiting? Here?” The hooligan looked at his friends who all had a laugh with him. “And you bought a Katarran?” He turned sharply back to Homa, reached out a hand and shoved her. “You ought to make a donation, then, you rich bitch– you ran right into me and scuffed my favorite jacket. Do you know how much I had to hustle for it? I can’t afford to travel all over like you. So, you should make a contribution to the less fortunate.”

“We’re not looking for trouble here. But if you touch her again, you’ll regret it.”

Kalika stepped forward.

Homa thought that would have been enough to get them to back off–

“Want some? Katarran bitch! Go back to the fucking vat you got shat out from!”

But a sense of invulnerability was a universal folly of young men, inculcated by a system designed to insulate them from any consequences. So even these boys, who had no concept of what they were messing with and nothing but the chip on their shoulder to strike with, still formed up in front of Kalika as if Katarrans were everyday targets of their fists. It was enough to unnerve Homa, but Kalika was unmoved in their presence.

Homa saw her fingers sliding over her bag.

None of the boys knew what was in there– but Homa feared what might come to pass.

So, she stepped forward even closer than Kalika, directly in front of the hooligans.

Not knowing what she could possibly say to sound intimidating–

She lost her opportunity and received an even more forceful shove than before.

Thrown back to be caught by Kalika.

Homa could practically feel the burgeoning anger in Kalika’s grip.

It punctuated her own helpless foolishness. She was shaking with frustration at herself–

Suddenly a new voice sounded across the street.

“Hey! Knock it off! Stooping to street harassment now, you lowlives?”

Hurried steps sounded behind them; then a dark-skinned girl appeared in front of them.

Homa saw long black hair, the glint of golden eyes, a brief glance of a fierce expression.

She interposed herself between Kalika, Homa and the boys, standing firm.

With one hand in her pocket of a brown jacket made of a thick fabric.

Despite the difference in numbers the boys seemed more hesitant to approach her.

They still had to posture like they could fight, but they were slowly beginning to back off.

“Where the hell did you come from? You need to get your ass back to the Quarter, bitch!”

“Fuck off! I’m not afraid of you! Why don’t you step up to me like you did to them?”

Not even the taunt could get any of the boys to reach out for a shove or throw a punch.

Surreptitiously they drew back even as they continued to shout.

“Mahdist bitches! We’ll kill you if we see any of you again!”

There was a note of desperation in that voice.

“Get out of here already!” The young woman shouted at them.

Hurling slurs and abuse, the boys ran from the scene, dispersed with surprising urgency.

Kalika lifted her hand from her bag. And the young woman took her hand out of her jacket.

While Homa composed herself, her chest fluttering with shame.

“Calling me a Mahdist like it’s a slur, the nerve of them.” The girl said, grunting.

She was someone who had to be around Homa’s age, not a child by any means and yet not experienced in the fullness of her adulthood. Her face and body Homa thought resembled her own, like someone who was young and unmarred by the world, but frequently worked with her hands. She had a stronger back and shoulders than Homa did, however. She looked visibly poor– Her jacket was well worn, with scuff marks and frayed edges and missing buttons, but very sturdy, worn over a blue blouse. She wore black pants that were ripped in places and thick boots. Her ears had messy fur and her tail had a few scars on it.

“Are you okay? They didn’t rob you or anything, did they?” She asked.

Homa was surprised at how dark her skin was, almost as dark as her long, sleek and shiny hair, flat down her back but grown unruly in the sides and front with a lot of bangs and stray wavy locks. Her eyes contrasted the flesh around them to an intense degree. She had a mix of familiar and interesting facial features; she had an oval face with thin lips, her eyes had a slight narrowness to them, her nose was very straight, her eyebrows were a bit thick.

The contemptuous expression that the handsome young lady had directed at the hooligans melted into a much gentler look of concern for Kalika and Homa.

“Thanks to your intercession, it did not get that far.” Kalika said.

“Yes. Thank you.” Homa said, still feeling like too much of an idiot to say much more.

The girl put her hand on her own chest as a gesture of greeting.

“I’m Sareh. I hope those guys won’t leave you with a bad impression of us.”

“Not at all.” Kalika said, smiling. “I’m Kalika, this is Homa. Trust me, we’ve seen worse.”

Homa waved half-heartedly, still keeping mum.

“I appreciate you not putting them in the dirt. They’re just a bunch of morons.” Sareh said.

Homa thought Sareh must have known a thing or two about Katarrans to have judged that.

If she was hiding a gun in her jacket, then she wasn’t oblivious to this sort of scenario.

She might have interceded on behalf of those boys as much as she did to stop them.

“Usually when Shimii immigrate here, there will be an introduction by their family at the Rashidun masjid on the other side of town– or they get sent straight to the Mahdist quarter.” Sareh said, directed primarily at Homa. “It is odd for Shimii to just visit; especially with a Katarran. Tourists stick to the main street to buy trendy stuff. Back here, it’s all locals. So that’s why it looks kind of weird for you two to be wandering around these streets.”

“I’m–” Homa felt ashamed lying to Sareh, who seemed genuinely friendly to outsiders like them. But it was necessary. “I’m not immigrating. I’m looking for my family– when I was a kid I was sent to Kreuzung by myself. My surname is– Messhud. Homa Messhud.”

She picked surname that read as Mahdist since Sareh had been called a Mahdist. But she also picked an uncommon one and pronounced it quite strangely, in the hopes no locals had it.

“Huh. Well, I don’t know everyone here, but I know someone who might be able to help.”

Sareh pointed in a direction where the rock ceiling lowered, and the walls narrowed.

“Over that way is the Mahdist quarter. I can take you to my part– my friend, there.”

Kalika seemed to pick up on her correcting herself. Mild amusement crept into her smile.

Homa looked back to Kalika as if for permission. Kalika nodded her head.

And thus, fortune led them ever deeper into the Wohnbezirk– to a Mahdist ghetto.


After Descent, Year 961

Guten morgen, my name is Rahima, and I am calling on behalf of the Rhinean Feminist Party. Do you need assistance registering to vote or accessing your local polling office to exercise your right to vote? We would be happy to assist you, free of charge.”

Another call sent to voice-email. Rahima tapped on her keyboard to end the call.

She had a headset to make calls to people’s rooms notifiying them of upcoming elections.

Hands on the keyboard, headset always ready, a list of room addresses to call up.

She could go through a dozen rooms quickly– if nobody picked up.

When someone picked up, Rahima felt much more nervous than leaving voicemails.

Guten morgen, my name is Rahima,”

Since she had immigrated a few years ago, Rahima had been doing much better for herself.

Her hair had grown out, richly brown, and her cheeks had filled again. Her arms and legs were no longer so skinny and her back had broadened a bit. She had new clothes, Imbrian business attire; a vest, shirt, a blazer and pants. Her skin, which had been turning pale and yellowing with neglect and sickness, had returned to its light brown richness. All of this thanks to her new income. She was the workhorse of the Rhinean Feminist Party, carrying boxes of logo-branded goods to and fro, fixing things around the office that Conny did not want to bend down or climb up a ladder for, picking up lunch, and now, making calls.

Guten morgen,”

At first there was not much to do around the office but menial manual labor.

Even so, Conny hardly wanted to do it, and so happily paid for it to be done.

Now, however, there was a buzz of excitement.

Emperor Konstantin von Fueller had made a historic decree. The Imperial monarchy and its offices would no longer contradict local decision-making in the duchies provided it was done through legally approved means. This was being referred to as ‘the Emperor’s retreat from politics.’ Law enforcement between the territories would continue to be carried out by the Inquisition, Patrol and Imperial Navy, but each Duchy could control its economy and social policies without intervention. For territories like Veka with an authoritative duchal family, little would change. For Rhinea, however, this was a moment of great opportunity.

Rhinea’s duchy had long since relinquished decisionmaking power to generations of the noveau rich who had then formalized that power in the Rhinean Reichstag.

Now the Reichstag would have more weight than ever as Rhinea’s policy-making body. Established parties like the Liberals and Conservatives attracted real corporate investment, as it became clear they could be a nexus for further reform of the economy to suit some interest or another; and even niche parties like the Rhinean Feminist Party now had opportunities to grow. The All-Rhinea stage was still barred from them, but if they could make a strong showing in Aachen’s local politics, they might turn their fortunes.

Right now, they were under the Rhinean Liberals, but they could grow, attract members.

With greater membership, they could run on their own ticket for council and executive.

And with any amount of victories in a real ticket, they might then attract real investment.

Therefore, Conny had Rahima making phone calls down the entire room registry.

Rahima kept making calls, running through the script, trying her best when picked up.

Until she felt a gentle squeezing from a pair of hands on her shoulders.

“You’re working hard. Want to get lunch together?” Conny Lettiere said.

“I’ll never say no to lunch. Your treat?” Rahima said.

“My treat.” Conny said. Rahima could feel her smile even without looking at her.

When she turned around to look at her, she immediately thought–

Conny looked gorgeous.

Wearing a cardigan that had a pattern of thicker and sheerer material across its surface and bits that hung from the hem and the end of the sleeves, over a plastic tanktop with a deep cleavage plunge that cut off mid-belly, both quite provocative. Bell-bottomed pants and open-toed shoes gave her such a bohemian look, and her hair being collected into twintails added to the almost girlish style. Colorful, full of youthful vibrancy.

Rahima could have never dressed like that.

Conny had the energy to be more frivolous because she had Rahima to be serious for her.

“Is it the outfit, or is it me?” Conny said, grinning at Rahima.

“It’s both.” Rahima said, smiling as she stood up.

If only she had Conny’s courage– but that was something she could work on.

