In truth, despite everything, the world was beautiful.

War had broken the Imbrium to pieces; the Ocean had never felt darker and farther from hope; and their lives had been cast between the warring factions on a clandestine mission, the enormity of which meant that they might never return home. Every day was a test of their courage and will. One mistake could cost not only the unlucky crew member, but the lives of the entire ship, and ultimately, the mission to break the yoke of oppression from around the neck of Imbria. Each of their hearts, a simmering chaos; every moment, part of the unending work; peace and relaxation, fleeting and hard-earned.

However, the view from the Captain’s chair was just so beautiful for Murati Nakara.

She sat where Ulyana Korabiskaya once sat.

Grinning to herself, arms crossed.

Proud.

Coursing with the power of the title and office.

Her responsibility for the hundreds of souls working on the ship transferring like temperature from the cushioned chair into her very body. Even if temporarily, she stood on the summit of her ambitions, and she gazed down upon the valley at the bridge officers expecting her command. It felt like there was a new world ahead of her now.

And her bridge officers stared back up at her and beheld her in her new position.

They seemed confused, but in reality, they must have been filled with respect.

“Ensign Zachikova! Bring up our wireframe model of Aachen station!” Murati said.

From the electronic warfare station, Braya Zachikova looked over her shoulder.

She glared at the acting-Captain with a strangely unfriendly expression.

Braya Zachikova, the ship’s electronic warfare specialist. She was a short woman, pale and skinny, with tawny hair tied into a spiraling ponytail that represented the most extravagant feature of an otherwise modestly-adorned girl. Thanks to the two thick grey antennae implanted where her ears would have been, Zachikova could connect directly to devices and control computers and programs far more adroitly than any other crewmember. These implants were a surgical intervention to save her from Hartz syndrome, a very debilitating neurological disorder. Her cold eyes were also cybernetic implants in the same vein.

Murati had already worked with her before, but as the Captain, she saw Zachikova with new eyes. She was uniquely important among the crew members, but also the most defiant.

“Why exactly should we do that, Senior Lieutenant and First Officer Nakara?” Zachikova asked.

Each one of those words felt like a brick falling on Murati’s head.

Did she really have to use all of her actual ranks? None of them mattered right now!

“Because I want to see it! I need to reference something! That’s an order!” Murati said.

Zachikova’s glare seemed to roll from Murati down to the woman seated next to her.

A Loup in a heavily-modified yet familiar black uniform with a green instead of red armband.

Looking quite similar to a Union Ashura Commissar. Quite similar, but not entirely identical.

“Recall that in the event of an emergency, discipline under my master will be the same as discipline under the Captain– and that in such a situation her adjutant is functionally equivalent to her Commissar as well. Everyone should take this as an opportunity to practice and get used to working under a new command structure, in case the need ever arises.”

Aatto Jarvi Stormyweather, seated where Commissar Aaliyah Bashara usually sat.

In her hands she had a menacing crop, which she struck against her own palm.

She had promised not to use it except as an aesthetic prop.

“You must follow that order, Zachikova.” Aatto said, smiling.

As much as Murati seemed to enjoy her newfound position of power, so did Aatto.

Despite some initial misgivings, Murati was too absorbed in her own role to police Aatto.

“I am not just asking for things at random! This is for the mission!” Murati said.

“Milord, is it therefore still required of me to calibrate the main armament, again?”

From the gunnery section, Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa raised her hand.

A slim and pretty girl with a dark and romantic affectation, her blond hair streaked with purple to match the purple lipstick and eyeshadow that she wore, and the black and purple tie she wore with her uniform, non-standard. She often spoke with an affected sophistication undercut by misuse of words or taking too long to communicate simple ideas.

Murati had no opinion on this but she knew the captain was often irritated with her.

“Yes! We need to be in top shape! That should be calibrated every day!” Murati said.

From beside the gunnery section, Alexandra Geninov raised her hand also.

A tall woman, brown-skinned and brown-haired, lent a slight dishevelment by the messy bun into which she collected her hair with a hair claw. Long-limbed, broad-shouldered, and good-looking enough to top the list of the so-called “Four Princes of the Brigand.” She regarded Murati with her odd eyes, one blue and one brown, slightly narrowed with an exagerrated weariness. Along with Fernanda, Geninov was the second common irritant on the bridge. Loud, distracted, and frequently making remarks about video games.

Murati had played video games. They were fun, and that was that.

But she got the sense– it was much more than that for Geninov.

“So then, do I also have to wire-test all the torpedoes in the magazine, actually?” Alex asked.

“Yes! Why haven’t you been doing that? What if we have a wire failure in combat?”

“Back at the academy we were taught to wire-check as part of weekly maintenance.”

“Now it’s daily maintenance!” Murati said. “We’re in a dangerous situation here!”

Murati shouted orders with a grin on her face despite the reticence of the crew.

At her side, Aatto crossed her arms and nodded her head as if in silent support.

Both Fernanda and Alex gloomily set about their tasks as instructed.

Grumbling, Zachikova summoned the wireframe model of Aachen on the main screen.

For the first few days of their stay in Aachen, reconnaissance had been the focus of the crew’s efforts. The pilots, the special forces operatives, their allies from the Rostock, and even the Captain and the Commissar had all been involved in gathering on-the-ground intelligence on the layout of the station. On the screen, was the culmination of their efforts. A wireframe model of Aachen Station, with most of the interior modeled (save for the inaccessible upper tier). It was more than just a static map. Zachikova had hijacked dozens of unsecured private CCTV cameras throughout the station, which were pointed out on the model. She could use them along with publically available foot traffic and internal weather data in order to track and predict certain conditions within the station. Murati was astonished by the craft behind the model, but even more excited for its use.

Information was one the strongest weapons for a military group.

A disparity in intelligence and intelligence-gathering capability between two opponents could severely impact their forces before a single bullet could be fired. Even a foe that was stronger in arms could be felled by a weaker force that had the right information and the capability to act on it. Movements of the enemy, the location and route of their supplies, their intentions and plans, the organization of their forces. The identity and location of their officers and political leadership. Such knowledge was powerful.

Having this model, which could update in real time as conditions changed, was quite useful.

Murati studied the model, paying particular attention to the third tier commercial area.

It was there, in a fancy bar rented out by Gloria Innocence Luxembourg, that the United Front gathered. They would continue meeting there throughout the week. Ulyana, Aaliyah, Erika, and the officers of the John Brown, as well as Olga and Daphne at times, many officers of the Volksarmee attended the deliberations. Murati was not invited. She had to man the bridge, maintain the continuity of command. As much as she had wanted to talk serious theory with other militant leftists, she felt that Ulyana appreciated her abilities and had given her this opportunity as a test of her capability to lead the ship. Should the worst happen, the solemn duty of continuing the mission would fall on Murati’s shoulders.

Murati would not allow anything to happen to the Captain, Commissar and Premier.

Using the model, she wanted to begin planning contingencies.

“Zachikova, I want you to draft a few simulated escape routes from the third tier down to Stockheim. For this scenario, our objective is to secure the United Front delegates and extract them in the midst of an event. I want you to test them with a simulated mass panic in each tier separately, and all tiers together. Once you have done so put it on screen– I will want additional simulations in case certain routes are blocked off. Log everything you calculate in encrypted files and distribute the keys to Illya and Valeriya.”

Zachikova stared at Murati for a moment, but her expression softened ever so slightly.

“Acknowledged.”

She did not call her ‘Captain’ as Murati would have wanted, but she did not object.

Perhaps she realized now that Murati was not giving them all work without reason.

As much as Murati felt fulfilled to be acting as the captain even for a day or two–

She would not allow herself to earn the title through tragedy.

Using the resources she had been given to command, Murati would make preparations.

Whether or not anything happened, she needed to be ready.

Captain Korabiskaya had to be protected and supported with everything they had.

That was the mission of Murati Nakara’s bridge on Murati Nakara’s temporary ship.

“We will dub this mission, ‘Operation Spyglass’! Everyone get to work!” Murati declared.

Voice filled with passion, she looked over to her left, where Semyonova was seated.

Semyonova quickly input the operation name into the logs.

Even though Zachikova was the only one actively engaged in the contents of the operation, Fernanda and Alex’s daily maintenance was to be rolled into it. Glancing around her bridge, Murati laid eyes on the helmsman, Abdulalim Kamarik, a private and quietly cheerful man usually listening to music while working on the ship. She wondered if there was anything he should be doing too. However upon checking her console on the captain’s chair, Murati discovered that Kamarik ran thorough maintenance checks on the Brigand every day and had meticulous logs and diagnostics of its behaviors that he frequently sent the Captain– and which were frequently left unread despite his great efforts.

“Helmsman! I wanted to commend you for your laudable work!” Murati said.

From his station, Kamarik half turned, glancing over his shoulder and saluting casually.

“It’s no big deal. To a true helmsman, a ship is his lady love. And I’m a bit of a wife guy.”

He cracked a smile and ran his hand over his console as if caressing the ship itself.

Murati was briefly left speechless. She was not on the bridge often enough.

In the middle of Zachikova running the simulations, Murati received a message.

“Acting Captain, we have a request to connect from the Rostock.” Semyonova said.

Another first for Murati as a Captain– a missive delivered by Semyonova. As the communications officer, Semyonova’s pretty face and sweet voice graced the crew every day. Blond-haired, round-faced, with immaculate makeup, long plump limbs and a curvy figure. She was configured like the wheat-striding, pleasantly fat, metaphorically fertile women used to propagandize agricultural life in Lyser– to a degree that fascinated Murati. Widely beloved and admired, Semyonova spent more time than anyone working, and yet she always did it with a smile on her face. There were rumors she had sleep disorders, and that her past-curfew lamentations represented one of the sailors’ “Seven Mysteries of the Brigand”–

–Murati thought that particular item was nonsense, being herself a subject of gossip.

She barely got to interact with Semyonova except through the officer’s labor union, in which Semyonova was the union representative and a fierce advocate for their rights, despite her typically soft disposition. And of course, she saw her in the daily broadcasts and affirmations. But there was something special about having the communications officer address her and tell her she had a communique– it was such a Captainly thing to have happen.

“Put it through to me, Semyonova.” Murati said. She filled with enthusiasm.

“Right away ma’am!” Semyonova said, smiling herself.

Murati pulled the captain’s private monitor, attached on an arm to the chair.

On the screen, a young woman with long blue hair and a military cap appeared. She had crossed out the symbol that was one the cap, scratching a star over it– a common communist military symbol, over what seemed like it might have been a warlord army symbol. It was Daphne Triantafallos, captain of the Rostock. Another captain; a captain who had been forged in battle. She had been with the Volksarmee for some time now.

“Greetings, Captain Triantafallos! Pleasure to see you!” Murati said.

“The pleasure is all mine, Acting Captain.” Daphne said. Murati’s excitement seemed to draw a small smile out of her. “I just received a Zachat from the Premier and thought I would check up on you. Is this your first time having control of the bridge?”

“It is. I would highly value any insights you could give me.” Murati said.

“Well, first, the Premier wanted me to make sure you aren’t working too hard.”

“Captain, we can’t afford any slacking now, don’t you agree?”

Murati was prepared for Daphne to disagree, but she nodded her agreement instead.

“I’m the same as you, Acting Captain Nakara. I do sometimes believe that the Premier can be too lax in the name of preserving the comfort of the troops. I do feel an instinct to run a much tighter shift. However, we must not only work hard, but also work smartly. Imagine you expend all of your energy now; won’t you be tired when the enemy attacks? We must balance making appropriate preparation and maintaining readiness.”

Readiness was a word that packaged the concept of rest in a way Murati could agree with.

Her first instinct had been to disagree again, but Daphne put her argument together well.

Murati would not rescind her orders today– but she would be a bit more lax tomorrow.

“You make a convincing point. We’ve been caught sleeping enough times as it is.”

“Have you now? Well.” Daphne laughed a little. “Let me think. I do have a bit of advice I can pass on. I am not the most experienced myself– but I had the good fortune that my first command came in the auspices of the Premier, who taught me leadership values that superseded the brutal discipline instilled in me in Pythia. I believe, Murati, that the essence of good leadership is unlocking the potential in others. Not just knowing who to delegate tasks to, but understanding them such that your orders almost mirror what they would have done if they were in command. However, you must balance this by commanding enough respect to be able to make people do things they would not do, while impressing upon them that the course you have set them on is not only necessary, but valuable.”

Murati turned over her words in her mind. These sounded like quite long-term projects.

Nevertheless, she would take them to heart. Decisiveness, responsibility, understanding.

Unlocking the potential of her crew. This sounded quite resonant to her experiences.

Ulyana Korabiskaya felt like someone who unlocked a lot of potential out of this crew.

Murati looked at them briefly and they seemed at a glance like eccentric, bickering slackers.

However, she knew that they had come together under extraordinary circumstances before.

They had the potential; so did she.

She just had to be worthy of the moment if it ever came.

“Thank you, Captain Triantafallos.” Murati said.

“You can call me Daphne. I am confident in your abilities, Murati. Perhaps we can discuss Union military strategy sometime. I am also eager to learn from you as well.” Daphne said.

“I would love that.” Murati said. “Doctrine is– a special interest of mine, let’s call it that.”

They bid their farewells and Daphne’s face disappeared from the monitor.

Murati sat back in the captain’s chair, sighing deeply.

Her head felt a bit tight. She felt so much pressure even though nothing was happening yet.

“Aatto,”

She whispered– she knew the Captain and Commissar were able to do this at times.

“Yes, master?”

Aatto whispered back. They established a conversation among themselves.

“A captain has to be able to rely on her Commissar, in a Union crew. Can I rely on you?”

“Of course, master. I would throw myself into a mutiny at the first sign, to save you.”

“That won’t be necessary. Aatto– I’m worried I am too inexperienced. What if I mess up?”

