Bury Your Love At Goryk’s Gorge [8.4]

“Gamer, your risible thighs have once again violated the threshold of my station.”

“Then move your chair farther away! I have less legroom here than you do!”

“A pathetic conspiracy to surreptitiously touch me born of your involuntary celibacy!”

“You’re the one who made your entire identity from trashy novels for pathetic virgins!”

Zachikova could not help but stare at the farce playing out as she entered the bridge. She ignored late-shifters Alexandra Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa, who always found some stupid thing to argue about, and instead sat herself down at her station. She checked to make sure the drone was online and not in Geninov’s control– and unfortunately, it was locked in use by Geninov’s station.

Behind her the late shifters shouted themselves hoarse, then began talking in normal voices.

“Bah, so much for nights off! I can’t believe officers still have to work all the time. I want to go back to my room. I’ve almost got motion controls for Leviathan Fury II working in the room terminal.”

“Hmph! You’re welcome to retreat timidly from the darkness if it suits your nature, gamer. I for one, am a child of the night, and I thrive when the clock strikes midnight, and the shadows fall. It is within the curtain of the witching hour that I am able to weave my strongest of magicks.”

“Huh?”

Normal being a strongly relative term.

Despite previously calling each other ‘incels,’ and ‘fujoshis’ and other unendearing terms born of modern network culture, they seemed to have silently forgiven the obscenities, as if it was a ritual clearing of grievances between them. What kind of relationship did these two idiots even have? Zachikova would not even be thinking about this if she did not have to report to them. Even if they had not noticed her walking into the bridge, she ultimately needed Geninov’s station for her plan.

“Ahem.”

Zachikova stood up and loudly cleared her throat; not that it perturbed the night shifters.

“What are you reading tonight anyway? Is it still the Witchdeemer?”

“If you must know, it is indeed. Think you that I would abandon the SaGa partway?”

“Do Pythiria and Tritipha actually fuck in this one?”

“Such vulgar terms are always crossing your lips! Their relationship, I’ll have you know, is quickly approaching a thrilling apex of titillating hurt/comfort escalation in volume three.”

“Which one’s the top? It could go either way from what you told me.”

“Could you two shut up for even one millisecond of your lives?”

Zachikova shouted over them. Her volume surprised even herself.

Both Geninov and Santapena-De La Rosa turned their heads and stared.

“Oh, Zachikova, didn’t see you there.” Geninov said. She raised an absentminded hand to the messy bundle of brown hair pinned to the back of her head and twirled a strand around her finger. At her side, Santapena-De La Rosa seemed to doing the same thing with a purple-streaked lock of her blond hair while leering Zachikova’s way. She truly hated to use a gaming metaphor when faced with Geninov’s presence but seeing them both enter the same fidgeting ‘animation’ immediately after being called to attention made Zachikova wonder if ‘the simulation had broken’ right in front of her.

Or maybe those two just spent too much time together.

“Geninov, I’m taking over drone recon from you. I have something I want to test with the drone’s software performance. You can go play games in your room if you want or whatever.” Zachikova said.

“Wouldn’t it be better to run tests in the morning, when we have sonar up?” Geninov said.

Why was this idiot trying to be responsible now?

“No, it’s better now when it’s not in anyone’s way.” Zachikova replied.

Geninov looked at Santapena-De La Rosa as if for an opinion; she shrugged back.

“Well, if you say so.” Geninov said. “I’ll keep an eye on sonar while you do.”

“You really don’t have to.” Zachikova snapped back.

“I don’t want the Captain to say I’ve been slacking off or being irresponsible.”

“It’s really unnecessary.”

Santapena-De La Rosa spoke up, arms crossed.

“Is it such an imposition upon you to allow the gamer to exercise her duties?”

Zachikova nearly threw her hands up. “Why are you backing her up? Ugh, whatever.”

She turned back around and sat at her station with her head in her hands.

Geninov flipped a switch to unlock software control and sent the drone over to Zachikova’s station. She then wandered over to the sonar station as if skirting around an angry animal who may have threatened to bite. She put al-Suhar’s earphones in her ears and stared at the displays on the sonar console, while Zachikova got the drone’s bearings and began preparing for her excursion.

“Geninov,” Zachikova said, trying to rein in her tone. “I’m going to transfer my mind to the drone. Don’t talk to me while I’m doing so. Send a text message to the drone if you must.”

“Um. Got it. I guess.”

She seemed to try to avoid eye contact with Zachikova after that.

Good. Zachikova didn’t need her for anything anymore now.

That pair of milk chocolate and vanilla flavored idiots could go about their business.

She had a mission she needed to complete.

Having failed to contact the Dancer earlier that day, she felt a strong need to try again.

To do that, she would have to control the drone again.

Her antennae adjusted their angle, which was more a physical ritual than anything actually necessary for her work. She felt like it helped her “toggle” the “interface” in her brain that connected her to digital devices. Everything that needed to be done was done with her mind. Within the Brigand, she could connect wirelessly to the ship’s network and from the network access any device in the ship.

Connecting was a difficult action to describe physically. There were people she had met with imaginations vivid enough to generate imagery which they could “see” in their own heads, with their eyes closed or even open. ‘Playing a movie in your mind’ or ‘listening to a song in your mind’ were close metaphors to what Zachikova did. Except in her case, she was executing the logic that allowed one digital device to connect to another, in her mind, and parsing the results.

In laymen’s terms, she could control computers with her brain.

On the Union intranet, anyone in their station room could pull up the news or even watch state television via the network. Zachikova could do the same in her own head. Her brain sent a digital call to the host computer, and it could receive the news page or the government broadcast and interpret that data, using the correct codec to “play” any audio or video, the correct “fonts” to display text, she could parse the stylesheet. A computer had been grafted to her brain, and it did all that computers could do from the comfort of her skull and all of it senses. Zachikova was special in that way.

Kids who got the surgeries and recovered couldn’t just go and do this.

Their instinct would be to remain tethered to their physical bodies. The Union fostered in Hartz sufferers a proclivity toward software and engineering work and would install the digital interfaces on every person who recovered. Even then, most would treat machines as machines, and even if they could connect to them wirelessly, they would operate them from the center of their human body. They would not play movies in their head, they would play them on a screen. Their head just pushed the button. Zachikova’s ability to “become” a machine wasn’t unique, but it was hard-won in practice.

Her skills were not common, and her implants were heavily regulated.

Brain implant surgery had an extravagant mortality rate and required specific parts. 

Zachikova was special — she conceived of herself as a “robot,” a sapient machine.

And she was candid with anyone who asked how it felt to use her “powers” to their utmost.

Dissociating was the first step. Feeling, for a moment, like she was seeing her body in a third person perspective, like she was no longer in it, like she was something apart from it. It was that ability to become separable which took the most practice, because it was not something which her interfaces did for themselves. Her mind wasn’t a machine, her perspective wasn’t inherently mechanical. Having the interface did not allow, by itself, displacement of the senses from the center.

She had to teach herself, psychologically, to detach, to discard her flesh and blood body.

Once she dissociated, there was a sense that she “pushed” away the senses of her body. That “movie” which played in her head of the drone’s cameras, the “sounds” she heard in her mind’s ear of the drone’s hydrophone and sensors, these became primary. No longer confined to the back of the mind but fully dominating the neural pathways that fed stimulus to the brain.

In a sense, it was her physical body that became a dreamlike decoration in her mind palace.

Her mind adjusted to the rules and limitations of a new body fairly quickly. There were a few seconds where she felt quite like she was confined in a box, so heavy and so cold and so stiff, but these moments passed quickly and without panic. Her mind came to understand the “weight” as she input commands for the drone to deploy, the hydrojets to start, the fins to adjust. She felt keenly the feedback from her new limbs and the time it took to manipulate them to motion.

When she set out into the water she felt the pressure around her hull, tight, cold.

There was something pleasurable about it, however, something freeing.

Having a new body with a new set of skills and a new environment. It was exciting!

She cut through the water with alacrity, exploring a world her flesh and blood body could never have. She was not so vulnerable, not confined by the physical constitution she dealt with on a daily basis. Her senses were keener, she was faster, her stride more confident. She was untroubled by breathing and the inelegant sliding of muscles and joints. She was a fusiform machine without a floor and with hardly a ceiling to her activities, and before her lay only the truly limitless horizon of the sea.

To her human eyes, the world around her would be cut off by the wall formed by the water itself and the biomass called “marine snow.” She would have been barely able to see a few dozen meters ahead of her own nose. With the supercomputer’s predictive ability, using sound, laser, and thermal data, her vision was instead a near-perfect picture of the surroundings. Below her, rising and falling, was the topography of the ocean floor. Above and around, the water column, dark and deep blue and green.

Small details like scuttling crabs, bubbling geysers, ghostly skeleton coral that thrived near vents far away from the sun, benthic creatures playing about a massive carcass. Perfect mechanical senses helped her navigate and experience the beauty of the ocean in a way her human body never could have.

Her tether to the brigand was kilometers worth of fiber optic cable, her lifeline.

So stretching this umbilical cord, she dashed behind the Brigand, farther and farther.

Searching with all of her senses for a familiar biological noise pattern.

Until she found the noise. Her unique song across the featureless depths of Sverland.

I have to try to communicate with her.

Zachikova had some ideas. Light patterns, sounds, movements; mimicking its behaviors.

When she had gotten close to the Dancer she had noticed colors around it. Feeling that this was perhaps some kind of bioluminescent display, she wrote a program to create a light pattern using various tools available to the drone, like the floodlights, UV and bluelight effectors, status LEDs, flares, and beacons. She also extracted the sounds the creature made during her encounters with it and mapped them to another program, creating a series of “calls” she could perform.

I don’t know if she’ll understand– or even the content of what I’m saying to her.

But I have to try. I think coupled with my peaceful approach, she’ll respond to it.

At least, hopefully, she would understand it as an attempt to broach peaceful contact.

An attempt to expiate for the “wrong thing” she felt she had done to scare it.

(Perhaps an attempt to receive a touch for which she had grown desperate.)

Zachikova descended as close to the seafloor as she could, decelerating to reduce noise and weaving slowly between the rocks as the pulse of the Dancer came closer and closer. When she was about a hundred meters away, the prediction algorithm finally showed her the figure of the Dancer swimming cheerfully overhead, freely weaving lines of bubbles through the liquid sky.

Please work.

With the same degree of effort as “thinking” to breathe or “thinking” to move a muscle Zachikova ran the script she had written and loaded into her station. Through the drone’s audio equipment, normally used for sonar pings or alarm noises, the melodious call of the Dancer played, once audible only through the sonar station hydrophone. Zachikova could not describe the sound in naturalistic or humanistic terms, but the gentle slope of the waveform it generated gave her a strange comfort.

Please respond!

There was no noticeable difference in the movement of the Dancer, so Zachikova lifted off from behind the rocks and rose gently, as slowly as she could move and still exceed the creature’s own pace. In addition to playing the call, she ran the software she had coded to control the light display. In front of the drone there were UV and bluelight effectors, like flashlights for scientific purposes, and along the spine of the drone there were LEDs which began to glow in patterns. There were floodlights on the rear and on the front, but Zachikova only lit the rear floodlights, and angled them such that the drone appeared to be leaving brilliant light in its triumphant wake as it climbed the water table.

Please listen to me! Please look at me!

Why was she feeling so strongly? But she couldn’t help it! Her heart was breaking!

I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me!

I don’t hate you!

Barely a dozen meters separated Zachikova from the soft, pale form of the Dancer, wrapped as if in a gorgeous shawl and skirt of shimmering, trailing color, predominantly bright blue as the sky that had been denied to humanity. With a burst of speed, the creature dove toward Zachikova, and touched the front of her body to the front of the drone, nose to nose, a soft, playful little hit.

Zachikova was rendered speechless. She felt a tingling all across herself.

That sensation of touch, so warm, so soft– it was fleshy, but she didn’t hate it. In fact that affection made her think something she never thought she would. It felt like for the first time ever, a flesh and blood body, with its pliability, softness, smoothness, attracted Zachikova the most. She wished, as she tried to return the Dancer’s physical affection, that her body, the flesh, and blood body she now recognized as hers, could be out in the water with the creature, could touch it.

That touch was perfect– it made her body feel like it was perfect.

I wish I could tell her to follow me.

I will follow you.

Zachikova must have been imagining things. She thought that she kept hearing a voice speaking back to her, but it was speaking back to her in the voice associated with her flesh and blood body, and of course regardless of its provenance, the Dancer had no way to generate voice, no understanding of speech. It must have been something with the connection, or even just stress.

She had been so stressed, but now, she felt an unbridled joy, a sense of euphoria.

It was such an odd feeling, but she did not resist it.

For half her life, she had simply accepted her lot. She was sick, broken, in her mind, not truly human. She was going to die. And when she survived, having already given up on living, she treated herself like the machine she felt she had become. She sought challenges, occupations, to be fully used, to be fully utilized, maximized and challenged. Those moments amused her, engaged her mind.

Amusement, engagement; but perhaps not joy. Perhaps not actual fulfillment.

In the middle of this desolate ocean, alone with this beautiful creature– She felt captivated, her soul felt healed. She felt like she was seeing life as she never had. A creature so beautiful and so free, without obligations, danced before her eyes, danced only for her, returned to her willingly.

Touch; was it really so sublime? When was the last time her body felt so warm, so loved?

Zachikova’s world of metal corridors had become full of colors.

Colors that captivated her mind. Colors challenging her understanding like never before.

Giving herself onto an insane thought–

What is she? Is she really just a leviathan?

Hmm. Maybe.

No, they could not possibly be speaking.

Zachikova wanted to sigh deeply.

She started to feel a little ridiculous, but she truly, really was so happy to see the Dancer again and to know that she was okay, that she was playing with the drone and didn’t run away. She was still curious and still affectionate toward the false metal fish that Zachikova wore as a body. Zachikova didn’t want to hate herself for those feelings. Having settled her anxieties, she let herself enjoy the moment for a while, but ultimately felt she needed to try to rein in the hysterics of the past few days.

Before they brought her embarrassment in front of her crew.

So she began following the fiber-optic cable back to the Brigand.

And trying not to be too surprised or too assured by the fact that the Dancer was following.

Following the drone with joyous, acrobatic maneuvers, all the way, to Goryk’s Gorge.


Next morning.

“Umm. Huh. Well. That’s interesting.”

Standing in front of the captain’s chair, Braya Zachikova held up a portable terminal that was playing a video for Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya to watch. A large fish-like Leviathan, its body mainly white but beautifully streaked with red, like a large koi fish, pirouetted around the drone capturing the video, before suddenly unhinging its jaw to enormous degrees. Seamlessly, it stopped being cute and began to clumsily filter-feed with its enormous maw through the marine snow, as if it had utterly forgotten what it was previously doing. While it fed, its otherworldly lilac eyes assumed what Ulyana anthropomorphized as “a very stupid-looking expression,” though she did not say this thought aloud.

“It’s a brilliant display of animal evolution, isn’t it?” Zachikova said.

Standing next to Zachikova, Karuniya Maharapratham was part of the demonstration as well. Seated close on the captain’s right was Commissar Aaliyah Bashara, her cat-like tail swaying gently as she watched the video with her usual look of stern focus on her face. Together they were reviewing footage of the creature, which had some of the crew unnerved as it began following the ship.

“Zachikova and I discovered it while calibrating the drone.” Karuniya said. “We saw it was harmless and made it a subject of study so nobody here would shoot it down. Honestly, I know it’s big enough to show up in the bearing monitors, so it has people worried, but it’s really docile. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s my duty as a scientist to get as much data on it as possible.”

Zachikova repeatedly pointed her finger on the display as if to say, “look at it, isn’t it neat?”

Ulyana was looking. It did seem harmless, but while feeding, not terribly majestic.

“Fine, I’ve got more important things to worry about. Just keep an eye on it, Zachikova.”

“Will do!” Zachikova said. Did she sound excited? Was Ulyana just imagining things?

“It might even come in handy.” Aaliyah said. “You can pass the spy drone off as a biological being more easily if there’s another, louder biological being there to hump it and draw attention away from enemy sonars. If it’s playing with the drone while you patrol, I say just let it do so.”

“Colorful imagery there.” Ulyana said. She sighed.

“If anyone has any questions, you can refer them to me.” Karuniya said.

Waving a hand, she quickly took her leave. She wasn’t usually a fixture in the Bridge.

Ulyana looked away from her and at Zachikova specifically, causing her antennae to raise.

“I feel I’ve been working you too hard since we escaped the Iron Lady. You deserve a break, Zachikova. You’ve been out on that drone so often, I can decisively say we’re not being followed right now.” the captain finally said. Zachikova seemed to go from visibly tense to softening and slacking, the expression on her face never once changing but her anxiety visible in her grip on the portable. Ulyana wondered briefly about her body language but decided not to comment on it. “No more night shifts until further notice. We’ll find someone else to cover for Geninov and Santapena-De La Rosa.”

“Umm. Thank you ma’am.” Zachikova said. Her voice betrayed absolutely no emotion.

“Ma’am, the topography shifts drastically up ahead. I’m getting imaging up; we’re here.”

Fatima al-Suhar spoke up from the sonar section and pointed a finger forwards. 

Ulyana turned to face the bridge main monitor and practically gasped.

Soon the landscape of Goryk’s Gorge appeared in its vast, overwhelming magnitude.

The Brigand had been traveling about 100 meters above the seafloor, which had put them between 900 and 1000 meters deep. Now they were practically flying, as the ground descended dramatically, a steep slope about 500 meters down that evened out into a semi-circular clearing that then dropped even farther and more dramatically down the jagged, rocky edge of a canyon.

Goryk’s Gorge itself was a vast fissure in the rocky seafloor, stretched long as the eyes could see and perhaps one kilometer wide and thousands deep, as enormous as the vast Khaybar mountain range that it had cut from the rest of Sverland. The Gorge was a yawning abyss, thick with biomass that the predictive algorithm detected and rendered as essentially a roiling cloud behind which it was impossible to “see,” blocking the soundwaves, LADAR, thermals and other data sources for their imagers.