They relocated from the office to the central ring of the Aachen Core Station, following the spiraling walkway around the central atrium and its bright decorations. They stopped off at a platform three stories high and sat in a corner table of a small restaurant that served homestyle Imbrian fare. It was a small, homey venue, little more than a serving desk, an unseen kitchen, and six tables with four chairs. Very few people took up the very few seats in the establishment. Most of the people on the lunch rush picked up their meal from the counter and walked back out, headed back to their offices or workplaces.

Conny ordered cheese-stuffed dumplings served in a meat and tomato sauce.

“You know, this is based on the Elven dish ‘Ravioli.’ It’s an Imbrian take on it.”

“You don’t say?”

Rahima, meanwhile, ordered a pickled cucumber soup with a simple dinner roll. The soup had a base of chicken broth full of earthy vegetables, flavored with pickle brine, and topped with a dollop of cream and a big mound of grated pickled cucumbers and peppers. Rahima mixed everything together, broke off pieces of bread and dipped it into the unctuous soup. It was rich and tangy; it warmed her heart; it was just what she needed to soothe her throat after hours of talking. Even something this simple felt luxurious– especially with Conny.

“Rahima, do you go down to the Wohnbezirk often?” Conny asked.

She meant the Shimii town in the rock under the Aachen core baseplate.

“I’ve been visiting more often since I got the apartment. Easier to do now that I don’t have to worry about someone seeing me going back and forth from the office.” Rahima replied.

“Do you go to the religious festivals? I don’t see you praying often.”

Conny took a bite of her dumpling, and Rahima could have sworn her sharp ears wiggled.

“It’s a bit tough for me Conny.” Rahima said. “I’m a Mahdist so if I want to go celebrate I have to go into the Mahdist ghetto– and then the Rashidun in the town will know about it.”

“Will that put you in danger?”

“I don’t know. It’s just another thing that could be a problem. Common prejudices.”

“I see. That’s so unfair. But I don’t want you to be overly concerned with appearances.”

“No, it’s better this way. We need to be careful about things like that, Conny.”

“Rahima, I might not know the cultural nuances that resulted in the Shimii’s troubles. But what we have going for us at the Rhinean Feminist Party is that we stand for radical politics! I want this to be a place where you can dream of a better world! You should never have to hide what you are or believe in here. I want women to be equal to men in the Imbrium, to end forced marriages, to get equal wages, to make workplaces safer; so, what are your dreams, Rahima? What can we do for the Shimii, and especially for Shimii women?”

After a long contemplation over the pickles in her soup, Rahima finally answered.

“I want to end the hijab ban; and to decouple Shimii suffrage from residency.” She said.

Her voice was a bit meek, as if there was a secret sin to saying such things.

Conny smiled brightly. “That’s what you’ll stand for then! We’ll fight for it together!”

She reached across the table and laid her hand over Rahima’s own, firm and supportive.

Rahima had never thought it about so closely before– it almost made no sense to her that she might be on the ticket for the Rhinea Feminist Party. They had few members, so if they wanted to run someone other than Conny, she had to be on the ticket. But she had an unexamined idea that only Imbrians got to be in the government, and a Shimii like her, a Mahdist even, could not have possibly been put on the ticket. Perhaps even the first time she saw her, Conny’s unspoken radicalism had already imagined Rahima on that ticket.

“I’m kind of nervous about this, Conny, if I’m being honest.” Rahima said.

“Don’t be. I’ll coach you. You’ve already got an advantage– you dress more formally!”

Conny reached out and rubbed her fingers over a bit of Rahima’s blazer, laughing.

Rahima laughed with her. Her heart was racing, but she felt strangely positive.

It would be nice to give the Imbrians a black eye in their own game.


After Descent, Year 979

“Kalika, I have a curiosity.” Homa said.

As she spoke she mimed Kalika’s earlier tone a bit, with a hint of mockery.

“Ask away, dear.” Kalika said, clearly ignoring Homa’s taunting.

Homa’s eyes narrowed a bit when Kalika did not take the bait.

“What does ‘Katarran’ mean?” She said.

“It means ‘the damned’ or ‘the ones born cursed’.” Kalika said casually.

Homa quieted down for the rest of the walk. She had not expected something so dark.

“Almost there,” Sareh said, looking back at them as she led the way, “can you tell?”

On the northern end of the Shimii Wohnbezirk the cavernous ceiling descended closer and there was an area where the walls tightened. For a stretch, there were more exposures of the rock wall, less buildings and other structures to cover it up. There were more boarded-up, old and empty buildings too. Some had signs indicating they were for sale or rent but many, many more were just shuttered as if permanently abandoned. The road under their feet roughened slightly, it was less paved down, and even the air felt a bit thinner.

Eventually Homa could see the square entryway to another area up ahead.

“Shit.” Sareh said. “Our oxygen generator must be going again. Ugh, this sucks!”

“That’s not good.” Kalika said. “But hey, maybe we can help each other out.”

“Do you really mean that? I am not sure what you could do.” Sareh said.

“We’ll talk when we meet your friend, but try to trust me and keep an open mind.”

“Well, alright. We’re basically there. Our own dusty little corner.” Sareh said.

Homa could see it too. As soon as she caught her first glimpses of the village–

Her fist closed and shook with an impotent rage.

They crossed under an archway with an open gate that had a few bars broken on its doors. Here the ceiling was close enough to form something of a short tunnel, but then it opened back up into a little village. It was much more haphazardly planned than the main street of the Wohnbezirk. There were less streetlights, and only one short street that seemed to terminate on a double-wide building being used as a masjid. However, behind the masjid, and behind each house on the one street, there were more buildings set up, like a haphazard little village arrayed from the masjid as one of its central features.

There were a few dozen people hanging out in this little main street. They were like Shimii were everywhere– they dressed as nicely as they could, they had lively conversation, their ears were standing, their tails swaying. Homa noticed a few more frayed and discolored items of clothing here and there. There was also nowhere for them to go. This village was much smaller than the rest of the Wohnbezirk but there were a lot of people in it.

All of the buildings were plastic, but shabbier ones, less maintained. Rather than paint, many of them had pieces of patterned fabric for decorations. Just like the rest of the Wohnbezirk, there were shops here, but very few. There were no restaurants either. Homa saw a cobbler, a stylist, and a clothing atelier. All had very lively crowds like they were bright little local hangouts. There might have been more. But the streets looked mostly residential.

Other than the masjid, what drew Homa’s attention the most was a small clearing to the right a few dozen meters from the entrance gate. On this clearing, a plastic stage was in the final stages of assembly, with chairs around it, and a curtain that could open and close around it with poles and pulleys and carbon cable. It was sturdy and relatively new, the color of the plastic looking much fresher than that of the plastic in the surrounding houses.

In the back of the stage there was a square structure erected which resembled a small building facade, the size of an adult human being, with numerous arched entryways and a sweeping upper rim. Colored gold and red with blue patterning, its the spires dome-like and green, it was perhaps the most inventive little thing in the whole Wohnbezirk, nicer looking than any of the real houses. Homa wondered what monument it was supposed to be a replica of, since Shimii never built structures like this nowadays. Perhaps it was supposed to be a palace, maybe of one of the ancient kings, or maybe it related to the Mahdi.

“It’s a Tazia.” Sareh explained. She must have caught Homa staring at it. “We’re preparing for the Tishtar festival– it’s a yearly celebration we have around here. On Tishtar we recall the heroism of Ali Ibn al-Wahran, blessed be he, who opened the ocean for the Shimii. We build a replica of the mausoleum that his companions built. It’s not actually anyone’s grave though– the great hero al-Wahran is not really dead. Tradition stuff, you know? It’s kind of a hero festival, kind of a water festival, kind of a folk– well if you join us, you’ll see what I mean.” Her tone grew a bit awkward as if she either did not know how to explain it well.

Homa suddenly froze up upon hearing the name of the blessed old Hero, however.

She recalled a dream in which a red-headed demon of a woman spoke that name to her.

“I recognize your kind. You are of his flesh. What was his name? Hmm. Oh yes.”

Ali Ibn al-Wahran.

What had she meant– when she said Homa was– of his flesh–?

Was it just because she was a Shimii–? Or was she– a Mahdist–?

“I’ve– I’ve never heard of him I think. I’m sorry.” Homa said, suddenly nervous.

“Huh? Really?” Sareh said, staring at Homa with curious surprise. “You don’t know? He’s like, the most important of the ancient kings. For Mahdists, we are also taught he is the Mahdi, a great hero who will return to us. I guess you must not be a mahdist– but I mean that’s okay! We don’t judge anyone here as long as they don’t judge us. So don’t stress out over it.”

Sareh continued to act a bit awkward around the subject of her religion and its rites.

Kalika continued to smile neutrally, her expression collected as Homa and Sareh spoke.

“Ah, thanks. It’s okay. I’m– I’m non-denominational–” Homa stammered as awkwardly.

It was just a stupid dream– she shouldn’t take it so seriously–

But–

didn’t the trees sing to her,

and the red-haired woman awaken the colors–?

wait, what colors?

“I’d love to stick around for the festival. Wouldn’t you Homa?” Kalika said suddenly.

Homa jerked her head to look at Kalika, eyes drawn open. “Uh. I mean. Sure! I’ll stay.”

Kalika must have had some plan to make use of the Mahdists here to her advantage.

Or– maybe she just wanted to help them.

She and the Volksarmee were a bunch of communist weirdos after all.

Homa did not know if she considered herself one, but she was still just following Kalika.

So she had little choice but to do as the communists did.

And also–

When she looked around this tucked-away piece of the Shimii world, cast into obscurity–

She felt angry. And there was no good outlet for that anger.

So perhaps she should help. It could be educational as well.

Without a family, Homa had never been afforded much of her religion.

Leija certainly never cared to teach her anything, except vague prejudices against Mahdists.

For all she knew she really could have been a Mahdist just like them.

“Alright! The more the merrier!” Sareh smiled at them. “Then let me introduce you to the lady organizing things. She happens to be the friend of mine I told you about. We can talk with her about getting you two into the festivities– and maybe other business.”