“Hmm. Captain Korabiskaya is quite a force, I must say. However, master, you must also recall that you are not Captain Korabiskaya. You will find your own way of doing things– dare I say it, a superior way, borne of your unique grandeur. You will make unique judgments in unique situations. You will adapt, I know it. It is not only expected that your style of keeping the bridge will differ from hers, but also it is appropriate. Dare I say it, it is necessary.”

“You are daring to say a lot of things lately.” Murati sighed.

But Aatto’s insight was not incorrect. Murati did have her own way of doing things. As much as she admired the other captains in the Volksarmee– she had to have trust in herself too.

That was perhaps even more complicated than just working with the crew as a stand-in.

“Was I of excellent service, master? Was I Commissar-like perhaps?” Aatto asked.

Murati smiled. “You are growing indispensable to me, Aatto. But please drop the ‘master.’”

---

The scene playing out before her was so surreal Homa wondered if she was staring at it through borrowed eyes. Anger swelled in her heart that fogged her mind and vision but found its only outlet in small, impotent tears which she could not allow anyone else to see. But she did not understand what was happening, ever since two terrifying visitors crossed the gate into the Mahdist village and were met with adulation.

In the fore was a Shimii woman, tall and stately, handsome in uniform, wearing her brown hair to the shoulder. Bushy-tailed, with a bit of fluff at the tips of her tall ears. She would not have looked out of place, had that double-breasted coat not been the black uniform reminiscent of so many that Homa had come to hate. Red and white armbands indicated her allegiance. One had an intricate black sun-disc and the other a hooked cross.

At her side was a blond woman, shorter but lithe, busty, with luxuriously long golden hair and smooth red lips. The way she wore her cap partially hid her eyes so that they seemed permanently in shadow, but there was no hiding the sharp gaze that moved from face to face as she accompanied the woman in her protection. This was a Volkisch soldier, and judging by the alien symbols on her uniform, a soldier of a type that Homa had never met before.

These two figures should have been met with scorn and fear– but they were welcomed.

As the tall Shimii woman approached, people in the village noticed.

First, the children playing outside ran up with enthusiasm to greet her.

Behind them, the aunties seemed to take notice and smiled and left their places to see.

“Councilwoman! Councilwoman!”

Some of the older children called out to her with cheer.

Smiling, the “Councilwoman” spread her arms to welcome them and kneeled down to their level so she could give them hugs. Several of the kids ran into her arms, waving their tails and ears with excitement. One of the smaller children, she picked up in her arms and lifted, and they cheered and clapped their hands and asked in the slurred Low Imbrian of a very small child if they had grown any taller since she had last seen them.

“You have grown!” She said. “You are so big now! It’s very impressive!”

Around her the children laughed. Some asked if she had candy or asked for gifts.

“Of course I have candy! Has Councilwoman Rahima ever visited without candy?”

Rahima reached into her double-breasted coat, and as if out from under the hellish medals which she wore so openly on her breast, she pulled out a little bag of honey and ginger sucking candies. This elicited a cheer from all of the children and they reached up begging for the entire bag, but Rahima instead equitably distributed one piece of candy to each of the awaiting children. They promptly gobbled up the little morsels.

“Come now, there are more children than you, and everyone ought to get a share.”

“No there aren’t, Councilwoman! They all left! You can give us all the candy!”

The Councilwoman seemed to read these as excuses from greedy little kids and laughed.

Behind her, the blond woman crossed her arms and watched the scene unfold quietly.

Her expression seemed to soften from contempt to mild disinterest.

When the adults came near Councilwoman Rahima a similar scene played out. There were many people who wanted to touch hands with her, and a few of the older aunties even patted her back or even her head as though she were a kid they could condescend to. This caused the blond woman to bristle noticeably, but she did not intervene to stop them. Rahima was little by little surrounded by a few dozen people who were all greeting her, thanking her, saying they would pray for her. Some asked her if she intended to stay for the festival. She seemed reticent to answer and simply let them all talk.

Homa felt like she was looking at something ridiculous on the television.

Could this have been real life? Did they not understand what the symbols meant?

Was this really the ‘Councilwoman’ who had helped them so much?

Were they all in league with the Volkisch Movement?!

Perhaps alerted by the commotion, Homa soon spotted Baran heading for the front of the village with her walking stick, wincing as she made herself walk fast. Her reddish-brown hair was tied up a bit into a quick bun under the partial veil over her head, and she wore a shawl over her blouse. Both these things made her look a bit less vibrant than she usually did, and Homa noticed more how much her leg seemed to be troubling her– nevertheless, she marched right up to Rahima. She stood in front of her, quiet at first.

Homa wondered what she could expect. A confrontation–? There was no such thing.

Baren reached out to touch Rahima’s hand and Rahima patted her on the head.

“Please, Councilwoman– I’m not a little girl.” Baran said, smiling a bit.

“You’ll always be a kid to me, just like I’ll always be a kid to the aunties here.”

Rahima’s face lit up at the sight of Baran.

She seemed even more pleased when Sareh headed out to join them shortly after.

Dressed in blue work pants and a long shirt, her hair tied up into a ponytail.

Unlike Baran, Sareh was not smiling much, and shared with Rahima a curt handshake.

“Councilwoman.” Sareh said.

“You’re aloof as ever. I hope you’re taking good care of this one.” Rahima said.

Baran grumbled a bit. “Councilwoman– Sareh is not my minder or anything of the sort.”

Sareh seemed to smile for the first time in the interaction, looking at the embarrassed Baran.

“Nope, I know what you two are.” Rahima said. “Anyway. I see you are holding a festival.”

“Yes. We’re sorry– we did not want to trouble you, Councilwoman.” Baran said.

“I’m fine. Forget the unpleasantness the other day. It’s taken care of. Right Bernie?”

Rahima looked over her shoulder, acknowledging for the first time her blond companion in the presence of the Shimii villagers. She urged ‘Bernie’ to step forward, and with some reticence the blond woman joined Rahima, standing at her side and in front of the villagers. She pulled off her hat and started to bow with respect to the people in front of her–

but Rahima stopped her.

“Sorry– Bernie, Shimii don’t bow, nor are they bowed to, remember?” Rahima said gently.

“Apologies. How should I best express my respect?” Bernie asked.

“Just a handshake will do– or if you feel strongly about it you could kiss Baran’s cheek?”

Rahima grinned like a fox. Bernie turned to Baran and seemed to contemplate it–

Baran offered the hand not holding her walking stick and shook with Bernie instead.

Sareh seemed to shift back to mild annoyance toward Rahima, crossing her arms.

“This is Bernadette Sattler, my security chief and aide.” Rahima said, introducing ‘Bernie.’

“Pleased to meet you.” Baran said. “Thank you for protecting the Councilwoman.”

“My pleasure. At any rate–” Bernie said, appearing to sigh at the scene that had unfolded. “The party office received a complaint recently. When taking statements we surmised the families laying out the accusations were covering up for their sons– the Gau office instructed the Wohnbezirk Order Police not to treat the boys as victims and instead reprimand them. This has been carried out and they are prohibited from coming here again, herr Gauleiter.”

“Splendid.” Rahima said. “I’m very sorry for what happened. But we can put it behind us.”

“Thank you for your help, once again.” Baran said politely.

Homa looked to Sareh again. This did not seem to sit right with her.

But she remained quiet. She, too, was not taking action against the Councilwoman.

“Will you be attending the festival then, Councilwoman?” Baran asked.

“I am considering it. It is a rare opportunity.” Rahima said.

“We would love to have you.” Baran said. Her voice was neutral and polite.

“Whether or not I decide to attend, certainly I will have gifts brought over. Since you had the courage to put on the festival this year, I want to make sure you have a magnificent rendition. There should be food and suitable beverages, there should be flowers, and you should have a proper taiza monument, after what happened.” Rahima said.

“We’re working on the taiza just fine.” Sareh said. “Don’t concern yourself with that.”

Her tone of voice was a bit elevated. Bernie shot her a look, and Baran glanced over.

“Very well. I will not.” Rahima said. “Sareh, you’re still so overprotective. It’s cute.”

“Tch.” Sareh made a little noise and averted her gaze. Bernie continued to stare at her.

Then, what Homa had been dreading the entire time transpired, and Baran looked around.

Again– she spotted Homa on the sidelines and beckoned her for another introduction.

Rahima, too, followed where she thought Baran’s gaze was going.

She met Homa’s unfriendly expression, held her eyes.

Perhaps curious; an unfamiliar face.

For someone who seemed to have such history with the village, Homa must have stuck out.

Would she be immediately suspicious?

Would that harpy at her side demand her papers?

Homa’s curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had stuck around for every detail, every second of the village’s interactions with Rahima– perhaps she should have run back and alerted Kalika instead. Her heart started to thrash, her skin brimming with the vibrations of her sinews. Anxiety rushed in her very bloodstream. She had gone along with Imani plenty of times, but that was different– she had been conspiring with Imani, not against her as she was doing now. What if Rahima or Bernie could tell by the way her ears folded or her tail wagged, or her hands shook, that she was not who she said she was?

She could have run, maybe– but she did not do so.

Obediently, simmering in anger and fear, Homa stepped forward.

Baran urged her to join the group at her side and patted her back and shoulder.

Could she tell that Homa was a complete mess? How far would her compassion stretch?

“Councilwoman, I wanted to introduce you to Homa Messhud. She is a traveler from afar who is seeking her roots.” Baran said. She had used this same wording before, with Conny. “She has been very generous and already helped us avert a major problem. She also stood with us on that awful night a few days ago and will be an honored guest at the festival. We do not have guests often, as you know, so it is quite auspicious to have her.”

“Auspicious indeed.” Rahima said. “I’m Rahima Jašarević.”

She stretched out a hand to shake with Homa. As she had with everyone else.

In her mind this must have been nothing special, just as Homa herself was nothing special.

To Homa, this gesture was absolutely odious. That hand was tumorous with evil.

In that moment she would have only wanted to hold Rahima’s hand to rip her arm off.

Such fantasies would get her nowhere, however– she could not jeopardize the mission–

And would it make sense to act defiant at any rate? Would it have meant anything here?

In the time that Homa contemplated it, there was already the beginnings of awkwardness.

“Ah, sorry, I’m a bit dazed. Didn’t sleep well. Forgive me– nice to meet you–”

Homa felt so pathetic, as she made a simple excuse and then just shook Rahima’s hand.

No defiance, no statements, she could do nothing. She was helpless again.

Holding that hand felt like a complete defeat. Her breath caught in her throat out of shame.

“Nice to meet you.” Rahima said. “Thank you for helping these folks. Messhud was your surname, right? It reminds me of Baran’s surname– maybe we could look it up in the registry. If you are looking for your family here there is no better resource than the Gau.”

“Ah, thank you, it’s fine– I don’t want to trouble you–”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Come by the Gau office any time, we’ll discuss it.”

Homa would not be caught dead in that filthy place.

Rahima released her hand. Her eyes lingered on Homa’s for a moment.

She must have dismissed her that quickly; she turned to toward Baran instead.

“Baran, I want to talk to you. Sareh is welcome to join us as well.” Rahima said.

“Allow me to treat you and the lady Sattler to breakfast.” Baran said.

“I would love that. Perhaps miss Messhud and I will talk later.” Rahima said.

Sareh looked at Homa in a way she interpreted as sympathetic.

“Maybe. I’ll leave you all to your business– I’m rather tired still.” Homa said.

She peeled herself from Rahima’s side, leaving the crowd as quietly as she could.

Putting some of the shabby little plastic buildings between herself and the entrance.

Before taking off into a sudden and desperate run once she knew nobody was looking.

Her heart racing, her head pounding, her body needing any form of catharsis–

Putting in such effort into running, her arms and legs turning quick enough to hurt.

Hurtling toward the little house Baran had set up for them, hoping Kalika was still there.

Running so fast she nearly tripped trying to stop herself at the curtain over the entrance.

“Kalika! Kalika!” Homa cried out before she could even see the interior.

Inside, Kalika was still asleep. Hearing her name shouted she bolted up to a sitting position.

Groggy, her hand immediately reached as if for a weapon. But her bag was across the room.

“H-Homa? What’s wrong?” Kalika said. Her voice caught briefly.

That intensity with which she looked back at the curtain, and Homa, while Homa had to double over and collect herself, every muscle in her body aching, her blood burning under her skin as it rushed through her sinews, her chest tight– she felt like a complete idiot. Her reeling mind, stunted with anxiety, turned over what she would even say to her.

“There’s Volkisch. In the village.” She managed to speak while gasping for breath.

“How many?” Kalika said. She was alarmed. Of course– all of this was alarming.

And yet, realizing her own hyperbole, Homa’s heart sank as she delivered the news.

“Two. Two at the gates. Villagers– they’re friendly to them–”

Every word she said made her feel more and more ridiculous for what she was saying.

“Two?!”

“Two–”

Kalika laid a hand on her own chest and dropped back upon the bed.

“Homa, have a sense of proportionality!” Kalika cried. “You nearly killed me with fright!”

Her frustration and annoyance was so painfully evident.

Homa felt like she would never be able to forget that tone of voice, like she had committed an irreparable sin, another little moment of shame and embarrassment to punctuate how pathetic she was. Her ears folded and her stubby tail turned up as best as it could to indicate this shame– but just as suddenly, she became defiant and wanted to argue.

“I was just trying to warn you!” Homa cried back. “Two of them are still dangerous!”

“Homa what they are doing matters! I thought we were being invaded here!”

“They’re shaking hands! The villagers love them! This whole place is Volkisch!”

Kalika suddenly stood and put a hand over Homa’s mouth, another on her shoulder.

Homa could not resist– her grip was so quick and so strong. She was physically quieted.

Then– Kalika seemed to realize what she was doing, and her expression softened.

She lifted her hand from Homa’s lips. It had been her warm hand, her biological hand.