At the very edge of this precipitous hell-maw there was a small, squat station, a disc-shaped circular habitat standing on many thick legs for support. This was the smallest possible kind of station design, which was neither rested atop nor built around a Core Pylon. Without this uniquely powerful kind of reactor, the station was instead likely run with a ship’s reactor core, or a few depending on the grade of the engines. Beneath the habitat there was probably a wet berth for one or two large ships at a time, at most. Serrano supported a million lives and was commensurately vast enough to hold an entire city; a station like this could support only hundreds of lives in much tighter confines.

Nobody lived on stations like this. They were always built for a specific task.

“Our maps completely undersold this place.” Aaliyah said, sounding as shocked as Ulyana.

“Any mechanical activity detected?” Ulyana asked suddenly.

“Negative. I’m only getting biologics.” Fatima replied. “If there’s anything docked down there, it’s fairly dormant, or it has sound stealth decades ahead of ours. I think it’s safe for now.”

Ulyana sighed. “I don’t feel safe. Semyonova, what is the status of the Diver team?”

“We have Khadija al-Shajara and Valya Lebedova awaiting orders.” Semyonova replied.

The Captain could hardly believe what she heard. “Really? Only those two?”

Semyonova nodded, briefly glancing at her console for incoming details. “Sameera Al-Shahouh and Murati Nakara have doctor’s orders not to pilot; Sameera for a week and Murati for potentially several. Murati claims she heals fast, but still– anyway, Sonya Shalikova was made the squad leader and was assigned the Cheka, but it had a surprise battery issue, so she isn’t ready. Dominika Rybolovskaya is in the medbay right now, I’m not sure why. Only Khadija and Valya are ready to deploy.”

“If Rybolovskaya isn’t injured have her sort herself out quickly.” Ulyana said. She turned to the right side of the Bridge. “Geninov, load a torpedo just in case, and Santapena-De La Rosa, prime the guns. We need everyone on alert for a potential ambush, I want rapid responses here.”

Ulyana was cautious for a reason. She had been born in the Empire, so she knew.

She assumed from Maryam’s story that this outpost was set up by Katarran mercenaries. This “Foundation” she was talking about was likely a Katarran warband. Maryam had good reason not to say that up front, but it could be inferred. Katarrans in the Empire didn’t have a lot of choices.

And growing up in the Empire, Ulyana knew all kinds of stories about Katarrans.

Even with top tier military training and equipment, elite Union soldiers still had something to fear from warbands. Katarran bandits and mercenaries had something that a lot of armies in this world did not — a vast amount of realistic and practical combat experience. Palatinate and Vekan soldiers had infrequent battles with the Republic or the Empire of Hanwa to look back on, but Katarrans were always fighting, at home or abroad, every month, every year. Famous for their ferocity, it was their resourcefulness and adaptability that made Katarrans actually dangerous. Many mercenary warbands learned to thrive on irregular logistics for fuel, food, and ammunition, and with poor equipment repair.

A professional might see an outpost like this and think nothing of it, but Ulyana knew that Katarrans could make do with this and even use the fact you would overlook it against you.

Compared to a battle-hardened Katarran warband, the Brigand were rank amateurs.

Not only that, but Katarrans were known for the sort of warfare the Brigand was supposed to perform but had so far proven dismal at executing — asymmetrical guerilla fighting. Ambushes, hacking, mine warfare, stealth attacks, attrition, running warfare, Katarrans practically invented the book of dirty tricks from which they famously drew to use “every dirty trick in the book.” They could build hideouts from seemingly nothing and launch raids with fewer weapons and numbers that succeeded in catching larger forces off-guard, and then brought that legendary Katarran ferocity to bear in full.

Marina had blithely said she would always take dealing with Katarrans over Lichtenberg.

She didn’t know what the hell she was talking about!

“Captain!”

Almost soon as Semyonova had turned back to her station to contact Rybolovskaya, she turned over her shoulder again on her seat to address the Captain anew. Her soft face had an expression Ulyana had come to associate with something eventful, lips quivering, eyes wide. “C-C-Captain, we received an acoustic message all of a sudden. It’s a laser connection request!” She said. “It’s from that station below us! They apparently have a wired laser relay post, atop the slope we just passed.”

Overlaid on the visual of Goryk’s Gorge, Semyonova’s map showed the apparent location of the laser relay post; they had just passed it minutes ago. They had seen nothing. It simply was not rendered on the visual. It must have been hidden as a rock– fine details like that were tough to render and detect. They were limited in how much they could blast an area with sonar pulses without drawing too much attention. Setting up a hidden communications relay like this was quite ingenious.

“Zachikova, we’ll be accepting the request. Watch the network closely.” Ulyana said.

Returning to her station, Zachikova confidently nodded her acknowledgment.

“Semyonova, send them to my screen when they’re ready.” Ulyana said.

Semyonova saluted stiffly, clearly quite nervous. “Y-Yes Captain!”

At her side, Fatima gave Semyonova a pat on the shoulder to comfort her.

“Time to flex that silver tongue, Captain.” Aaliyah said, closely at Ulyana’s side.

Ulyana took a deep breath, readying herself for whoever would appear on the terminal screen attached to the captain’s chair. Semyonova exchanged a few acoustic messages with the mysterious contact before connecting them, and then sent the video to Ulyana’s screen. She expected a Katarran, maybe with blue skin, odd colored eyes and a few fins in their hair– and she was surprised not to find one.

“Are we connected? Greetings to the fine cargo vessel. I am quite fortunate to reach you.”

On the monitor, the crisp, clear image of a woman appeared on the screen. Perhaps it was the slimness of her shoulders and the softness of her facial features, but she seemed young to Ulyana, certainly younger than herself. Her eyes were her most prominent feature, they were quite extraordinary, crystal blue and gold. When the connection was most stable and video fidelity was at its best, for a few seconds Ulyana could see digits and tiny text scrolling over those incredible eyes which belied that they were cybernetic implants. She did not have the antennae, so it was not part of a Hartz treatment package. She must have either gotten those implants herself, or they were installed by her employer.

Her skin was fair, but her hair was light blue as the color of her eyes, wavy and cut short at the level of her jaw, but voluminous and a bit messy. One streak of white would have seemed like a sign of aging on an average person, but it was likely bleached, the same as the rest of the hair was likely dyed. Her facial expression was blank, even when speaking she seemed neither to smile nor hold any scorn, and her tone of voice was so even and controlled, perfectly pitched, it seemed rehearsed.

Not only that, but the texture of her white coat and shirt– were those biological materials?

Who was this character? How did they end up in this dismal place?

“Greetings.” Ulyana said. Trying not to betray any outward signs of her emotions to her counterpart. “I’m Ulyana Korabiskaya, captain of this ship, the Pandora’s Box. We are hauling cargo for Treasure Box Transports. I’m going to need to get to know you a little better, ma’am, and quickly.”

Her counterpart nodded her head in acknowledgment. “I am Doctor Euphemia Röntgen. I work as a materials analyst for an engineering firm, ‘Solarflare LLC.’ We develop equipment for hazardous environment exploration. My team was running a trial in Goryk’s Gorge when we had a critical equipment failure and took refuge in this small station. We could use any help you can provide.”

The Brigand would have to get nearer to the station to confirm some of these details.

One thing was certain, this woman was not a Katarran. She could, perhaps, be a captive used by Katarrans for a ruse, but it seemed doubtful. She was too calm for a civilian who was in danger and if she harbored ill intentions, her acting was supernaturally good. Ulyana decided to play along for now. Her story of having run into equipment trouble near an abyssal gorge was not implausible.

As if she realized she needed proof of what she was saying, Doctor Röntgen held up an ID card.

It had her picture, in a blue shirt and waistcoat, and was a security card for Solarflare LLC.

They had quite an avant-garde looking logo of a sunburst, and the card itself was made of a reflective material that seemed to have a code imprinted on the foil. It would have been a lot of effort for a fake. So it did appear that this woman worked for Solarflare LLC — and that she understood her situation enough to try to dispel Ulyana’s concerns. Ulyana allowed herself to feel more comfortable.

“Thank you, Doctor. What’s your story? How many people do you have down there?”

“Three personnel counting me, uninjured.” Euphemia said.

That was shockingly low. Ulyana was immediately suspicious again.

For a lie, it was a pretty stupid one to tell.

“Doctor, I must have misheard you. Did you mean to say thirty? I’d expect you would need at least thirty personnel to sail to a place like this.” Ulyana said, scrutinizing the doctor’s response.

Even the smallest type of blue water naval vessel had around ten officers and twenty-five to forty sailors. At the minimum, a Cutter could run with five officers sharing the duties of ship communications, navigation, weapons, leadership and detection and electronic warfare, and about a dozen exhausted sailors, enough to run maintenance, tend to the reactor and electrical systems, respond to repair emergencies, and handle duties such as rations, cleaning, rearming the internal magazines of the torpedo and shell weapons, and so on. You would have several duties assigned to a single man, and it would be a nightmarish task to run like that for any given amount of time, but you could.

Larger crews could perform duties more efficiently in rotations, making sure there were always personnel assigned to any given duty at any given time of the day who were fresh, rested, aware and ready. Larger vessels needed crews of hundreds of people, however, not just for rotations but to be able to physically cover the large amount of machinery that needed to be inspected and maintained. This was reflected in the total crew numbers for blue water vessels, whether commercial or naval in scope.

Blue water being the key term. Vessels that had endurance at sea, far away from stations, needed these large complements of professional crew in order to sail. Personal vessels could be run much leaner, but they would have never made it this far from a major station. To explore a place like Goryk’s Gorge that was foul with biomass and far off the beaten path, you would absolutely needed at least a Cutter for the journey. You would need a real reactor for power, not a battery, and you would need enough space for supplies. You would need redundancy in personnel in case of emergencies.

Three people? It was not possible. It had to be a clumsy lie or a joke.

Doctor Röntgen looked like she meant every word, however.

That expression of hers had not changed. She was speaking with perfect confidence.

 “Three people, me, an engineer colleague and one security professional.”

“How did you pull off that miracle, doc?”

Despite Ulyana’s pressuring her, the good doctor continued speaking without affect. “We were testing a semi-automated ship called an L-CEV, the Lightly-Crewed Exploration Vessel. We wanted to explore the viability of studying abyssal zones with such a ship, to limit the personnel needed.”

Though it was a somewhat farfetched detail, it did fit with her description of what Solarflare LLC did. Certainly, more hostile environment exploration would be waged if less lives could be put on the line. Ulyana found that goal to be quite a fool’s errand, however. Even if you could run the systems that lean, to carry out any maintenance on a ship large enough to have a real reactor would have been impossible with only three human bodies. Physically, you would still need at least a dozen.

And to run that much maintenance you would need bodies, not simply computer routines.

Companies in the Empire spent money far too loosely.

This L-CEV must have been an incredible ship indeed to fulfill this insane purpose.

“So what happened to this engineering marvel you described to me?” Ulyana said.

Doctor Röntgen treated this request with the same stoic professionalism as before. “We had a water system failure due to the red biomass concentrations in the Goryk Abyss. Thankfully, this station was in good enough condition to host us and we got our ailing ship into port here. We transferred supplies from the damaged ship to this station and then destroyed the ship to protect Solarflare’s intellectual property. If you would dock below the station, you’ll be able to find the wreck in plain sight.”

A poor invitation; even a drunk Ulyana wouldn’t accept that as pretext to be taken home.

Let alone lead her entire crew down there without further information.

“No offense Doctor, but we didn’t even know this station would be here. And I have no idea how you could have stumbled upon it — seems like too much serendipity. I have no plans to go near you until we have definitively sorted out what this station is for and what your situation really is.”

Ulyana wanted to test what her reaction would be.

For the first time in the conversation, Doctor Röntgen put on a small smile.

She began to explain in a calm, matter-of-fact voice– almost like a teacher.

“Very well, I’ll assuage your fears. This outpost has a colorful history. It was set up by Katarran mercenaries, that’s how our contractor knew of its existence, but even Katarrans can’t operate so freely without a certain degree of consent from the authorities. It’s like any criminal organization, Captain. From the way you speak, I know you are a learned woman, to whom I can speak to as a peer. Once upon a time, this outpost was used by a certain Admiral Gottwald to run supplies and weapons that were skimmed off the allotments for the Southern Border Fleet. They moved to passing Katarran vessels, or even to the pirates at Khaybar. This station was a link in a long chain of traded favors and ill-gotten gains of all sorts, that enriched corrupt Imbrian men and kept their hired guns afloat and killing.”

Admiral Gottwald was the Commander of the Southern Border Fleet.

He had been killed in Thassal but– that didn’t really matter.

Doctor Röntgen was being candid and Ulyana felt she was telling the actual truth of things.

If she knew so much mercenary history, the tone of her request began to make more sense.

“There’s no guarantee we’ll be able to take you where you need to go.” Ulyana said.

“I understand completely.” Doctor Röntgen said. “You said ‘Treasure Box Transports’ correct? I can assure you nobody is going to intercept this transmission. We can be honest here, Captain Korabiskaya. I know you are a mercenary company and I’m not unfamiliar with hiring mercenaries. My lips will be sealed as to everything I learn about your operation, if you’ll ferry me to wherever your cargo is going. Any station will do. I’ll find my way from there. Of course, Solarflare LLC will pay handsomely.”

“I’m flattered that you found me so eloquent, but I never said we were mercenaries.”

“Hmm, did I misread the situation? ‘Transport company’ is a common euphemism.”

Ulyana felt somewhat mortified and tried to hide her surprise. Hadn’t this come up once before?

Gertrude Lichtenberg’s voice reverberated in Ulyana’s head at that moment.

“Listen, mercenary, I’m neither fooled nor impressed with your little cover story. We all know what you mean by transport company.” Lichtenberg had said this when confronting Ulyana.

In that instant Ulyana wished she could clap her hands over her face and never let go.

To someone from the Union, the phrase ‘transport company’ made all the sense in the world!

And yet in this twisted polity, ‘transport company’ was code for mercenaries?

That was what all their carefully falsified documents said, and they couldn’t change it all now.

Every station they docked in, they would be doing so under a euphemism.

Sighing inside, Ulyana put on her best mercenary voice, because they were mercenaries!

“I will consider working for you if Solarflare LLC can pay in-kind.” She said. “Services and supplies. We can discuss the specifics; but in this new era, I can’t feed my people Mark bills, Doctor. Is that acceptable? I truly don’t want to leave you down there, but I have to look out for my crew.”

We have enough troublesome passengers.

That was her first thought. Imperial money was also pretty useless to her in the long run.

However, allies were an important part of their mission.

And the key to everything would be logistics. They had to be able to resupply in the hardest possible times. If this L-CEV ship of Röntgen’s was real, Solarflare could be a useful partner. A company with manufacturing muscle, needed to have a strong and varied supply chain, and judging by the good Doctor’s clothing and cybernetic implants, Solarflare LLC was loaded. They had also dealt with mercenaries before, so they probably knew how to be discrete and covert.

Such an entity could be a very useful ally, over and under the table.

Based on Doctor Röntgen’s expression, it looked like she agreed.

“You’re very astute. I’m glad to be talking to a professional.”

“So you can pay our professional rates then?”

“Of course. I look forward to a long, fruitful relationship between our companies.”

She had an uncanny ability to read people. Ulyana almost felt unnerved by it.

Doctor Euphemia Röntgen– this lady was more than just some white coated nerd.

Regardless, they had a deal. If it panned out, it might just save their asses one day.

“We’ll need to dock for repairs at the outpost. It shouldn’t take more than a day.”

“I’m in no hurry. In fact, as a sign of our cooperation, we’ll help with what we can.”

Doctor Röntgen gave Ulyana her biggest smile yet, before the two agreed to end the call.

The Captain of the now-mercenary ship Brigand sighed her deepest, weariest sigh yet.


In the middle of the empty ocean wastes of central Sverland a shimmering vessel entered suddenly into view, approaching prow forward. Plates of armor which had once rippled like disturbed ocean water began to turn white instead, revealing a sleek pointed fore that tapered out from a curved, disc-like hull. It had approached silently, gliding across the water using a pair of strange rectangular engines set atop the hull on either side of a squat conning tower. It was not an ordinary ship design.

This was a Columbus-class cruiser, a mainstay of the Sunlight Foundation.

These ships could be so stealthy that regular military patrols simply would not see them in the water. It would take a deliberate sonar pulse to detect the mass of the object. And its specific design, the materials from which it was made, and the special equipment carried aboard, was meant to give the sonar operator launching the pulse some trouble telling what exactly the object was. It would not identify as any class of ship on any standard Imperial databank, and depending on the approach angle could be mistaken for a creature or written off as a glitch in the sensor returns. While it was not a perfect disguise, combined with a circuitous route and a swift response to detection, it made them tough for anyone to catch.

Certainly, the crew of the Antenora had not seen it coming.

They knew they were going to be resupplied before they went north to hunt Gertrude’s phantom mercenaries. However, the nature of the resupply operation had taken them by surprise.

“Scary, scary, scary.”

Norn von Fueller laughed. On the main screen of the bridge, she watched the ship appear.

Always, the Sunlight Foundation scurried in the shadows while longing for the sun.

“Sunlight Foundation Columbus-class identified. Requesting shuttle for cargo delivery.”

One of Norn’s bridge drones spoke up. The Praetorian nodded her head and acknowledged.

“Ask them if one of the rivers is aboard.” Norn said.  

The query was sent, and a reply came quickly. “Negative, milord. Only lab assistants.”

“Boring!”

Lab Assistants had barely any individuality worth speaking about.

Norn had hoped to poke one of the Rivers for information about the organization’s status.

Rivers were the flunkies they recruited rather than created. They were privy to real information.

Yangtze would not send an Immortal on an errand like this, but at least an inductee!

Clearly, she was getting too comfortable working with Norn. To send a ship full of lab assistants meant she expected nothing to go amiss. Norn felt she had to think of a way to send a message to that arrogant sociopath Yangtze, that not everything would be going her way in the future.

