The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.12]

After Descent, Year 935

Through the enormous archway gate strode a lone figure, dwarfed by her surroundings. A blond ponytail billowed in her wake as the artificial wind blew past her. Her lithe figure clad in armor, her stark red eyes unblinking, fair pink skin sweat-slick with bangs that stuck to her forehead. Small, insignificant wounds failed to mar her striking beauty. At any other time she would have been a majestic warrior striding proudly into the Holy Land.

On that day, she was the malefactor who had come to bury it.

Her powered armor was covered in so much blood that it began to stick in the segment gaps as if she herself were sweating or extruding gore. Her vibrosword’s blade had begun to chip from the amount of clashes it had endured. Her exertions were clear in her shaking hands and the slight limp with which she walked. She was not deterred. She had forced open the double doors on the archway gate and slipped through, grinning throughout.

At the top of Augusta’s Core Station, the remaining Royal Guard held the high courtyard.

Three figures in imposing suits of Knight-class powered armor, each a relic of the most masterful stitchcraft found in Imbria. Standing a few heads clear of an ordinary soldier.

Surrounded by the chattering birds, false winds, an artificial sunset and beautiful gardens.

Norn Tauscherer walked with her sword in hand, dragging that slight limp along.

Dripping her victim’s blood onto the pristine white tiles and masonry.

She stopped halfway to the inner courtyard.

Where the last of the knights stood guard atop the Nocht mausoleum.

Beneath that beautiful park, through a circular access-way, an entire dynasty was buried.

Perhaps in Norn’s wake they would be exumed and destroyed.

Such a thought must have been in the minds of the figures as they turned fully to face her.

In turn with their movements, she shifted her grip on her sword to hold it with two hands.

Holding it in front of her, a shaking, quivering threat.

“So this is the ‘Holy Land of Augusta’? I find it a bit morbid for knights to take their leisure over the corpses of the Emperors– but ultimately fitting!” Norn burst out laughing. “You will have your final rest here with them! Come, remnants of the Royal Knights! By decree of Emperor Fueller, your forces in the Guard will cease to exist entirely!”

Her mad, cackling face reflected on the glass visors built into the Knights’ helmets.

Then a thrum, sliding metal–

One of the knights engaged the vibromotor on his sword, drew it from its sheathe–

He practically leaped the half-length of the entire courtyard to meet Norn’s blade.

Suspended in mid-air, bringing his entire weight to bare on the woman.

A sharp sound rang out as steel met steel.

For a moment the air stilled.

From the perspective of the knights, there was no transition between the clash of blades and their comrade Knight’s arm completely sliding to the floor in a waterfall of blood. Sliced clean through the thin aperture between the under-arm and the shoulder. His sword fell to the ground along with the limb. He stumbled back, in shock– fell to his knees, at first– and then laid on his back. Speaking not one word. Staring at Norn the entire time.

Norn saw her own smile reflected back at her, on the dark visor emptied of the life within.

She turned to the remaining two Knights, as if taunting them to join the attack.

Instead, one of the Knights took off her helmet. Copious red hair streamed down her back.

“Loup volshebstvo, like Daybringer’s power.” She said.

Norn shifted the grip on her sword back to one hand.

“Daybringer was felled by a common man. I am the true strength of Imbria.”

Her remaining hand was visibly shaking.

Not with the fear of anyone, nor even with the anger oft attributed to her demeanor.

Rather, her nerves were completely frayed from all of the slaughter.

Her sword took its toll on her with every person killed, and so many had been.

Muscles screaming with every limb shorn, with every throat cut, chest plunged through.

She had never killed so many people in a single day of her entire life.

However– she had known that it was possible.

After all, she had killed Mehmed the Tyrant and ended the Shimii’s Age of Heroes.

And now– it was time to put an end to another age. One much more deserving to die.

With those shaking hands and tear-stained eyes and her vacant, mad grin.

That grin that her face seemed to have frozen into.

“Tell me– bannerman Tauscherer, what do you see in Konstantin? In the Fueller family?”

The Knight woman stood at the edge of the inner courtyard, a few paces from Norn.

Leaving her enough room to move, in case a traditional fight broke out. Rather than one in which Norn used her abilities to batter them around ignorant of how they died. Norn appreciated the gesture, however. She was running on so much adrenaline and nobody had even tried to talk to her. Not that it would help– the order was to purge all of the Royal Guards for refusing to acknowledge Fueller control over Heitzing and the Empire.

Norn’s breathing had grown so heavy that she found it difficult to speak.

“What– I see in them?” Norn asked.

Her body began to feel so heavy. Her head was swimming.

“Who even are you?” She hated that she had paused to speak.

“I am Amaryllis Skoll.” Said the Knight. “In vain I have commanded hundreds of my brothers and sisters in arms to use any available means to put a stop to you. You have cleaved through everything that has been thrown in front of you. It was a hopeless battle for us, but you fought even more desperately. Before I throw myself in front of the storm of savagery you represent, I need to know– what drives you to execute us with such fury?”

“Out with the old, in with the new.” Norn said.

She barely thought about what she would say. She felt like her brain was shaking.

“A mere disdain of tradition spurs you on this strongly?”

Norn paused, put her free hand to her chest– feeling nothing but armor.

Foolish– she had almost forgotten how laden she was with metal.

She wanted to hold her own pounding chest, but it was impossible.

Instead, the pause gave her time to gather her breath and straighten out her posture.

In her armor, Amaryllis Skoll was over two heads taller than Norn.

“Konstantin is different than all of you.” Norn said. She drew in more breath, steadied herself further, enough to think of what to say. “He’s a cowardly tinkerer whose entire life was destroyed by your traditions. Your ineffable systems of power crumpled him like paper and threw him away. He lost his father, most of his family, and any chance of the privileged life he once led. Everything you believe in dictated that he should fold before his God-made-King and feel lucky to be alive, living his days in shame. But instead, he fought back. He spat in the divinity of your Emperor. Konstantin– is a hope for change. His fear, banality and greed has destroyed your ancient rules. Perhaps he will destroy even more. And in that destruction, amid all these tragedies, there is the possibility of change and a form of equality. Even you pompous Royal Guard are now struggling in the tide with the rest of us wretches.”

Amaryllis Skoll dropped her sword. It was so sudden that Norn brought up hers.

There was no danger.

The Knight pressed a catch in her armor and the plates began to slide apart.

In the middle of all that metal, a much smaller woman stepped out.

Still taller than Norn but by nowhere near as much.

Standing amid the sacred ground of the Nocht mausoleum, she kneeled.

Clasping her hands in prayer.

“Very well. I am moved by your words. I will die here as an equal to you, Norn Tauscherer. May you find your liberty and equality in slaughtering this wretch. May all these tragedies and the tragedies to come, forge a better Imbria by your brutal blade.” She said.

There was no bitterness in her voice. She spoke with a strange dignity.

Behind her, the remaining knight, incredulous at first, resigned himself to the same.

Leaving his armor, kneeling on the floor, and clasping his hands.

Shaking and weeping but completely faithful, just as Knight Skoll.

Norn had no good humor toward this display of submission.

She wished she had never talked to this woman and admitted anything she felt.

Her own feelings toward everything she was doing became suddenly so conflicted.

Killing all of them because they were in the way was simple and possible.

Now– killing these two because they had given up their hope to her–

An action that urged her to realize the lofty ideals which she had spoken–

That felt impossible.

There was nothing she could say to them in return.

There was also no turning back.

Norn held her breath, and the world stopped while her chest contracted with pain.

Ignoring the slow death she was inflicting upon herself, she walked closer.

Plunging her sword into each of their chests, making sure to rend their hearts.

Pulling it out completely clean.

And then, with her next breath, watching the blood erupt from them onto the floor.

Staining with gore the green grasses and flowers planted atop the Nocht emperors.

Their bodies dropped onto the soil face down as if to behold their masters.

Leaving Norn the sole living, thinking being left in Augusta Station.

Afraid to put down her sword, she dragged it, and her worsening limp, away from the scene.

Breaking out into both laughter and sobs.


After Descent, Year 979

Tick tock, tick tock, tick, tock–

Norn struck herself on the head–

“Where the hell is that racket coming from–?”

She paused in front of the people conveyor and grit her teeth.

Aachen station lay dead ahead. She had to save Adelheid at any cost.

Her momentary pause was just long enough for someone to catch up–

A nasally voice echoed through the empty corridors out of Stockheim.

“Norn! Norn stop! I’m comin’ with ya! Wait for me!”

Norn sighed. “No you won’t. You’ll just slow me down.”

“Norn, look at me– I’m goin’. For you and for Addie!”

Behind her, Hunter III had outfitted herself a bit differently. She had pilfered a nanomail bodysuit and stuck a few haphazard plates on it, clearly not knowing where they ought to go. It clung to her skinny frame so tightly, and without her cloak, it showed how thin and nearly insubstantial she always seemed– despite her appetite. Her tail, however, had grown fatter and longer, and stretched to the floor behind her. Her pale hair with its little blue stripe, her pale complexion, and that girlish appearance, her confident, bloodthirsty little grin–

“If you come along I won’t be able to use Temporal Control to make up time.” Norn said.

Even if her heart exploded in the process, it would slow down Mycenae considerably–

“Ya don’t need to! Amur and me, we’ll all help ya find Addie way faster!” Hunter III said.

Norn hesitated. She didn’t want to endanger anyone else– she worked better alone–

“She’s right, Norn. You’re already making a mistake. Don’t cross out of Stockheim.”

In Norn’s earpiece, sounded Amur’s voice, from the bridge of the Antenora.

She briefly saw the woman on her glass visor, her purple sportcoat and kepi hat, her silky blueish hair. Tipping her hat, she disappeared and a map of the station replaced her.

“Tell me where the fuck to go.” Norn said, gripping the handle of her sword with anger.

On the map, the route Amur had chosen appeared for her to peruse.

“Stockheim meets the Aachen Massif through an old cargo tunnel that leads to an industrial elevator. This elevator was never managed by the central CPU and has direct access plugs. It’s really old, but it’s built to last and still running. Take the electronic warfare gear I gave you and head to the elevator. We can take it the top and another cargo tunnel will connect you to the top of the station. As far as I can tell Mycenae has not yet realized this is a giant backdoor to them. If we can use an elevator and our enemies can’t, we’ll outpace the whole charade and take them by surprise. We just have to watch out for enemies along the way.”

“Amur, we can’t unclamp, so the enemy is already here somewhere.” Norn said. “If Hunter III is tagging along with me, then I want you to send Yurii and Petra out and find out what’s happening with the Stockheim authority in the control tower. Tell Yurii she’s free to kill anyone hostile. We need to take action right now to get on top of this mess.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll also monitor the naval situation and send Selene out if needed.”

“Good. Urge her to be patient for now. I’ll bring Adelheid back.”

Norn looked at Hunter III who had been waiting expectantly throughout that conversation.

We’ll bring her back.” Hunter III said. “I’ll be so useful and cool Norn, ya don’ even know–”

“Don’t make me regret this already. Follow me. Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to.”

Hunter III saluted with a big, toothy smile on her face.

As she ran back deeper into Stockheim with Hunter III at her side, Norn could not help but burn into her mind the sight of the Aachen core across the way from the people conveyor. She grit her teeth with anger, hoping and praying that Amur had the right idea and hating herself for not seeing something like this on the horizon. She felt like a fool for not realizing how dangerous it was for them to rub shoulders with Herta Kleyn. At any second, whether it was the Volkisch or Mycenae or someone else– she and her family had the sword of damocles hanging over their heads, and Norn simply allowed Adelheid to stand under it with them! She should have forbidden her these tea parties and should not have allowed the Antenora to have any leisure. This was war– and she had been caught sleeping!

Now everyone was twitching in random directions like their heads had been cut off.

Likely their neighbors in the docks were reacting to the crisis in some way as well.

Hopefully the Pandora’s Box would become involved and at least slow down the chaos.

Amur’s arrival had been timely– without her, Norn would have been lost.

Not that she would admit it to the flamboyant little immortal.

Without the hacker to support and ground her, she would have let her anger take control.

“Norn, I’ve been monitoring the station through the use of unsecured cameras and devices,” Amur said, “I believe that the enemy used optical stealth technology to sneak their forces and gear into the station to wipe out the Uhlans. I’ve seen them appearing and disappearing on cameras– I think they are using shields with something similar to active camouflage tarp material. But the visual effect has a higher fidelity with regards to the surroundings. It’s like they can become completely invisible, but it must have some kind of defect we can use.”

Active camouflage tarps could make it appear as though the object they were laid upon was not there, and they adapted and blended in with the surroundings– however, on closer inspection, the colors the tarp adopted were greatly distorted and made it seem like there was a “melted” spot where they stood. It worked decently in areas with false foliage, or facilities with long sightlines. It could also fool cameras employing algorithmic surveillance. A human staring closely at a spot with an active camouflage tarp would be able to pick out that something was wrong. Patrols retained some importance for the military due to the possibility of such technologies to target and fool predictor computers.

Norn would not be fooled by a camouflage tarp– but it did color the situation in further.

These invaders had come prepared and given their scenario some thought.

“I’ll keep an out. They are probably laying traps and ambushes.” Norn said.

“Be especially careful in the cargo tunnels.” Amur said. “If my hypothesis is correct, then the militia that took over Tier Two must have come in from the abandoned parts of the Aachen Massif– it’s the only place where they could have concentrated forces. Even with optical stealth, someone would have seen them if they massed hundreds of gunmen and dozens of drones in the station itself. That means you might run into either their rear guard or possibly their main force within the Aachen Massif itself. Be wary of optical stealth, Norn.”

“Got it. I have a few tricks up my sleeve too, as you very well know.”

“Yes– but I also know the toll those ‘tricks’ take on you. Please come back safely.”

Amur’s voice had the tone of someone who did not only care about the mission or her pay.

Norn hated her sympathy– but she would accept it to avoid a stupid argument.

“Just keep me posted, Old Engineer. I want your support, not your tears.”

“Acknowledged. I’m sorry.”

While they ran down the steps back into the lower docks, Norn turned to Hunter III. She was keeping up effortlessly, smiling as she ran. There was hardly any doubt that she was physically strong. But Norn still felt a bit of angst over the limitations a companion set on her abilities– if she used temporal control, Hunter III would also be stopped or slowed down. Only Norn could move in the bubble of time. The rest of the world waited only for her.

She would have to be mindful of how her ability affected Hunter III.

However– the skinny little lady had her uses too.

“Norn–” Hunter III shouted, “I heard all ah’ that! I can sniff ‘em out!”

No amount of optical stealth could hide from Hunter III’s hunger for meat.

“Keep your nose up then! If you smell something off, pounce!” Norn said.

Back down in the berths, Norn arrived in time to see Yurii setting off the opposite direction, to investigate the Stockheim control area. Norn waved her off and she saluted, and they ran their separate ways. Thankfully the Pandora’s Box had not yet deployed any personnel outside. Norn had hoped to avoid any awkward meetings with them, though she could not help but be curious about their situation in Aachen’s most chaotic day. Some part of her wished Korabiskaya and all of them whatever little luck her spiteful heart could muster.

“North along the berths, and into the storage area. From there, the cargo tunnel.” Amur said.

Norn saw the map in her visor update to show the way.

Nodding to Hunter III, they took off running along the vast wall of ships berthed at their flank. Each representing dozens to hundreds of people caught up in this chaos despite themselves. If the militia had taken over Stockheim’s control tower they could cause massive damage and loss of life by simply unclamping every ship at once and letting the natural currents just smash them into the walls and tear away the connecting chutes to the dock. That they were not doing this suggested something of their agenda. Their forces did not pose a credible threat to Volkisch power writ large, but they had the strength to crush the Uhlan– and that was the strength needed to plunder the station of anything valuable.

And perhaps live to fight another day after that.

Not merely chaos, but a calculated plot with risks and profits.

Good luck with that.

Norn had no grudge with them except that which they had with her.

And the same applied to Mycenae– if Adelheid came back to her, that was that.

Anyone in the way of her rescue effort would die.

Beneath the well-tended landing halls, the glitzy lobbies for frequent travelers, far out of sight of the people conveyors and the offices staffed with processing personnel– Norn and Hunter III descended into the bare metal guts of Stockheim. On the other side of the tower from the berths, attached in staggered square modules, were storage rooms occupied and traveled mostly by shipping containers awaiting either exit or entry into a ship, or the distribution of their contents to businesses and entities within the station. As the volume of commercial traffic reduced owing to the Imbrian political crisis, the lowest of the storage levels became disused, and the home of discarded, overturned, broken-down and scrapped containers strewn about, a labyrinth of wrought-iron corpses with ribbed rectangular shells.

With Amur’s assistance, getting through the upper storage levels was a simple affair.

Amur could do nothing about the mess found further below.

“There are no functioning cameras from here to the elevator. I’m sorry.”

“Got it. Radio silence. We’ll contact you.”

No spoken voice. If there’s any place for an ambush it would be here.

Norn sent Hunter III a psychic missive as they approached the maze-like environment.

Got it. Hey– watch this!

Hunter III approached one of the walls near them.

She reached out her arm, outstretched every digit, and laid her palm on the wall.

Then she showed Norn that her feet were bare. She wiggled her toes.

One foot on the wall– the second hand on the wall–

Quietly, she began to clamber up the walls and even onto the ceiling above.

Don’ see nothin’ yet. But if there’s any snacks out there, ol’ Hunter III has ‘em!

Norn was beginning to reconsider how useful Hunter III could prove.

With Hunter III on literal overwatch, Norn withdrew her sidearm and stepped forward. Ahead of her there was a wall of overturned containers, with one open on both ends and serving as a sort of tunnel through the rest. All others appeared to have been dumped around it at haphazard angles. Some were whole, but many of them had plates out of place, rust eating at their structures or were completely shattered. There was one particularly volatile-looking stack to the right of the tunnel that she did not want to attempt to climb. The other end of the tunnel was too dark– the lights that still worked were distant and intermittent. She resolved to move through it, with her weapon at the ready. It was the quickest and safest way to avoid the obstacle without making too much noise in the process.

I smell somethin’. Hominin. Dunno where. Close.

Norn nodded her head to no one who could see her.

Wary, she stepped gingerly into the open container. Minding the noises she made.

At her sides, the ribs on the walls of the container gave her a sense of progress.

Three ribs in, six ribs in, nine ribs in, eighteen ribs in total–

A distant thud– she paused, aiming her pistol forward.

Her head pierced by a sharp pain. Dust suspended in the air around her.

She had held her breath out of habit and invoked Temporal Control.

Norn let out and sucked in a quick breath, as quiet as she could to dispel the effect.

It was not often that a situation made her nervous–

It was not often that a situation was so out of her control.

Setting her jaw, she advanced to the square aperture across from her.

Step by step, eyes set on the intermittent dimness ahead.

Still smellin’ it– maybe hidin’ in one of the boxes.

What does it look like ahead of me?

The boxes make a lil path– it bends like an L sorta.

Norn was re-reconsidering the usefulness of Hunter III’s reconnaissance.

At the far edge of the container, Norn stepped outside decisively.

Turning her weapon to one corner, and then the next–

Finding nothing.

There were more containers scattered about, and they indeed formed a bend.

Then–

Another thud–!

Norn turned her gun on the direction of the sound.

She could not see anything.

Was she sure there was no optical stealth at play?

An idea formed in her mind.

Norn, her weapon up and her gaze scanning the surroundings, approached one of the containers forming the “wall” in front of her. Up above, she could see Hunter III hanging from the ceiling. Hunter III had smelled something, and Norn continued to hear these low noises, thudding on the metal– she found a container door that was structurally sound and also locked, with a piece of steel bar jammed through where a lock would go.

She pulled it out, stacked to the side of the door, and pulled it open.

With a quick movement, she stepped in the container and brought her weapon to bear.

Muffled cries in response.

As the lights above flashed with brief power, Norn saw faces in the container.

Found your ‘hominin’. Looks like they took prisoners.

Norn holstered her pistol briefly.

“Quit crying. I’m not going to hurt you.”

With the lights dimming again, she found it difficult to make out the right shape.

Fumbling her fingers against someone’s face she finally released the gag on their mouth.

“Solceanos defend, thank you, thank you.” They cried out.

Norn waited for the lights to flash up again and made note of where they were bound.

Using a heat knife, she cut through their restraints.

The captives were dock workers. Hands bound, mouths gagged, stuffed into a crate.

“I can’t thank you enough. It was these guys with white uniforms. They showed up out of nowhere, waving guns! We didn’t see them coming, none of us did! They took over the control tower– some of them drove us down here and stuffed us into this crate. It all happened so fast. We heard there was a commotion in the Core, but this is just insane.”

“How many?” Norn asked, a grim feeling in her chest.

“I don’t know– I didn’t see many. I surrendered to maybe five or six guys?”

Only five or six? She expected twenty or thirty!

“And that many took over the tower, and captured all of you?”

“We didn’t have any weapons! And we couldn’t reach any security!”

How weak– but she supposed this group couldn’t hijack any ships themselves.

Their situation was especially hopeless against a certain mercenary band.

And against Yurii– she at least had faith they could take the tower back now.

“A diversionary recon group.” Norn said. “Ahead of their main force.”

The lights flashed again. She could see the confusion in the worker’s eyes.

Norn sighed. She handed them the heat knife.

“Free everyone here and get back to the docks. I came and went unmolested.”

The worker nodded their head, took the knife, and turned to their comrades.

Norn left the mound of tied bodies and muffled cries.

She tapped her ear to get Amur’s attention again.

“An enemy scouting group has taken over the Stockheim Tower.” Norn said.

“I’ll let Yurii know. She is about begin clearing the control tower.” Amur said.

Move toward the next container lot. Norn sent a psionic missive to Hunter III.

Gotcha.

Up above, Hunter III crawled on all fours across the ceiling.

Norn followed her through the containers, trying to pick up the pace.

Ahead, there was a small set of steps descending into another container room. Hunter III continued to crawl along the roof while Norn ran under her. To her relief, the next room over looked clearer of storage containers, without the kind of mess she was leaving behind. The lights were also more consistent, though several clusters were broken, and the place was still rather dim overall. From a distance, however, she could see figures in the room.

Hiding near the bottom of the steps, angled away from the pair, Norn observed.

One figure, a bit plump, pink hair, her voice a little more nasally– a girl perhaps?

Wearing a familiar teal jacket–

Across from her, what looked like a lean, long-haired, slightly masculine lass in a brown jacket that reminded her of what smugglers or Katarran tough-guys tended to wear.

And around them both

Two Kolibri-class drones armed with light weapons circling menacingly.

Hunter III, do you see this?

Yep, yep, yep. They talkin’– sounds like you and Addie do sometimes. Lover’s spat.

Shut up. Pay attention. I’m going to move in– once the drones are destroyed, pounce on the one with the brown jacket. And don’t rip her throat out– just knock her out. Are we clear?

Ye–

Norn did not await further confirmation.

She felt almost a brief instant of dizziness as time slowed and her life seized up.

Across the container storage, the couple framed in the light noticed her.

Moving a quarter of the speed but– moving–!

Turning around to meet her gaze, to meet her charge–

Ever-so-slightly quicker turned the nimble little drones around them–

Swinging their bases, guns circling– slow but agonizingly mobile–

Norn moved in nearly face to face with a floating gun barrel,

when she heard the slowed click that presaged its attack,

and saw the glow within the barrel–

Sword swing quicker still, unburdened by the temporal control.

Slicing one drone in half, she flowed gracefully into her attack on the second.

Ducked under the barrel, a shot rang out in her ear, over her shoulder–

Striking with the flat of her blade she sent the drone crashing to the floor.

A heap of metal debris as Norn took a deep breath and nearly seized up with chest pain.

Behind her, she heard a loud thud and a sharp cry and felt the weight of something drop.

Hunter III had pounced with precision, taking down the Katarran.

“Oh my god!” cried the girl in the teal jacket, nearly falling over from shock.

“Thank me later!” Norn said, gasping for breath.

She signaled for Hunter III to follow her and took off in sudden run.

Leaving behind the “lovers” and their spat for the Pandora’s Box to clean up.

Norn felt herself wavering. Her heart pounding, her lungs fighting for breath–

Feeling the urgency of the situation weighing her down with every passing moment. Even the drones had been able to move under Temporal Control– they were slowed down, but they should have been prevented entirely. Norn felt her vulnerability far too acutely. If this hooligan and these toys could move under it, a Mycenean Merarch or worse–

She hardly wanted to even entertain the notion.

Nor did she even understand why her powers were waning at a time like this.

Back in Sverland, everything had been working, right–?

No– even back then– some of the guards had been moving–

Her mind raced to try to put it all together in a way where she still won–

“Norn! Ya can’t jus’ take off like that!” Hunter III shouted, trying to keep up.

Norn hit the next set of steps and ran so hard that she felt her legs scream.

Her vision became foggy and distorted, metal corridors warping around her.

Mouth dry, throat burning, chest painful and tight–

At the top of the steps, she saw the bridge between Stockheim and the Aachen Massif.

A cylinder of metal with several layers, surrounding a steel path to a bulkhead door.

“Norn!” Hunter III shouted, rushing up the steps.

“Norn!”

That second cry was in her ear–

Norn stopped at the top of the steps. Her body felt cold. Sweating profusely.

There was a sudden, frightening recognition– had she just had a panic attack?

Her jaw hung. Her eyes teared up. She was shaking–

“Norn, we’ve got a Mycenean Trojan Horse-class Assault ship on sonar.” Amur said. “It’s still making its way over, but if it reaches Aachen, the Myceneans can likely dock it to the top of the core and get some reinforcements in that way– do we respond to it? If their position gets too strong, I worry they won’t give up any captives too easily.”

It took a moment to process what was being said– as if Amur was speaking to someone else.

Or as if Norn was listening in on a conversation meant for her as a third person–

She struck herself in the side of her head. The pain brought her a bit of focus.

“Tell Selene to deploy. No cartridges.” Norn said tersely, doubling over.

Thankfully Amur could not see the state that Norn had put herself in.

“Is she free to open fire on it?” Amur asked, voice a bit tremulous.

For a moment, Norn gathered her breath, staring at the floor with hazy eyes.

Up until that moment, Norn had left open the possibility of snatching Adelheid out from under Mycenae and that they might have simply abandoned holding her. She was not feeling diplomatic, but it was doable. Adelheid likely held little value to them, and if they knew anything about the Imbrium in the past few years, they knew it would upset Norn to hold her adjutant. It was possible they were only holding her because they were holding everybody in the government tier until the Volkisch sorted things out, to avoid complicating the situation for themselves. If Norn and the Palaiologoi did not come to blows until she could demand Adelheid back, perhaps they could have gotten away without firing a shot at one another.

Firing on their ships would be a slight too far for a Katarran warlord–

Astra– that creature with her name entered her mind–

I can’t protect that girl. Adelheid is everything to me. I guess we were fated to fight.

“She’s free to open fire. Aim for weapon systems. But I repeat– no cartridges.”

She could hope Selene might be able to ward them off with minimal violence.

“Got it. I’ll send her out. Hopefully she cares them off.”

It was a dim hope.

The die was cast– Norn could not let Mycenae build their position any further.

She had chosen to escalate the situation, but on her own terms.

Better this than to let them have a few hundred more Numeroi worth of confidence.

Norn felt a soft pressure on her back, pushing on the power cells.

At that moment, Hunter III caught back up. She leaned on her a bit.

She could feel the flexible neck and face of the little Hunter close to her own.

“Norn, ya ran like a demon! What the heck got into you?!” Hunter III asked.

Though she did not sound like keeping up was tiring for her–

She sounded so concerned– Norn did not even want to meet her eyes.

Much less acknowledge her embrace.

“I needed to jolt myself awake.” Norn said. “Hunter III– I’ll be relying on you.”

“I ‘ave been waitin’ for this! Just let Hunter III deal with it!”

Hunter III smacked her chest, presumably to punctuate her sense of pride.

Norn stood to her full height, prompting Hunter III to step back.

Years and years ago, she stood across a room from a bulkhead just like this one. On the other side of it, Mehmed the Tyrant awaited Norn and her then-allies for their annihilating confrontation. Back then, when Norn felt the weight of his power almost seizing her in place, so palpable even hundreds of meters away– there was a woman at her side, her lithe stature and girlish expression belying a long life of uncountable tragic experiences.

“Norn, if you count yourself out here, then you’ll eventually fail.” She said.

She pointed at her own head, as if to say, it was there that the battle had begun.

To remember Euphrates of all people– but she was so brave back then.

Now, Norn stared down a closed bulkhead once again–

Behind which, she could feel no great power, no god-like threat.

Breathing deep, she slid her sword into its sheathe to recharge the vibromotor.

In its place, she withdrew her assault rifle.

She made herself grin and tried to think of how exciting it would all be.

When the bullets started flying, and swords started scraping metal-on-metal.

Norn was capable of more than just Temporal Control.

“Follow me. Eat one of your fruits and stay nimble. They won’t expect it.”

“Hehehe, the hunt begins.” She rubbed her hands together greedily.

Norn took her first steps toward the entrance to the Aachen Massif–

When she heard it again–

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

She grinned, maintained her stride, and she bore with the noise.

Soon enough it would be drowned out by the din of battle.


After Descent, Year 978

Katarre would have been the second largest polity in the After Descent Aer. At its height it was larger than the Imbrian Empire’s greatest extent, and it was almost as large as the Republic of Alayze that dominated most of the much larger Mare Cogitum. Owing to the flooding and collapse of large parts of the continents of Nobilis and Extremis, the Mare Crisium was exceedingly rich in resources. Once upon a time, this wealth led to a golden age of culture and technology for the Katarran Kingdom that spanned the Crisium and what would come to be known as the territory of the Warlord States. During the Golden age, Katarrans used biotechnology to obtain powerful bodies, and built unmatched weapons to protect their prosperity, such as the Golden Age power armors and the 800 mm cannons.

After the fall of the Golden Age Kingdom, the surrounding political powers took advantage of the weakness of Katarran authority. The Empire of Hanwa expanded further between Cogitum and Crisium and gained the resources and might it would need to challenge both Imbria and Alayze, as well as to sweep away the states of the Yu and Yan peoples. It helped establish the traitor warlord state of Argos in the central-eastern portion of Katarre while Alayze helped prop up the Republic of Rodos in the far eastern reaches. After the formation of the traitor states it became impossible to reunite the Kingdom as it once was, and the first generation of Warlords settled into the first Warlord territories, collectively representing a bulkwark that to this day Hanwa and Alayze have not dared to further attack.

The Mycenae Military Commission, warlord power of the Southwestern Katarre, bordering Imbria through the Vekan duchy, is not a geography traditionally associated with the centralized power of the old Kingdom. The Kingdom ruled from North-Central Katarre in what is now Thracia and its tributary states, bordering Pythia from the east. Nevertheless, Mycenae is notable as the only warlord state that still claims not only true succession to the Katarran Kingdom, but recently they even claim to host the remnants of the monarchy. Even Thracia, who hold the ruins of the primary Palace of the Palaiologoi, have long since ceased to claim they were the Katarran Kingdom or the true monarchy as a bid for legitimacy–

“Enjoying your reading, milord?”

“Yes, quite so. I am studying Katarran history and geography from an outside perspective. This a book from Imbria but written by a Katarran writer for Imbrian education.”

She lifted and turned the tablet to show the cover– “Orphans of the Earth and Sky.”

“A Katarran published in Imbria? That is rare indeed.”

Astra Palaiologos’s study in Mycenae’s Tyrin station was full of books. Whenever missing, the Warlord was easily found, a small presence surrounded by books. Sitting by the false porthole outside which abyssal fish danced their alien, bio-luminescent rhythms like murky stars in an inky sky. Always in uniform, her horns glowing dimly, copious white hair falling down her back and almost reaching the floor. She looked up from the book as if she would not have to put it down, though almost always duty compelled her to do so when visited.

Her accommodations were spartan for the supreme authority of a nation. She had a fold-out triple-wide bed with plain white sheets and plain white pillows. The walls were purple but so covered in things that the regal paint job was easy to overlook. She had a desk that was quite tidy as all of her work was computerized and arrived on the monitor and input devices sitting on its surface, so she could regard her duties at any particular hour. Overhead, she had a fancy array of lights removed and replaced with LED clusters with high-fidelity luminosity controls. She always kept her room a bit dim except for the lights by which she read.

Three of the walls contained storage for tablets, each of which held either a volume of a large book or an entire collection of related books, such as the tablet with all of the works of the Eloim political economist Levi Mordecai, or the writings of the Elven fascist Mikola Spiritus. Besides this there was a coveted little treasure chest in one corner, containing a handful of actual stone paper books, bound in plastic. These books were random curiosities– an agricultural almanac from a long-gone agrisphere, a book about Shimii fortune-telling, the hand-written chronicle of a Hanwan vessel during their war to subjugate the Western Yu and the Koryo. Astra cherished their tactility. Turning real pages, smelling musty paper, reading without the glow of a screen. Her little treasures that digital tablets could not replace.

When her servant entered the study, Astra looked up from her book impassively.

At the door, a beautiful Shimii with multiple silvery tails watched with a knowing smile.

“Oh! Raiza, come in! You should have let me know it was you!”

Astra put her book down and stood up excitedly to meet Raiza Sakaraeva.

“Milord should avoid treating me differently than others.” Raiza said.

“Let anyone who is brave enough object.” Astra said calmly.

They sat down together near the false porthole. This was Astra’s preferred little nook. She had cushions to sit and lay upon and could project anything she wanted on the false porthole. Her preferred backdrop was one of the wildlife cameras set up around the station. By projecting the camera feed on her false porthole it was as if the window at her back had an actual view into the ocean outside. Tyrin was deep, but rich in abyssal sea-life due to a deliberate cultivation of aphotic fish species. There was such bioluminescence outside the station it looked like what Astra imagined the night skies of the old world might have been. Human culture had kept alive the image of the black firmament resplendent with stars. The murky Crisium and the floating, glowing fish were tantalizingly close to this image.

“Tagmarch Agamemnon inquired about your health. After responding appropriately and dismissing her, I thought I would pay a visit to confirm milord’s health for myself.” Raiza said.

She smiled fondly at Astra.

“A cheeky excuse. But I am always happy to see you.” Astra smiled back just as brightly.

“You have been quite zealous in your studies of late.” Raiza said. “Is there any occasion?”

Astra nodded her head. She then leaned in, so that she would come to rest on Raiza’s chest.

The two had grown up together and were rather familiar with each other. Though Raiza had crossed her puberty quite taller and more shapely than Astra, they were almost the same age– Raiza was only a few years her senior. Both were young for what was thrust upon them.

“I’m planning to visit Imbria. I need to be prepared for the journey. I want to leave the impression of an erudite and studied ruler, rather than a backwater tyrant. If our relationship with Imbria improves, we’ll have an advantage on Pythia and the rest.” Astra said.

Mycenae and Pythia were the two warlord states closest to the Imbrium Empire. Pythia was a font of utter chaos for Imbria, taking the form of seemingly random cross-border conflict, the spillage of Pythian internal conflict across the border, and frequent refugees and illegal immigrants fleeing from Pythia and its brutal culture. As large and resource rich as Pythia was, the chaotic and violent nature of the Black Legion and the Witch Queen held it back as a polity. Mycenae had an opportunity to appear as a civilized and worthy neighbor by comparison– perhaps even one who could solve Imbrian’s Pythian problem for them.

Provided that adequate services and supply were rendered to pay for the favor.

“They will not find any warlord so dignified as you, milord.” Raiza said.

“Thank you. But more than dignity– I also want to convey capability.” Astra said.

Not just to the Imbrians– but to Tagmarch Labrys Agamemnon as well.

Serving as Astra’s mentor had served to integrate her warband with Mycenae.

As Astra grew older, she realized that Labrys benefited too greatly from her esteem.

“The Tagmarch is getting a little too conceited.” Astra said.

“There are many who would agree with you.” Raiza said.

“Not enough.” Astra said. “For one– I don’t know that I agree with myself. I esteem Labrys for what she has taught me, and for the times she has protected me. I have a naïve hope that I can show her that I have my own will and do not simply follow her and act to her advantage. Our causes aligned too closely in the purging of the legislators and judiciars. As I’ve been fated to rise, I’ve carried this remora with me. It’s vexing. At the same time, Mycenae has enjoyed stability and is building its power. I am afraid of making the wrong choice.”

“Milord– if the time ever comes. For you, I would–”

Astra raised her hand and placed a finger over Raiza’s lips to quiet her.

She shook her head. It was not yet time for such sentiments.

“Raiza, you too– I want to show you I have the power to protect myself. And to protect you.”

Raiza raised her own hand and took Astra’s fingers into her own.

Her tails curled around Astra for further comfort.

“I have the utmost confidence, milord. I am yours always. In victory or death.”

Astra smiled. “In victory, Raiza. I promise you.”

Perhaps it was naïve of her to hope, and even more naïve to believe it could happen.

And yet, it was Astra’s determination to achieve a grand, overwhelming power.

A power so almighty that it might even rule bloodlessly.

As if the stars in the dark sky of old, undeniable to all rhetoric, unkillable by men.

“The ancients who could see the sky. I wonder if they would even consider me human.”

Astra spoke up, with a sudden concern on her face.

Raiza simply held her closer. Astra knew she was being unfair to her.

Nobody could challenge such rhetoric. At least, if she wasn’t human–

Then the best she could do was to wield her inhuman power magnificently.

The power to silence critics, to repel conspirators, to overturn the world as she knew it.

The Mare Crisium was destined for upheaval.

She would set for Imbria and work diligently to become equal to the coming storm.

Hoping that at the end of it, she might still be alive, as none of her predecessors could be.

That she might still enjoy Raiza’s sweet embrace, even in the bleakest of battles.

And that, perhaps, she and her people might overcome their curse someday.


After Descent, Year 979

Atop the staircase, an axe-blade’s swing tore a man in two.

Blood cascaded down the steps.

Gory offal rode all the way to the floor below.

One swing. She swung, he died, and then she brought the blade back in front of her.

Looking down at the half of him atop the stairs, guts astrewn.

Watching the top half descend with its final incredulous expression down the steps, leaving a streak that vanished once the rest of the blood caught up with it. Step after step turning a slick crimson. Standing in silence, when the remains left her sight down the spiral of the stairs, she could hear the thudding, even over the distant crack of rifle fire. Sometimes punctuated by a scream. Moments later, the offal reached its final resting place below.

She grinned and laughed a bit at the whole banal scene.

Kicking down the top half hoping to reproduce some of the same humor.

No luck, however. It had already lost its novelty.

“Decarch Dellis here, we’ve forced the rabble down on the left wing.”

“Copy, we’ve cleared them out of the transit level, right wing.”

“How much resistance? Any casualties?”

“Very little and none. Stay sharp though– it might get worse.”

They had good information that this mob was being armed from the Uhlan barracks.

However, so far, Dellis had only encountered handguns and poorly improvised explosives. Nothing but bottles full of petrol or even balloons full of paint. One of her numeroi had gotten splashed with green paint, and to revenge the indignity of it she chopped someone in half. That was what gave Dellis the idea– she could also just not bother with her rifle and try to chop someone in half too. They didn’t have nanomail to resist the blows!

Dellis looked over her shoulder. Her numeroi were combing the surroundings.

Instead of a helmet, she had a bulletproof glass shield, so everyone could see her face.

She liked for the numeroi to be able to see her face.

Brown-skinned with silvery mottles and patches and dyed golden blond hair.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and substantial in her suit of powered armor.

A woman like that, her grin– it gave them important context.

“I know you’re all doing what you’re told, but there’s clearly nothing to recon here, right?”

She gestured for the staircase, thrusting her index finger toward it twice.

Her troops acknowledged and formed up on the staircase. Two of them went down first, and two others watched from above as best they could. Two more prepared to go down after the first group, with several paces between. Once the first group cleared the bottom, the two on overwatch followed them down. Dellis watched them with some incredulity– they were reproducing their training without fault, and it almost irked her to see it.

Once they were all moving, she followed them down the blood-slick steps.

Numeroi, Mycenaean footsoldiers– dressed in nanomail bodysuits with thin, segmented ballistic plates covering certain vitals, each had a hint of individuality. Some had their hair short, some long, some tied up, some let loose– most of them had grey skin but some had mottles or scales. Mycenae encouraged them to display small degrees of individuality in their personal grooming. Overwhelmingly, Katarrans were made and not necessarily “born.” Therefore they had sympathy for one another’s need for identity and personality.

Nobody had a concealing helmet, because nobody wanted to look too “faceless.”

They had so many advantages otherwise that it hardly made a difference to them.

“Proceeding from the transit level into the upper level of the mall.” Dellis said.

“There’s four floors– the strongest resistance will probably be in the second.”

“Are you moving down as well?”

“Yes, we’re keeping pace. Nobody here is as fast as you of course.”

“A compliment? Want to meet up after this is all over?”

“I wasn’t trying to get in your pants. But if you’ll have me–”

“I’ll be waiting ‘in my tent’ after this mess.”

In her ear was her counterpart, Decarch Inonu.

They were communicating directly via wireless and could be fairly certain nobody was listening that would care overmuch. Each of them led a Vanguard and a Rear Guard. Dellis was currently following six numeroi and she had twelve additional numeroi bringing up the rear. Inonu had an inverted arrangement, moving with twelve numeroi and keeping six in the rear. They themselves composed the tactical Vanguard, and behind them there would be a tactical Rear Guard deploying soon with two Decarchs and their own personal Vanguard and Rear Guard. This was the staple infantry unit of the Tagmata, Mycenae’s military.

Dellis and Inonu had a simple mission– kill everything between the fourth tier and the bottom of the third tier and then hold position. Then, Decarchs Cosmatos and Synadenos in the Rear Guard would overtake them and recover some VIPs at the bottom, inverting the Vanguard and Rear Guard positions. They had their own orders for what to do about the VIPs once recovered– Dellis’ mission was to enable Cosmatos to move as soon as possible.

That meant Dellis had to do what she did best.

There was no better enabler of movement than a swift and brutal attack on the defenses.

At the bottom of the stairs, the numeroi assessed the surroundings.

Two of them took cover and prepared for possible attack.

Four covered each cardinal direction.

Every staircase on the third tier mall’s floor plan landed in the same sort of rest and floor traffic junction. There were non-working elevator banks, public telephones, and a row of vending machines. There were benches and glass bubble planters were flowers growing inside. Guardrails and decorative pillars broke up the right flank, dividing up their view of the atrium. The next unbroken series of store fronts began a few meters in either direction. Nothing had been broken into or vandalized and everything seemed eerily empty. Farther south, there was something in the way which was not a natural part of the design–

a barricade.

Overthrown furniture and various other items interlocked deliberately to form cover.