Kalika nodded, smiled, and followed behind Sareh.

She glanced at Homa and winked at her.

Homa blinked, confused, but followed along. Kalika was definitely plotting something.

Hopefully something good and kind– and not too troublesome.

Sareh led them to the masjid, and then around an exterior walkway. Behind the masjid there was a solitary old olive tree, living with an oxygen controller grafted onto its trunk, and a path of flattened out rock that led to a small plastic house next to one of the few light poles that were installed in the village. There was enough empty space between this house and the rest of the village that it felt more a part of the masjid than part of the residences.

Sareh pointed it out as their destination.

“Baran! Are you home? I’m back from town! I’ve brought some visitors too!” Sareh called.

“Welcome back! Yes, you can come in! I’ll be happy to welcome them.”

Homa had not known what to expect, but the voice greeting them sounded pretty young.

Sareh waved her hand toward herself, inviting the guests in.

Rather than a door, the house had a curtain over its entry similar to ones on its windows.

Sareh pushed away the blue and green curtain. Beyond the entry, there was one room that contained almost all the acoutrements of living. There were a few plastic chairs around a little table, in one corner. On one wall, there was a screen with a cable snaking out of one of the windows. Plastic buildings did not have built-in computers and projection monitors, like the metal rooms in the station. Another corner was taken up by an electric pot and kettle stood up on a small refrigerator, their cords snaking into the wall.

Finally, there was a set of plastic shelves that held cutlery, bowls, cups, and a variety of little knick-knacks. There were dolls of Shimii girls, with colorful dresses, and a little resin horse, and a cup and ball game– kid’s toys and handicrafts. While the horse was stitcher-machined, the rest looked a bit rougher and might have been hand-made, Homa thought.

At the end of the room there was another curtain. Out from it stepped their host.

Her bedroom must have been behind there. Homa did not see a bed anywhere else.

“It’s so nice to have visitors! Not many people come by here. Introduce me, Sareh!”

“This is my– friend, Baran Al-Masshad.” Sareh said.

She looked to have been reaching for words for a second.

Baran giggled and put her hand to her chest by way of greeting.

“As-Salamu Alaykum.”

Her voice was quite lovely– Sareh seemed momentarily stricken by it and averted her eyes.

In general, Baran might have been the prettiest girl Homa had seen in a very long time.

She looked about Sareh’s age and therefore, Homa’s age. Unlike Sareh, who dressed in utilitarian Imbrian clothing usually typified as boyish, Baran wore a long blouse and skirt. Her eyes were deeply green and her skin a light honey-brown, with bigger eyes and slightly softer cheeks than Sareh. Her hair was worn long, and it had a very light reddish-brown tone. Like the other religious women Homa had seen in Aachen she did not wear a hijab but instead wore a see-through veil with a small cap. Hers was blue with little moon patterns on it, through which tall, fluffy ears poked. Her tail was a bit skinny, but as far as her figure, she had more than Sareh or Homa. She thankfully looked like she got to eat regularly.

After seeing the state of the buildings, Homa had been worried there might be starvation.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Al-Masshad.” Kalika said. “I’m Kalika Loukia.”

She put a hand to her chest as she had seen Sareh and Baran do.

“Um. Salam. I’m Homa– Messhud. Homa Messhud. It’s– it’s nice to meet you two.”

Homa also put her hand to her chest. She was feeling rather awkward with her cover story.

“Oh, my whole name is Sareh Al-Farisi.” Sareh said, after receiving a little look from Baran.

“It is a pleasure to meet all of you.” Baran said. “Please just call me Baran.”

“I hope our unannounced appearance won’t trouble you, Baran.” Kalika said.

“Not at all. I was just resting. It might be my imagination, but the air is feeling thinner.”

“It is thinner. I think the air generator must be busted again.” Sareh said, sighing.

“I truly hope not– nevertheless, we can check on it after we have treated our guests.”

Baran gestured for Kalika and Homa to sit and then approached the electric pot.

Cracking the lid open, steam rising up, filling the room with a savory aroma; Baran scooped up steaming pulao rice into two bowls and passed them to Sareh, who in turn passed them to Homa and Kalika. From the kettle, she poured two cups of lukewarm tea. Homa looked down at the bowl of rice, eager to spot some chicken or beef within– instead finding only raisins and onions. While the aroma was incredible she could not help but feel disappointed.

Kalika looked down at the contents of her bowl, mixing things up further with a fork.

“We should accept it.” Homa whispered. “Turning down food from a Shimii is very rude.”

“I figured.” Kalika whispered back. “I was getting a bit peckish anyway.”

Baran handed Sareh her own bowl and cup and served herself as well.

Together, they all sat down on Baran’s table, with Kalika setting down her bag beside her.

“I’m afraid I am out of yogurt and sabzi, or I would offer you some.” Baran said.

“This is fantastic on its own. We can’t thank you enough for your hospitality.” Kalika said.

Homa nodded her head, trying to hide her wan expression at her continuing lack of meat.

“Baran, if you’re out of something, you should have told me!” Sareh said.

Baran shook her head. “I’m being thrifty now so we can spend more on the feast.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that.” Sareh grumbled but seemed to give up the argument then.

Homa looked at Kalika. While she ate, she was clearly observing Baran and Sareh.

She hoped dearly Kalika was not going to cause them any trouble.

All the communists she had met had been nice to her– but Kalika was “on a mission,” now.

Would she behave any differently? Would she try to take advantage of these people?

Helpless to do anything about it, Homa took her first spoonful of pulao into her mouth.

Her ears stood on end as the smooth, deeply savory flavor coated her mouth. Pops of tart sweetness from the raisins, and the crunchy red onions, lended the dish some complexity. The rice itself had a bit of cumin and Shimii pepper, maybe– but the real mystery was the deeply savory, velvety mouthfeel that came with each spoonful of rice, and the meaty flavor that it carried. Her mouth was slick with thekind of flavor she had been craving.

Baran saw the expression on Homa’s face and smiled proudly. Sareh stared at her in turn.

“Want to know the secret, Homa? Rendered down chicken trimmings and bones!” Baran smiled like she had been clever. Sareh looked at her as if with mild embarassment. Heedless of this, Baran continued. “It’s the cheapest stuff from the butchers out in the town. I can make my own chicken oil and stock with it, and have my meat that way!”

A proud, smug little smile remained fixed on Baran’s face while her guests ate.

Homa savored the rice like it was the last time she might ever taste any meat.

“And before someone comments on the state of my pantry again, I am saving up so there will be meat on Tishtar. You are welcome to partake if you’d like to attend.” Baran said.

She looked at Sareh with a self-satisfied little face. Sareh looked back, exasperated.

Homa felt rather ashamed of how much this made the festival more attractive to her.

But not enough to reject the idea of showing up for the feast outright.

“As you can see, this is the sort of character our village chief is.” Sareh replied, grinning.

“Now, what is that supposed to mean? Good with budgeting? A genius chef?” Baran said.

Sareh shrugged and did not pick any of the available options.

“Oh interesting, she’s the chief? I thought she was just putting on the festival.” Kalika said.

“I don’t consider myself important.” Baran said. “The Imbrians are the ones who have true power over the Wohnbezirk. But my father and his family were very respected within this community. When my father passed away, the villagers wanted me to take up his hereditary titles. I just help around town and I consider the title purely ceremonial.”

“Is it because of the Imbrians that this place is so run-down?” Homa asked.

Kalika shot her a glance as if surprised. Homa realized she was being too blunt.

Sareh shot her a look too– but Baran was not offended. She began to explain.

“They are not solely responsible. However, they could fix things if they wanted to, and they do not. So that is a form of responsibility they must be criticized for.” Baran said. She put down her cup of tea and put her hands on her lap. “I’m sure you know, Homa, that there is a lot of bad blood between Mahdist Shimii and Rashidun Shimii. I don’t know the entire history of the Wohnbezirk, but it’s been segregated for as long as I have lived here. There are harsh rules imposed on us. For example, we are not allowed to grow food, we can only buy it in town. We also need to get any materials we use from the Shimii economy. Rashidun Shimii won’t offer us any charity, nor prefer us for anything. Sometimes, people will be upset if we try to buy too much or buy things that are scarce. Sometimes the Imbrians help us, but we are in essence responsible for everything here by ourselves. But despite that we–”

Here, Sareh suddenly interrupted. “Don’t mince words. Look, the problem is, this is a town of mostly women, children and old people. We risk being harassed every time we try to leave so only some of us go out infrequently. Very few people here earn outside incomes and we have limited imports; some families get remittances from kids who got work in the Core Station, and we have some aunties here who do clothes and shoes, but they are basically all trading the same reichmarks around. These conditions are supposed to put pressure on us– they want us to renounce our culture and become Rashidun and move into town to kill the village. All of the shiftless piece of shit men here left because of that–”

“Sareh, please, that’s enough.” Baran interrupted. Homa picked up a note of desperation.

Sareh stood up from her chair and left the table suddenly. Baran sighed as she watched her.

Homa raised her hands as if she wanted to stop her or apologize but could not speak out.

She sat back down on her chair feeling defeated. Kalika remained silent and calm.

After a minute’s silence Baran turned to their guests and tried to smile again.

“I’m sorry about that.” She said. “Politics and religion should not be off the table; we just need to be able to speak about them politely. That’s what my father always taught me. So please do not feel responsible for what just happened. Sareh is extremely dear to me; and I know I am dear to her. She just needs to cool off and we will rejoin her then.”

“Um. Right. Thank you.” Homa said, nervously.

“I’m glad Sareh is that tough– she seems like she needs to be that way around here.” Kalika said. She had finished her bowl and tea. “I feel like I’ve seen enough so I will be forward. Baran, Homa and I can help you. We want to stay for the festival. Homa has some money– she’s looking for her family here. Right Homa? And I’m a Katarran mercenary.”