Her rumination was interrupted by its most frequent interrupter–

“Looks like you’ll have to settle for Potomac then, poor you.”

Adelheid van Mueller punctuated her speech with a cutesy shrug of her shoulders.

Seated beside Norn, her lover was a permanent fixture on the bridge.

While she was just trying to be a smartass, Norn had to admit she had a point!

“You’re not wrong. I’ll go make sure she’s earning her keep. Hold down the fort.”

“What if they try something while you aren’t here?”

“I trust you to make grown-up decisions.”

Sighing, Adelheid half-heartedly saluted. She leaned back on her chair as Norn departed.

The Antenora’s hangar had never been so full as it was then, at least not in recent memory. Norn finally had a full complement of Divers. The Jagdkaiser on its special gantry found itself in the company of a Jagd and a Volkannon brought aboard by Samoylovych, as well as the fancy Grenadier contributed by Gertrude and von Castille. Behind the gantries and the deployment chutes, they had launched the Antenora’s shuttle to pick up the cargo from the Columbus class and transfer it.

Norn found Gertrude and Sieglinde von Castille loitering around the hangar as well, and she waved at the two of them, wearing a broad, self-satisfied grin to meet their sullen expressions. They were not the ones who interested her whatsoever at that moment though. Instead, she made for Potomac, who was standing around in front of the grey steel shutter that had closed over the shuttle’s moonpool. She must have been awaiting for the cargo; Norn had ordered her to get more Jagdkaiser parts.

“So, what’s the haul? Are we finally getting the parts for the Options?” Norn asked.

Potomac looked surprised to see her. “Uh, well, no, actually!” She said.

“You’re being funny, right? You’re telling me a joke?” The Praetorian’s tone darkened.

Potomac crossed her arms and avoided meeting Norn’s eyes, shifting her feet nervously.

If she thought this body language would better her situation, she was sorely mistaken.

“No, Yangtze is not sending us the Option parts. She’s actually doing us one better.”

“Explain quickly before I fold your spine for not doing what I instructed you to.”

Norn’s eyes narrowed, her brows drew closer together. She had told this bitch–

“I asked her for the parts you wanted! It’s not like I have control of that woman! She actually sent us parts for a brand new version of the Jagdkaiser and a Magellan for you! And spare parts for both! We’re making off like bandits here, so you don’t have to be mad at me!” Potomac cried out.

For anyone else this may have sounded like incredible news, but Norn knew quite well that just having a preponderance of equipment lying around didn’t improve the effectiveness of a unit. Giving them a new Jagdkaiser was not entirely unexpected, but it was inconvenient since it needed a special gantry and they only had one. They would have to tear down the old one and set up the new one, and such a messy project would have to wait until they were docked somewhere safe and protected.

Furthermore, she also knew that Yangtze of the Sunlight Foundation was not running a charity. Sending a Magellan suit for Norn’s use meant Yangtze wanted her to do something with it. She would have to prioritize getting that thing put together when the shuttle returned with the crates.

“What does she want?” Norn asked. “And when were you going to tell me?”

She took a threatening step into Potomac’s space, forcing the latter to step back.

Potomac held her hands up in defense. “I didn’t think it would be a problem! We’re already heading where she wants us, so I was just going to ask you then and avoid making it an issue–”

“You were going to lie to me? Potomac, you dense bitch, do you want to die?”

Norn was barely able to restrain herself from punching Potomac’s head off her neck.

This spacey idiot– she knew that nothing made Norn angrier than being lied to–!

“Goryk’s Abyss! She just wants us to go to Goryk’s Abyss! That’s it!”  

“You’d better have my fucking Magellan set up before we get there, then.”

Norn shoved Potomac, not too hard, but it was surprising enough of an attack to push her down.

From the floor, the Immortal of the Sunlight Foundation gazed up at her with a petulant anger.

Even this minor physical humiliation was more than she had suffered in likely decades.

“You’re– You’re a monster, Astra!” She cried. “What happened to you? You used to be so–“

In the next instant, Norn was looming over Potomac on the floor with burning red eyes.

Something long held taut inside her finally and suddenly snapped.

Words she had held in her throat for decades.

You pieces of shit happened to me. Yangtze; Euphrates; Tigris; Nile; Hudson; Ganges. You.”

Her eyes were not just red-ringed from the psionic power raging inside her, not just red because they had been engineered that way to command respect and strike fear; she was seeing red, blinded with an incredible fury. She raised her hand to Potomac’s face, and in the air around it, a series of razor-sharp knives began to materialize as if out of thin air, each the crystalline white of packed ice. Potomac’s eyes drew wide with sheer terror, and Norn was one provocation from gutting her–

She hissed in Potomac’s face, tensed like a harpoon in its launcher–

“Monster? How fucking dare you? After all that you people did to me–“

“Master! Don’t! Please calm down!”

From behind her, Gertrude Lichtenberg appeared and laid gentle hands on her shoulders.

Norn turned her baleful red eyes on the tall, swarthy woman in her ornate uniform.

She had such a gentle expression at that point, as if she feared for Norn more than Potomac.

It was such a contrast with that evil title of Inquisitor that Norn helped her attain–

–which had come to define Gertrude in perhaps the same way that Yangtze had defined Astra.

And it made Norn’s righteous anger begin to turn alchemy-like into a seething guilt.

She couldn’t explain it– but Gertrude really was the last thing she wanted to see in that state.

Sighing deeply, Norn withdrew her arm. Her knives turned uselessly to vapor.

Brushing Gertrude’s hand aside, she stood up and marched out by herself.

“Gertrude, just– just see to the cargo for me.” Norn said, walking away, meeting no one’s eyes.

Taken by an anger that was ebbing but still hurt.

No one called after her, no one inquired. Sometimes, Norn was just angry. They understood it.

For now, Norn would play Yangtze’s game. She would go to Goryk’s Abyss for that bitch.

She had a resolution in her fractured heart, however.

Whatever she found there that Yangtze wanted, she would break it into a million pieces.

If the Sunlight Foundation wanted to retaliate like they retaliated against Mehmed–

Then they knew where to find her. And she knew very well where to find them too.


Previous ~ Next

Bury Your Love At Goryk’s Gorge [8.3]

[This chapter contains a discussion of suicidal thoughts.]

There was an air of tension and wicked possibility as the gathering convened.

The Brigand’s main meeting room was once again playing host to Maryam Karahailos and Marina McKennedy on one end of the planning table and captain Ulyana Korabiskaya, and her commissar and adjutant Aaliyah Bashara on the other end. Maryam was her usual bubbly self while Marina had the same friendless look she always wore, despite having just walked out of the medbay without authorization.

Because it was convenient, Ulyana overlooked her transgression completely.

“You will get lectured by Doctor Kappel. But I’m glad you could make it, it’s a welcome surprise. You’re the woman of the hour after all, Ms. McKennedy.” Ulyana said, crossing her arms.

“Despite myself, I always seem to end up in the spotlight.” Marina grumbled.

She was taking a sarcastic tone of voice, but the matter at hand was one of life and death.

Two or three days ago, depending on one’s metric for a “day” underwater, the Brigand had encountered the enormous Inquisitorial dreadnought dubbed “the Iron Lady” alongside a fleet that was likely drawn from local policing patrols at the last minute. As a clandestine ship, it was impossible to turn the Brigand in to the Iron Lady for inspection. While on the outside the Brigand looked like a civilian vessel, as long as its weapons were retracted and soundproof sealed, this secrecy depended on the hangar and the massive amounts of military equipment within it not being exposed to the wrong eyes.

As part of their plot to escape, Ulyana personally spoke with the commander of the Iron Lady, Gertrude Lichtenberg. She had been hoping to stall and distract Lichtenberg, whom Murati surmised was going to have a hard time controlling her slapdash fleet when her personal attention was drawn away from it.

She had been correct. Gertrude was barely able to keep her fleet in line, and the tighter cohesion of the Brigand’s two-man squads picked them apart. The confrontation allowed Ulyana to gather information. How did Gertrude find them? What was it that Gertrude wanted from them? They were both obviously cagey with each other in that situation, and Ulyana perhaps had a little too much fun with the younger woman, but she gleaned some valuable insight nevertheless. Gertrude wanted a VIP aboard the Brigand. This VIP was important enough Gertrude could not risk directly attacking the Brigand with her cannons.

And there were perhaps personal stakes for Gertrude Lichtenberg, who seemed too invested in the capture of this VIP, for an Imperial Inquisitor in the far reaches of the Empire. This may have accounted for the coincidence of the Iron Lady mooring next to them at Serrano. At the time there was nothing they could do about it and Ulyana did not see it as necessarily a risk. Ships of all kinds moored next to each other. On the docks, crews were too busy with their own ship to start inspecting those of others.

However, now she felt that Gertrude may have been tracking her VIP.

Perhaps Gertrude suspected something and confirmed it with new information at Serrano.

Ulyana suspected that Marina McKennedy was the VIP.

As a G.I.A. agent on the run, this made the most sense. She owned up to her cell being compromised, and to needing a snap escort to the Union to avoid capture. Perhaps she had lied to Murati about the proximity of her tail and the degree to which she was compromised, hoping for a quick out. All of these suspicions made sense in Ulyana’s head, but there was only one person who could confirm them. Whether she told the truth to them or whether she lied, Ulyana had to see Marina’s reaction to be absolutely sure. She decided that whenever she next met Marina, she’d press her for information.

While she had not expected to do this today, it would have had to happen at some point.

Maryam being in attendance wouldn’t really change anything. This had to be done.

At Ulyana’s side, the Commissar Aaliyah Bashara sat with her arms crossed and a serious expression on her face, her tail on end and unmoving. Ulyana had told her all of her suspicions and what she hoped to do with this meeting. Aaliyah would assist in the interrogation. Shimii had sharp eyes and this particular Shimii had a decent sense of people — except perhaps when she got drunk enough.

“You were knocked out for a while, Marina. What exactly happened to you?”

Ulyana started with a personal question to ease into things. She was curious however.

“We’re doing this now?”

“We’re doing this now.” Aaliyah replied, sternly. She was backing up Ulyana.

“Fine. I was in the hall with Elen when the ship was hit by the dreadnought guns. I’m pretty sure I lost my balance and next thing I knew, I woke up in the medbay.” Marina said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t really remember it very well. Elen was completely freaking out. It was a nightmare of a day.”

“Officers Van Der Smidse and Zhu reported a physical altercation between you two.”

Marina scoffed. “Don’t you employ corporal punishment sometime, Captain?”

“It’s not my first choice to discipline a mentally unstable subordinate.” Ulyana shot back.

Her heart felt a brief swelling of anger toward Marina she had to get under control.

“I was grabbing Elen; I wasn’t in the best place mentally myself. But I didn’t strike her.”

Marina continued to respond coolly. She always acted like she was being interrogated.

Was this how all G.I.A. agents were trained to behave?

Given her conduct, Ulyana didn’t really care to conceal that this was an actual interrogation.

“What does Gertrude Lichtenberg, commander of the Iron Lady, want with you?”

The G.I.A. agent shot a bitter look at Ulyana. She crossed her arms and lowered her head.

She sighed deeply. “Look, I know what it looks like, but I swear I wasn’t being tailed.”

Aaliyah spoke up to support Ulyana again. A note of disdain crept into otherwise polite speech.

“Directly after we rescued you, the Iron Lady took an interest in us. Whether or not you were aware of the possibility hardly matters. You yourself admitted your cell was defeated by the Empire. How can you have been completely sure you would not be tracked or traced in a major city?” She said.

“You presume far too much, Commissar. We are experienced professionals. We can be chased, but what matters is that we know how to escape from the pursuers. And all of us escaped. When the Empire threw down our doors they found nothing of us left behind there. My colleagues have all probably escaped to the Union or the Republic-occupied zone in Katarre. I was the only one unlucky to end up saved by the Union’s special toy. None of us were being followed.” Marina sharply replied.

“Without evidence of this, it will remain an open question.” Aaliyah said.

“I agree. It is useless to argue; but you need to tell us everything, Marina.” Ulyana said.

“It’s not like I’m deliberately holding back any information!” Marina said.

“Are you truly not? Again, we can’t be certain.” Ulyana said. “Until we ask you some pointed questions.”

Marina grunted, casting her eyes to the table. “Fine, of course, just say what you want to.”

Ulyana nodded. She sat back and relaxed and began to ask her questions.

“Right now, the fact is that Gertrude Lichtenberg is coming after us and if she survived our attack on the Iron Lady, she and who knows who else will know what they’re up against now. Just pretend that you did get compromised if it helps your pride. What does she want with you? What information do you know? You know who she is right? Why is this apparently personal to her? How long will she pursue?”

“Do you even think she survived? Didn’t you blast her ship to pieces?” Marina interjected.

“Irmingard-class dreadnoughts are extremely durable vessels.” Aaliyah said. “Our realistic goal was never to sink it outright, but to cause enough damage to sever important systems and cripple the ship enough to allow us to escape. Killing that Inquisitor would be better luck than we’ve had.”

Ulyana locked eyes with Marina. “Back to the subject at hand–”

Marina sighed deeply and loudly her exasperation.

“Look, I know a lot about the Fueller family. They must be trying to silence me.” She said.

“So that was the G.I.A’s operation in the Empire? Spying on the imperial royal family?”

“That was a large part of it, yes.”

“That sounds like it carried a lot of risk.” Ulyana said, pressing her for more.

That response seems to have finally crossed the threshold of the G.I.A. agent’s patience.

“No operation is perfect! You’re right, it was risky and I don’t know if I was compromised, I fundamentally can’t know that information! I did my best, but I may have fucked up somewhere. You have no idea what I’ve been through, so maybe you could just accept my apologies and regrets, and we can move on to planning for the situation at hand. Is that ok with you, Captain?” Marina shouted.

And that response crossed the threshold for the Captain.

Who did this woman think she was–?

Ulyana narrowed her eyes into a glare and crossed her arms sullenly. “No it’s not ok with me, G.I.A. I don’t know what you’ve been through because you won’t tell us a god damned thing about it! We were polite enough not to grill you the instant you got on this ship; we thought you would come clean with us. What use is it having you as an equal partner if you’ll just drop a bomb like this on us and then refuse to elaborate? Don’t you think we deserve to know if the Fueller family is hunting you?”

“I can explain everything, but it’s not pertinent!” Marina shouted. “The late Emperor’s bedtime secrets aren’t going to save us, goddamn it! If you can get me out of this alive, I promise you’ll get the full fucking story, okay? You’ll fucking wish you hadn’t heard some of the details.”

Maryam hid her face behind her tentacles in the midst of all the shouting.

Ulyana was about to continue the shouting match when a gentle hand laid on her flank.

Imperceptibly, out of the sight of their guests. It was her Commissar’s touch.

The captain knew then that she was going out of line and tried to reign herself back.

Aaliyah rubbed her hands on her forehead, her cat ears drooping. “I hate to say it, but McKennedy is right that the situation fundamentally doesn’t change if she gives up her salacious secrets to us. We don’t really have a way to use that information, so it would only affect our peace of mind. At least now we have some idea of why Gertrude Lichtenberg is after us. We should plan our escape and repairs.”

“When you put it that way, fine.” Ulyana said. “Any ideas on the current predicament, G.I.A?”

“Fleet combat isn’t my strong suit, so no, I don’t really have any brilliant ideas for escaping this situation. You guys did pretty well for yourselves already though, so, I dunno. Why not just attack that flagship and sink it? You’ve got to have the resources on hand to do it.” Marina said.

“The Brigand’s armaments are just not strong enough for us to trade shots dead-on with an Irmingard class dreadnought. We’ll be on the losing end of whatever happens. You’ve seen this already.” Ulyana paused, frustrated at her own helplessness. “We planned a huge production and we ended up with several people in the medbay, a lot of damage, and only a temporary reprieve.”

Marina turned her cheek. Ulyana felt her own cheek twitch. What a bratty reaction!

“How was this mission greenlit if you were going to run into this problem?” She said.

“It’s also your fault that we’re having to fight a flagship, you know.” Aaliyah grumbled.

“It was never part of the mission profile.” Ulyana added. “We’re supposed to be guerillas.”

“Then fight like guerillas do!” Marina said. “Find a hiding spot to attack from and wear it down!”

“That’s easier said than done!” Ulyana said. “Where are we going to hide, McKennedy?”

“I can’t just improvise a whole hideout for you! I’m an intelligence agent, not a magician!”

“If your intelligence is so useless then maybe we should just turn you over to–”

Both of them started shouting again. Aaliyah seemed helpless to calm them down this time.

“Please stop fighting! I have an idea!” Maryam shouted over all of them.

Ulyana and Marina both turned to face her at the same time.

Her tentacles were raised as if they were her shaking arms surrendering to a gun barrel.

Across her body her chromatophores were flashing to white and back to their original color.

Silence fell over the gathering. Ulyana felt momentarily very stupid.

She was stressed out, everything felt like it was going to shit, and she was helpless.

Beating up Marina would not change that. She needed to get a grip on herself.

Maryam spoke up again with a whimpering little voice. “Let’s all calm down, please.”

Marina and Ulyana turned to each other.

“I apologize.” Ulyana said. At first she didn’t care whether Marina accepted or not–

“Fuck, I was out of line too.” Marina admitted fault, much to Ulyana’s surprise. She looked conflicted, arms crossed and eyes practically staring down at her feet. Like a student in a classroom who had been shouted down — Ulyana didn’t exactly feel good about that. “I’m sorry, Captain, Commissar. In this situation I wouldn’t blame you if you did turn me in. But it probably wouldn’t help you much.”

“Under no circumstances am I going to do that.” Ulyana said. “I just lost my temper.”

“Let’s just put it behind us now. So, partners, I vote we listen to the Katarran’s idea.”

Marina pointed at Maryam with a thumb, forcing a smile as if to dispel the tension.

Maryam puffed her cheeks up. “I’ve got a name! I’m not just the katarran, you know!”

“Glad to see we’re all getting along.” Aaliyah sighed deeply, her cat-like tail stabbing at the air.