“Follow me, we’re advancing! Take up positions along the advance!” Dellis cried out.

Her cry alerted the rioters at the barricade.

Small rounds impacted her chestplate shortly after– she felt nothing.

Dellis brought up her axe and broke into a sprint toward the barricade.

She let out a battle cry, practically a roar, and readied her axe for a swing as she ran.

In front of her, the rioters responded with sporadic small arms fire.

There were one or two people with arms, and several with improvised weapons.

Dellis made a bombastic show of throwing herself at the barricade–

Her numeroi followed–

Along the way, one peeled into a piece of cover.

One behind a vending machine, another behind a planter, a third ducking into a shop–

While her wild charge drew all the attention, she ‘seeded’ the path with numeroi.

Four or five meters away from the barricade, Dellis ducked behind a video ad screen.

She lifted her fist–

From six different points behind her, assault rifle fire from the numeroi fell on the barricade like a storm of bullets. Exposed rioters at the moment of Dellis’ signal were picked off, and anyone not in cover would have lost a limb if not their head. The remaining rioters were suppressed, and then Dellis opened her fist, closed it, and opened it where the numeroi could see. Suddenly, all of the fire stopped, and the numeroi hid in their positions.

Inviting attention from the enemy–

Before opening fire again in erratic sequences.

One position fired, quieted– two other positions fired, quieted–

This erratic rhythm gave Dellis her opening.

Between the numeroi’s suppressing attacks, she ran back into the middle of the street.

Charging the barricade itself, clearing the remaining distance.

She ducked under its shadow while gunfire blazed around her.

Taking two grenades from her belt, priming them with her thumbs.

Throwing them up and over the barricade.

And diving away on her back, facing the barricade with her face shield down.

Twin clouds of smoke, and hundreds of splinters into the air.

Vexingly, the numeroi continued to suppress the position by firing over her–

Until she made enough fist signals to catch their attention.

In a textbook advance, the numeroi began to move, methodically “tagging” each other out of cover and back into the squad formation through each staggered firing position. Dellis grunted while she stood up from the ground and walked to the barricade. She thought if they were this stiff someone might be able to trick them into shooting by just throwing out stuff out into the road and triggering flashbacks of their target acquisition training.

At least it meant they remembered the tactics at all.

Looking out behind the barricade with her axe raised up–

She was greeted by nothing but deformed meat, amorphous formerly-living things.

Nobody even writhing in pain. Everyone was dead and in pieces.

“Position clear! Hold the ground and wait for the rear guard. Then get ready to move again!”

She was a little bit happy seeing the effect of the grenades.

Throwing two was a little overkill but– damn it, she needed the motivation!

Though she was a Mycenaean soldier now, in good standing– she still liked killing.

She was stuffy about it now– she followed her orders– respected her training–

But she still maintained some of that quixotic Pythian character.

Dellis might have to come up with something else creative for these poor rioters.

Or maybe she could shake out all her boredom with Inonu when they decided who topped.


Outside the storefront, she heard footsteps, and a scream.

She held her breath and tried to calm the shaking in her hands and shoulders.

There would be no point to anything if she went out now.

No matter who was dying out there she had to wait for the perfect opportunity.

All she had was one shot. She had to take out someone valuable.

Or at the very least, she had to buy time.

Make them scared. Scared of the people’s will for liberation.

Out of all the shops, she decided to hide in the Raylight shop. The front glass façade was completely shattered but Raylight shops always had steel segmented displays right on the window. These could not be knocked down or moved by looters, though the shop hadn’t even been vandalized by them. She did all the damage herself. That way she could look through the gaps, and with the glass gone she could shoot or throw through them, while hiding in the corner and remaining mostly in cover because of the display frames.

She recalled a few good tips on street fighting she picked up in Thurin.

What did she have on her? Handgun, petrol bombs, a heat knife.

It would have to be enough.

(Was it enough back then? In Hertha Park when the fascists advanced?)

She grit her teeth.

Distant gunfire, punctuated by loud sharp sounds that could have been blasts. She heard battle cries she attributed to the Katarrans, beastly roars accompanying savage charges– she heard screams she attributed to the helpless victims. Her mind had already frozen at these scenes before, and she was determined not to make the same mistake twice. She told herself she felt nothing about it now. This was nothing like the night their dream failed.

No– rather than fail, it was betrayed.

Now even among colleagues she felt alone– all of them still believed with all their hearts–

“This will be the night that frees us.”

Though she would fight dearly for it, it was hard to believe that was the case.

In the presence of the gunfire and the screams.

The passing shadows of foreign killers purging the uprising.

As much as she did not want to be brought back to that moment, as much as she wanted to bury that person and pretend like she existed solely for this night, that this was well and truly the final night– alone and waiting in the middle of the enemy, waiting for death– she remembered Thurin. Not just on that final night, but in the years that led up to it. She remembered falling in with the wrong crowd, dropping out of school, disappointing her parents, thinking for the first time of the possibility of a different life.

She remembered listening to the lectures.

How good it sounded–

“Nobody’s the boss, nobody’s the father, nobody’s the teacher, nobody’s the governor– nobody coerces anybody. We are all in voluntary association for our shared benefit.”

Bosses, fathers, teachers, governors, had all failed her so many times.

All of her life had been lived under coercion–

Anarchism gave her a real definition of freedom.

With the anarchists, she felt alive. Like a person again. Like she had her life, and it was hers.

The anarchist meetings were the wildest time.

They were so irreverent, so liberated, so much their own persons. They weren’t like anyone else. It captivated her. She was a child of privilege, and these people broke every assumption she had about the world, and she loved them for it. She was swept in the energy, in their joy for the world. She learned to fight. Learned to sneak around the station. Learned the literature and what to say to people. Learned to make bombs. Learned first-aid and resuscitation. Fucked three different people across the station and realized not one of them owned her or owed each other. Everyone learned everything. They shared everything.

They were true about it– nobody was the boss. Everyone just did everything.

It wasn’t long until the wild times ended–

Because she learned about the enemy that hated their dreams and ambitions.

Not in an abstract sense: not the bosses, not the governors. Not an Emperor or God.

She learned about guys on the same street who wanted them all dead.

Guys who were doing the same training, the same marching, to kill them.

At first, they would hire Katarran thugs to disrupt meetings, intimidate members, steal shit.

That wasn’t too tough to deal with at first. It was just annoying.

Only the leftists spoke out to defend the foreigners in Rhinea and they acted like this?!

But she shut her mouth and fought and shouted the slogans like her comrades did.

Soon, however, the “nascent” right-wing started coming out with a whole paramilitary.

They had killers on the streets like the Blood Bund, and support in politics from the Libertarians, and from loudmouth stone age fuckers like the Traditional Fatherhood Front who raised millions of marks from the vilest little men and women in Imbria. Knowing how depraved the “little people” like her could be shook her back then. But she stuck with the anarchists. She felt like she belonged. She felt fired up. She wanted to fight– it all felt worth fighting for. It was her life, her love. Every Blood Bund crony whose head they smashed in. Every cop they kicked off someone at the park or in the back streets. Every rightist stenographer at the Thurin Times who got their camera smashed and their tablet broken over their head. It felt like they were stepping stones to making a truly human world.

When she was out on the street with the whole gang, surrounded by people– that was living.

In the middle of the shouting and the fighting it felt like they could heal the world.

Her grey world was given color because it felt like it was finally hers.

Then on that night in Hertha Park,

the jet-black tide of National Socialism rendered all their actions a blur.

She had thought it was too stupid to go out trying to defend that coward Heidemann who wouldn’t stand for anything except businesses and going back to brunch. But there were other people there who mattered. The liberals turned up on that night, the feminists turned up, the pro-immigration guys turned up. So the anarchists turned up. Because they had to show the fascists that they didn’t own the streets in Thurin. They had to put up resistance. So they fought like hell in Hertha Park like they always did. Then the results came in, and everyone stopped fighting. A giant billboard officially declared their cause lost.

It made her feel insane, watching everyone give up when they saw Lehner’s shitty little grin.

People giving the rightists hell just stopping to stare at a monitor with a stupid vote tally.

That night, watching her friends get surrounded and beaten and killed

and forced to run away–

While the liberals all sulked and went back to live their lives under these fascist maniacs–

While the Shimii and the Katarrans and the Loup just switched masters to whoever won–

She thought she would never see another night like that.

Because she thought she was broken and would never come back the same.

Herself fleeing to Aachen, taking up some shitty job, demobilized, beaten down.

Dead.

And yet– here was another night.

She was still here. She still wanted the people who fucked up her life to pay.

Anarchy was still here too. Still struggling to make it into the light.

So she turned up to fight again.

When the chatrooms started blowing up she could not believe the fervor.

She had skills– she remembered the wild times–

So she went up to the barricades and joined everyone.

A tiny part of her felt alive again. In their faces she saw the faces she had lost.

That part that believed they deserved to be free of all this shit was alive again.

Now–

A noise–

Her mind returned from wandering when she heard footsteps coming her way.

Hooded folks, no uniforms, no armor–

Those faces–

As soon as they entered her vision they were gunned down from out of sight.

Chests pumped forward by the impacts of the rifle bullets, splashing red on the floor.

Toppling over mid-run like she saw the moment their souls left them.

She hid again and calmed her breathing and stilled her rage.

Katarrans– always on the wrong side.

It was now or never. She had to ambush them and run.

At least it would slow them down until the main barricades got proper organized.

Two figures rushed forward, examined the bodies–

Those were just grunts, she thought– she knew there were some in powered armor–

Then someone barked orders. The two figures ran ahead.

Another took their place. A tall, imposing brunette, armored, with a vibroaxe.

If she could destroy that powered armor– or even steal the gear–

The anarchist watched in hiding, as the armored figure strode forward.

Stopping for a moment to check the bodies.

“Hmph. What are they even doing? This is ridiculous.”

That evil creature had stopped to think to herself, to say something, shake her head.

Even laugh a little at the folly of it–

White-hot rage burned in the anarchist’s chest.

That was the moment where everything would be determined.

She forced herself not to freeze up– not to give up the fight and run–

Like how things ended at Hertha Park.

No– she did not step back. This time the anarchist rushed forward.

Lighting the match, rearing up–

Zeroing in on that bulky figure in the dark, her petrol bomb shining in the dark.

She threw– and the bottle soared–

Crashing onto the power armor and bursting and setting the creature ablaze.

In that moment, in that instant, she felt alive.

She felt like she had taken one more step forward against the monsters–

Any second now she would hear the screams, see it fall, the fascist wall toppled–

Then the power armored figure turned to face the door.

Flames danced upon the metal striding undaunted toward her.

Burning petrol slid down the shoulders, across the chest, onto the legs.

Illuminating the abandoned store and casting the cornered anarchist in a fierce red glow.

She saw the face of the monster, untouched by the flames.

Behind the faceshield. Blueish skin, mottles and scales, strange eyes and a fierce grin.

Could they even feel pain?!

The anarchist was paralyzed, stepping back from the door.

Not even one– she couldn’t even kill one–?

She tripped and fell back and crawled– the beast was nearly on top of her–

Looking down at her with that mocking grin–

“You fucking Katarrans! You fucking monsters!” She cried out helplessly. “Wherever there’s something to be taken from decent folk, there you fucking are! That’s the only place we find you! God damn your entire fucking race! It’s not enough to rob people?! Not enough to kill ’em for your own greed, now you do it for the fascists too?! We fought for all of you! We fought for everybody! Why did you all fucking betray us–?! Why did everyone–?!”

Her cries turned to whimpers, to begging– she was the farthest thing from alive–

Behind the glass face-shield, amid all the fierce fiery tongues–

a white grin untouched by the burning.

“If you knew what ‘Katarran’ even means you would already have your satisfaction.”

Speaking calmly, her voice barely above a whisper despite the flames burning on her armor.

The Katarran, the ‘cursed one’, raised her axe overhead never ceasing to grin.

“Us Katarrans, our golden age is coming. We are the ones who have suffered enough.”

She brought down her axe and cleaved into the chest of the anarchist.

Crushing her sternum and ribs, splitting her spine, puncturing even the floor.

Gore smashed out of the corpse fell upon the fires and burned atop the armor.

“Decarch Inonu! Decarch Inonu!”

Behind the Decarch, a frightened Numeroi appeared and sprayed her with smothering gel.

When the fires were put out, the abandoned Raylight shop was cast into shadow.

It was only the Decarch left, and her numeroi standing outside in mild confusion.

Inonu looked down at the body.

Now that it was dead she could no longer muster any grinning or shouting for it.

She thought– thankfully, my face is not burned, nor my hair.

Dellis would have made fun of it all. They still might have fucked, at least.

Maybe she would have tenderly nursed her burns.

Her nanomail suit insulated her from most of the heat– there was only a bit of irritation.

It could have all gone much worse, however. Numeroi would have certainly died.

She had to report everything. Something was going on.

“Dellis, Cosmatos, Synadenos– I was just ambushed from an abandoned shop. Someone threw an incendiary device. They waited for the vanguards to pass and went for me. We’ll need to be extra careful. There are rioters now exhibiting more organization and tactics and targeting leadership. We don’t know what else they are capable of.”

“We will test their mettle then, brave Decarch.” Cosmatos replied.

“C’mon Inonu, being all smart isn’t sexy– get riled up and charge them!” Dellis chimed in.

“We’ll send part of our forces forward.” Synadenos said. “Clear everything methodically.”

In death, the anarchist accomplished the objective she had given herself.

Mycenae’s charge slowed down ever just so.

Now it was up to her comrades to do what they could, with the love that she had for liberty.

And the life she had given up for anarchy.


She put the pillar to her back– between herself and death.

An oppressive din of gunfire near and far and caused her to hesitate. She saw the next pillar in front of her– but there was so much just behind. They could see her. Almost as soon as she thought of moving she saw wisps of plaster dust and stucco whipped up into the air at her side. She felt dimly the impact of bullets into the column and froze up once more.

There were at least three ahead and however many behind.

Her eyes darted from the wall to the floor, and forward.

Tentatively shifting her weight, forward, back, as if she could gain momentum from zero.

“Damn it, damn it,”

She put her hands to the column as if to push herself–

Loud sharp cracking sounds–

Green tracers flew past the column and struck the floor just ahead of her.

Paralyzing her again just as she was building her courage.

She began to weep.

Peeling one hand from the hard grip on her pistol, to check the magazine.

Three in the mag, one in the chamber. Useless.

There had be some way to escape– through her tears she begged for any opportunity.

Looking down at her belt for anything–

No grenades, nothing but a spare mag and–

Her fingers gripped a tiny cylinder close to her lower back.

Thinking quickly, she threw the pepper spray bottle over her shoulder, out of cover.

In the instant it was riddled with bullets and burst into its foul red mist,

she was gone.

Taking off running to the next column, just a few meters ahead.

Her pursuers quickly raised their weapons from the canister to her position–

Striking the decorative plaster smeared over the column.

One more piece of cover, one more foothold– but so much more ahead.

Too much.

When she threw away her uniform, she thought she would be able to cheat a certain death by joining with the protesters. Nobody recognized her as an Uhlan even with her boots, the one effect she had no opportunity to discard for lack of a substitute. Throwing it all away was her first reaction to the news. She hated the job anyway– her coworkers were all dead? Fuck them. She wouldn’t die a mall cop for any size paycheck. She told herself– all you have to do is stay quiet, go along with the riot, sneak out through third tier residential. She had friends there, with condos and locked doors. Someone would hide her–

Until the Volkisch cleaned this place up!

But her bleak fortune saw fit to introduce her to the Mycenae Military Commission.

Now her lot was exactly the same as the rioters.

Mere instants confirmed every horror story ever told about Katarrans.

Everyone who ran ahead of the mob, who took initiative and was gung-ho about tearing stuff down– slaughtered. When she took off running there was nobody else who could. The Katarrans had the overwhelming advantage. The best the rioters could do against powered armor was to throw paint balloons at them and muck up the visors. She saw one kid do this and get split in half by a Katarran vanguard officer in a literal blind rage. It was hopeless up there. All of the smaller barricades that had been thrown up in the top of the tier, blocking the stairs to the government sector and into the mall, they had been systematically leveled. Meanwhile the main body of the rioters, the more organized people bringing up the guns from the second tier, they had set up their main barricades and rally points in the mall itself. These were a bit more substantial– if she could get to one of those points, she would be able to run with something quite distracting between herself and the Katarrans.

If she could get to one.

Gunfire behind her– small bursts, into the column. Trying to flush her out.

She counted the shots as best as she could.

Unfortunately, she had seen how they fought. They weren’t idiots. When they fired from cover, they varied the timing of their bursts to tempt their prey to shoot back at the exact time a second shooter had the cover sited. She had seen enough rioters getting perforated around corners and poking out of chest-high barriers to know that counting the bullets wasn’t going to be the end of it. There were at least three Katarrans on her tail right now.

Nanomail bodysuits with additional plates affixed; middle-caliber assault rifles.

Not that the caliber mattered, she had no nanomail on her anymore. It was all deadly.

If they had grenades on them, they did not deem her enough of a threat to deploy them.

Gunfire resumed, lulled, resumed. It was closer now.

They had stacked at the pillar she had just left behind.

Had they known she had four bullets in this gun they would have just charged.

Gutted her with their heat knives– she would prefer getting shot up to that.

She had to answer, to buy any amount of time–

Careful not to expose her hand, she turned the pistol sideways around her cover.

Firing off every shot. Four trigger pulls, four loud cracks.

Successive bursts of gunfire pounded the column.

Feeling the vibrations transfer to her back, she looked at her surroundings.

There was a chest-high barrier at her side with guard rails made to keep people from falling off to the ground floor. The aperture of the atrium had glass walls, floating adverts and art pieces that prevented her from seeing the opposite side of the mall. She was on the third floor of the mall, the upper floor– above her was certain death in the transit level to the fourth tier, completely taken over by Mycenae. Below her was salvation in the form of the main base of the rioters. There were columns spaced a few meters apart all along this level. There were probably at least a dozen more between her and a staircase down.

That was a dozen more games of cat and mouse that she was about to lose.

She emptied the magazine from her pistol, picked up the spare,

and threw both out one after the other.

Disciplined gunfire cut each of them to carbon fiber ribbons on the floor.

“Hey– is surrendering off the table?” She shouted out.

Nothing but more gunfire in response.

Gritting her teeth, weeping, her whole body shaking, she threw the pistol out.

And threw herself over the barrier.

Gripping the edge for an instant, just enough to see–

Letting go and praying for the strength to grab onto anything below.

The Uhlans were finished– but this officer was going on her own terms.

Her own story merely one among many in the confusion of Aachen’s longest day.


“I’ve arrived at the transit level, milord.”

“Excellent. Let’s see if we can’t give our new friends some good news.”

“It is possible I will be out of communication, if the area is being jammed.”

“I trust you more than anyone. You will be back.”

“I am elated to hear that, milord. I will return to you as soon as I can.”

Raiza Sakaraeva looked over the edge of the guardrails on the transit level between the third and fourth tier, down into the enormous mall below. Before her an ostentatious apparatus of glass, color and advertisements connected the floor and ceiling of the third tier. Around the atrium pylon with its art pieces, lighting systems and floating displays putting on a show for no one– the three levels of the mall had been arrayed, with the transit floor above them. The stores were all set into the walls of the station at each level. The second, third and fourth levels featured guard-rails and pillars separating the traffic lanes across the storefronts from the possibility of falling down the length of the glass leviathan dominating the space.

Circumventing the guardrails and falling was what Raiza had come to do.

Her silvery hair tied up in a ponytail with bands at different lengths; body wrapped tightly in nanomail, the taut bodysuit lacking any additional ballistic plates, wearing only a nylon gliding cloak with it; on her legs, a pair of labor-enhancing devices, like oversize retracting heels covering her calves that could touch the floor; on her arms, gauntlets with picks attached such that the forearm assisted the stability of the titanium piercing points. On her lower back she had a satchel with explosives, medical supplies and other helpful gear.

Behind her, her tails billowed, swaying calmly like thick, fluffy scarves floating on a wind.

She surveyed the fall below.

Somewhere directly beneath her, was the bar Oststadt, on the first floor of the mall.

All of the streets on the first floor were raised over a false pond– too shallow to catch her.

Numeroi collected near her who had escorted her from the government tier.

“Madam, you’re not thinking of–?”

Before they could ask, Raiza sprang over the guard rail and dove toward the glass.

Screams of surprise behind her were drowned out by a surge in gunfire, flashing from behind her as she descended to the third level, the top of the mall, where there was still sporadic fighting. But that battle did not exist for her. She saw only the means with which to execute Astra’s directives. Ahead of her, the many-colored, brightly lit glass became a horizon into which everything else disappeared. It was a dizzying landmark to meet head-on.

Despite this she intuitively gauged the distance between herself and the glass.

Raiza turned mid-dive, batting with her tails, employing her cloak to catch some air.

Her picks engaged and she struck the wall with both, arresting her remaining momentum.

Preventing herself from smashing into the wall. Her strength softening the collission.

A bit of pain was nothing to her– she was not even slowed.

She knew that the glass was thick enough that her own strength could not break it.

Despite this she knew it was urgent to keep moving.

Her picks started to slide down the glass seconds later. And this was not the only danger.

Raiza looked down from her tenuous perch, retracted her picks and kicked off.

Her jump boosters sent her toward an advert board floating near the second floor.

Too flimsy to stick to for long–

Instead she used her picks to hook onto the top of the board, briefly hanging.

She then kicked off before she brought the whole thing down.

Leaping down with the central pond below, gleaming blue between the steel walkways.

She heard shouting behind her–

Up overhead, behind her back, along the railings, rioters had seen her fall.

Using her cloak and tails she altered directions mid-drop to confuse anyone aiming.

And managed to land on her feet unmolested. Not even a shot fired from above.

Perhaps her enemy was too perplexed to have painted her as a target.

Landing on one of the walkways over the central pond, near the base of the glass atrium dividers and the water they contained, she gathered her surroundings warily.

Judging by the model that Murati Nakara had shared–

Still clear in her mind–

Raiza ran from the atrium center on the ground floor and into the lower north thoroughfare.

Clearing a line of vending machines and a spiral staircase, turning a corner–

Hearing guns going off, close and specifically.

Realizing that it was not just the background din of the Mycenaean clearing operations.

She saw the ostentatious signage of the bar Oststadt, and a mess of broken glass scattered across the floor. There were bodies. Dead white uniforms strewn about on the way to the bar, some against the façade, some farther, some at the front door, all shot. An injured body propped up against a wall adjacent the doors. A shooter on the blind spot of the door periodically shooting into the bar. Presumably someone shooting back from inside the bar.

“Ra–z–”

Astra’s voice in her ear was beginning to break up– the jamming was localized–

“Stealth–”

She was warning her–

Ahead of her, the one remaining shooter found herself engaged with fire from inside.

That was her chance–

Raiza turned mid-run to face the spiral staircase rising behind her.

Against the rainbow of light flooding the surroundings from the atrium sculpture–

Her sharp eyes picked up the visual anomalies.

Someone sneaking downstairs.

She quickly picked up and threw an explosive grenade toward the staircase.

And leaped back-first toward the shooter at the Oststadt.

An explosion powerful enough to turn the thin staircase to slag scattered pieces of once-hidden soldiers into the air like a shower of partially camouflaged meat. Splitting apart their connection between floors. Raiza had engaged her jump boosters and threw herself on a flat trajectory, barely lifting off the ground. Behind her, she heard the shooter turn, but it was too late. She shoulder-checked the assailant into the wall at speed enough to break bone.

Beating the breath out of her own body–

Turning with a hazy head and lungs punched empty, she drove her pick with all her strength.

Piercing the shooter’s head through the temple and striking part of the brick texture.

Blood spattered on her face and hair. Bits of dust and fragments flew from the wall.

Taking in breath, she withdrew a small pistol from her hip and shot the injured Judean.

Confirming the kill for the folks inside.

For a moment, she assumed the same position as the shooter she had just killed.

Back to the wall, pinning up the dead body, out of sight of the bar interior.

Catching her breath, scanning her surroundings.

No other visual anomalies.

She was lucky Astra managed to alert her before she got too close to the bar.

Her communications were completely cut out at the doorway.

Astra must have been warned by Murati Nakara– she had the cameras tapped.

Now, Raiza would be without that resource or anything other than what she carried.

Someone was inside– someone she needed to bring back.

To signal the change in the situation, Raiza let the white uniformed corpse fall.

It thudded on the doorway, into sight from the bar.

Provoking an immediate response–

“Who the fuck is out there? You think I’m gonna fall for that shit so easy? I am giving you one warning. All us Alayzeans are good for is shooting and killing motherfuckers! You see the results don’t you? The massacre’s resuming in 15 seconds if I don’t see your ass on that fucking door! Come to the door frame and tell me why you shouldn’t join them huh?!”

A woman’s irascible voice–

An interesting accent, that reminded Raiza of certain rare breeds of Alayzean.

Every ‘I’ sounded more like an ‘Oy’. A colorful bunch, these mercs.

“As politely as possible, God does not intend us to shoot each other.” Raiza called back out.

Putting considerable trust in the people inside the bar, she stepped slowly inside.

Holding her hands up with her picks disengaged.

Her ears twitched, and her tails continued to sway, framed in the light of the door.

Across the way, behind a long counter with a register and digital check-in–

There was a woman, also stepping out. Putting down her own pistol.

Breathing heavy.

Red-haired, her clothes disheveled, a bit of blood on her shoulder and head.

“I am assisting Murati Nakara.” Raiza said. Opening with the important details.

At the mention of the name, the woman’s eyes lit up. She heaved a loud, cathartic sigh.

“God damn it, this better not be some trick.”

“We’ll need tricks to get you all out. Raiza Sakaraeva.” Raiza put a hand over her chest.

For the first time the woman looked truly relieved. She was letting herself believe it.

“Eithnen. Eithnen Ni Faoláin.”

Eithnen looked behind herself briefly, still breathing heavy. Perhaps breathing even heavier.

“Raiza– We’ve got wounded and– and worse.” Eithnen said.

Raiza nodded. “Rescue is coming. Let’s assess and figure out what we can do from here.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Eithnen said. She nearly doubled over– the adrenaline was leaving her.

Having just a taste of the carnage that had erupted in front of Eithnen,

Raiza wondered how much worse it was behind her.


After Descent, Year 975

Artificial rain and wind had been scheduled over Nichori University.

Carried on the gusts created by the storm generators, the droplets of water drummed across the doors, walls and windows like thousands of crawling, tapping fingers. The power draw from the storm generators, along with the deliberate siphoning of power, meant that within the university the lights flashed intermittently, automatic services were curtailed, and even the air started to grow thin. It was an intimidation tactic against the rioting students.

It did little to allay the horrors unfolding.

For the woman cutting her way through the corridors, the rain was a welcome friend.

For the teenage girl hiding in the closet, the rain seemed to drown out every other sound and in its place to slot in her own imagination of what was happening– such that she could not tell her own imaginings apart from the screaming, crying, the gushing sounds of people ripped apart. Intermittent thunders masked the whirring of a motor roaring too rapaciously to be attached to a vibrosword. She heard stun batons clash metal blades. She heard fast steps amid the din of the storm that were at once silenced. Her fleeting sense of the space told her that there was something just around the corner of her own hall.

Moving closer.

She heard the loudest screams and the heaviest dancing of steps–

Then, silence.

Peering through a hole in the plastic closet, from where the knob had fallen off.

Tied with a wire to keep it shut.

Between the wires, through the empty knob–

Bright yellow sunlamp light flashed in her eye–

There was a great shattering crash as her thin plastic door fell over.

Again the lights dimmed and cast the figure into shadow.

Leaving only the suggestion of the corpses behind her, the gore on the walls.

She took uneven steps into the room as if she might fall.

Pulling something massive across the floor with her.

Jagged teeth chewing on the plastic and carbon fiber as it dragged.

Amid the sound of the rain, the buffeting wind–

There was the tiny sound of dribbling fluid from the figure’s cape and pants.

When the lights flashed again, the stain the figure left wherever she moved was cast in a muddy red color, and it was thick, and tiny fragments of something unmentionable floated on the surface of the slick. More of the figure was painted in– her black uniform smeared with blood and red and pink and brown and even black bits of fibrous and smooth and sharp and sinewy scraps of– people it was people she was covered in them–

Her eyes met those of the girl hiding in the closet, and she smiled.

Inside the closet the girl backed away but met the wall directly at her back.

There was nowhere to go–

While the killer lifted the enormous sawblade she was lugging with her.

Setting it against the wires, against the missing knob, and pounding the engine starter.

A defeaning roar– the vibrations went straight into the girl’s gut–

Centimeters between her face and the ripping blade–

Feeling the air disturbed and the metallic power thrumming right before her eyes–

Eyes that she never shut as she–

“Hey– come out. Come out right now you little beast.”

Before it could cut her face open the blade completely stopped.

Delivering nothing but the tiniest red graze on the girl’s cheek.

Once it stopped moving, the stench of iron and bile on its surface drifted into the girl’s nostrils like poison gas. Her legs gave out as soon as the blade retreated, and she fell to the floor of the closet. Shaking, hugging herself, gagging. She felt her stomach turn hot and kick up into her throat. But her eyes remained fixed on the figure of the killer who stood in front of the open closet, looking down at her. An indescribable expression on her face.

“Tell me your name. Or I kick this back on.”

She lifted the saw a little off the floor– the girl recoiled from the subtle movement.

Recognizing barely, that the figure must have had monstrous strength to lift that enormous weapon. To lift that weapon and to swing it and to fight with it.

To kick down her door so easily–

to slaughter however many people all the meat in the hallway

once constituted–

“Menahem.” The girl mumbled through the panic. “Halevi.”

Her name was a tiny noise barely comprehensible to herself.

“Menahem. You can call me Maggie. I’m someone very special.”

With another flash of the lights, Menahem saw Magdalena’s face. Her long, dark hair caked in blood and gore that had spattered off her spinning blade, her soft lips painted red whether with makeup or blood, unknown. Her eyes staring down at Menahem with a strange humor. Her body which would have been beautiful and voluptuous, coveted in any other setting, clad under in black layered red with the detritus of uncountable lives.

Perhaps recognizing Menahem’s scrutiny she tipped her peaked cap.

Rendering visible the hooked crosses symbolizing her allegiance.

“They call me Maggie the Cleaner– do you know why?”

She suddenly revved the diamond sabre with a smile.

Menahem crawled back against the closet, making herself small in it.

“I use this saw to clean up filthy places. Cut out necrotic tissue.” Magdalena said. “Any space occupied by Juzni, or Turuks or even worse, by Eloim– once this saw has cleansed it, Imbrian lives can resume in there. Imbria is a sick, sick man, Menahem– it needs me–”

She kneeled closer to Menahem in the closet, lifting her hand from her saw.

Spreading open her jacket with that shaking hand. Lips quivering as she spoke.

“Menahem, little Menahem– you see– I have killed so much– but I am dying.”

She showed Menahem her open stomach, and the hanging sleeve on her coat–

The missing part of her head under her hat–

Menahem recoiled in even greater horror, covering her mouth, kicking her legs.

Magdelena smiled, forcing herself to her full height using her handle of her saw.

Her mad eyes fixed on Menahem who could not look away–

“I am dying– and you have to tell your kind my story. You have to carry my story– to the future. Tell the tale of how I scoured you all. That the Blood Bund will continue to do everything to rid Imbria of the poison in its veins. If any of your kin are alive, tell them of my hatred, and of your weakness. And live to hate me as well– hate me with all of your feeble power. I don’t want your respect and I already know how to get your fear– what I covet more than anything is your hatred. That’s how I will be immortalized after I die– nobody will be able to say Magdalena von Treckow did not live– nobody will be able to say that the Blood Bund did not fight– we were the foremost healers of Imbria’s defects–”

Half the words in those mad ramblings had begun to slur and quaver by the end.

There was nothing Menahem could do in reponse but to nod her head.

Shaking, and silently begging and hoping that she would be left alive.

She saw Magdalena’s hand lift from her saw.

In that instant she imagined any of a thousand things that hand could do to kill her.

Any of a million ways it would move next–

Every one of a billion refracting possibilities made real within the mind–

Its colors moved away from the saw and never returned, however.

Menahem saw an odorless black mass trail out the door, and out the door Magdalena went.

Like a nightmare she had woken up from, except–

For the saw weapon left in the room, stuck into the floor, encrusted in gore.

And giving off a vibrant, lightless red glow like gaseous blood.

Too weak and wracked with every imaginable agony, Menahem fell forward.

Occupying the floor next to the weapon, weeping in its overwhelming stench.

Pulling up her legs against her chest, cold and shaking and alone, so essentially alone.

More alone than anyone in the world could be among corpses.

The only survivor– the keeper of this grim story.


After Descent, Year 979

While the rest of the Dibuqim scouted ahead, finished picking through the barracks and armory, and advised the rioters they had silently impressed into service– under a tree in the park, away from prying eyes, Menahem Halevi and Tiphereth Hadžić met for a debrief on the present situation and their next steps. In the distance, the most eager of the ‘Aachen Citizen’s Guard’ were descending the long stairways down to the first tier of Aachen’s Core Station or ascending to third tier where the rioters had begun to concentrate. Dibuqim scouts with stealth shields and heavy pistols accompanied them in either direction.

Dibuqim with assault weapons held back for the moment.

Despite the dire nature of their predicament–

Tiphereth got the distinctive impression that Menahem was not listening to her.

She was looking out somewhere– perhaps that doll of hers had hidden in that direction.

Absentmindedly Tiphereth lifted her index finger into her mouth.

“Are you paying attention?” She said through the finger.

Only then noticing she had put it through her lips and taking it back out.

Menahem suddenly turned an aggressive expression on her.

Her tail and ears stood on end, and she almost thought Menahem might lunge.

It was only a brief lapse in her emotional control of course.

Much like Tiphereth’s finger biting, Menahem realized quickly her habit. Her expression softened, she sighed and shook her head and made some kind of show, like she had a headache or was tired. Tiphereth humored her and waited for a verbal response, pretending to be understanding in this moment of difficulty. Even though time was of the essence– this was not some friendly sport they were undertaking, but a brutal, unforgiveable slaughter.

“I’m trying to think, Tiphereth. I’m being pulled in a dozen directions. Please repeat yourself.”

“Of course– say, we could have a more democratic and decentralized style of command, and it might help with the great burden which has been placed on your shoulders. Have you ever heard of anarchism? It is this anti-hierarchical social theory of voluntary association–”

“Tiphereth. Your report.” Menahem pressed.

Tiphereth bowed her head slightly, stifling a laugh.

“There are no working elevators, so our scouts are accompanying the rioters through the transit levels. We managed to advise them to separate into groups going coming down on the top of the first level and bottom of the third level from different directions using the available stairways. Otherwise they would have happily stampeded through one stairway. The ‘Aachen Citizen’s Guard’ is mobilizing in the third tier and can serve as a speedbump for Mycenae, but no more. Without our help they will be slaughtered to the last.”

Menahem crossed her arms. “They may be slaughtered even with our help. How is our rear?”

“A few of Moravskyi’s men got away, we have scouts chasing them. It’s under control.”

“And Stockheim?”

“We took over the Control Tower, but it’s pretty tenuous. We were not able to plant a lot of guys and gear there. I don’t know how long the scouts can hold out if the Pandora’s Box or someone else decides to go see why the docking clamps are locked up with no answer. There’s only so much advantage the stealth shields can confer when they are defending a tight static position. So if you want to succeed, we’ll need your doll down there fast. We have a wall in front of us and a rolling boulder at our back. We spread out too far and too thinly. If we wanted the Pandora’s Box we should’ve just concentrated everything on it.”

“Why are you calling it the Pandora’s Box?”

“I mean– that’s it’s registered name.”

Tiphereth absentmindedly raised her finger to her lips. Not sucking on it.

Menahem stared at her.

“I’m going to say something else controversial.” Tiphereth added.

“I can’t wait.” Menahem said, grinning with condescension.

Tiphereth’s cat-like ears folded slightly. “Going after the Wohnbezirk is a waste of time. We need everything we can throw at the communists. With the elevators down, it will take thirty or forty minutes to get up through the transit level stairways from the Wohnbezirk and back into Aachen’s Core Station, and we can block them off easily with a small amount of scouts and some gear. Our forces are already separated in too many directions as it is.”

Menahem reached out and grabbed Tiphereth by her shirt.

“You’re saying this because you want to protect the Shimii. To protect your kind.”

Her voice oozed with menace. Tiphereth stood unmoved in her grasp.

“I’m not a Shimii. I’m an Eloim. So I know our quite tenuous conditions very well.”

Of course, Menahem would never let her just be an Eloim.

That hatred in her eyes burned so bright as she met Tiphereth’s own.

Those eyes saw a Shimii and would perhaps never see otherwise.

“The only thing we need to win is David and myself.”

“Tamar did not think so.”

Menahem shook Tiphereth with anger, now grabbing her with both hands.

“Call her Manhig you lowlife! She might esteem you, but I know better!”

She shoved Tiphereth, who nearly fell to the ground, but caught herself in time.

Menahem seemed almost surprised she could not push Tiphereth down completely.

When the mixed-race Eloim stood back up to full height with her–

She put on an apathetic expression and began to suck her index finger again.

“I’m not here to satisfy your personal mythology. I am trying to reach our objectives. Vesna Nasser and Maggie the Cleaner are not here. The Wohnbezirk is useless.” Tiphereth said.

“Very well.” Menahem said. “Then join me in the charge! That will give us a bit more power against the communists in the first tier of the station– otherwise, you can go to your harmless Wohnbezirk and make sure your fascist brethren are slaughtered fast enough for you to double back. It is not mythology that the bulk of the fascist forces in this station are down there, not up here. We need to head them off– and we want to kill them all.”

Tiphereth made no different expression and simply nodded her head in response.

“More importantly– I noticed you did not mention anything about the Oststadt.”

Menahem locked eyes with Tiphereth again.

“Nothing to mention. Venue is being jammed from inside. I can’t unjam it and look.”

Tiphereth’s gaze did not waver but held no more emotion.

“Send more scouts. We need to make sure everyone in there is buried.” Menahem said.

Her voice was as intense and restrained as that hateful gaze.

Again, Tiphereth bowed her head, but continued sucking her index finger.

“Not feeling confident, Aluf Halevi? I thought ambushes were our forte.”

“–Take that damn thing out of your mouth already.”

“Don’t you have so many dozens of things to attend to, Aluf Halevi?”

“If it wouldn’t attract more undue attention, I’d sock you right here.”

Tiphereth winked at Menahem in response to threat.

Menahem could not retaliate without compromising her emotions again.

“I’ll be expecting you in ten minutes.” She said in a low voice.

She left Tiphereth’s side in the direction of the descending stairways.

Tiphereth watched her leave with a small smile on her face. Her bobtail swaying habitually despite lacking the length to truly sway, like the tails of full-blooded Shimii did. She stood under the trees swaying on a false wind, watching the white uniforms begin the march to the tightly plotted slaughter now coming unraveled. Though she would soon join them, she thought with both bitterness and amusement that everything was still up in the air.

“We’ll see which gambler gets all the gold.” Tiphereth said, index finger on her lips.

Of course– she said this while having a strong bet on the outcome.


Previous ~ Next

The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.8]

In a small shack in the Mahdist village, a soft-faced, indigo-haired elf turned in bed.

A voice, distant at first but growing in fidelity as she awakened.

Nipote. Nipote. I see turning you there. Wakey-wakey.”

She groggily opened an eye to find a blue-haired elf poking and shaking her gently.

A young-looking lady in a fancy tasseled bra top with an open midriff, twin-tailed hair–

Nipote, welcome back. Are you ready to talk now?”

Elena sat up, looked at Conny in the eyes, and then darted back in bed, startled.

“Stop it!” Conny said, lifting her arms in front of her in defense. “No more rocks!”

Seeing Conny pathetically waving her arms as if it would stop any summoned rocks from striking her, Elena calmed herself down. She sat back and slid down against the wall, ending up on the mattress like a discarded doll. Her sleep, this time around, had been dreamless.

No more hallways or entities pretending to be her dead loved ones.

However she was still reeling from what she had experienced. It was not just a dream world. She had some inkling that psionic powers were dangerous. She knew that it was possible to lose her mind, however briefly, into a dream or vision that felt entirely real to her.

She knew also that real pain could result from such excursions of the mind.

Norn’s echo in her memories had done as much to her.

Elena was not prepared for the sheer scope of it. Those endless, surreal green hallways and the monster that stalked her within them. Did anyone know that such a thing could happen? How many people had fallen prey to it? She couldn’t make heads nor tails of it all.

However–

There were real problems to deal with– she had to put it out of her mind for now.

“Elena, I really want to make peace! I’m truly sorry that everything was so abrupt, but once I discovered your psionics and that Norn the Praetorian had tampered with them, I felt that I had to do something! What if you were being coerced in some way?” Conny said.

“You almost damaged my mind! I was so distressed!” Elena replied.

Conny averted her gaze as if she was beginning to feel shame.

“Losing some figment of Norn the Praetorian could have only been good for you!”

“And you get to decide that for me?”

“Yes! I know better than you! And I felt responsible for a family member’s well-being!”

“I’m an adult! I don’t need you acting like you’re my guardian! You don’t know me at all!”

Conny sighed and raised a hand to her face.

For a moment she stopped talking and looked from between her fingers into the distance.

It took almost a minute for her to turn back to Elena with her shoulders heavy.

“You’re right. I was impulsive. But I was trying to protect you.” Conny said.

“Hmph. I won’t suddenly believe and trust you for the barest amount of contrition.”

Conny crossed her arms in front of herself. “Time out!”

“Time out?!” Elena shouted.

“It’s– it’s been a long time since I had to deal with family affairs. I’m really sorry. I am afraid that I messed things up. Can we just slow down– I don’t want to make another mistake.”

Now it was Elena’s turn to sigh.

She was suddenly reminded of stupid teenaged arguments with Gertrude and Sawyer.

Two block-headed people shouting past each other. One unable or unwilling to apologize and the other unable or unwilling to accept it if it happened. Neither knowing how to resolve the issue or what to do to make it up, or too stubborn to accept it. Until one or the other or both calmed down finally, and took stock, and decided to reach out and return to the status quo. Those were always the most painful nights of her teenaged years.

Elena was often the most diplomatic one.

No matter how mad she was, she hated being on bad terms with anybody.

She had never wanted to fight anyone or to hurt anyone, but things just turned out wrong.

Her current situation with Gertrude was remarkably bad on this front.

And she felt that she would rather not also have Conny hanging over her head as well.

Especially given the potential of learning about her family– of having a family at all.