Kalika looked over to Homa with a casual and untroubled smile.

Homa straightened up in her chair and put her hands on the table, stiffly.

“Yes. That– That’s all completely true.” She said.

“Then– you will help us with the festival, so Homa can search for her family here?”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Kalika said.

“I would be happy to help– but there’s a lot to do for the festival. It’s an unequal trade.”

“Homa’s family means a lot to her.” Kalika said, glancing at Homa again.

Homa stiffed up more. “Uh. Yeah. I’m– I’m a real family cat.” She wiggled her ears a bit.

“You said your surname is Messhud?” Baran asked. “I was thinking– it could be a weird way of saying my surname, Al-Masshad– or maybe I just don’t know everyone around here. Surely some of the aunties would know more. I can ask them. Would that be okay, Homa?”

For a moment Homa felt extremely stupid about how close her hastily chosen fake surname came to being Baran’s actual surname. Had she tacked on an ‘al’ prefix there she would have been cooked. Somehow, the close call felt more embarassing than being completely caught in an outright lie, and Homa was growing to hate the entire situation.

She began evaluating everything she wanted to say to the very simple question of whether she was okay, running it by an intense committee in her own brain. The result of this was that for close to thirty seconds she was saying absolutely nothing to Baran.

“She’s shy– hasn’t gotten around much.” Kalika kept smiling. “Please do ask around.”

Baran looked at Homa for a moment and then smiled more warmly at her.

“No need to be shy– it means so much to me that you want to help us.” Baran said.

“I am actually a communist. If I ignored all this, I’d bring shame on myself.” Kalika said.

THIS WOMAN–!?

Homa’s ears and tail both shot up as straight as they could go.

She shot Kalika a glance from the edge of her eyesockets, without moving her head.

Trying with all of her body to say WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

Without in fact saying a single word or even making so much as a noise.

“That’s so interesting. You might like to talk to the NGO people then.” Baran said happily.

Homa shot a glance at Baran. She felt like she was in an alternate universe suddenly.

Wasn’t she going to inform on them to the Volkisch? She just heard the c-word out loud!

Kalika continued to look and act as if nothing odd or auspicious was happening.

Did she just tell everyone she met she was a communist?! Did she want to die?

“Maybe I will. Homa and I have no prejudice towards anyone anyone except evildoers.”

“Right.” Homa finally said. “We– we hate those. Because of– communism?”

“Yep. Honest truth to Allah, Subhanahu wa-Ta’ala.” Kalika said in suddenly perfect fusha.

Homa felt more ridiculous than she had since the last time she felt utterly ridiculous.

Such moments seemed to transpire with increasing frequency.

Mashallah! It is the first time I’ve ever set a table for communists, and also communists who know of our religion too. I’ll always remember this day.” Baran said excitedly.

Perhaps Baran was just more innocent than Homa would let herself believe.

Or maybe she did not really know what a communist was.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to take a look at the oxygen generator.” Kalika said.

“Oh, yes! Follow me. I am hoping it’s not actually broken.” Baran said.

“I’m handy with things like that.”

“Sareh is too. She’s quite reliable. Maybe she already scouted it out?”

With their course decided, the trio stepped outside of Baran’s house.

They immediately found Sareh with her back to one of Baran’s walls, waiting for them.

Her arms crossed, her head down, and a wan expression on her face.

“Feeling better?” Baran asked gently, stepping in front of Sareh and beaming.

Sareh averted her gaze. “I’m sorry for yelling. You don’t deserve that.”

“Maybe not– but I earned it, and I accept responsibility. I’ll always forgive you, Sareh.”

They briefly held hands, perhaps cognizant of their guests reading too much into it.

Homa had pretty much already deduced those two were something or other together.

Perhaps they might have only seemed like friends to someone with less life experience.

If the concept of homosexuality had already burrowed into one’s brain, it was easy to see.

Homa herself was a complicated girl with complicated feelings so she understood.

And it would have been quite a sight for Kalika of all people to be homophobic.

Not that anyone here knew that– of course they would not trust them on appearances alone.

Together, Sareh and Baran led Homa and Kalika from the house behind the masjid, off the paths wound around houses, and closer to the undeveloped, rocky surroundings of the village. They followed a series of exposed ventilation tubes that ran into the village. Near to the rock wall, they found a metal plate with a machine in a square housing that served as the epicenter of all the tubes they had been following. There were several bolted plates that could be removed and reaffixed and a few gauges that seemed to be stuck.

“This generator doesn’t actually generate oxygen, but it pumps it from an oxygen plant in the Wohnbezirk and out to the rest of the village.” Sareh said. “We just call it the oyxgen generator because its easier to say. We used to have some CO2 converters in the village but most of them broke, so this thing has been working harder than ever as our main source of oxygen. Then it breaks down every once in a while and gives us all a headache.”

“We’ve tried to have someone fix everything in the village, but there’s always a problem.” Baran said. “When we ask for major repairs from the Wohnbezirk, they say they have to special order parts because of our outdated systems, so little fixes are all they can do. In the past I sent mail to Councilwoman Rahima, who is a very kind Shimii politician in the core station, and she helped speed things up; but I don’t want to bother her too much.”

“If it’s just a pump, I don’t see how their complaints could hold water.” Kalika said.

“You have a good point there.” Sareh said. “Sometimes I just kick it and it works again.”

“Sareh, please stop kicking things. They need to be fixed properly.” Baran said.

“Hey! I do that too sometimes. I just barely ever have parts or tools.” Sareh complained.

Kalika kneeled down near the machine. She put her ear to it. Her brows furrowed.

“I don’t even hear it doing anything.” She said. She opened an accessible panel on one side that had a handle– it was the door to the circuit box, Homa thought.

Homa walked around with Kalika and peeked at several different parts of the machine. She did not know a lot about electrical circuits, but she agreed with Kalika that a machine that pumps oxygen should not be too hard too fix. Even the circuits or the sensors that determined the oxygen level should not have needed special order parts.

“None of the junction box LEDs are on. This doesn’t look too good.” Kalika said.

Baran sighed and raised one hand to her forehead, and Sareh closed her fists, agitated.

“It’s fine. I’ve got some Katarran friends who are handy with this kind of thing.”

Kalika stood back up, wiping dust and rock fragments from her knees and coat.

“You would really do that for us?” Sareh said. She looked at Kalika with narrowed eyes.

“Yes. It would in fact cost me almost nothing.” Kalika said. “I’ll get a friend down here to run a diagnostic, and then I’ll get a friend to find the right part, and then I’ll find a friend to go get the part I’ve got a lot of friends, and it pays to have them.” She winked at them.

Homa thought she knew who some of those friends might be.

She had heard Kalika mention that Olga, the bodyguard of Erika Kairos, could locate any object if she saw it once. There was also the chirpy and energetic Khloe Kuri, another of the Rostock’s special agents, who was allegedly good at sneaking around and stealing things. And as far as fixing things, the Brigand had no shortage of engineers and mechanics around– so in terms of friends they were well positioned to solve this particular problem.

“It’s not your responsibility, Ms. Loukia.” Baran said, shaking her head.

“Just call me Kalika. And like I said, I am not able to ignore something like this.”

“Because of your beliefs?” Baran said.

“Because it’s the decent thing to do. Because I refuse to ignore your pain. Is that enough?”

“Forgive my skepticism. It feels too good to be true.” Sareh had a conflicted expression.

Baran seemed to appraise Kalika and after looking her over finally accepted her assistance.

“It’s alright, Sareh. Kalika is a communist. I think she’s sincere.” She said.

“Huh? Oh– you mean like the NGO people. I guess that makes sense then.”

Homa stared, incredulous. What kind of NGOs did they have around here?

Sareh still seemed to be having trouble believing Kalika, but her body language relaxed.

Kalika patted her hand on the chassis of the oxygen generator with a big grin.

“Just let big sis Kalika take care of it. In return, let Homa eat a lot of meat at the festival.”

Homa’s tiny tail suddenly started to flutter, and she struggled to quickly make it stop.

“Um. Err. Yeah. We’ll– we’ll definitely repay your hospitality.” Homa said.

“Whether or not you assist us, we would still love to see you on Tishtar.” Baran said.

“Kalika, let me help with the repair job too. I can’t just accept charity.” Sareh said.

“A familiar form of stubborness. Fine– there will be something for you to do.” Kalika said.

Homa glanced sidelong at Kalika and Sareh but resolved to say nothing about that.

She was turning over imaginary kababs and kuftas in her mind, juicy and slick with fat.


After Descent, Year 967

Whispered sweet words and low, heavy groans of desire from an empty office.

Two shadows in a corner, a different corner every time, practiced, well-rehearsed.

They would not be found, not today. Today was an especially easy tryst.

Having come off a major victory in the council, everyone left early after the celebrations.

Leaving behind only the two party bosses, with what work was left, and what play was left.

“Rahima–”

Before Conny could say whatever was on her mind Rahima quieted her with a deep kiss.

Pushing her against the wall, her fingers slipping into Conny’s bell-bottomed pants.

Savoring the taste of booze, smoke and lipstick– things her religion denied her–

Things that she could nonetheless claim from her partner-in-crime.

Rahima almost lifted Conny against the corner, pushing herself as close as she could.

Looming over the shorter elf, having to bend to take her due to the difference in size.

Conny raised her hands to Rahima’s chest and gently pushed her back.

Until her tongue parted from Conny’s lips, a slick string tying them together still.

“Mm. Relax. Nobody is here.” Rahima said.

There was a grin on her face, hungry and confident, savoring what she had claimed.

Rahima had grown in the intervening years. Ambitious, self-assured, and powerful.

At least, compared to what she once was– it was quite a leap.

“It’s not that. Ugh. Everything– everything is all wrong now.”

Conny had a demure expression. Her hands remained on Rahima, creating a bit of space.