Ulyana felt ashamed of herself. Her conduct had been ridiculous. She let the stress speak.

At the moment, however, there was truly nothing to do but move on with it.

“Maryam, we’re certainly open to hearing your ideas. First though, I would like to know some background on you too. Our goal is to foment unrest in the Empire. Our agents marked you as a VIP we had to rescue. I assume you must have information that can help our mission.” Ulyana said.

Maryam looked quite nervous, but Ulyana chalked it up to her personality.

She seemed like someone who was very soft and scared. A total noncombatant.

“Background, huh. Umm. I was made in Katarre as a navigational aide for Athena Kyriaki. Around the time I became an instar, Athena attempted to raid Imperial territory in Skarsgaard, and it went– bad.” She shuddered a bit, and every other word came out with a stammer. “Our fleet was wrecked, I got captured, and any Katarrans that the Imbrians thought were female larva got sent the Solcean church in Skarsgaard, while everyone else got scattered. So I was part of the church for years, but eventually, I escaped. While on the run, I ended up working for a really shady group. I had to get really crafty to survive. I picked up a lot of information and skills. Some of it might be totally useless, like the going-abouts of imperial bureaucrats but, I learned a lot about places and installations! I wanted to go to the Union because I heard Katarrans can be free there, so I traveled to Buren, the Palatinate, down to Rhinea, and finally Sverland. I talked with the smugglers in Serrano, and they set me up with a Union agent. And that’s how I got to meet all of you. After talking with the agent, he said I’d be a very important VIP.”

Ulyana scrutinized the details of the story while it was told. She chalked up the nervousness to the kind of person Maryam was. She seemed like a very sweet girl who had been through a lot, and Ulyana felt a certain predilection to believing in her. When Ulyana herself was young she was forced to be “crafty” to survive enslavement in the colonies, so she understood Maryam’s telling of the story. There were details to surviving in harsh situations that were best left abbreviated and did not need retelling.

Ulyana wouldn’t push her to qualify every tiny blank that she had left.

Her route to Sverland had been incredibly long though. If the Union was her goal, she could have gone south through Veka and crossed through Nama Flow. Nama Flow was a landmass wall that divided the Union from Veka north-east to east. It was created by landmass collapses and rearrangements that seemed to have happened in the late Surface Era, whether directly by human action or as a result of the Surface’s catastrophes. The Union controlled both sides of Nama Flow.

It wasn’t easy making it to the Union from anywhere, so why choose the longest route?

“That’s a crazy route you took to get here.” Ulyana said. “How did that happen?

“I didn’t have a lot of choices. I was supposed to be on a mission for my bosses.”

Maryam smiled nervously and raised a hand behind her head, patting down her own hair.

“Can you tell us more about this ‘shady’ group of yours?” Ulyana said.

“They’re called–” She stammered again for a moment. “They’re called the Foundation.”

“Doesn’t really sound like a revolutionary organization.” Aaliyah said.

“They kept things pretty discrete.” Maryam said. She started getting the confidence to speak a bit candidly for a moment. “They’re not really ideological; they were out for themselves mainly and that’s what I didn’t like there. You can think of them kind of like a mafia I guess.”

“Organized crime, huh? I have to say, that’s not really what we wanted to hear.” Ulyana said, slightly disappointed with the story. However, it did make sense. Ulyana had learned that most immigrant Katarrans were ultimately forced to turn to crime in order to survive the rampant discrimination in the Empire. It must have been quite convenient for wealthy, corrupt Imperials to have a ready source of desperate clandestine labor at their bidding. Poor Maryam wouldn’t have had the choice to become some fabled socialist revolutionary in the realities of the Imbrian Empire.

Maryam’s colors shook briefly again. But she seemed to gather her courage after that.

“I wasn’t a big freedom fighter or anything, but I was made with a really good brain and memory, so I know tons of information that can help!” She put on a proud little smile. “In fact, I know a place we can go. It shouldn’t be too far, judging by the map I saw on the morning update!”

At Maryam’s prompting, Aaliyah turned on the display on the table and loaded that same map from Semyonova’s Morning Update to the crew. It was a zoomed in topographical cutout of Northern Sverland, generated by the navigational computer from its preloaded atlas. Stopping short of the Khaybar range that separated most of Sverland from Bosporus to the North, and the open border to Rhinea and the Yucatan gulf in the northwest and center-west of the region respectively.

The Brigand’s current position on the map was updated by the navigation computer.

“Here!”

Maryam pointed to the north, closer to Khaybar, running her finger along a specific area.

“See this dip here? That place is actually a big, long hole the locals called Goryk’s Gorge. There used to be a small outpost there, but I heard it’s been declining. I think it’s because travel through Khaybar dried up the past few years. It should have enough space though! We can dock the ship there for your repairs! There might not be many functioning amenities, but it’s a place that we can hide in that not a lot of people know. To be found there, the imperials would have to be searching the whole grid.”

Ulyana followed Maryam’s finger across the map. This Goryk’s Gorge wasn’t too far off.

However, the fact that Maryam was trying to correct their map bothered her.

Any standing station should have been listed already. So why was that location empty?

Who was it that set up this so-called ‘outpost’? What was it really for?

Aaliyah seemed to be on a similar wavelength to Ulyana and voiced her own doubts.

“Would this ‘outpost’ happen to have been set up by Katarran mercenaries?” She said.

Maryam rubbed her head nervously. “Historically. But they’ve probably moved on!”

There was another brief but awkward silence as Ulyana and Aaliyah stared at Maryam.

“I’ll take my chances with Katarran mercs over Lichtenberg any day.” Marina interjected.

“And it’s relatively closer than Rhinea. I suppose it’s worth taking a look.” Ulyana said.

She was not too impressed with Maryam’s information quite yet.

And she felt she should have learned to temper her hopes about these things much sooner.

Regardless, at least they had a direction to go in. She didn’t think Maryam was lying. However, more and more, it felt like this entire excursion to Serrano had been a big mistake. What were the Union’s foreign agents doing and thinking? What did they actually see in Maryam? She was a sweet girl who had been through a lot, but she did not seem like a VIP asset worthy of this painful detour.

Ulyana tried to clear her head and push it out of her mind. Like Aaliyah had said before, it was pointless to hang onto topics like this. They could not simply dream up alternatives to reality.

“Alright, we’ve decided, we’ll set a course for Goryk’s Gorge. Marina and Maryam, you’ll be given formal security clearances as advisors. You’re welcome on the bridge any day.” She said.

Marina quietly nodded her head and Maryam beamed with delight, raising her arms.

And so the Brigand would change direction and head north to its next destination. Goryk’s Gorge, and the mysterious station supposedly at its edge. Ulyana could only pray that she was making the right choices in this awful situation. They adjourned the meeting, the future still unsure.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder as she prepared to leave the room.

Aaliyah behind her again, smiling. “Let’s talk later, just us, Captain.”

Ulyana smiled back. “Of course.”

It was a labored smile but reminding herself Aaliyah was there did wonders for her morale.


It’s her!

You’re here Braya!

Her human body was seated next to Karuniya Maharapratham in the science officer’s lab, but the signals that Braya Zachikova’s brain felt as tactile sensations and visual input were now being drawn from a drone strung on a kilometer of fiber-optic wire in the open waters. She was cold, and she felt the effort of the hydrojets behind her and the sense of her body’s increased weight and stiffness. Her drone body collected data on its status, and this feedback was given directly to Zachikova’s brain.

It was a second body, a main body while the flesh and blood stayed behind.

This curved, finned metal body two and a half meters long and two meters tall deployed from the utility tube into the murky ocean, searching, following all biological noises as Fatima picked them up and discarded them as irrelevant from the Bridge’s computer. With access to this data and everything else that the ship supercomputer was processing, Zachikova was finally able to track her beautiful dancer through the gloom of the deep ocean, following featureless rock and swimming past ghostly white plants and corals and crawling rockfish and crabs, geysers of methane that drew up slight purple sparks when their bubbling hot discharge came into contact with the agarthic salts in the water.

Marine snow fell over her in great waves — this was the thick biomass suspended in the water around them, eternally raining from the rich, living environment above. Peering through the fog of decaying matter and the minuscule beings that thrived in it, Zachikova felt her human heart shudder with surprise and warm with delight. Those beautiful fins, that graceful body, the color that shone brightly under the lights cast out by the drone, even amid the dark blue-green filter of the ocean.

She almost believed that the creature had spoken to her.

A sense of innocent wonderment and joy overcame Zachikova.

There was such relief in her heart. Her dancer hadn’t disappeared, hadn’t come to harm, and she could do her part now to protect her for good. She steadied the cameras and extended the arms so that Karuniya could capture footage of the animal playing harmlessly with the drone, its slender body bereft of any implements of destruction like biocannons, tail spikes or vibrating power-jaws. She lead a life free of worry or burden, unseen in the deeps. Zachikova felt blessed to see her.

“This is Science Officer Karuniya Maharapratham, we spotted this creature on–”

Karuniya had begun to record her audio to play over the evidence footage.

The Dancer would go on the Brigand’s record as a subject of study.

Zachikova could hear the voice, distant and muffled, through the antennae on her human body rather than the drone’s sensors. This mix of the two sometimes shook her out of controlling computerized devices, but in this case, she was so transfixed on the ravishing figure circling around the drone, that there was no way her sight would shift back to her human body. Zachikova wanted to touch her.

She laid the arms of the drone “palm”-up hoping for a touch as the dancer arced gracefully around her. When the sensation of those soft, silky fins played over her arms, her soul fluttered.

Emotion swelled in Zachikova’s breast.

Around the Dancer the Ocean became full of colors.

Bright placid blues trailed from her fins and tail and around her body that spread like a splash of paint wherever she swam, surrounding Zachikova and the cameras which could only see that majestic blue, the color that should have been the sky, she thought. Her eyes were filled the light, and she felt like she could feel colors around her own body, green and purple and blue; and around Karuniya, green and blue with a band of black around the edges; and the Brigand itself was dyed in massive colors of all kinds. Every living thing, painting a glowing tapestry in the water, Zachikova felt like she could see it all.

As the Dancer wove a circle of colors in front of her, Zachikova saw beyond the water.

“We’re going to get out of here.”

Through the clearing mist of the colors and the murk of the marine snow Zachikova saw–

Metal walls, darkness, bars, the blue glint of LEDs and a single tiny window.

Through that window, an impossible, clouded sky with purple flashes of lightning.

Within the gloom, despair-maddened eyes drawing wide illuminated with each flash.

Laughter erupted from a slim girl with copious long red hair–

–scratching at the side of her head, where a horn-like protrusion parted her skin.

“I can talk– talk to them–” She laughed and struggled to speak. “I talk to the monsters.”

Her free hand scratched on the steel floor a series of lines from bloody disfigured fingers.

“I’ll save them– You’ll be one, and I’ll be two– Then we’ll kill them all–”

Zachikova could barely make out the scene through the intrusion of the colors.

At the side of the girl that was talking, sat another girl, with bright lilac eyes, staring–

As if at her.

Inquisitive, aren’t you?

That red-lined gaze pushed Zachikova’s soul as if across the very horizon.

She felt a power squeeze her and hurl her, throw her away–

“–And that’s why I will be inducting this Leviathan as USL-0099 in our database. Positive interactions with Leviathans are few and far between and for the future we are fighting towards, we should foster an environment of understanding and progress in not only political but scientific development. Scientists work in the military to be able to explore the mysteries of the sea. It would be remiss of me, in my capacity as an advisor, to turn a blind eye to this creature and allow its needless destruction. As a subject of study, this Leviathan cannot be fired upon without my express permission.”

Karuniya Maharapratham’s voice–

Zachikova shook her head. Her human head. A breath crossed through her human throat. From the lab’s drone control terminal, she manually switched the cameras around, moving them like machines and not her own body. The Dancer was still there, but distant, coy, starting to wander away from the drone. Zachikova had the panicked thought that she had done something wrong.

“But I didn’t– I didn’t do anything–“

Her head was foggy, and she felt images slipping away from her like a dream fading from the wakeful mind. She had seen a girl, for some reason, and she knew she had seen some kind of strange color phenomenon in the water. It could’ve been signals issues, some kind of cybernetic synesthesia, she already experienced all sorts of odd things when she interfaced with machines.

Those situations never felt quite like this. Zachikova’s heart was shaken.

She was losing her cool. Emotion had never overcome her like this.

Zachikova thought she might cry, and she hardly knew what she was crying about!

Swept up in that current of colors swirling around the Dancer–

It was the most beautiful thing she had seen underwater, but her mind was–

–Mourning the image of it.

Trying to grasp hold as if a dying gasp–

“Zachikova, are you okay? Did you disconnect from the drone?”

In front of her, Karuniya Maharapratham seemed to fully reappear as if stepping in through a cloud of mist. Her soft brown skin, long dark hair, white coat. Her gentle eyes. And the stark metallic lab walls and equipment returning to the background. Zachikova felt more grounded in reality, and reality set in for her anew. She shook her head and turned back to the drone console with haste.

“I’m okay. I lost connection. I’m going to link back.”

“It looks like USL-0099 swam away.” Karuniya said, looking at the monitor.

“I want to follow it.” Zachikova said suddenly. Almost interrupting Karuniya.

“It seems to be roaming around, we’ll probably see it again.” Karuniya said.

“I’m–” Zachikova paused briefly. She hated how desperate she sounded, but she could not deny the fear that had taken hold like ice in her chest. “I’m afraid I might have scared it off. I’d like to make contact again. I won’t be out for long, and I won’t need to take up your time further.”

Karuniya scratched her hair in consternation. “No offense, but I don’t understand–”

At that moment, the sound of running footsteps nearing the door caught their attention.

Through the threshold crossed an agitated Sonya Shalikova, panting heavily.

“Maharapratham!” She shouted. “She’s awake! Murati is awake!”

Whatever Karuniya was going to say to Zachikova would hang in the air for good.

Speechless, on the verge of tears, Karuniya ran past Shalikova, who then ran after.

Zachikova remained, seated on the drone station, alone. Her antennae shifted slightly.

She suddenly and immediately reconnected the drone and began to dissociate her body.

“I have to find her again.”

I have to ask her— this thought reverberated in Zachikova’s mind as it left her human body.

What would she even ask? And how would she ask a question to an animal?

Those small insanities sank to the back of Zachikova’s mind.


“How many fingers are we holding up?”

Officers Zhu and Van Der Smidse both held up two fingers to form peace signs.

They waved these fingers in front of an awkwardly smiling patient in a medbay bed.

“Is this a trick question? Two fingers in two hands, so four fingers.”

Murati Nakara answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster energy for.

“I guess she’s ok.” Zhu and Van Der Smidse agreed.

For Murati the transition back to consciousness was surreal.

She felt that she had not been in a deep sleep but had been sleeping and waking, finding herself first in her diver, then dragged out, in the medbay, in the ocean itself, in places unfathomable that seemed to skirt just beyond the edge of understanding. Long sandy stretches of surface land, war-torn; a great and awful tree of flesh in the middle of a romantic, gothic town; a sprawling city where people could do anything with their minds but were beset by monsters; nonsense dreams.

She had a headache, and she did not feel rested.

She was famished and had a hard time keeping her eyes wide open in the medbay.

Craning her head, she took note that she was not the only one interned in the medbay.

Sat up on her bed, Sameera seemed to have been recovering well, the mixed Shimii/Loup gently wagging her tail under the sheets, laid on three pillows and smiling placidly. Always chipper, that one. She looked like she had been awake for longer. Rather than a hospital gown, she was dressed in a long casual shirt and from one dangling leg what seemed like soft, baggy pants. However, when she tried to move, she seemed uncoordinated, as if drunk or sleepy, and ended up laying back down.

“Two days or so, if you were wondering.” Sameera said.

“Huh?”

Murati stared at her. Sameera laughed, voice deep and gentle.

“That’s how long you slept, but I think you were coming in and out. I heard you cry once.”

“You heard her cry?” Zhu Lian. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sameera looked untroubled. “It felt like she just needed to work something out.”

“What if she was working out a heart attack?” Van Der Smidse said.

“She sounded much too contemplative for that.”

Van Der Smidse and Zhu glared at her for a moment, until a pair of visitors ran in.

At the door, a pale, indigo-eyed girl escorted a familiar face, one Murati longed to see.

“Karuniya!”

Murati’s exclamation was a little weak, owing to her condition.

Despite this, it reached right to Karuniya’s heart. At the door, she gasped and stood, the rest of the assembled group parting so that she could approach the bed. She held her hands over her mouth, eyes half-shut with copious tears, shoulders shaking. When she finally rushed to the bed she was mindful of Murati’s wounds. Rather than hug Murati, she laid gentle hands on her.

Karuniya leaned in her head, and they touched their faces together. It was the most affectionate form of physical contact Murati could withstand. Feeling the warmth of Karuniya’s cheek and her soft hair falling over her, the scent of the disinfectant clinging to her lab coat mixed with the woody smell of mushroom cultures. Murati almost wished she could return a full embrace.

However, Karuniya obviously saw the condition Murati was in.

Under her hospital gown, Murati had deep bruises in her chest and flank. Though she was on pain medication which helped her breathe normally, she could feel her range of movement limited by the sense of dull stinging that triggered when she tried to shift her weight. She supposed that she had broken ribs. Her arm was also broken and in a cast, slung over her shoulder. She had a bit of foam padding around her neck that suggested it was probably bruised or injured as well.

“Mu– Mu– Mu– rati–!” Karuniya cried out, sobbing, whimpering next to Murati.

“It’s okay Karu. I’m here for you.” Murati said, smiling with genuine elation.

“Don’t try to be fucking cool when you nearly got killed! You reckless idiot!”

Karuniya lifted her hands off Murati’s shoulder and then laid them back down.

Perhaps in lieu of the soft little punches she sometimes threw to tease or scold Murati.

She laid her head over Murati’s shoulder, gently, making sure not to lean too hard.

“I was so worried, Murati. I was so worried. I thought you– I thought you had–”

“It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m ok, Karu.”