“Aunt Conny–” Elena began, with a serious tone–

Conny’s face lit up with a childish smile and she interrupted. “You called me aunt?”

She did not acknowledge the interruption.

In her mind, there was a speech taking form that she wanted to deliver as best she could.

“Aunt Conny. I am Elena Lettiere. I am the daughter of Leda Lettiere and Konstantin von Fueller. Just as you suspected. That must then make us family.” Elena said. “I admit that part of myself– but I am trying to leave behind the idea that I am a princess with power over other people. I am trying to just be a person like anyone, among my peers.” She kept from her aunt the idea that she was proletarianizing, not knowing how it might go over. She explained the essence of things regardless. “I don’t want anyone to protect me. I don’t want anyone to decide things for me. I want to be my own person and make my own decisions.”

For the first time, Conny finally appeared genuinely contrite.

The angle of her sharp ears lowered significantly, and she had a downturned expression.

“Elena. I am so sorry. I made such a grave mistake with your mother. I’m truly sorry.”

Seeing the face of her niece– did it remind her of that mistake?

Had it been recalling her painful past since the moment she first saw Elena in the village?

“I don’t think you made a mistake.” Elena said.

She fixed Conny with a gaze that made Conny blink with confusion.

Her heart filled with compassion.

“When you– connected with me.” Elena said, referring to her baptism because she was not entirely certain about the terminology. “I saw memories of you and mom. I have some of my own memories of my mom– and I know what you have told me of her too. I think– if I had been in my mother’s place– I might have made her choice too. I feel that it is a choice that she made. She was not afraid to die. So I think– she must have wanted to be close to power.”

“You’re trying to say that it was not wrong for me to have let her carry on.” Conny said.

“Yes. I’m sorry if its presumptuous of me to talk about those events. I was very young for all of that and I have poor recollections of my mother, but to everyone who knew her, she was a titanic figure.” Elena said. “I can’t imagine that what she wanted from you was someone to coddle her and hide her away from danger. She seemed too independent for that.”

And it mirrored Elena’s own experiences with overprotective figures.

“I think what she wanted was a confidant, a supporter– a sister.” Elena said, smiling a bit.

“It is quite presumptuous of you.” Conny said, her face still a touch melancholy. Her ears slowly began to raise again, however. “But I appreciate that you’re trying to comfort me.”

She reached out a hand to Elena. Inviting her– to show affection as family.

Elena reached her own in response and held the tips of Conny’s fingers.

“I’m still upset with you. But– being my mother’s daughter means being your niece.”

“You’re more mature than I gave you credit for. I wish I’d been there to see you grow.”

The two of them looked each other in the eyes. Their ears wiggled slightly.

She felt safe with Conny, despite what had happened.

“I haven’t felt what it’s like to have family for a long time myself.” Elena said.

“It’s complicated, and we make mistakes. Especially us elves– o dio.” Conny said.

For a moment the two of them shared a small laugh. Conny sat beside Elena on the bed.

“Conny, I want to learn more about my family. But I also have– my own affairs that I need to look after. I have made commitments I won’t abandon.” Elena said, careful of her words.

“I understand. Will you let me meet your crew? I promise to be discrete.” Conny said.

She put on a mischievous smile that made her look so girlish and young.

Elena wondered if she herself looked that girlish when she smiled.

“I’ll talk to the captain.” Elena said. “Maybe you can escort me back to Stockheim.”

“Absolutely! And I’ll thank this captain with all of my heart for protecting my niece.”

So unused to being referred to in such a coddling fashion, Elena could not help but laugh.


“…Elves sure can be boisterous.” Ulyana sighed,

walking through the Brigand’s deployment chute out to Stockheim’s landing, running a hand over her shoulder and squeezing. She winced– her back and her shoulders were hurting from all the sitting down she had done throughout the day and then all the sitting down she did at night. She was tense and tight all over. Her knees were starting to throb. Hunching over her notes at the United Front, standing up and sitting down, yelling her lungs out. There had been too much tension and stress and not enough keeping limber in her life lately.

“At least Aaliyah will keep that Conny entertained while I do this.” She said.

Elena had somehow met her long-lost maternal aunt while on a trek to the Wohnbezirk that Ulyana had not authorized but, once it happened, she felt should have been harmless. She would have to talk to Chloe Kuri about her little “side hustles” someday– but what was done was done. Now the loudest elf Ulyana had ever met in her life thanked them profusely for saving her niece. She offered to buy them pizza, to give them money, and to hook them up with connections from her NGO work. She seemed to have heard a quite massaged version of their story and Ulyana did not want to contradict it in front of Elena.

Especially since the girl looked like she wanted to be buried throughout the conversation.

Ulyana could tell that Aaliyah was initially furious– but she seemed to soften up eventually.

Particularly when Conny promised to sign an NDA and heaped them with promises of aid.

Ulyana was glad to be out of the Brigand for now.

But she was taking a jaunt through Stockheim for business, not pleasure.

Since arriving at Aachen, the Volksarmee had contact with sympathetic dockworkers in Stockheim who helped them out from time to time. The dockworkers had factions among themselves just as the station itself did– Gloria Innocence Luxembourg had discrete connections with the labor union brass in Stockheim, but among the rank and file, the Volksarmee had met smaller cliques of more radical dockworkers who argued for worker self-management rather than just wage negotiations and health plans.

These people helped the Volksarmee more personally.

One such group who worked out of the maintenance areas allowed them access after hours.

There were no recording devices in these locations, and they were out of the way.

This made them perfect for clandestine exchanges.

Using an unmarked pass that had been programmed to work that night, Ulyana got through a security door into a quite small, uninhabited office from which dockworkers could access the maintenance interstice between tiers of the berth structures. She dropped down a ladder into a dark, damp and cold space, the walls covered with thick bundles of wires, square glass gauges, LED indicators, and junction boxes. She had to crouch a bit to fit inside, dimly lit in green, blue and red by all of the lights dotting the walls.

There, she waited, hands on her knees.

Straining her eyes to see in the dimness the figure that she had agreed to meet with.

Checking a pocket-watch that she had borrowed from the Commissar.

Such things being more common to Nagavanshi’s favored who received niche gifts.

Ulyana waited, her ears catching every drop of condensation, every shift of her own feet.

Until she thought she finally heard a counterpart deeper in the tunnel.

Advancing through the dim distance until her figure could be distinctly read as a person.

“Allow me to assist you.”

From out of the shadows a soft, small hand reached out, the skin on the palm splitting.

Yellow bio-luminescence lit up Ulyana and the visitor’s faces.

Shed by a tumorous growth she had suddenly grown, disfiguring the palm of her hand.

An action shockingly casual and seemingly painless for this creature.

It was Enforcer III: The Gluttony, or “Gula,” which seemed to be her personal name.

In her dealings with the creatures the two names were used interchangeably.

The shorter one seemed to be preferred between her and her ‘prince’.

“I thought Avaritia would come to meet me herself.” Ulyana said.

Across stood a girl short enough she did not need to crouch in the tunnels. Her bare feet were damp and dirty from walking in the tunnels, but it did not seem to bother her. She was dressed in a lacy, fancy little dress that nevertheless showed some skin in the sides, in the shoulders, a hint of her identity as a sexual being peering out from the embellishments. Her hair fell so long behind her back it almost touched the floor. When Ulyana had first met the creature her eyes were uncovered, but she was since wearing a kind of faux-feathered white winged mask over her eyes and temples. The majority of her face remained uncovered.

Ulyana could not understand the whims of her visitor.

So well-dressed, so beautifully made up, when she could change her body at any time.

What did beautiful clothes and makeup represent to this creature?

“I can understand why anyone would relish a meeting with my fair prince, but at the same time, am I not a being whose majesty is worth admiring?” Gula put on a wild and wide smile, showing off rows of vibrating saw-teeth inside of her mouth. These were located behind the facade of human-like incisors that would show if she smiled less dramatically.

“You are indeed a looker, but Avaritia needs to keep her promises more strictly. Neither side trusts each other that much at the moment. We should be more exacting.” Ulyana said.

“Oh, we trust you plenty, hominin. You aren’t a threat to us after all.” Gula said.

Maybe not now, but sometime in the future– if it came down to it, she would become one.

Especially since this creature could not read her mind or control her.

“Have you discovered anything about the anarchists?” Ulyana asked.

“Straight to the point? How boring.” Gula’s lips closed, hiding her teeth and returning the illusion of a pretty, delicate and demure ‘princess’. “Indeed, we have met with and stood among the anarchists quite recently. Their main forces are actually located within the Aachen Massif. Numbering several hundreds. They have mastered the tunnel network and have a few means of entry and egress from the Core Station. They even restored a single ship berth in one of the extraction points in the abandoned mine, and have a vessel there, but in poor condition. It seems they had some sort of incident on the way to Aachen.”

“That’s far more sophisticated than I imagined.” Ulyana said.

“They have an impressive operation, but there are flaws. Their operational security is poor, particularly that of the Volgian man’s group. Nobody suspected us even when we refused to bring our entire forces to join the rest of them. All of them wore their intentions on their sleeves– but the group led by the Eloim woman, all of their minds are much more guarded.” Gula said. “They are all hiding something. I believe that their contingent of forces must be larger than we are led to believe. I also sensed great desperation within them.”

Ulyana had thought the anarchists used commercial transportation and fake identities and that they were simply mingling about the station with the civilians, to appear in small groups when needed. She was not well informed on the history of the Aachen Massif and did not realize what a boon it could have been to their forces. This explained why Tamar Livnat was so keen to acquire another ship from them. She must have worked hard to bring all of her forces to Aachen, maybe even devised the scheme in the tunnels ahead of time.

And now she did not have a ship with which to support all her combined forces.

“Are your senses keener than Avaritia’s?” Ulyana asked.

“I am more skilled with auras.” Gula said. “But my darling is more powerful than me in all respects. I make up for what she lacks in subtle technique, and she makes up for what I lack in force. However, I have my own ways of defending myself if necessary of course.”

She opened her mouth and shut it as if miming a bite.

“You like to talk.” Ulyana said.

“I like having a hominin audience. My kin don’t appreciate my eloquence.” Gula said.

“Well, I do appreciate it. You may regale me with anything more that you desire.”

Gula smiled widely again. “You are a very cheeky hominin. I like you.”

“Speaking of your group, how are your forces holding up? Do you need any aid?”

“I’m afraid you might not understand, but many of our forces are occupied on our ship.”

Ulyana bristled a little bit. She was a ship’s captain, they knew at least that!

“Why wouldn’t I understand? I have a crew also. I completely understand.”

“No, you see, we can’t pull anyone from their duties on our ship– because they are the ship.” Gula smiled ever wider. “We had to use significant amounts of biomass to create our ship, and it has to be ready to extract us at a moment’s notice. Separating them from the ship would be a waste of the energy it took to join them. We have only a small five-body team with us. How shall I say this– we are saving them for a rainy day? Is that still an idiom?”

Once more, Gula casually said something that made Ulyana’s guts wrench.

However, she did her best to hide her displeasure and discomfort at this disclosure.

Human crew always expressed a joy at being part of a ship– but probably not like that.

With their biological powers, a living ship only made sense.

Wandering about how its constituent persons must feel in it caused her to shudder.

“Yes, it’s still an idiom. A lot of surface-based language survived to this day.”

“I’m glad. Culture should never be lost. At worst, only recontextualized.”

“So when you take us over, will our culture be preserved?” Ulyana asked suddenly.

“Of course.” Gula said, without skipping a beat. She had thought of this– and something about that disturbed Ulyana even more than if she had kept quiet. “Once you hominin are put in your proper place, you will thrive. Free of oppressing each other for goods and services, you will be able to pursue culture in its purest forms and pleasures. Your bodies will be your art, and you will make art with your bodies. You will be like beautiful dolls who find boundless joy in your flawless performances for us Omenseers. Using our biokinesis we can sculpt you into any shape you find pleasing, and allow you to do anything that you desire, and we can even make it so you feel nothing but bliss forever. Once you become unable to practice further, rather than suffer the pain of senescence, we can turn you to biomass.”

“I– I see. Well– I’m at least glad you’ve put some thought into it.”

She was not glad at all– she was being diplomatic.

Part of her mind wondered if allying with this thing was any better than with the Volkisch.

And what had led them to host such a boundless disregard for humanity.

Or even worse– a disregard in the guise of paternalism.

“We have been engineering our ideal world for a very long time. You’ll see it someday.”

Gula bared her teeth again. Smiling so easily and without worry.

“But for now, that is all that we have to report. We will keep our eyes peeled.”

Ulyana sighed. “Let us know if you need anything.” She said.

“Nothing we feel comfortable asking hominins to do, at the present.”

Gula continued to smile as she spoke.

It was as if her voice was coming from somewhere else.

Ulyana got that feeling again– that she was in a room with something larger than this girl.

“Did you have trouble making it here?” Ulyana asked. “Do you need help getting back?”

Better to be as courteous as possible at this stage of the alliance.

“Oh no, it was incredibly easy. Ah, I know– watch this closely, hominin.”

Gula closed her lips and seemed to let her jaw settle.

She then opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and suddenly vanished.

Ulyana felt something, a force, as if she was gently shoved by something invisible.

The light that disappeared from in front of her Gula then shone from behind her.

When she turned, the found the light figure of the girl standing nonchalantly at her back.

“I am able to eat anything if I understand it well enough.” Gula said, standing behind her as if she had always been standing there. “Including, say, the concept of the distance between one part of the station and another part of the station. Of course, you can’t digest a concept, it reasserts itself quickly, but the ensuing snap does place me at my destination.”

Ulyana was speechless. Gula was far, far, more powerful than she envisioned.

“With that said– ta-ta, hominin.” Gula added. With a snap of her jaws– she was gone.

Left standing alone in the dim LED lights once more, Ulyana thought–

It was not just Gula who was powerful, but psionics was capable of far more than just throwing objects or reading people’s minds. It was capable of far more even than mind control. She wondered just how much they really knew about this power. It seemed almost like psionic powers could do nearly anything at all at the hands of these bizarre creatures. Ulyana felt like her already slim chances of defeating them had begun to slip further.

Then she caught her breath and tried to steady her spiraling emotions.

She was immune to psionics. She had come to understand from Arabella and Euphrates.

That meant no matter what they could do– the Omenseers were not omnipotent.

Because at least this “hominin” could oppose them.

And with the assistance of her own psionic allies, anything could be possible.

Ulyana climbed back out of the maintenance tunnel and left the office.

One final swipe would render her card useless and lock the office.

Mentally, she thanked the dockworkers for their continuing aid as she climbed aboard the Brigand once more. Inside the familiar, comforting steel walls, her heart eased a bit. Just as she was walking back into the hangar, she then found Aaliyah and Conny making their way to the deployment chutes. They met in the middle. Conny looked in good spirits while Aaliyah had one ear folded, the one nearest Conny, and looked a little bit bedraggled.

“Captain! I was hoping I’d see you again before the night is up!” Conny cheered.

“I’m back from a bit of business. I’m glad I got to see you on the way out.” Ulyana said.

“Isn’t all this so fun? I’m glad my niece has such reliable allies.” Conny said, gesturing to the hangar. “You will have my full confidentiality captain, I promise you, but I truly want to do something for all of you, to thank you– I want my niece to be able to be independent, and this seems like the best environment for her to get her legs under her and see the world. Let me buy you all elvish pizza– real elvish pizza and not the Imbrian junk.”

“I won’t say no to pizza.” Aaliyah said. Her voice reduced to an emotionless droning.

“We can’t have it delivered.” Ulyana said softly.

“I’ll bring it here myself.” Conny said. “That ties into my other request.”

Aaliyah folded her other ear as if in preparation. Ulyana narrowed her eyes a bit.

“Captain, let me join you all aboard. I want to observe my niece’s journey.” Conny said.

Ulyana wished she could fold her ears like Aaliyah could and ignore this.

“We’ll have to talk about it.” Ulyana said, her voice too now an emotionless droning.

Conny smiled and winked and leaned forward a little with her chest out.

“Captain, I can be soooo useful! NGO Kamma will be at your service as well!”

Despite everything, it seemed there would be another night over a desk in store for Ulyana.

Sometimes having allies could be a bit burdensome as well.


Upon Captain Korabiskaya and Commissar Bashara’s return from the United Front, Murati was relieved of her temporary command, to be restored again the next day.

She left the bridge to the late-shifters Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa and Alexandra Geninov and departed with Aatto into the halls of the Brigand. While the days were very busy for everyone, the sailors had temporarily been relieved of night shift, as it was reasoned that if they needed them they could sound an alarm. Therefore when Murati stepped out onto the halls, though it was the early evening, there were few people around.

“Master, how did I do? Was I the image of Union gallantry?” Aatto said.

Murati thought that it was a miracle that the Commissar had not thrown her overboard.

“You’re learning fast.” Murati said, diplomatically.

She was warming up to Aatto– though hardly anyone else was, a fact that troubled her.

(Except Karuniya, whom Murati did not want to count.)

“Do you have any evening plans?” Aatto asked. Her tail wagged behind her.

Aatto was asking because she wanted to be included in them–

But it did remind Murati that she missed her wife dearly.

Both she and Karuniya had been busy since they departed Kreuzung.

They shared a room, so they always saw something of each other every day.

When they were dating in Solstice and Thassal they saw each other much less than they did now. They made a promise back then to go on a date once a week, come hell or high water, and it was an indication of how little time they had for each other that this promise mattered as much as it did to them. That was also when, though they did not necessarily call each other partners yet, they stopped seeing other people and became sexually exclusive. And yet, despite objectively being closer than ever nowadays, Murati still feared that she was, as Karu sometimes joked, a frigid and neglectful “husband” to her poor wife.

She thought they ought to at least stay up a bit late in their room and chat today.

“Private time.” Murati said simply, with a small smile borne of thinking about her wife.

“Ah! Enjoy it, master, you’ve earned your relaxation.” Aatto said, smiling pleasantly.

“Thanks, Aatto.”

“Should you require me, I will be in my quarters. Feel free to contact me at any time–”

“Thanks, Aatto. Good night.”

Murati said the second one a bit more firmly.

Aatto smiled, waved, wiggled her ears a bit, turned and left down the hall first.

Fatima and Semyonova had been roomed together to give Aatto her own place, with the Captain and Commissar reasoning she may be a troublesome roommate. Though with Marina having boarded the John Brown, there was also talk of having her move in with Elena to free up another room in case of additional guests, and to have them learn theory together.

That particular point was a headache for another day’s Murati to deal with, however.

At first Murati headed in the opposite direction from Aatto.

She walked toward the cafeteria. She had in mind to bring her wife a coffee.

Then they could stay up a bit with a warm drink and chat.

In her mind this was all perfectly romantic. Of course, no plan survived contact with–

–well, not “the enemy” this time.

The conditions of the operation, Murati corrected herself.

Walking into the cafeteria, past the chairs and the long row tables.

“Murati! Good evening! Feeling peckish? I’ve got a couple fixin’s leftover!”

Behind the counter sat Logia Minardo in her apron, leaning forward and waving with her fingers. She had a tray with a few leftovers from the dinner service. Though she was normally very meticulous about the amount of food prepared each day, the Brigand had been testing her with the amount of guests that would come and go. Sometimes a person was sick and changed their mind about dinner at the last second too– all these things meant there was sometimes food left over. It would not go to waste, however. Either Minardo would find someone to eat it or she would eat it herself– or find a way to reuse it later.

“I’ve already sent Geninov and Santapena-De La Rosa some stuff. Want to help me out?”

Murati normally did not stick around for such things much.

She was always a pretty goal-oriented person who did not meander the ship.

But– as the Captain, she should strive to become accessible to her subordinates.

Hiding away in her room ill suited a communist, a people’s Captain!

“I have a few minutes, but no more than that.” Murati replied.

Minardo’s face lit up with a smile. “I’d love even a few minutes of your company!”

Murati first got the automatic coffee machine going. It would keep her drinks warm.

After, she joined Minardo at the counter.

On the big tray there were three discrete smaller trays with leftover meals. Each of the trays had a dish of corn chips that had been fried in a pan along with a red sauce, making them a bit soggier and yet still crisped up, and topped with cheese and beans. Minardo made the chips herself using corn flour, of which they still had plenty of from the Union– a taste of home. Murati picked up a spork and dig into a corner of chips from the tray, one with beans and cheese, a bit of everything. She lifted the morsel to her mouth and tasted.

Though the outcome had never been in doubt– it was delicious.

Savory-sweet corn chips with a slightly piquant and fruity sauce, with a distinctive hint of red sweet pepper. Creamy beans, with fatty cheese that added richness. The reheated leftovers lost only a bit of the aroma that the sauce and spices would have had when fresh out of the saucepan, and there was a pleasant variety of textures with the chips still having some body to them. Murati could not help but to be impressed by this simple yet fulfilling dish.

She also could not help but make an expression of girlish joy while eating.

Minardo looked at her fondly in return.

“I feel like you enjoy the corn dishes a lot. What do you think?” She said.

“Hmm? I do. It’s an immensely important crop. Its economic value is truly second to none.”

Minardo’s smile seemed to widen upon hearing that. Murati did not understand why.

Corn was one of the things the Union produced an incredible amount of, and it was an invaluable partner in the miracle that was the Union as a functioning state. Corn was processed into grains, sugars, alcohol, oils, and starches. Grains could be further refined– ground into corn flour, or boiled and canned for whole corn, or dried into corn snacks, that sort of thing. The true miracle was in the rest of the items. Corn starches could be used in food but had a variety of industrial purposes. Corn oil could be used for cooking or processed further into resins. “Synthetic” was a common word for clothing and other items manufactured in the A.D. era, but the Union made many daily things out of corn plastics too, preserving petroleum for its more valuable, specialized chemical purposes. Corn was used in chemical productions too, it had novel enzymatic reactions– it was so multifaceted.

Murati continued to tuck into the corn chip dish, thinking about the miracle that was corn.

She then realized the cook had been watching her space out the whole time.

“It’s fantastic, Minardo. Thank you for sharing it with me.” Murati said.

“Of course! Kitchens are for feeding people.” Minardo said. Murati continued to eat, and she noticed Minardo looking at her while she did so, but she did not say anything. Once Murati was about halfway through the dish, eating silently and unreservedly enjoying every bite, Minardo finally spoke up again. “You know, it is true what they say about you, Murati.”

“Hmm? What are they saying? And who is saying it?”

“You have a certain intensity about you. You don’t even seem to realize it. You might even fade into the background without that spark of yours. But even when you’re just standing in front of me eating chilaquiles after saying one sentence to me about their economic value– I can’t help but be charmed, girl. You capture the eye without even meaning to.”

Murati frowned a bit. “I feel like people are just making fun of me when they say that.”

“They’re really not! It’s just different, but it attracts people to you. You have gravity.”

“It attracts sailor girls to gossip about me.”

“That too. But that’s because your intensity makes you so electric!”

That was a lot of adjectives being slung around that made Murati feel embarrassed.

“Thanks, Minardo.” Murati said, hoping to change the subject, her eyes wandering.

She took a peek at the third tray, which neither she nor Minardo had touched.

“You want to take it?” Minardo said. “Go right ahead. You don’t eat enough anyway.”

“I eat as much as I need.” Murati said in protest. “But yes, I’d like to take the third one.”

Minardo beamed at Murati as she wrapped the third tray in a bit of plastic wrap.

“She’s such a lucky gal. You’re both really cute together. Hurry up; don’t make her wait.”

Were her intentions that easy to read? Or was Minardo just that experienced?

Murati thanked her again, sheepishly took her tray and her small coffees, and left the scene.

She felt self-conscious about being told about her “intensity”– she wondered if maybe other people were as odd about their feelings toward her as Aatto was. Once framed in that particular way, the thought of a whole ship full of Aatto and Aatto-adjacent gazes made her quiver with terror, but she also laughed a bit to herself at the absurdity of it all. Eventually it was completely out of her mind. Regardless of what anyone saw in her, she was only going to be herself and she wouldn’t even know how to change if she wanted to do so.

She tried to imagine this gravity of hers in terms of her goals. Murati supposed being found attractive was a useful asset to a ship’s captain. After all, she found Ulyana Korabiskaya very attractive. It inspired her to follow in her footsteps. To sit more upright, to speak more precisely, to memorize everyone’s names on the bridge. To wear her own uniform more sharply, comb her hair more often. She hoped to inspire the same in the future.

In the present– she had an appointment with a certain ‘lucky gal’.

Without stopping at the door or saying anything, Murati walked into her own room.

At the pull-out desk on the wall, she found her wife, swiping at a little portable computer.

When the door opened, she looked over her shoulder.

“Welcome home!” Karuniya exclaimed with a smile.

Indeed– Murati was home– Karuniya was her home.

Murati smiled quietly and presented Karuniya with the coffee and the food.

“Oh! What’s this? Such a thoughtful hubby– perhaps trying to bribe me?”

She put on a mock skeptical face and stared at Murati for a moment, rubbing her chin.

“Maybe.” Murati replied.

Karuniya laughed. “Come on.” She made space on the table for the dish and the sporks.

Every time she saw her, Karuniya was the most beautiful woman on the planet. However, there was something extra charming about her that night. She looked like she had come in from the shower. Her hair had dried a bit, but still fell messily down her back and had a moist sheen. Dressed in only the plastic robes they were issued for bathing use, whenever she turned around she flashed a bit of her gorgeous skin and the contours of her belly, her hips, her breasts. However she was not self conscious at all, and never guarded herself.

For a moment, Murati forgot about the food and the coffees and stood behind Karuniya.

At first she just laid her hands on Karuniya’s shoulders.

Then her fingers worked their way between the halves of the robe, pulling it farther apart. Bare skin on bare skin; Murati rubbed her wife’s shoulders, and gently worked them between her fingers. Karuniya realized what she was doing. Murati could feel her relaxing in her grip. There was nothing like the immediate response of a body to touch– it was so satisfying.

“How was your day?” Murati asked, whispering near her face.

“I grew mushrooms~” Karuniya replied.

She waved her hand. Her voice had a strangely dismissive affectation to it.

Murati circled with her thumbs, enjoying the pliability of her wife’s soft, round shoulders.

“Are you still sore about the mushroom lady stuff?” Murati said.

“Yes~ I will resent it~ until the end of the time~” Karuniya said in a song-like voice.

Despite her spoken complaints, Karuniya looked rather delighted. She even made a short murring noise when Murati applied a bit more pressure in the middle of her shoulders and settled back into her chair when she eased on her. Sensing an opportunity, Murati leaned forward. She tipped her head and kissed Karuniya in the neck, close to her jaw, nuzzling her. She could feel Karu start to melt into her, heartbeat beginning to quicken.

“You’re so clumsy about everything else, but you’re fantastic at reading me.” Karuniya said.

“I’ve had been blessed with many opportunities to practice.” Murati replied.

Karu leaned back in her chair and stared up. Murati leaned forward to enter her sight.

For a moment it felt like, to a third party, this must have looked quite intense.

But to the two of them–

“Craning my neck this far is not comfortable.” Karuniya said.

“It’s a little awkward, yes.”

Both of them laughed.

Murati let go of Karuniya, eliciting a little ‘aww’ from her wife.

She reached for and raised one of the pull-up seats from the floor and sat beside Karuniya.

“Try it, it’s really good.” Murati said, pointing with one spork at the chilaquiles.

Karuniya took her own spork, pulled away the plastic wrap from the tray, and took a bite.

Her eyes shut and the corners of her mouth rose steadily as she tasted the dish.

“Minardo’s devilry at work again! How can I ever settle for another cook?!” Karuniya said.

Murati laughed. Together, they prodded the dish, catching glances of each other’s eyes, between bites, and talked around the table. Karuniya gradually talked more about her own day. She had been processing biological samples from the Omenseers and collecting data all day, and she would have to comb over everything and create plans for each sample tomorrow. She had ideas for what kind of tests she wanted to run on the samples, but she had to make sure everything she was trying to do was safe and viable.

“I’m not a little kid mixing colored oils and different fluids just to see the different colors stacking in a beaker. Though– I kinda feel like that little kid experimenting here.”

A water density experiment– every Union kid did science-y stuff like that in school.

Though, Murati had never really associated Karuniya with test tubes and centrifuges.

She had a limited knowledge of what the practice of oceanography entailed.

For a moment she felt self conscious about not knowing her wife’s work very well–

But Karuniya seemed to realize her head was being occupied and reached her arm out.

Taking Murati’s shoulder and pulling her in close, laughing gently.

An effective way to dispel Murati’s little doubts about their relationship.

“Are you excited?” Murati asked.

“This could be ground-breaking stuff, or it could be nothing.” Karuniya said. “There’s always the chance I won’t be adequate to the task. I even talked to Euphrates, and she never experimented with Omenseer tissue. Or maybe she just said that to avoid getting involved.”

“Both are equally possible. But don’t hold it against her.” Murati said.

“Oh, I won’t. I’m excited to be a pioneer in Omenseer-‘Hominin’ relations.”

“I think you’re incredibly qualified Karu. I don’t know anyone else our age working on multiple degrees. Even if you don’t know something now, you will make the effort to learn, and you’ll develop a process. You’re amazingly driven when something catches your eye.”

“Yeah– like when I was amazingly driven to jump on your dick, and I went and did it.”

Murati cracked up at the sudden bawdy joke. “Karu– I’m being serious–”

Karuniya giggled in response. “I know. Thank you, Murati. It means a lot to me.”

“You’ll always have one stalwart supporter.” Murati said.

“Can I ask my most die-hard fan to hold me more? It was nice.”

“Any time.”

After finishing their meal and coffees, they relocated together to one of the beds.

Murati tossed away her half-jacket and tie, pulled off her pants. Wearing nothing but an unbuttoned shirt, a sports bra and undershorts, she sat with her back to the wall and Karuniya sat in front of her. She pulled down her robe to bare more of her back for Murati to admire and feel. Down the spine to the small of the back, almost to her bare rear.

Murati promptly and dutifully pressed her hands over her.

One on the shoulder, one closer to the hip.

“Not your usual massage form.” Karuniya said with a cheeky tone.

“I just want you to feel your skin for a bit. Is that okay?” Murati said.

“It’s always okay. I’m yours, completely and forever, Murati Nakara.”

Karuniya backed into her.

Murati pulled with her, bringing her closer, tighter.

Her hands just wanted to feel contours of her wife more, the pronounced curve of her hip, the soft, pliable flesh of her back, the tiny, near imperceptible bumps of her spine. The elevation caused by the shoulder blade and the gentle bend of her back. She wanted to lay her chin on Karuniya’s shoulder and feel the smoothness of her skin against her lips, to smell the scents left over on her from her time in the lab, sometimes strangely sweet, sometimes a bit plastic, but always her. She wanted to feel the quake of her heart under her flesh.

“From how you’re holding me– it feels like you had a tough day.” Karuniya said.

“I wouldn’t say it was hard.” Murati replied. “It was long. I had no time to myself.”

Karuniya reached up and stroked Murati’s hair, while Murati kissed her shoulders.

“You know what else is getting a bit long?” She said, fingers twining through strands.

Murati had not really noticed until Karuniya pointed it out.

Her hair was starting to grow past her shoulder. Normally she had it trimmed at this point.

She was not in a position to take time off just for that though.

“It’ll be fine.” She said. Maybe she would look good with long hair.

Karuniya laughed. She tipped her head to nuzzle up to Murati’s cheek.

“We should go somewhere. And not dressed up as fascists. You need proper relaxation.”

“Who would I leave the bridge to?” Murati asked, nuzzling Karuniya’s neck again.

Karuniya giggled, wriggling in Murati’s hands. “Aatto would absolutely not mind.”

“Solceanos defend.”

“Oh, I got a Solceanos oath out of you. That bad huh?”

It had happened almost automatically at the thought of Aatto commanding the bridge.

“I’ve been talking with her a bit. She really admires you. What did you do to her?”

“I held her hostage. I truly have no idea how any of this turned out this way.”

“She’s a good girl. You ought to trust her a bit. She really wants your approval.”

“I do trust her, but I don’t want to overwhelm her. Maybe I’ll ask Daphne to cover for me.”

“Whatever helps– I just think we should have some time for ourselves. Like before.”

Murati was quiet for a few minutes. Trying to shut out everything else.

Losing herself in the sense of Karuniya’s skin. As close as they could be without sex.

“Am I being neglectful?” Murati asked.

She felt Karuniya briefly tense up a bit in her grasp. Surprised, perhaps.

“Oh, Murati, absolutely not. You’re fantastic. I hope my jokes didn’t get to you.”

“No. I just recognize we’re both so busy. So I felt a bit self conscious.”

“Murati, I think when you have a better head on, you know this is a weird situation for both of us to have a relationship in. We are messing around in a possibly suicidal combat mission that Nagavanshi went out of her way to force us to go on– promptly being really nice about all our relationship papers when we agreed.” Karuniya said, nuzzling up to Murati again. “We have to tend to our duties first. But we’ve always been able to live our lives as best we can in addition to that. That’s all I ever ask from you. I cherish the good nights and the good mornings. I’m really happy. Despite everything that’s going on, I’m so happy.”

“Thank you, Karu. You’ve made me the happiest woman on Aer.” Murati said.

She could have cried from how happy she felt holding Karuniya.

It felt like everything terrible in the ocean was briefly dispelled when she held her.

There had been so much that had happened so far. So much still to do.

All the crashing of ordnance in her ears, the smell of ozone and plastic, the feeling of her breaking ribs inside her chest as she crashed into the side of her diver, the sight of agarthic orbs after the deaths of ships, the exploding red mist when a diver burst under the pressure. All of the terrors imparted onto her mind, into her hearing, carved in her eyes, the invisible weights on her shoulders– Karuniya could dispel them all with a word and with a touch.

“Besides, Murati, it’s not like it’s been that long since we did something special.”

Karuniya reached behind herself, her fingers probing across Murati’s belly–

and gripping for Murati’s bulge between her legs, and seizing on it firmly.

Murati stiffed up a bit. Not quite enough to get hard. But she felt the thrill.

Holding her hubby’s weakly stiffening shaft through the fabric, Karuniya grinned cheekily.

“I recall it’s only been like a week and a bit since you gave me the second-best dicking of my life back in Kreuzung. If we can just fuck like that every so often I’ll be singing.” She said.

“Hang on. Second-best?” Murati said, picking up and playing into her wife’s mischief.

“Oh ho, curious? My best lay was this hot upperclassman at the Academy– Murati Nakara.”

For a moment she really had her in suspense. “I must have done better since then.”

“You were absolutely feral when we started messing around, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Karuniya continued to stroke her while grinning in such an insolent fashion.

It really made Murati want to teach her a lesson. Her appetite was reaching a peak.

“You have one coming, Karuniya Maharapratham.” She said sternly.

“Oh? Coming when? Ten days from now? Mu~ra~ti~? ” Karuniya said teasingly.

Murati reached out a hand to the wall and expertly summoned some loud DJ Hard Roe.

“M-M-Murati–?” Karuniya whimpered as Murati took her down on the bed.

As always, the synths would protect her modesty.


“Here you go miss! One big beautiful rainbow swirl coffee for a beautiful girl!”

A hand reached out gingerly from inside the little coffee shop’s window.

Upon that hand was a plastic, see-through coffee cup.

A rainbow-colored swirl, creamer and sweetener all at once, spiraled through the black coffee, a neat effect soon to be disturbed by the mixing of the drink. It was a limited-time specialty advertised by the little store on a corner of Aachen’s second tier. Quite a few people were waiting in line for their own “taste of the rainbow.”

Opposite the hand holding the coffee–

stood an embarrassed-looking, salmon-pink haired person in a hooded jacket, hood down.

“Ah, thank you.” Valya said, smiling sheepishly.

They did not want to draw any attention or argue, not under these circumstances.

So they put up with it– as they had become something of a champion in doing so.

They took the coffee into their hands, parted with some polymer reichsmark notes, and left.

Torn on whether to be flattered that they made a ‘beautiful girl.’

Aer had seen the turning of another cycle in its day and night, perceptible to humans mainly via timekeeping that aligned with their ancient biological rites. Another day in the 300-day Imbrian year decreed by Emperor Nocht so long ago. Valya had woken up in the morning ready to get back to work. The Captain and Commissar had departed for the third day of the United Front deliberations. As they stopped at the cafeteria, Galina pulled them aside, handed them reichsmarks, and decreed that today, they would have to go outside.

“Everyone has had at least a little goofing off time. You’ve earned some too.”

“I’m fine– I’m okay just working–”

“I will remind Semyonova that officers cannot accumulate too much unused leisure time.”

Scolded by Galina and threatened with a future scolding by Semyonova–

Valya could only agree. They donned a hoodie over their uniform and left the ship.

They made their way through the commercial district on the first tier. Crossing the lanes of storefronts and the platforms suspending them to the walls of the enclosure, with the massive atrium and its installations flanking them at all times. They were uninterested in shopping, however and even off-peak, the crowds unnerved them. They saw a black uniform in one of the crowds and began to walk more quickly to one of the elevator banks. From the briefing, they knew the second tier had a park with real trees.

They felt warmer toward spending the day at the park instead.

So they went up to a little café in a corner of the park.

Enjoying a coffee under the trees– if they had to relax, that would do just fine.

However, as they sipped their coffee, they couldn’t help but think about what was said.

How did they feel about being a “beautiful girl?” It was a pivotal question in their life.

It was the first time in a long time they realized that they had left the Union.

One of the reasons they preferred the ship and the company of machines.

Valya was in a strange place with regards to their presentation and identity. They felt that they were neither a “man” or a “woman”, social constructions that hardly mattered in the Union by law but were still carried on casually by individuals. While Valya did not want to legislate how anyone else saw or referred to themselves, the prevailing culture was a bit annoying for them specifically– to achieve their desired presentation they used feminizing hormones and had been for years now. This led uninformed people to read them as a woman; and they feared it might lead lovers to read them as a man in bed, and not as what they wanted to be read, as neither one nor the other but just themself.

One of the things that influenced them was the traditionalist attitude of their parents and some of their close family. All of them believed strictly that the family should continue as pairs of uncomplicated men and women having as many children as possible. Such people were not extinct overnight just because the Union extended the rights of bodily autonomy to everyone under its jurisdiction. When Valya came out, the ensuing argument with their parents was so virulent that on a high of emotions they ran to a local branch of the internal security forces to inform on their parents as right-wing elements to the Ashura.

Sitting in a chair in the middle of that office, barely out of their teens, they asked–

“Say that I put down a statement– theoretically, what would happen?”

Across from them, a stoic Ashura officer in their black uniform and green armband.

She looked up from a portable she had taken out of a drawer.

Valya recalled it was a Commissar-Sergeant Yulia Sinilova, a short-haired young lady.

Handsome in uniform and with a polite demeanor behind the desk, she answered–

“We will investigate and if we agree there is a seditious element it will be eliminated.”

“Isn’t that– a bit harsh–?”

Yulia looked at Valya with a strange intensity.

“Misc Lebedova.” She began, using the approved gender-neutral honorific. “So-called traditionalism begins with denying their family members bodily autonomy. It begins there– but it won’t stay there. It will lead to strife along religious lines, racial and ethnic lines; it will become about whether the subject matter in educational courses is too novel, about the makeup of the Party being too foreign, about having strange neighbors and ethnic foods in the cafeteria. It will become about the political system, about the centralized production of goods. But it can all be stopped by a bullet. It is the duty of the Ashura, the mission of our service– to stop this chain of events even if it takes a bullet to do it.”

Receiving that response, Valya apologized profusely and left shortly thereafter.

Without their statement, Yulia did not even record their visit.

As severe as she was, she must have understood.

Though they were angry at their parents, they did not want them to be eliminated.

Thankfully in addition to the Ashura, the Union also had the neighborhood guards and their local shelters where someone with a bit more empathy nursed Valya’s broken heart throughout that night. That night, with the encouragement of the guards, they began the process to transfer out of their home and journeyed to the military academy at Solstice. Unlike the wider world, the secondary society of the military had a rigidly enforced egalitarianism, and Valya found comradeship to be better than citizenship in that regard. It even bore out to the Brigand, where most of the pilot squadron was transgender.

Their parents were proud of them for serving, despite everything that had happened.

And tried to be accommodating– by referring to them as a woman now.

Truly the world was such a mess everywhere.

Whether in the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice; or in the Reichskommissariat Eisental.

But– the hope of things getting better in the latter was infinitely dimmer.

At least, it was at that moment. They hoped to be able to change that.

Under the trees, they sipped their coffee, wandering how anyone found themselves.

Perhaps taking time for themselves was a start. Perhaps dealing with people.

Even if it hurt sometimes; even if they disappointed you; even if they abandoned you.

“Ugh, whenever I’m not working on something I get the stupidest thoughts.”

They had no one to talk to but themselves but still vocalized their frustrations.

When they were done with their coffee they took a stroll around the park.

Marveling at the engineering miracle that allowed all of these trees to thrive. It was a challenge to have a park such as this. Trees expected sunlight, and they expected powerful, permeating sunlight, and if any park of the tree was not receiving the right amount, it would look duller and deader, and the growth of the young tree might even be warped, as it would grow to maximize sunlight exposure– so not necessarily straight up as these trees were.

Not only that, but trees also expected soil, with a composition of nutrients, and they expected rainfall to sustain them. The composite soil in which it was planted was chemically engineered, the sunlamps were strategically placed, and rain-making devices had been installed, with digital calendars of rain days available around the park for all guests to see.

So much more care had been taken to engineer for these trees, than for any human beings.

In terms of engineering, Aachen, like Kreuzung, was hostile to people.

Were Valya to design a very typical station, their foremost concern would have been to maximize living space. To give everyone a place to stay, with enough space and privacy that they did not feel too caged but were not in conflict with others, but contained enough that within the allotted construction area they could make as many units as possible. While also allowing for cafeterias and for distribution centers for goods, and social spaces like the plazas and community centers, each with a calculated amount of occupancy. There should be transportation, childcare and maintenance capability, supported by some level of local industry. These were incredible challenges and there was no one solution that solved every problem. However, Aachen and Kreuzung had not been designed with people in mind– people were coincidental here. Instead, they were designed for commerce.

Imbrian stations seemed to require a plurality of grand, sweeping storefronts full of goods to buy, and all adorned with the slogans for the many businesses competing for the polymer banknotes in the hands of those coincidental people. Valya found the designs pretty and the engineering to be rather astonishing. It was beautiful and immersive, it arrested one’s breath– but it was also depressing. There were so many crowds of people in vast, open spaces that needed a separate station to live in, and among them, there were people who did not even have a room and only the cold, steel floors comforted them.

Something like that went against everything that Valya felt about engineering.

They made weapons because the Union needed them to protect communism.

That was what they staunchly believed– but engineering should, generally, help people.