“Homa, I’m sorry. You scared me. I– I shouldn’t have reacted– I’m–” Kalika began–

Homa bowed her head and then threw herself into Kalika’s chest, arms around her waist.

Weeping. She couldn’t help it anymore. Her heart felt like it had broken.

All she could do was helplessly cling to Kalika and weep.

“Homa. I’m so sorry– I’m so sorry. There, there, it’ll be fine. Please– calm down–”

Kalika returned her embrace, holding her tightly, a hand on her head, another on her back.

Homa could hardly recognize that she was being held or even standing.

Her vision swam and her head was unable to muster a thought.

All of the emotions she had repressed cascaded out of her in that instant.

Weeping so strongly that it hurt. Even Kalika’s warmth could do little to stem her tears.

---

“So, paesan, what was your surname again?”

Elena felt a sudden sense of menace pervade the room.

This was her aunt– she should have been someone who felt safe. But the need to maintain her lie had completely altered the situation. Sitting on a mattress on the floor in only her shirt and a knee-length skirt, with this woman looming in front of her, and that steel baton pointing and shaking as if it was seething at her– Elena felt a sense of sheer terror. With whatever defiance she could muster, she simply kept quiet.

“Don’t overthink it too much– whatever the truth is, my dowsing will elucidate it.”

“I’ll tell everyone you threatened me.” Elena said, with a trembling voice.

“I’m not threatening you. I’m asking a question.” Conny said softly. “If you feel so threatened by this question then maybe I should ask Baran or perhaps even that Homa Messhud if they know who you really are. I have a lot of questions that are much more complicated and would be far less satisfying than to simply know– are you Elena von Fueller?”

“I– I don’t know what you are talking about. Leave me alone.” Elena said.

It was such a bitterly ridiculous moment.

Under any other circumstances, Elena would have loved to be able to talk to this woman.

Under any other circumstances– but these. Now she felt horribly unsafe with her aunt.

“Very well. It’s like I said before– my dowsing will reveal the truth.”

Elena felt a sudden, sharp pinprick in the back of her head–

Then in an instant, her eyes went hot, and she tried to repel the intrusion with her power.

Prompting a brief flash of an image in her mind.

Brief in the sensation her body felt, the pain that it brought on–

But in her mind, it lasted for a longer and much more vivid moment.

An image of her mother’s beautiful, blooming garden in Schwerin Isle,

and Norn the Praetorian standing amid the flowers with her boot buried into Elena’s gut.

“As ever, I am here to uphold the promise. Don’t do this again.”

Then in quick succession like the turning of projector slides, she was gone from the sunny garden and returned to the plastic shack in the underground, with her aunt standing in front of her with a puzzled expression. That stick which she had been pointed at looked almost as if it had split open into a triangle, its contours much thinner, and the interior glowing with colors. Elena’s vision swam and doubled over on the bed, holding her stomach, overcome with horrible pain and nausea. She felt the force of the blow to such a degree.

“What was that feedback?” Conny asked. Her voice sounded suddenly alarmed.

She knelt down next to Elena, whose pain was too consuming to make notice of it.

Conny’s hand pushed up Elena’s chin and she stared directly into her eyes.

“Please, no,” Elena moaned, shaking in Conny’s grip.

She was not listening.

Something had drawn Conny into a passion, and Elena feared she knew what it was.

Her eyes looked like they were seeing through Elena, past her. Her expression, a twitch in her temple, the grip she had on Elena’s chin. She was angered by something. Her irises ringed by red light flashing the tell-tale sign of the power and the stick flying over her shoulder contorting itself into different shapes like it was made of liquid metal.

That stick– looked like it was in panic.

“Norn.” Conny said, her lips curling into a grin, her eyes wide with anger.

“Please let me go. Please.” Elena cried, helpless to extricate herself from Conny’s grasp.

Conny was still not listening to her.

“Norn– that bitch– as if she has not done enough to my family–”

Elena drew feebly back, but not in time–

Conny raised her hand and laid the palm on Elena’s forehead.

Judging by her movements– this was an impulsive and sudden action–

For a split second Elena felt like her skull had been pressed down like a button.

Then there was a flash of light and sound that seemed to consume all of her senses.

Disoriented, it was impossible to tell directions or time within that void.

Until everything went dark, and the colors appeared in front of her.

There was something warm about them, familiar, as if the maelstrom of colored light in front of her represented a person or many persons that she knew– or maybe even the concept of a person in some sense. She felt accompanied and felt drawn to the colors. They were the only sight. Red, blue, yellow, green, purple, orange, with black and white ribbons dancing around them as if framing the scene, visible only by each other’s presence.

All of them seemed to form a complimentary whole in this space.

Elena was soon overtaken by a strong feeling however– regret, and a sense of helplessness.

She felt that the colors must have demanded something from her and that she had to give as much as she could to fulfill their requests and desires but that she was ultimately helpless to do so. Elena tried to understand them, tried to understand their hurt and their need, but it was so vast, and it extended so far back into the past and it continued so far forward into the future that she felt dwarfed by it all and incapable of ever rectifying what she had done to them– she was suddenly certain, that whatever their predicament it was her fault.

Elena, villainess and heroine entwined.

She wanted to save them. She wanted to give anything of herself to make them whole. She wanted to atone for causing and for never having known their pain by experiencing untold agony. She knew of no other way to rectify what had been clearly broken than sacrifice.

If only she could have been torn into little pieces and given to everyone who was hurt.

Then they would each have their salvation and revenge, whatever they needed.

It was difficult to retain even this train of thought, however, because the emotions were so intense and so consuming that she could do nothing to grasp for specifics within the currents. Everything was so enormous to her. She was beset by shifting urges, by depression of the deepest possible sort that lasted only seconds, by an elation so powerful and consuming that she laughed loud enough to crack the earth but only for a microsecond. Elena decomposed into circling light and was remade as a titan above everything.

And in the blink of an eye she was gone from the void and saw a place.

There was a woman, a bit short, white-haired, youthful looking, wearing a robe and seated on a couch, with her legs over the armrests and her head on a cushion. Her bra strap and some of her soft white shoulder was peeking as her robe slowly slid its way off her, and she had on one shoe, and her hair was in a bit of a state. Shifting positions on the couch, she was entranced by her reading and the world around her seemed not to matter.

But the book had no visible cover matter– and there was another woman, who walked in.

Long, shimmering purple hair; a perfect figure in a showy green dress; a gorgeous face.

“Oh, Leda.” Conny looked up from her book. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

As much as Elena tried to focus on Leda’s face she could not see it.

And as much as she tried to cry out there was no voice– she was nothing but colors–

“Conny, why did you drop out of the institute? Why are you isolating yourself?” Leda asked.

“Well, we’re loaded now, so what does it matter what my education is?” Conny replied. “I never integrated so well as you either. But now we are a peer family with handsome financial reserves. I can spend the rest of my life learning on my own and at my own pace.”

“Mother is worried about you. She fears you have become depressed.”

“She has nothing to worry about and she knows that better than anyone.”

“Conny– I know that you aren’t my real sister.”

This finally caused Conny to drop her book and pay attention to Leda.

“Well– this conversation became ridiculous quicker than usual.” Conny said.

Leda finally smiled. Elena understood this implicitly but still could not see her face.

“Set aside your reservations and come with me to the palace.”

That natural persuasion that she had did not work on Conny whatsoever.

“Absolutely not. Are you joking? I am not so shameless as you.”

Leda never once stopped smiling.

“You can insult me all you like. I am still going to make the request. I have ambitions, Conny, but more than that, I have respect and love for you. It doesn’t matter to me, how old you are, what you have seen, whether you are my sister or grandmother or ancestor or even an Echo of something that the elven medici brought about to protect our race. I don’t care about any of that. My feelings toward you have always been real as much as you bristled toward them. I cherish you. It is because I cherish you that I want you to stop this. I want you to stop mourning the version of myself you concocted in your head, and join the real me. And I want you in the lives of my children. As you were in mine– or not. It is your choice.”

Conny made no expression to acknowledge whether any of this was true or not.

And the images were already fading, and yet Elena understood–

That Conny chose not to have anything to do with Leda or her child after that point.

Both because she disagreed so painfully and rabidly with Leda’s decision and path.

And because she was deeply hurt that Leda was taken away at all.

But also because a part of her felt so foolish for having cared at all in the first place.

“Whatever. People come and go, but my life will continue, won’t it?”

And all I will have each time are my regrets that will keep piling up and piling up.

Until there is more to regret than any other possible thought or emotion in my brain.

Elena’s eyes stung and wept, and she understood that feeling with such clarity.

Then she saw another vision–

Dim light, a murky steel sky, a small concrete path between crowded buildings.

Walking step by step down the labyrinth of similar buildings, steel and plastic and neon.

At the end of the path was a small monument, the only grave she would ever have.

A square block with a plaque, beneath which there was nothing, in the middle of nowhere.

Baden Student’s League memorialized the traitor Leda Lettiere.

For daring to do. And what she had done was left unsaid.

Having walked all the way to the monument, Conny stared at it for many minutes.

Though she wanted for her heart to be a void without anything left in it–

Though she wished the years had broken any capacity she had for sympathy–

Conny’s knees buckled and she dropped in front of the monument, weeping with pain.

Pain for a woman who should have surpassed her in every way, taken too soon.

Pain for one of her kin who rekindled her sense of empathy.

Elena approached the monument herself and tried to touch it.

However– she was just an apparition in someone else’s memories and could do nothing.

Her own eyes filled with tears that could not touch the steel or stone.

Helpless but to be swept up– to another image.

This time, they were in Aachen Station, and a scene had already unfolded.

Conny put her back to a steel door that she had just shut behind herself.

Some part of her stood there wishing so dearly that Rahima would open that door.

That she would run out and grab Conny and claim her and never let her go again.

That– she hadn’t accepted everything Conny told her about the system they lived in.

That– unlike Conny, she had hope for destroying that machine with her own fingers.

That– her youth would confer her the strength Conny had given up on.

But Rahima never left that room. She cried and screamed and seethed alone.

Trained too well in the cynicism and helplessness that Conny painstakingly inscribed.

Why did she not teach her to rebel? Why did she not teach her grander ambitions?

Of course– because Conny herself had lost such things.

“What was the point? What was the point in caring? What was the point in believing that anything could have been different? I already failed so many times. Why did I believe so strongly that things would have been different? And– God damn it, why did I run away so quickly? If I was afraid of being hurt– I already am. I have never been hurt this badly.”

Because I am not an Echo of anything– I am still just a human being.

No matter how long I live or how I powerful I get– by myself all I ever will do is regret.

Elena was beset with such pain that felt unimaginable.

Her brain burnt in her skull as if it was encased in lit petroleum rather than spinal fluid.

What she could only describe as her sanity, was starting to go.

Her sense of stability and control and thought, the homeostasis of her mind and and soul and the physical brain that translated their ethereal output into physical existence– it was wearing away. With exposure to the raw, turbulent emotion that was pouring out of what she now knew to be Conny’s memories– she was losing her grip in reality–

Then, the turbulence suddenly and completely subsided.

As if she had never felt the pain, Elena found herself standing somewhere.

Stable, unhurt, able to see and hear again.

She was–

in her mother’s

garden

on

Schwerin Isle,

and everything she had experienced felt like it was crashing over her like water suddenly.

Bowed by the weight, Elena dropped to the beautiful tiled floor, surrounded by flowerbeds.

Of course, she was not alone– she was never alone here–

Norn appeared across the way, dressed in her grey naval jacket and pants.

Her blond hair collected into a ponytail with a black ribbon.

Red eyes turning over a sight– but not the sight of Elena having broken the ‘promise’–

This time Norn would be preoccupied looking at the woman that had come in with Elena.

Her hair was not white like in some of her memories, but rather blue.

But it was Conny. Dressed in her tasseled bra top and her blazer jacket and bell-bottoms.

With Conny’s reappearance, Elena suddenly felt like she could breathe calmly again.

“Finally I’ll get to have the satisfaction of beating you to a fucking pulp.” Conny said.

Norn grinned. “Interesting. She did not foresee this sort of thing.”

“She did not even know I existed, probably.” Conny said with a shrug.

“No, but beyond just that, she could not have conceptualized someone ‘riding along’.”

“Ah, she must be too young to have understood the Oneiric traditions of the Katarrans.”

Conny withdrew from her pocket her steel baton and let it go.

It began to float by itself as Elena had seen it done before.

“Ancient Katarrans believed dreams took place in their own world to which the mind traveled in sleep. Katarrans believed this world could be accessed by physical intruders from the Plateau of Leng in the southeastern Katarre, what is now known as the territory of the Termeran Consortium. Amusingly enough, Leng is now believed to be site where the surface world first acquired Agarthicite. Perhaps there is something to it? Or perhaps we are interpreting all of this quite wrong? What do you think, Norn the Praetorian?”

Norn looked amused. “I think you need to get out of this girl’s memories right now.”

“I would say the same thing to you. You’ve caused her family enough grief haven’t you?”

“They caused their own grief– and I am here to prevent Elena from suffering even more.”

“Then expel me from her dreams and visions.” Conny said.

“With pleasure.”

Temporal Control.

Elena felt a whispering in her ears, telling her what happened though she could not see–

It had been so fast, happened in a blink.

From her perspective, nobody had undergone the action of moving–

But Norn stood a few steps closer with a cut on her cheek.

Conny stood in the same place as before but smiling.

Norn reached a hand up to her cheek and touched the blood, rubbed it between her fingers.

“I see.” She said, neither anger nor pain in her voice.

“I would be able to move through the real thing’s Temporal Control also.” Conny said.

“So it is not about raw power.” Norn said.

“No.” Conny smiled. “Temporal Control can stop physical things because Norn conceives of physical objects as having ‘time’ that she can ‘stop’. But phenomena cannot be stopped by it.”

“In this case, the phenomena in question, is–”

In the next instant, another cut appeared, this time on the side of Norn’s neck.