When Rahima tried to get close those hands would not push but would keep her separated.

“Conny, after all we’ve fooled around, you can’t be having regrets now.”

“It’s not that, Rahima. I wish it was only that. I wish this was just about the Council.”

Rahima’s eyes opened wide. “Conny, what happened? Tell me.”

She laid her hands on Conny’s shoulders. Conny could not meet her eyes.

Their heartbeats both accelerated, and the heat of their passions became a heat of anxiety.

Rahima wracked her brain. Everything was supposed to have gone perfectly.

They had finally achieved a long-term goal– extending suffrage to the Shimii Wohnbezirk.

With this and Rahima’s support from the Shimii, they would be an undeniable force in the politics of Aachen, practically impossible to dislodge in the local elections. As long as Rahima postured as a liberal and non-demoninational Shimii and treaded the lines between radical and moderate as she treaded between Rashidun and Mahdist, she could look forward to a practically secured seat in the Council. It would enable the Rhinea Feminist Party to throw their weight around and push more of their agenda on the Liberals.

And of course, Conny, her mentor, her lover, the one who pulled her up from darkness–

Of course, she would be with her every step of the way. Of course. She had to be there.

“Rahima, I’ve been served a motion of Censure from the Reichstag. My career is over.”

Hearing those words, Rahima’s heart sank.

It was like someone had twisted a vise inside her chest and cleaved her guts in half.

Shaking fingers clutched Conny’s narrow shoulders. Both of them wept.

“How? For what purpose? That can’t be possible. We’re local politicians!” Rahima said.

“I went too far with the anti-slavery stuff. They’re calling me a communist.” Conny said.

“But you’re not a communist! That doesn’t matter! You can resist this, Conny!”

Conny finally met Rahima’s eyes. Rahima felt her heart jump again from the contact.

That fondness– a love within that gaze that Rahima hardly even knew had existed.

There was such admiration and gentle support from that simple meeting of the eyes.

“The more I fight it, the more it will drag your good name down too Rahima. They will bring up my sister, and the Union, call me a spy, run inquiries crawling into every part of my life. They will find out about us. They will ruin you too. I don’t need to resign but I will– because you’re more important than me, Rahima. More important than us. You represent a possibility I can’t achieve here. Your people need you. I resign, all of it stops, and you keep rising.”

“No.” Rahima said. “I can’t accept this. I can’t accept this, Conny. We are in it together.”

Conny averted her eyes again and seemed to speak past Rahima.

“Herta Kleyn of the Progressive Party has agreed for you to caucus with them.”

“What? You’re dissolving the party?” Rahima said. It was one blow after another.

Conny continued to speak without looking at her and Rahima continued to spiral.

“You’ll be a mainstream Liberal now. Your Council seat will remain secure. Even with me gone the Liberals will retain a majority. Don’t involve yourself in the special election. Let it go.”

“Conny don’t do this to me!” Rahima shouted. “Don’t do this to me! How can I–?”

“Rahima. I love you. Thank you for all these years. Don’t ever let them stop you, okay?”

Conny reached up to touch Rahima’s cheek, moving her hair from over the side of her face.

Rahima’s own hand reached up, and grabbed Conny’s and pressed it tight against herself.

Feeling as if she might never feel a hand that soft and that close ever again.

Like Conny would dissolve into a mound of ash right in front of her.

What had she done wrong? Was this God’s punishment for her indiscretions?

Had she not been modest enough? Had she not been sincere? Why was this happening?

“There’s nothing more to say Rahima. This was never going to be able to last forever– but I will keep rooting for you. You’re extremely strong. You’re stronger than me. I just had the money to rent an office and print things. You came up from nothing. You did all this work– and look where you are. You are proof there is something worth fighting for here. Someday all Shimii will believe in that. Don’t throw that way for me, Rahima. For anyone.”

Weeping, Rahima pressed the hand tighter against her face. She did not want to let go.

“I don’t want to lose you. I wouldn’t have known what to do without you.”

Conny seemed like she truly did not know what to say.

For minutes, she seemed partway between leaving and staying.

Watching Rahima cry in front of her face; crying herself, wiping the tears, crying again.

“Rahima–”

She hesitated. Then she kissed Rahima back. Quicker than she had been kissed.

But this time without hesitation or distance.

“Rahima. Then– get so strong nobody can deny your claim on me, despite everything.”

A kiss as fleeting as a passing breeze–

with incredible alacrity, Conny slipped out from under Rahima’s arms and ran away.

There one second and gone the next as if she had never met that dazzling, vibrant elf.

Leaving Rahima with the suddeness of that departure, holding and staring at an empty wall.

Shaking, weeping, with the cruel sweetness of that final kiss on her lips.

Her legs buckled. Rahima fell to the floor. Screaming into the ground.

For all of the night she remained huddled in that corner, in pain like she had been set alight.

Sometime in the twilight, between colors of dusk and dawn and every possible emotion–

Rahima stood back up. She fixed her shirt and blazer, washed her face, and left the office.

Head and heart empty save for the purpose that remained to animate her.

Even if Conny did not need her anymore– the Shimii needed her.

Her work was not complete; without Conny that was all she had left.


After Descent, Year 979

“This house used to belong a small family. They had teen boys. But they renounced Mahdism and left the village so they could live in the bigger part of the town. Since then, I’ve kept this place as a little guest house. We have a TV, the lights work, there’s a mattress there with blankets. Behind the curtain, the little door that looks like a closet is actually the bathroom. Oh! And I always try to keep some long-lasting snacks and water in the fridge too.”

Baran bent down to her knees to open the small fridge to show them the goods.

A small jug of water and some assorted nuts and candied dates.

“Anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask. You’re my honored guests.” Baran said.

“I am quite grateful. Hopefully I will have good news for you tomorrow.” Kalika said.

Baran put her hand to her chest again and bid farewell, leaving Kalika and Homa alone.

Homa wandered over to the television, flicked it on and sat down on the old mattress.

At first with a neutral expression, tired from the day, depressed by her surroundings–

Then immediately, absolutely furious at the image of the blond woman on the screen–

“Nasser!” She shouted, despite herself, it had to come out, she was surprised and livid.

Vesna Nasser– that fiend who had robbed her of everything.

Homa had never seen this woman in the flesh, but she knew, she knew that was her.

Standing in uniform, swaying her tail and smiling like nothing had happened.

Her cold, dead heart untouched with an ounce of guilt for what she had done.

While Homa scurried in holes, Nasser was in that high tower, on regional television!

Unspeaking, but firm, confident, even smug. Homa practically gritted her teeth in anger.

Beside Nasser was the actual speaker for the program, amid a speech on a podium.

Dressed in that foul black uniform with the most medals and armbands of anyone Homa had ever seen. Ridiculous pink and blue hair, her speech eloquent and intensely confident for what she was saying, with inflections of passion and grandiosity punctuating certain words–

“…it has been only mere months since Rhinea embarked on the Revolution of National Awakening. Already, the Party-State is being dilligently constructed. All national socialists are joining as a single force under the Party-State. Together we deliver swift punishment to the liberals and reactionaries who opposed the Nation’s Destiny and tried to drag the national proletariat to the shadow of their former ignorance. Even now, the cultists of those dead ideas plot in the corners, trying to rewind our chosen future. They will find their reckoning soon. National Socialism is an idea that cannot be contained any longer! National Socialism is modernity! Our Volk has had enough of Liberal divisions and Reactionary elitism! We will bow neither to the man on the ballot nor to the man with the crown and scepter! The Party-State will unite the people, protect them, and enrich the Nation! Through blood and labor, the Volksgemeinschaft will be nurtured, and the national peoples unleashed! These are no longer things which can be resisted! The many will become one under the nation! One people, one nation, one party-state! With our blood and labor! This is Destiny–!”

Homa sat fuming as the speech progressed further, until Kalika finally swiped her finger across Violet Lehner’s face. She disappeared and a Shimii clerical channel took her place.

“Kalika, what is everyone else on the ships doing while we’re out here?” Homa asked.

Kalika sighed. She must have been able to tell how frustrated Homa was.

But Homa was not in a mood to care about her tone or appearances anymore.

“A lot of things, Homa– it’s a bit difficult to summarize. Right now, the crew is preparing for the United Front negotations.” Kalika said. “It might not seem that way, but we are helping.”

“Are we any closer to getting revenge on those Volkisch bastards?” Homa shouted.

“Quiet! Look, you’ll need to defer your revenge. We don’t expect things to be so simple as shaking hands and agreeing to fight the Volkisch– every group has an agenda, and they will push their own way of doing things.” Kalika sat down on the mattress beside Homa and patted her back. Homa did not feel appreciative of the support in her current state– but she also did not want Kalika to stop touching her. That warmth on her back kept her from crying.

“Why wouldn’t it be as simple as shaking hands, and agreeing to fight the Volkisch?”

Homa felt such a boiling-over frustration with everything around her.

Looking back at everything that happened, the Volkisch Movement was clearly the enemy.

So why could they not set aside everything and fight them, and discuss the rest later?

“Homa, people need concrete structure and leadership. They can’t just go out and fight unprepared.” Kalika said. “Three huge organizations coming together will have to work out priorities, supplies, targets, and delegate intelligence and action work. Furthermore, these are three political organizations, who will need to sway Eisental’s people to their side as collaborators, allies and recruits– so they need to decide on a message, too.”

Homa grunted. She turned a disgruntled look at the clerics on the screen instead of Kalika.

“Homa, our job is to support the Volksarmee’s effort by carrying out our mission. And our mission is to be down here.” Kalika said. Her patting on Homa’s back grew a bit more vigorous. “It might not seem like we are doing anything, but getting support from the Shimii here is something no one else is doing. The social democrats and the anarchists are not making efforts to touch base with disenfranchised peoples. We have eyes, your eyes, my eyes, where they don’t. That does matter; please just work with me here, ok?”