Things should be constructed, foremost, because people needed them.

Kreuzung and Aachen did not need more shops– but more shops seemed to be the aim.

Thinking about their surroundings made Valya want to return to the ship and never leave.

Especially as their walk seemed to inexorably draw them closer to a building flying a flag with a black sun disc, encased in white, surrounded by red. It was impossible to miss it, seated as if on a hill in the distance, the concrete and glass monument to the rot festering within Aachen. Under its watchful eye all of this took place. Every pathway in the park seemed to funnel toward that building, and in any event, Valya’s own morbid curiosity led them to want to see it up close. They had been afraid and intimidated of the prospect of patrolling Volkisch officers– but surely they could at least metaphorically stare the Volkisch in the eye by approaching the Gau office. They could at least pass by the front of it.

It seemed then, that fate had other plans for Valya that day.

As they crossed the front of the Gau office they briefly stopped to stare at the facade.

Enough so that the door opened, causing their heart to leap.

Not because an evil Volkisch officer had walked out to arrest them promptly.

But because the person that nonchalantly walked out with their hands in their pockets–

Looked astonishingly familiar.

Familiar enough– to recall youthful memories long discarded.

Walking down the steps as Valya stopped before them; looking down as they looked up.

Slightly taller than Valya, but not by much, still lithe, guarded, unsmiling. Long, dark, blueish hair tied up into a braided ponytail, a soft, fair face with a small nose and eyes. Dressed in a brown jacket, black pants and a white plunging shirt that exposed a few bio-luminescent nodes on their flat, slightly narrow chest. Soft-shouldered with lean limbs and yet despite the years and despite them leaving home they hardly looked any more rugged than when they left, when they were both teenagers with foolish ideas.

Ideas about freedom that perhaps this person realized after Valya rejected them.

“Mysia?” Valya said, at the foot of the steps.

“Valya?” Mysia said, looking down from them.

Both of them were stunned for a moment at the presence of the other.

It should have been impossible for them to meet.

Each read the immediate response of the other and knew for certain whom they had met.

Valya was not prepared today to have such hope in something so impossible.

They felt that if they did not do something, the world might evaporate as if a dream.

Shutting their eyes, they ran up the steps and threw their arms around Mysia.

Throwing their head into the chest of their long-lost friend, holding them tight–

“V-Valya? We– We can’t stay here. We need to go, come on.”

Mysia did not embrace them back.

At their urging, they left the steps of the Gau office and walked.

Valya followed Mysia, barely knowing whether their feet were moving, whether they were tethered to the ground, or whether the environment scrolled automatically past them like they were hovering forward off the ground. Not knowing where they were going or what to do. Not able to speak; aborting every sentence that formed in their head out of astonishment, out of anxiety. Mysia might have been feeling the same. They stole glances at each other, awkwardly, and broke eye contact just as suddenly while walking.

“Mysia, are you in trouble?” Valya asked, finally allowing themself to speak.

“No. It was nothing. They– they tried to get me but had nothing to pin on me.”

Valya never conceived of the Volkisch as people who let anyone off with a warning.

Nevertheless, they were glad Mysia was not hurt.

After some wandering, the two left the trees and walked across grey concrete into one of the office complexes. They stood in an alley between two office buildings on the edge of the second tier’s facilities. At their backs, one of the station walls, and a capped duct giving off a small amount of visibly moving air. Mysia put their back to one of the buildings and Valya put their back to the other, standing with their eyes locked together but still silent.

Mysia reached out suddenly– taking Valya’s chin and lifting their face.

Grinning with a too-familiar mischief.

“It is you.” Mysia said. “It’s like I never left. You’re still the same softie.”

Valya pulled off Mysia’s hands from themself. “Hey! I can’t believe you, after all this time.”

“What else am I supposed to do or say? I wasn’t holding out hope of ever seeing you again.”

“Me neither!” Valya said. They smiled a bit. “But I’m– I’m really happy to see you!”

Mysia did not smile back. It was hard for Valya to read their expression.

“You look so– healthy. Grown up. You finally left the Union yourself.” Mysia said.

Looking Valya up and down in a way that embarrassed them to recognize.

“Yeah, I decided to leave. I am working as a mechanic in Stockheim now.” They said.

Of course, Valya could not admit to the truth of why they were able to meet like this.

“Stockheim’s good. Nice pay, and the people are friendly. I’m glad you’re alright.”

It was so awkward. Valya could hardly stand it. They should have been so happy.

Instead, they were standing in a tiny gap framed by concrete, staring at each other.

“Mysia– why did you leave the Union?”

And the fatal words simply left Valya’s lips though they barely realized it.

When they did– even they were surprised at themself.

Thankfully, Mysia took it in stride. Letting out a bit of a sigh, tossing their hair a bit.

“Chasing the myth of the Katarran mercenary. I told you as much when I left.”

That can’t have been the only reason. Valya always thought they had done something.

It was not beyond their will or capability to have done something.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Valya asked.

Mysia did not answer. Rather, they asked a question by way of response–

“Valya, do you still believe the stuff they taught us in the Union?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I see.” Mysia said. Valya thought they looked disappointed with that answer.

“How are you getting along these days? You’re really not in trouble, right?” Valya asked.

Both of them seemed to know that there was an impassable wall between them.

“I’m working for a rich woman now, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg.” Mysia said.

Valya froze for a moment. Surprised, perhaps elated– were they on the same side–?

Foolishly, they were almost ready to say anything– but– Mysia talked so fast–

Mysia spoke first and made a gesture as to bid Valya to be quiet for a moment.

“Valya, I am really sorry but we don’t have all the time we need to catch up now. I have something going on. But– we can still go on an adventure together, just like we wanted.” They said. “It’s really incredible that I found you. It’s– It’s something I’ve only ever dreamed of. I think it’s a sign that everything is going to go how I want. I’ve got plans, Valya. I’m going to get a ship, and a crew. You can come. We’ll go anywhere we want, and we can do anything. Nobody can boss us around anymore. I just need a few more days to get ready.”

At this, Valya’s heart sank– but a part of them, a foolish, stupid, childish part, wanted–

“You don’t have to answer.” Mysia said. “In two days, meet me in Stockheim at noon.”

“Mysia– I don’t know–” Valya felt like they were letting them slip away again–

That mane of blue hair swaying in the air as they turned their back like before–

“Even if you don’t want to leave, I’ll have time to catch up then. To really catch up. I want to know everything that happened to you. I promise I won’t leave you with regrets. I will tell you everything and then you can decide. But right now, I really have to leave. I especially don’t want to linger around this place too much.” Mysia gestured around themself. Perhaps meaning the second tier of Aachen. Perhaps meaning Aachen itself?

Then the most shameful and impossible words of them all spilled out of Valya’s lips.

“Mysia– do you still–?”

Care about me? Care about me like our doomed teenage love?

They would have said it–

But there was no opportunity.

As if in answer to the unspoken plea about to spill deadly into the air–

Mysia took a step forward into Valya’s personal space and

kissed them.

On the lips, with a bit of force, a bit of tongue. A hand on their hip, gripping the fabric.

Heat, touch, passion– a desire they hardly ever felt–

Obliterating Valya’s better judgment as easily as when they first saw them at the Gau.

As easily as when they first saw them at school in Sevastopol.

And as easily as when they almost, so close, stole them away from home.

Easy as a stolen kiss; easy as a quick turn of the feet to leave.

“Stockheim, at noon. Valya, I still want to make you mine. Please consider it.”

Rapid as the current that must have swept them away that day.

Mysia turned, showing Valya their back, and walked away with unconcerned alacrity.

With that confidence and power that imagined a world Valya could only dream of.

Their knees buckled in the alleyway; their breath stolen away with the kiss.

Tears in their eyes and not knowing what to do or what to think.

Had it all been a hallucination? But their lips were still warm with their touch.

All these years, and Valya was still so easily shaped by Mysia in mere instants.

Could they really do as Mysia asked? Did they– want to–?


UNX-001 “Brigand” Official Chronicle

Chronicle Date Code (FROM-1): 293906

Chronicler: Commissar Aaliyah Bashara

Mood

Aboard: Busy, but spirits are high.

Myself: Contemplative.

We set out on this journey long enough now that 980 is near. We left close to mid-year so it should not be surprising. But it feels like an entire year has passed. I am appreciative of my reliable counterpart. I would have broken down if I was shouldering this alone.

Meals

Breakfast: Blins with mushrooms, and a choice of sour cream, cottage cheese or both.

Lunch: Gloria had “Shimii-style” wraps delivered. Hummus, ta’miya, salad, tahini.

Dinner: “Serrano noodles” egg noodles with beans, salsa, hot pepper, avocado and cheese.

Events

Today’s entry will be one of the lengthy ones.

Ulyana slept poorly. I heard her throughout the night, making nonspecific noises in her sleep. This also affected my sleep but to a lesser degree. She was obviously struggling to get out of bed. On my own initiative I brought her a coffee and tried to comfort her. I offered to take some work off of her hands and she claimed it would not be fair to me. There was no point in arguing against this. I instead offered to get her Corvalol for sleep from Doctor Kappel.

She confided in me that she felt everyone in the United Front was hiding something. I tried to both agree and mollify her while also pointing out we were also hiding things. To calm her nerves, I reassured her that I would be at her side to support her no matter what transpired.

We set out for the United Front venue at 11:00.

Before leaving, I gave Murati a goal to frequent the hangar and get acquainted with the sailors’ work more intimately by talking to Galina and the workgroup managers, instead of bothering the bridge crew all day. Murati apologized profusely and claimed that she was ashamed of her “lack of investigation” and that she would correct herself. She volunteered to write a self-critique and I told her not to and that I would be angry if she still decided to write one and that I would not read it if she did. She seemed to finally acquiesce then.

I also gave Aatto a reading and learning goal for the day, enough to keep her occupied between her activities with Murati. It would be remiss of me to turn down a desire to become a Union commissar, which is rare even among committed communists in the Union. Aatto is experienced and highly educated but ideologically suspect and sexually troubled. Setting aside my personal feelings, I am using this as an avenue to correct her. A commissar embodies high standards for conduct. I would be glad to see her achieve this.

Along the way to the venue, Ulyana’s spirits seemed to return enough to ask if we could stop for a spell somewhere along the way. I regretted having to keep her on task, because I enjoyed our brief noontime drink together the other day. I then had an epiphany and suggested we could stop somewhere for a quick drink after the delegations adjourned. Murati would only be happy to have the ship for an hour or two more.

This more than any of my other suggestions seemed to brighten Ulyana up.

Just as we were getting to the venue, we received a message from Eithnen Ní Faoláin that she would not be attending the day’s meeting and that she would defer any decisions that would be needed from her to Ulyana and Erika. She had to talk to Burke and Marina about what they had turned up about the Uhlans and the station’s security situation overall– she figured her time was better spent helping package their intelligence for us than listening to Tamar Livnat’s “grating voice” for another day. While I mildly disagreed, I understood Captain Ní Faoláin’s disdain for politicking and did not argue with her about it. I could take a more active role to support Ulyana and make up for the lack of personnel at the venue.

But the day’s topic would be a simple one.

As agreed the day before, on the third day of deliberations each side would disclose the status and distribution of their forces. It was a simple topic that left little room for the grandiose political disagreements that had been seen in the previous days. Ulyana and I both understood that on this day, it was likely that every side would lie one way or another. The anarchists had reasons to lowball their forces as they did not trust anyone; Gloria had reasons to self-aggrandize as she wanted to take control of the United Front’s agenda generally. We had certain assets that we would never disclose, such as our Omenseer friends and the existence of psionics, as well as the Brigand’s agarthic shielding lattice. However, in terms of our conventional firepower, we laid everything out on the table, and we were frank about our number of troops. We were up front that aside from our special forces contingents we lacked infantry potential. The Volksarmee was primarily naval.

I expected Gloria Innocence Luxembourg to engage in some amount of attention seeking behavior. I did not expect the degree to which she would do so. Gloria concocted an entire “presentation” about the Reichbanner Schwarzrot. It was clearly a propaganda film! She was using us as a test audience! I was too confused to object for most of it, with each passing minute believing that the film must soon end, and some actual information must appear.

Sweeping shots of the repurposed cruise ship she used as a personal flagship. Schwarzrot troops in red and black uniforms marching with the eponymous reichbanner flag in hand, clearly shot in the spacious hangar or cargo hold of that same cruise ship. There were myriad slogans on the screen, such as “Justice, liberty, social democracy” and “fair taxes where everyone pays their share.” For whatever reason there were examples of “socialist” policies that “were already in place” like emergency services. A song that she commissioned about herself, its lyrics finally awakening me from my intellectual stupor and prompting me to ask if she disclosed to an artist any sensitive information. She claimed the artist was a zealous member of the Schwarzrot. Finally there was a Diver, clearly a rebadged Rhineametalle Sturmvolker with a slightly rounder headpiece, that had a pinup of Gloria in what looked like a skimpy halterneck robe with a rose in her hair and a golden belt.

I pointed at the screen. In my mind I was screaming righteously. But I was utterly silent.

Ulyana rarely looked every one of her 36 years– but she was haggard at that moment.

Moravskyi began to complain at the twenty minute mark how much longer it would take, but thankfully the film was only twenty two minutes long, with the final few frames having some actual organizational charts with details about the Schwarzrot. These details were about as useless as the rest of the film was. I did not for a second believe that Gloria had a fleet of 100 ships unless she was counting every escape pod or shuttle as a ship.

And, furthermore, knowing she was going to do this, I had actually researched how many employees Raylight Beauty had, and the exact number of those employees were listed in her chart as “reserve manpower” for the Schwarzrot. It was a complete farce!

Tamar Livnat called it unserious which got Gloria flared up all over again.

Erika clapped and praised Gloria’s spirit but asked if she could pull the charts back up.

They had scrolled too fast– she had missed them.

She was either untroubled by the rest or did not want to make a fuss anymore.

I was glad Murati was not here to fight these people; but some of them needed it.

Moravskyi and Tamar disclosed small numbers of infantry but with highly specialized skills. They had saboteurs, hackers, bomb-makers; they had people who could knock off supplies at ports or processing facilities; they had solidarity with some commercial transit personnel who could smuggle them places. They disclosed that most of their manpower were discrete cells waiting for a chance to strike in many stations around the Imbrium. Ulyana had learned the night before that Tamar Livnat had a ship– she did not disclose this today.

She reiterated her need for ships.

The Omenseers Avaritia and Gula, posing as the anarchists Zozia Chelik and Ksenia Apfel, made up a cover story that their cell had been uprooted by the Volkisch and they only had about five additional personnel. Moravskyi was shocked to hear this as he believed them to have an operation with thousands of people. Tamar looked suspicious of them. Neither would comment further. It was unconvincing, and their act was wearing thin, but in this stage, where everyone had lied, the indiscretion was more easily accepted.

It was at this point that things did get confrontational again.

Tamar Livnat suggested that our problems with troops and recruiting would be over if we could open up the Khaybar Pass for Bosporus. She confirmed that the Khaybar Pass is being held by a group of Shimii “pirates” (her words) that Bosporus has failed to break through. In her mind, if the Pass is cleared, we would receive a veritable flood of reinforcements from Bosporus. She had contacts in Bosporus and could reach them to coordinate.

History might judge us for our decision, but we had good reason to be against this:

1. The Union as a state with a foreign policy, has one very important and pragmatic reason to reject the displacement of Shimii by the Juzni and Eloim actors of Bosporus, which is: the Union was founded by Volgians, Shimii and Bosporans. Milana Omarova, the “Vozhd” of the Shimii in the Union, is being groomed to become Premier Jayasankar’s likely successor. Any action against Shimii on an Imbria-wide scale is likely to have repercussions “at home.” It would be seen as a betrayal and shake the trust of the Shimii. As an agent of the Union, as a Commissar, and as a Shimii, I must reject any such actions in line with the national policy.

2. It has historically borne out that “pirates” are usually downtrodden people trying to secure a livelihood. This has always been the case in Imbria. Shimii, Katarrans, North Bosporans, Campos, and even Eloim, have had famous commerce raiders who ultimately “stole from the rich to give to the poor.” It would be odious to me on not just a personal but an ethical-ideological level to become the party stealing from these people instead of helping them and meeting their needs. For a self-described anarchist, Tamar can be rather cruel.

3. Should we succeed in the odious task of evicting the Shimii from whatever home they have in Khaybar, the “flood of troops” that would constitute anarchist forces from Bosporus. While I would very much regret to see violence between our groups, an anarchist Eisental would not be as friendly to the Union as the regime of Erika Kairos and her Volksarmee. I am a soldier and commissar of the Union before I am anything else. It would be against not only my duty but also my beliefs to put solidarity or convenience before the safety of the nation which I have sworn an oath to serve. I believe that only the Union, and only a militarily powerful Union, can safeguard communism. It is terrible to me to have to now weigh the idea of allowing the Reichskommissariat to entrench itself further when there is a possibility to challenge it sooner, with the future that an anarchist Eisental might bring.

Ultimately, none of this did I speak to Tamar Livnat. I simply and efficiently stood against the proposal on the grounds that it would be a waste of our forces and incur the (rightful) anger of some of the very people we are trying to organize against the Volkisch. At any rate, Moravskyi agreed with me on the grounds that if the Bosporus militia which had the backing of many stations failed to penetrate Khaybar, our armada would likely fail as well.

Tamar quietly and serenely dropped the subject as she had done with many other subjects. Her demeanor continued to unnerve me, but I had no cause to accuse her of anything except being personally odious to me. All of us were withholding information and all of us had bitter ideological disagreements. We would certainly continue to be cautious of her and her faction. But to do any more than be personally cautious was out of the question.

She would remain at this table for now.

We set the agenda for the next day that we would talk about funds, logistics, requisition and asset-sharing within the United Front. We would permanently address the question of our individual and shared resources, as some members of the Front had more, and some members had less, but we all had needs to meet. Gloria seemed excited at this prospect– of course, being the member with the most resources. Tamar being the member with the least resources, was also glad the topic would get more attention.

After we adjourned, we called Murati and told her our plans, which she supported.

Ulyana and I stopped at a small café that served pastries, simple fare, coffee and alcohol.

We ordered coffees and Ulyana insisted we get them with a shot of honey liqueur. There were complimentary sweet crisps at the table to snack on. We talked for about a half hour after receiving our drinks. Ulyana asked what I thought of Aachen. I had not had much time to think about Aachen as a place, as much as a container for various vexations. I told her that it reminded me too much of Kreuzung. That despite its official policies being more “liberal” on paper it was still an unwelcoming and highly stratified place.

I told her I saw people’s gazes on me at times.

Ulyana agreed and whispered that the café owner had been a bit taken aback by her accent.

For the Captain, it must have been difficult to hide her accent to try to blend in.

Quite a pity too because I found her voice, accent and all, to be very charming. I told her as much and got a laugh out of her. It was fun getting to chat. We couldn’t be very honest with each other in such a setting, for someone might hear. But nevertheless, I am growing accustomed to the presence of the captain and growing accostumed to being by her side. I assume that as I have been writing the past several months my assessments must have become more glowing. I will always criticize her when she deserves it.

But more and more, I do so out of a deep respect for her.

As I wrote before– I am feeling contemplative.

Chronicles are meant to be an honest recollection of the feelings of the chronicler.

They are meant to recount feelings which the chronicler would regret losing forever.

It is the final chance of the sailing dead to ever be properly understood by the still-living.

While it is important to recollect the day-to-day, the chronicler has the privilige of having her feelings the most apparent. She can only guess what others are feeling, and she must do so in order to paint a picture of the crew. I have done my best to describe personages like Murati Nakara and Sonya Shalikova, so that it is possible for posterity to recall not just their deeds but perhaps an inkling of who they were as persons. However, one person that can actually be described to her fullness in this chronicle, is Aaliyah Bashara, the writer.

With that said, it would be remiss of me to obscure my feelings too much.

I must admit that Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya has been on my mind more and more.

Perhaps because, more and more, we rely on each other, and have worked very long nights.

The United Front has led to us staying up late together and working closer than ever before.

More than when we set off, certainly; more than in Serrano or in Goryk’s Gorge.

So I have seen many more faces of her– she has been challenged in ways nobody has been.

Ulyana Korabiskaya is one of the few Captains I have served with. She is the only Captain I have ever accompanied into serious, life-threatening combat. She and I did not get on initially. I did not respect her. I was on the lookout for her to cause problems and perhaps even abuse her power over others. However, she has proven herself to me time and again, as not only a capable and professional officer, but one that is outstandingly conscientious. She tries not just to do what is efficient or pragmatic, but what is right, even at great cost. She regrets being forced to take any action which is punitive or brutal, but she wields her powers as she must, and does not shy away from those difficult decisions. My caution around her has gradually melted away. Now I strive to give her perspective, constructive criticism, a second half to herself to help her make decisions, and yes, at times, a bit of necessary scolding. We have a very amicable relationship. She has won my support. And much more–

I find myself trusting her above anyone that I have ever trusted.

I would kill for Ulyana Korabiskaya; of this I am certain. I would protect her to my last.

Being honest– I am not sure how I could end this mission and leave this woman behind.

It is a frightening thing to admit when one’s feelings seem to verge on the unprofessional.


After another turning of the day and night, the Mahdist village buzzed with activity.

On the stage, the Tazia monument was completed and covered with a tarp.

Around the village, banners were hung up with blue, green and gold patterns.

Children were taken aside and instructed on the etiquette of the occasion.

Behind closed doors, Sareh and Baran continued to teach Kalika her moves.

Homa, meanwhile, watched the village gradually come alive around her.

Helping where she could, putting decorations up, helping to fill and move water barrels.

Despite the events of the past few days, the villagers continued to prepare, undaunted.

Feeling their energy, Homa could not help but be swept up out of her gloominess.

Tomorrow,

on the fourth day of the United Front’s deliberations,

while great forces moved in the shadows, and

as Aachen drew nearer to Destiny,

the mahdist Shimii of the little village would forget their pains and celebrate Tishtar.

A festival of water, of the great heroes, of mourning, and of the Mahdist’s will.

Homa’s heart began to beat steadily faster as she looked forward to Kalika’s dance.

And hopefully to a hard-earned plate of cooked meat.


Previous ~ Next

The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.7]

Atop a machine mostly covered by tarps, there was an exposed section of freshly installed hydraulics. A young engineer stood on a rolling work platform, covering the hydraulics with a piece of exactingly stitched armor plate. Their long, salmon-pink dyed hair partially tucked away into a bun within a fire-retardant synthetic wrap, and a protective mask covered their round, soft-featured face. A fire retardant jumpsuit and gloves protected their body, a bit short and a bit plush, not as toned as that of their more traditionally soldier-like companions but fit enough for duty. They had the strength and the stamina to pick up the heavy welding gun and the dexterity to precisely join the segments of plate. They bumped one of their breasts on the railings, and it smarted, but they were careful of the rest.

With an almost meditative focus, without shaking or flinching, they completed the weld.

They then removed their mask and hair cap to better appreciate the fruit of their labor.

Pink hair falling over their fair face, pushed aside by soft but skillful hands.

Valya Lebedova wiped the sweat off their brow and smiled at the freshly welded plate.

Running that gentle hand across the smooth join. This was some of their best work.

“It’s coming together. Soon we’ll test for seaworthiness.” They said to themself.

They had been keeping themselves quite busy since docking at Aachen.

While the officers and the security team were engaged with the United Front, the Brigand’s engineers were giving the ship and its weapons another tune-up, taking inventory, and running the stitchers day and night to resupply their stock of spare parts as well as replace worn parts. They were also continuing the work of building cooperation with the Rostock and its engineers– something made much easier by the invention of ZaChat.

All the while, Valya had been working in the hangar on the squadron’s Heavy Divers.

Working with machines suited them well. They considered themself an acceptable pilot, but not an exceptional one like Khadija, whom they could barely keep up with, or Shalikova, who piloted boldly and aggressively. Even Murati, who was also somewhat overshadowed by Khadija and Shalikova, was still stronger and more skilled in battle than Valya. In a mecha, Valya was a grunt, an additional gun. But with tools in their hand, and the time to spend, they could do work on the machines that was more unique than the efficient and routine maintenance taught by the academy and reproduced unerringly by the average engineer.

Valya had been out in there, in the sea, had been shot at, had shot back–

It was terrifying– but it imparted a personal knowledge of how the machine operated.

And what a pilot valued out of the machine, and how to optimize for those eccentricities.

An engineer working on dozens of Streloks had to be efficient, but Valya could be exacting.

Not only in tuning up and repairs– the Brigand across its battles had collected a stock of captured or surrendered enemy equipment, as well as broken-down hulls and other miscellany from their own damage and losses. There was a sizeable pile of metal to break down and reuse, as well as an entire hull that was surrendered by Sieglinde Castille. Valya wanted to do something with it– they had been working on assembling a brand new mecha working off these materials. To make use of the advanced hull Sieglinde brought in.

Whether or not it saw immediate use, they could always find a home for more machines.

Thankfully for Valya, Murati had been incredibly supportive of their ideas.

With assistance from the engineers, and Khadija’s support, they were given the time and space to work on engineering projects were it related to the Divers as a special member of the hangar crew. Khadija would have to have more standby time when out at sea because of this, as the first-line standby pilots were originally her and Valya– but she was nice enough to agree. Some of the burden was also taken up by Sameera, who volunteered to be on standby much more often. Valya was lucky to have such supportive comrades.

Everyone was careful not to talk about it as if Valya would be replaced and join the engineers. Valya knew Murati could not promise that, since the available candidates to replace anyone on the squadron were in a state of flux. Aiden had been demoted to a sailor, the Rostock could not spare more crew, and Homa Baumann was a big, ambiguous maybe. Valya had no illusions that they would be going out and fighting if needed, and they had no reservations against doing so. They were fighting a war and Valya was a soldier.

“Hey, are you going to marry that weld? You’ve been staring at it for long enough.”

Valya looked down at the base of the work platform, where a tall woman waved at them.

They smiled back at her. “Hey, let me have this moment!” They laughed.

Soon they joined their aunt Galina Lebedova on the hangar floor.

Galina was the Chief Technician overseeing all aspects of engineering and maintenance work on the ship. She looked the part– tall, muscular, broad-chested, wearing the standard work coveralls, but with her own flair too. She wore makeup, complimenting her round, friendly face, and when she was not engaged in work she wore the coveralls halfway down, off her shoulders. This exposed the bodysuit she wore beneath, and the impressive definition of her body. Her dark hair was dyed, much like Valya’s was, but with small streaks of blue.

Valya felt quite small near their aunt, but they were used to it.

The Lebedovich family was quite fecund, with Valya having many siblings and many cousins and many older folks and being among the smallest of their generation. They were spread out all over the Union. Valya was part of the generation that grew up with the Union’s ideal toward child rearing and was raised by the state more than by their parents.

Whenever the kids all got to visit their parents, and the parents’ own siblings and relatives joined in, the actual, massive scope of the family came into stark relief.

Nevertheless, Valya felt that they acquitted themselves well enough among their family.

After all, only two members of their family were on this suicidal black ops mission.

It would be an impressive bit of their resume if they came back, however!

“How is it coming along? Have you given it a name yet?” Galina asked.

“Not yet. I might entreat Murati or the other pilots to name it.” Valya said.

“Sounds like a fun idea. Maybe you could make it a ship-wide contest.”

“I’d rather not draw that much attention to the whole thing.” Valya said sheepishly.

Galina looked up at the tarp-covered mass, the machine Valya had been building.

“You’ve come a long way Valya. I remember when you were just a kid tinkering with a little quadrotor you won as a prize at school.” Lebedova said. She reached out and laid a hand on Valya’s head and messed up their hair. Valya protested only mildly. “Now you’re turning out to be a wizard with the spare parts here. Everyone is excited to see what you cooked up.”

Valya felt a bit nostalgic, recalling that little machine. They had largely forgotten it.

Life had been filled with projects for Valya, they had always been busy in school–

And once they were awed by the power of a Diver, there was no turning back from that.

Tinkering with rotor revolutions and weight-shifting on a drone was literally child’s play.

A Diver represented the power of the future. Murati could see that too.

Maybe– Murati could see it more than anyone.

After all, it was because of Murati protesting, that Valya had gotten practical pilot training.

Many, many years ago in the Academy– not that Murati knew that.

But it was this which led Valya to value Murati’s insights.

They turned to their aunt with a carefree smile.

“Well, they will see it soon! I honestly think I’ll have it ready in a day or two!” Valya said.

“Hmm. Has anyone pulled you aside and made you have any fun lately?” Galina said.

She leaned into Valya with a skeptical expression on her face.

Valya leaned back a bit. “I’m doing what I like, and I like what I do. So there’s no problem.”

Galina drew back with a sigh. “I just can’t help but notice it– with how busy you are–”

“Notice what?” Valya said.

“Well, at first I thought you might be getting on with Khadija, at least–”

Valya started waving their hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not– I haven’t ever–”

“I mean, I know that now obviously.” Galina said. She made an exaggerated sigh that clued Valya on to the fact that they were being teased. “In this ship where passions are always burning so bright– I bet your parents will be disappointed when you return home without bringing a nice girl to introduce to them. They are expecting some grandkids you know?”

“They can forget it! I don’t want one child let alone six!” Valya said, crossing their arms.

Chief Lebedova burst out laughing. Valya narrowed their eyes and stared critically.

Mighty thankful that the Union state and its laws could thwart their parent’s demands.

“Besides, I don’t see you settling down with a ‘nice sailor boy’ either.” Valya shot back.

“My time has passed.” Galina shrugged. “Now that I have fully disappointed all of my own close family with my sapphism and whimsy, I can live my life as I choose free of their dour expectations. I have left such things to the next generation. Please pick up the slack for me.”

“What are you even saying? I refuse!” Valya said, knowingly playing up their reticence.

Despite all the teasing, Valya got along well enough with Galina.

Though they would not admit it, Galina was someone they aspired to become.

Valya could empathize with Murati’s desire to someday command a ship.

Their ambitions, however, were fixed squarely on the shop floor and its machines.

Commanding respect and organizing all of the hangar tech as Chief Technician.

Everything tuned up to their specification; and an entire floor working on their designs!

Maybe the Union could promote Murati and take on Valya alongside someday.

And perhaps a refined version of the machine under the tarp could fill their hangar.

“Valya, I did want to talk to you about something serious.” Galina said. She looked around the hangar. Valya thought she knew what it was about– Gunther had taken the day and was out in the station. As soon as Galina got to speaking again, Valya had her suspicions confirmed. “Murati approached me about Gunther– I obviously don’t mind anyone lodging complaints for any reason. I just wanted you to know, he is ordinarily a very quiet and work-oriented guy. I know you have had to pick up the slack for him a bit, and it might feel unfair. But I think he just isn’t used to how spontaneous things have been on this ship. He is very– rules oriented. And a lot of disorder has been brought in. Can you give him a chance, for me?”

Valya shook their head. They didn’t mean to get directly involved in Gunther’s situation, but given how they worked closely with Murati, it was an easy assumption to make.

They would not pretend that they were unrelated.

“It’s not necessarily about it being unfair to me. I think it’s unfair to the pilots. Gunther is the frontline guy for the Divers, I know there must be a lot of pressure on him but if he makes a mistake or doesn’t get to something, it could be lethal for Murati and the others. It could be lethal for me. That’s why I am trying to take care of everything myself. If you, Murati and the Captain would formally make me an engineer, I would sort everything out.”

They stuck out their chest with a proud little smile. Almost sure that they were sparkling.

Galina sighed a bit, crossed her arms. After a moment, she replied. “I’ll talk to the captain. I’m sure someone from here or from the Rostock or hell, even the John Brown, could take your seat as a pilot. Aiden was not an especially useful addition to the sailing crew– I would have a lot less to worry about if I could fob off more work on you.” She winked.

Valya frowned in response.

Only at the last snide remark– they were excited at the prospect of joining the engineers.

“I won’t disappoint you– but I will complain to Semyonova if you are unfair to me!”

“I guess you’d still be in the officer’s union huh? What a pain.” Galina joked.

The two of them shared a bit of laugh to show the situation was not too serious.

“I can’t make any promises. But the hangar crew would love to have you.” Galina said.

Valya nodded their head. It felt like they were so close to their personal goals now.

They would do whatever was required of them for the mission to succeed. That much would never change. However, confidence did not come easily to little Valya– and with each passing day, they were becoming more confident in their mechanical skills.

Soon, they would prove that to everyone.


“Ah, master, you look so positively radiant in the captain’s seat.”

“Heh, I do, don’t I? I imagined this moment so many times. I bet I pull it off exactly.”

“Indeed, indeed. Have you thought about what you will say when you order a fusillade?”

“Absolutely. Of course I have thought about it. It’s integral to morale. Every word.”

“Then master, why not roleplay a full attack, so that you might perfect your technique?”

“You know, Aatto– you’re completely right. As I ask others to prepare, I too must do so.”

Murati was in such a vital mood she saw nothing silly about this proposition.

A Captain was a figure of strength, a symbol to the crew, just as much as their function as an element of battlefield control. Every aspect, every gesture, had to command respect and dignity. Such things as élan and esprit de corps might have sounded unscientific to some persons, but a soldier’s enthusiasm and sense of belonging to a professional unit had tangible effects on their performance in battle. Soldiers respected and motivated by their officers put on a greater effort to the bitter end than bored, abused grunts did.

So in the middle of the day at an unspecific hour of no other meaning–

Murati stood up from her chair, put on a deadly grin and pointed her index finger.

Her arm was perfectly straight, precisely parallel to the ceiling.

Just as her lips parted, with her bridge staring in confusion (rapt attention)–

The door opened, and a seemingly young woman in a suit and vest walked in nonchalantly–

“Murati–?” she said, but would not be heard until the weighty deed was finished–

“All guns, drown them out with thunder! Continuous barrage!” Murati shouted.

She then realized someone had entered, and her head suddenly snapped to the door.

Dropping her arm, staring. Feeling self-conscious and strangely surveilled.

At her right-hand, Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa stared as if seeking confirmation.

“Um, that was a simulation.” Murati said, waving her hands. “Forget it, carry on.”

Everyone on the bridge seemed to shrug off the moment pretty easily.

Murati, however, felt rather silly that she had been seen doing so by Euphrates.

Standing at the door, an impish grin on her face, with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Having a lot of fun with the big chair, Murati?” Euphrates said. “Let me join you!”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, she crossed in front of Murati and Aatto and sat down in the farthest seat at the top, where Erika Kairos sat if she was available. Somehow the blue-haired immortal Eloim did not feel too out of place in that position– Euphrates was a person who had earned Murati’s respect and affection as much as the Premier.

And this meant–

–it was rather mortifying whenever she saw Murati acting impulsively.

“Master, my entire body quaked with the power of your voice.” Aatto cheered.

“I– I don’t want to hear things like that.” Murati replied, averting her gaze.

Euphrates laughed a bit to herself and laid back on the chair.

She shut her eyes and looked rather placid for a moment.

Then– Murati heard her voice.

“Have you gotten better at speaking telepathically?” She asked wordlessly.

Her voice appeared soundlessly in Murati’s thoughts as if she herself had recalled it.

It was only because of her own psionic experiences she knew that it was telepathy.

Despite the method, the communications were surprisingly clear and easy to understand.

Even though the voice might have sounded a bit dim, the content was perfectly transmitted.

“I practiced with Aatto.” Murati said, launching the words right into Euphrates’ mind.

“Aatto is a good partner for you. Her abilities are limited but her resistance is strong.”

“I still don’t want to risk hurting her. We’ve only practiced telepathy, nothing else.”

“You’re such a considerate girl. Have you been able to practice vectoring at all?”

“Here and there. It’s difficult to control. I can’t seem to limit my strength at all.”

“You’re either uniquely gifted or uniquely cursed, Murati.” Euphrates smiled.

“Great. It’s an excellent title for my biography: Uniquely Gifted, Uniquely Cursed.”

Murati sank back into her chair with a gloomy expression.

Euphrates telepathically projected an image of herself patting Murati’s back.

Somehow, though the action had not been taken physically, Murati still felt a bit comforted.

“I did not just come here to bother you.” Euphrates communicated. “I wanted– to talk.”

Despite their soundless communication, Murati still felt the hesitation in her “tone.”

“I’m listening. You know if its for you, I can make the time.” Murati replied.

Euphrates put on a mischievous face. “Murati– putting it so straightforwardly–?”

“What? I don’t get it– why do you look so happy–?” Murati narrowed her eyes.

“Nevermind, nevermind. This is something serious.” Euphrates put a hand over her own chest and sighed a little bit. “I talked to Daksha Kansal. She and I have a long history– I have already told you some stories. But I don’t believe I ever communicated just how much I was once enamored with her. I admired her greatly. Unfortunately– we had a bit of a tiff and departed on bad terms. I don’t believe I can ever talk to her again in a private capacity. I thought you should know– she is someone involved with your past too, after all.”

More than that, Daksha Kansal was someone Murati distantly admired.

Every communist leader had something to teach– even Ahwalia unearthed certain lessons. Daksha Kansal led the Union through its tumultuous birth. She focused everything on reclaiming the prisons and slave work operations and turning them into homes and factories, and distributing the products to the exhausted, exploited masses for their survival.

Daksha Kansal said to the former slaves that it would take work and struggle still to live freely, rather than passively being free. Despite the pain and weariness, the people of the Union took up their tools again, for themselves, for their home, and worked again.

It would have been easy for the Union to collapse in those precarious days where so many people with nothing cobbled together everything they could for a fighting chance, and still found themselves lacking for so much after achieving the victory. Winning against the Empire did not bring plenty, it did not even bring enough, not right away– the hardship continued and there was always more work. Daksha Kansal knew how to keep the fire alive even after the the adrenaline died down and the people took stock of how difficult the future would be. They could not eat freedom; but they feasted on her hope.

Had the Murati of 979 A.D. been in that position she would not have known what to say.

Sometimes her mind reeled at the pain and immiseration around her in affluent Imbria.

She was a kid back then– her memory of how bad it was had been dulled by time.

Would she have fallen to her knees at the sight of the bleak prison the slaves inherited?

Daksha Kansal could have only been a colossus.

Even moreso to Murati, who received her emancipation and admission into the military, her childhood dream and desire, through the direct intervention of Daksha Kansal, Bhavani Jayasankar and Parvati Nagavanshi. These three figures flitted in and out of her life and worked in its background, and though she knew none of them personally, clearly she could only be biased about their importance to the world. Ideologically, she agreed strongly with them– and personally, she admired and sought their bravery and character.

But she also knew that they were human and fallible.

Daksha Kansal abdicated power and vanished from the Union, inexplicably.

Murati had not wanted to acknowledge that too much– but she could not ignore it.

As much as she wanted to believe in her as a simple hero, it was unscientific to do so.

She had to account for the fact that Daksha Kansal left them all in the middle of her work.

With that in mind, it was possible to want to disagree with her too.

Murati and Euphrates continued to speak telepathically.

“Are you afraid that I’ll take her side or something like that?” Murati asked.

“I am afraid of offending you. I am trying to be careful with my words.” Euphrates said.

“What happened is between you two. If you advocated for me or the Union broadly, I thank you for doing so. I don’t demand you disclose anything to me; and if you are afraid I would not be predisposed to believing you, well, you have nothing to fear. I’m not so ideologically rigid, you know? You are someone I esteem too– someone I swore to protect.”

Euphrates’ eyes drew wide again. She smiled. “Murati, thank you. I am touched.”

“It’s my honest feelings. I don’t agree with your positions all the time, but I admire the strength of your character. And I know you are someone who has suffered a lot, just like us. I’d be a pretty shameful communist if I turned my back on you out of blind idolatry. When you baptized me I felt your loneliness and pain– I want to do what I can for you, you know.”

Euphrates wiped her fingers gently over her eyes. She had shed a few tears. Seeing her like that almost made Murati weep too, but she held her own tears back. It would have seemed ridiculous for her to weep out of nowhere from the perspective of the crew.

So she held strong.

“Thank you, Murati. I am truly grateful. But– you should be careful how you speak.”

“Huh? What is this about? I told you these are my honest feelings.”

“If you tell a woman you’ve ‘sworn to protect her’– such a thing can be misunderstood.”

“What are you saying? There is no way to misinterpret that. It means what it means!”

“This is why everyone’s always gossiping about you…”

Euphrates sent her another mental image of herself patting Murati’s back.

Murati tele-projected back an image of herself with a serious expression.

“You know, I am thinking of starting a new project.” Euphrates said, this time out loud.

Out loud, physically, but their volume was still low enough to be semi-private.

“Sorry, I am not joining your new gang.” Murati said simply. “I have responsibilities here.”

“Of course, of course. I am not recruiting you. I just hope that I can continue to hitch a ride– and perhaps enlist your help in finding former colleagues of mine.” Euphrates said.

“You have to ask the Captain for a definitive answer– but I don’t think anyone wants you to leave.” Murati said. “I certainly do not. So I hope you can run your project here.”

“Don’t worry, it will be a while yet before we part ways.” Euphrates smiled.

She reached her out and physically patted Murati’s shoulder.

“I am not particularly proud of how my meeting with Daksha went. It– ended in a fight.”

She sent this message telepathically, resuming their mental correspondence.

“You fought?” Murati responded silently. “Like– physically?”

“We fought. It was a very emotionally charged argument. I lost myself. I truly regret it.”

Murati was briefly a bit speechless. This was the last thing she expected to hear.

Her own hand reached out, physically, and squeezed Euphrates’ shoulder in comfort.

“Did you win?” She asked telepathically. Trying to project a tone of levity to Euphrates.

For her part, Euphrates smiled serenely and said nothing more, leaning into Murati’s arm.

Though surprised by the display of affection, Murati allowed Euphrates to rest on her.


On the second day of the United Front deliberations, the delegates gathered to discuss the creation of an information exchange between the parties as proposed on the previous day. Familiar figures from the first meeting attended once again, although the mood was initially much more subdued than the brawling of the previous day. Taras Moravskyi and Tamar Livnat presided over the meeting, introducing topics and approving proposals, a formality; Zozia Chelik and Ksenia Apfel remained mostly quiet; Erika Kairos, Ulyana Korabiskaya, Eithnen Ní Faoláin and their adjutants stood in for the Volksarmee; while Gloria Luxembourg remained the only attending delegate of the Reichsbanner Schwarzrot.

Gloria looked rather bored, rubbing a finger on the table while Erika made a proposition.