“Promise me this is the worst it’s going to be. Promise me it won’t be worse than this.”

“I promise. I really do.”

Murati understood. For it to have been “worse than this” she would’ve had to come back in pieces rather than whole. Or not have come back at all. They already understood how dangerous the mission was and that either of them could die– but even the most educated soldiers had feelings when they actually confronted death. Murati reassured her as best she could. There was no need to realistically contemplate their mortality right then. After all, Murati really wanted to keep that promise.

She would do her utmost not to break such a promise.

And if that promise had any power, then maybe there was a God after all.

Murati would pin her hopes on that.

It was eerie, having come near death. It did not feel like anything.

That absence of some grand experience was perhaps the most disquieting thing of all.

She had simply been beaten senseless, halfway to death in the middle of the ocean.

Halfway, but not fully. So here she was, alive in the arms of her precious wife.

Murati looked past Karuniya. Zhu and Van Der Smidse stood off to the side with faintly flushed cheeks, perhaps a little embarrassed at the display of affection — though with their fingers intertwined between them. Shalikova stood with the tiniest, barest hint of a smile on her lips, arms crossed as if waiting for something, or perhaps satisfied with the result of her handiwork.

“Thank you Shalikova.” Murati said. “You came to visit and then ran to get Karu, right?”

Shalikova looked briefly startled when she was addressed.

She turned her cheek, her brow creasing ever so slightly with indignation.

“Of course I went to get your wife, anyone would’ve done it. It’s really nothing.” Was that the tiniest bit of flushed cheeks on Shalikova too? Maybe Murati was just seeing things this time.

Now that other people had joined the conversation, Karuniya stepped back from Murati.

Van Der Smidse graciously brought her a seat so she could stay at her “husband’s” side.

“Thank you.” Karuniya sat down. She checked the board on Murati’s bed. “Broken ribs, broken arm– well, you’re not going to die, and you might be able to walk with crutches. Sheesh, at least you’re not going to get back in that death machine for a while. For good or ill.” She sighed and turned with an irritated expression at Zhu and Van Der Smidse. “What are you two doing? Go fetch me some broth, bread, and pickles. Murati must be dying of hunger, c’mon. I’ll feed her.”

Now it was Murati’s turn to feel her face red with embarrassment. “I really don’t need–”

“Shut up.”

Karuniya glared at her. Murati laid back and accepted this as the current state of affairs.

“Sure, we’ll leave her in your capable hands then.”

Van Der Smidse and Zhu seemed to sense the dark energy around Karuniya and complied.

After they left to get the food, Shalikova started to bid farewell– but Murati halted her.

“Shalikova, I need to talk to you for a second.”

Shalikova paused and returned to the side of the bed. “What is it?”

“Did we lose anyone?”

Thankfully, Murati did not have to feel the dread of asking that question for long.

“No. We’re all alive.” Shalikova said. Her confidence and quick response were a big relief.

While the time she had spent awake could be counted in minutes only, Murati was already back to thinking about the situation at hand. If she was alive and surrounded by familiar Union faces then they had escaped from the Iron Lady. She was in poor condition, however, so they had something quite important they had to settle so they could operate effectively in the near future.

“I have to talk to Khadija about it too, but– Shalikova, I’m making you squad leader.”

“What?” Shalikova said suddenly, taken aback.

“Oh, good idea.” Karuniya added. “Shali-Shali has fought like an ace every single time.”

“Huh?! Shali-Shali?”

Shalikova stared between Karuniya and Murati with expressions of shock and disgust.

“That’s– But– No way! I’m an Ensign and I’ve only had two real sorties!”

“I’ve only had two real sorties too.” Murati said. “Shalikova, not only do you have excellent piloting skills, but you’ve shown decisiveness and a really fantastic situational awareness. Had you not intervened when you did, I would have almost certainly been killed out there. And you held your own against that mystery pilot and their mystery diver after that. This is not just empty flattery from me.”

Sameera, lying back with her eyes closed, spoke up suddenly from her bed.

“I agree! I think the Ensign would make a very cute squad leader.” She declared.

“Shut up and go back to sleep! Nobody asked you!” Shalikova shouted. She then turned her agitation on Murati. “Pick Khadija! You said you had to talk– why decide now?” She asked. “She’s so much more experienced and skilled than I am! Why would you pick me over her?”

“You look like you don’t even want to hear the reasons she has!” Karuniya said.

Shalikova snapped toward her but seemed unable to raise her voice at Karuniya.

Murati was thankful that she could sense the evil within Karuniya and treat her gently.

“I think Khadija is our strongest pilot, and that’s exactly why she shouldn’t be the leader.” Murati said. “She has exceptional combat skills, but– let’s say skewed judgment. At any rate, a leader doesn’t need to be the strongest. After all, you’re a better pilot than me in raw skill, Shalikova.”

Of all the comments, this one really had poor Shalikova withering under the spotlight. She crossed her arms, tapped her feet, and turned her back, grumbling a little where no one could see.

“I’ll– I’ll think about it. You won’t force me to do this. I really have to consider it!”

Murati nodded her head silently, smiling at her. “Thank you. I really believe in you–”

Shalikova immediately started to walk out of the room unprompted, but she met someone at the door that she nearly bumped into. Pink skin, red and brown hair, a below-average stature.

“Oh, sorry.” Shalikova said.

“It was my fault. Don’t worry.”

The woman at the door acknowledged and walked past.

Long, thin strand-shaped fins bristling among her hair, an unfriendly look on her face, the woman walked to the side of Sameera’s bed, holding a bowl of what looked like a quick porridge made by crumbling bread and pickles in broth. She sat down, grunted, and then started to feed Sameera, who easily accepted the attention as the woman forced a spoonful through her lips. It was her squadmate, Dominika Rybolovskaya. Her presence, the indignation in her every movement, silenced the room.

Murati wondered how long this bleak scene had repeated across the days.

Compared to the evil energy exuding from that woman, Karuniya was a glowing angel.

At least it brought a bit of color to the drab medbay.

“Karu, can I ask for your help later?”

Murati gave a slightly pleading look to her wife, who smiled back.

“Oh jeez, of course.” Karuniya sighed. “Back to work already? You’re hopeless.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

It was such a contrast to Dominika and Sameera that even those two were staring at it.


Another “night” fell on the UNX-001 Brigand, denoted only by the moving of the clock and the moving of people, and by the artificial dimming of lights. During the day, each light fixture had a small ultraviolet system to help the humans within feel at home, as if working under the rays of the sun. At night, those UV systems would be turned off, the ordinary light would dim, snuffing out the underwater “sun”.

With that snuffing out of the sun, there was a commensurate snuffing out of activity.

There were always some workers at night — it was a warship, after all.

But not for the next few days.

“No night shifts for two days and reduced daytime work hours, for all sailors!”

Galina Lebedova, Chief of the Brigand’s sailors, passed down the decree from Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya to all the sailors working in the hangar. Everyone had been working hard for days, and it was clear the laborers really needed a break. Heavy duty work would resume once the Brigand made it to Goryk’s Gorge and could settle down for the final and definitive stretch of repairs.

“Prioritize maintenance, and don’t crowd the canteen and social spaces! And thank the officers!”

As such the hangar space was almost entirely empty that night.

The only sounds were the footwork and grunts of a certain Shimii, Khadija al-Shajara. It was so quiet that when she stopped moving, one could almost hear the drops of sweat striking the hangar floor, and her heart jumping as she stepped forward and back, attacking a shadow opponent. Dressed only in a pair of workout pants and a sleeveless crop top, her blonde hair tied into a ponytail. Her cat-like ears bristled with each burst of physical effort, tail stabbing at the air behind her betraying a sense of anxiety.

She had in each hand a thick, solid, and heavy carbon-fiber truncheon borrowed from the armory. Standing in a corner of the hangar, with the Diver gantries blocking her from the sight of the elevators and lower hall connections, she practiced striking with the truncheons. Solid one-handed blows in quick succession; coordinated attacks with both weapons at once; overhead, from the side, from left and right at once.  She was not treating them as the two clubs she had, but as a pair of swords.

Swords like the saw-bladed, motorized weapons that her Diver could employ.

Her strikes grew more belabored, her breathing tighter, and she could hear herself, louder.

“Fuck!”

Her anger reverberated across the empty hangar.

“It doesn’t matter. My body isn’t what’s on the line out there. It’s all in a fucking Diver.”

She hated how exhausted she felt. She hated the feeling that she was growing old.

Growing old; when there were other kinds of growing she still needed to do.

Her shaking fingers on the truncheons, the cold sweat of her iron grip; the explosive pain from her joints when she paused for even the briefest second, the soreness in her lithe leg muscles with each step. How she felt her shoulder nearly pop on the double overhead strikes. How hard her breathing came to her, almost as soon as she started. Khadija hated it, hated her age, hated her ailing body. She was as fit as she possibly could be, her lean, wiry muscles practiced daily, and still her strikes grew weaker.

“Fuck.”

There was a loud clatter on the hangar floor as she dropped the truncheons.

Slipping out of exhausted hands that couldn’t stop shaking.

Regardless of how sharply focused her mind had been, she could not make her body go further. Forty-two years; how was it possible that she was still alive after all of this? How had she not died back then with the Red Baron? Either in 959 or 979, whichever of the two. She doubled over, breathing ragged, hands on her knees, sweat trickling over her slim nose, her still-soft cheeks.

“Hah, man, this sucks. When did this become so much trouble for me?”

She started to think but– when was even the last time she had to train this hard?

There were always things to do. Patrols, mock battles, simulations, equipment testing, she had even done plenty of Leviathan culling alongside the Hunters. War, however, she had only practiced in a single solitary stretch, the year of absolute hell she experienced from 959 to 960. Twenty years ago, twenty whole years ago. She was treated like a senior NCO back then because she was twenty-two in an army that had a massive swell of teenage privates. What was she supposed to be now?

“Back then–” Khadija paused, still catching her breath. “I didn’t want the kids to fight.”

She still did not. And perhaps, that was the reason that, at forty-two, she was still here.

Forty-two years. No matter how much she exercised, how much makeup she wore, in this situation there was no escaping it, no embellishing. As lithe and athletic as she kept her body, as young and vibrant as she kept her face, deep down beneath skin and muscle, she was forty-two years old.

She was hurting. Even her fluffy tail felt like an old, beaten thing.

Forty-two years.

Again, she laughed, ever more bitterly.

“Someone like me would’ve already been dead if this was a film. For the kid’s stories to advance.”

Maybe she should have been killed. If she could have just taken out the Red Baron back then–

There was a distant series of dull metal steps on the hangar floor.

When Khadija turned her head she saw someone approaching across the barely lit space.

Someone on crutches.

“So this is where you went. You look like you’ve been working really hard.”

Murati Nakara, step by labored step, leaning heavily on her crutches. Smiling.

She had on her uniform, and she looked like every step was pure agony.

“Ya Allah!” Khadija exclaimed, so surprised she was. “What are you doing, you fool?”

She rushed up to a stand and hastened to Murati’s side, trying to save her some walking.

Face to face, Khadija’s sweaty, bereaved expression, barely accented with a light touch of runny makeup, could not have measured to the deathly grimace on Murati’s face, sweating, panting for breath. Khadija looked around, wondering how the hell she made it out of the medbay without anyone stopping her. She helped Murati lean against her, and regardless of what the Lieutenant intended, Khadija had in mind to drag her right back. She started to gently urge her to turn so she could guide her away.

“It’s okay Khadija, Karuniya is in the hall with a wheelchair.” Murati said.

“What? Why didn’t she cart you out here? What is wrong with you two?”

“Because I want to talk to you alone, and she respects me enough for that.”

Murati continued to labor a smile, while Khadija stared at her quizzically.

“Didn’t you just wake up today? What could possibly–?”

“Khadija, I’ll get right to the point, because I’m really exhausted and hurting and honestly, this has been distressing me a lot.” Murati’s eyes looked almost tearful, as she worked her way up to asking and finally interrupted. When Khadija met her eyes she could barely look at the expression. And when she heard the words that her squad leader finally said, her body shook with shock and shame.

“Khadija, were you trying to die out there? Did you intend to martyr yourself?”

It was like her heart was perforated with a cold needle, a sharp pinprick.

When she had fought the Red Baron– She did intend to launch a suicide attack.

How could Murati have known? Did she suspect it when she snatched the bomb away?

In hindsight, it brought her a lot of pain and shame to think about that now.

She had tried to put that experience away.

To train and fight another day and move on.

Now it crashed into her exhausted mind and nearly brought her to the floor.

Especially because of Murati’s reaction. It was so shocking to see her so hurt by it.

Murati continued to look at her, openly weeping. She raised her working arm to wipe tears.

She took Khadija’s shocked silence as a confirmation. And it seemed to distress her further.

“Khadija, please promise me that you won’t consider such a thing again. I admit, I have not been in command of teams in real combat, probably nowhere near as much as you might have had. But I truly made it my duty to insure that everyone came back alive. My plan was never for a suicide mission. It hurts– I can do everything in my power to save my comrades, but if they decide–”

Murati paused as if she could not get herself to say it out loud. She sobbed openly.

Khadija had never seen her like this. She had never imagined her looking so broken up.

“Khadija, I don’t want the story of the ‘Lion of Cascabel’ to end like that. Please.”

“Murati, I–” Khadija hardly knew what to say to that at first.

She could have been offended to be called ‘the Lion of Cascabel’, a name which brought bad memories. She could have tried to explain her reasoning at that time, not that there was any. It had been pure gut, desperation, and a lot of self-loathing that led her to that. She realized what she felt, was that she was touched Murati had such a strong reaction to the idea of her dying like that– to her making a martyr of herself. At that time, Khadija had felt, if she went through with it, no one would mourn it.

Wasn’t she just a soldier? An unmarried childless old woman sharpened to kill?

Wouldn’t the success of the mission give meaning to her death?

For a long time she really thought of herself as someone disposable.

She never realized how that flew in the face of the comrades risking their life alonside her.

How it minimized their collective hope of protecting one another and returning alive.

Khadija wondered– could she really say she wanted to live at all costs? She looked back briefly at the truncheons she had dropped in the hangar. What she had felt back in the water, that desperation and frustration– she was here, fighting to never feel it again. She was challenging herself again, and if she had no intention of living, then she would not have been aching and sweating this much.

She finally knew what to say. “Murati, you’re unbelievable sometimes. I guess I have to become even stronger in the future so you kids will finally stop worrying about me so much.” Khadija made an irritated noise. “Honestly; knock it off, Murati. Go back to the medbay. I have more training to do.”

Murati smiled at her, wiping her tears. Relief seemed to wash over her like a wave.

“Thank you. Whether or not you realize it, Khadija, you’re a real hero.” She said.

Khadija looked away from Murati in a brief fit of shame.

Honestly, what was it with this girl and the earnest compliments?

But she couldn’t hate her for it. She really wanted to believe that she was.

Not just an old failed woman but the hero of a story still to be told.


Previous ~ Next

Bury Your Love At Goryk’s Gorge [8.2]

For Blake McClinton the summer palace at Schwerin Island had become a green purgatory. Those vast beautiful fields which surrounded the castle endlessly on each side made him feel insane as he relentlessly climbed sets of staircases, looking out onto the unchanging world below, rushing from the bottom of the palace to the garden several stories above. Staircase after staircase after staircase fashioned from stone, boasting artsy diagonal hex-shaped windows ever at his side.

Intermittent snapping gunfire punctuated his steps.

“Leda– oh my god Leda–”

He gasped for breath. Tenth story. Almost there.

That morning he’d had an ominous feeling in his chest. He had wanted to meet with Leda.

With his status as a G.I.A. agent they had to be discrete, but–

Ever since they got word that woman was coming, Blake couldn’t sit back and watch.

Leda had said she would meet him in their special place. She must have meant the garden.

But with this invasion happening would they really meet there?

Blake had no choice but to follow her directions. Even if they were given before the chaos.

On the twelfth story, when he looked out at the green, he could see a shadow in the falsely blue sky. An impression of what was looming outside Schwerin past the illusion they had created for themselves. Judging by the presence, in the gardens below, of those damnable powered armors that the Empire had begun building to fight the communists, this was a Dreadnought that was sent to suppress them.

That shadow signaled the end of their ambitions– but they could still escape!

And so Blake charged up the stairs again, silenced pistol in hand.

He began checking the corners, aiming up the staircase.

“Leda! I’m here! I’ll get you out of here!”

He shouted, almost hysterical in his desire to hear anything from the garden.

Charging through the door out to the enormous ceiling-garden in one of the Schwerin palace towers. Beautiful rows and beds of tall flowering plants, grapevines, berry bushes. Blake called out Leda’s name and ran through the rows. He reached the center of the garden structures, begging whatever cosmic force toyed with their fates to please let him find Leda standing there.

“My, my.”

Blake should have known his fate could be nothing but cursed.

In Leda’s place, there was a woman in the field grey Imperial officer’s uniform, boots and peaked cap, blond, fair-faced, hair tied into a ponytail. She carried no visible weapons and had her arms crossed over her chest. She did not appear so formidable that she could simply stand there alone, but that mischievous glare and wicked grin could have belonged to no other than the famed Fueller enforcer Norn Tauscherer. Standing atop the garden tower and below Schwerin’s darkened skies.

“Where is she?” Blake shouted. He took aim directly at Norn’s head.

Norn put on an expression that felt surreal to Blake. Was she– was she laughing?

Nonetheless, she raised her hands in surrender with this amused expression on her lips.

“Blake McClinton is it? G.I.A special agent? No– there are more relevant names.”

Suddenly, Blake felt something press against the back of his head.

He ran his fingers through his long black hair as if he could’ve felt what was touching him.

“Samuel Anahid.”

Blake’s eyes drew wide as Norn’s smile grew wider. How could she–

“No– oh dear. I quite apologize. I found a more fitting name: Marina McKennedy?”

“Shut up! I’ll perforate that fucking stupid grin of yours!”

Terror stirred in Blake’s heart.

How could she know, how could she possibly fucking know?

Only Leda and Bethany called her Marina– only they knew what he felt deep down.