“Did you know? Hanwan madou, is the pursuit and refinement of miraculous techniques, whether perceived as magic or simply great feats of dexterity. However, in the modern world, the myth has actually lessened in scope with Hanwa’s wartime psyche– madou is the mythical pursuit of causing destruction from afar with only a human’s vital energy. One of the main ideas behind madou is to cut something immediately and from afar.”

In the middle of her speech, Elena noticed the steel baton flicking ever so subtly–

This time, Norn raised her hands in time to block what seemed like an invisible blow.

On her sleeve, the synthetic fabric was scuffed and looked like it might tear.

“It only cuts with the lethality of an object you possess capable of cutting.” Norn said.

“Yes, but your face is exposed. Aren’t psionics scary?” Conny said, tilting her head.

Norn smiled. “You’re right. I wasn’t prepared for this– but the real one would kill you.”

Conny frowned a bit, for the first time. “Perhaps. She would have water to work with.”

“Tell me this.” Norn said. “Would you make yourself this girl’s keeper?”

“Are you?”

“No, I am not capable of it. But it was still something Norn Tauscherer wished.”

“Was it? Then maybe she should not have killed her mother.”

“She did not.”

“Not personally– but she was part of the structure that doomed Leda.”

“You should have saved her if you had this power.”

Conny seemed to look at Norn for the very first time then.

Not toying with her, not flaunting her ability– but speaking to her, with gazes locked.

“You of all people should understand how meaningless it is to have ‘power’ in the world that we live in. After all, you were the Apostle of Water and yet you lived in servitude to a despot when you could have overturned the world yourself. Am I wrong?” Conny said.

“You did not have to kill anyone. You could have rescued Leda.” Norn said.

“To rescue her I would have needed to kill you, at least. Possibly many others.”

“Leda was more formidable than you think. She truly believed she could kill him.”

“So? Why are you changing the subject on me? Does that make her fate justified?”

“No. But I am wondering if the end of my existence can be used productively.”

Norn nodded her head toward the flower beds.

Conny glanced over her shoulder. For the first time she noticed Elena behind her.

Sighing, she continued to speak. Whether for herself or Elena– only she knew.

“The Imbrian Empire would not have reformed anyway. Leda was never going to accomplish that even if she outmaneuvered her wretched husband. Because we have always needed more than just killing the right people to change the world. You also need the right people to exist to take up the mantle of leadership. And you need the material and social conditions for change. She acted in arrogance; and I narrowly avoided dooming myself and our remaining family through the same arrogance. I am mature enough to know this, Norn.”

Norn grunted. “Elf– You do know that–”

“Yes, you are not really Norn. You are an Echo of her regrets, clinging like a chain around the neck of my ‘niece’. Fate brought us together perhaps so my violence can have one use in life.”

Conny lifted her hand.

This time Norn made no move to stop her or to resist.

Over her shoulder, the baton lifted its tip up and back, and then swung–

“No! Auntie, leave Norn alone! Please!”

Elena finally found her voice and called out, but it was too late–

In the next instant, whatever of Norn was inside her would be cut out utterly– unless–

Elena focused all of herself in that near-imperceptible instant–

To shield Norn and to suffer herself and to teach Conny a lesson about her ‘arrogance’–

There was no one to hold her abilities back anymore,

And she hated listening to these people talk about hopelessness and inaction so much!

In that moment, she was filled with a desire to shake this unjust world,

and it responded.

TERRAKINESIS

Across the false Schwerin Isle of her memories the foundations and structures quavered.

In front of Norn a stone slab rose that absorbed Conny’s invisible cutting, and a stone fist rose in front of Conny that struck her in the stomach. The blow sent her tumbling off her feet and onto the ground, clutching her stomach as Elena had clutched it from Norn’s previous blows. She came to lie in front of a flowerbed only partially conscious.

Then– the quaking intensified–

and all of the floor and scenery collapsed–

---

“Thank you for joining us for tea. I wanted to talk to you about some– recent events.”

There was a meeting in Baran’s house.

Homa, Kalika, Sareh and the lady of the house sat around the little table. There were cups of light brown tea, sweetened with a bit of date syrup. Baran looked a bit more weary and troubled than she had been. Sareh looked tense and avoidant, her gaze wandering and unable to meet the other two at the table. It was not a homey atmosphere.

“I saw your Councilwoman out there.” Kalika said. “Playing with the kids.”

Homa envied how easily Kalika could breach the silence that had built up.

Baran smiled. Her lips moved ever so slightly– a diplomatic sort of smile.

“She’s always liked to play with the kids here. Maybe because she doesn’t have her own.”

“Perhaps. She’s wearing a very colorful uniform nowadays, isn’t she?” Kalika said.

“Yes.” Baran said, her eyes downcast. “I wanted to tell you we are not affiliated with that.”

“What do you mean not affiliated?” Homa grumbled. “Everyone here loves that– lady.”

Now the situation dragged Homa’s words out of her.

She was about to say ‘bitch’ and just barely managed to control herself in that moment.

Baran continued to look at the table. “I know it must have looked strange to you–”

Homa cut her off. “More than strange! Alarming! Do you not know what they’ve done?”

“Homa, don’t yell at her.” Sareh butted in, laying a closed fist on the table.

“Please don’t fight. We’re all friends here, Sareh. I’m not offended.” Baran said.

Sareh suddenly looked perhaps more sad at the scene than angry with anyone.

“I agree.” Kalika said, laying a hand on Homa’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

Homa had just gotten calmed down from her last outburst and her self-control frayed.

She was still a little bit upset at Kalika, but it came from a place of pettiness.

Because she knew Kalika was right, and that she was being irrational and stubborn.

She knew that her shouting and blowing up would not help her or anyone else.

But that did not help her to calm down and see things clearly.

Everything that was happening was too unfair and odious.

Sareh crossed her arms and drew in a breath as if preparing for what she would say.

“Look. Nobody here is a member of the Volkisch Movement. We do not want to wear their uniforms and attack people for their sake. But for us, the council government never helped us at all. No matter how we voted, the policy was that the Rashidun in the town controlled everything and our situation remained the same. But Rahima specifically always helped us keep our heads above water, and kept the peace. So the people here want to believe Rahima has their best interests at heart, no matter what side she’s on. We know that the Volkisch Movement has caused a lot of violence– but in our eyes, the council government was responsible for our pain, not the Volkisch. The Volkisch have terrorized other Imbrians and peoples– if you find some really cynical folks here, they’ll say its deserved.”

Baran nodded her head. She had a rather pitiful expression as Sareh explained.

“That doesn’t make anything right.” Homa replied sharply.

“I’m just telling you what the people here think.” Sareh said. “I already told you I’m not with the Volkisch Movement, I do not sympathize with them, I think they’re scum. If they weren’t scum they would have ended the restrictions that the Rashidun put on our community and made this place more livable. But you need to understand this, Homa– the status quo here has been the same. So why would we see any urgency? To us, there is no evidence the Volkisch are a world-shattering threat. Nothing has changed for good or for ill.”

Those remarks were about to earn another sharp rebuke–

“Homa. I’m on your side, but please try to understand them.” Kalika said.

–until the anger was again diffused by a stern voice.

Homa clenched her fists, but she said nothing out of fear of insulting Sareh and Baran.

She knew that they were not evil people– they were just stuck in a horrid situation.

Like her– they had no power to change anything by themselves.

But she still wanted to be angry at them. Because it still wasn’t right to her.

“Homa, Kalika, we value your friendship and what you’ve done for us, and we don’t want to lose it or to trouble you with anything. I know you are both really good people and that is why you have concerns about Rahima. I understand your perspective.” Baran said. “You don’t have to be involved with Rahima in any way– she will not know about you, and you will not have to interact with her. But I can’t deny Rahima if she wants to come to the festival.”

“Trust me, I wish she was not coming. I’m not her biggest fan. She has condescended to the two of us far too much.” Sareh said. “I still begrudge her that as much as she helped us, she has not actually changed the situation here. But I have to set aside my personal feelings because she has undoubtedly still done a lot for us. Our people here admire her because of it. As much as she irritates me, we have to be grateful and show some respect.”

Homa looked down at the table to avoid everyone’s faces. “Fine, I understand.”

“I wanted to ask something else.” Baran said. “I’d like to hear your opinion on a local issue.”

“I’m all ears.” Kalika said.

Homa nodded her head quietly and played along.

“Rahima talked to us about her plans for the Wohnbezirk. Apparently she thinks she’ll have a lot of power to change things soon. I wanted to hear an outside opinion. You see– she wants to promote Shimii immigration into the core station– but she also said she wants to make the Wohnbezirk officially non-denominational. Setting aside whether or not she will be able to do this– it’s not like she hasn’t broken promises before– but I’m torn about it. She did not have too many specifics; I told her I’d need time to form an opinion anyway.”

Baran looked troubled as she spoke. She was not smiling, diplomatically or otherwise.

“My question is: who sets the terms of what ‘non-denominational’ means?” Kalika said.

“That’s what I am most afraid of.” Baran said.

“If the old Rashidun in the town get to decide the details, you can bet there won’t be any Mahdist traditions involved. They will want us to just blend in and follow their lead.” Sareh said. “It feels like Rahima is just doing anything to say that she tried to mend the sectarian prejudices and we’ll end up in the same position or worse as before.”

“I am wary of judging her too harshly until we see the plan in more detail.” Baran said.

“If it were me, I would not accept even the base premise.” Kalika said. “Because I don’t think anyone wants the town to be ‘non-demonimational’. I think what people want is to be able to live side by side as their own persons with their own identities without conflict. They want to be acknowledged and accepted for who they are. But the world that they live in is one in which the Rashidun are prejudice against them. Suddenly saying that the town is not Rashidun, and the village is not Mahdist does not change that the people are divided.”

“I agree! The more I think about it the more pissed off I get!” Sareh said. “If this village just had equal treatment there wouldn’t be a problem! We’re not asking to live in the core station or in the town, we’re asking to be able to grow food and to have working equipment down here! This is our home and we should just be able to make it more livable!”

“Homa, what do you think?” Baran said.

She reached out a hand to touch Homa’s own hand– and touched the metallic one.

Homa could not feel it and there was something bitter about that.

“I don’t trust that lady.” Homa said. “I don’t think this is what anyone wants.”

Baran nodded. Even though Homa felt she had said something stupid and obvious.

Nobody around the table judged her or dismissed her.

“Thank you both. It’s helped me to think about what I’ll say to Rahima.” Baran said.

“We’re always happy to help.” Kalika said. “But ultimately, this is your home, and your folks. I’ve seen how much the people here love you, Baran. I am sure that whatever your decision is they will accept it. So trust in yourself too, even if you have to defy what others have told you. Think about what your culture means and what it means to fight for it.”

Kalika was always so wise and level-headed with everyone.

She only had like six or seven years on Homa, but she was so much mature.

“Thank you. I’ll need time to think on it– oh, actually, can I borrow Kalika for a bit?”

Baran looked at Homa for a moment. Homa nodded her head with plain disinterest.

“Right, I do need those dancing lessons for the festival.” Kalika said, smiling.

“You can also try on the costumes. I can fit them to your sizes.” Baran added.

“Can Homa sneak a peek, or should it be a surprise for her?” Kalika said suddenly.

“Ah– that will be up to her.” Baran said, laughing a little bit at Kalika’s suggestion.

Homa stared at them while they chirped and buzzed like giddy girls. She grunted.

“Hmph. What are you giggling about? I’m not in any great hurry to see it.” Homa lied.

---

Elena looked outside of her window, high up in one of the towers of Schwerin Isle.

She was small enough that she might have fallen out. She was exactingly careful near it.

Overhead, the glass sky distorted with the shadows of enormous things lumbering out of reach, displacing the water outside and causing the world to shake from the enormity of their movements. Far below, the fields of flowers and grass, and the distant forest, lit up with LED torches. She could hear the shouting of men reduced to a whisper by the distance, but still carried up to her perch owing to how otherwise quiet and still the nights were.

Elena did not understand the sights.

Then, in the distance, she saw the flash and fire of an explosion and drew back in panic.

Shutting her window, gathering up her little coat from a nearby chair and making to leave.

The door opened on its own as she neared it, giving the little princess another fright.

Elena tumbled back and crawled away from the door until she recognized the figure.

Norn Tauscherer, who had visited a few times. A friendly soldier, her father’s ‘sister’.

Tall, blond haired, gallant in her grey uniform, a saber on one hip and a gun in the other.

“Miss Norn!” Elena said. “There’s loud noises everywhere and fire outside! It’s scary!”

“I know.” Norn said. Elena started to get herself up, and Norn knelt down to her level.

“Can you stop it? I can’t sleep– it’s really scary– I was going to get mommy–”

Norn shook her head. She smiled. “Mommy sent me to come get you. We have to leave.”

Elena did not understand. This was so sudden. She had lived all her life in Schwerin Isle.

“Oh, but I can’t leave.” Elena said. “I need– things– and Trude isn’t ready–”

“Gertrude is leaving another way.” Norn said. “I know this is sudden. But we have to go.”

There was another bright flash and a booming noise outside. For a brief moment, Elena saw Norn’s expression as she glanced at the window. She looked so furious, angrier than Elena had ever seen anyone get angry, besides perhaps her best friend Gertrude Lichtenberg. That brief flash of anger led Elena to believe that things were worse than she knew. That maybe Norn could not stop the noises and the fire and the giant things flying outside the glass.

Maybe they really did have to leave.

Norn turned back to Elena and laid her hands gently on Elena’s little shoulders.

Fixing her red eyes on her. Red eyes that seemed to briefly glow–

“Elena, we have to go. You want to go with me– you’ll understand later–”

She felt like something squeezed gently on the back of her head, but it was gone quickly.

“But– I don’t want to go.” Elena said.

Norn blinked. Her face neared even closer to Elena’s and looked even deeper into her eyes.