“In my time with my esteemed colleagues from the south,” Erika said, gesturing toward Ulyana and Aaliyah on the table, “I discovered that the Union has methods for sending encrypted information through the Imbrian relay network while making the source difficult to trace without time-consuming and very specific scrutiny. Rather than sharing these protocols in full, and each developing a system independently– I propose we all collaborate on a platform built by one of our officers, known as ZaChat. Using ZaChat as a base, we have a means of quickly getting in touch with each other. We can at the very least use it as initial point of communication before switching to a more secure means. Along with the adoption of a cipher dictionary, we’ll be able to coordinate from afar, while the fascists will remain none the wiser. What do my esteemed colleagues think of this idea?”

“We would have to trial the program.” Tamar Livnat replied. “But I agree on the basics. A simple way to send encrypted messages, and a cipher to make those messages appear innocuous are both necessary. If you already have some technology we might as well use it– I doubt my comrades will want to use any Imbrian-made software for this task.”

“You can’t trust none of these newfangled networks.” Moravskyi said. “All that stuff was laid down by the Rhinean and Palatine megacorps! None of these portables and private computers and this ‘internet’ business is safe, not one bit of it! They are watching it all the time for any sign of dissent! But I suppose we won’t be able to move fast if we have to wait for actual couriers back and forth, so it’ll have to do. But I don’t like it one bit.”

“Comrade Moravskyi, perhaps you know a means by which our information exchange can exchange information without the use of computers? We would give that proposal some thought. Otherwise we must press on.” Tamar said. She sounded like she making fun of Moravskyi, but it was not entirely obvious– she was very careful and measured with every sound from her lips and every movement of her face such that it caused the listener to doubt whether she was being snide. Moravskyi did not seem to realize he was being criticized and remained quiet as Tamar continued with a smile on her face. “If the comrades in the Volksarmee would be so kind as to provide us systems with ‘ZaChat’ installed so that we might quickly get up to speed with it– we will agree to Erika Kairos’ proposal.”

“Absolutely. We will turn over a few devices to the delegates tomorrow.” Erika said.

After Erika’s proposal, there was little additional debate.

Everyone agreed that it was both necessary and smart to have a means to quickly share intelligence with one another and that it would enable them to act in concert to target Volkisch assets, or to protect each other’s assets. It was a good way to muster their full resources without imposing on each other’s autonomy or creating a chain of command that would be odious to the parties. These deliberations were rather uncontroversial.

Conversation turned to the uses of the information exchange.

What was before implied was openly discussed– the three groups should share intelligence with the aim of assisting each other in missions to degrade and destroy Volkisch assets and loosen their control over Eisental. This too was an uncontroversial idea. If they were only going to agree to send ZaChat direct messages to each other with no intent to stage any direct actions with one another then the deliberations were entirely pointless.

However, a debate eventually arose on the asymmetry between the parties in action–

“Both the Schwarzrot and Volksarmee have military or near-military grade vessels. The Eisern Front moves in civilian vessels– some of which are not even owned but chartered. We have very little naval potential, and we risk everything when we take to the seas. It was a gamble for us to appear at these deliberations– we don’t even have the luxury of keeping our papers fully up to date as we smuggle people from station to station and maintenance costs can be burdensome to us for travel.” Tamar had once again taken an active role. When she brought up this topic, it seemed to take Moravskyi by surprise. He had been designated the principal speaker for the Eiserne, but Tamar would always talk first, with that unflappable smile on her gentle and pretty face. “I believe it would be a show of good will from our comrades if there could be a provision for the Eisern Front to receive at least a single armed vessel.”

“You are using a lot of passive tenses.” Erika said. “Tamar, do you want us to procure that vessel? Do you want us to gather funds? Do you want us to undertake a mission to steal a vessel? You can and should be direct with your proposals. And also how does Moravskyi feel about this proposal? To which arm of the Eiserne would this vessel be transferred?”

Erika turned to face Moravskyi, who looked a bit confused about the whole thing.

“We aren’t suddenly going to switch tactics to fighting naval engagements.” Moravskyi said. “Our strengths wouldn’t change from getting one ship– we are still going to operate from within stations. So I guess Tamar is asking for her comrades to receive a ship. That’s on her.”

Being called out did not seem to dull Tamar’s spirit any. She continued to speak calmly.

“I apologize for not being clear. You are correct that my forces are still focused on station combat. I would still like for the Volksarmee to transfer a vessel to the Aerean Preservation Militia. Our forces are not going to become a naval powerhouse overnight, but having an armed vessel would help us to resist dangers to our forces during transfers by sea.”

“We refuse to transfer away any of our naval power.” Erika said. “Our prerogative is to be able to target and destroy Volkisch naval assets. We believe this will be crucial going forward. We can assist your forces with our naval power, much as you will assist us with your land forces. But we will not turn over one of our vessels to an unproven crew.”

“My– a show of the ample generosity of our partners, I suppose.” Tamar said.

Erika bristled at Tamar’s gentle, casually delivered sarcasm and prepared to reply–

“Don’t start another pointless fight. I’ve had enough of you people arguing.”

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg finally spoke up, sounding childishly fed up.

“I will buy you a vessel and equip it with weapons. I have people for this.” Gloria said.

“I would have preferred the transfer of a Volksarmee vessel. They have captured Imperial military equipment that is tested and proven– which I am not sure you can guarantee. They also have equipment that blends in well with the enemy, which would greatly assist us in our sabotage and infiltration missions.” Tamar said. “For example, we could get a lot of use out of the ability of your miraculous little hauler to blend in plain sight.”

Ulyana fixed Tamar with a sharp gaze. “You must be out of your mind. It’s not happening.”

Tamar’s eyes briefly glanced over to Ulyana. Her lips still curled into the same little smile.

“Tamar, let’s not be unreasonable now.” Gloria said. “I will buy your group a vessel, any size, any equipment you need. You can even make the exterior hull ugly looking as you like.”

Her entry into the conversation as the unofficial arms dealer of the United Front settled the immediate tension, but Ulyana would not easily forget Tamar’s insinuations. Moravskyi did not interrupt the conversation, but when Tamar asked for the Brigand he did stare at her with shock. He must not have known the depths to which she might stoop– perhaps not even for what purpose. Regardless, it was agreed Gloria would supply a Cruiser to serve as an Eiserne Front flagship. It would be operated by the Aerean Preservation Militia.

Gloria agreed on a timetable for delivery.

With that messy episode settled, a conversation sprung about expanding the exchange.

“In a United Front strategy, it is assumed that we will not only work among ourselves.” Moravskyi said. “But we will join any workers who oppose the bourgeoisie– in this case, I assume we will try to assist any workers that are opposing the Volkisch Movement. I was thinking– will we extend our information exchange to fighters outside of the groups meeting here? Would we bring more people into the fold? Mother anarchy opens her arms to anyone willing to accept her, but I know the reds are more cautious than that.”

“I think you’ll find we are quite willing to work with anyone.” Erika said.

Tamar raised a hand to her lips and giggled just a bit.

“Yes, that much should be obvious, Comrade Moravskyi. They brought Republicans here.”

She pointed out Eithnen and Tahira with a mirthful expression on her face.

“You know what, lady? I’ve just about had it with your bitchy little attitude.” Eithnen said. “There’s no Republicans in this room. I hate the Republic of Alayze more than anyone. Sit your prissy ass down, shut your hole, and let the big guy finish a sentence for once!”

Eithnen correctly identified Tamar seemed to be needling Moravskyi as much as anyone.

Gloria stood up from her chair.

“Tamar, you chose Moravskyi as speaker for the Eiserne. Let him do the talking.” She said.

“Do not censure her!” Moravskyi said. “We anarchists are candid! We speak our minds. I appreciate that about comrade Livnat. I don’t want her to shut up, whether she insults me or engages in teasing. I’m a grown man, I don’t care. I want her able to speak however.”

Tamar merely shrugged in her seat but remained obediently quiet for the discussion.

Without Tamar’s interruptions, the rest of the United Front agreed on two points.

First, if it would be useful to a mission and the candidates were trusted, more people could be added to the information exchange, on either a temporary or extended basis. Zachikova would be asked to create provisional statuses with limited permissions and time-limited access that would self-terminate in certain conditions. Essentially, a status of informants who could send data without being able to see anything themselves, whose sessions were cleaned out on a regular basis, and who were kept at the periphery of the systems.

Erika Kairos agreed this would be implemented.

Second, the door was opened for more groups to completely join the United Front provided they shared enough of a semblance of worker-centered politics and had mission capabilities the Front could make use of against the Volkisch. Such solidarity would not be extended to groups without a rank and file and some level of organization. They decided a membership of at least fifty persons was needed to fully join. That would keep out small time ideological actors who were best retained as distant “informants”. Once a group joined the front they would added permanently to the information exchange, with their leadership having some access to add members of their organization as required for mission needs.

“Sounds good. Look at us, we’re like one big happy family.” Moravskyi laughed.

At this point, Tamar’s bodyguard, the tall, lithe, dark-haired woman in the dark coat, approached her and whispered something. Tamar smiled, listened, without turning her head, and waved her off. The bodyguard then left the venue. Ulyana Korabiskaya seemed to want to ask what that was about– but she seemed to think better of it after some consultation with her Commissar Aaliyah Bashara. The two of them passed on the opportunity to speak, and Moravskyi declared the resolutions formally approved by the Front.

With a decent amount of official work behind them, the front members started to chat.

They set the next day’s topic, which would be going over tactics and strategy, and what should and should not be on the table, as well as exchanging information about capabilities between the forces to better understand how each would deploy. Erika promised a demonstration of ZaChat. Finally, Moravskyi adjourned the meeting, but nobody left right away. Particularly because Moravskyi turned to Gloria with a pointed question.

“Hey, Miss Luxembourg.” He said, a bit derisively. “When are we going to see your mentor at one of these meetings? It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to debate that hag Kansal!”

“Hag?” Gloria narrowed her eyes, annoyed. “She’ll show up when she shows up.”

“Is she not going to show her face then? What a waste.” Moravskyi said.

“We hardly need any more social climbers in our midst.” Tamar said, cracking a little grin.

“What is your problem lady? I’ve put up with enough of your idle chatter.” Gloria said. Her saccharine facade had been largely absent in this particular meeting, where she hardly spoke. But now she was being ‘candid’ herself. “Daksha Kansal is a hero to all communists! She has better things to do than argue with the likes of you people! That’s why I’m here. So stop clamoring for her to appear if all you want is a target dummy for your petty and ancient grievances. We’re here, in the present, and we agreed to cooperate, so cooperate!”

“Gloria, do you know the history of the revolution that produced the Union?” Tamar asked.

“I know enough.” Gloria said. “Are you going to quiz me on it, schoolteacher?”

Her barbs were not as fierce, but her heart was clearly into the conflict now.

Ulyana and Aaliyah watched with mild annoyance as this all played out.

Erika Kairos sighed and crossed her arms and tried to stay out of it all.

“Do you believe the revolution was started by Daksha Kansal?” Tamar asked.

“Everyone knows that. Obviously. She was key to everything.” Gloria said.

“That’s what you all tell yourselves now.” Moravksyi said. “But it wasn’t the case.”

“How do you figure? Hmph. She was the organizer behind the General Strike!” Gloria said, passions enflamed. “That’s what she was imprisoned for! Everyone knows the history! She broke out and organized the slaves, leading to several bloody prison takeovers, plantation riots. The key moment was the uprising in the shipyards that are now Sevastopol and the uprisings in what is now Solstice, the control centers for the Imperial administration. The nascent Union took over much of the merchant marine that had been paralyzed in the Sevastopol and Solstice ports due to the panic in the Imbrian control centers. Kansal’s group also overran the magazines and distributed real armaments to the slaves. This is all history, and you can look it all up! So what do you all believe is the actual truth then?”

“Little lady, Kansal was not the first one to rise up.” Moravskyi said. “She was not even the second or the third. Solstice rose when the rest of the colonies were already fully rioting, and she took advantage of that. I know because I was there. I was there with her even.”

Gloria stared at Moravskyi but did not reply quickly anymore. She looked like it was dawning on her that she spoke with too much certitude and that perhaps there was more to the story than she imagined. She had the quiet and guarded expression of someone fearful to have appeared foolish. Now she must have been thinking how to spare herself.

Tamar took the opportunity to add on to what Moravskyi had declared.

“Not only that– but you should also examine how the oppressed slaves without means could have begun to revolt in the first place. Sure, they had the numbers, but how did the systems of the Imbrians fail to stop some starving prisoners? It was because the anarchists from Imbria, particularly Bosporus, had been working in solidarity with the slaves for years. They assisted the slaves by smuggling in tools and weapons and with technical assistance. They recruited collaborators from the Imbrians too. All of this before the so-called ‘revolution’ that Daksha Kansal would like you to believe that she fomented alone.” Tamar said.

Rhetorically flanked, Gloria stared at Tamar as if she had been trapped by her too.

“People flocked to her because of her role in the failed General Strike. Demagoguery was the only reason she took the revolution as her own in the histories. In reality there were more factors responsible than simply the titanic qualities of Daksha Kansal.”

Tamar looked once again rather sure of herself, and Gloria could not refute her.

Ulyana Korabiskaya did not hold her silence this time around.

“You anarchists are making a lot of insinuations– but you are explicitly unwilling to mention one important thing in all of your arguments.” Ulyana said, crossing her arms and staring down Tamar once more. “The actual, chronological, first slave revolt that exposed the vulnerability of the imperialists, overthrew station administrators and that secured arms, was not led by communists or anarchists. It was actually the Shimii Mahdist nationalists under Mogliv Omarov who rebelled first. They created the conditions in which further prison breaks happened. And Omarov organized his people himself by making use of the time and space allotted by the administrators to practice their religion. He was not assisted by either anarchists or communists– it was all Shimii on that first night.”

Tamar’s smile slowly melted away. Moravskyi suddenly looked every one of his years.

Ulyana continued. “I know because I was there too– as a matter of fact, I was the one who freed Daksha Kansal, Bhavani Jayasankar and Elias Ahwalia from their cells. I was sixteen years old and I had been organized and prepared by them. I lost all of my family and so many people I fought alongside. I fought for everyone’s freedom, just like you, Moravskyi– and you, Tamar Livnat, should think twice about your rhetoric. Out of anyone in the room it has been you who has sounded the most inclined toward ‘demagoguery’ today.”

Omarov had been first; but anarchists, communists, and simple folk, all threw open prisons.

Enough people did so to succeed in the end.

Ulyana opened those doors and knew better than anyone the order of those events.

She would not let anyone forget those nights.

That winter of their souls in 958 that was freezing cold not physically but psychologically.

“If Mogliv Omarov could work with the North Bosporan and Volgian communists, and even become a professed communist himself– what are we fighting among ourselves for?” Aaliyah said, suddenly backing up Ulyana. Ulyana looked surprised that she had spoken but on the verge of tears, seemed to appreciate the help. “None of us have any power over each other or over Eisental. We’re as much in cages as back then. We need to focus on breaking out of the cage first and cease all of this bickering and confrontation. Can we agree to that?”

Ulyana looked across the table at the anarchists. Tamar briefly averted her gaze.

Even Moravskyi looked a little cowed by the stories being told.

“I agree with them.” Zozia Chelik finally entered the conversation. At her side, Ksenia Apfel seemed to pay attention for the first time as well. “I did not come here to have school level ideology debates. There are twisted, brutal people in control of this nation who will stop at nothing to kill us all. That is the most urgent issue. I think we had some productive discussion today, but lets table the history lessons. We can all kill each other after we kill the Volkisch.”

Ulyana flinched a bit at her nonchalance, but the morbid joke got a laugh out of Moravskyi.

“Bah.” He said. “You’re not the only one with bad memories of 958 and 959 though, Ulyana Korabiskaya. But nevertheless– I respect that you were there and saw it all. I can’t and will never respect Daksha Kansal, but I will put it aside out of my respect for your deeds.”

Moravskyi reached out a hand across the table and Ulyana gave it a curt shake.

He then reached out to Gloria, though without the praise he had given Ulyana.

Nevertheless, he got a diplomatic little shake out of her as well.

There was no further discussion and seemingly little desire to hang around the venue.

Another day passed, and the United Front simply went their separate ways again.

However–

Outside the venue, Erika Kairos sent her retinue ahead, stating she wanted to go for a walk.

By herself, she approached Taras Moravskyi as he was also about to leave.

“Comrade, how about a drink to put the bad blood behind us?” She offered.

Moravskyi grinned and clapped his hands together. “Hell, why not– if you’re paying!”

Erika smiled in return. They signaled their respective camps and left right away.

It was later said that of the two of them, nobody could tell which one was was the loudest one yelling and laughing, arguing and joking, singing and even crying, at a no-name bar in the neglected Katarran underground of the station. A big bearded man with a shout like an earthquake rumbling and a seemingly unformidable Katarran woman with a strangely deep gut and a roar like a beast. Surrounded by Katarran mercenaries who saw weird folk come and go every day. A place where nobody would look or listen, nobody would remember, as they cheered for every dead comrade whose name they could recall, sang revolutionary songs, and kept the cheap Katarran whiskey flowing. They argued the characters of historical figures Moravskyi knew, and that Erika had read about; they discussed the character of Katarran warlord states; they somehow agreed on who the bastards were that most deserved a bullet in the head; and laughed at the expense of foolish liberal ideologues.

Even later, the Katarrans there remembered– when they walked out they both looked like they were perfectly sober as if they had not spent the whole time drinking their heads off, and that perhaps their behavior had been solely the result of their passions. Erika picked up the entire tab and they would go their separate ways. This was the first time that members of the Eisern and Volksarmee so openly mingled together. While it remained to be seen whether anything more substantial would then come of it, both Erika and Moravskyi left feeling a bit more positive than they had been since the United Front had begun.

As they had stopped outside the United Front venue, they stopped outside the bar.

Shaking hands and smiling, having come to something of an understanding–

“I was foolish to shoot you down so quickly.” Erika said. “Can I request a truce?”

“Bah! What truce do we need– you reds are so formal– just leave it in the past, tovarisch.”

They shook hands vigorously and pledged not to fight again for now.

A hearty liquor tab was a small price to pay for the tiniest bit of solidarity.

Erika returned to the Brigand that night and told everyone the United Front might just work.


While the passions were flying at the United Front, elsewhere in Aachen–

A young woman in a fancy red track suit stood in the middle of the lobby at the base of the Aachen core station. She had just come in from Stockheim, her silvery-pale hair tied up into a ponytail, hands in her pockets, pilot’s sunglasses perched on her nose.

Beauty lay in the eye of the beholder, but there were certainly many who found her face quite attractive, soft and fair, with a sharp and distinctive indigo gaze. Her fashionable clothes fit her slender body quite well. She got some fleeting looks from other women, which she noticed, but Aachen’s crowds kept moving around the melancholy girl.

After a few minutes standing alone, she sat down on a bench near an advertising screen.

She craned her head as if it would allow her to see over the crowd. She found nothing.

Beside her, a vertical video played of an Imbrian woman, young, blond-haired, fair-faced, in an apron over a lovely dress. Ably cooking an entire meal in a single appliance, boiling, roasting, frying, braising– all from the comfort of her rather spacious room and all thanks to the OmniVittles Advent. A grandiose name for a new instant pot from Rhinea Home Innovations, a Rhineametalle subsidiary. Made from cast iron with a proprietary mesh of titanium and depleted agarthicite for unprecedented heat transfer.

Twenty-five different cooking functions; home software integrated.

Sonya Shalikova watched the entire advertisement playing out directly beside her.

Its booming soundtrack and the chirpy voice of the actress transferred directly into her guts.

Once it was over, the screen became static with a long list of legal disclaimers.

Shalikova then looked back at the crowd and shook her head with a sigh.

“These people are all insane.” She muttered to herself.

Looking into the crowd for any signs of her “date” for today.

Such a ridiculous notion– they had been trying to kill each other just a month ago. Now she had to take Selene out, and she did not even have money to do it. She would probably just accompany her on whatever she wanted to do. But what did Selene Anahid even like? What was she even like when she wasn’t trying to kill her? Shalikova had a glimpse into her behavior in their last outing. She was combative and pushy and weird— but– there had been a glimmer of something there too. When she thought about it again–

she recalled Selene smiling and laughing–

There was something there– it was an image that evoked certain feelings–

“What am I even thinking about her so much for?” Shalikova grumbled.

Maybe it would not be so bad. No reason to dwell on it, she told herself.

Regardless of what happened she was already here and already agreed to this date.

Maryam had been supportive of it too, maybe even excited about it. She was so silly.

Shalikova suspected that Maryam wanted to support her in making a friend.

And while she was not opposed to it she could not imagine a relationship with Selene.

“I guess Khadija and Sieglinde are getting along okay.” Shalikova said.

Fishing in her mind for whatever similar situations she could find.

Sieglinde had also been an enemy of the Brigand who caused significant damage. Murati, Shalikova herself, and Khadija had all been nearly killed by her, and her actions led Murati to be terribly injured. When they next met, her assistance to Norn the Praetorian nearly got them all killed by Selene. However, the Captain and Commissar agreed to her defection, and she seemed to show remorse. Now she was something of an errand runner for the sailors when she was not being bossed around by Khadija to eat with her or go out.

They were even rooming together.

“Wait, are they–?” Shalikova was suddenly struck by how close those two seemed.

Her usual sharp insights must have been distracted of late by a certain marshmallow.

Khadija flirted with everyone so it was not a stretch she might just be teasing Sieglinde.

But she never grabbed her other targets by the arm and dragged them out to a bar.

Her mind began to transpose the example back to the issue she had been hoping to solve–

Shalikova shook her head, feeling that her brain had run into a computing error.

Obviously she could never have such a relationship with Selene! Pointless to consider!

Sighing, she looked back up at the crowd hoping to spot anything–

And finally saw a slender arm reaching up above the crowd and waving as it neared.

“Hey! Sonya! It’s me! Remember, I’m not late, you were just early, ha ha!”

“Whatever! I’m over here, come around already. And don’t call me–”

When Selene finally cleared the crowds and Shalikova saw her in full, she went silent.

Glossy pink lips brightly smiling, her lustrous purple hair falling behind her, the “rabbit ears” tucked inside it like twin bands of rainbow color amid the purple. She dressed in a tight, off-shoulder brown top with a plunging middle. Emphasizing cleavage to the point Shalikova could see thin outlines of Selene’s lacy bra cups over the edge of the folded, creased fabric of the top, along with obvious thin black straps extending over the center of her exposed shoulders. Paired with a high-waisted black skirt with four flower-shaped buttons, and red tights and black heels, and a cute little beret on top of her head– Shalikova could not keep from staring. Was this the same girl as the day before? Had she been wearing her makeup so meticulously, had her skin been so softly flushed, her lips so– attractive–?

Had her collarbones been so pronounced? And was she that curvy or was it the clothes?!

Shalikova tried to play it off almost immediately, but she was caught staring.

And then Selene’s smug sneer resurfaced, confirming who this angelic nymph really was.

“Haha! Look at your dumb face! I stole your breath away didn’t I, Sonya?”

Shalikova bristled and averted her gaze in a huff. Selene crossed her arms, giggling.

“Stop calling me Sonya. You will call me Shalikova and only Shalikova–”

“Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya–”

How quickly she rattled them off! And without spitting or stumbling! Her lips–

“Ugh, fine. Fine! Stop being so childish. Let’s just get this over with.”

Selene blinked, Shalikova tried to look away, and then Selene imperiously pointed at

Shalikova’s–

groin–?

“Why are you wearing the same thing as yesterday?”

No– she was just pointing at Shalikova’s clothes nonspecifically–

of course–

“It’s my best set of clothes. I had it washed and pressed yesterday, it’s fine.”

“No, no, it won’t do. You can’t keep wearing the same thing over and over!”

“Why not? I like it and its not worn out or anything. Why do you care?”

To say she ‘liked it’ was a stretch but it was comfortable enough to keep wearing.

Shalikova was genuinely confused as to why Selene cared so much about her tracksuit.

Selene approached her, and grabbed her arm and pulled her up to a stand.

Wrapping her arm around Shalikova’s and tucking herself close to Shalikova’s shoulder.

Sending a jolt of electricity down Shalikova’s spine, and setting her skin to tingling–

With the warmth and softness of her body–

“Let’s go get you something else to wear and then we can run around!”

Selene started walking, and caught in her embrace, Shalikova was led along with her.

Outside the lobby, there was more room for the crowd to disperse, and there were far less people on any given floor and hallway of the commercial district. This meant the crowds thinned out and it made the walks along some of the storefronts feel more private. In the center of the grand atrium the walled-off display put on a light show that bathed Shalikova and Selene in gentle colors as they strode between planter pods with bushy plants, looking over the storefronts on their floor. Overhead, the near ceiling was made up of the next floor up, and Shalikova felt like she was caught in a twister of steel and color, with the sky made of more mall floors, staircases, and the eerie glow of the art installations floating in the water collected behind the center glass, always present at their flanks.

In the midst of the dizzying architecture, the closest thing was Selene, warm and chipper.

She looked on at the grandness of the place with girlish curiosity and awe.

Pointing out the lights and the storefronts and the shoppers and workers going to and fro with a cutesy smile on her face. Stopping to smell the grassy scent coming out of the planter pods dotting the halls. Retaking Shalikova’s arm whenever she wanted to get going again. Perhaps she had not been paying attention to the sights when she was crossing the mall herself the day before. Perhaps it was the lights that dazzled her since the art displays were not lighting up as much yesterday. Or maybe she was getting into character, trying to charm Shalikova by acting girly. Shalikova tried to remain a bit aloof to it all herself.

However, she was also a bit happy that Selene appeared to be in good spirits.

Back in Goryk’s Gorge, in the cockpit of that evil machine, her psionic screams filled Shalikova’s mind, and her pitch-black aura demanded her death. Such was her violence that the ocean quaked. Anger, hatred, panic, these were the emotions that filled the water in Selene’s wake back then. It seemed almost impossible that this cute, trendy girl her age could have been the demon that nearly killed them all. At times, Shalikova felt close to wondering whether it was not another Selene, somehow, who had done so.

Then Selene smirked and said something snide, her voice too-perfectly recalling the past.

“You’re trying to play it cool? That’s so lame. You should act all touristy with me.”

“Huh? So you’re just pretending to care about all this stuff?”

“I’m not pretending, you simpleton, I’m getting into the mood of a big station date.”

“What if I told you I’m in my own mood as well?”

“Ugh, being the cool stoic type is so cringe. It’s all about being genuine now.”

“Being genuine is pretending to care about stuff?”

“Uh huh, it’s more genuine than pretending not to care!”

Shalikova sighed. She looked at the art installations floating in the middle of the atrium.

All of the pieces composing each installation had indecipherably abstract shapes, but the high-power colored LED clusters installed on them allowed them to scatter strange patterns of colors and shadows across their surfaces. It was this, their combined amorphousness and the colors they cast around the environment, that seemed to be the source of their novelty. Shalikova looked at them and tried with all her heart to be excited about it all.

“Wow. Colors.” She said. Her voice barely registered one scintillion of an emotion.

Selene stared at her. She sighed herself, and smacked Shalikova in the mid-back.

“Come on, let’s go clothes shopping, before I change my mind.”

Shalikova almost said that she wouldn’t mind it if Selene abandoned her for being boring.

However– she was unable to say this as much as she wanted to believe it.

Because enough of her conflicting inner self was ultimately drawn in by the whole thing.

Selene dragged her off to a clothing shop. Shalikova had never really shopped for clothes, so she had not known what to expect. In the Union, she spent most of her life wearing clothes that had been given to her. Kids in the kids hall had sets of dorm clothes and school clothes, while at the academy and in the military she wore uniforms. Clothes were purchasable with social credits if there was a surplus of materials, or acquired with vouchers given out as incentives– as far as Shalikova knew, this just involved selecting designs for a stitcher machine to put together. She had never bought, nor had she ever won any clothes. She knew vaguely that the Union had fashion designers who worked on new clothes, either blueprints or by making it themselves, and there was a process for getting those designs into public circulation, or they could trade them directly for other handicrafts with other citizens.

Shalikova had no inkling of walking into a special clothes shop and picking out clothes. Most Union fashion she was directly aware of just involved violating the uniform code and seeing if the commander cared enough to reprimand. That was how it was for the military.

Because she never participated in any of those things, she only really knew that the track suit she was wearing was not something just anyone could get, and Illya must have used her own connections and maybe waited on a list in order to get it. She suspected Illya received black cards because of her connection to Nagavanshi, allowing her priority to procure anything.

However, even her vaguest ideas failed to capture the place Selene took her.

It looked completely empty.

There was a desk, and orange floors, and a white ceiling with sunlight LEDs. Other than that it was a small square with a few benches and couple of portable computers stood on charging stands. Shalikova almost wanted to ask where the clothes were, but she felt like Selene would have made fun of her for it. She collected herself quickly and continued acting stoic. As soon as they crossed the door threshold, Selene rushed over to the front desk and put down some reichsmarks and talked to the employee.

Behind the desk, a young woman in a vest and pants smiled and pointed at the wall.

“Got it! Thank you!”

Selene turned back to Shalikova, smiled, and pointed at the same wall.

“Ours is that one, let’s go.”

“Right.”

Shalikova’s laconic reply drew out another impish grin from Selene.

“You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

“Of course I do. We’re– shopping for clothes.”

Selene continued to look at Shalikova like she had the funniest face in the world.

She subsequently led her to the same wall, twice pointed-out by others.

At their approach, the wall opened up, revealing a small room. Shalikova and Selene entered. They were surrounded by touch-enabled, clear displays both on the walls and below their feet, as well as clusters of LEDs in every direction that looked a bit more complicated than simple light sources. Shalikova had never seen anything like it. The room had one bench on the back wall for them to sit. There was a slot on the door that opened and shut.

Behind them, the door closed.

Then a slot on the wall opened up, revealing two pairs of glasses, recently cleaned. Selene took one pair and handed the other to Shalikova, prompting her to take off her sunglasses and replace them with the glasses. “These will protect our eyes properly. Put them on.”

Shalikova quietly did as instructed. She put her sunglasses in the pocket of her tracksuit.

Selene perched the glasses on her nose.

“Alright, now we just have to strip.” Selene said, winking an eye. “Do you get it now?”

“Get what? Why are we stripping? Are you that obsessed with me?” Shalikova cried out.

“I’m not obsessed! You bumpkin! It’s a holographic room! It projects the clothes on us!”

“I– I did not agree to strip down in a tiny room with you. This is just strange!”

“It’s not strange! We’re both girls, and we’ll just strip down to our underwear!”

As if it would be a gesture of good will on her part, Selene started to strip first unprompted.

Undoing the buttons on the corset of her high-waisted skirt, pulling it down–

Shalikova looked away.

“Oh come on! You can’t be this much of a wimp!” Selene berated her.

Shalikoa looked back.

Selene pulled her top further down her shoulders, off from her arms and chest–

Her lingerie was really cute and lacy, the black contrasted her skin well–

She had the smallest bit of a bulge too–

“Damn it, alright, I’ll play along! I’ll play along!”

To distract herself from Selene’s stripping, Shalikova began to strip as well.

Her gaze averted; she couldn’t help but feel Selene’s leering just out of her sight.

“Wow, you really are a flattie– but the line of your shoulders and back is kinda nice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you look good. Honestly, your body would make you a good model.”

“You just mean I’m really skinny. Ugh. Damn it. Quit looking.”

Their clothes ended up in two discrete bundles behind them.

Beneath the tracksuit Shalikova wore a pretty standard sports bra and some undershorts.

She tried not to linger too much on Selene’s body and her own choice of undergarments.

Standing side by side with her like that felt utterly ridiculous.

“You’re not that much bigger than me.” Shalikova said, still not looking.

“You’re crazy, it’s a world of difference. I’m so much curvier than you.” Selene replied.

“You’re still skinny.” Shalikova said.

“Thanks! My figure was genetically engineered for perfection!” Selene laughed.

“What does that even mean? Oh, nevermind. Can we just see some clothes?”

Selene grinned again and the lights around them flashed briefly all together.

Because of the glasses, Shalikova hardly noticed that initial flash.

Intersecting colored beams then swiped across their bodies with dizzying speed.

Like a laser predictor, the beams gathered data on their measurements, and represented it on the wall for them to make corrections. Selene was satisfied with her own and Shalikova’s were completely accurate. Once the measurements were taken, they were given access to the catalog. Across the walls, there were dozens of pictures of different outfits. Tops of all kinds and colors, a plethora of skirts, as many pants as there were humans on earth to wear them. Accessories flitted by along with the outfits they were suggested for.

Everything could be color coordinated with one command or deliberately clashing colors could be selected. There were preset outfits and colors for various trendy styles like “phantasmagothic,” “business academia” and “orientalist punk.”

And everything came with its price tag in reichmarks.

“So you paid to get in here to try on the clothes?” Shalikova said.

“Uh huh.” Selene replied. “You pay for the showroom, try on outfits until you find one you like, and you pay for it. They stitch it out for you basically as soon as you swipe a credichip, and you can even wear it out of the venue. Which is what I intend for you to do.”

“What if you can’t afford some of these prices?”

“Trying stuff on is cheap at least. You can come in here and dream a little!”

Shalikova imagined a working class girl coming up here to try on holographic outfits and felt rather miserable about the whole thing. Selene did not seem troubled by the prices and for a girl like Shalikova it was difficult to ascertain how much anything cost relative to anything else. Minardo had once remarked to her while on kitchen duty, that even a standard weight loaf of bread in the Imbrium could be five reichsmarks or it could be twenty reichsmarks depending on a variety of factors and especially what brand was on it, which made victualing much more annoying. Shalikova had used reichsmarks (or, in her case, they were old imperial marks) to buy snacks before, and some of these clothing items were arbitrarily worth ten snacks or a hundred snacks or a thousand snacks without explanation.

The snacks were themselves processed too. How much did a potato cost relative to chips?

She did not know, and so, she had no idea what a working class girl could afford.

However, she quickly learned what Selene could afford– seemingly anything at all.

“I knew this would happen– I’ll just pick for both of us! I want to get started already!”

Selene quickly scrolled to over a few garments with her fingers.

Though she was not touching the wall, where the pictures were located, they still moved.

Her finger was being tracked by the lasers.

Poking at the air, she made her selections, and the lasers began their work.

In a few moments, as if the lasers were stitching the air, the outfits slowly appeared over their own bodies first as threads of color and then forming seemingly solid garments. Selene had put on an incredibly sleek halterneck cocktail dress with a diamond-shaped back window and high cut sides revealing a lot of leg, and a see-through slice of sheer fabric diagonally across the belly and the side of one breast. To match, Shalikova had been given a black suit over a button-down shirt, but the suit sleeves were partially see-through up to the shoulder, along with black suit pants with a very slight bell bottom. She had a very bright pink tie. After the outfit was overlayed on them, the surfaces turned into mirrors.

Shalikova looked herself over and looked at Selene, who seemed quite satisfied.

“You look– great.” She was about to say ‘incredible’. “And you made me look boring.”

“It’s kinda boring, but only enough that it turns out kinda handsome you know?”

“No, I don’t know. I actually don’t get it at all.”

“Sonya, a super hot and super fashionable girl like me needs a kinda boring boyfriend, she can’t have one that’s too out there, because the kinda boring boyfriend helps her to stand out and shine more. She’s like a cool accessory for the super hot, super fashionable, super bright girl. She accepts the position because she scored such a hot fashionable girl.”

Shalikova turned the nouns and pronouns being used in her head for a moment in confusion.

But that was the least of all the offending points in that explanation!

“So who decided I’m your boyfriend now?”

“Ugh, you’re so stupid, it’s a mood, I already explained this to you! It’s for fun!”

Selene put her hands on her hips and leaned into Shalikova with a (cute?) little frown.

Shalikova was about to retort that, well, unlike Selene, she was not having fun.

However–

That was not exactly true and so again, she could not air her protests.

As much as she thought she wanted to– she ended up in a conflict with herself.

Some part of her, when she looked at Selene’s face, simply decided to go along with things.

And perhaps that part constituted a plurality of her.

Like a little soviet voting bizarrely in her heart as much as the executive pleaded against it.

“Anyway, now we’re like, a handsome secret agent and a femme fatale!” Selene said. “See how much fun this stuff is? There’s so many different little details. We can even alter some of the scenery around us to show off the outfits in different lighting conditions before we make any decisions. That’s the kinda thing that makes this shop not have a refund policy. You get to be sooo thorough and the shopping is an experience in itself. Watch this, Sonya.”

Selene hovered her hand over the mirror and a part of it became an interactive menu.

Around them, the scene dimmed, and they soon found themselves on a balcony overlooking a sprawling city at night, full of distant lights. It was the kind of scenery Shalikova only really saw in comic books or movies. Light and shadow danced gently over them, lending a melancholy edge to their facial features. It was certainly a different perspective on their outfits, and the context did give her a new appreciation for the clothes and the space.

Shalikova turned around, and behind them there was a ballroom behind half-closed doors.

When Shalikova reached for the door, there was nothing but the flat surface of the wall.

“It’s not that detailed.” Selene said, before pretending to look out over the balcony.

Shalikova was pretty surprised that no matter how she moved, the clothes stuck to her.

Her body still felt like she was naked because she was, but she looked realistically clothed.

“Oh, Sonya! It’s really too bad!” Selene said, making such an affected voice that Shalikova knew she must have been playing pretend– until she kept going and the more she spoke the less Shalikova was sure of whether it was play. “To think you have resisted me to the bitter end! I gave you an out if you only became my permanent lifelong boytoy, but you refused! Now we are on opposite sides of the war, and I will give the state all of your details so they can do so much torture to you forever and ever! But at least we can spend this one final night together as if we were lovers! Come have a final drink with me Sonya!”

Shalikova blinked, stunned. “Selene, are you playing around, or are you really–”

“Obviously I’m playing around!” Selene shouted, instantly agitated.

She stared at Shalikova expectantly enough that the “secret agent” came up with a reply.

“As if I would give in to you so easily? A laugh riot! Dame Selene, do you truly think you have me cornered, when it is actually I who has taken your back?” Shalikova played up her response. Even Selene looked a little taken aback. She tried to channel a bit of Murati into her followup. “The difference between us, you vile woman, is that while you work alone, I always have my reliable comrades supporting my efforts! They will spring me from whatever trap you devise, and through our collective efforts, it is you who will fall to me in the end! Enjoy your final moments leading this dance of death– while you still can!”

With a flourish, Shalikova pointed her fingers like a gun and winked at Selene.

Selene’s eyes drew wide for a brief moment. She really did look like she had been cornered.

“You– you get some marks for effort.” She hurriedly turned back to the wall.

Scrolling through the items to pick a new set of clothes for them and new ambiance.

Shalikova grinned, feeling a bit triumphant. She had flustered Selene, gotten her back.

Now it was her turn to be smug! She was getting her bearings– time to counterattack!

Around them the night balcony melted away, as did the cocktail dress and suit.

In their place appeared a cozy little venue, false stone and fake wood tables.

There were steaming cups of coffee on the table with milk froth and streaks of syrup. Everyone around them looked like couples, two to a table, and the venue was completely packed with these phantom lovers. Shalikova was now dressed in a long brown coat over a red checkerboard shirt with loose-fitting black sweatpants and plastic clogs. Selene’s outfit was a turtleneck sweater under an overlong orange cardigan decorated with adorable cartoon dogs and cats playing, along with an ankle-length pleated white skirt.

Everything was so bright, peaceful and colorful, it suited their simple day-wear.

Hands behind her back, Selene leaned forward and smiled serenely,

and for a moment Shalikova was defeated again.

“Heh, look at you. Do you like this sort of thing better than how I like to dress?”

Shalikova did not want to answer that, one way or the other.

“So what’s the scenario here? Let me think.” Selene leaned back and forth on her feet and began to whistle while looking around the fake coffee shop. “Oh I know!” She looked at Shalikova and put on an overly cheerful little smile, different from her overly cheerful sneer. “I know I said we would be studying for the class today, but I just can’t keep my eyes off you! Ever since your first lecture I have been entranced! I didn’t just call you here to study– more than scoring in class, I need to score high marks with you, Professor!”

“Absolutely not!” Shalikova said. Squirming as she stood from how near Selene leaned in.

“You’re such a bore! Play along already!” Selene demanded.

“Student Selene, I’m writing you up for harassment!” Shalikova replied.

“Professor, if you try to get rid of me I’ll show up at your room with knives.”

“With knives?!”

Selene made a snipping scissors motion with her fingers, wearing a wild look in her eyes.

“I’ll cut right it off and you’ll be mine forever in death.” She said, stroking her own face.

It was such a sudden turn that Shalikova couldn’t take it seriously.

“Now it’s scissors instead?! I can’t keep up with the plot anymore!”

She almost surprised herself with how easily she came up with a line to say.

Both of them broke out into laughter together.

“So, are we buying these?” Shalikova said.

“No way, this kind of thing doesn’t suit me. And you need to suit me too.”

With the scenario played out, once again Selene arranged for a change of scenery.

When the lights shifted again, the two of them stood on opposite edges of a small hot tub.

Now Shalikova’s slim body was loosely wrapped in a wet t-shirt over a one-piece swimsuit.

Selene had a one-shoulder purple bikini top with a high-leg bottom and a loose, sheer skirt.

“Fancy meeting such a handsome stranger! It looks like we were both assigned the same hot bath huh? Why don’t we make the most of the booking mistake? It will become your lucky day instead, handsome stranger. I’ll even let you rub my shoulders and feet.”

This one was far too dangerous. It was impossible to play along with it.

“Selene– I– how do you find the time to come up with these.”

“What the hell do you do on a ship when there’s no fighting going on, huh?”

Shalikova did not have a lot of hobbies. But she would not say that.

“I just– I hang out–”

Selene sighed. “I get what you’re insinuating. Well– thanks for playing along.”

Why did she sound so disappointed? What was she even expecting?

Shalikova almost felt bad for cutting the scenario short.

“Here, you’ll wear this out. You owe me one, by the way, these are nice.”

When it came time to leave Selene selected an outfit quite quickly. She picked out the garments, paid for the outfit, and then dressed herself again while they waited. Less than a minute after Selene was done paying for it, a slot opened on the door and the freshly stitched items slid into the room in vacuum-sealed pouches, along with a bag for her old clothes. Shalikova found herself with a red hooded jacket, a black tanktop, and a pair of tough blue polyester work pants with distressed knees. Everything felt high quality to the touch and felt comfortable to wear, but the garments were surprisingly simple. It was only when Selene approached Shalikova and undid her ponytail that she realized it was intentional and this was the outfit Selene always had in mind.

“Here, wear your hair long. It looks better with this fit.” Selene said.

Shalikova looked at herself in the mirror. And the girl in the mirror looked taken aback.

With Selene standing by her side– she liked how she looked maybe a little too much.

“You look handsome. Let’s go, I’m getting hungry.” Selene said.