“Fine. It’s not like I can do anything else. I am just your helpless little orbiter.”

She laid down on her side, putting her back to Kalika with a disgruntled noise.

“Homa, it’s not like– ugh.” She could feel Kalika moving behind her. To lie down too.

For a moment, Kalika did not finish her sentence. She sounded a bit exasperated.

Homa felt both nervous that she had angered her, but also had a disgusting satisfaction too.

Had she finally needled this woman enough, who had no reason to care for her–?

A sigh. “Homa. We’ll have some big days ahead. Get some rest. You’ll feel better.”

Her voice was surprisingly gentle– none of the expected fury, no lashing out.

For a moment, Homa felt so ashamed of herself that she might have burst out crying.

She hated herself and her thoughts and her ugly, stupid little soul so much. So intensely.

If she was not so tired, and did not drift off to sleep, she would have beaten her own head.

But she did drift off to a dreamless sleep. A sleep like a comfortable shadow engulfing her.

Until that shadow and its attendant silence were suddenly parted by a scream.

In the near-total darkness of the room Homa shot upright from where she had lain.

Her head turned immediately to face the doorway and the swaying curtain to the outside.

When she tried to stand she felt a hand move to stop her.

“Homa, stay here!”

From her side, Kalika darted to her feet and ran out of the house.

Parting the curtain, a glint in the steel of her sword as it sprang from the handle.

Heedless of the warning, Homa scrambled to her feet and ran right after.

When she got outside, the shouting was far clearer–

“No! Stop it! Why are you doing this?”

Baran, pleading–

“Shut up bitch!”

There was a man’s voice– familiar–

Baran crying out–

in pain

Homa’s running steps practically thundered on the rough floor.

She crossed the side of the masjid and caught sight of several figures on the Tishtar stage partially illuminated by burning flares thrown onto the middle of the street.

Baran on the edge of the stage, weeping, three people with face coverings and long clubs or truncheons in their hands. Beating at the beautiful Tazia that had been erected on the stage with a hellish glee. Between Baran’s shouting and sobs there was their laughter and jeering as they destroyed the villager’s art. They taunted Baran as they struck the object.

“We won’t let you Mahdists hold your evil rituals!”

“Stop it! That’s enough, aren’t you satisfied?”

“I said shut up!”

One of the boys swung at Baran, striking her leg and knocking her off the stage–

Into Kalika’s arms, catching her and setting her down roughly.

Jumping up onto the stage.

Homa was not far behind, she saw Baran fall and dropped quickly near her, to support her.

Up on the stage the assailants realized instantly what they were dealing with.

They ceased beating the Tazia to pieces and laughing at the act. They stopped to stare.

In the silence they left–

Kalika’s vibroblade buzzed and whirred audible with killing power.

She said nothing as she approached, her wildly furious eyes glowing in the flare-light–

“I– I told you I’d fucking kill you–!”

One of the men threw himself forward, screaming, and he swung,

Kalika caught the blow with her bare forearm, battering his arm aside,

blade splitting air with a low whistle as it flew–

“Please don’t kill them!”

Baran cried out, tears in her eyes, caught in Homa’s bewildered grasp.

Kalika held her blow.

She sliced across the chest of her attacker, blood running slick on the edge of her sword.

Leaving a shallow cut across the man’s chest where his guts might have otherwise flowed.

He stumbled back onto the stage, dropped his club, screaming, begging,

From behind Homa a gunshot rang out.

There was a brief spark as it struck one of the assailants on his club.

Sending a finger flying into the air and the weapon rolling down the stage.

Sareh ran to Homa’s side with a pistol in her hand, preparing to shoot again–

And stopped as Baran’s hands reached up to her, pleading silently.

Lika Kalika, Sareh stopped her retaliation and watched as the assailants fled.

Bloodied, crying, but still throwing curses borne out of their hatred.

“If you cross that gate again you’ll leave in a bag!”

Kalika shouted after them, at the top of her lungs, an anger in her voice that was chilling.

Holding the stricken Baran in her arms, with Sareh standing dumbstruck beside them.

Homa felt completely detached from reality. Her skin was clammy. Every muscle shaking.

“Stupid, worthless bastards.” Kalika said to no one. Her sword hand was shaking.

Sareh finally put down her arms, with which she had been aiming her pistol the whole time.

She put the weapon into her coat and kneeled down and took Baran from Homa.

Into her arms, holding her tightly. Baran was crying. Sareh was mumbling, weeping too.

“I’m so stupid. Why did I go to sleep? I should’ve known they would do something!”

Baran reached up to Sareh’s face, gesturing for her to come close.

They put their foreheads to each other and touched noses, crying together.

Behind all of them, a few villagers began to emerge from the back streets.

Homa’s eyes were fixed on Kalika, glowing red on the stage amid the sparks of a flare.

Her hand remaining on her sword, her eyes on the gates, gritting her teeth.

Clutching the handle.

Not knowing what to do, Homa climbed up on the stage.

Standing side by side with Kalika amid the light of the still-burning flares,

and the pieces of the ruined Tazia behind them.

“Kalika. I’m sorry. I couldn’t do anything–”

Suddenly, Kalika turned to Homa. She flicked her wrist, snapping her blade folded again.

She reached out and took Homa’s clenched fist, opening her fingers.

Then on that cold, shaking, helpless hand, Kalika laid–

“Don’t make me regret this, Homa.”

–a firearm.

A light, synthestitched pistol, materially light but heavy with deadly potential.

She had entrusted Homa with a lethal weapon, a killing weapon, just like her own.

Homa stared at it and back at Kalika and felt like she would sink into the earth with shame.

In her mind she had done nothing to earn this. Nothing but lash out and complain.

But she accepted it. She felt that to do otherwise would have squandered everything.

With her hands still shaking, she put the gun into her coat. She said nothing.

She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t understand anything she was seeing and feeling.

“You’re not helpless anymore, Homa. I trust you will make good judgments.”

Kalika’s voice sounded, for the first time Homa had ever heard– openly nervous.


After Descent, Year 978

Rahima and Herta Kleyn convened alone in one of the rear storage areas of the Aachen Council’s Assembly Hall. Underneath the debate floor where policy fought for its life, the two of them stood over a disused desk in a dusty corner, their faces half-shadowed in the dim light of a sputtering LED cluster. On the desk, there was a portable computer with an open digital letter with official digital letterhead, demanding confirmation of receipt.

From the collective body of the Rhinean Reichstag.

To Governor-Elect of Aachen Rahima Jašarević.

“Interfering in our local politics again.” Rahima grunted.

“I’m afraid so.” Herta said. “But this is not just a party insider squabble, Rahima. The Liberal-Proggressives and the Conservatives all passed it in the special session. Only the Nationalists abstained from the process. Our folks caved, Rahima, but so far the contents are not public. They want you to respond discretly and avoid a bigger scandal. I advise you should.”

Rahima closed her fists with anger, staring impotently at the filigreed letter on the screen.

“Why should I abide by this?” She said.

Herta sighed. They had worked together long enough now that she knew Rahima’s moods.

Still her voice remained collected and calm.

“Unless you resign from the governorship they will practically crawl down our throats, Rahima. They are saying they will turn up the Progressive party’s ‘ties to Kamma, piracy, communism and foreign nations’ . The Liberal-Progressives cannot afford this.”

“So what if they investigate? We have no such ties!”

“We do technically have ties to Kamma. Through you, Rahima.”

Rahima felt a shudder hearing the implication and shot a vicious glare at Herta.

“I know you are not seeing her. I know! I trust you. But the Reichstag will not care.”

“Kamma is just an NGO! They distribute lunchboxes and blankets! They aren’t radicals!”

Herta shut her eyes and shook her head.

“Rahima, you know as well as any of us that the substance of this threat does not matter. It does not matter whether they can turn up anything. It does not matter whether you fight it. You are not getting a fair trial here. By making the threat, they are implicitly saying they will turn up something– they will put on a show to damage our credibility. Your credibility and that of the main party. Right now, the Progressive-Liberal coalition is facing a hard fight against the Conservatives and Nationalists in the upcoming elections. The Heidemman bloc supported this motion in order to appeal to moderates and to seem reasonable.”

There was nothing Rahima could say in return because what she wanted to do was scream.

For years– years!– she had fought in the Council, debated and defeated Imbrians on the merits. She had passed successful bills, and not just her projects for the Shimii. She had fought like hell for a Progressive agenda. She had compromised, she had toed the lines.

All of the Aachen Liberal Party had gotten behind her for the Governorship.

Aachen’s people cast their votes! She had won the Liberals an important governorship!

Rahima had won them the Shimii! She was turning them into Liberal voters!

None of it mattered. Her local successes were nothing to the Reichstag Liberals.

They were focused solely on the presidential battle next year and nothing else.

On those two Imbrian men whom the nation now revolved around. Not any Shimii.

Sacrificing her to look more moderate and serious. To show they were not radicals.

“There is still a shot, Rahima. You don’t have to give up your dreams.” Herta said.

“And what is our shot, Herta.” Rahima replied, her voice turning slowly into a growl.

Herta started staring directly at Rahima’s darkening expression with a wan little smile of her own. “The motion specified the Governor-Electship– we can comply and still retain your Council seat. I will replace you as Governor, and we will salvage our local slate. After Ossof Heidemman is elected next year, things will calm down. You’ll be able to run again.”

Rahima looked at Herta dead in the eyes. She could hardly believe this naivety from her.

“What happens if Adam Lehner defeats Ossof Heidemman?” She said gravely.

Herta’s expression grew concerned. “That won’t happen Rahima. I know we’ll win.”

Rahima grunted. Who was this ‘we’? Was Rahima now included in Heidemman’s circle?

“Herta, look at how dirty they are playing me– do you think Adam Lehner is above that?”