“Oh no. This is– of all things–” Norn laid a hand over her own face suddenly.

What had she seen? What had happened?

“Miss Norn? Did I do something wrong? I’m really sorry.” Elena said.

Norn shook her head. “No, no. You have not done anything wrong. I am just– worried.”

“Worried? Do the sounds and lights scare you too?” Elena asked.

If someone like Norn could be scared by all of this, it must have been really scary.

“Elena, can you be a big and strong girl for me for a moment?” Norn asked.

As much as Elena felt like a small and scared girl at that moment, she could not resist a chance to prove to an adult that she was actually very formidable and grown-up. Those words seemed to unlock a determination that she had not possessed at any other time. She stood herself up as tall as she could and puffed out her chest and put on her most terribly serious girl face. In that moment, she was as adult as a five year old could be.

“I can be big and strong!” Elena said.

Norn nodded her acknowledgment of Elena’s strongness and bigness.

She withdrew her saber from her hip. Elena’s eyes immediately drew to it.

It was so large and so sharp.

And it slid across Norn’s palm so easily, drawing out so much red blood.

Shocked, Elena covered her mouth so as to not cry out like the scared child that she was.

“Don’t be afraid. This doesn’t hurt me much.”

“Why did you do that?”

Norn smiled, as if to try to reassure Elena.

Out the window, there was another flash and a distant thunder.

“Elena, we are going to make a very special promise. A very important promise that is only for us.” Norn said. “You are a very special girl, Elena, and if you don’t make this promise, there are bad people who will chase you. They might also make you do bad things that you don’t want to do. I know this sounds confusing, but I need you to believe in Miss Norn because I have seen this happen. If you make this promise– you’ll be protected forever.”

Norn held up her bloody palm. Elena looked down at it. There was so much blood.

“I know it’s dirty, but please lay your hand on mine and promise me.” Norn said.

Elena was still being strong and big, as much as she could. She would comply.

She laid her little hand on Norn’s bloody palm, touching the warm, slick, thickening fluid.

Norn looked into her eyes. Elena could have sworn Norn’s eyes flashed red again.

“Elena, please remember this promise. Don’t ever be tempted to break it. Even if you must rely on others, even if you are afraid and don’t know what to do, even if you are desperate.”

Though she did not understand, Elena swore that she would follow Norn’s promise.

Implicitly the oath passed between the two of them, through their hands and eyes.

No words were needed. Elena lacked the words to describe it anyway.

However, her mind and the world understood it.

One blood, one promise– old Katarran Mageia sworn in pain and sacrifice.

Elena now understood. She understood what happened on that long-gone dark night.

After her memory fully played out, there was something of an awkward silence.

Neither the Norn in her memory nor Elena herself moved for a moment.

Outside the window, there were no further detonations of ordnance.

Then, Elena began to weep. In that small body, but with the voice of her adult self.

“She should have told me.” Elena said. “All this time– I wish she would have told me.”

In front of her, the figment Norn who had played her part so perfectly smiled at her.

“She believed the knowledge of what happened would have only caused you pain. That her position prevented her from doing anything else but hurting you. But she was deeply afraid that you would suffer a similar fate as hers. She saw something in you– someone who could be manipulated and used and who would live to regret many horrible things. She thought, better for you to be helpless, than to be like her with power that others exploited.”

Elena suddenly threw herself into Norn’s chest, embracing her as hard as she could.

With her child body she could just barely wrap her arms around Norn.

Could barely squeeze with as much emotion as she wished she could impart on the Echo.

“She saved my life that night. She should have talked to me.” Elena said, weeping.

The Norn in her memories smiled a little bit. She returned her affection for a moment.

“Why did you stop your companion from dispelling me?” She asked, hugging Elena back.

“I was afraid.” Elena said. “I was afraid I’d never understand Norn. That I would lose all of Norn’s influence on me, and my past. That I would lose her forever and have to live with that doubt of what she was to me. I didn’t want to hate her. I didn’t want to forget or to be forced to ignore what she did, even if it was painful. I’ve lost so many people from my past. I wanted to understand Norn, to know her. I felt that aunt Conny was going to erase all of that.”

“You understand, none of your feelings here will be relayed to Norn.” The Echo said.

“I know. I will make it my next goal to tell her. I’ll confront her with my feelings.”

Elena looked up at the Echo Norn’s face. In that moment, she was an adult again.

Her body had grown; the environment of Schwerin Isle on that dark night began to fade.

“I want her to know that I do not hate her– and that I can handle myself now.” Elena said.

“Then, I will return this to you. It has always been yours; it was never her doing entirely.”

The Echo Norn smiled a last time, and faded away with the scene, rejoining Elena’s aether.

As before the scene began to peel away–

In her relief, in the outpouring of warm feelings that overcame her as her aether returned–

She failed to notice that something out of place had been drawn to her.

Something that wished to devour the fire that had been lit in her soul.

---

Just as she had begun to feel that she had a grasp on what was happening, Elena felt like the metaphorical ground had fallen out from under her along with the physical ground. She found herself falling away from the scenes of her memories which she had been perusing before. Whether she was a physical body or a dreaming mind, she was no longer sure, and could neither discern her present location, where she had transitioned from and to where the fall would eventually lead. She was falling as if down a long, winding tunnel.

And yet in her mind, everything and nothing was happening at once.

She felt as if she was not only falling but also being pulled in every given direction.

Images flitted in and out of her vision only enough to startle her again and again.

Everything else– was a green void–

An eternal, ever-shifting green that defied any imposition of the senses upon it.

Elena was beset by a powerful feeling of precarity. Nothing certain; everything veiled.

She felt burdened with a fear that a nebulous assault could be launched upon her at any second along with the irritating, frustrating self-awareness to know that she was being paranoid. Her mood shifted rapidly, imagining and dispelling potential threats in bewildering succession, believing for a second, casting aside just as fast, but always unearthing a new fear in time to replace the last object of her terror. In front of her were shafts of light that felt like tall grasses or flower stalks in her mother’s garden, and she fell through them and pushed them aside and clawed at them trying to discern what was behind each, only to find nothing. To know there would be nothing but to continue desperately turning each aside and each over because there was something out there. There had to be; there couldn’t be–

More so than mere liminality, Elena felt like she was trapped in a cage of pure anxiety.

Helpless, powerful, helpless again; falling, stopping, falling again; quick, slow, quick–

But in the midst of the fall Elena realized something more powerful than the tumult.

Something that focused her mind and forced reason into the unreasoning landscape.

“I can’t stay stuck in here! There are people who I want to see! People who need me!”

Elena had promised herself that she would not sit idle and helpless anymore!

She wanted Captain Korabiskaya to be proud of her communist learning! She wanted to chat up Minardo and Khadija in the kitchen again! She wanted to learn to fight from Marina (who truly needed to be chased down and made to fulfill her promises at last!) She was in the care of Kalika and Homa and Khloe she did not want to worry them any more!

And– she wanted to see Gertrude again!

Suddenly, everything around her, all of the green, began to take a definitive form.

She could not allow her fears to control her; she could not keep burdening others!

So many people had offered her their kindness. She could not let them all down now.

All of the flitting figures, the covering grasses, the shifting visions–

Took on a form and enveloped Elena and gave her a place to land.

Elena came to lie on a cold floor, and she opened her eyes as if waking up from sleep.

Still carrying some of the anxiety of the fall, she was startled and looked around herself.

She was alone, inside of a structure. Ceiling, floor, walls, light. She could breathe.

Lime green walls — concrete perhaps?– and a shiny, spick and span, dark green floor.

Clean enough to almost see her own reflection upon it. Her own confused expression.

All of the walls looked a bit roughened. They were not metal plates projecting color; they were physical materials painted over. She marveled at the texture of the wall, running her soft fingers over a surface so rough it almost hurt. Though she was in a corridor, she could see around the nearby corner that the next room opened up a bit more. There were LED lights providing solid and stable lighting throughout. There were doors, or at least, there were the impressions of doors. Not only were some of the doors missing handles, and some of the empty thresholds missing doors, there were other misplaced accoutrements of interior planning scattered about. Exit signs placed over empty spaces in the walls; guidance arrows pointing up or down; a smeared, illegible map that could not have been of these halls.

As Elena explored the space, she realized it was a facsimile of an office floorplan.

Like the administrative building in Luxembourg; or some of the Heitzing interiors.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Conny?” Elena called out.

Her voice echoed down the halls.

Trying not to panic, she chose a direction and began following the corridor.

Around the corner, into a wider corridor full of doors in similarly strange configurations.

She tried several of the doors but many opened up into walls, into windows looking into walls, into misplaced signage, or into rooms with more doors– none of which felt like they would lead anywhere. Elena closed them all back up, not eager to become lost in the door maze, and continued down the same corridor that she had been navigating.

Through a room of hanging television screens all displaying strobing green colors.

Past an irresponsive elevator bank, as if the panel had its power cut– or never installed.

Through more long, green halls. She found one window that looked into a room full of doors.

She could not open the window– and none of the doors had handles–

“This must still all be because of psionics. Like my visions of Conny and Norn.”

She tried to keep her mind steady, to tread onward, and to focus on what she wanted.

Manifesting an exit, or a sign of an exit, or a way to awaken from this nightmare.

When Elena had used her psionics on Marina, she had done so by desiring obsessively.

Demanding of the world that it change; demanding of Marina that she obey.

Elena desired— as she walked, she focused on all the things she wanted to do, the people she wanted to return to. Promises she had made, and commitments and responsibilities that she had given herself. She did not want to be trapped anywhere, not anymore. She did not want to be idle. She desired to leave, she desired for the walls to move and the doors to open. Her fingers naturally curled into a fist, her nails digging into her flesh from how much she tried to concentrate. She tried to fill herself to bursting with desire as she turned a corner–

There was a square room with a single water cooler behind a door without a handle.

“Damn it! Whoever is doing this, you won’t get away with it!” Elena shouted.

Once again her voice traveled as a lonely echo down the halls.

Teeth grit, fists clenched tight, she stomped her way farther along the green walls.

Her concentration was beginning to waver.

She was starting to feel something of a chill too.

Last she remembered, she never even got out of bed before Conny made a mess of things.

She was still dressed only in a shirt and skirt, no socks, no shoes, no jacket.

At least she had underwear.

“I no longer care if that woman is my aunt. I’ll kick her the next time I see her!”

If I ever see her again.

Elena found herself turning another corner and wandering, bleary-eyed with confusion, into what looked like a lobby with a tall ceiling. There was a green carpet embossed with a wireframe tesseract in brighter shades of green, leading up to a front desk behind glass. Tall standing glass panels with green splotches and smears like melting figures seemed to be art pieces decorating the area, but also gave the lobby a labyrinthine feeling. Elena navigated the panels, making her way between a series of green bubble seats to the empty desk.

In the back was a green mural in textured paints. It vaguely resembled a tree.

Standing in front of the desk, Elena rang a bell that had been set upon it.

The sound echoed through the room. Nothing happened.

She picked up the handset phone that would have belonged to a secretary if there was one.

Trembling hand lifting the device, fearing what she might hear–

setting it on her ear–

Nothing at all.

Of course.

Elena looked at the handset as if it had offended her.

She slammed it back into its dock.

Around the desk she saw two doors that looked real.

She tried one and the handle refused to move so she went to the other. On that second door the handle was so limp that her touch caused it to pop out of the hole in the door. Elena could then push the door open and continue her journey. Behind the door was the actual office space. Artsy glass streaked with green paint separated a few different desks, each with a handset phone, a boxy computer, and overflowing stacks of papers.

Expecting there to be nothing written on any of them, Elena pulled out one of the sheets.

Every sheet had an official-looking letterhead and shared a single format.

And all of them contained the same text. A surprising amount with surprising contents.

Preliminary Report on Elena von Fueller

Findings: Stupid, libidinal, bourgeois, dependent and bratty. Her brain practically boiling in a soup of hormones. Good for nothing but her body and status, and her attitude is downright pathetic. Claims to have lived a long life of hardship, such as tea parties, a classical romantic courtship with a knight, and living in a billion imperial mark station with a dozen maids. Has never worked a day in her life and exclusively relies on others to save or protect her. Wants to bark and beg and submit and have filthy lesbian sex with her peers to a shameful degree.

Suggested intervention: Physical correction of behaviors and internment in a gilded cage.

Each of these insulting reports had a different author–

Ulyana Korabiskaya; Bethany Skoll; Marina McKennedy; Logia Minardo; Khadija al-Shajara–

–Gertrude Lichtenberg;

“None of this is real! None of it!” Elena shouted, ripping up the paper in her hand.

In a fit of anger she practically attacked the stack of papers on the desk–

However, the more of them she ripped,

more copies fell,

from seemingly nowhere overhead

neatly

settling

on the desk

Elena looked at the replenishing stack on the desk, of the exact same paper.

Teeth grit; she pushed over the papers onto the seat behind the desk.

Prompting even more papers to drop from overhead to replace them.

All of them saying the same demeaning things– all authored by people she knew–

“It’s fake– it’s obviously fake I know that it is–!”

She left the desk and charged down the aisle between all of them, her hands shaking.

Her heavy breathing and hurried, stomping footsteps the only noise in the emptiness.

Until–

Elena lifted her gaze from the floor and stopped moving, held her breath–

She thought she heard flowing water.

In her mind, this meant that there must have been someone making that water flow.

Someone turning on a faucet or drinking from a water cooler or bottle filling station.

She felt an immediate anxiety– finding someone in this place might be dangerous.

Cautiously, she advanced, out of the room with the desks, approaching a frosted glass door.

Though it was difficult to see, she though there was indeed a shadow beyond it.

Quietly, she tiptoed to the door, held her breath, and peeked through it.

The room beyond the door was immediately familiar.

Elena felt that she had looped such a room a few times already– a square room with lines of water coolers. When she last crossed such a room the water coolers were pristine but disused. In this particular room, however, there was a figure at the water cooler. But the figure was as incongruous as the water coolers themselves.