Once more, she wrapped her hand around Shalikova’s arm and quickly led her out.

Carried once more in the middle of the storm that was Selene– but enjoying herself.

Shalikova found herself without the trepidation with which she started.

“Now I’m not embarrassed to show my face with you!”

“Excuse me? You were embarrassed before? The girl who is always shouting nonsense?”

Selene dragged Shalikova over to a brightly lit little eatery in a corner of the commercial area’s second floor. She must have found the place when she was roaming around before because Shalikova would have never thought to look for it, it was quite tucked away. The shop specialized in schnitzel, which was a pounded, breaded and fried chicken cutlet, though they also had pork. There were few people around, and food seemed to come out quick.

“I– don’t eat meat.” Shalikova said.

“You don’t eat meat, or you haven’t eaten meat?” Selene asked.

“We don’t have that stuff– where I’m from.” Shalikova cautiously said.

“It’ll be fine you bumpkin. I’ll pay for everything, remember?”

“Then I’ll just have what you’re having.” Shalikova sighed.

Hopefully it wouldn’t end up upsetting her stomach too much.

They sat on stools next to a countertop that ran the length of the shop. Once their plates were ready, they slid along the counter over to them. It did not take very long for the food to arrive. Two plates of golden-fried chicken schnitzel with a mustard-flecked cream sauce and a side of a perfectly fried egg, some potato wedges dusted with garlic, and stubby cucumber pickles. A spork and a knife sat off to the side of the plate along with disposable plastic cups of sugary soda pop. Selene picked up her spork, immediately jabbed her two cucumbers, and using her knife, peeled them off the prongs and onto Shalikova’s plate.

“I’m sure you’ll appreciate them more than I would.” She said.

“You don’t like pickles?” Shalikova asked. She grinned, feeling cheeky.

“Is something wrong with that? I’m an adult, I can eat however I want.”

“Yeah, you can eat like a little kid, just like you behave like one.”

“Shut it or I won’t pay for yours.”

Selene suddenly jabbed one of the cucumbers back onto her plate.

She cut a round piece, dropped it onto the mustard cream, and cut some chicken with it.

Taking the whole bite into her mouth, as if to demonstrate to Shalikova she could do it.

Shalikova laughed and cut into her own chicken.

Taking a bite, she was surprised by the slightly fibrous texture, which she was unused to in food. Her first ever bite of meat was quite savory. She first tasted the fried breading, heavily seasoned, followed by the slightest hint of vegetal notes from the oil, as well as a slightly eggy taste to the cutlet overall. When she took a bite with the cream sauce, the sour and zesty notes complemented the meat quite well. It was pretty good– she enjoyed it but was not blown away. It definitely beat most cafeteria food not prepared by Logia Minardo.

Selene, meanwhile, made some ungodly noises as she devoured her cutlet.

One would have thought she hardly ever saw food with how much she relished it.

“I see you staring! You don’t get it! This stuff is crazy! They flatten, bread it and fry it!”

“I’m just happy you’re enjoying yourself.” Shalikova said.

“Hmph!” Selene turned her attention back to her plate, but now clearly self-conscious.

Wary about its effect on her digestion, Shalikova carefully tucked away her own schnitzel.

When she finished, she picked up her plastic cup and presented it to Selene.

“Cheers?”

Selene stared at her for a few seconds, but complied, lifting her own cup of soda.

“Cheers!”

She tapped Shalikova’s cup gently.

After eating, Selene and Shalikova walked together through a few other shops.

Once she found herself in the middle of a long row of stores, Selene activated.

There was an electronics shop where she bought a digital picture frame that had a built-in camera. She beckoned Shalikova to pose together for a picture in the middle of the shop. Shalikova smiled for it. Once the picture was taken, she handed Shalikova the bag.

Immediately on-target without a second lost, Selene then flounced over to a toy store. They had a stitcher capable of printing small, custom plastic figurines based on the purchasers, through the use of a camera and laser predictor. Selene got two little figures made, one of Shalikova and one of herself, both of which were miniaturized, cutesy representations with oversize heads, but strangely faithful abstractions of their clothing. She handed Shalikova the Selene figure and kept the Shalikova figure for herself. Shalikova hardly knew what to make of this but accepted the gift. They were boxed, bagged, and Selene handed them to Shalikova to carry while she skipped and jumped over to a music store.

Barely keeping up, Shalikova found Selene inside the venue, filled with shelves occupied with listening stations. Every listening station was a newly featured album that could be purchased in either a digital license, or a data stick format, or as a physical grammapress disk. Because the latter was the most expensive, Selene chose to get a grammapress of Mia Weingarten’s “In Forgotten Depths, I Found Your Heart.” A stitcher machine on the site set up specifically for making grammapress discs printed one out for her after a few minutes. Grammapress disks were rather large, and after being boxed and bagged, and handed to Shalikova, the haul was becoming a bit unwieldy. Selene did not care at all.

“What kind of music do you like? This lady sings pretty good.” Selene said.

“Um. There’s this DJ who makes synth tracks about fish having sex.” Shalikova said.

“Huh?”

“I hear one of my colleagues playing it all the time and its kind of catchy.”

“You’re crazy.”

Selene passed through a boutique tea shop, where she picked up a box of chamomile; a shop purporting to sell magic crystals, where she purchased one that increased “vital energy”; a bag shop where she purchased a designer satchel; a perfume shop where she asked outright for their most elegant and mature scents, all of which had names like A Night With Him and Moonlight Rendezvous. All of it turned into boxes and bags for Shalikova to carry.

At a hat shop, she tried on a synthetic “straw” hat with a red ribbon around its band.

“What do you think? Kind of a vibe isn’t it?” Selene asked.

“It’s lovely. Are you going to buy any more? Or help carry any of it?”

Selene cracked a little grin as Shalikova shifted around boxes and bags she was carrying.

“Now you’re getting in the mood.” Selene said.

Shalikova was once again too baffled to mount an effective response.

Selene eventually took mercy on her. They found a service for pack mule drones that would stash everything a shopper purchased on their backs and plod their way back to an address with the cargo, delivering it to a designated room or even to a ship. Selene told Shalikova the location of her berth in Stockheim and left her to sort it all out. Shalikova left all of Selene’s things with a pack mule drone except for the Selene miniature, her gift to take home. She carried its box in her hands, while holding the bag with her tracksuit on her wrist.

Leaving one hand free in case–

“Ahh! Sonya, look over there! A cute coffee shop!”

Selene had found a little cafe venue northwest from where they had started. They had already nearly completed one circle around the commercial district and only on the first two floors of it. Despite this Shalikova had already nearly fallen over with goods once already, and they had spent what must have been hours wandering around together.

But Shalikova continued to follow Selene– because she did not want it to end just yet.

Hearing Selene’s cheerful voice melted some of the ice around her heart.

“I’ll be there soon, I was just seeing the mule off.”

Selene took Shalikova’s free hand and pulled her into the shop together.

The venue had a cute facade with fake wooden letters signing its name, Cafe Anemoia, within a pink frame. It was difficult to tell whether it was a franchise or a single location. Big beautiful pictures of its drinks being served in a variety of cozy settings adorned the tinted LED windows. Inside, the cafe was a completely different experience to the one projected by the holograms in the clothing shop. Through the use of LED walls, environment control cooling, scent projectors and ambient noise, it created the impression of a cozy little cafe with seats full of customers, a wooden counter, and steaming hot coffee photogenically topped with cream on every table. However, the illusion was quickly broken when they stepped up to the “counter” and a predictor computer-generated human who moved uncannily gestured at them while they made their selections from a computer menu.

“This is really weird.” Shalikova said.

Selene shrugged it off.

“Well, the drinks would be more expensive if they had a venue full of real wood stuff.”

“And real staff, I guess.”

Around them, slow and romantic strings with a gentle, clapping beat began to play.

“Anyway, order whatever you want, on me!” Selene declared.

Shalikova tried to ignore the eerie stare of the illusory employees and scrolled with her finger through the menu. She felt that her taste in coffee was entirely ordinary. She liked coffee with a bit of creamer and a bit of sugar. So the constellation of different toppings, syrups, stir-ins, add-ons and the dizzying array of brand logos associated with them set her head to spinning. Would she have Poppler™ (A Volwitz Brand) soda slush with her taro creme ice coffee? Would she add a drizzle of “Shimii spice syrup” to her 90% frothed creme-cafe?

In the end she ordered a “milk coffee” which seemed like the most ordinary one.

“That’s so you— but its kinda charming.” Selene said, giggling at the selection.

She ordered a “purple taro swirled latte” with beet sugar and a sprinkle of cured lemon zest.

In the process, she hit the beet sugar button several times, ending up with five instances.

“That much sugar? I can barely keep up with you as it is.”

“You will simply have to go faster.”

While the holographic staff pretended to make the drinks, there was no pretense to realism. Behind the scenes a coffee machine that was just barely audible brewed the coffee and a stitcher machine put everything together. Their drinks came out of a physical slot that opened in the middle of the LED projection, completely ruining the scene.

“That is kinda weird, you’re not wrong.” Selene said, sighing at the sight.

Regardless of the verisimilitude of the romantic atmosphere, the two of them sat in an actual, physical booth seat and sipped their drinks together. There was some care to make the projection on the wall of the booths a bit higher fidelity to create a false distance to the next “table” of fake customers but Shalikova was not very impressed by the whole thing. It felt like a waste of LED panels that some poor ship could have used better.

“I thought this kind of thing wasn’t your style.” Shalikova said.

“You misunderstood me. Cutesy nerdy girl clothes and shy professor type love interests are not my style. I like romantic little coffee shops quite fine with the right company.”

Selene sipped from her coffee and shut her eyes tight.

It must have been sweeter than she bargained for.

Shalikova sipped her own and liked it just fine. Better than Union instant coffee.

Still not worth all this grandiose artifice, however.

“I never realized you would have such a big imagination.” Shalikova said.

“I read a lot! I love magazines and stories! I have tons of ideas!” Selene said.

She sounded proud of herself for it.

Perhaps– she had not been able to experience many of her moods.

Shalikova could almost relate. Except that, she had so fewer fantasies to realize.

For so long, she had been bound by guilt and by duty, not knowing how to live.

It was only recently that she had really begun to care for herself.

This day was a new adventure for her too.

“That is really nice. I think I am not a very creative person I guess.” Shalikova said.

“Everyone who says that definitely has something they are creative about.”

“I guess– I did sew a plushie bear one time.”

Selene’s face lit up. “Sonya you have to sew me a plushie too!”

“Um, I can try? Should I have it mailed to the Antenora?”

“Oh– shut up.” Selene looked suddenly in a sour mood. “Nevermind that. You are so dense. I was just– I was just saying that to be in the mood. To get the like, boyfriend experience.”

Shalikova hardly knew how to answer, but her clueless face must have cheered Selene up.

From across the table, after a bit of fuming, she held her face in her hands

and looked at Shalikova.

“You know, I have never been to a coffee shop with anyone. This is my– first time.”

Shalikova figured as much, but–

Was this part of the mood or was this actually her feelings?

“I am happy I got to be your first. Maybe I can be your second or third too.”

Was that a boyfriend would say? Shalikova thought so. It sounded like it to her.

Selene looked briefly shocked and took another big sip of her drink.

“I do not have many hobbies or anything that special about me. I am just some girl who is out of her depth with things.” Shalikova said. “I think I am actually having fun though.”

Was this part of the mood or was this actually her own feelings?

Shalikova reached out her hand and laid it on Selene’s hand on the table and smiled.

Wrapping her fingers around Selene’s own, long and supple and so soft.

She applied a bit of pressure to them, held them–

In response, Selene picked up her drink. “The holoprojections are ruining the mood here.”

She started walking out of the venue.

Shalikova followed her, wondering if she had done wrong.

Leaving her own half-drunk coffee on the table in her haste.

Some part of her feared Selene might just walk away completely, disappear suddenly–

She had not known where that fear came from– but it was fleeting.

Selene was simply standing outside waiting for her.

“Ugh, this is too sweet, I do not know if I can another sip.” Selene complained.

Outside, Shalikova reconvened with her in front of the venue.

She reached out and took the disposable cup from Selene, touching her hand in the process.

For a moment, Selene looked flustered again.

“I will get rid of it for you.” Shalikova said, smiling a bit. Selene nodded her head.

Shalikova turned and found a nearby rubbish bin, threw away the drinks–

She walked back to Selene from the rubbish bin– and found her leaning on the railing over the center of the atrium, looking at the art installation. Smiling with gentle eyes.

Her face was bathed in the colors.

Shalikova looked at her for a while. Basking; the melancholy beauty in the gentle, warm light.

Was this the mood that Selene hoped to inspire?

Was this how she saw it in her stories?

How it should have gone if either of them had the experience for it?

Shalikova looked at her until Selene seemed to notice the gaze.

“Thanks for everything today. You actually got into the mood.” Selene said.

There was no more lying to herself. All of Shalikova now aligned on what she felt.

“No, more than that, I actually cared.” Shalikova replied. “Thank you for taking me out.”

She had a lot of fun with Selene. Her rambunctiousness was endearing as it was annoying.

It was different– Selene was different than anyone Shalikova had ever known.

It was different than anything she had ever felt.

Hearing Shalikova’s thanks, Selene’s eyes narrowed a bit. Her smile dimmed just as much.

“Sometimes I’m not the super hot, fashionable, smart, bright, super fun girl, you know. Sometimes– I’m a vicious ace pilot who kills her enemies. I won’t say we’ll never meet again, but I also won’t say that we will. But if we do– know which Selene you’re getting. After all, it will depend on your own choices. You’re the one who picks which of them you get.”

Shalikova closed her fist, wracked by an unknown fear and frustration.

“Selene, I’m really not in control here. I have to follow orders too sometimes.”

Selene smiled at her. Not a sneer, not an impish grin. But not a gentle smile.

It was a smile that seemed filled with melancholy and determination both.

“I know. It really sucks. Well, guess it wasn’t meant to be huh? Anyway, c’ya, or not.”

Promptly and without warning, Selene left the railing and walked away, waving her hand.

Like a storm breaking; she swept Shalikova up, dropped her down, and disappeared.

Disappearing not like a faery flitting out of existence, but simply turning her back.

Shalikova took a step forward– wondering if she should say something or reach out.

Again, she was silent. The things she could say– felt too foolish and inappropriate.

Instead, she triggered her psionics and tried to parse Selene’s aura.

There was a bit of every color, mixing and roiling and turning in a terrifying maelstrom.

Shalikova almost wondered if her own aura was visible, would it look like that too?

Was that the reflection of their broken, conflicted hearts?

Holding the gift box in her hand, Shalikova cursed how easy it was to feel affection.

And how cruel the world could be to that love.


On the edge of the old, sparsely populated northern district of the Wohnbezirk, closest to the Mahdist village, there was a boxy white monument with a blue star. It was hewn out of rock and so became a permanent feature of the landscape, too difficult to destroy utterly for how removed it was. Few people knew that it was cenotaph from a time before the Shimii’s current troubles. There was nothing written on it, but there were etchings that had been carved quite precisely. Its white and blue paints were relatively fresh despite its age.

It was this way, because a pair of Shimii girls had taken it upon themselves to maintain it.

On that day, after a bit of a commotion in their home, they arrived at the site.

They were not alone, but they did not disturb anyone who came to visit.

They knew the monument was not theirs, and that people who understood it would come to visit and see for themselves a truth that perhaps they as Shimii would never be able to intuit. Nevertheless, when they found the monument dirtied with the scribblings of local children, they got to work cleaning up and even brought a bit of paint to touch it up again so it would look decent. They were gentle with the carvings and precise with their paint.

“You’re from the Mahdist village? Why bother with this old thing?” A woman asked them.

“Ah, you’re miss Sattler, right? Well– we’ve always felt a bit sad about it is all.”

Standing off to the side of the monument and staring was Bernadette Sattler.

It was getting late– she must have dropped off her charge, and then returned in the casual clothes she was now wearing. Without her uniform, she still carried something of a sinister air. Her messy bangs did not shade her eyes as much as her hat did, but still had some of the effect. Her darkened gaze had not become any friendlier. She dressed in a strangely dowdy fashion, with a long sweater worn over a button-down shirt, the collar of the shirt coming out of the neck hole of the sweater, along with a long, warm skirt. With her long, wavy blond hair falling down her back, she looked like a librarian, child care worker or a clerk, someone cute and harmless, more than the totenkopf-wearing killer that she really was.

“By any chance are you an Eloim miss Sattler? We think this is an Eloim monument.”

“Hmph.”

Bernadette would not answer them.

And Baran and Sareh would not press her for an answer either.

One of the few things they knew about the monument was that it had something to do with Eloim. Imam al-Qoms recognized the symbol, he called it the ‘Judah Star’. They were always curious about the people who visited the monument, like Bernadette, that might perhaps know what its true purpose was, with its blue star and the etchings upon it. Baran and Sareh had their guesses. Baran believed it was a cenotaph and identified it as such– a grave for many Eloim who would not otherwise be remembered by anyone. Sareh believed that it was a sign that Eloim had once lived in the Wohnbezirk, though neither of them knew how long ago that had been. The Wohnbezirk had been standing for longer than it was ‘the Wohnbezirk’– it must have been constructed before the Core Station even. Back then it was probably lodgings and storage for laborers, and perhaps some of them were Eloim.

But Baran could not confirm such ancient events.

Even for the people of the After Descent era, a few hundred years erased a lot of memories.

“Because it’s odd and it sticks out, kids around here are always defacing it. They probably use the vandalism as a stupid challenge.” Sareh said. “Baran and I always hated that kind of thing. We don’t blame the kids, they’re just dumb– we just wish the reaction people had to foreign things was not to destroy them. Or that those old bastard Rashidun in the village would at least teach their little brats some respect.” Baran at this point saw Sareh becoming heated and shook her head gently to ward it off. Sareh sighed. “So, anyway, we come here every so often to try to make it look how we first saw it. We can’t guarantee it’s always been white and blue. And we don’t know how it’s supposed to be restored. But we still do it.”

“We restore the colors we found on it when we were little.” Baran continued. “We don’t know exactly what it is, nor is it ours to claim in any way, but I just think it’s sad for it to go neglected. It deserves looking after. See– all the notches on it are exactly the same, and they’re all lined up so perfectly. It’s so meticulous. Someone put a lot of work into it, a lot of care into making this monument. We want to uphold their wishes. Even if we don’t understand its exact purpose, we understand that it mattered to the people here.”

Bernadette did not look moved by that speech. She stared at the monument quietly.

However, a man who had arrived in the middle of the speech smiled at the girls.

He was a young, blond-haired man dressed in a teal jacket, white shirt and black pants.

“I think it’s really kind of you two to do that.” He said. “I’m kind of touched, honestly.”

“Welcome, mister!” Baran said, smiling back. “I hope I don’t sound rude– but would you happen to know what it means? Whenever we see a new face we can’t help but ask.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” He said. “I’m not much of an Eloim. Never practiced.”

He reached out a hand to shake. “I’m Gunther Cohen– an engineer.”

Baran shook her head gently, but Sareh reached out and returned the shake.

“It’s inappropriate for a man to shake a woman’s hand here– and I am a woman, but someone has to man up around here sometimes.” Sareh said, grinning a bit. Baran turned on her a disapproving gaze, but it did not dampen her good humor. “I am Sareh and this is Baran, my– best friend. We come from the Shimii village a little ways from here.”

“How did you hear about the existence of this monument, Mr. Cohen?” Baran asked.

“An informant told me. A katarran, this big– you might have seen her running around.”

Judging by how he moved his hand his informant was fairly short.

“We’ve seen a few katarrans running around, but I know who you mean.” Sareh said.

Gunther turned to Bernadette with a smile also.

“Are you an Eloim too? I’m sorry to bother you, I just haven’t met many of us.” He said. Bernadette fixed him with her glare but said nothing at first. Gunther continued. “I really don’t mean to cause any trouble, sorry. When the– informant, told me about this place, I thought it would be interesting to see it. Where I come from, my family– our heritage is a bit disconnected. I knew that Rhinea and Bosporus were supposed to have a lot of Eloim, so I’ve been curious. I thought I might go out and learn a bit about my ancestors.”

“For what purpose?” Bernadette asked. “Are you going to take up the prayers now?”

Gunther looked perplexed to be asked that question.

“I don’t think I will– I just wanted to know how they lived here. I’m an engineer, I’m just curious about how things work. I know a lot of them have been deported and oppressed, forced to escape to various places. And that part of me, my ethnicity, it has always been vague. I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about my own identity recently. I am just a guy who likes to put things into orderly buckets. Anyway, sorry to bother you with all this.”

He sounded excited, but the blond woman turned her cheek with burgeoning anger.

“Hmph.” Bernadette grunted again. “I’m not an Eloim. I have nothing in common with that permanently victimized race. This place is just another symbol of their weakness. You two can keep polishing it up if you want but know this– it’s all an illusion for fools to chase.”

Sareh and Baran were taken aback, and Bernadette stormed off suddenly after.

“There’s nothing here or anywhere for the people called ‘Eloim’.” She said as she left.

“What’s her problem?” Sareh said. “Ugh, I mean– I know what it is.”

She seemed to recognize the folly of her own rhetorical question immediately.

“I didn’t meant to offend her.” Gunther said. “I’m always putting my foot in my mouth.”

Baran approached Gunther with a gentle expression.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Cohen. Please don’t listen to her. A lot of people come down here to try to find their roots– this one of the oldest places in Eisental. Because it’s hewn out of rock, there are things here that are old and hard to destroy. It’s understandable that you are here, and you are welcome to be here and to look here. You might even find more if you look around– this is just a place we feel safe going to, for various reasons, but you might find other things in the Wohnbezirk if you search the caves or the older tunnels.”

“Thank you.” Gunther said. “I really appreciate your kind-heartedness, miss Baran.”

“Mister Cohen,” Sareh said, “That lady was a Volkisch officer. That was– the reason.”

Baren looked at her for a moment but said nothing. She just looked downcast.

Gunther turned pale for a moment, his eyes wide. “I– I see. Thank you for telling me.”

“There’s more of them down here. Please be careful what you say.” Sareh said.

“I will.” He said. But judging by his tone, and the way he looked around– he was scared.

“She is not exactly wrong, you know. But it is a condition that can change.”

Sareh, Baran and Gunther looked behind themselves at the alleys of the Wohnbezirk.

From around the corner formed by the walls of nearby buildings, a woman strode casually into view and approached them and the monument. None of them had seen her before– truly it was a day for new visitors at this sad, ancient place. She had red hair with black roots, and a long skirt and a blouse beneath a covering jacket. She smiled at them, a polite and gentle smile on those red lips that never seemed to alter even when she spoke.

Her arms were hidden in her coat.

It was this last fact, and her sudden approach, that made Sareh quite wary.

“You’ve been watching?” Sareh asked. “Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”

“Yes I’ve been watching, and no– I didn’t approach because I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She removed one hand from her coat and Sareh flinched– but she just pointed at the rock.

“I know what that monument is. Do you want me to tell you?” She said.

Baran stepped forward, in front of Sareh. She looked at the woman in the eyes and smiled.

“My name is Baran al-Masshad. This is my companion Sareh Al-Farisi, and this here is Mr. Gunther Cohen, who is also a visitor. I would like to request a proper introduction, madame.”

“Tamar Livnat. I’m an Eloim historian.” Said the woman. Her smile unchanging.

“Thank you very much.” Baran said. “I’d love to hear what you know about this place.”

Baran stepped aside. Tamar walked closer to the structure and ran her hand over it.

She looked at it for a moment, with that frozen, inscrutable expression of hers.

“It’s a cenotaph. You might have surmised as much already. It’s not an uncommon type of structure. There are cenotaphs all over the Imbrium, for one particular reason– all of us who are alive today are descended from many, many more people who died on the surface. Cenotaphs for our ancestors who perished and could not escape to the Ocean are common among all races and in all parts of the Imbrium.” Tamar said. She turned around to look at Baran and Sareh again. “But these Eloim cenotaphs are different. Blue and white, and the ‘Star of Judah’–” Tamar ran her hand over the symbols and colors. “You did an excellent job restoring it. It’s ironic. You see, these specific colors and symbols memorialize the defeat and death of the Eloim at the hands of the Shimii. It memorializes those whom your race killed and displaced from our rightful ancestral lands. Isn’t it bleakly humorous?”

Baran and Sareh stared at the monument with blank eyes, their ears suddenly folding.

Both had mute horror in their faces and looked completely lost on how to respond.

Still smiling, Tamar continued to speak, circling slowly around the cenotaph.

As if it was such a curious and interesting little object despite all the death inscribed in it.

“Eloim, itself, that word– is a misnomer borne of how utterly destroyed our culture was. This also is not uncommon– words describing peoples shift over time, and with the destruction of the surface, so many of our words for things have been scrambled in the resulting cultural shifts. None of us can know the truth, or can we? Well– I know. I know my part of the truth at least. We were once called the Judeans. And our home, Judah, was taken from us, by you– now you understand? Thank you for your efforts nevertheless, little Shimii girls.”

Tamar completed her circle and stood in front of the cenotaph again with her smile.

Baran and Sareh continued to stand side by side silently, unnerved by what they heard.

At their side, however, someone spoke up.

“I’ve had enough of this!” Gunther said. “You have no reason to mock them like this!”

He stepped up to Tamar and pointed his index finger firmly at her.

Seeming to realize as he was doing so that he had approached her in anger.

But Tamar Livnat had no reaction to it but to smile, above everything.

She reached her hand from her coat and laid her fingers on Gunther’s cheek.

Surprising even him with her brazeness. He was utterly paralyzed in her grasp.

“You will understand someday. Even a neutered and weak man like you who has had the lion taken out of him will understand when Destiny calls to you. That is what Ms. Sattler fails to account for in her furies. At any rate– my kin are always welcome to come talk to me. You can leave a message at the Aachen Historical Society and it will make its way to me.”

She let him go, and walked past him, leaving him stunned at the foot of the monument.

Baran and Sareh watched, seemingly helpless. She stopped near them.

Smiling. Always smiling.

“I hope you understand that I have nothing against you personally. You seem like good kids. Now that I have educated you, keep maintaining the cenotaph if it eases your guilt.” She said.

Sareh looked like she would snap back– but Baran stopped her, shaking her head.

Tamar fixed her gaze on the two of them for a moment before continuing to walk away.

Disappearing into the dim shadows of the underground Wohnbezirk as if she never existed.

Sareh continued to watch as if she expected her to reappear suddenly like a ghost.

While Baran approached the monument, produced a cloth and ran it over the face again.

Over the places where Tamar had run her hands.

“Whatever the cenotaph means, it’s not any better to allow it to be defaced.” Baran said.

Sareh quietly looked back at her and nodded her head in agreement.

Gunther, meanwhile, stared at the monument and at Baran, dejected and speechless.

He had left the ship to clear his head, and now he was fixed into place and helpless.

Crushed by the heavy weight of the past hanging over Aachen, heavier than all of the stone.

A weight soon to drop that would hurl waves like none of them had ever seen.


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The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.4]

After Descent, Year 958

In the middle of the Luxembourg School for Girls campus there was a grand square that represented one of the main social areas for the students. Gentle hills served as excellent picnic spots for the girls, and marble-tiled squares with fountains and gazebos offered a variety of backdrops for the cheerful blossoming of the Empire’s up and coming prizes, wives and mothers. At the center of the plaza there was an enormous tree, one of the largest trees in the entire Imbrium. Its wide green crown provided the best shade from the sun lamps.

One fateful day, as war loomed, and internal security worsened–

There was a crowd gathered around the tree–

Watching a dozen girls chain themselves to it, holding hands, standing their ground.

“No more wars! No more slavery! No more trading in blood!”

Hands linked together, old brown-tinged chains around their midsections, dirtying the white and yellow uniforms. Imbrian girls of surpassing tidiness, model students, blond-haired, blue-eyed, it was such an incongruous sight, and such incongruous words came out of their lips, that it felt like the whole school gathered to watch them out of sheer confusion and curiosity. Though they were not particularly famous girls, everyone at Luxembourg was the child of someone with at least some money and influence. If not born to someone like that, then sponsored by someone worthy of the school’s pedigree for a scholarship.

Until that day, those girls had fit into these molds perfectly.

Then they became new creatures entirely.

Around that tree, the girls had organized a protest– they were protesting at the school.

Such things had been easy to ignore in the changing times of the Fueller Reformation. For a time, the new, young Emperor tolerated a new, young culture of free discourse and critique. It was out of this leniency that Mordecai wrote his much-hated words about wealth and power, that the final rhetorical nails drove into the inviolability of increasingly sidelined aristocrats, and that the spectre of Imbrian fascism began to take its purest form.

In those times, even young girls were allowed the occasional foray into counterculture.

In A.D. 958 protest was no longer viewed as a plaything of fiery, modern girls, however.

With the colonies in revolt, Alayze preparing to invade, and conspiracies abounding–

School security ushered away and curfewed all the girls who gathered to watch the protest.

Formed a cordon around the tree and the hill that contained it and raised sound-dampeners.

And dispensed with the rod, opting instead for the full-powered vibrotruncheon.

Hiding on the sidelines of the protest, eyes filled with tears, watching the girls being violently and bodily removed from around the tree with her own eyes– was Gloria Innocence Luxembourg, a waifish, dark-haired, bespectacled young girl for whom everything under and around that tree was meant. Her own little white uniform dirtied with a bit of mud she turned up as she scampered through the park out of sight, wanting with all her heart to see– what she had failed to participate in. To see the consequences of her cowardice.

Yesterday’s bold promises of support for the members of her secret political reading group,

Whom, on that day, she watched the destruction of from afar,

understanding all too keenly it would have been different had she joined the protest–

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, as if in time with the beatings.


After Descent, Year 979

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg raised her hand to look into the screen of her high-end computerized watch. Its beveled white and pink chassis was fully customized to her own needs, with a cute, rabbit-like design and little hearts and wings on the wristband. She flicked her finger across the screen, scrolling past several pre-installed, discrete programs and bringing up her favorite and most useful feature of the watch–

“Just got out of bed and made myself up for the day. Feeling wistful. Uncertain.”

Her watch had already logged her mood for 426 prior days at various times of the day.

On the watch display, an analysis appeared–

“Have you had breakfast yet? Hunger brings vulnerability.” It said.

Beaming brightly, Gloria felt a weight off her shoulders. “Of course! Breakfast!”

Of course, breakfast– she was just hungry. No need to trouble herself further.

Once she had breakfast she could simply go about her day without troublesome thoughts.

And it was a big day indeed. She would need all of her faculties in order.

Supposedly, she was on vacation to Aachen, renting out modest lodgings for a quiet retreat.

Aachen was not known as a vacation destination, but nobody could question the boss.

Though Gloria hardly ever boasted about her wealth openly, as it would have been quite a faux pas to her leftist contemporaries, she was a member of an ultra-elite club of recently minted millionaires, and one of the most valuable people in Rhinea, if not the Imbrium.

Raylight Beauty seized a massive untapped market by treating women in all strata of society as customers who to whom they could advertise a wide range of products. Such that anyone could and would want to purchase cosmetics, handbags, underwear, personal care products and even certain supplements, from them, with their logo. Raylight Beauty could hardly be called a megacorporation. Its wealth and influence was a shadow of monopolies like Volwitz and Rhineametalle who wielded political connections in addition to their finances.

However, they had successfully swept away nearly all of their old-fashioned competitors in the women’s goods industry by spending big on modern, chic, female-centric and empowering marketing. They expanded aggressively, capitalizing on initial success in cosmetics to become a juggernaut of women’s and girls’ culture in the Mare Imbrium.

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg became valued in the hundreds of millions of Reichsmarks.

A certain small ship from a certain unnamed country had about three million marks to spend, a tidy sum which allowed them to make up the servicing of a large, complex ship at several stations, pay out hush money, and create walking-around funds for its employees to go on little dates. This amount likely represented a significant percentage of their country’s Imperial Marks holdings, which they held in credichips for various uses. That little ship would soon run out of funds in their adventures; meanwhile Gloria was unlikely to ever run out of money. Her wealth could only grow– so long as her current exploits remained on the low.

Despite all of this, she held herself to a humble standard.

She hired the stingiest and most old-fashioned aristocratic accountant she could find, rather than hiring some noveau riche money management company that might then encourage her to live a millionaire rockstar life of excessive spending. Her spending was modest, with infrequent travel, only a handful of private properties or station investments, relatively few and affordable vices, and few parties outside of luxurious corporate events for her employees. Much of her spending was in lavish donations to worthy causes and agreeable politicians, personal gifts to struggling girls whose stories moved her, and her biggest side-project of the past few years– the Reichsbanner Schwarzrot paramilitary.

Her lodgings in Aachen were located off to the side of the third tier’s high-end commercial facilities, which themselves lay a tier below the government palace. Unlike the offices and small apartments in the external layers of the first and second tiers, the third tier’s spaces for rent were a bit more luxurious, with many triple-wide and quadruple-wide suites.

For her stay in Aachen, Gloria had rented a triple-wide that was about five minutes walk to the commercial district. It was a winged design, with a central room that served as a lobby and entertainment area with couches, tea tables, synthetic carpeting, and a big, dedicated screen; off to the right were a bedroom with a king-size bed and ample storage for clothes and effects, and a bathroom with a large combination shower and bath; off the left there was a large kitchen and dining area as well as a mini laundry room adjoining.

In terms of aesthetics, it was acceptably modern.

Because of the LCD screen-walls and the square LED strips overhead, it was possible to change the room by altering the dominant colors projected, and the couches and other furniture was designed to gently reflect and distort the light to achieve different moods. That morning, Gloria had everything as it was formerly set, a moody, icy blue– as she left the bedroom she quickly shifted the color to a soothing, muted green. The mechanism was well-designed. It varied the shades and strokes of the green to avoid looking too uniform and constructed, preventing the entire room from looking like a continuous colored sheet.

Dressed in a thin white nightgown, her unbrushed pink hair spilling messy down her back and over her shoulders, and looking, in her own estimation, a bit plain without her makeup, Gloria ambled over to the kitchen. Thankfully with her second skin applied, she looked roughly how she wanted to no matter how much or how little effort she put into herself: she appeared to be in her early 20s rather than her mid-30s. Raylight’s cosmetics could do wonders, but there was nothing as effective as a full-body treatment– which Raylight also offered.

She opened touched one of the far walls of the kitchen and a refrigerator door slid open, releasing a cool mist. She shivered a bit. When she rented the place she had requested the kitchen be stocked as she did not wish to shop for food herself. So she found several items inside the fridge already. There were not enough prepared meals for her liking, and she would have liked more greens among her meals. Nevertheless, she procured a milk bag, punctured it with a straw and began to drink from it without reservation, while pushing items around, thumbing through the full inventory to decide what to eat.

Finding a package of cucumber cream salad and another package of chicken breast with cured egg yolk sauce, Gloria had her meal plan for the first half of the day. She took out both packages, unwrapped the chicken from the plastic, and touched the wall beside the refrigerator. A panel slid open to reveal an auto-cooker, entirely set into the wall and controlled digitally. She let it judge how best to cook the packaged chicken meal and it chose to bake, quickly coming up to temperature. It would cook in ten minutes.

Watching the chicken in the auto-cooker, Gloria drank the last of her milk bag and peeled the plastic off the creamy cucumber salad, stirring it around with a fork to redistribute some of the dill and parsley and to spread the mayonnaise and sour cream more evenly. She knew how to cook. Every student at the Luxembourg School for Girls was taught basic living and household skills for their eventual futures. However, like many graduates of the school, she also preferred to have help with this task, and she could afford it.

She nibbled on the cucumber. In the middle of the kitchen, in her night gown, she had not even washed her face, crunching on watery cucumber with creamy dressing. Her mind wandering. It was easy to entertain the cliché– that she was far from home. Far from where she should be. And yet even in this alien city, alone, she could bring with her almost any luxury. Even the luxury of simply doing nothing, but standing in her kitchen, food already cared for, and other affairs soon to be. Gloria was blessed in that way.

Some small part of that felt shameful, but when she thought about all she read in her life–

In her mind, in the socialist world, there would be people who loved to cook and would therefore cook for others. Alongside people like her who disliked this activity and could spend their time more productively if someone else cooked. Everyone would benefit in the end. There were people who were forced to do what they were not meant to, who lacked the opportunity to be what they truly wanted. Such a thing could be abolished, so that the thinkers could think and the cooks could cook. It was such a thing that she was struggling and working for ever since she started her little book club at school. She was not just an idle rich woman. She was well read, and she thought she knew the painful truth of the world.

Yes– she wasn’t just some idle rich woman.

At that moment, there was a buzzing on her wrist.

“I know, I’m letting my mood spiral again–”

When she looked down, it was actually a voice call.

She took it on her watch.

It was one of her security personnel– Orlan Aries. She had been expecting him.

“Ma’am, I am coming up now. The Pandora’s Box is done with their security stuff.” He said.

Gloria, unsmiling on the call, played up her typical affect with her speech.

“Orley! I am sooo happy to hear from you! Did your new friends treat you right?”

“I’d love to complain, but I would not be here without them.”

“That is worth more than a pfenig! So– what’s your voice-call appropriate take on them?”

Orlan sighed a bit on the call.

“I don’t know, ma’am. Let me see. I wish their ship had a smoking area. I don’t really understand why they are all vegetarians. Some of them drink too much and they always drink hard liquor when they do, which is insane to me because they are otherwise really buttoned up about other things. Almost every time when a Shimii is doing something and it’s prayer time they will just stop on the spot and pray even if it is inconvenient. All of them give me more of the vibe of Katarran mercenaries than, you know, people of their persuasions. However, they have an uncanny ability to accomplish the impossible.”

Despite his reticence, he gave a fantastic assessment and performed his role well.

Gloria finally smiled. The ability to accomplish the impossible, huh?

Of course– after all, they had already done something impossible to many people.

They were communists, in this awful world that contradicted them at every turn.

“Did any of them suspect you of anything?” She asked.

Orlan paused for a moment, grumbling a bit.

“I’m sure they must have realized anything I heard and saw would ultimately reach you, but they don’t care. They are not really given into paranoia and it is not like I had access to any classified records. Mostly I stuck to myself and out of their way, just observing. I was fiending for a cigarette the whole time, so I was a bit low energy. I did make friends with one of them– Murati Nakara. A really fascinating lady– she has lots of presence.”

Gloria would have to demand specifics later. “Very well. I can meet you in the early afternoon– the Tier 3 office, Location Karl. All of us will be there to chat, and then we we will move on. I trust you will not be late, Orley, or I will be quite pouty when I see you again. You can meet your own friends and take care of your own business later.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to get pouty ma’am. I’ll see you there.”

Gloria squeezed her wrist to end the call.

Her chicken was ready.

She took the half-eaten cucumber salad and the cured egg yolk chicken to the dining table and sat down to eat. Without Orlan’s voice there was a void of sound in the apartment that felt suddenly eerie. Gloria quickly summoned a bit of light jazz to help buoy her mood and thoughts as she ate. Thinking about what she would do next, what she would say.

She had to decide what she would do about her erstwhile allies.

More than the Eisern Front, it was Erika’s Nationale Volksarmee that worried her, a bit.

Gloria wanted full control of the United Front and everything that happened after.

In her mind, it should be hers because she had real infrastructure and money.

She had ships, she had soldiers, she had hideouts, she had accounts and paid informants, hush money, corporate spies, connections with Rhein-Sieg-Kries union leaders, Stockheim yards and Agri-Sphere activists. While Erika was doing petty banditry, she had been building something in Rhinea, something secret, but big, powerful, usable– Erika was a speck of dust to the Volkisch. But if the Volkisch knew how much power Gloria had, their hearts would have chilled to a stop. All she needed was a bit more to take the fight to them.

But Erika was the fighter, the real fighter. She had killed for the cause. More than once.

In her mind, Erika’s true place, her best place, was as a military leader for the Front.

Gloria wanted Erika to marshal the socialist forces, while she led them politically.

To do this, she had to gently convince Erika of where she was most useful.

And thus gently disabuse her of the little title of Premier she granted herself.

Both the communists and anarchists would be presenting opposing views on organization.

It would not be easy, but she might be able to convince everyone of a third way out of their current predicament– communist officers, leading experienced troops with on-the-ground support from the anarchist rabble, and the social democrats in a council crafting the policy that would win the heart of Eisental. An integrated command playing to their strengths. Each in their place, with their own specialty. In her mind it was the only way the United Front could ever work. In so doing, she might be able to convince Erika to accept the military position, to avoid any further infighting, and thereby temper her ambition.

Gloria would bring the matter up to her mentor, Kansal, who had experience in such things.

She would not carry herself exactly as Kansal wanted– but her experience was valuable.

Everything started to feel a bit more possible as she puzzled it out by herself on the table.

At that moment, her wrist began to buzz again.

There were not many people who could have bothered her then.

She suspected Orlan or Kremina and felt a bit irritated, lifting her watch–

To find the call was instead from Mia Weingarten.

Gloria picked up immediately after.

Grinning ear to ear.

“The pop princess herself! Mia I’m ecstatic you called!” Gloria assumed her perky persona.

“H-Hello, Ms. Luxembourg.” Mia said, her voice a bit hesitant and muted in response.

“No, no! Not Ms. Luxembourg– you can call me Gloria, darling, you know you can!”

“Thank you Ms.– Gloria. I– I’ve been– considering something– if it’s not too much–”

“My dear, don’t be so nervous– my door is always open to you. Always! I can tell you’re frazzled and in need. I’m here for you. How many times have we collabed? Your songs and your image have done so much for me and Raylight. We’re practically a little family by now.”

“Right. Gloria, this time– it could stir up a lot of trouble.” Mia’s voice went near whisper.

“Dear, nothing in the world is trouble to me. Why don’t you come over? We can talk.”

Gloria lifted her long, pale legs onto the table, leaning back on her chair, smiling like a fox.

Mia Weingarten hesitated on the call. Gloria could hear her delicious little voice tremble.

“Yes– I will, ma’am.” She finally said. “I mean– I’ll come by tonight. So we can– talk.”

“Fantastic! Marvelous! My schedule tonight is officially empty. I can’t wait to see you again. Don’t worry your pretty face over anything doll, Gloria Luxembourg will fix it all for you.”

“Yes. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll see you.” Mia Weingarten sheepishly hung up.

Gloria brimmed with anticipation.

Money was the devil; but a good deal was a good deal, and there was no better investment in the world than a pretty girl and whatever made her happy.


Euphrates’ path was an endless desert, each grain of sand the detritus of her experiences.

In her mind, in her dreams, she walked through the desert. It was vast, cold, and dark.

From shutting her eyes to reopening them, the desert was there to welcome her.