Only they encouraged his questioning.

Something so intimate, so strange; how was it possible for Norn to know?

Unless–

No, even in captivity Leda would have no reason to speak of that!

And Bethany would never betray them!

“You’re wondering how I know? It’s because your mind is such an open book.”

Norn’s expression was filled with such evil delight it shook Blake’s gun arm.

This woman was a monster– this was the only explanation.

There was no time to ponder it any further than that.

Fueller’s monster had come for them. As Blake had feared in his worst nightmares.

Blake was hardly listening to her ramble– he had to move with haste. Leda was in danger.

“Where is she? Where is Leda Lettiere? Where are you keeping her?”

Blake stepped forward with his pistol trained on Norn’s forehead.

“Miss McKennedy, it is truly not my desire to cause any harm to Leda Lettiere.” Norn said. For a second, Blake’s heart rushed with a misplaced sense of relief. It didn’t last long, just until Norn finally spoke up again. “I am one of her many admirers. Oh, such pain and heartache that she brings to that stupid man. When Konstantin sent me here, I was expecting to turn up evidence of her sleeping around, and then to thoroughly ignore it so long as she was discrete. Unfortunately, you were here, G.I.A.”

“What do you mean? What the fuck do you mean Norn?” Blake asked desperately.

Norn sighed. “If only you hadn’t been here. I could have even ignored Leda’s plot to kill Konstantin, but if it’s supported by the G.I.A., that won’t do. I can’t let the Republic become emboldened.”

“You’re talking really confidently for a woman with a gun to her head.” Blake said.

She tried to regain her confidence. Norn was not some superhuman.

Blake had all the situational advantages. Strategically they had been completely outdone but in this particular moment all she needed was to shoot Norn and escape with Leda. She just needed to know where Leda was. She had a few assets still in play, she could still potentially slip by those Diver armors. She had tricks up her sleeve. If Norn was up to talking she could let her talk.

“What did you do with Leda? You’ve captured her, haven’t you?” Blake said.

“Do you really think Leda would honor your little rendezvous here in this situation?”

Norn tilted her head, gesturing toward one of the higher rear towers of Schwerin Palace.

Of course. Blake had been so stupid. Leda was going to get Elena from the tower.

How could he have believed Leda would choose him over her own daughter?

“Unfortunately, I have to put an end to these fantasies.” Norn said.

Blake bared her teeth at her in fury. “Says the bitch on the other end of my gun! Shut up!”

Norn took a casual step forward in defiance of the agent’s orders, hands still raised.

There was no hesitation on Blake’s part. He was a trained killer.

He pulled the trigger, twice in quick succession, a bullet each in Norn’s neck and chest.

Shooting a gun gave a brief sensation of recoil and an instantaneous sense of violence. The imagination of the layperson could have never accounted for the speed of a bullet. It was as if they were summoned into the world instantly in collision with their targets within the blink of an eye. So Blake’s response to the attack was trained, purposeful; at such close range, he knew when he hit something.

That made the shock he felt as Norn continued to step toward him even greater.

Blake stepped back, retrained his aim, and fired, both hands, center mass, no fancy shit–

Norn closed in from across the garden, closing meter by casual meter, step by step.

“What the fuck?”

His head felt blurry with anxiety. Had he been drugged? Why was he missing?

There was no way. No one had any opportunity to tamper with his gun or with him.

He fired, twice, three times, fired at Norn until the gun clicked empty.

Nothing, not a single bullet had even grazed her. It was if they went through her.

“What’s wrong? Want me to stand still so you can hit me?”

Norn stopped, scant meters distance from Blake, shrugging her shoulders.

Blake drew a knife from his belt and rushed toward Norn with all his might.

Desperate, foolish, ignorant–

Nothing to lose–

She was unarmed, he would take her down and rip out her fucking guts on the floor!

There was no way she could avoid that!

“Pitiable.”

Norn swung her arm and batted aside Blake’s knife.

It was such a precise, dismissive gesture that Blake could hardly believe it as he staggered back from it. His knife arm had been stricken with such force he thought his wrist might have snapped. In the midst of that sharp and sudden pain he never realized how quickly Norn had stepped inside of his guard. Her fist flew like a bullet. In an instant, it was summoned to his stomach and battered him.

Blake fell back on the floor, grabbing hold of his belly, coughing, struggling to breath.

Norn’s punch was like a battering ram. He felt like stomach was moved out of place.

No way! No way! No way!

How was she so strong? How the fuck was this Imbrian bitch this strong?

Blake’s mind raced. Could she be a fucking Katarran–?

“How insulting.”

With a look of disgust on her face Norn kicked Blake on the floor.

Coming in from the side, he felt the hard boots strike his ribs and cried out.

Blake turned on his other side, tried to crawl away–

When that same boot came stomping down on his hand.

He gritted his teeth. She was not trying to break it. Just holding him in place.

He could not help but notice how quickly she had moved from one side of him to the other.

“I don’t do this without pity or sympathy for your cause. Konstantin should not be the winner here.” Norn said. Blake’s heart was racing, and he was in such pain, that all he could do was spit on the floor, not even on her shoe. He could not speak. He could do nothing but act defiant where no defiance was possible. Norn continued. “I’ll avenge the two of you one day. If what you want is the death of Konstantin von Fueller, then have patience. That day will come; just not by your hand, G.I.A.”

Behind them one of the towers suddenly exploded, casting debris and fire into the air.

Norn looked at it briefly, cursed in indignation, and turned suddenly back to Blake.

Her foot came down on his face and shut the light from his eyes–

–Transporting her back to the UNX-001 Brigand, almost twenty years later in 979 A.D.

Marina woke in a bed and quickly closed her eyes again.

She resisted the urge to wake with a start.

It was not only that she wanted to excise what she had just seen in her mind with all of her concentration. That was only one consideration. But it was also part of her professional paranoia. In some situations it was more advantageous to pretend to be asleep or dead, this too was part of her training. Whenever she woke, she closed her eyes and took stock. As she pushed away the fragmented memories being cast as nightmares in her messy subconscious, she also remembered where she had been last.

She remembered arguing with Elena.

Her heart hurt, scarcely remembering that Elena had been furious with her.

Something happened after that. Maybe an attack on the ship knocked Marina out.

Everything was a little fuzzy. To her consternation, her dream was more vivid than that moment.

They had been in a dangerous situation, but she was not dead, so they must have escaped.

Or been captured.

She quickly opened her eye–

And closed it.

Union ship layout with automated doors with no locks; every Imperial quarter had a digital lock so it could be shut out by officers in case of mutiny. Bare metal walls, bedframes made of interchangeable bare plates of carbon fiber that fitted together and could be used to make chairs or tables or other furniture, as opposed to Imperial single-cast bespoke furniture molds. And the other beds were occupied by women with sandy or dark skin. She was probably still on the Brigand.

That didn’t mean they were not captured, but it did mean she could probably be awake.

Marina sat up in bed.

She had a headache, but her body was as whole as it could be. Both arms, both legs.

Her cybernetic eye was doing fine.

In a corner of the room, a young, slim blond girl wearing her hair in two long braids spun around on her office chair. She had a stun gun clipped to her hip and wore the thick bodysuit of a Union security officer, with bits of ceramic bulletproof plate over her ample chest and slender limbs. When she noticed Marina, she stopped spinning around, gasped, and walked over to the bed.

“Afternoon!” She said. Her voice was very cheerful. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

She made a peace sign. Marina sighed audibly.

“I’m fine. You’re Klara Van Der Smidse, right?” Marina said.

“Yes! You know, I didn’t think you’d recognize me!”

“I memorized the roster as much as I could. You’re Gallic, is that right?”

“I mean, ethnically. My family is Gallic, I guess. It’s not a huge deal in the Union.”

Gallics were one of the ethnicities persecuted by the Empire and deported to the Union. Particularly Eastern Gallics, with their “Van Der” names. Despite being fair-skinned blonds even.

They had an independent kingdom in Skarsgaard once– so they resisted integration. And as the borders of Imbrian identity strained to cover the entire ocean, the Empire could not tolerate an ounce of resistance.

Marina shook her head. That was not pertinent, but with the Union, she just could not help but think about the roots. After all, everyone from the Union now was probably once a slave or the child of a slave, or a “criminal” or otherwise “undesirable” element. This Klara Van Der Smidse looked sweet and cheerful at face value, but she probably had a lot of pain she had to deal with.

Understanding this was important to making allies.

Or manipulating enemies.

That was the north star of the Republic’s General Intelligence Agency.

Empathy was useful: but only insofar as it could be used and never a drop more.

“What does my ethnicity matter though?”

“I just wanted you to see that my mental faculties are in order.” Marina said.

“Ah, yeah, it looks like you’re okay. The doctor told me to test everyone who wakes up.”

“Did she tell you to give them any drugs if they’re groggy?”

“Oh, yep, I’ve got a stimulant–”

“Administer it anyway. I can use all the help I can get staying awake.”

“Uhh.” Van Der Smidse blinked at her. “I mean– I guess I will.”

She went to the table she had been spinning near, withdrew a punch injector and returned.

“This goes into–”

Marina practically snatched it out of her hand and punched it into her arm.

Nonchalantly she discarded the case.

“Uh, wow!” Van Der Smidse put her hands behind her head. “Are all GIA this prompt?”

“We’re in a critical situation. It’s all of you who are acting too lax. I take it we escaped?” Marina said.

“From the Iron Lady? Yes, that was a few days ago. All thanks to our pilots.”

“Good. Then I need to speak with your Captain. I want to know what the plan is now.”

Van Der Smidse sighed. “The plan is you need to slow down and wait for the doctor to clear you.”

Marina abruptly stood up out of bed. She still had all her clothes on, and her bodysuit.

Good — nobody had touched her. Or at least, she felt confident not thinking about it.

She started to walk away and practically dared Van Der Smidse to stop her.

That girl never did, however. She shouted after her a bit, but then stayed behind sighing.

Marina had to keep moving. Her past was trying to catch up. She couldn’t just stay still.

It was not only a critical situation for the ship, but for herself too.

That dream shook her a bit.

But she had to be done mourning the past. What mattered now was getting Elena through this.

Norn Tauscherer and Leda Lettiere, were far, far away, as far out of reach as Schwerin Island.

If she ever saw any of them again, it would only be in death.


Lately the Brigand’s laboratory and its adjoining hall were blessed with the sound of a beautiful voice, humming, and sometimes singing, no discernible lyrics or songs, just little notes strung innocently together with great sweetness. In the storm of activity and the danger of the outside world, it was a touch of humanity that reminded those around of what they stood to lose if they faltered.

That voice belonged to Chief Specialist Karuniya Maharapratham.

She didn’t really know any songs by heart, and she wasn’t good with lyrics, but she had been told she had a cute singing voice, so sometimes her lips released vaguely musical noises while she was working. In the laboratory, the day to day work lately had involved the algae and fungus gardens, and it was repetitive. So Karuniya sang while she began to prepare and move along batches of mushrooms.

Union mushrooms began their lives as preserved cultures in vials which could be taken aboard ships in large containers. All agrisphere mushroom cultivars had been chosen specifically for their fecundity, and each of these vials by itself could grow enough fruiting bodies to cover large sections of the garden wall. Karuniya had a climate-controlled chest which stored the vials, and that chest, properly cared for, represented enough food to give everyone on the ship at least a meal a day for eight months in the direst circumstances. And in certain circumstances she could renew the mushrooms a bit too, or even introduce cultivars from stations or from cave systems if they went near the continent.

After retrieving a vial, Karuniya seeded the mushrooms in a nutrient-rich substrate made of a cardboard-like recycled vegetable matter that was enriched with phosphate fertilizer mined near the lower continent wall in Lyser and Solstice. These media were kept in an atmospherically regulated unit. When she seeded one medium, she took the previous medium from the enclosure. Once there were signs of initial growth, the fertile medium was added to the garden wall on the side of the laboratory. From there, the fungi would spread across the environment of the wall. One box could grow a lot of food.

Then she set to work on the algae.

This was much less work because the algae wall was a fully enclosed aquaponic device. There were less blocks of glorified cardboard to shuffle around. Karuniya had the algae starters in vials too, but she rarely needed to start algae because algae were constantly growing in the tank and if she didn’t liquidate the whole thing she could get more out of it. Instead what she needed to pay attention to was canisters of nutrients and the atmosphere regulator. All in all, the algae wall could provide a vitamin rich accompaniment to one meal a day for even longer than the mushroom wall.

Though, in such a situation, misery would set in long before starvation did.

Still, Karuniya felt happy with the fact that she was helping sustain life.

There were also some frozen cultivars in the cargo; and of course, canned and freeze dried mushrooms and other foods ready to heat and eat for the kitchen. But having some kind of fresh food was good for morale, so Karuniya, since the beginning of the trip, had decided to make tending the gardens a priority. This was more important work for the mission than ocean salinity reviews or writing histories of biomass concentrations. Karuniya had a lot of respect for the basic gardening work.

After all, was it not the work of humans now to be responsible for life, after all the death they had caused? That was a key part of the philosophy of her work in oceanography. Aer had essentially been destroyed. If aliens from outer space looked at the planet she imagined they would see an inhospitable rock, its atmosphere steeped in runaway agarthic reactions, devoid of any life.

To survive now, the planet needed stewardship. It could not fix itself.

Aer was a garden, it was artificial, it was tended to. Much of its biomass was unnatural in origin now. Or at least, whether or not Leviathans were natural, they wouldn’t exist without human tampering and agarthicite. If humans could tamper with the world to such a disastrous point, should they not run with it and design more of the world such that life could be sustained indefinitely?

In the same way that Karuniya grew garden walls to feed the ship–

Maybe someday, the people of Aer could come together and grow themselves a better world; clean the waters, create communities sustainable not just for humans and not just for the next few hundred years, but that promoted the growth of helpful species, that rebuilt the natural life cycles of the world from the tormented half-alive state in which they were. Understand the place of Leviathans instead of destroying them as threats or hiding from them indefinitely. Cease to waste resources in endless wars and instead share everything humans had left in communities of mutual benefit.

A bitter laugh escaped from those lips which had been singing.

“What a stupid thing for a soldier who married a soldier to be thinking about.”

When the thought of Murati entered her mind again, she almost wanted to cry.

In fact, it was not simply that gardening was good and necessary work.

It was strenuous and time consuming and kept her mind off her fiancé in the medbay.

“This is how it’s going to be, huh? For God knows how long? If we even survive?”

Maybe she should have persuaded Murati not to follow her ambitions.

“No, hell no. Don’t lose sight of what you love about her.”

Those weren’t just ambitions. Murati could have never been an artist or a teacher.

Murati’s justice would have always led her to soldiery. Her character was defined by it.

Because Murati believed strongly that social problems could perish as if by military force.

As strongly as Karuniya believed that social solutions could be grown like algae in a tank.

And yet, that was what attracted her to Murati in the first place. That strong sense of justice.

Those strong shoulders too–

That time before they started dating that she saw Murati fucking her roommate so hard–

“Ah man, I don’t want to think about weird shit like that! What the fuck am I doing?”

Karuniya clapped her hands against her head.

“Excuse me.”

A voice from behind startled her so badly she nearly jumped at the algae tank.

Karuniya suddenly turned around as if nothing had happened, and nothing had been said.

“Y-Yes?”

Behind her, Braya Zachikova tilted her head in confusion, staring at her with an utterly expressionless face. Zachikova’s large grey antennae had their LEDs blinking profusely, but no bit of her from that tawny spiraling ponytail to those mechanical eyes of hers nor any part of that slender frame, showed much discernible consternation. Karuniya surmised that Braya had not heard her thinking out loud and so she tried not to be embarrassed about her sudden appearance.

“What do you need Ensign?” Karuniya said. “Are you going to play with the Super again?”

That was Karuniya’s shorthand for the supercomputer box at the far end of the lab.

“I don’t play with it. Anyway, that’s not what I am doing. I have a request.”

Zachikova did not usually request anything. She was a bridge officer and had been broadly authorized to perform any kind of computer related work with the least red tape possible. So she did not need to make requests of Karuniya and she usually did not. She would come and go and do what she needed as she pleased. Karuniya basically served at her pleasure on such matters.

“Sure, I mean, I dunno how much help I could be.” Karuniya said.

“You like Leviathans, don’t you?” Zachikova said.

“Huh?” Karuniya made a face at her. “Who the heck would like those ugly things?”

She did like them– but that would have been a weird thing to admit to.

Zachikova was unfazed by the response.

“I’m not talking like they’re cute or cuddly, I mean they fascinate you, right?” She pressed.

“They’re one of my fields of study.” Karuniya said. What the hell was this conversation?

“You wouldn’t want us to unnecessarily waste resources hunting a Leviathan, correct?”

“Um, well, I mean, if it’s not threatening us, I guess. What is your point, Zachikova?”

Zachikova’s ears seemed to adjust their angle very slightly on her head.

As if beckoned by an invisible hand, the wall-mounted monitor near the garden beds began to display a video feed. It looked like it was taken by cameras on one of the Brigand’s spy drones. Internal and external camera footage was retained for 96 hours and was briefly reviewed by Karuniya, Zachikova, a security team member, and the Captain or Commissar. Anything important was backed up to tape and the rest was deleted. They had a ton of storage on the ship. Civilians were still dealing in sub gigabyte files, but the Brigand housed several petabytes of storage for high quality predictive imagery, algorithmic real-time video editing, and a ton of other fancy stuff. That being said, it would be reckless not to have storage management processes, so they held those meetings.

Knowing all of this, Karuniya realized immediately what Zachikova was asking.

There was a creature in all of the videos. Beautiful, certainly. Docile, perhaps.

Judging by the contrails of its exhaust — hell, by the very presence of an exhaust–

This was recent footage about a Leviathan coming very close to the Brigand.

“You want me to declare it a subject of study. So we won’t cull it.” She said.