Elena clutched the door and pushed herself against the wall to keep from falling.

Her knees shook. She could not understand what she saw.

In front of a water cooler, there was a tall figure that was bundled up in ragged green cloth with a hood, but the hood was stitched shut to what appeared to be a hard white mask. There was no gap between the mask and the cloth as if the cloth was skin and the mask flesh, and there was an expression carved on the mask, with cut-out eye slits and a jagged slicing streak resembling a smile. But these features moved in an eerie and impossible way as if rather than static carvings on a surface they were the actual contours of a face. The green creature’s expression shifted from a neutral sort of expression to a terrified grimace, each change prompted by its interactions with the water cooler.

Repeatedly, it would lift a green, smooth claw with incredibly long and sharp digits.

It would press down the button to dispense water.

And startle itself– stepping back, terrified, covering its mask, until the water subsided.

Then it would look at the water cooler again with a curious expression on its mask.

Again, and again, Elena must have watched this pathetic sight a dozen times.

At no point was she closer to understanding what this creature was or where she was.

She knew there was no other way to go. If she doubled back she felt she might never escape.

Confronting this creature now was a sign of something changing. She wanted to have hope.

Maybe the end of this labyrinth was in sight?

Elena tried to swallow the lump she felt forming in her throat.

Looking down at her hands. In her previous visions she had been capable of power, right?

Victoria had been able to swipe her hand and cut chunks out of the bare dirt.

Elena felt that she had the basic mechanism down– desire.

When she desired strongly for something to happen the world seemed to respond to her.

Steadying her breath, and flexing her fingers as if it would help the power to come out–

Elena opened the door and stepped into the room.

At first the creature paid her no attention.

She approached, step by step, clearing the door threshold and the landing, and stepping in between the lines of coolers. One step, watching the creature, another step, never taking her eyes off it. She advanced about a meter from the creature in this way and began to feel confident that it might not look at her. She kept her distance as much as she could, hugging the opposite line of coolers to the one where the entity stood.

Step, by step, she neared, and then she crossed the space of the creature.

Now that it was behind her– she turned around, to be able to keep tabs on it–

And it turned around too.

That masked expression met Elena’s eyes and her face turned pale and her heart sank.

Her whole body shook.

The creature’s eyes, thick black lines, seemed to expand and contract impossibly.

Its long, cloth neck bent and reared up as it examined her from afar.

Elena, breathing hard, took a step backward from it.

Suddenly, the creature lifted its claw-like arm–

In response Elena shouted and drew back–

And the entity covered its face.

Shaking arms, one a claw, the other a skinny, emaciated limb, drawn in front of its mask.

Just as Elena had been stepping back from it, the creature began to step back from her.

Seizing the opportunity, Elena turned around and ran for the door.

Any thoughts of fighting the monster had vanished from her mind.

Praying for a real handle, she turned it, the door unlocked, and she crossed.

Slamming it behind herself and putting her back to it.

Breathing heavy, her arms and legs aching, feeling like she could collapse from the effort.

She had taken off with such a sudden snap of movement she felt like she tore something.

But she was still in a dangerous place– sweat trailing down her eyes she looked forward–

There was a desk in the middle of the room. She was in some kind of personal office.

And there was someone behind the chair, a woman in official-looking clothes–

“Good afternoon. Elena von Fueller is it? A celebrity client, with a substantial debt.”

---

The hum of an air conditioner, the striking of a clock, and a smell like plastic.

“Please, have a seat. Would you like some water or coffee?”

Elena, mind going slowly numb, simply nodded her head and did as she was told.

Taking a seat in front of the desk. The woman behind it handed her a paper cup.

There was brown liquid in it. It was odorless and room temperature.

When she tried to drink it, it tasted like nothing and passed through her like air.

“Elena von Fueller, thank you so much for coming in today. I am positively elated to be the one to introduce you to CAGES. We are the industry-leading solution for young girls to repay their debts to the world through surrender and permanent isolation. Our protective services are top of the line at stripping you of all agency and responsibility so you can thrive in a pristine enclosure. You will worry no one again, no one will ever be burdened by your presence again. You will cease to take up space. Your sin will be absolved. Our solution is data-driven, on the chain, AI-optimized for effective outcomes with high scalability.”

As the woman in the suit talked, Elena glanced at the walls.

Paintings of green splotches, set on green frames upon the green walls.

There were no more doors, no connecting corridors, and no out-of-place windows.

Just an office. Elena, the eccentric sales representative, and the hum of the air conditioning.

Behind the professional-looking lady expounding the virtues and values of locking her up forever, there was an abstract mural painted ‘action-style’. Distressing, chaotic, like the wall had been battered with the paintbrush, Elena could pick out every single shade of green from the darker to the lighter ones in the mix. Over the few seconds that she stared at it the mural felt to her that it was actually a depiction of something– a girl, her body the lighter greens, her neck slit by a dark green streak, her near-yellowing arms hanging limp at her sides. Encased in a cage of neon green from which she would never escape.

Her wavering vision settled on the woman behind the desk again.

Questioning her sanity with every word, she asked: “Bethany, is that you?”

“CAGES Inc. is not liable for any resemblance to real or historical individuals.”

It was Bethany, though. Her soft and fair skin, her dark hair in a bun, her kind eyes, her large, inviting chest– the blazer and skirt and tights really flattered her too– Elena felt a bit rotten for thinking that, but she could not help herself. This was undoubtedly Elena’s head maid. She woke her up every morning, dressed her, yelled at her, told her little things about her mother off-hand. She was the first woman that a teenage Elena recognized as being beautiful and attractive, before going off to school. Someone she admired and wanted to take after, at times– sometimes even someone Elena wished she could become.

She was a servant, but she always felt like a friend. Perhaps the woman who had given her some of the most conflicting feelings of her life. She would have known her everywhere, known her voice, her patterns of speech, the exact shade of her hair, her eyes–

“Bethany, why are you here?” Elena asked. Her own voice sounded so weak and distant.

“I am here to serve you a best-in-class absolvement of your earthly sins experience.”

Bethany had her arms on the table, with her fingers entwined and a wry smile.

She really looked like a saleswoman pitching something– but it was all nonsense.

“Bethany– what do you mean– sins–” Elena said.

Her voice bereft of any ability to assert the wishes of its owner. Everything was so surreal, and her mind was reeling the thought of seeing Bethany again in this bizarre context that she could barely string a sentence together. It felt like at most she could say the individual words with pauses between short enough to count as speech, and no more.

“Believe me, Elena,” Bethany reached out a hand and laid it on Elena’s shoulder. Her skin was not cold or warm. It was room temperature. Like everything else in the office. Room temperature, odorless, but terrifyingly solid. “I know that it feels impossible to repay your substantial debts to society. Every minute of every day you are filled with the cruel agony of being. Forcing everyone to suffer for your existence, the constant need that you have for other’s assistance and attention. But it is alright– we are here to help you!”

Elena’s eyes teared up. She started to shake. “Bethany– I don’t– this isn’t– I can’t–”

“Think of it this way. You won’t have to cry again, and nobody will ever cry for you. You will be permanently safe and everyone will be permanently safe from you. Isn’t the world outside so frightening and full of pain? It was your fault that Gertrude Lichtenberg nearly killed all of your new companions and that you will never be able to see her again. It was because she was accompanying you that Marina McKennedy ended up in a position to help cause the Kreuzung Core Crisis. If we look back farther wasn’t it because of your power and status that Heidelinde Sawyer joined the Volkisch Movement? It seems to me the evidence is mounting that Elena von Fueller is a real debt-racking-up machine! That is where CAGES comes in– we can help you to humanely absolve yourself of your horrifying and evil existence.”

As ridiculous as it sounded the ideas began to seem so enticing as she listened to them.

That was why Elena began to cry– in recognition of all that she had done wrong.

She feared that she tried so hard and accomplished so little– but had she tried hard at all?

Maybe it had been difficult because she was so weak.

Running away with Marina, ending up on the Brigand, building up the courage to intervene in Goryk’s Gorge, and trying to learn about communism and to support the Volksarmee. But in truth, hadn’t she done absolutely nothing at all throughout the journey? She had not even taken one step forward. There was still an entire world out there that was built solidly on a foundation laid down by a sin that was inscribed into her very blood and skin.

Elena was afraid. She was so afraid and there was no holding back that anxiety anymore.

Afraid she would never see Gertrude or any of her friends again; afraid she could never mend the things the Imbrian Empire had done to its people; afraid that she was useless to her new companions, another mouth to feed for no reason at all; and afraid that these conditions could never change and that she was doomed. That ‘renouncing’ her royal status meant nothing because everyone in the world still believed her to be a royal anyway and would never believe she was a ‘proletarian’. She was afraid that she was helpless to take action, and perhaps even helpless to change even her own self for the better.

Perhaps it would have been for the best if she let Bethany “absolve her of her debts.”

If she was painlessly erased from the world and nobody had to bother about her.

However–

“What you’re saying is that I should run away from responsibility.” Elena said. Her voice was trembling, her chest shuddering, and she felt like she had so little strength in her limbs. “You are not saying that I would take responsibility, or that anything would be fixed. You won’t actually make things better. You’ll just take me away like that settles everything.”

Bethany continued to smile as if hardly acknowledging that Elena spoke.

“This is a common misconception. It is impossible to repay the debt any other way. You will never make up for your many sins, you will never learn or get better, you will never stop being a burden to others. Your only means of absolution is to sacrifice yourself. Everyone hates taking care of you because you are a drain on their resources, after all.”

“That’s a lie!”

Elena stood suddenly, both hands on the table, facing Bethany closely, a fire in her eyes.

“Communists don’t think that anyone is a ‘drain on resources’! It’s not a matter of whether they deserve resources, or whether they have earned them– everyone is given what they need! The crew would never think that about anyone. Sure, maybe I could take up less because I do less, and I try not to bother anyone– but when I haven’t eaten in a while Minardo berates me and makes me eat. If I’m cooped up in my room too much then the Captain or the Commissar might pop in to ask how my reading is going. And the sailors have gotten to used to having me around, and they wave at me every day. No– I don’t think anyone hates me. And if they do, it’s not because I ask for food and shelter.”

She spoke with conviction and near-breathlessly, practically shouting in Bethany’s face.

Though she felt silly to be saying everything so earnestly, she believed it.

Believed so strongly that it made Bethany’s sales pitch seem even more ridiculous.

“And I’m done with you pretending Bethany would say these horrible things to me!” Elena shouted, buoyed by her previous statements and seizing an opportunity, since Bethany did not respond quickly enough to preempt her. “Bethany would have always supported me, she cared about me– she was strict, but she– Bethany protected me–” Elena sobbed a bit. “You are mocking her. I don’t know if I can stop you– but I am definitely leaving, right now.”

Steepling her fingers on the table, Bethany listened to the entirety of her speech.

Never once ceasing to smile politely and to speak in a disturbingly even tone of voice.

“Elena, I’m afraid that this is a capitalist society, and that means someone has to pay.”

Bethany calmly stood up from behind the desk, dusting off her skirt.

Under her sleeves and the back of her suit jacket– something began to writhe–

Elena saw the barest flitting image of the tendrils before she took off running.

There was a whip-crack at her heels, and a shredding sound.

She narrowly avoided the strike but she was rushing too fast to realize it.

Slamming through the office door, rubbing her shoulder that performed the tackle, and hurtling through the room with the coolers. That green creature was still there, still stuck in its loop with the water cooler but Elena had no time for it now. Running so quickly she was going unsteady, with her head down, her eyes tearing up and the tendons on her legs screaming at her, she charged past the creature with complete abandon–

Too close, as the creature was startled by her appearance and flailed–

Just grazing the green limbs sent a spike of panic through Elena that caused her to tumble.

And sent the green entity into a panic that launched it toward the office.

Shrieking inhuman noises issued from it as it gave everything to get away–

“Out of my way please. I am completing a sale.”

There was a crack, something whipped across the green entity and sliced it in half.

In the next instant it was gone as if it never existed, and Bethany stood where it had been.

Walking toward Elena with a polite smile and her shoulder exposed and livid.

A mass of black and brown, leathery, belt-like tendrils writhing like snakes grew where there was once skin. All of them ended in silvery implements, like buckle frames and prongs and end tips, and they whipped sharply at the air as if hungry for something to strike. Bethany’s bra strap seemed to snap from the emergence of the belts. Several buttons popped off her suit jacket. Despite her disheveled appearance and the exposure of skin she looked utterly untroubled. Were the tendrils expressing the emotions her face could not?

Elena got herself off the ground and bolted away from the sight.

Down the corridors again.

She expected the room with the desks to be next–

Instead, she found herself in a long hall. Here the lights dimmed dramatically, and she was framed by glass walls each containing enormous streams of flowing green wax like giant lava lamps casting eerie reflections. To her horror she did not recognize and had never seen this sort of room. To see it in place of the desk room she had explored previously–

she felt completely trapped.

Bethany called after her.

There was no shift in her voice, no acknowledgment of the chase.

“Elena, why don’t you look at some of the enclosures we have available? There are many lovely choices. Perhaps a classic dog kennel? Or maybe a bird cage, so metaphorical and romantic! Oh, I know– the Tower is so fashionable right now among women your age! We can furnish you with visions of a loved one managing the confinement, so you don’t have to feel alone in eternity. Perhaps Gertrude Lichtenberg? At least look at the inventory!”

“Leave me alone!”

Elena turned around. Bethany was in the hall, suddenly and without warning.

Regardless of her efforts, Bethany seemed able to catch up with her easily.

She thrust her hand out, focused her desire— to harm Bethany, to shove her, to cut her–

Invisible force ripped from her cold palm. Distortions in the air, a hurtling projectile.

For an instant she saw Bethany distort as the force overtook her.

A green flash– Bethany stepped aside the blast. Chunks of concrete blew into the air.