Memories, people, events, formed mounds in the sand that she crossed.

Dim recollections serving only as obstacles to her finding peace.

Ever blowing in a distant wind that never stopped, a current rushing perpetually.

Euphrates was a person, a woman, a lesbian, a former subject of the Federation of Northern States and then the hegemonic Aer Federation, and a Jew– but she was so ancient that these words had lost all meaning in themselves. Many of them were buried in time, and nobody whom she told could understand them. But even the ones that remained were eroded in her person. Sometimes she felt that nobody actually saw her as a human, but as a being. She walked, talked, had physical touch, but she could not be truly seen. Nobody existed who could see all of her– though one person tried her very best.

Euphrates hardly understood herself anymore. Were her recollections accurate?

People and locations, ancient scents and sounds, dust kicked off the dunes into her face.

Out of reach, only the barest scraps remaining. So close but still impossible to grasp.

Was this dementia? But her recall of fact and theory did not suffer for this.

Though it frightened her, some part of it also gave her comfort.

Maybe she could die. Maybe one day she would just become unable to think.

But– she had too much to keep living for. So she kept walking her desert, day after day.

It was not just her inner world that was so full and yet so empty either.

In the past, she had viewed the Aether as a predominantly empty place too.

Colorful, and filled with the vague presence of humanity, but without the substance of humanity. There was no sight, and they made no sound, there was nothing to touch. Endless drifting color suggestive of life but without the fullness of it. Perhaps everything was as illusory and devoid of complete truth as that empty world of colors.

Soometimes she even suspected humanity itself to be an empty shell of what it was.

However, something had shifted since Goryk’s Gorge– when she reconnected with people.

Slowly, she began to hear human speech occupying the Aether.

At first, it was the speech of people that she had come to know and perhaps cherish.

Tigris’ words, yes.

But also those of Murati Nakara, Ulyana Korabiskaya, Aaliyah Bashara.

People whose presence made time move for her again.

Perhaps it was because time was moving for her– she soon began to hear new voices.

Voices speaking all at once, from lips she could not see, people she did not know.

Uncaring but not kind– they all spoke at once and never cared for the impropriety.

But what they spoke of, in their voice, one and many, had themes of unity, connection.

Her desert, too, began to feature strange new voices and their singing.

And soon, it even featured more of the past, as if her memory was fertilized by the present.

Her memories, her inner self, became like a forest of enormous trees with silver crowns.

Euphrates walked upon moistened earth, through carbon puddles brimming with life.

Enormous roots framed her path and the trees looked down upon her with the great arms and all-encompassing crowns as if merged with the sky itself. “Looked down upon” but only due to their positions– there was no sense of contempt from the trees. They were filled with love and acceptance; she felt peaceful near them. They wanted her to know–

That they had always loved humanity, despite everything that happened.

That they still believed that humanity deserved to live, deserved to thrive and be free.

Hearing their song, she wanted to curl up at their roots.

It was not to be. Like so much dust, the vision, and its meanings, blew easily away.

Her eyes opened– she saw the olive-brown skin on Tigris’ bare shoulder and back.

Long red hair falling between them. Sound asleep, her breasts barely covered by the sheet.

She was in their shared bed, in their room on the UNX-001 Brigand, docked in Aachen.

Everything was dim, quiet. There was only a thin strip of light from under the door.

Because both of them were fairly thin and fairly short, they fit into one bed comfortably when they wanted. Euphrates’ eyes traced the lines of her companion’s figure in the shadows. They fit perfectly together. Tigris was taller, with her long, red hair and lithe limbs, more driven to physical activity. Euphrates was just a bit more compact and hermitic, a bit softer. Her own shorter blue hair, slightly wavy and swept evenly to the sides of her forehead. Both their faces were rather young-looking and much younger than they truly were. Tigris was perfectly frozen in her early twenties and Euphrates never changed much past twenty or so. Tigris was hundreds of years old now–

Euphrates was over a thousand years old, though the specifics escaped her.

The oldest year she remembered was D.C.E. 2035, when the Ayvartan Union defeated the Federation of Northern States in the War of the Great Continents.

During The Common Era– D.C.E. A long-gone calendar.

After D.C.E. came the Aer Federation reckoning of the years, A.I.

Aera Invicta, the indomitable epoch of a humanity fated to triumph over the stars.

Euphrates did not recall exactly when D.C.E. transitioned to A.I., however.

And now, the reckoning was A.D. — After Descent.

Now– the present was ever more taking prominence over the distant past.

There were no more stars for humanity. Only the merciful firmament of the ocean.

Nevertheless, they lived on.

Scarcely a day had passed since the Brigand had arrived at Aachen.

A sudden mood had taken Euphrates and her partner.

Euphrates had her arms around Tigris. One hooked under her chest, another over the hip.

Her fingers had been reaching between Tigris’ legs. They felt tempted to do so again, even.

The two of them worked up the mood and had sex– not too boisterously, but they did.

Enough to satisfy an urge for physical fulfillment that became rarer as the years passed.

Though perhaps they did not have that appearance to others, the two of them were a couple. Tigris was frequently critical of her, but Euphrates loved her like no one else in the world. Sometimes, Tigris was the sole proof Euphrates still had a body and emotions.

Long, long weeks and months and even years studying and theorizing and building and exploring in the darkest holes on Aer, inconclusive journeys in a frozen world that suffered nothing new to arise. Even in their stays in the labs they were cloistered. They were each other’s only source of stimulus, and yet, it was a rare occasion for them to share a bed, to touch, to hold each other, and even to muster the desire for sexual activity.

Perhaps, because their time was moving again, their bodies recalled their desires.

Euphrates pulled closer to Tigris again, who shifted slightly but remained asleep.

She kissed her gently on her nape. She felt her body heat, so close, so comforting.

Sometimes it didn’t feel real.

When Euphrates was a child, the world was locked in a hellish war.

Federation of Northern States troops, retreating from the invasion of their hated Ayvartan enemy, found her in a puddle of poisoned water in the aftermath of a scorched-earth chemical bombardment by heavy aircraft hoping deny the Ayvartans a minor village full of displaced people– including a few desperate jews in hiding. Perplexed at her ability to survive such a condition, they took her, and so began her confinement of innumerable years. Studied, used, a nameless subject from which information was extracted. Off her literal back, off her literal flesh, revolutionary biological research flourished around the world.

Her greatest fear was that she was still actually back in the laboratory, lost in delusions.

Sometimes she lacked any evidence to the contrary.

It was something she could tell nobody. Nobody would ever understand it.

Recently, she had found some evidence, however, that did much to put her mind at ease.

Norn’s mutilation that inflicted a terrifying agony upon her, like no pain she had ever felt.

Murati’s connection to her, which shared with her such warmth and determination.

Tigris’ heat and the cute little noises she made when they had sex that night.

Such things were not experiences she had as a little girl locked away forever in the dark.

She could only have these experiences because she was free, and her time was moving.

Her stultifying years in a glass cell could have never realized this vivid world.

“Mm. You’re doing stuff back there. Go back to sleep.”

Tigris mumbled, and slowly nestled her back closer to Euphrates’ chest.

Euphrates held her tight again. Whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Tigris muttered. “I love you too. Go to sleep already.”

Nestled together as they were, Euphrates found that sleep soon came into reach.

Next morning, the two of them slowly peeled away from each other and got dressed.

They had somewhere to be that day, and so they were both dressed similarly for once.

Euphrates was often the one wearing a vest, blazer, button-down and tie. Her basic state of being was formal, so she dressed formally, sometimes jokingly called a young master by the sailors; Tigris meanwhile was more used to work attire and made a face the entire time as Euphrates helped her button her old brown checkerboard sportcoat and properly set her tie. While Euphrates wore pants, Tigris opted for a knee-length skirt and bright red tights.

“We’re Ganges’ peers, do we really have to dress up like this?” Tigris asked.

“She’s in charge of an organization, so we should show her some respect.” Euphrates said.

“And what if she’s been a bastard this whole time? Will you still respect her in the end?”

“Let me be the one to show disrespect when the time comes. Can you promise me that?”

“Ugh. Fine. Whatever. You do the talking– but then why are you dragging me along?”

Euphrates smiled. “Because you are my inseparable partner-in-crime, obviously.”

Tigris averted her gaze and sighed and allowed her tie to be adjusted.

Euphrates felt a disquiet about her meeting with Daksha Kansal–

But it briefly dissipated when she stepped out of her room.

Instantly they were greeted by the main hall of the Brigand. Even when the ship was docked, there were still dozens of souls in the hall at any given time, smiling and waving to and from their business. Always courteous, driven by the animus afforded by their work and their overarching objective. Sailors undid panels to get at wires and junction boxes; logistics and managerial troops took up meeting rooms and discussed planning, supplies and efficiencies; Aiden Ahwalia cleaned the halls with a sour look on his face, recently demoted.

Euphrates sometimes stood for a moment and simply watched the people of the Brigand move about the hall, independently of her, each their own life so little and so vast.

She had been away from people just living their lives, for far too long.

“Hey, snap out of it, we’re going to be late. I’ve got stuff to do around here you know?”

Tigris put her hands on her lips and grumbled. Euphrates snapped out of her reverie.

“I’m sure Galina and Valya can survive a day without you.” She said.

“It’s not about that. Doesn’t seeing how hard these people work make you feel something?”

Euphrates smiled. “It does.” She said– and got started walking down the hall.

Tigris stared at her for a moment before following closely behind.

Everyone on the Brigand revitalized her outlook on life.

Or perhaps, they reminded her of an outlook she had, long ago when she treasured time.

On the Brigand, everyone believed in something unimaginable to most of the world.

That they could fight to liberate people from violence and deprivation.

Not just that they could throw away their lives against enormous, massive foes–

–but that they could possibly win.

Murati Nakara in particularly believed this with such fervor it made Euphrates feel shame.

How could anyone stand to be around that woman, who believed any less than her?

Slowly, her determination became too infectious. Who was the pupil, and who the teacher?

Now Euphrates could not help but to believe anew in possibility. In a hope for change.

So she had to do her own part to contribute. She could no longer simply observe.

There were people she had to take responsibility for– one ahead, specifically.

Down in the hangar, Euphrates and Tigris went through the boarding chute, checking out with Van Der Smidse and Zhu Lian, who were keeping track of everyone who was out and their destinations. They stepped through the boarding chute, and out the other end, entered the Stockheim port infrastructure. Behind them there were enormous projections on the walls, false windows revealing the dozens of ships docked in the berths around them.

Ships of various shapes and sizes, classes and purposes, all occupying this one interstitial piece of mechanical connective tissue. Their neighbors even included the Antenora, flagship of a certain Norn von Fueller. Euphrates looked at the vessel and resisted the idea that she could talk to Norn about what happened and convince her of anything.

Euphrates had hurt her– even more than hurt her, Euphrates exposed her to completely life-altering circumstances. She had saved her, perhaps, but she had also exposed her to ruin. Though there was inside her a voice that felt it was cowardly to turn her back on Norn, at the moment, Norn was stable enough not to pointlessly attack the Brigand. That was enough. Euphrates felt that the best thing she could do for her was to stay way from her.

And to avoid making the same mistake and having the same regrets now.

For example– with Murati Nakara.

“So where are we meeting Ganges?” Tigris asked.

Euphrates stopped in front of a nearby map board and pointed at their destination.

“A fundraising office for a Rhinean NGO, Kamma. She has some kind of ties to it.”

“Huh. I wonder if she completely gave up on the College of Neurosurgeons?”

“I think that Ganges had already given up on our projects for a very, very long time.”

Given what Euphrates knew about Ganges’ trajectory after leaving them; and that Kremina, who always lavished her with attention, was the only remnant of the Sunlight Foundation who remained at Ganges’ side; it was safe to assume she had divested herself of her old projects within the Foundation’s umbrella. Not that it mattered much– at this point, Solarflare LLC was not going to play any part in the Sunlight Foundation’s future, whatever that might be. If the only hard assets the Foundation retained were those that belonged to Yangtze and Potomac, then the organization was essentially a shell of itself. She had heard nothing from Nile or Hudson for many months now, so that, too, felt like a safe assumption. All that remained in the hands of Yangtze was the Indigo Research Institute.

That which Euphrates had built, and then carelessly handed to Yangtze, had turned to dust.

Part of her felt relief, though she did not know what Hudson and Nile were doing.

Nile, at least, was always disinterested in power, though she could also be overzealous when something other than power managed to capture her interest. Euphrates did not want to absolve her of suspicions without any evidence, much like she did not wish to suspect too much about Yangtze. But it was a rather safe bet that Nile was not carrying out some megalomaniacal ambition. Hudson, on the other hand, had always been a much less kind and caring individual, and could be downright callous in her pursuit of her own obsessions. It was easier to say Nile was harmless than to say the same for Hudson.

Regardless, if the Sunlight Foundation was utterly broken up, so be it.

At least its individual members had much less power to damage the world when separated.

“Euphrates, what will you even say to Ganges?” Tigris asked, as they made their way.

“I want to hear it from her what she has done and what she intends to do.” Euphrates said.

“We know enough, don’t we? She’s gallivanting around starting leftist movements.”

“I’m worried because of Kremina’s behavior– but also, the fact that she founded the Union and then left it, and has now founded a new group, it is concerning to me. Especially because I know what her immortality entails. I need to hear it from her– to see her intentions for myself. I need to judge her for myself. Only then can I be sure of what I will do.”

Tigris sighed. “Will you flip out if you detect some incongruity then?”

“I do not flip out. I will take responsibility for her, simple as that.” Euphrates said.

“Responsibility, huh?” Tigris said, letting out an even more exasperated sigh.

From Stockheim, the pair traveled up to the commercial district, past the second tier with its workplace buildings and the Volkisch Gau office, and up to the third tier. The center of the third tier resembled the first tier, with a grand atrium surrounded by circling paths that traversed several storefronts. Everything was higher end however; the restaurants had formal dress codes; the bars were not playing any sports or catering to the lunch crowd; even the corporate shops were populated only by the most expensive and exclusive subsidiaries of the megacorporations, such as Raylight’s Lucent Frau accessory shops and Rhineametalle’s Rare Earth electronics boutiques. Their destination was not any of the shops, however. Much like in the first tier, the surrounding areas beyond the walls of the shops were individual office and apartment units that were leased and rented privately.

Rather than climb the steps, Euphrates and Tigris took a long hallway to the leftmost wing of the station’s third tier. Here, space contracted, the ceiling was no longer almost a hundred meters above, and there were no grand and open landings and lobbies. Though the halls were well lit and projecting a bright paint job that made them look more inviting, they were still just steel halls and anything of note within them was behind a door. There were many doors, some labeled, some not. Euphrates wondered whether anyone minded that their lux triple-wide shared the same hall as a publicity agency for classic musicians, or other assorted private venues. She supposed not, if the walls were soundproof.

Every door was its own fortress. After a dozen turns, Euphrates found hers.

On the door, there was a logo, a half-white, half-black diamond made of knotted lines.

“I wonder where they got this from?” Tigris said.

“It’s a very ancient religious symbol, representing karma.” Euphrates said.

“How ancient are we talking?”

“Like everything down here, it’s so far removed now that its origin is meaningless.”

“Damn it, if you’re going to mention it’s so ancient, you should be ready with a number!”

Past the door, the same symbol was on every wall, as well as on boxes of pins and shirts and flags, likely for distribution to potential donors. This was a fundraising office for Kamma, an NGO that mainly distributed food and necessities to the needy– and also served as a front for some of the officers and advisors of the Reichbanner Schwarzrot.

Aside from the boxes of promotional goods stacked around the lobby, there were a few perfunctory chairs and a front desk attended by a young woman.

“Hello. Euphemia Rontgen. I have an appointment with Ms. Bhose.”

Ganges’ cover identity had put a meeting on the books with Euphrates’ cover identity.

“Thank you kindly, Ms. Rontgen. She is waiting for you. Left-hand door in the back.”

“Thank you.”

Euphrates and Tigris passed the desk and took the door they were instructed to take.

Inside was a small landing leading into the meeting room proper.

The larger portion of the room sat behind a sealable bulletproof and soundproof glass door. There was a long table and a presentation space adjacent, with enough empty floor space for a podium or a small stage to be erected. However, there was only a whiteboard on the wall instead. On the landing, just past the door, there was a minibar with a minifridge, disposable cups and a coffee machine, and a few unopened champagne bottles.

At the far end, Ganges, Daksha Kansal, stood alone, writing on the whiteboard.

“Come in and close the door behind you.” She said.

Tigris looked to Euphrates, silently requesting instruction.

Euphrates simply nodded and squeezed her hand briefly.

Together, they crossed into the meeting room proper and closed the glass behind them.

They joined Ganges at the head of room, looking at her scribbles on the white board.

“It’s nothing. I’m just messing around.” Ganges said.

She turned around from the board to meet them.

There were names on the board, some of which Euphrates recognized.

“Trying to remember the names of the United Front delegates?” Euphrates asked.

“I’m not that good with names.” Ganges said.

Euphrates was not sure if Ganges had aged or if she herself just never paid attention to how Ganges looked originally or whether her constitution ever changed across the years. In her mind, Ganges looked how she always had. Long, brown hair falling down her back, straight and a little bit stiff, but nicely glossy; dressed in a coat and turtleneck with comfortable pants and dress shoes, looking like a different flavor of ‘professor’ than Euphrates’ own buttoned-up appearance. Her face had some slight wrinkling, particularly around the eyes, but she still looked infinitely younger than she was, still radiating an earthy, strong beauty, a modern sort of handsomeness for a woman. She looked like a revolutionary.

Unlike Euphrates, whose time had frozen as an unformidable young adult, and who despite her years remained so, Ganges always looked like Euphrates wanted her to, perhaps. Like a mature woman who had drives and ambitions and solutions, who had shoulders that could bear weight. Ganges had been the first injection of hot, living blood into the Sunlight Foundation. She was the third member– after Euphrates and Yangtze formally began to toy with fate. Tigris was almost a hundred years later. Potomac, Nile and Hudson were relatively recent. The full roster of Immortals that Euphrates had become comfortable with– they had assembled– when was it–? Some time in 600 or perhaps 700 A.D.?

Maybe even 856 when the Nocht Dynasty truly began its spectacular collapse?

Obviously, the full membership had to have been in place before the 930s.

The Fueller Reformation– Mehmed’s Jihad– Norn– Project Deicide–

For those events, Nile, Hudson and Potomac were obviously very well established.

Amur was a full Immortal also. And they were trialing Tarim and Dniepr.

Euphrates could not properly remember the exact date– it ceased to matter to her.

“Greetings. I wish I could say I was looking forward to this but I have a pit in my stomach. Euphrates, I do not wish to be discourteous, but I do not want to have a debate with you. When Kremina suggested I tap Solarflare for help, I did not know that your position had become so complicated. Especially your relations with some troublesome company from my old country. I know you did not have a hand in their treatment of Kremina, and that it was mostly her own fault what happened, but I am still quite displeased by the affair. Union folks owe the two of us more respect than that.” Ganges said, hands in her coat pockets.

She then turned and waved to Tigris with a small smile. “Tigris, pleasure to see you again.”

Tigris waved half-heartedly; clearly annoyed Ganges addressed her so casually.

“I don’t feel the same way.” Euphrates said, smiling. “I want to be glad to see you again.”

“You want to be, but you’re not. You are just like me in that regard and you know it. I also wish I could be happy seeing my old friends, but then again, in my heart of hearts, as any woman does, I also wish for a pony, and for faeries to be real. Alas, none of those things are true or available in the real world. Living in reality, I solely want to placate you so that I might carry on my business unmolested. So, let’s do it. Grill me and then go away.”

“Fine. Do you know what Yangtze has been up to?” Euphrates asked suddenly.

Ganges breathed out, sounding slightly disgruntled.

“No, and I do not care. Yangtze is dead to me. I do not care about the Sunlight Foundation, Euphrates, which is why I left it over thirty years ago. It is you who cannot let it go. I tolerated your continued attempts to insert yourself into my affairs after I left out of fondness for you– I thank you for what little assistance you rendered to the Nakaras, by the way, and for trying to keep their memory alive even despite your principled inaction.”

“You’re welcome.” Euphrates said calmly.

“I can’t even believe you sometimes.” Ganges said.

“You’re not the only one.” Tigris grumbled.

“My vexatious presence aside. What have you been up to, Ganges?” Euphrates said.

“Trying to make the world a better place after untold years of twiddling my thumbs. Trying to make up for everything I did. Trying to find solutions. You would not understand.”

“I can hardly imagine letting Kremina go wild with conspiracies is helping. You said Union folks owe you more respect than my associates have shown.” Euphrates said. “That elides a foul level of conceit that I knew you possessed toward such things as physical contests, in the past. But I had hoped your affairs as a leader would be free of such arrogance.”

“No, Euphrates, I’ll never change on the inside, I’m too old, just like you.” Ganges said. “And setting Kremina aside, where do you get off on accusing me of being arrogant, or criticizing my approaches, when you have been taken by the most colossal arrogance on Aer yourself? Professor ‘I want to return the world to the surface’ over here? Compared to your arrogance in that project, my arrogance in founding movements and nations is minuscule.”

“You got me there. Nevertheless, if I don’t criticize you, nobody will. So here I am.”

Euphrates put on a collected front, but she was growing quite worried.

Ganges was always a bit rough around the edges.

She always liked to boast and wanted to challenge herself, and made rash decisions.

But she was not as self-centered before as she seemed now.

Ganges sighed openly, crossed her arms, and addressed Euphrates more seriously.

“My handiwork is beyond your criticism, Euphrates. There is an entire boat of people you have been rubbing shoulders with who would not be alive now without my Union. You want to know the truth? The Union was supposed to be the home of the freest people on Aer and the vessel for my redemption of humanity, for the prevention of our near extinction; but after four years of rulership, much like you, Euphrates, I stepped away from what I created and handed it to the stewardship of my pupils. I thought that was just and that it was necessary. But on my last day in the Union, my outlook changed. Like you have Yangtze, I’m afraid I have Bhavani Jayasankar. So just as you must be thinking of a solution to the problems you have created, I, too, am trying to find solutions. To atone for everything I have done in life, I have to make sure that the Imbrium achieves lasting freedom.”

“May I ask you to elaborate about this problem and its solution?” Euphrates asked.

Ganges grunted, annoyed at the continued interrogation. “You can ask, and I suppose I will humor you. I used to think a single, Imbria-wide left-wing entity could solve the inequality and violence of the Imbrian Empire and thereby preserve humanity, creating a long-lasting shelter and building our resilience. But after seeing the sort of personalities that abounded in the Union, and the difficulties it would have developing right, I decided that the Imbrium needs multiple sovereign leftist states acting in coalition. Something to check the power of people like Bhavani Jayansankar while still pursuing a broadly leftist agenda.”

“Bhavani Jayasankar was your student, Ganges.” Euphrates said. “She is a communist just like you. Now you are traveling the Imbrium to find someone who can ‘check her’?”

“You do not understand, Euphrates. Bhavani can say she is a communist all she wants. I have seen the depths of her actual heart and I know she is a demented securocrat. I never taught her to be this way, but the seed of her wanton militancy grew regardless. She is exactly the problem that humanity is facing, the avatar of our extinction. Free food, housing, education; she gives these things to people because she sees them as her barracked soldiers, not out of her sense of justice. I did not teach her well, that is evident: and just like you, Euphrates, who have decided to interfere with the affairs of your ‘students’ if you are sufficiently dissatisfied with them– I will do everything I can to prevent her wasteful forever-war on the world from occurring. That is part of my atonement to the world. Are you any different from me?”

Euphrates bristled. They were not the same. Because the scale was quite different.

However much Ganges personally disliked Jayasankar, the Union was a sovereign nation.

Daksha Kansal had founded a state that people relied upon for their lives.

While Yangtze, and the Sunlight Foundation, were a clique of scientific gatekeepers.

Lives and the stability of the world were not at stake purely in their decisions.

It was this separation that Euphrates hoped to maintain by preventing their interference in politics. But she failed, nonetheless. Yangtze was doing God-only-knew-what with all of the resources Euphrates abdicated to her– and here was Ganges, founding and abandoning her own political movements. Declaring them failures, setting them against each other like game pieces. They had taken their manipulation of scientific study and applied it to politics.

Worse, Ganges had convinced herself that she was saving humanity.

Just as Euphrates once had–

“Ganges, have you interfered with the Union’s politics since you left them?”

“Not as much as you might think. Whatever happens– it will be mostly Bhavani’s fault.”

“You must feel betrayed, then, that Buren is happily joining the Union.”

Now it was Ganges’ turn to bristle at Euphrates’ words, and what she had come to learn.

“Whatever you want to accuse me of, you yourself should see– the fact that Buren is developing according to erroneous principles, is because I let them choose. They are still their own sovereign nation, as you so put it, and their nationalism is strong enough that Bhavani cannot subvert them. So I am perfectly fine with what happened in Buren.”

There was no rhetoric that could hide the unseemly fact– Euphrates was having her worst fears confirmed before her very eyes. She wished that Ganges’ activism was something that was wholly altruistic, that she was seeding leftist movements across the Imbrium like a folk tale character, planting trees of liberation without agenda. And perhaps, she was doing so– the Union folks certainly still believed this to be the case. Her rhetoric that she was preventing human extinction elided to some selflessness. However, Euphrates feared that Ganges’ personal vitriol and arrogance would color the ultimate outcome. Systems had the results that they were designed for. If the Union became an ultramilitant and destabilizing power, it was because Ganges’ designs led to such destabilizing outcomes.

Much like Euphrates had to accept her failure for the Sunlight Foundation’s design.

Could Ganges herself see that? Or was she too close to the matter?

Ganges kept comparing the two of them, but Ganges looked too much like Yangtze.

Pursuing an obsession while claiming to be exclusively rational every step of the way.

Others might have fallen for her rhetoric, like Kremina– Euphrates could not.

She clenched her fists. The more she thought about it the angrier she became.

“The people of the Union still trust you. Respect you. Admire you, even.”

Ganges grunted. She spoke with a distant tone.

“They are entirely separable from Bhavani Jayasankar. I truly cherish how they feel about me. I still have contact with another of my students, Parvati Nagavanshi, from time to time, to coordinate certain useful things. She has been a fantastic help to me. But I also think she is a wasteful, violent lunatic and an egotist. If Bhavani ever falls she will fall with her. Do not overvalue their respect. It does not change that they developed incorrectly and that the course must be corrected in order for the Imbrium to last any further than this crisis.”

Euphrates held the cold gaze of her counterpart.

“Do you not feel that you might owe something more than that to Murati Nakara, Ganges?”

Bringing up that name brought up so much emotion in Euphrates.

Across from her, Ganges had no reaction to it. It was stark how neutral her expression was.

“No Euphrates, I saw to Murati Nakara a long time ago. I am sure that Bhavani and Parvati have indulged her fantasies of being a little soldier and she is doing fine. Do you want me to personally apologize to every dead revolutionary? This is ridiculous.”

Not even Murati–? Not even the girl whose parents she radicalized?

Euphrates had had enough of it. She could not tolerate this conversation anymore.

It hurt– it hurt, and it made her mad. All of this was her own fault, and it was mortifying.

Perhaps this is how Ganges felt toward Bhavani Jayasankar too. Hurt and angry.

Despite the irrationality behind it, the emotion, Euphrates could not help herself.

It had been so long since her heart beat so hot and so aggravated, so full of vinegar.

“Ganges. Do you still think you could win in a fight against me?”

Tigris glanced sideways at Euphrates in clear confusion.

“Euphrates, what is this about? Of course I can– but that’s besides the point.” Ganges said.

Without elucidating, Euphrates raised her hands up in a fighting stance.

“You’re joking.” Ganges said, incredulous, mouth slightly agape.

No word from Euphrates. Her eyes fixed Ganges’ own. Her hands did not move down.

Ganges grunted. She shut her eyes and looked at the ground. Frustrated.

“Is this what you came all this way for? To insult, accuse and then challenge me?”

“To teach you a lesson? You made me realize I owed you this.” Euphrates finally said.

“You are starting to really, truly, piss me off Euphrates.” Ganges said.

Tigris looked between the two of them, nervous, but not intervening.

Keeping her promise– whatever happened, she was letting Euphrates have it out.

“You’re pissed, you say? Then try to take it out on me. You’ve threatened to do it before.”

“I was joking. I never meant it like that. God damn it, I have never wanted to hurt you!”

Euphrates held her steel-like gaze on Ganges. “You won’t, don’t worry.”

“You’re really irritating. You’re so irritating. No matter what– you always find a way–”

“I realize I’ve been very selfish, all of my life. It’s high time I gave you something back.”

Ganges shifted her narrowed gaze. “Tigris, get her to stop, before I knock her down.”

Tigris said nothing. She crossed her arms and stepped aside as if to give them both space.

Her face was full of mournfulness and fear– Euphrates felt regret only for that much.

So many people had gotten stuck in the middle of her failures, for so long. For too long.

“Prove to me everything will go as you plan. Put your pride on the line.” Euphrates said.

“This is– I’m– Fine.” Ganges sighed. “You know what? Fine. Alright. You wanted this.”

Ganges slowly brought her fists up.

One dyed blue, one dyed red, both easily imbued with her flickering aura, still her natural stance after so long. With her red fist, her striking power was augmented by her wrathful aura, while her blue fist could weaken any blows with its languid, peaceful aura.

Tigris looked quite frustrated with the two of them but said nothing.

Standing beside two women in dowdy, collegiate attire with their fists up.

Sizing each other up.

Ganges, of course, moved first. Perhaps knowing Euphrates was not the type.

Perhaps wanting to decide the contest with the first move, as always.

Just like when she left the Sunlight Foundation, one day, without warning, without word.

Euphrates watched the red fist hurtling her way.

In that instant her own power swelled in response to Ganges’ attack.

Her mind lit afire with a wave of memories, cold and warm, sweet and harsh. Her biological family in a war-torn world, hated and persecuted but trying to cherish every day until a chemical bomb took all their days from them; then the confines of institutes and research sites and medical facilities, unbearable pain, and the naïve elation when the first of the doctors to ever speak to the ‘test subject’ told her that her life would save so many people; and then, under the rotting purple sky, striking the earth with hateful thunderbolts that erased whatever they struck, freed at last and smelling the air outside, with so few possessions but the clothes on her back and her ticket out of one world and into the next. Witnessing humanity’s final sin as one of the few who would live.

Then– Yangtze, the age of ignorance, trying to save the little knowledge that they could.

Azazel’s Empire, and the dark stability of its time. Ganges, the conspiracy, renewed hope.

Tigris– the love of her life. Her first reminder after many years– that she was still human.

Euphrates felt her heart swell and tear, bleed and weep, with emotions like she never felt.

Hearing, in her ears, in that instant, whispers of dozens of human voices together in song.

Something enormous watched her. It whispered to her the inscrutable echoes of humanity.

One small, weak, pure white hand met the furious red fist and turned it aside in an instant.

And a wave of pure white sublimity threw back Ganges and slammed her to the ground.

Her aura that should have blunted such strikes shredded like paper, scattering about her.

Euphrates practically leaped forward, suddenly overcome by her own insatiable grief.

Falling on top of Ganges, laying hands on her, holding her to the ground and weeping.

“What did you even learn from me, Ganges? Tell me! All those years! What was it for?”

Ganges tried to take Euphrates’ wrist but could not budge her, could not escape her.

“You’re condemning me without even seeing the results!” Ganges cried. “You are basing everything on your useless ethicality! I’ve accomplished more than you ever have! You do not understand anything! I am atoning for hundreds of years of inaction! I am desperate!”

“Do you really think you have atoned for anything, referring to oppressed people who admired you, followed you, trusted you– like they were undercooked experiments in a beaker?” Euphrates’ voice raised, higher than she had ever spoken, it had been so long since she shouted, that it broke– nevertheless she continued to shout. “Atonement, your atonement– is it all about you then, Ganges? Are all our fates only in your hands? I was so blind– not just about Yangtze, but about you. This wasn’t just about Mehmed or Norn– I created a machine that desensitized all of you to the human world. That’s what the Sunlight Foundation ultimately became. I can’t believe it’s only just now I realize how insane we all were– the surface was as full of horrors as the civilization here is full of its own dignity and beauty! What were we hoping to achieve? What are you, Ganges, hoping to achieve here? Will you abandon Gloria Luxembourg like you abandoned Bhavani Jayasankar if you deem her to develop wrong? Will she also become nothing to you but a failed experiment?!”

Euphrates shouted, putting her hands on Ganges’ shoulders and squeezing the fabric of her sweater, lifting her, banging her against the floor once with an anger she had not felt in hundreds of years, maybe thousands of years. How long ago had she given up on herself, given up banging the glass of her enclosure even after she was released from it? How long ago had she consigned herself to watching through the glass and doing nothing?

How long ago had she cut herself off from everything?

“I cannot afford to fail!” Ganges screamed back. “If she is not cut out for it then yes! I will find a more suitable candidate! I must do this, Euphrates, because nobody else is willing! You and I cannot save this world but someone must! We have to create the conditions for that! We have to do this ruthlessly! Otherwise humanity is as good as dead on our account!”

Euphrates could hardly stand to listen to her.

“Whatever happened to your ideas about human connection? About the aether? About the psychic connections between our brains? About the current that was becoming stronger between all of us, connecting us? What happened to us, Ganges? Why did we cause so much harm when we knew, demonstrably– we discovered something so beautiful.”

“Reality happened to us!” Ganges shouted. “Material reality! Not just our little fantasies!”

Hearing her shout back so loudly, Euphrates paused in her hopeless assault.

Ganges, laying on the floor, shut her eyes and breathed in ragged. Defeated– hurt.

“Euphrates, please stop knocking me about. You’re hurting me. I’m not young anymore. You do not understand. You cannot. Because you will be fine no matter what happens. You will live to see all of our mistakes. I pity you– I really do. But I have to use my time wisely.”

Euphrates drew her eyes wide. Her heart sank suddenly. “You gave up your immortality?”

“Yes. Do you see then? Do you understand I’m sacrificing everything for this? Do you understand why the personal feelings of Gloria Luxembourg or Bhavani Jayasankar do not matter? I gave up my immortality because I needed to understand that time is running out. I needed to humble myself and I needed to pay a price for my inaction.”

That was not enough. It was not enough as much as Euphrates wished she could accept it.

One of her few precious people who could have shared the eras with her–

Someday her friend would die– but she would die a person Euphrates could no longer love.

No matter how desperate she was, it did not atone for anything.

“Ganges, it doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t redeem it, that you’ve made yourself suffer personally for it, that you’ve inconvenienced yourself. That doesn’t set right what you are trying to do to these people and the lengths you say you are willing to go. Ganges, I’ve been with those people you claim did not develop correctly. The people that you discarded. They are sacrificing everything too even if you do not care about their ends. It is not about sacrifice– it’s about what we did with that sacrifice. I don’t have faith in you. Whatever you were scheming to do with Gloria, and with them– I won’t allow it to pass easily.”

Euphrates lifted her hands from Ganges. Eyes filled with tears– pathetic, helpless tears.

“I don’t need your faith. I get the message. You’ll crush me like a bug if I interfere too much. There is nothing I can do about that. You have me in your grasp now, the only true immortal. Fine. I’ll tell you this: I will stay out of Gloria’s way– she will succeed or fail on her own merits, and so will the United Front. Perhaps Kremina and I were not so different. Damn it all.”

Ganges looked so tired and so weary of it all. Drained from all the shouting.

Euphrates was in so much pain, such consuming pain. She had loved them all so much.

None of these events had transpired how she wanted. None of it had been fair.

Loved them too much, became too blinded by her love, and now lashed out because of it.

This awful scene she had caused was worthless. It would do nothing. It was irrational.

All of this was her fault. She had been so ignorant. She had been so self-deluded.

Willfully, convincing herself every step of the way. Everything is fine, everything is correct.

What we are doing, nobody can do, and it is necessary. Everything is necessary.

Because it is us– because it is these people whom we love and trust– therefore it is right?!

Because I like to work with them– because I want them to succeed– it was all fine then?!

It was all crashing continuously over her shoulders, heavy water beating her to the floor.

Her fantasy of ‘saving the world’ was completely at an end. She was just another human.

And the people she loved sharing every moment of that cruel fantasy would be gone too.

Because they had become just like her– pursuing their own delusions.

“Euphrates, please get off me and leave. You got your way. It’s done. I am done.”

Ganges was practically mumbling, unable to meet Euphrates’ eyes.

Finally, Tigris stepped forward and gently took Euphrates’s arms, urging her to move.

Euphrates raised her sleeve to wipe her own tears.

Allowing Tigris to help her to a stand, she turned her back and kept walking.

Out of the meeting room door, Ganges disappearing behind her–

Through the front door–

Out into the third tier commercial district–

“Euphrates, where are we going now?” Tigris asked.

Euphrates did not answer.

In her mind, she was just walking through more of the dust of something once dear.

Climbing those dunes over and over again, that desert of her infinite unreachable memories.

Every grain of sand was sharpened into deadly glass. Scraping, cutting, bleeding her.

Her heart hurt and she did not want to talk, and she did not want to stop walking.

Until, in some nondescript meaningless hallway where she had no right to be–

Euphrates simply broke down crying against a wall, letting all the ugliness out.

And Tigris, at her side, simply watched, and consoled her, held her– and cried with her.


“Bah! What we have here is the finest fighting force for liberation in this damned Imbrium Ocean! If the statists just can’t see that for themselves, then that’s their problem! I am not expecting much here, but maybe we can convince some of them to see reason, ha ha!”

An old rusty barrel belched fire and smoke toward the rocky ceiling, where it was promptly sucked up by old struggling oxycyclers that allowed the old shafts to remain semi-habitable. Aside from the smell of burning in the thin air, there was the rattling sound of the oxycyclers, and the rough floor and walls, and a biting cold. Unwelcoming sensations.

Oil and combustible pellets had been set ablaze in the barrel to confer some warmth, and there were many such barrels. Arrayed around them were bedrolls and tents and boxes of food and equipment. A multitude of figures huddled around them, hidden in black hoodies with thick work gloves to protect their hands from the chill. Most of them were masked up and wore shaded glasses or visors and those who were not, stuck out immediately.

Of the anarchist movement’s visible faces, the most obvious was Taras Moravskyi.

Loudly shouting and boasting without filter even under these dim circumstances.

He was the leader of the “Anti-Authoritarian Volunteer Brigade,” one of the arrows of the Eisern Front. Out of everyone assembled, Moravskyi certainly looked the most warlike. He was a tall and wide individual, with an enormous chest and shoulders and a strong back, thick arms, a square jaw warped by a scar. His laugh was sonorous and deep. He wore a heavy beard, cropped his hair, and wore a thick black trenchcoat that he modified with strips of red synthetic fabric, as if his own political armbands. Nobody in the Eisern Front wore any uniforms, but Moravskyi’s trenchcoat came the closest to representing them.

“Of course, we have some fine cadre assembled here, Comrade Moravskyi. But you see, I still don’t ascribe any particular importance to this event. It is likely to be dominated by the statists as any such event. Whether or not it succeeds, we know that the struggle will continue. So I believe there is little need to compromise or accept odious ideas, nor to proselytize overmuch. Of course, I will still support your endeavors as our delegate.”

Sitting on a bedroll on the floor next to the barrel, across from Moravskyi, was a woman with a soft smile and a gentle face who seemed out of place amid all the hooded heads. She too wore a long black coat, but she wore it over a long dress, its blue skirt section and white button-down top with a black and red ribbon giving her the silhouette of a modest school teacher, perhaps from Luxembourg itself. Her only visible sign of an anarchist’s typical unruliness was her long hair, which had been died a dark, glossy red but had clear black roots, and the uneven dye job left black bands scattered that elided the truth.

Her meticulous makeup and seemingly delicate beauty drew quite a few eyes at the camp.

Her name was Tamar Livnat, leader of the “Anti-Civilization” Aerean Preservation Militia.

And she viewed Moravskyi with a bit of contempt, as one might view a screaming child that was not one’s own. She could not wave away his accomplishments, having been fighting longer than the rest of them. His history was also in its own way somewhat pathetic– Tamar had accomplished in a few years what Moravskyi had in twenty, and she had contributed to Bosporus’ revolution while Moravskyi failed to do anything to respond to the Volkisch Movement in Rhinea. Never even mind his previous failure– in the Union.

Of course, she would not say such a thing to her dear “comrade.”

After all, it was convenient that he volunteer to speak to the United Front.

Let the loudest man labor audibly while the quietest man labored in secret.

“We should get ready to meet them soon.” Tamar said. “I sent my bodyguard ahead to scout the venue. Once I hear from her I’ll be glad to accompany you, comrade Moravskyi.”

“Livnat, the thing I hate most is breaking camp to go talk to the vatnyks.” Moravskyi said.

Despite his sighing, he would do it. Because behind the bluster, he needed the help.

At the moment, the two militias were stationed in the deep, disused passages of the Aachen Massif, the enormous mountain located behind and partially connected to the Aachen stations proper. Each group had about two dozen of their fighters huddled around burning barrels, forming a vanguard, with the vague suggestion to one another that they could summon more if more were necessary. They had been awaiting a third group, the Anti-Fascist militias, but this group had failed to check in with them at the eleventh hour.

She still hoped they would show up at the United Front.

There was nothing they could do– such was the nature of mother anarchy’s children.

The Eisern Front was always a loose assemblage of anti-state forces, in solidarity with each other’s actions but hardly communicating, fearing ever consolidating any of their forces or taking major joint actions. Coming together en masse increased the chance that they would draw unwanted attention. For what they were doing– leaving improvised explosives in government offices, hitting supply ships, assassinating specific people — it made little sense to have an army that moved as a visible collection. It was deleterious, even.

At first the Eisern Front was strongest in Bosporus, recruiting in the student revolts and protests, and in the edges of the Palatine, Buren and Rhinea. When the Bosporus revolution succeeded and took on the anarchist rhetoric that now characterized it, the Eisern Front, who participated in a disjointed fashion, gained a friendly rear area, with some ability to supply. The Buren “red fascists” as they called them, expelled the anarchists from their borders, but they still had connections in the Palatine, who did not undertake such active clearing actions. With the Palatine as a porous road, they could make a move into Rhinea– a worthy endeavor for the Eisern Front and for their Bosporan supporters.

The Palatine had the strength to completely crush the anarchists but were not exercising that ability. Something was happening there. Waking the giant prematurely was impermissible, but Rhinea was a much softer target. The Volkisch were not only more fractious and undisciplined than the imperials, but also far more odious than the staid and lethargic remnants of the Imbrian Empire. A victory over them would be a beautiful symbol of the righteousness of anarchism. Furthermore, infiltrating forces in Eisental allowed for the possibility of encircling Khaybar and finally evicting the Shimii from the pass.