Zachikova nodded. She spoke with a dispassionate tone, but–

“Out at sea, the ship science officer is an authority on matters regarding Leviathans. You can declare Leviathan alerts, issue a request for culling; ultimately, if I’m deemed negligent for not reporting the footage, you’ll be the key witness in that process. I want you to scrub this footage, make a request for study with the drone, and I’ll operate the drone and we can come into contact with the Leviathan again. Then you can name it, categorize it and declare it a subject of study.”

–Karuniya could tell that she really did care about not hurting this animal.

There was something almost touching about that.

She had always thought of Zachikova as a standoffish girl who only cared about her work.

All of these other soldiers would have shot down a Leviathan without hesitation.

“Well, if the Leviathan was out there now, wouldn’t Fatima pick it up?” Karuniya said.

“She’s not out there now.” Zachikova said. She said this with a strange note of confidence, as if she could actually tell something this uncertain. “Fatima would ignore biologic noise at this point. I think we’re all too nervous about being attacked by a ship again to really care too much.”

Wait a minute– “Did you mean to say ‘she’ to refer to the Leviathan?”

Zachikova briefly averted her gaze. “Yes. I believe it is a young female.”

That was such a weird thing to say. But Karuniya would not tease her for it any further.

“It does look really interesting. I will file a request for study right now. So sit tight. We’ll go look for her. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I welcome being able to do my real job.”

Karuniya gave her a mischievous smile and made a little peace sign to lighten the mood.

While she was playing it cool, she really appreciated having a project in that moment.

Zachikova bowed her head a little. “T-t-thanks.” For the first time– a bit of emotion.

“You can be really cute when you want to, you know?” Karuniya winked.

She turned and walked to her work terminal to begin the project in earnest.

Zachikova followed behind with an almost pitiable expression, like a lost puppy.

Karuniya thought then: even the most hardcore soldier types could be wonderful people.


Rousing gently from sleep, Elena, for a brief moment, saw the familiar four walls of her room at Vogelheim, sunlight peering through her window, the chirping of birds and the feeling of warm air. She was afraid to shut her eyes, to the point of tears, but inevitably, she did. In a blink, the familiar scene dispersed like color peeling off the walls, like a painting burning in her face.

Elena was on the UNX-001 Brigand.

For a brief moment she recalled where she had been last.

Looming tyrannical over Marina’s mind with the strange power Victoria had admitted she had.

She had wanted to hurt Marina, to force her submission, to destroy her soul.

And the thought of it scared and disgusted her now.

What had come over her?

“Feeling better? How many fingers am I holding up?”

A voice shook her out of her contemplation.

Seated on a chair near her bed was a young woman in a thick black bodysuit, interlocking plates of bulletproof armor covering her slender chest and limbs. She had a baton and a stun gun clipped to a utility belt, and there was a first aid kit spread open on an adjacent chair. Elena focused on the fingers, two slender, black gloved digits making a peace sign. Elena let out a tired sight.

“Two fingers. I’m alright. You don’t have to worry.” Elena said.

“You’ve been out for days, but you at least you were stable enough to stay in your room.”

Though Elena felt a bit self-conscious to think of it, the girl across from her–

She was– exotic?

Her long, silky black hair framed her face with perfectly blunt bangs, and the rest gathered in a handsome ponytail. Her facial features were a little different than Elena was used to. Her eyes had a slight fold, and the tone of her skin was fair but with what felt like a golden sheen. Elena did not know what race or ethnicity she belonged to. She knew the Union had a lot of peoples who were once minority populations in the Empire, like North Bosporans and Shimii. But she could not at all place the woman in front of her. And something about that made her hate herself a little, made her feel inadequate.

Luxembourg School For Girls had been Elena’s taste of a “cosmopolitan” world and even in a place seen as a liberal haven, she had one Shimii friend and nothing but Imbrian companions otherwise. She hardly saw even the “fair-skinned blonde” foreigners of the Empire like Volgians and Gallics. She was sheltered; and this ship of communists seemed to keep reminding her of sheltered-ness.

“Your name is Elen, right? I’m with security. My name is Zhu Lian. Zhu is my surname.”

“Nice to meet you. I am– I’m Elen, yeah. I’m an analyst.”

Despite Marina’s paranoia, Elena was well aware of her script and character.

Zhu Lian smiled at her and seemed to have no suspicion or malice toward her.

“Can you stand up? We had you on an IV for a bit, but you must be feeling pretty weak.”

“I think I can stand, thank you.”

Elena shifted her legs off the bed and lifted herself up to a stand. It was not difficult.

She noticed immediately that she was wearing nothing but her bodysuit.

“Could I get a moment to change?” Elena asked.

“Of course. I’ll step out. Before that, though: I’m joining my companion Klara Van Der Smidse to eat soon. Why don’t you come with us to the canteen? That way we can make sure you’re ok.”

Elena hesitated at first, unable to get a firm grasp on her own feelings. She realized that she couldn’t keep avoiding the communists and hiding in her room. This was a good step forward. These girls were security officers for the communists but they might not be enemies. They might just be two girls.

“I could really use a good meal. Thanks for the offer, Miss Zhu.”

For a moment before she left, the security officer looked mildly taken aback. “Miss Zhu?”

Once Zhu Lian was out of the room, Elena found her suit had been laundered for her, so she switched to a fresh bodysuit and donned the button-down, pants and jacket. She checked to make sure she still looked inconspicuous. The dye job on her hair was still solid, and in a ship full of young, physically active and attractive people she probably did not look like a remarkable beauty.

Outside, Elena found alongside Zhu Lian a familiar blond girl with a flighty demeanor and a matching suit of armor. Klara Van Der Smidse waved vigorously at Elena before turning to Zhu.

“Oh Lian! Are you finally sick of me? Dumping me for a nerdy girl?” She wailed.

“Hey, don’t be rude to her. You don’t know if she’s nerdy.” Lian replied coolly.

“She’s a stark contrast to my vibrant physicality. You’re really trading down!”

Lian laughed. “Don’t worry, you’re my obligation for good. If I ever let you go, someone else would have to bear your evil little head. I couldn’t live with myself unleashing that on society.”

“How mean! If you’re going to play along, don’t put me down so strongly!”

Klara puffed up her cheeks in childish anger, while Lian gave her a smug look.

Elena was reminded of the banter between Victoria and Sawyer.

Sawyer would always shout and start some kind of argument.

Victoria would coolly and dispassionately dress her down.

Gertrude would intervene if Sawyer looked like she was going to hit Victoria.

And Elena watched quietly from the sidelines, just as she watched Klara and Lian now.

Somehow they continued to hang out, the four girls always together despite this chaos.

Seeing the security officers rile each other up gave her bittersweet memories.

“Lian, can’t you see she’s not feeling the vibe? You shouldn’t keep dragging things on.”

Klara pointed at Elena with a snickering grin on her face.

“It’s your fault that nobody on Aer can stand your vibe. C’mon, let’s go eat.”

Lian started walking without waiting on Klara or anyone’s response.

So Elena followed after, trying to match her stride, quick and elegant, almost gliding.

She had such a confident posture and step– Klara did too, Elena noticed it when she looked.

They must have been well-trained. Was everyone on the Brigand some kind of Union elite?

Or maybe Elena was just too stupid to tell if they were really professional or not.

In sharp contrast to the escalated level of activity in the halls and adjoining areas, there was nobody sitting down to eat at the canteen. Long row tables full of lines of empty chairs. People mainly seemed to rush to the canteen, fill a thermos with soup from the dispensers on the wall, grab some crackery-looking bread from containers near the soup dispensers, and then rush back out.

Elena supposed those were workers with something important to do. They were dressed in jumpsuits like the repairmen at Vogelheim sometimes did. Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse led Elena to the back of the canteen, where there was a kitchen counter with hot food trays encircling the cooks.

The main cook was a dark-haired lady in the middle of chopping mushrooms. She reminded Elena of Bethany Skoll, her head maid back at Vogelheim. The focus and precision with which she worked on the food, like she was in her own world from which she could not be moved until her task was done. That same level of intensity surrounded Bethany in everything she did for Elena. She felt a little melancholy; the cook and Bethany even looked a bit like they were the same age, they had a motherly aesthetic.

While the cook was engaged in her work, an unfriendly looking blond served their food.

“No substitutions shall be abided, you knaves. Secure thy blessings and be grateful.”

“We know, we know.” Klara said.

She filled plastic trays with a scoop of white rice, a large spoonful of wilted greens in a runny brown sauce, one slice of a strange cutlet that looked like no discernible cut of meat to Elena’s eyes, and a baked brown pie that seemed like the only edible thing in Elena’s plate. While Klara and Lian took their plates quickly, Elena hung back and waved for the blond serving girl.

“Excuse me.” She asked, as politely as she could.

“Hmm? Yes, yes, you desire to savage additional portions, do you not?”

“Um.” Elena’s hands trembled slightly, holding her tray. “Can I have a bit of olive oil?”

Across the counter the blond serving girl’s eyes narrowed at her. Then she laughed.

“I’ve beauty akin to royalty, so I understand your confusion, but I’ve not a royal’s ransom to my name that I could give you olive oil. You’re the Republican, are you not? Mayhaps you can vote yourself some olive oil, for you will find none here. Now scram before I become enraged.”

Elena stood speechless as the blond tossed her hair with agitation and went about her way.

Completely ignoring what Elena thought was a simple, easy request for a bit of olive oil.

Back home she always had fresh baked meat pies with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

Did the communists not have olive oil? They had oil for cooking, didn’t they?

“Elen! Stop bothering Fernanda and join us already!” cried Klara, from a row seat nearby.

Still dumbfounded, Elena took her tray over to the security girls and sat down with them.

She looked down with a wan expression at her food, while Lian and Klara dug in.

“Excuse me.” Elena said. “Do you not have olive oil available as a condiment?”

“As a condiment? That’s pretty wild.” Klara asked.

“It is? I always had it back home.” Elena felt suddenly ashamed.

“You Republicans sure are care-free huh?” Lian said, sighing. “Elen, we absolutely don’t have olive oil for you to just dunk your food in. Union oil is mainly corn oil or soybean oil and its just used for cooking in. It’s pretty flavorless on its own. The margarine or shortening is a little bit better because it has extra salt and flavorings added in, but still, you weren’t going to get any.”

“In the Union it’s pretty rude to ask for more stuff on your meals.” Klara clarified. “If you need a special diet you go on a special meal plan, but the cooks work their butts off to make food for like hundreds or even thousands of people who register at their canteen, not to mention walk-ins too. They can’t do that if everyone asks for extra oil all the time, does that make sense?”

“I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was like that.” Elena said, staring down at her plate.

“I’m sure nobody would hold the culture shock against you. Union life is a little bit strict.”

“Well, you know, at least the food is free.” Klara said. “Lian and I walked around a bit in Serrano city, and it was crazy how such a big place that was crammed full of people also just had guys out on the street starving to death and begging for scraps. You don’t see that in the Union.”

“It was pretty disturbing. I’m hoping the entire Empire isn’t like that.” Lian said.

Elena didn’t have the heart to speak up about that.

She knew that the Empire — her Empire — was a difficult and violent place to live.

Though perhaps often naïve she wasn’t completely ignorant to the Empire’s history.

While she was sheltered in Vogelheim she read books and sought out information on the network and tried to learn the things they just would not teach her in Luxembourg, or that she would never get to personally see. She knew that housing cost money and certain people couldn’t pay. She knew that food prices went up and down with supply, demand, price controls or subsidies, tampering by bad market actors — and in turn she knew, at times, people couldn’t afford food, and it led to riots or even wars. And she knew that the Empire persecuted and ejected people for their ethnicity, and that this led to them losing housing, food and even their lives. Elena was sheltered, not stupid.

However, there was a gap in her knowledge about what anyone could do about it.

The Empire felt like a force of nature.

A current that swept through people and brought eternal strife.

When her father took power from the Nocht dynasty, he had declared a grand project known as the “Fueller Reformation” that was supposed to end the unrest, the ethnic cleansing, the instabilities in food and housing, corruption among the nobles– a grand and sweeping rejuvenation of the Empire. Clearly, however, he must have failed. Had the Fueller Reformation truly succeeded the Empire would not be split into warring sides. Vogelheim would not have been destroyed.

Bethany would not have had to die, and Elena could have had olive oil on her pies still.

But those were things that could not concern Elen. Elen had an entire other life.

So in front of Zhu Lian and Klara Van Der Smidse, Elen began to eat her food.

Despite the lackluster appearance, the flavors of the food were acceptable.

Everything was well seasoned. There was plenty of unctuous mouthfeel and umami flavor.

Nothing could beat the feasts Bethany made with the highest quality ingredients.

But Elena could understand that the Union had acceptable substitutes for such things.

Perhaps the life of the communists was not so bleak and joyless as she thought.

“I have a question. Maybe it’s a stupid one.” Elena said.

“Those are my favorite kind of question!” Klara said. “Throw it out there, Elen!”

Elena gathered her breath, laying her spork down on the pool of sauce left in her plate.

“Do you all really believe in the communist government?” Elena said.

Lian and Klara turned to face each other and turned back to Elena with puzzled expressions.

“Uhhh; are you lookin’ to start a fight, Republican?” Klara said, cocking an eyebrow.

It sounded like she was teasing her– at least Elena certainly hoped it was just teasing.

“Klara don’t scare her. I can only speak for myself, but I don’t really care about what the government calls itself or how they justify it when they do things.” Lian said. “What I care about is that the government does good things for us. And in the Union, the way we organize things has been good for us. Everyone gets a little slice of something. Enough of a life to be pretty happy.”

“I was a little kid when my family was deported to the Union.” Klara said. “I was like two or three years old so I can’t remember the Empire exactly or what happened to us. As a little kid we had some rough times when the Union was formed, but every time there was a shortage, the government was completely up front about it. They told us in school, you know? So I couldn’t blame them when that stuff happened. It felt like it was everyone’s shared problem, or something.”

“My family has a crazy history.” Lian said. “We were from this station in the Cogitum Ocean, like, far, far east, called Zhongshan, and our country had an enemy, Hanwa, who captured us and pressed us into service aboard their ships. Those ships went to war against the Empire and were defeated by the Vekans. The Vekans then deported us to the colonies as POWs. When the Union was formed, it didn’t matter that we were foreigners who had been shuffled around so many countries. We became people of the Union. We all had the same lot, and we shared the same space and resources. That’s always what I’ve called communism, even if I don’t know all the theory.”

Elena listened intently to their stories. Communism had always been the evil ideology of the Empire’s enemies. Communism tricked people into suffering and famine, killed billions, turned neighbor on neighbor, faithful servant against generous master. It was a tempting succubus that threatened to drain the soul of a nation. When Marina told her they would be fleeing to the Union, it felt like she was making a deal with the devil. This was all quite unlike what she had been taught.

In the Empire, communism was taught like it was a force of nature.

A current that swept through people and brought eternal strife.

The Union had rebelled against the Empire, but Elena knew how rotten the Empire was.

Could she blame them? Did she need to fear them like Marina said?

While the communists did not hide the fact that they faced difficulties and hardships in their nation, they did not speak as if they were subjects of a dictatorship who had everything stolen from them and were brainwashed into believing and participating in an evil plot. Everyone on the Brigand were just people. They were soldiers, but– also just people who just had lives and homes.

Zhu Lian and Klara Van Der Smidse– in the Empire, would they be hated? Persecuted?

And so, then, was it the Union that was truly just? Was the Union the truly virtuous state?

“I’m sorry for the heavy question. Things are different in the– in the Republic, is all.”

Elena deflected from this subject. She had quite enough on her mind already.

Without having to ponder the weighty questions of national politics.

“You two seem really close.” Elena said. “How did you meet?”

She put on a bubbly smile in the hopes they would play along with the lighter topic.

Thankfully Klara seemed to require little input to get going and ran with it immediately.

“Hah! Lian and I go way back. We used to be rivals in the infantry!”

Klara shot a little look at Lian, who returned it with equal intensity– and fondness.

“Back in camp, whenever I did 100 pushups, this dork would go and do 101.” Lian said.

“And when I set fast times in the obstacle course, you would go and top them!” Klara said.

“Yeah but I wasn’t loud about it like you. You’d go around bragging, it was obnoxious.”

“Of course! What’s the point in beating you at everything and keeping quiet about it?”

Lian looked at Elena, pointing a thumb at Klara. “I hated this bitch for the longest time.”

“I wanted to fucking kill her.” Klara said casually, gently shoving Lian in the shoulder.

“Um.” Elena started to go pale. Had she set them off in an even worse way?

Both were still smiling though. And they each threw an arm over each other’s shoulder.

“One time though, we ended up paired up in a mock battle!” Lian said excitedly.

“We smoked everyone. It was crazy how tuned up our frequencies were!” Klara added.

“After that, we ended up in the showers.” Lian said. She gave Klara a mischievous look.

Klara laughed it off, cheeks red, winking. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off her ever since.”

“Or your hands.” Lian said. The two of them rubbed their heads together affectionately.            

Were people in the Union always so openly romantic? Elena felt herself shrink a little, feeling awkward around the two of them, but at the very least, they had gotten away from politics. There was another little bittersweet memory here. Elena was reminded of her childhood crushes, Gertrude and Sawyer. Of her friend Victoria who perhaps also loved her, too. Of the fighting and frolicking of their youth.

All of those people felt so far away. Perhaps she would only ever see them again in death.


Previous ~ Next

Bury Your Love At Goryk’s Gorge [8.1]

“Huh. It’s really beautiful. I want to play with it.”

Through the visual sensors of a recon drone, Braya Zachikova observed a novel creature in the middle of the desolate, rocky oceans of northern Sverland. It had appeared from out of nowhere as many things in the ocean did, seen first as a blip of biological noise in the sonar before flitting in front of the cameras. In a rare fanciful mood, Zachikova felt it looked like a beautiful dancer in a red and white dress. A fuciform fish-like body pure white and mottled with red, ended in a sleek head and possessed grand and ornate fins that seemed almost silken, gently swaying in the water. On its rear, a pair of small biological hydrojets hidden behind similarly lovely curtain-like fins, like the hem of a dress, spun spiraling patterns into the ocean that indicated that this organism was not something ordinary.