Green clung to her body like a gas or fire that quickly dispelled. She had used her aura.

Elena had cut a deep gash into the floor but done nothing more.

The fake Bethany was completely unharmed. She had avoided everything.

Her tendrils stretched a considerable distance in retaliation, whipping toward Elena–

She focused her desire on battering them back, and her force crashed into them in mid-air.

There was a burst of air resulting from the clash, and Elena was shoved back.

Though the tendrils retracted she had not even severed a single one or caused any harm.

“What the hell are you?” Elena cried out, still holding her hand out, a now empty threat.

That smile had ceased to be an expression. It felt almost static on Bethany’s face.

“Oh, I understand. Empathy-based sales tactics. That’s fine– I have been called many things. I was once called ‘the Trader’ or ‘the Collector’. Nowadays I consider myself to be simply, The Service Agent. However, I have also been known as the “Legacy of the Transaction Regime” by more erudite individuals. But that name is a bit unwieldy. All I want is to complete our exchange as efficiently as possible– so just refer to me as you wish!”

In the palm of Bethany’s hand appeared a series of objects, lifting, dancing in the air.

A dog kennel, a little tower, a bird cage, each with what appeared to be a girl doll inside.

But the dolls were crying, and writhing, and there were terrified expressions on their faces.

In each enclosure, in a dark corner, were the whipping tentacles striking around the dolls.

“These are just demonstrations, of course, which have no bearing on the quality of the final product, but as you can see, our designs are very beautiful. A lot of attention to detail. I’ve selected three that have the most resonance with your age group. What do you think, Elena von Fueller? I’m afraid if you do not choose one soon I will have to choose for you.”

“It’s Elena Lettiere! Lettiere!”

Elena suddenly shifted her attention to the walls.

She did not know whether she could have struck the fake Bethany–

–but she could hit the environments! Elena again focused her desire.

Lights flickered, glass shattered, and a wave of trapped wax spilled out into the hall.

Elena drew back as quickly as she could while concentrating her desire to shatter the walls.

In the chaos of collapsing glass, spilling wax and sparking bulbs, Bethany disappeared.

Though unsure of the pursuer’s fate, Elena took the opportunity to turn and run.

Shutting a nondescript door behind herself, and entering a simple, green-walled corridor.

It resembled the one she had started in, giving her a brief comfort. Did she loop around?

If that was the case, then perhaps it was possible to find an exit.

Elena doubled over, catching her breath, her legs shaking from all the effort.

She glanced every which way, keeping an eye on the entrances and exits.

Her sharp ears peeled for any sounds other than her own harsh breathing.

Elena was nearing her limit.

Never had she run so hard, so long and so fast in her entire life, not even in Luxembourg did they make her tear across concrete like this. She had been too coddled and she cursed herself. She recalled that she was barefoot, and when she looked down at her bare feet the soft pink skin was turning red and there was peeling white between her toes. She felt she did not have the strength to see what the soles of her feet had become from all this running and that if she did see it, she would not be able to keep fleeing.

It hurt– everything hurt. Her calves felt torn, and her arms throbbed and her back ached.

Sweat trickled down her forehead and over her chest despite how cold the labyrinth felt.

Labyrinth– yes, subconsciously, she had been calling it that to herself, from time to time.

But it struck her that in her exploration, she had not seen a trace of Conny, Norn or anyone.

Everything in these corridors and offices was completely focused on herself.

She was alone here with that mockery of Bethany and those anxious green entities.

What was happening outside? Had someone found her body? What state was she in?

And what happened to her aunt, Conny? Was she responsible for all of this?

No– she couldn’t believe that her aunt would put her through all of this.

It must have been some kind of mistake. Maybe she lost control of her psionics.

Everything that happened was set off by Conny threatening her. She remembered it all. Conny touched her head, and she met the Norn inside her who prevented her using psionics. Now she could use her strange abilities freely, at least in this horrible place. Maybe Conny was not ready for how wildly Elena’s power would spiral and this was the result.

Some kind of punishment?

“Elena, someone has to pay, and I know in your heart, you want to be the one to pay.”

Elena’s head snapped up from the floor. Bethany had appeared around the corner.

No sounds, no warnings, she was simply there as if she always had been.

On her shoulder, the belts growing out of her lifted their buckles warily like snakes.

“You can sign the dotted line; put down the credit– it’s all you. Everything is because of you, after all. Everyone had to sacrifice so much for you. Obviously you could never do anything in return. That just wasn’t like you, it wasn’t your role. You’re a treasure, and people had to fight over you. Now I understand perfectly: you belong in a cute little treasure chest.”

Bethany clasped her hands together and spread them apart.

Flying between her hands was a little treasure chest, brown with golden supports.

She demonstrated a little doll of Elena inside it, crying in a mass of tentacles.

The lid slammed shut on her.

“Aren’t you so very tired right now, Elena? Don’t you just want to be put away for good? You’re so afraid of failing, of your capacity to affect change– you don’t need to fear anything in this little chest. You’ll be a cute little pearl without a single thing in your brain.”

“I want you to let me out of here. Right now. Or I’ll let myself out.” Elena mumbled.

If this thing wanted to talk, they could talk– but she wasn’t going into any “enclosure.”

“And what would you do then? How would you repay your debts?” Bethany said.

Despite everything that had happened– Elena felt a strange certainty about her words.

When she spoke it was as if her heart was speaking without any filter or reservations.

“First thing I want to do is give my stupid aunt a talking-to.” Elena said. “Then– I want to do something to put Bethany to rest. I feel like nobody mourned her and she deserves it. And I want to give Marina a big hug too, she’s been hurting so much. I’ll talk to the Captain or Minardo or Khadija too; I will ask for a formal position in the crew. I want to do my fair share.”

“That sounds so exhausting, and so far below what you owe the world.” Bethany said.

“Maybe. But there’s another thing I really want to do actually. I think you would approve.”

“I can approve a free trial of one of our enclosures.”

Elena slowly lifted herself up to a stand. “No. I want to see if I can use this out there.”

Emanating from Elena, a roar of power that shook the foundations of the labyrinth.

In less than a second, the walls and floor around the fake Bethany shifted.

With the floor rising, the ceiling coming down and the walls closing.

TERRAKINESIS

In her mind Elena desired with every ounce of her certainty to crush her pursuer.

And so the concrete walls moved like pieces on a block tower to enclose her space.

However, she was not immediately dashed into a smear as Elena had hoped–

Amid the crushing stone, Bethany bowed but remained defiant.

One hand on the ceiling, and its elbow to the right wall, and the other hand keeping the left wall at bay. Her back began to bow but she remained upright. There was a groaning noise as the walls struggled to complete the new shape that they were ordered to take. Wisps of fine dust kicked up as the concrete strained. Elena felt a pinprick of pain in her mind, but she drew in a breath, held her hands out, focused on her desire and tried to clap her hands together in a facsimile of crushing– and found her palms unable to join. Representing the resistance that she was facing, giving her a way of understanding it better.

“This is your only way out, Elena. Your only deliverance.” Bethany said.

Despite her precarious position, that polite, professional smile never went away.

On her shoulder, the belts started whipping furiously at the ground.

But they fell just short of Elena– as if they never could have reached her.

“I am done running away.” Elena said simply, trying to push her hands together.

Watching someone with Bethany’s appearance struggle in this trap brought her fresh tears.

It was so cruel, and it was so pointless, but she would put on an end to it.

“You cannot escape your sin.” Bethany said. Her tendrils grew ever more fierce in their lashing. “You will be overcome by fear. You will need the help of others, again and again, they will have to keep coddling and saving you, and they will be so disappointed. You will never change. You will never escape the limits of your own self. Life is transaction, and you will keep taking, taking and taking from everyone around you, begging for them to shield you from your crippling, all-consuming fear. You will never even move a step. You will never earn any profit with which to repay your debts. You will always be a little freeloader.”

Elena pushed her palms closer together and found that they moved as she wanted.

There was another quake, another groan of the concrete.

Bethany’s arm began to shake and bend. A crunching sound issued.

Her elbow split, bone and blood exposed. She winced, briefly, with pain.

To sustain the weight, she fell down to one knee and took the ceiling on her back. Pushing against it, while the forearm of her ruined arm took one wall, her hip against the other. Her tendrils could no longer attack and helped hold the stone. Despite the blood and injury, the fake Bethany continued to stare at Elena with a semblance of her polite smile, as much of it as she could muster. One eye twitched, the corners of her face rose with the pain.

“Even if I have to rely on people again in the future– it won’t be the same as before.”

Elena’s hands moved ever closer to touching.

The ceiling and floor budged ever so slightly, forcing Bethany to bow to a low crouch.

Her face contorted into a grimace of pain. Her entire body shaking with the effort–

“I am trying to learn and change. I want to see the communist’s hopes blossom and I want to do what I can to help. I want to fight for that hope just like my new companions. Nobody who helps me now is waiting on me; nobody who feeds me is paying obeisances; nobody who protects me is fighting for royalty. I am their comrade; a soldier without a name.”

Her palms touched, her fingers entwinted. Bethany’s face softened into one final smile.

And then the walls and ceiling shut with a final crunching of bone, smearing of blood.

Putting an end to the entity known as the “Legacy of the Transaction Regime.”

In so doing, the green walls that had surrounded her began to flake and chip off.

Green dust and sparks seemed to loosen from everything, slowly, progressively.

Elena had begun to peel back the world. Of this she was incredibly certain.

She walked through her own grisly trap, the corpse already gone, sure she had killed it.

Beyond it, she stepped into a broad lobby-like area with tall, shining white glass doors.

There was a green carpet, green lamps, and more of those smeared green glass stands.

Bubble seats; one of which was occupied. Elena’s heart skipped a beat–

But she knew it was not Bethany anymore. She was buoyed by a great certainty.

That certainty was power– it helped her walk, helped her stand tall despite her weariness.

She ambled confidently to the bubble seat and found a man seated on it.

He had his legs tucked under him, and wore long pants and a long, shiny green shirt almost down to his knees. He had dark brown skin and a full beard and messy black hair, and out from that hair extended a pair of cat-like ears one which was frayed by a scar. He had a tail, too, which had a gold ring around the tip. When Elena found him, he seemed to be in meditation, but he opened an eye and smiled at her. His wrinkled face bore a soft smile.

“A princess?” He asked.

“No! A proletarian.” Elena said sharply, quite irritated to still not be taken seriously.

But the man smiled at her even more. “Interesting. Nevertheless, you are worthy.”

Elena blinked. He was different than the entities from before. He felt strangely familiar.

“Who are you? Is that the way out there?”

She pointed out the glowing white doors. He nodded his head.

“Yes, you are at the end of this place. You have calmed it for now. As for me. I am but a mere mystic from a people raised to revile them. I have denied myself heaven so that I may forever assist in the passing of the wisdom that made up my earthly power. I am a sinner, and I do not deserve sympathy. But you are here at last because the song of humanity beckons you.”

He gestured as if for Elena to move away, and she stepped back.

When he stood, Elena realized he was incredibly tall. His back was broad, his legs strong.

She reached out to offer a handshake, but he shook his head.

“Between men and women– that isn’t appropriate.”

Elena retracted her hand with some confusion.

“I feel like I ought to know who you are.” She said.

Even amid the brimming shroud of her certainty, he was an enigma.

He responded first with a small, wry smile as if he understood her confusion.

“Once, I was called Muawiya. An Apostle of Earth in an era without soil.” He said. “I am ashamed of my latter years. Instead, remember me as the Apostle of the Earth who moved a mountain to give his people shelter. Honor my penance and do the same for yours.”

“Thank you. I will do everything that I can.” Elena said.

She felt like a fool not knowing who this stately, powerful-sounding man could be.

He must have been a part of her memories too, like everything else she had seen.

But she had never heard of a Muawiya before, and even the certainty could not elucidate.

“Unlike certain mystics who crave physical existence, this is the last you will see of me.” Muawiya said. “I will not further shame myself. But it has been some time since humanity bequeathed this particular inheritance. I needed to see what would become of it.”

By inheritance– he must have meant the power she now possessed.

“Can I ask you–?”

Muawiya’s eyes wandered back from where Elena had come. He grunted.

“I’m afraid there is no more time. But your answers can be found outside here.”

He turned to face what had become a doorway into the green corridors.

At the door were dozens, maybe hundreds, of the green masked entities all packed there.

Peering out at the two of them, flexing their clawed digits, vaguely hollering.

Ungodly sounds emerged from those braying masks.

Elena felt the green fear in her again.

“Hmph. Less than Thoughtforms– mere dregs of human fallibility. Off-notes of the song.”

Muawiya flexed his own hands and set his feet.

Elena thought of assisting him, briefly, but he seemed to read her intentions immediately.

“Leave, now. Preserve your spirit. Do your part, for your own guilt, and leave me to mine.”

She did not argue with him.

From how he spoke, she understood this was something beyond her ability to alter.

He had given himself this task; and she had given herself a task as well.

Without turning back, Elena hurried from the bubble seats to the front door.

Behind her, the shrieking grew stronger; followed by the rumble of shifting concrete.

Elena laid a hand on the door,

silently thanked the mysterious man for his assistance,

and pushed,

filled with a desire to escape this place and return to the Humanity that

beckoned.

---

Homa wandered around the village with her hands in her pockets, staring at the ground.

Kalika was with Baran and Sareh, learning to dance; Khloe was running around the village making sure the electric system would not short out the oxygen machine again; Elena was sleeping in and Homa could not blame her. She was completely at loose ends. Nobody to do anything with and nothing to do. She wondered how the villagers kept from going insane in a place like this. Did they even have fantasy books around here?

If only she had the slate portable Imani had gotten her–

But the communists did not want to take chances with it being bugged and got rid of it.

Imani–

Homa sighed deeply. No use turning over that agony any further.

“I should just go back to the house and sleep the day off.” She mumbled to herself.