With a free and anarchist Eisental, Bosporus’ revolution would have access to the world.

However, the Eisern Front by itself lacked the ability to carry out any of this.

It would have been different if they could have opened the Khaybar Pass themselves, but that was impossible, as the loathsome Saraya al-Khaybari group occupying the area was far too entrenched for the anarchist insurgency to displace. The United Front presented an opportunity to gain some common allies against common foes. But they could not tip their hand quickly. Their first order of business was to resource– if they could walk away with more weapons or funds from the ill-gotten gains of that bitch Gloria Luxembourg, then it was worth dealing with her bullshit. Secondly, they hoped to infiltrate some of these organizations and maybe turn their fighters and officers away from their statist causes.

Finally, they might hope to secure assistance against Khaybar, with the promise of vast reinforcements from the anarchist militias of Bosporus lying just beyond the pass. While the Union refused to cooperate in breaking the pass, it was possible that their agents would be more pragmatic if the end result was the destruction of the Volkisch Movement. Moravskyi was far too proud to make such a bold request, but it was an item Tamar kept in her pocket, turning with her fingers until such a time as it might be advantageous to play.

Secretly, there was also the possibility that they might seize the ships of the statists.

The Eisern Front lacked the grand warships and military arms of their erstwhile allies.

If the talks completely broke down, then the statists were easier targets than the Volkisch.

Moravskyi supported this option and Tamar pretended to find it distasteful.

“It’ll be hellishly tough, but it might be worth the gamble.” He said, of this plan.

Should such a thing transpire, Tamar would happily sit back and watch Moravskyi try.

And maybe she would join if the odds seemed right to her.

After all, she had more up her sleeve than she let on– but only if the timing was right. Her visit here was all about the timing and circumstances. If the timing remained inappropriate, then she was just Tamar Livnat of a small, humble militia and nobody would be any wiser. She supposed that Moravskyi must have been the same as her in that regard. If he was not, then he truly boasted for nothing, and she would hate him even more in the end.

“Moravskyi, I have a question for you, if you would not mind.” Tamar asked.

“Comrade, you must dispense with the formalities. Anarchists speak their mind openly. Social conventions are just the fascist in your brain holding you back. Say anything you want!”

“I shall endeavor to do so.” Tamar said, smiling. “There is a rumor about the slave revolts in the southern colonies, what became the Union’s revolution. With your history you might be able to clarify it. The rumor that there was a secret agreement between Daksha Kansal and the then-young Duchess of Veka in the east– that she would delay participation in the hostilities in exchange for limiting the Union’s territory at Nama Flow. It is history that Veka failed to open a second front, and the Union succeeded in defending its place.”

“Pfeh!” Moravskyi made a spit-like noise. “The Union– I do not know for certain but I wouldn’t put it past that goddamn bunch of red fascists to have done it! Me and my boys, we wanted to go all the way. Having little duels in the Serrano border and stopping like two gentlemen, when the Imperials had killed our guys, and we had killed theirs– it didn’t sit right with me. And letting the Vekan savages off too– yeah, that Kansal absolutely rejected trying to extend the revolution beyond the three colonies. That’s when I knew the Union wouldn’t ever be righteous. I tried to mutiny; you know? But– it wasn’t to be.”

Tamar smiled a little.

It wasn’t to be– what a funny way to say that he completely failed.

“Thank you, comrade. We will value your historical perspective in the coming days.”

“I wish you had not reminded me of it, to be honest.”

It was useful for Moravskyi to have the Union fresh in his mind going into the talks.

Getting his mood nice and sour would make things take longer and be more interesting.


On the edge of the plaza in the middle of Aachen’s second tier, there was a café and deli that served the office workers coming out for breaks and lunches from the surrounding complexes, and the Volkisch Gau; and for visitors looking to relax in the presence of the park’s lush flora. All seating at Fae Folk was outside the café, on tables and chairs under the crowns of several trees, with the small, plastic café building serving only as a kitchen and counter, with a display for the deli sandwiches showcasing the stacks of meats and pickles between fresh baked bread. A simple but popular place in a strategic location.

At a particularly slow and unconventional time, mid-morning, a pair of women arrived.

Ordering a plate of shredded beef, meat broth, blood sausage, without pickles or bread.

Their beautiful countenances, animated voices and showy attire drew in the workers, who slowly began to cede their initial argument on the specificity of the order, which was like no platter that they offered. It went beyond the customer simply being right– they felt a strange sense that they had to go the extra mile for these particular customers.

They felt they had no other choice.

However, they did provide excellent service in the end, with smiles on their faces.

Of the two women, the most assertive was a princely, tall, pale woman with an almost faery-like beauty. Her fair face had a grin on it that did not falter even at the first denials from the workers, and once she had convinced them to serve her specific order, she laughed gently, gesturing to her companion. Handsome and orderly, she wore her hair down to her neck, intermittently white, black and red, with swept bangs parted on the left. She was sleek and lean, with broad shoulders and a slender chest, dressed in a sportcoat and pants over a provocative, deeply plunging ruffled shirt exposing some of her chest.

At her side was a princess-like girl, smaller and daintier, adorned in lace and ribbons. While the taller woman had slightly more angular facial features, the shorter one had a soft and gentle, almost angelic beauty. Her dress was pure white with the hem at her ankles, interleaved diaphanous portions and cut-out loops along the sleeves and flanks exposing gaps of unblemished white skin. Her very long hair fell behind her back, dyed with similar red and black strands as that of her companion, decorated in a large ribbon that was almost like a pair of wings growing out of the back of her head. She carried herself in a whimsical fashion, giggling and smiling, deferential and girlishly receptive to the endless flattery and attempts to impress with which her companion showered her.

“Darling, they were so rude to us before, but look at them go now!” She giggled.

“Of course– but do not view them too harshly, my love. They simply required instruction on how to meet the needs of more high-end clientele. Proper conditioning made all the difference. Let us understand this is all part of the hominin experience.”

The taller woman invited the shorter one to take seat under the trees.

Taking up a four-seat table by themselves, rearranging the chairs so theirs were closer.

Watching with mild amusement as the workers dropped everything they were doing to ready their orders. Though everything was already prepared, the pair requested a large amount of each item, and particular arrangements. They wanted the broth in a kettle with cups to serve, and the sausages cut into bites, and the beef cuts arranged like flowers, and for no item to have touched brine or sat under a lamp. It took a few minutes, but three workers soon had everything laid out on the table to the pair’s liking and stood before them.

All bowing, and thanking them, and letting them know everything would be free.

“See how obedient they are now? Thank you dearly, little hominins. You may carry on.”

That tall and graceful visitor with the cruel grin was Syzygy Enforcer I: Avaritia.

“My prince, so graceful and merciful toward such rabble! Ahh! I am falling in love again!”

And the delicate, hyperfeminine beauty with a callous smile was Syzygy Enforcer III: Gula.

“Would you like a cup, my sweet little morsel?” Avaritia gestured to the kettle.

“My lips will accept anything of yours, my prince.” Gula said, winking coquettishly.

Avaritia took the kettle, stood from her seat, bowed near Gula, and began to fill her cup.

Gula giggled, clapping her hands together at her lover’s graceful mannerisms.

Once the cups were filled, Avaritia sat anew, and offered Gula a blood sausage.

Taking a piece with her fork and holding it up in the air.

“You’re too kind, my guardian, knight of my heart.” Gula said.

Her lips had barely spread when the sausage seemed to simply disappear from the fork.

In a split second, Gula was chewing delicately, as if the movement of the fork to her mouth had been edited out of video footage, such was the speed and abruptness of the transition. Avaritia watched in rapt attention, throwing amorous smiles and whispering sweet nothings as the smaller woman poked at every item of food on the table.

Many morsels consumed without even a touch.

Avaritia ate almost nothing– nearly all of the food was going to Gula.

While the two were captivated with one another, in their own island of public affection–

There was a sudden, rhythmic clapping of heels on floor tiles.

Suddenly, a shadow stretched over them and just as suddenly dipped below them.

Across from the pair, an uninvited guest, a woman, took up one of the remaining seats.

She leaned forward, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, setting black-gloved hands on the table with a smile as if to show she was not holding anything. Dressed boldly in a dark blue suit jacket without a shirt beneath, perfectly fit to her strong shoulders, buttoned just low enough to expose cleavage and a black bra with an ornate trim. She had matching dress pants and high heels worn without socks or tights. Elegant waves of glossy, silky blond hair she wore to the shoulder, lusciously red lips, perfectly fair skin, and a knockout body– and she walked like she owned the entire station, and this table with it too.

Such daring attire did not look out of place in the same table as the pair.

However, the glances that they gave the visitor did not suggest familiarity.

“Don’t mind me.” She said, with a bit of a Volgian accent. “Keep the good times going.”

“Darling, were we expecting such a modern visitor?” Gula asked, bearing sharp teeth.

“No dear; but do not fret. Stranger– to whom do we owe the pleasure?” Avaritia asked.

In response to the inquiry, their visitor pulled down her sunglasses and winked at them.

Avaritia’s lips curled up into a grin. She recognized her. Of course–

“Korabiskaya.” She said, a hint of danger in her voice.

Across the table, Ulyana Korabiskaya smiled, fingers delicately pulling the glasses off her nose and into the pocket of her jacket in one elegant motion. Her heart was beating fast, but she relished being able to surprise these two demons. Her performance of confidence in this moment was ironclad, she was giving everything with the utmost focus.

Everything for a femme fatale’s red lips and cool gaze.

“Indeed. But what should I call you? Something shorter than ‘the fake Zozia’?”

Ulyana leaned back on her chair, putting one of her heels up on the table.

Gula stared at Ulyana’s long legs in the fitted dress pants.

Personally, Ulyana thought her legs looked spectacular, but Gula looked, finally, annoyed.

“Darling, perhaps we ought to show her–?”

Avaritia raised a hand as if to call a halt. Gula’s eyes lost some of their icy focus.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten. Enjoy the spread and leave the talking to me.”

“Yay,” Gula smiled placidly, turning her attention back to the food.

“Did you brainwash her too?” Ulyana asked.

“No, she’s just like that. Now get your feet off the table or I’ll cut them off. It’s rude.”

Ulyana acquiesced. From that woman, the false Zozia, “Avaritia,” it was not an idle threat.

In terms of their respective combat abilities, Ulyana was outclassed.

Outclassed by sheer magnitudes— completely, exponentially unable to defend herself.

Avaritia could have swatted her into a smear if it came to a physical brawl.

But not in these circumstances.

Not in public, not in the middle of tier two of Aachen, not in some café at the park.

Not with the Volkisch Gau and the Uhlan barracks a stone’s throw away.

Not against Ulyana, whose willpower she could not break as easily as she did to others.

Thanks to the reports from Euphrates and Arabella, Ulyana knew her advantages.

So far, they had cleared the first hurdle. Avaritia was not jumping the gun to attack her.

Therefore, the two of them, commanders on opposing sides, could finally talk honestly.

“You are not Zozia Chelik and Ksenia Apfel. I know that much. You are Omenseers.” Ulyana said the last in a tone slightly more hushed than the rest. “I’m at your table today to talk business, and this time, to talk business to you, to the Omenseers, not the personas you adopted. I want to talk honestly, about your motives and about my own.”

Gula reached across the table suddenly, drawing Ulyana’s eyes toward her hands.

She picked up a piece of blood sausage, took it to her mouth, and chewed happily.

Avaritia grinned. “Just to talk? Or did you also feel like sweating a little?”

God damn it– Ulyana was letting some of her nervousness get through.

“After what happened in Kreuzung, we’re all sweating a little, aren’t we?”

“I’m mostly untroubled.” Avaritia said.

“Mostly untroubled that three of my subordinates killed a dozen of yours?” Ulyana asked.

Avaritia’s eyes fixed Ulyana’s directly. She was still grinning, but the barb had struck.

“A free lesson in our positions: death is less of an obstacle for us than it is for you.”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I want to officially apologize for what happened.”

For the first time Avaritia looked surprised. She kept grinning, but her eyes opened wider.

“You want to apologize? Interesting. Do go on. Apologize to me.”

Ulyana smiled back. “Consider this my official apology. One of my subordinates violated my trust and ignored orders, leaving our protection to attack you. It is my understanding that she heavily injured you, and I am glad that you were not killed– it would have made reconciliation much harder.” She spied the face of her opponent as she described what happened and thought she saw faint irritation creeping across that handsome face of hers. She continued when Avaritia offered no response. “Three more of my subordinates joined her, again without orders, starting a skirmish with your troops, resulting in disproportionate loss of life. I deeply regret this incident and I am here to make amends for this. None of this was my intention and I have disciplined all of my subordinates involved.”

Avaritia made a low noise, like a single cut-down breath of a longer laugh.

“You are referring to my attacker as your subordinate.” She said. “You can’t be speaking to me today and fail to understand the significance that she and that body of hers have. She is someone fit to lord over you. Frankly, it’s even a bit insulting for you to address her so.”

“I describe the situation as I understand it. I apologize if I had caused offense– I am not fully conversant in your culture. That aside, I want to hear your thoughts in response.”

“I find it ridiculous that you would come to me to apologize.” Avaritia said. “But it’s also very interesting, and I like you hominins best when you are being interesting. For better or worse you have such a depth, such a capacity, to do things that are strange and whimsical.”

“Will you accept my official apology, Avaritia?” Ulyana said, finally using her name.

Avaritia bristled. “Of course not. What can you even do for me to compensate for it?”

“Let me reach into my coat, without a violent reaction– I have something for you.”

Ulyana lifted her her gloved hand and gestured just over her partially exposed breasts.

“Go ahead then.” Avaritia said, a curious look in her eyes.

From an inside pocket of her jacket, Ulyana withdrew a vial filled with a thick red fluid.

Blood. Human blood.

Her own blood, slick in the vial as she turned it. Treated to slow coagulation.

Inside the vial, within the blood, also floated a sliver of slightly more solid matter.

Avaritia’s face lit up. She laughed.

“You have no idea what you are offering, do you?” She said.

“My blood, skin scrapings, and a bit of my flesh, taken from a harmless place.” She said.

Ulyana set the vial on the table, tapping on the plastic cap. She slid it over to Avaritia.

Avaritia looked down at the vial. She picked it up, looked into it, shook it.

Anyone else in this situation might have considered the possible threat posed by an enemy bearing a gift. Whether poison or something more high-tech like a swallowable tracker, a human would have had doubts and suspected some kind of trick. Avaritia did not seem at all troubled by such possibilities. She simply and elegantly uncapped the vial and took Ulyana’s flesh into herself without questioning the contents or Ulyana’s character. Swallowing it swiftly like a shot of liquor and seeming to enjoy the taste. Ulyana thought, perhaps there was no meaningful way for a human to poison this creature.

In fact she had not even bothered. She was being quite honest in her approach.

There was nothing else that she had and was willing to give that Avaritia might accept.

But if Omenseers liked the taste of humans, perhaps Ulyana might turn out to be a delicacy.

Avaritia set the empty vial down on the table, rolled it back to Ulyana.

Grinning ear to ear.

“You have no idea how close you came to destruction with that gesture.” Avaritia said.

“I have some idea.” Ulyana said, trying to sound calm.

Beside a vague desire to find out whether she was tasty, Ulyana also knew, from Arabella’s distressed account of the events in Kreuzung, that there was a possibility Avaritia was actually a walking and talking DNA-based computer. In that case, Avaritia, who possibly consumed Zozia Chelik and Ksenia Apfel in order to impersonate them, could potentially gather information from human DNA that she consumed and store it in herself. That taste of Ulyana would tell her– whether Ulyana was worth killing or not.

All of these were conjectures, but Ulyana liked her chances, and was notably still alive.

“Ulyana Korabiskaya,” Avaritia said, an amused note in her tone of voice.

“Indeed. What say you?” Ulyana asked, meeting Avaritia’s eyes with an iron focus.

“Apology accepted.”

In the next instant–

the grinning demon reared and lifted her arm and thrust forward with abandon,

to offer a handshake.

“What say you?” Avaritia said, her hand awaiting.

Ulyana, initially startled by the sudden movement, soon returned the gesture.

Sighing deeply, her chest pounding, feeling the sweat beads dribble down her collarbones.

“I am glad we can put this behind us. I have something else I wish to discuss.” Ulyana said.

Still holding Avaritia’s hand in her own.

Unsurprisingly, the monster in human skin had a gentle and unpretentitious handshake.

She had nothing to prove to a lesser being like Ulyana, whom Omenseers lorded over.

“I want to ask you for a favor, and in turn, I will owe you a favor.” Ulyana said.

“Interesting. I am slowly warming to this possibility.” Avaritia said. “It is rare for hominin to pay me tribute as you have. I believe you are a rare hominin who is close to a true understanding of the world and its correct order. I will not go out of my way to protect you, but I’d hate for you to die unspectacularly. So, tell me how I can help you.”

Avaritia sounded flattered, full of herself. What had she gleaned from that blood?

Ulyana gently and with respect, unwound her fingers from Avaritia’s own.

Her touch was warm, like that of any human. Not that she was expecting much different.

“I understand that you do not truly care about the anarchist cause. You are infiltrating them for another matter. I won’t pry into your motives unless you wish to disclose them, nor will I protect the Eisern Front from your activities. But I want your cooperation– share confidential information from the anarchists with me. In exchange, I will assist you in achieving your aim, in accordance with the value of the service you provided for me.”

“I’m curious how you found us. We haven’t joined the anarchists just yet.” Avaritia said.

“Unsecured CCTV. We have a good hacker, and you stick out in public.” Ulyana said.

Whether or not Avaritia even understood the response, she did not further pursue the topic.

“Very well. You, again, truly have no idea what you are offering, Ulyana Korabiskaya.”

“No, I don’t. Nor do I expect you to explain. But present matters are worth future risk.”

Avaritia slowly worked up a laugh in front of Ulyana, lowering her eyes to the table.

“Incredible! What an incredible Hominin! Your soul is truly bright.”

“So they tell me.”

“I will accept your offer.” Avaritia said. “I will even courteously explain what I will demand from you. Right now, I am looking for certain individuals. I will not disclose the criteria– but in the future I might seek your assistance in finding them, and when I do, you will help me devour them. That is what you signed up for. In exchange, I will play the best anarchist I can, and I will become your asset within their organization. We have a deal.”

Ulyana did not feel particularly proud to have agreed to kidnap people to feed this beast.

But it was all incumbent on the assistance Avaritia provided, and when she cashed it in.

Perhaps by then, Karuniya Maharapratham might have made a crucial breakthrough.

Unsavory as it was, this was not the worst concession Avaritia could have demanded.

The Brigand had killed plenty of people too, with families, hopes and dreams of their own.

At any rate, all of that was a problem for the future Ulyana Korabiskaya, that poor bitch.

In the present, she would hope that there was a benefit to doing all of this.

Especially since the rear of her thigh quite stung where it was incised and then stitched.

“Tell me– what made you so sure I would not simply devour you here?” Avaritia said.

She still wanted to talk– fine, Ulyana could humor her and thus, maintain her good humor.

“With your power, you’ve had ample opportunity to pursue your grievances with me. You could have followed Arabella to the ship, and we could have killed each other in fruitless struggle. You did not; you sent your subordinates first and ultimately you let the matter go entirely.” Ulyana said. “So, I began to understand you care about resources and have a specific agenda. There are people worth killing for you, worth devouring. From what we have learned, and also the fact you were impersonating Zozia Chelik, I realized you were there to kill Zozia and infiltrate the anarchists. It was within your means. You have proven me correct. You are only targeting specific people and won’t go out of your way for others.”

“Interesting. So, armed with that deduction, you then risked coming to meet me?”

“Is it so odd to you? My life is always on the line here. I’m not on a pleasure cruise.”

Ulyana put on a smile a bit more elegantly cold than Avaritia’s grin.

“You’re quite crafty. It will be quite convenient when I get to use you.” Avaritia said.

“You’ll get as much as you give. Work hard, okay?” Ulyana replied.

She stood up unceremoniously, turned her back on Avaritia and Gula, and left the table.

Anything could have happened in that split second–

And nothing at all did. Avaritia and Gula remained seated, returning to their meal.

Ulyana walked away, with her deal struck and a burden off of her shoulders.

They could find each other again easily– they’d see each other at the United Front.

There was nothing more that needed to be said, and Avaritia did nothing more.

However, there was a takeaway from the encounter the Omenseer may not have foreseen.

“You’re not all-powerful. You don’t have the resources to stop us.”

Ulyana smiled to herself. Every enemy in front of her had some kind of weakness.

Leaving that particular corner of the wooded park, Ulyana walked to the diametrically opposite corner, to a second café that was also taking advantage of the same business model as Fae Folk was. There, under a tree, she spotted a Shimii woman, skin a rich olive-tan with bright orange eyes, her dark-furred ears fluffed up and upright. Dressed in a cute yellow cardigan over a warm brown dress, modest and timeless, her long, dark hair worn freely.

Along with a conspicuous looking pair of sunglasses perched on her soft nose.

“Mind if I join you?” Ulyana asked, looming over the girl’s table with a rakish smile.

Pushing down her sunglasses, her Commissar, Aaliyah Bashara, looked up at the Captain.

“How did it go? I’m glad to see you well.” She said, a small smile playing on her lips.

She would not say it outright, but she looked like she could finally breathe easy.

“Everything went as I hoped it would. We’re all set for now.” Ulyana said.

“I was against attempting this– but I am glad to have been wrong this time.” Aaliyah said.

“I appreciate your discretion as always.” Ulyana said. She pulled her glasses down her nose slightly, to expose her eyes. “Aaliyah, we went to some lengths to get these clothes and dress up, and we’ll have to change again soon– would you mind having a drink with me? I would like to indulge the fantasy of a charming executive and a vibrant girl.”

Her gloved finger slid playfully across the drink menu projected on the table.

Aaliyah glanced at the menu and back at Ulyana, meeting her eyes.

She smiled and let out a little sigh, perhaps more fond than frustrated.

“I will let your charms overcome me this one time, Yana.” Aaliyah said.

Ulyana smiled, and took her seat, not across Aaliyah’s table, but close beside.

She reached and took Aaliyah’s hand, gently gliding a thumb over her fingers.

“How does a Radler sound?” Ulyana said, her free hand tapping on the menu.

Aaliyah smiled, her lightly flushed face again mixing exasperation and endearment.

“I’ll have whatever you are having. Just don’t take advantage, you cad.” She said softly.


“Social fascists and red nationalists, the lot of you! Going to send me to your gulags?”

“Worthless blowhard! You anarchists can’t even organize your wardrobes!”

“Ahh– everyone’s so energetic– can we perhaps take a breather to look at this chart–?”

At the bar and restaurant Oststadt, the private VIP back area resounded with the screams of its occupants. Thankfully, the front of the bar had also been completely bought out and buttoned up, the glass doors shut and a sign out in front, and it looked to the world as if the place had mostly just closed for the week. Discretely, the venue was actually rented in its entirety for a week of events hosted by a wealthy heiress. No activity spilled out onto the raised street adjacent establishment’s plot on the third tier commercial district.

The décor for the Oststadt was rather unique among Aachen’s restaurant culture. Completely white walls faked the black veins of real marble, while decorative white plastic columns with gold-painted rings on their bases and ends framed the bar, the doorways, and the divisions between booth seats in the restaurant area. Fake laurel wreathes, biostitched, perfumed daily, and set high up on the walls, added pops of green to the decoration. The Oststadt evoked an eastern aesthetic, which to the Imbrian mind was usually Veka, but in this case, was meant to be even farther east, recalling old Katarran decadence. It was likely this classic, romantic aesthetic that drew Gloria Innocence Luxembourg to host in it.

It served as an almost ridiculous backdrop to the farce that its fake marble walls contained.

Where the Oststadt was old and stately, its inhabitants were for better or worse quite new.

“Do you remember what even started this argument?” Ulyana asked, shoulders sagging.

“No.” Aaliyah replied, the fur standing up on her folded ears, her tail curled into a spiral.

There had been so many exchanges of barbs and the retorts had become so circular that it was nearly impossible to entangle what had set them off. Taras Moravskyi had entered into the meeting full of bluster, greeting no one, never introducing himself, and immediately demanding that the meeting begin even though some of his own colleagues had not even assembled yet. Erika Kairos had been watching him the whole time and seemed, perhaps, to know about him, enough that she shouted back with a mind to put him in his place and establish order over the proceedings. Moravskyi shouted back about the ‘fascist in her brain’ and the two of them were off. There had not been a moment’s peace since then. It was only by some miracle that Erika did not reach out and tear Moravskyi’s head off.

“You red-fascists were never serious about reconciliation! You were always here to try to get us to show up and impose your rules on us! But Taras Moravskyi is here to tell you we are indomitable! We will take you to task for your crimes against the people!”

“Taras Moravskyi is here to act like a babbling drunk! Much like he is at any other place! Barking about imaginary crimes to a people he has not served in years! We are here to talk about more than squatting and detonating fireworks in public parks!”

Ulyana could hardly believe that Erika would stoop to such–

No. She paused and realized that she could believe this scene completely and utterly.

She could believe it, because–

Murati.

It was just like the disciplinary records of Murati’s previous behavior.

Erika was just like Murati– she just had more responsibilities to keep her occupied.

Those two–

“Could Murati blow up like this in the middle of the ship someday?” Ulyana mumbled.

“Captain– We have more pressing concerns.” Aaliyah said, sighing deeply.

Besides Moravskyi and Erika, whose presences monopolized the “proceedings,” there were a few other people waiting and watching at the table. Avaritia and Gula eventually took their places, sitting at the far end of the table removed from the cacophony. Avaritia shot Ulyana a wink, which Ulyana did not terribly appreciate at the time. In the midst of the sound and fury, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg struggled to get through to her counterparts. As always she represented an overly-precious and sunny presence. Dressed in a long, angelic white dress with a figure-hugging bodice, transparent sleeves, and a slightly wide skirt, her long, pink hair flowing in glossy, subtle waves. She had a portable with some kind of plan on it that she wanted Erika and Moravskyi to stop fighting long enough to actually look at.

In addition, there were two other figures of the anarchists.

A young woman, rather pretty, dressed a bit conservatively, that Ulyana did not know; and standing against the wall directly behind her, an unarmed bodyguard with her arms crossed and her head bowed. From their positions she surmised the woman at the table was one of the Eisern representatives, but she had not even had a chance to introduce herself. She made no fuss about it and simply watched as it was all mildly amusing to her. Meanwhile the woman behind her shot contemptuous looks at the table every so often before turning her gaze back down to the floor. She was a broad-shouldered and broad-backed woman, tall and dexterous of figure. Her hair, long and black and straight, and the small features of her face, reminded Ulyana somewhat of far easterners like her security officer Zhu Lian.

For Ulyana, that was a rare sight– but there were plenty of Hanwans and Yunese in Veka and it stood to reason they could have made it to any part of the Empire from there.

While their passivity was curious to Ulyana, she could not blame them for keeping clear.

Meanwhile Daksha Kansal and Kremina were mysteriously absent despite their supposed involvement. Gloria had excused them to Erika prior to the meeting. It was this more than anything that made Ulyana a bit disappointed– she had wanted to see Daksha Kansal again after all these years and perhaps ask her a few questions that had been troubling her. For Ulyana, as a Union officer, it was difficult not to think of Kansal as a negligent parent in an admittedly petty way. Especially because of Kremina and her arrogance back in Kreuzung.

No use dwelling on it; seated closer to Ulyana were Erika’s guests for the deliberations.

“Hey, can we just tell them to shut up? This is getting ridiculous. I’m about to blow too!”

Ulyana was seated the closest to the leadership trio– unfortunately– and Aaliyah sat directly beside her. On Aaliyah’s right, Eithnen Ní Faoláin sat with her arms crossed and her head bowed, looking mighty annoyed at what was transpiring and making it known. Rather than her Republican uniform, she was dressed the same as Aaliyah and Ulyana in a Treasure Box Transports uniform. She had her red hair up in a bun, and the uniform looked good on her. On her right, sat her adjutant Tahira Agyie, a slight woman, dark-skinned with braided hair, the braids collected into a ponytail. She pushed up her glasses. Eithnen’s shirt was half unbuttoned and her tie hung undone. Tahira was meticulously dressed in comparison, and she sat almost stiffly straight beside the looser and more relaxed Eithnen.

“Captain, I’m afraid it would only give them another target.” Tahira advised Eithnen.

“I suppose so. Ugh. I barely even understand some of what they’re saying.” Eithnen said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aaliyah said. “I’m sure they must be running out of steam.”

In the next instant, a sharp and sudden wail rose over the cacophony–

“BOTH OF YOU BE QUIET! LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW!”

So shrill was this cry that it might have rent armor and set agarthicite to bursting.

Erika and Moravskyi both stopped in their tracks, breathlessly staring at

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg.

Teeth clenched, shaking hands on her portable, reddened eyes, troubled breathing.

“Excuse me, friends, comrades, even,” Gloria said, with Erika and Moravskyi finally under control, however briefly, and barely able to maintain her dainty affect “I did not organize this little shindig to inflame tensions between us. We are here because we have a common enemy, and greater responsibilities– so if the esteemed members here do not have a proposal to make, then allow me to put forward a framework that we can discuss.”

She held her portable computer with both hands, showing Erika and Moravskyi the screen.

At the precise moment that Gloria was showing off the screen, Ulyana could not see it. She would later learn that there was an excruciatingly detailed organizational chart with more twisting lines than a noodle dish. In this chart, Gloria herself sat at the very top, Erika directly below, and all military forces under Erika’s control with the anarchist irregulars subordinated under this umbrella as if they did not have an officer class which– technically they did not. In the specific moment of the unveiling, what Ulyana could actually see were the confused expressions on Moravskyi’s and Erika’s faces as they looked at the screen. After a moment they squinted their eyes as if it would make something else appear on it.

Gloria smiled brightly and proudly, like a child showing off a graded test to her parents.

Increasingly, Erika’s and Moravskyi’s expressions showed very similar consternation to that which they began the meeting with. Neither could contain their level of offense.

“You want me to order around this chaotic rabble?”

“You want me to take orders from this authoritarian harpy?”

Immediately, Erika and Moravskyi’s rage-filled gazes met one another again.

Before they could start another shouting match, however–

Tahira Agyie raised her hand from beside Eithnen, surprising even her Captain.

“Excuse me! Might I have a word before any– further debate?” She asked.

Gloria and Moravskyi turned to look at her with a mild confusion.

Erika seemed to silently urge her to speak.

Gloria acquiesced to the interruption.

None of them seemed prepared for anyone outside their bubble to have spoken up.

“Thank you.” Tahira said. She stood up from her seat. Her voice surprisingly calm. “From what I was able to draw from our– spirited debate– it appears we have a bit of an impasse on the topic of integrating our forces. I would like to propose an initial solution to this issue. In the Republic forces, there is an instrument known as a Joint Information Exchange Center or J.I.E.C. that acts as an official intermediary between the Republic Navy and useful militant groups, such as the Rhodos Republic in Katarre or the Restoration Society in the Yu states. When one group finds intelligence noteworthy to another group, they share it through the J.I.E.C. and are able to coordinate and support each other, while retaining their individual autonomy of action. Since there are obstacles to an integrated command, why don’t we instead begin with a Joint Information Exchange for the United Front? Captain Eithnen Ní Faoláin could perhaps assist– she served with distinction in J.I.E.C South.”

Eithnen looked startled to have been addressed at all in the middle of that description.

“Huh? Oh, I mean– yeah I was in charge of J.I.E.C. South for a bit– before I got demoted and sent to jail that is.” Eithnen did not look very happy to be remembering it, or to be speaking at all, but she stood up beside Tahira to address the room promptly now that she was drafted into the conversation. She managed a professional tone of voice. “I worked with a militia in Hanwa– the Patriot Society or something like that– and well, I definitely did not have even a little bit of control over how they carried themselves. But I did get intelligence from them on Hanwan actions, and I did contribute intelligence back. So it does stand to reason we could put together a similar thing for the forces here and make it work.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Tahira said, taking over again with a rare smile on her face. “I believe that a J.I.E.C of our own could be a coherent framework for our future cooperation while preserving our multiplicity of opinions and types of actions. In the coming meetings, we could further refine and discuss how we would organize and use this system– but for now, I believe it serves as a good guarantee that no group shall control the others, in part or in totality, and should allay the concerns of Mr. Moravskyi as to his group’s autonomy, as well as Premier Kairos’ concerns toward organizational discipline. While also allowing us to make concerted use of our resources toward a common goal. I yield the floor.”

Tahira saluted the three leaders, Luxembourg, Kairos and Moravskyi in turn.

She then sat back down, quietly and calmly, and Eithnen quickly sat down beside her.

Ulyana and Aaliyah were stunned– none of this was anything Erika rehearsed with them.

Erika in fact had kept what she would say and do in this opening meeting close to the chest. Before devolving into communist schoolgirl debate club arguments– which Ulyana assumed out of respect for her was not what she intended to do and she was just caught in a passion.

But Tahira had just stood up and potentially saved the entire meeting more wasted time.

Purely improsivational. Such was the prowess of Eithnen Ní Faoláin’s adjutant.

Mashallah,” Aaliyah whispered, sighing deeply. “I’m really glad we rescued them.”

Ulyana turned to face the three group leaders, who remained a bit stunned for a moment.

Perhaps ashamed of their previous antics compared to Tahira’s reasonable proposition.

To her credit, from among the three Erika recomposed herself and spoke first.

“Though she is one of my subordinates, independently of that I find it a most excellent proposition from adjutant Agiey.” Erika said. “The Nationale Volksarmee does not wish, and does not currently possess the capacity, to lead all of the forces of the Front as the esteemed Ms. Luxembourg proposes. We recognize Mr. Moravskyi’s concerns over his autonomy also. At this juncture I agree a framework for coordination makes more sense than an integrated command structure. I am in favor– what say my colleagues?”

“Ah– Yes, indeed, indeed.” Gloria said. “It sounds a most appealing idea. I worry that it might be too unambitious for what we could accomplish? Perhaps we can even expand it into an instrument to share policy ideas and even pool supplies? I think all of us can benefit from a deep but individual cooperation. We’ll discuss it– for now, I vote in favor.”

“I–” Moravskyi still looked a bit taken aback. “Yeah– I guess that sounds good for now.”

Meet with reason, even Moravskyi seemed cowed into silence.

With the rousing debate concluded, the United Front ratified its first agreement– they would establish an instrument for coordination and decide its character and contents another day. And so, everyone adjourned, and agreed to reconvene throughout the week to continue discussions on how best to cooperate, what their objectives might be, and on resourcing.

“Don’t you love it when things come together?” Erika said, tossing her hair on the way out.

Ulyana and Aaliyah stared at her but said nothing, and glanced at one another with a sigh.

In that moment they perhaps shared a single simultaneous thought:

Murati, please do not develop this sort of temper!!

Eisental United Front Status

Nationale Volksarmee (Presiding)

Reichsbanner Schwarzrot (At The Table)

Eisern Front (At The Table)


That night, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg was consumed in a fury.

“I can’t believe it! I just choked in the middle of all that! God fucking damn it!”

She stomped her feet and threw her plushies and bit the pads of her thumbs.

Her first setback transpired before the meeting, when Daksha Kansal told her she would be limiting her presence to the United Front and would not attend the first several meetings. Her stated reason was that she did not want to monopolize the initial character of the United Front with her presence, and instead wanted to serve as an advisor to whatever form the United Front took after the initial discussions in order to preserve their spontainety and dynamism. Effectively, she would participate in the final events of the week as Gloria had planned them. Gloria almost wanted to tell her to her face that she knew this was bullshit– but she held her tongue and controlled her temper in front of her mentor.

Then, in the United Front’s first meeting, she ended up the meekest of all the leaders.

Erika and Moravskyi were always going to come to blows, there was no doubt about that. They were natural opposites. Erika herself must have planned to try to cow Moravskyi, or at least to come out of the first meeting with her independence and strength demonstrated and preserved. She had something to prove. Moravskyi was a blowhard by nature– he was always attending just to shout and bluster about his autonomy and moral rectitude. He was the established old soldier who now had to deal with the up-and-comers.

Knowing this, it was up to a third party to create any balance. Gloria had hoped to either mediate between them or to get them to calm down– giving them the way out of their predicaments. She knew it was a long shot, but they barely even read the charts.

Then that one Republican defector threw a massive spanner in the works.

While she was tongue-tied in the face of Erika and Moravskyi, Tahira Agyie proposed a thoroughly reasonable idea that everyone could get on board with. The fact that a guest from the Volksarmee camp was the one to finally deflate the tensions was galling– Gloria should have brought some of her own people, but she was so focused on her own self and her own image. But of course, nobody else in Schwarzrot had any ideas anyway.

She was the one with the ideas here!

Not only that, but the rest of the Eisern delegates were quiet the entire time.

They did not even attempt to reel in Moravskyi! They made no proposals of their own!

Almost as if they wanted him to derail everything! They were far too passive.

She could point fingers all day. One fact remained clear.

Gloria had blown her first shot at taking control of the United Front.

It was not the last shot she would have– but it was the best one.

Fuming alone in her apartment, she dropped on the couch, and wrung a cushion in her hands.

Beginning then to think about her next move.

In order to make up for this setback, Gloria had to find some way to expand this “instrument of coordination” to include the ability to influence her partners. Money was her first idea, and the easiest one that came to her. Money was something she had in spades, and that everyone else sorely needed. Erika was likely low on funds and Moravskyi likely had nothing to his name. Gloria would have enormous soft power within the United Front and its organizations if she could wave money around within the agreed framework.

In theory, she still held all of the most important cards.

The Reichsbanner Schwarzot had the money, it had ships, it had divers, everything.

On her whim she could have summoned a force strong enough to take Aachen.

Possibly.

Once these meetings were over and they had to fight the Volkisch, it was unconscionable that the likes of the Eisern Front could get anything done without Gloria’s money and manpower. The Nationale Volksarmee was a different story, but not that different. They had hardware and experience, but they had no influence or wealth, and would need to establish better supply. She could still exert some control over them too.

Gloria started to calm herself down.

Even in the worst case scenario, she was still the best positioned out of the three to become the leader of a leftist Eisental. Her vision of the world had the most appeal to normal people, and she had the most resources. Even if the United Front ended up with Erika at the fore, Gloria would never be far behind. She was already monumentally ahead of the game. Would the people of Eisental care who was the most eloquent and influential in the United Front? It would be nothing but an anecdote in the history books. Gloria could still win.

Then she would shape Eisental in her image– and maybe even the Imbrium.

President of a Social-Democratic Republic. Carefully managed markets, exemplary labor relations, strong wages and plentiful goods, freedom of the press and speech, full gender and sexual equality, a flourishing of the arts, a professional army of liberated and educated men and women. It would dispense with the bleak totalitarianism of both the Fueller Reformation and the Union Revolution but preserve enough of the Imbrian character to allow for a smooth, peaceful transition toward socialism. Her people would learn to love socialism, from the crudest laborer up to the managerial and business class. In her imagination, even the steel and glass of this world was brighter, even the water would shine, and all of it under her graceful and beautiful countenance, like an angel.

“There is no need to fear, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg.” She told herself.

Yes– she had an immutable advantage. Power born into power, instituted into her flesh.

Those girls protesting the war just didn’t understand how futile their struggle was.

Some hierarchies, some injustices, were burned into the flesh of the Imbrian permanently.

Identifying where things would change, and where they would stay the same–

Understanding that only power could topple power– noblesse oblige–

That was the difference between the mighty Gloria Innocence Luxembourg and

the poor girls who founded a book club she attended only to have it beaten out of them–

Gloria’s eyes drew wide. “No– Don’t– don’t think like that! Why that–? No– I’m not–”

In a sudden panic she scrolled through the functions of her watch for her mood manager–

When suddenly there was a ring on the digital doorbell.

Catching her off-guard, as she lay nearly in tears on her couch.

“Ah! One little second please! Still prepping my makeup!” She cried out.

Just barely falsifying her tone of voice to fit the character she wanted to play.

From the door, a voice message played.

“Ma’am, it’s me, Mia. Please take your time. Thank you for having me.”

Gloria had almost forgotten–

She bolted to a stand and ran into her bedroom. This she could not afford to mess up.

Looking herself over, the wall over her vanity cabinet becoming a mirror.

Her hair was a bit messy. She brushed it quickly. Her dress looked– acceptable.

For something she had been wearing for hours it was practically pristine.

She touched up her makeup. Applying a bit more eyeshadow to mask the puffiness.

It would not do for Mia to know that she was crying and screaming.

“Coming~!” She said, her voice returning with ease to its saccharine register. “I am so sorry! My day has been soooo busy, Mia, dear! Your presence is a breath of fresh air!”

Before Mia could send another message through the door, Gloria had bolted back to it.

When the door opened, there was no evidence she had been hyperventilating.

And on the other side, stood a truly ravishing girl, the real prize of the day.

Mia Weingarten was a shot of adrenaline to the constitution of a weary Gloria. Just looking at her sent electricity running throughout the heiress’ body. Wearing a large and lacy black hat with a black coat and sunglasses to try to disguise her appearance, but beneath, her delicate frame stood lightly draped in a tight little synthetic dress, exposing her shapely legs, her thin and elegant arms, the slim collarbones and small shoulders. Framing her narrow waist, curving over small, supple breasts. Her girlish face with its youthful features.

Bashful, perhaps ashamed. So beautiful, so tantalizing.

Gloria reached out and took Mia’s hat in a playful act, unveiling her sky-blue ponytail.

“Come in, come in! Make yourself at home, Mia dearest.”

For a moment, Mia stood on the edge of that threshold after being invited.

Perhaps realizing that if that door closed behind her, she had made a certain decision.

And indeed, once she worked up the courage to cross into Gloria’s apartment–

It took the merest instance for the door to close and lock behind her.

Her timid expression did not change. Nor did Gloria’s irrepressible excitement.

Gloria led Mia to the couch, urging her to get comfortable.

From the kitchen she returned with drinks, slim glasses held between thumb and forefinger.

Set them down on the table and sat next to her guest, who smiled a bit, accepted it politely.

Mia reached out, drank, put the glass back, in a quick, almost desperate motion.

While Gloria’s hand wandered to Mia’s lap, stroking the soft, silky skin of her plush thighs.

Crawling tentatively beneath the hem of her short skirt–

Mia’s eyes wandered away in shame–

Until Gloria’s hand reached out and gently guided her chin so that their eyes met again.

To where Mia could not escape the irrepressible hunger in that gaze.

“So, Mia, my sweet, what is on your mind? No request is too great for what we share.”


Previous ~ Next

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!


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