Herta turned around and paced toward the opposite wall with a heavy breath.

As if she did not want to meet Rahima’s eyes while speaking her next words.

“Rahima, I am truly sorry. But you are still here and have responsibilities. Don’t squander what we have built. I taught you to be pragmatic. You have decades in politics still. You’ve opened a path for other Shimii to follow. You must remain in the council, for them.”

Rahima threw her hands up in fury. “So, what–? I was only a path for others to follow?!”

She gritted her teeth. What about the path she had been treading so tirelessly all this time?!

How could it be that after all this struggle she was relegated to holding open a door?!

What did this say to the Shimii?

You can become a local councilwoman who will tidy up things in your ghetto and that is it? You will never even reach the height of these pitiful confines? All of these games that she played, not even able to get her kin out of the fucking ground– and no amount of polite words saved her when the hatchets came out. The Liberals simply abandoned her.

Was all of that for nothing? All of her sacrifice? All of her pain?

Herta had no answer. Nobody did.

So one more time, Rahima toed the line and compromised for the Liberal-Progressives.

As if she had anything left to compromise.


After Descent, Year 979

On the morning after the attack, Homa stood with several dozen Shimii around the stage.

Ears folded and tails down, examing from afar what remained of the intricate display.

Smashed pieces in a heap, colorful debris only recognizeable if one saw the complete thing.

Enough of it remained to mourn over the whole.

There were several villagers with their heads hung low or shaking, covering their mouths, crying for the smashed Tazia. They looked from afar, helpless. There were a few older men, but most of the people coming out of the shabby little houses and the few bigger business buildings to look, were women and kids, and the kids looked to be mainly girls.

Baran had been right– Homa wondered if the men last night were–

She immediately stopped her train of thought. She felt so angry about everything.

In her coat, the pistol Kalika had given her weighed down her pocket like a stone.

Suddenly the villagers turned to face the masjid.

Out from it, Baran, Sareh and an older, slightly more formidable man walked out.

Homa noticed immediately that Baran was walking with a stick to support herself.

Upon seeing this, several of the women stepped forward to her, stroked her hair and her shoulders. Many of the women started crying fresh tears over her injury, the heavily bruised and bloodied ankle quite visible through Baran’s sandals. They copiously recited Fusha prayers for her and begged God’s mercy and safety and for God to seek answers from the criminals for this. That seemed to be the prevailing question among the villagers–

why inflict such pointless cruelty?

Even though they all knew the answer, deep down in their hearts, but nobody wanted it.

That answer which was too painful to consider and too impossible for them to resolve.

Homa considered it and turned it over so thoroughly it lit her heart ablaze with wrath.

“Homa! Are you alright?”

Baran called out to her and walked out from between all the aunties and teen girls.

Knowing how she felt when she was using crutches, Homa did not try to tell Baran to slow down or not to come forward. Such little kindnesses just bothered Homa and made her feel inept when she was the one who could not move well. She stood where she was, suddenly the center of attention in the middle of everyone in the village. It felt like there were not just a few dozen people around now but thousands in the pitted streets.

“Everyone, this is Homa Messhud! She helped me last night! Please pray for her too!”

Baran stood by Homa and put a hand on her shoulder, with a big smile.

Confused eyes turned to warm smiles at Homa, in an instant. Baran’s word was all it took.

They really loved her– Homa felt like everyone in the village cared about Baran a lot.

Homa felt she had not done anything deserving of praise but did not deny Baran.

Even though they were all heaping praise and prayers on a fake surname.

There was no helping it– it’s what Homa had to endure for her mission.

Compared to what the villagers had to go through this was nothing.

After that declaration, Sareh also walked up. She reached out to Homa.

They shook hands together, and Sarah also patted Homa on the shoulder.

“Homa, thank you, truly. Baran could have been killed– I’m sorry I wasn’t any help.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sareh. Please.” Baran said gently, squeezing Sareh’s hand.

“I know. I’ll try not to.” Sareh said. “Where is Kalika, Homa? She was incredible.”

“Asleep.” Homa said. “I didn’t want to wake her– that situation was really rough on her.”

After they drove off the attackers the night before, everyone slowly dispersed.

It was as if they were caught in a delirium, and nobody knew what to do in the moment.

Sareh took Baran into her home. She must have administered first-aid.

Homa knew that Kalika had not gotten any sleep. She had remained on-guard all night.

“Homa, let me introduce you– this is Imam Saman al-Qoms.” Baran said.

From behind the girls, the man who had walked out with them approached Homa.

He stopped several steps short of her and put his hand on his chest with a smile.

“As-Salamu Alaykum. God sees all praiseworthy deeds. Thank you dearly, Homa Messhud.”

Imam al-Qoms was a sturdy older man, definitely older than Leija would have been. He dressed perhaps the most appropriately, to the typical picture of a Shimii man, than anyone Homa had seen around Aachen so far. He had a blue Tagiyah cap, with holes for his ears, and very short hair. He had a simple, long, covering and loose robe the same blue as the cap and wore glasses and sandals. A simple man, like a Shimii educator and prayer leader ought to be.

After the introductions, the Imam, Baran and Sareh walked up to the stage. Sareh and Homa helped Baran make the short hop up onto the stage. But Baran surprised them by immediately and without assistance dropping down beside the shattered remains of the Tazia, flinching from the pain in her ankle as she sat beside it, and collected the pieces.

Despite everything she still smiled.

“Baran, please–”

“Sareh, we can put it back together! Most of the pieces are pretty big. We’ll repaint it too!”

Sareh looked down at her partner on the ground, sighed, and sat down next to her.

Quietly, Imam al-Qoms also sat opposite the girls, collecting more pieces of the Tazia.

Homa stood off to the side. She was a stranger to all of this; it held no significance for her.

Everyone in town seemed invested in this presentation and the traditions behind it.

All Homa could focus on was the fact that someone violated their safety to destroy it.

She did not hold the dearness they all had for this– she could not.

To her this was just a thing– but it was a thing that inspired brutality against them.

She wished she could understand. Both their love for it; and the hatred that it drew.

Maybe if she could understand she would have an answer for herself, that she could bear.

But she did not– in that moment she felt more like an Imbrian than she ever had.

Just some fool watching from the sidelines, shamefully able to leave if things got too ugly.

Why did this have to happen? Homa felt that anger swelling in her heart again.

All of them were thrown in a hole out of sight of the Imbrians in the Core Station.

And their response was to recreate all the violence of their past, but here, in the hole?

It was so senseless she wanted to scream.

“Homa,”

A gloved hand laid upon her shoulder, heavy and a little cold, but familiar.

Without turning around, Homa laid her own hand over Kalika’s.

“Are you okay?” Kalika asked, standing on the stage beside Homa.

Behind them, the villagers had begun to return to their homes and businesses.

All of the younger girls followed some of the aunties into the masjid.

Homa looked around for a moment before giving her answer. “Kind of not.” She said.

They spoke together in whispers at the edge of the stage.

“Is it your heart or your head?” Kalika asked.

“I’m not hurt or anything. It’s just depressing. I don’t know why they would do this.”

“Because it’s what they are steeped in– it is their value system.” Kalika said. “Out in the town, our friendly little villagers, and their customs, are seen as dangerous to the–”

Homa sighed bitterly. “I– I don’t need you to answer, Kalika. Or– well– not like that.”

“I understand.” Kalika said gently. “Keep a keen eye out and decide for yourself then.”

She patted Homa on the shoulder and walked past her to Baran and Sareh.

Sareh helped Baran to stand up from the floor so they could greet Kalika.

“You saved my life, Kalika Loukia. I can’t thank you enough.” Baran said.

Baran offered her hands and Kalika held them. Sareh then offered her a handshake.

“Yes, thank you. I styled myself as the protector of this village– and I–” Sareh began–

“You saved Homa and I, remember? You’re doing what you can.” Kalika reassured her.

“I don’t feel like you needed my saving.” Sareh said. Still ashamed of herself.

“No, for you and I, fighting is completely different.” Kalika said. “It is easier to stand in front of someone and fight when you are not tied down to anything. That requires no conviction. It is more difficult to fight when you might be endangering yourself or your kin. Most people would choose to keep their heads down in that situation. You had the courage not to.”

“Thank you. I’ll try to remind myself of that.” Sareh said. Baran comforted her.

“If you need any crafts supplies, I might be able to help with that too.” Kalika said. “I’ll be contacting my friends soon to get things moving. Homa is here to help if you need a body.”

Homa bristled slightly at being referred to ‘for her body.’

“You’ve done so much; I don’t want to ask for even more. Please understand.” Baran said. “We can put this back together. We’ll glue it and then repaint it in a way that can make the cracks stand out less. I’m sure we can do that. For things like this I would prefer we work with what we have. It is part of the story of the festival now, for better or worse.”

Homa thought in that moment, Baran sounded very wise, as sad as it was.

“But. There is something else that troubles me.” Baran said.

“I think I know what you mean.” Sareh said, looking down at Baran’s ankle.

“Go on. I want to help.” Kalika said.

Baran suddenly turned from Kalika to Homa, who was caught off guard by the attention.

“Homa, do you know how to dance? Did your mother ever teach you?” Baran asked.

“Huh? Dancing?” Homa’s nerves instantly fried. “No way, no– I’m too clumsy!”

She waved her hands defensively. If she had to go up on stage she would die.

Plus she imagined the kind of outfit dancers wore– flashing back to Madame Arabie–

Baran slumped, clearly disheartened. “Your body looked like you might’ve been a dancer.”

“Really?” Now Homa was suddenly interested again. “I guess I look pretty athletic huh?”

Sighing, Kalika waved her hands between Baran and Homa. “Leave her be– I’ll do it.”

“Oh!” “Huh?” “REALLY?”

Baran, Sareh and Homa responded at once, wagging their ears with surprise at Kalika.