Her head continued to replay her pathetic tantrum at Kalika that morning.

Wasn’t she an adult? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she control herself?

For Kalika to have seen her act so pathetic,

and then even get irritated with her–!!

She wanted to be buried in the back of the cave.

Homa’s meandering brought her around the back of the village. Here the fence separating the village ground had begun to break down. Outside of it were the rough floors of the cave that had not yet been hewn into foundations for homes. In the distance Homa heard sounds like objects repeatedly struck together. She ignored it for several minutes, until she walked past a raised, rocky outcrop and exposed the source of the sounds behind it– there was a gaggle of children who could not have been older than nine or ten all playing.

Alongside Rahima, who had taken her coat off and rolled up her sleeves to join the games.

And Bernadette Sattler, who stood off to the side with a very small smile on her face.

Rahima seemed to notice Homa rather quickly.

“Miss Messhud! How good are you with a sword?” Rahima winked playfully at Homa.

There was a plastic tube in her hand. The village kids had been using these plastic sticks to play swords, chasing each other around and clashing them very deliberately to make sound. There was no apparent malice in their strikes and parries. They seemed more interested in clanging sticks together and making a loud sound than in hitting someone with a stick.

Even when clashing with Rahima, they aimed for her stick.

“Why don’t you join us? I regret sending you away so quickly earlier.”

Rahima waved the wooden pole at her, beckoning her. Around her, the kids also called out.

Homa stared at sight quietly and fully intended to walk away.

However, the children joining Rahima in calling for Homa complicated things further.

She didn’t want to be mean to little kids. These kids got denied enough things as it was.

It would have been a sorry scene for her to ignore them all and walk away.

For the moment she resigned herself to Rahima’s company and crossed a gap in the fence.

Making her way on the rough ground toward Rahima and Bernadette.

Rahima acted far too cheerful in response. Too elated have someone else to play with.

She clapped a hand on Homa’s shoulder as if to encourage her and handed her a stick.

Standing so close to her with the kids around really cemented the difference in height.

Rahima was tall, and she was handsome, a fully formed woman to Homa’s protoplasm.

“Kids, you’ve seen Homa around right? She’s been traveling with a Katarran mercenary! She must have picked up some secret Katarran techniques along the way! Right Homa?” Rahima looked at Homa and winked at her with a mischevious smile. Homa could hardly believe how silly this all was. Even Berdanette looked a bit embarassed and averted her eyes from them.

Sighing internally, Homa replied. “Yep. I know so many Katarran techniques.”

She wasn’t even trying to sound enthused, but all the kids took her at her word and cheered.

They demanded she show them a secret Katarran sword technique.

Would they be impressed with just anything? They were little kids after all.

Homa looked at the stick in her hand. It wasn’t too heavy.

Making a dramatic show of breathing in, she threw the stick up so it would spin.

Then she caught it and thrust it forward. All of the kids cheered, and Rahima cheered too.

Bernadette succumbed to peer pressure and performed a very brief clap.

“Amazing! With the spin, it increases the power of the move!” Rahima said.

“Yeah– that’s exactly what it does.” Homa said.

Back when she was working at Bertrand’s, when she was bored and certain that nobody was watching, she would throw her tools up in the air and catch them again. She had even learned to juggle some of the lighter and safer hand tools like the screwdrivers and the bubble levels. She had passed many an empty work-day this way. Now, in this moment, she felt the tiniest swelling of pride as she was praised for this simple, childish trick.

Immediately followed by a truly dismal shame at being so easily swayed.

Rahima must have really liked kids. What a stupid thing to participate in!

After demonstrating her secret technique, all of the kids wanted to practice it.

Homa had not planned for this, and she feared the kids hitting themselves with the sticks.

However, Rahima did not look worried. She let the kids run off and practice for a bit.

“Aren’t they so cute?” Rahima said. “At that age, they really want adult validation.”

“Uh huh. They’re adorable.” Homa said, trying to sound engaged.

She was ambivalent about kids; she thought she would make a horrible parent.

The last thing she wanted to do was to parent someone as bad as Leija had–

Leija–

Homa prevented herself from unearthing the corpse of that sentiment any further.

“Bernie, how do you feel about kids?” Rahima asked.

“Hmph.” Bernie averted her eyes again. “The Family is a cornerstone of the State.”

“Nobody is keeping a ledger of your ideological statements, Bernie.” Rahima said.

“I will raise children if I am required to in peacetime. Otherwise, I will not.” She said.

“Well, I would love to have a lot of children.” Rahima said. She turned to Homa as if addressing her next remarks at her. Homa hardly understood why she was making any conversation with two obviously awkward people. “When I was a small child I lived with a big family, and I’ve been lonely as an adult. But given my– predilections– I am looking to adopt.”

“I believe you would make an exceptional father– mother–” Bernie corrected herself–

“It’s fine, either/or– I think I would prefer to be the father figure, if I’m honest.”

“I understand, Gauleiter.” Bernie said. “Regardless. You would be an excellent parent.”

“No need to flatter me, Bernie.”

“It is not flattery. You are disciplined, forthright, and resourceful. I know this first-hand.”

“Ah– well, thank you.”

Homa wanted to tell them to get a room and make the babies if they wanted them so much.

Of course, she said nothing instead.

“Homa, would you like to have children?”

Rahima smiled and leaned into her a bit. There was an air of mischief to her.

Had she not been studded with fascist medals and symbols it might have been charming.

“I am deferring making any decision until I am older.” Homa said, without enthusiasm.

“Makes sense.” Rahima said. “I see you are quite a mature girl.”

What a thing to say– was she checking her out or something?

Did she think Homa was a kid? She treated Sareh and Baran like that too.

Over time their chatter naturally died down a bit.

Before them, the kids continued to clang and click.

Rahima allowed some time to pass quietly before she prodded Homa again.

“Homa, where do you come from, if you’d permit me the curiosity.”

“I’ve lived in Kreuzung most of my life.” No use being tight lipped.

“Ah, I know that Kreuzung recently had some troubles.” Rahima said.

“Yes. It spurred me to want to travel.” Homa said. She thought it was a good excuse.

“You have picked a difficult time for a pilgrimage, but I commend your bravery. Youth should have some impulsive decisions after all. I did hear from Baran you have a Katarran bodyguard. I’m glad you thought everything through. When I was young, I traveled here alone– I was tricked and mistreated so many times on my journey here.”

She looked at the kids. Whenever she topped speaking, their laughter overtook the silence.

“What do you think of this village, Homa?” Rahima asked next.

Homa felt her stomach turn. What could she even say that wouldn’t arouse suspicion?

“It’s tough here– but the people are tight-knit.” Homa said.

Rahima looked out, at the kids, at the cavern walls. Her smiled dimmed just a little.

“They are. They have been living here for so long. Longer than I ever have been here.” Rahima said. She began to go into the story. “It’s a tricky situation. In the past, before Baran, before I was ever born, there was a horrible pogrom here. A no-name Rashidun family accused some local Mahdist boys of attacking their daughter. It was a small spark, but there was a lot of fuel on the ground. With the aftermath of Mehmed’s Jihad, and the reprisal campaigns between the big Shimii clans in the Imbrium. Everything was tense; everything ignited. That’s what led to the division of the village. The Imbrians were aghast– they didn’t understand how deeply the hate ran even as they counted the bodies. But the Imbrian solution to the Shimii had already been segregation, so they simply segregated again.”

Homa breathed in and out to try to contain her irritation and give herself time to think.

She knew things like that happened between Shimii, and it made sense for this situation.

But to hear that these people had suffered something so horrible in the past broke her heart. It made Baran’s cheerfulness and attempts at optimism feel even more painful.

And it made her angrier at Rahima for what she chose to do in response.

Did she really think the Volkisch would be any different?!

“The Wohnbezirk was already self-segregated in a way.” Rahima said. “Mahdists always kept to themselves. They stuck together and kept their traditions alive under scrutinity. Mahdists are a people of defiance. The Rashidun had power in the Wohnbezirk, they had political positions, because they were the majority. It was easier to administrate the place by letting them do it. They would make law that most people agreed with. But they did not institutionalize the shunning of Mahdists. Individual Rashidun might have practiced it– but it was the Imbrians who built a gate and separated out the Mahdists. And eventually, the Rashidun took advantage of this. It was in their interest, economically and politically.”

“Can you change that? Will you?” Homa asked bluntly, unable to keep herself in check.

This earned her an unfriendly glance from Bernadette.

“I have to be exceedingly careful.” Rahima said. “Or I might light another fire instead.”

Homa shot her a look, her malice toward her briefly undisguised–

“Kid,” Bernie addressed Homa, “Think about who you are raising your voice to right now. Rahima Jašarević is the Gauleiter of Aachen under the Reichskommissariat Eisental. She has more responsibitilies than you can ever imagine, and has been handed so many problems, as you just heard. You will be satisfied with the explanation she has given you, which is more than you are owed, about mechanisms of state you couldn’t possibly understand.”

That’s just an excuse. You took all this evil power for yourself to do nothing?!

Her irritation became more evident– but it would be short lived–

Suddenly, Bernadette reached out and seized Homa suddenly by collar of her shirt.

Forcing her to look at her, eye to eye with what was certainly a Volkisch killer.

In that moment, the gun in Homa’s jacket felt frighteningly heavy, poorly concealed–

“Did you not hear me? You will apologize to the Gauleiter at once.” Bernie hissed.

“Bernie, Bernie– that’s enough. Let her go. I am not offended.” Rahima said.

Homa glared at Rahima and Bernadette, feeling a momentary defiance–

“Gauleiter, this malcontent has been staring daggers at you all day.” Bernie suddenly said.

She noticed that?! Homa felt her heart sink, felt the hopelessness numb her limbs.

“She has engineered things, so she ended up here with you! Think for a moment– she might well be plotting something! She says she came from Kreuzung– a place which just saw a terrorist attack that was quite likely orchestrated from here in Aachen itself. She is with a Katarran and visiting this remote place. She has already won over the spiritual leadership here, and for what reason? With charity? Don’t you find this suspicious?”

Homa’s words caught in her throat. She couldn’t even beg or plea– what would she say?

Bernie’s grip on her tightened. Her free hand moved, perhaps to check Homa’s coat–

“Enough!” Rahima shouted, loud enough to startle the children. “Enough, Bernadette.”

As quick and hard as that grip had been, it released her as suddenly as ordered.

Bernadette let Homa’s shirt go– and gave her a quick, dismissive, petty little shove back.

“In my presence, you will allow me to be one to unravel conspiracies.” Rahima said. “I do not need your mind wandering in wild directions like this, lashing out at people. None of this helps me, Bernadette. Stow your paranoia, especially toward my people.” She turned and reached out a hand to Homa as if to wipe her coat where Bernie had struck– but the startled Homa stepped back in response. Sighing, Rahima withdrew. “I’m sorry, Homa. Please excuse us. We are both rather stressed. We’ll return for the festival. Please let Baran know it will be in a civilian capacity. To ease her worries. I assure you we will be more amicable then.”

Rahima picked up her coat, sighed, and made an authoritative gesture toward the fence. Bernadette sighed as well and followed her orders, leading the way through the gap and escorting Rahima out of sight. The sound of their footsteps grew ever more distant.

Homa stood stunned, watching until they left, all of the children looking at her with worry.

Her legs gave out on her from stress. She ended up sitting on the bare rocky ground.

Around her, the kids gathered, rubbing her shoulders and hair with their innocent concern.

Asking if she was okay, if everything was alright, if she was hurt somehow. As much as she wanted to say something, she was paralyzed with the stillborn fear of that moment. So close, they had come so close to unraveling because of her aimlessness and stupidity. Had she stayed out of the way none of it would have happened. She had just barely gotten out by the skin of her teeth. All of her worst fears manifested– she nearly failed Kalika.

While the kids planned to go see Baran to get Homa help– she sat there, stunned silent.

---

When Elena opened her eyes, she was back in the shack in the Mahdist village.

Laying in bed with her disheveled clothes, the sheets strewn about, her shoes tossed away.

Conny hovering overhead with a little smile.

“Looks like we’re back. That was an unexpectedly dramatic baptism.” She said.

Elena stared at her and practically growled her irritation.

TERRAKINESIS

Nothing separated her from earth but thin plastic.

Beneath the shack there was rock that Elena manipulated into sharp spikes.

Two such implements burst from under the floor at her command.

One reached a sharp point to Conny’s neck, another angled at her lower back,

both frozen still in their positions.

Poised like loaded bullets, that could have thrust into that fair skin in an instant.

Conny raised her hands with a smile, awkwardly trapped between the two prongs.

“Elena, doesn’t your dear aunt look so much less scary now?” She said in a pleading voice.

“My dear aunt has been acting like a lunatic! She nearly got me killed!” Elena said.

“Big, bold emotions run in our family! Leda was prone to this too, you know!” Conny said.

Elena grunted again, annoyed. She waved her hand and the spikes dug back into the ground.

Conny nearly lost her balance from the way she had to stand to avoid being pierced.

She breathed heavily, doubled over and holding her own knees like she had run too much.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, ragazzina!” Conny complained. “I am on your side!”

Despite her annoyed tone of voice, she had started smiling again after a little while.

Elena was still quite cross with her– but in the next instant, all of the wind left her.

She dropped back onto the bed, feeling like her muscles had been sapped of vitality.

Then her head swam and eyes burned. She was not in the aether and faced psionic feedback.

Eventually, she passed out completely, too exhausted to maintain consciousness.

Conny looked at her with a mixture of amusement and perhaps, a hint of pride.

“Ugh, she’s a living firecracker just like Leda. Why is it always like this?” She sighed.

Glancing down at the holes in the plastic, Conny made her way to the bed.

She sat down beside Elena, stroked her hair, and laughed a bit to herself.

“I’m so glad I decided to stay for the festival.” She cooed, exhausted herself, but elated.

---

Previous ~ Next