“I spent years living with Shimii.” Kalika said. “Those folks had their own local festivities, but I learned all kinds of traditional arts including dances. With Baran’s help I can absolutely learn the moves she was meant to perform for the festival. That’s the issue, right?”

“Yes, ever since I was a teenager I danced whenever we could hold Tishtar.” Baran said. “Everybody in the village looks forward to it! Sareh plays the music and I dance.”

Sareh put her hands behind her head and acted casual, as if she did not want recognition.

“We’ll find time for you to coach me.” Kalika said. “Then I’ll dance on the big day.”

It was an idea that captured Homa completely and immediately.

There were a dozen things put into her head. She wondered whether Kalika might be perceived as too old to dance in Baran’s place, but she did not voice this dangerous rumination, for fear of making an eternal enemy out of her most cherished ally. Another dangerous thought that came to her unbidden was that it might have been thought of as silly for a Katarran to perform traditional Shimii dance at a Mahdist festival. That one, too, had to be shelved very quickly. However, one observation of value did arise– Homa felt she finally understood Kalika’s real and unspoken motivation for helping the villagers.

Perhaps she was getting a rare taste of that feeling she so cherished– community.

With that in mind, Homa finally put on as much of a smile as she could muster.

That– and her third dangerous thought. Seeing Kalika in a traditional dancing garb.

Such outfits varied greatly– but what if Kalika wore something as sexy as Madame Arabie?

Those outfits were embellished versions of traditional Shimii wear– for sex appeal.

In a sense, they were even more lewd than having seen Kalika in the nude before–

“You’re finally smiling Homa. I don’t dare ask what has come over you.” Kalika said.

Homa visibly snapped out of her reverie and put her hands in her coat’s outer pockets.

Averting her gaze and not answering the question. But still grinning a little bit.

Baran meanwhile was also smiling wider and brighter and more openly than ever.

“Kalika, Homa, you are life savers! This will be the greatest Tishtar ever, I promise you!”

“I can’t wait.” Kalika said. She seemed to be soaking in the girls’ enthusiasm.

“I’m glad to see everyone in good spirits. But Shaykhah, it seems you have company.”

Imam al-Qoms spoke up again– Shaykhah must have been in reference to Baran.

He pointed to the gate, where a woman walked in with small wheeled drone following her.

Homa could tell from her pointy, long ears and her very pale and shiny blue hair that she was an elf; such vibrant hair colors difficult to find naturally in anyone but an elf. Her figure was thin and she was pretty short in stature, with fair skin that had a very, very slightly golden tone. Her hair was collected into two tails dropping down her back. She dressed in an open white blazer coat with what looked like a striking blue tasseled bra top underneath, cut off above the belly, and bell-bottomed pants. Homa hardly ever saw anyone dress so flashy.

Everyone was watching as the woman calmly crossed into the village. There was a small flag hoisted from a pole on the back of the drone’s boxy chassis. The drone seemed like it might have contained cargo, its insides rattling a bit. The flag had a half-white, half-black, vaguely diamond-like emblem made up of knotted lines over a bright blue background.

All of the village onlookers seemed excited by the new arrival.

Homa saw them looking at the flag. Did they recognize it?

“Oh, she’s from the NGO! What excellent timing– let’s go greet her!” Baran said.

As the elven woman approached the stage, she waved at the group with a carefree smile.

“Hello, hello! Is this a bad time? I’m Conny Lettiere. I’m with the NGO Kamma.”


After Descent, Year 979

On the table laid a portable computer with a digital letterhead begging confirmation.

Beside the portable was an unopened plastic box. Lit only by the screen of the portable.

And in a dark corner behind the desk was Rahima Jašarević. Legs curled against her chest.

No longer weeping– she had not wept for a very long time. For years now she had been smothering the softness deep in her soul and trying to forge it into steel. Nevertheless, whenever she needed to think, she found hiding behind the desk helped her do so. As long as nobody saw her in this childish circumstance she could find comfort in it.

It made her feel less– surveilled.

Ever since that night, where she spent hours and hours seething behind her desk.

On that night, she ceased to be able to cope in the ways she had done before.

Sometimes she thought back to that night, and to the nights preceding it.

When she arrived at Aachen she was barely an adult. So much time had passed.

In her mind she remembered the things the immigration officer told her and laughed.

Look at what I’ve become, would you think I am decent now or just a lowlife?

She remembered the sailor, too, who brought her to Aachen.

Would he regret it? Had she done something stupid and indecent now, in his mind?

Going into politics; giving all her spirit to budge the status quo even a centimeter.

What did they all think now? Was she upstanding now? Was she respectable?

She had always been young for politics. She had liked to think that gave her an edge.

That youth had its own vibrancy and power. Perhaps it did once.

Now, however, it was completely lost.

Having nothing but her experience of time and in that sense youth relative to the mean was worthless, and relative to itself even more so. She was alone. Simultaneously too old for assistance and too young for pity. No mentors she could trust to ask for counsel. No peers to stand beside her during her tribulations. She was the mentor, and without peer. As she grew older, the more and more people she left behind and replaced with only herself. It was so unfair– she had never wanted to abandon anyone nor for anyone to abandon her.

Uniquely positioned; uniquely alone. The only Shimii councilwoman.

Once, the only Shimii governor.

Now–

Since she arrived at Aachen, she gained so much, and yet lost so much.

She did not know where the scales came to rest in the end.

All she knew is that when she needed someone, now, there was no one around her.

Was this her punishment? Had she done wrong?

Was it hubris to ever have any hope? Was it heresy to follow her dreams?

At first all she wanted was to help Conny– then she slowly found her own dreams.

Those dreams, her pursuit of something, anything, for her kin living beneath her.

So no one else would have to lose their whole families and homes.

So no one else would have to bear the slow destruction they were subjected to.

No more name changes, no more deportations, no more deprivation–

Was that paradigm so hopelessly ordained? Was even God against them?

That pursuit of power and those grand intentions for it had destroyed everything she held personally dear– and for what? Shimii could cast their ballots for a slate of Imbrians and Rahima to judge their lives from on high. Again, and again, but now from the masjid in the Wohnbezirk. Never from anywhere else. Even Rahima, symbollically, voted there.

They always voted for her. She was all that they had now. That was all that changed.

Was it her fault? That she became a tool of their callous power?

Her heart tightened with a growing anger.

No– she was just doing what she could. She was doing what one woman could do.

It was the Imbrians, at each turn. It was them. It was their fault!

So deathly afraid of being the equals of anyone. They fought her at every step.

That was the cruelest irony of everything. They raised her up, they broke her down–

–and they would face the rip-current, thrashing in the waters they themselves filled.

In that instant there was only one foreseeable thing that she could do.

Only one Destiny.

Rahima shot to a stand with a sudden fervor, raising her arms and practically clawing the desk on her way to her feet. She took up the portable from the desk and without thinking it, without feeling, with her breath in her chest and her heart motionless, skin tingling, face sweating. Her finger struck the confirmation, the knife she would plunge into Aachen.

There was an instant of recognition. The portable slipped from her fingers back onto her desk. Her heart started thundering. Ragged, rasping breaths of a woman choking.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She slumped over the desk, the moment of fury passed.

Hands raised over her face, brushing salt from her eyes that only drew more tears.

She wanted to scream, but no one would hear her.

She wanted to beg for mercy she ill deserved.

On the desk, the box taunted her.

You are the one, it jeered, who will be judged for your wickedness now.

You are the one who has crossed the line now.

Rahima picked it up, overturned it. The lid fell off, and inside were a pair of armbands.

For a moment, she stared at them. Then she affixed them to her arm.

Black Sun. Hooked Cross. Red, white, black.

Her discarded portable lit up again, blue light crossing the desk. Rahima righted the object.

There was a call– she routed it to audio and tried to calm her voice.

“We have received the confirmation. I assume you are ready and willing?”

A woman’s voice, courteous, and perhaps, even excited for what was to come.

“Yes. I will prepare the lists. Doubtless you’ll have additions.” Rahima said.

Her voice left her lips as it always did. Commanding, confident. Like on the debate floor.

She knew what she had to do. She knew what she agreed to.

“You have the lay of the land here– we will trust and support you.”

There was a request to turn the audio call to a visual call. Rahima denied it on her screen.

“We will need to be thorough. Hold your hand until your preparations are ironclad.”

“Indeed. Do not fear. The Special Detachment will protect you with our lives.”

There was room for neither shouting nor tears. She had cried for herself all that she could.

Rahima had exhausted all of the means at her disposal. She had tried to work righteously.

Every way that one woman could hold on her shoulders this mountain of human agonies.

She had tried. She had tried everything. Done all the right things, the kind things.

All of the rational arguments, the statements in even tone, the logical, respectful pleadings.

Signing her name as if in blood, her gut wrenched with shame.

But the fingers that made the final confirmation brimmed with electricity.

For the first time in her life, Rahima felt real, actionable power in her grasp.

And that, one way or another, the Shimii would carry out their vengeance.

“Based on the fuhrerprinzip, you are to follow my orders without deviation. Correct?”

“You have done your reading– yes, unless you are contradicted by the Reichskommissar.”

“Good. Let me know if you need any access. I’ll make sure you have it.” Rahima said.

There was a girlish titter on the line.

“You know– you sound so formidable– I look forward to meeting you in the flesh.”

That voice was almost lascivious in its tone. Rahima could not be bothered by it anymore.

It was the last of her concerns now.

That armband on her bicep felt like a wound that had been ripped open in her.

Rahima laid her hand upon it. It had to bleed then. There was only the bleeding left.

Whispering in her mind an apology to Conny Lettiere–

and to everything she had once stood for.

“I will get to work then, Rahima Jašarević. I look forward to serving, Herr Gauleiter.”


Unjust Depths

Episode Thirteen

THE PAST WILL COME BACK AS A TIDAL WAVE


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