Only Leviathans of various descriptions used biojet propulsion.

Large as the drone itself, which was the size of a car, this was something Zachikova should have reported as an “incident” worthy of a combat response. Instead, she found herself watching the animal idly. It was curious, closing in with gentle, elegant strokes of its fins, circling around the drone such that Zachikova had to flip a mental switch to move from camera to camera and follow it. She began to track the creature closely.

It was graceful, taking care not to bump into the silver-blue steel chassis of the drone.

Her optics made brief contact with the dancer’s bright lilac-colored eyes.

Greetings!

Zachikova almost thought she heard it say something.

She would have snickered, but the drone had no such faculties to convey emotions.

Her human body, connected to the drone through her antennae, snickered in her place.

“Nothing wrong with playing a little. It’s not like I’m behind on my work at all anyway.”

Perhaps uncharacteristically, Zachikova loved animals. They fascinated her.

They were like machines, built to purpose and perfection from birth.

She extended the arms of the drone, hoping for a response but not too invested in one.

Her heart swelled for a brief moment as the dancer complied with her.

Twirling in shimmering arcs around the arms as if it understood what she wanted.

A fleeting tactile sensation. Softness. Those diaphanous fins brushing on her arms.

“Beautiful!” Such emotion as Zachikova had not felt in a long time. Pure innocent joy.

It was so agile and elegant! So intelligent too– it definitely divined her intent and played along with her. It– no, she, for the dancer had to be female– she was moving deliberately. Zachikova had never seen a creature move like the dancer and had never had such an interaction with an animal before. With her mind almost entirely contained within the chassis of the drone, she almost felt like a peer to the creature. She felt a strange sense of euphoria.

Unfortunately, something interrupted her by touching her flesh and blood body.

Flipping that mental switch again, Zachikova switched from the optics of the drone to her own optics. Those two transplanted mechanical eyes which had been installed in her head due to the destruction of her own by Hartz syndrome. When she looked through them, she saw a round-faced, chubby blond girl waving at her and trying to get attention. Switching her gaze from one machine to another machine was not such an effort– but it took Zachikova quite a few seconds more to pull her self, her personhood out of the drone and to establish her center of gravity and thought in her own body. It was only then that she could talk to humans again.

I’m sorry. Please wait for me. She almost wanted to say this to the beautiful dancer.

And she really wanted to believe she had heard ‘Of course, Braya’ back from it.

That was of course entirely a fantasy.

“Semyonova.” Zachikova said, nodding her head in acknowledgment.

“Good evening Zachikova! I’m here to relieve you! You ought to go rest.”

Natalya Semyonova patted her on the shoulder with a friendly eagerness and a splendid smile.

Despite her cheerfully pushy personality, Zachikova could not make herself be rude to Semyonova.

Beautiful, smart, possessed of a powerful voice, Semyonova really had no faults.

Even Zachikova had to respect the efficiency with which she adapted to her purpose.

They were of course on the bridge of the UNX-001 Brigand– Zachikova felt some of the residual chill of the deep waters on her body, part of the strange psychosomatic effects of shifting her consciousness into a machine through the use of her cybernetic implants. She started to recall that she had been working the late shift. In a seven day work-week, four or five of the late shifts were usually worked by perennial lateshifters Geninov and Santapena-De La Rosa. However, Semyonova made sure they had days when they were middle shifters so they could have rest.

On those days, she always worked one of the late shifts herself.

“As the Officer’s Union Representative, I’d be remiss to avoid this responsibility!”

Those were her reasons at the time.

Zachikova usually took a late shift as well in such cases and worked as long as she could.

“I’m here for a challenge, not for the accommodations. If I can be doing something, I will.”

Those were her reasons at the time.

And those same reasons, and new ones, compelled her to shake her head at Natalya.

“I’d rather keep working, Semyonova. Without Geninov, I’m the only drone-certified officer around.”

Semyonova crossed her arms at her.

“I know you would prefer to work all day and night, but we didn’t fight a whole revolution to act like slaves now! Even someone as dedicated as you needs to rest, Zachikova! Otherwise it will definitely catch up to you one day. I’m sending you away to bed right this instant. I can keep track of everything with the sonar.” She said.

“The Captain wanted active drone surveillance whenever possible.”

“Yes, and you’ve been splendid! But tomorrow’s splendid work, starts with having good sleep today.”

She said that with a tone of voice that seemed to indicate it was a touchy subject for her.

Zachikova knew not to fight this unwanted gesture of kindness. A few days had passed since the Brigand confronted the Iron Lady, and everyone was tense and anxious. They were working nonstop in case another threat arose. Fleeing as fast as they could while trying to find a place they could hide and repair the ship.

In the meantime, the bridge was running at breakneck speed, staffed at varying capacities 24/7. After being caught off-guard once before, rapid response became paramount and there were even plans to run surprise readiness drills. Semyonova herself was running a bit ragged with all the hubbub but she didn’t complain.

As the Union rep she must have felt the responsibility to set an example.

And she was also the chief of communications, so she always processing messages.

“I’ve got piles of work, but I know there’s no point in arguing.” Zachikova droned.

In reality, what she really wanted to do was play, and perhaps her disappointment showed.

“Ahh, what’s that face? Now I feel kinda bad for pulling you off work, you know?”

Semyonova sighed and looked conflicted for a moment.

Zachikova didn’t feel guilty even though in a sense, she was sort of lying. Whether it was exploring around the Brigand with the trailing drone or a spy tentacle or writing scripts and programs to run the various hidden functions of the ship, or performing any maintenance needed on the supercomputer, there were lots of things Zachikova could be doing at any given moment. Right then she was just slacking; but it was true that she was busy. Sleeping was still inconvenient.

Back in the Special Forces she was even known as Black Bags Braya. Sleeping was an unwelcome obstacle.

Sleep was nothing but a defect in the human machine and she despised it.

But it was what it was; Zachikova made the situation easier by standing up, unplugging her antenna from the console, and walking away without further notice. She heard nothing from the Bridge and didn’t stop. Her room was not even that far from the bridge. Without a goodbye or well wishes, she simply left Semyonova. Her demeanor was not aggravated. She simply saw no need to make pleasantries. They were just on this ship for a mission after all.

Stepping through doors that closed behind her, she found her room as she had left it. She spent very little time in her room. Nothing but bunks and sheets and a big grey passcode locked case thrown in a corner. That case had all her special tools. It was Zachikova’s only personal property. Clothes or food goods, she brought no such items from home. This was the room of a girl whose brain was practically the only thing she needed to work.

“If she wants me to sleep, I guess I’ll sleep. I kinda wish I could see her again though.”

Zachikova threw herself on her unmade bed and laid on her side.

She closed her eyes.

Instead of the darkness inside her eyelids, she imagined the Ocean again.

She could see it vivid and firsthand as if through the drone optics. Except the fidelity was impossible; like a painting of what she Ocean should be. Beautiful gemstone-like greens and blues as if rather than inundated in water the landscape was coated in an aquamarine glaze over kelp, shellfish, and beautiful corals. Seeing through the muck that had become of it into the most pristine waters of what it could be in a perfect world.

Amid everything, the dancer, swimming beautifully with Zachikova’s mechanical body.

They had the whole Ocean to themselves and it was pure bliss. There were no imperfections.

We’ll meet again. I want to touch you again, Braya.

Drifting off to sleep, Zachikova thought, she really wanted to touch her and to be touched again too.


Maryam often dreamt of the Aether.

In her dreams the landscape was an indeterminate stone circle, but it swirled with brilliant color. Within a maelstrom of colors and gradients, her hair blowing as if there was a wind, Maryam stood amid everything, as if in the center of the very world and all who lived within it, and she felt the emotion carried on that wind. That current which tied every person together no matter the violence they committed to each other, that bound them into action and consequence, that made their lives matter to each other no matter the degree of physical disconnection.

She could always see the colors in her life, but for the longest time, she never understood them, save the volatile red and black of the Warlord Athena whom she served. She learned to associate this with pain and the sight of death. But there was color everywhere, around people, and in her dreams. Even in the murky red seas of Katarre she could see blue and green around contented people, yellow around the sick, purple around the proud.

Associations that she grew to make.

Euphrates of the Sunlight Foundation explained it to her.

“Aether is a current that we couldn’t see until we immersed ourselves in the currents of the Ocean. Like a current, it flows. Forward and backward through space but also through time as humans could never hope to experience it. It is unbound, flowing everywhere, going places we can’t follow. But it is only visible where it touches humans, and it warps in response to our neurological energy. To see Aether, even at its most disturbed, takes psionic talent.”

Maryam liked the idea of the Aether.

She felt that, someday, everyone would be able to see it.

And like her, they would understand everyone around them without fail.

Maybe wars would finally end if that happened.

How naïve! If humans perfectly understood each other, they would use that power for war.

She was not dreaming.

But she was not back on the UNX-001 Brigand.

Still standing in that stone circle, but hearing the voice returned control of her body to her.

Her eyes narrowed; her cheerful smile contorted with disgust.

“Don’t speak to me anymore. I don’t trust you.”

You have such vast psionic potential, and you waste over half of it containing me.

He spoke in her own voice, but the tone was distinctly his.

And upon acknowledging him, he appeared, standing across the stone circle from her.

She saw her body, dressed in her habit.

Slender figure, long purple hair, w-shaped pupils in her eyes, her tentacles stretching from the side of her head camouflaged as if long tufts of her hair. But He always wore her colorshifting skin a sandy brown tone. And he lifted her tentacles into her hair such that the pads stuck up out from under her hair, like they were Shimii ears.

“I’m not going to trust you again.” She said.

He used her slim shoulders and arms to shrug, grinning at her with her own face.

Even in the prison of her mind, He could not speak, because he had no mouth but hers.

Instead he used psionics and projected his own thoughts into their brain.

This is how you repay me for saving us?

“I didn’t need your kind of saving.”

We would’ve never made it out of that damned church otherwise.

“You just wanted to hurt people for no reason. I could’ve escaped without killing anyone.”

Suit yourself. We’ll see how you deal with the world with that stupid attitude.

“I’ve been dealing just fine.”

How is mind controlling everyone any better than what I did?

“Because they lived through it, and I even made their lives better.”

You used to be such a nice girl to me. We would play together all the time!

“Yeah and I’ve matured to know playing with a thousand year old man was weird.”

I protected you!

“I don’t need you anymore.”

Across from her, her own face contorted into sudden confusion.

Perhaps even embarrassment or shame.

And then anger.

I hope you die then, Maryam Karahailos! Maybe my next roll of dice will be better!

“If you sabotage me, then may God curse your next hundred lives Faiyad Ayari!”

Maryam was not afraid of him. She cursed him because she could control him.

But for a small instant before he vanished, she thought she saw–

Sadness–?

Regret–?

Could not have been. He couldn’t make such faces. Not even using hers.

He was nothing but a monster that needed caging in her.

Wallahi, I will never hurt you. I swear that on the God that has already cursed my lives.

That was not–

Where did that voice–?

Maryam’s colors became distorted, and she fell back into the current of dreams.


Sonya Shalikova bolted upright in bed and nearly screamed.

She grabbed hold of the sheets over her chest, casting eyes about the room.

No alarm lights.

Everything was still dim, but she could see Maryam Karahailos in the other bunk.

Sleeping soundly, a big dumb smile on her face, mumbling to herself. Changing colors as she slept, like a little wave sweeping across her hair and skin. There was a soft green glow from a strip of bioluminescent skin perpendicular across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, but the rest of her colors were dim and shadowed.

Her snoring almost sounded like–

Sonya~hehe–!” She snorted.

Shalikova shook her head to try to rattle herself to consciousness.

She could not be hearing something that stupid.

“Nightmares.” She mumbled to herself. “It’s been nothing but nightmares since I got out to fucking sea. Nightmares and a god awful tinnitus. Maybe I should go see the doctor for once.”

There was nothing more mortifying than talking to a doctor about her feelings. Receiving some kind of practiced clinical response back. When her sister– no, her mind refused to go there. She had gone to therapy before for various reasons and not for anything conclusive, and it had been annoying. But she was clearly rattled, and it was affecting her. She was up two hours earlier than the already early schedule she set for herself.

And then there was the contents of the dreams.

Shalikova raised her hands to her face with shame.

“No way. How do I tell her I dreamt a monster was jerking me off?”

That was not the only thing she dreamt but it was the strongest image she retained.

All of the dreams had similar patterns: voices, colors, tentacles. Vulnerability, helplessness, sex

“Ugh. Whatever.”

Shalikova threw herself back onto the bed and curled up with Comrade Fuzzy beneath the sheets. When it was dark, her room felt cavernous and consuming, like she could get lost in it. Her bed was her little corner where she could be safe. Ever since the battle with the Iron Lady, the most mundane things around her felt enormous and difficult to come to grips with. When she closed her eyes, but before she dreamed, what she saw was the Ocean through the cameras of the Diver. Massive curtains of flak fire, the great roaring of guns, the clashing of sawteeth on vibroblades.

She gritted her teeth. Frustrated at herself but unable to shake off these anxieties.

It had only been a handful of days since they escaped the Iron Lady.

And most of those days Shalikova spent in her room staring at the ceiling.

Today couldn’t be another of those days. Her shame would not permit it, and also–

Maryam’s voice reverberated in her head. Before bed last night, they sealed a pact:

“Tomorrow, you’ll show me around right? And we’ll eat together! Promise?”

“She was probably trying to shake me out of my rut.” Shalikova said to herself.

Regardless, in that moment, Shalikova had promised to hang out with Maryam. It would have been terribly low of her to completely disregard that promise. Especially with how badly Maryam seemed to want to be her friend ever since they met. Shalikova was not unaware of that. She found it a bit bizarre, but she was not so cold as to categorically dismiss Maryam’s desires. Despite everything, she could try to be welcoming to Maryam.

If she just wanted to walk around the ship and eat together at the canteen, that was doable.

Shalikova tried to relax and return to sleep– but she couldn’t manage it.

After a few hours her room lights brightened.

Shalikova turned her gaze from the ceiling and looked across the room at the other bed. There she found a pair of W-shaped pupils staring at her. A gentle pink face framed by long, silky, bright purple hair hiding a pair of tentacles. Thin, soft lips spread into a broad smile as those exotic purple-and-green eyes met the indigo across the room. Peeking out through her hair from the crown of her head two silken cephalopod wing fins stood on end when she realized Shalikova was awake.

“Sonyaaaaaaa~! Good morning!”

She was so cheerful that it was almost ridiculous.

Looking at her, Shalikova put on a tiny smile. Maryam had an infectious energy.

“Good morning. Have you been wearing that habit all this time?”

“Hmm? My habit? Yes, I have!”

She covered herself in blankets, but Shalikova could see the tall collar of her black dress. It was the kind that Solceanos “sisters” or “nuns” wore even in the Union. Long sleeved, with a very modest, almost grandmotherly design. Because of how roomy it looked, Shalikova imagined Maryam as maybe much more skinny or ephemeral than she really was, wrapped in loose cloth.

“We need to get you new clothes.” Shalikova said. “I’ve got an extra Treasure Box uniform you can use. Even if you haven’t really done anything the past few days, it’s not hygienic to keep wearing the same outfit.”

Maryam raised a hand to her mouth, hiding a silly little snickering face.

“Sonya, I don’t know that your spare clothes will fit me. I’m less hydrodynamic than you.”

She sat up in bed and pressed her dress a bit tighter to her chest to accentuate the curve.

Shalikova grunted. “Shut up. Your figure is not that different, and the material is stretchy.”

“Hmm! Well, if you want to see me dress up, I won’t complain!”

In that instant, Shalikova turned her back on Maryam and tapped on the wall.

Near Maryam’s bed, a wall panel opened.

Extending a small metal arm from which the uniform hung in a plastic bag. Along with the uniform there was a container of cleansing body spray which could clean the body in place of a shower. Shalikova had that compartment prepared in case she needed to get to work in a hurry, and now it served to give everything Maryam needed to make herself fresh and presentable.

Shalikova pointedly continued to stare at the wall.

She heard a small sigh, and the shifting of blankets and sheets on the other bed. Gentle footsteps, the ripping of the plastic bag, ruffling of synthetic fabric, the sound of spray discharging from the container, and more tiny noises of exertion before there was finally a bit of silence.

“Are you done yet?” Shalikova asked.

“Sonya this is silly! We’re both girls!” Maryam said.

“Tell me when you’re done changing and I’ll turn around.”

“I am done! Gaze upon my radiant beauty!”

Shalikova turned herself over on the bed.

Maryam looked indeed radiant but mostly because she was making her skin glow brighter using her chromatophores. However, Shalikova had to admit that the teal half-jacket, tight button-down shirt, and short skirt did flatter Maryam quite a bit. She did look much more eyecatching to Shalikova than in the black grandmother’s dress.

And maybe her figure was a little fuller than Shalikova’s.

“Good. Now turn around.”

“Huh?”

Shalikova sat up in bed.

For the past few days she had been mostly sleeping so she had been dressed only in the same tanktop and shorts she wore to bed. What she wanted most was a shower but– with Maryam around a can of body foam would do nicely. That being said, she would do none of those things until a certain girl turned her W-shaped eyes to a wall.

“I’m not going to undress in front of you. I’m not that familiar with anyone. Turn around.”

Maryam sighed and crossed her arms. “I suppose this is also a cute side of Sonya.”

She turned her back on Shalikova. Her tentacles rose and covered her eyes with their pads.

“Thanks. Stay turned around until I tell you.”

Even with Maryam turned away, it was still strange to undress with someone in a private room together. Shalikova had gotten used to it in the bathroom, but she had considered her room to be her little fortress. Nevertheless, she threw her tanktop and shorts down the laundry chute, sprayed herself down with a can of cleaning foam, and dressed in the Treasure Box corporate uniform. She had started to like wearing just the sleeveless button-down and black tie with the pants and without the teal jacket. She tied the jacket around her waist instead. She thought it looked good that way.

As an Ensign she did not have a formal cap, only a beret as part of her Union navy uniform.

She could imagine herself looking good with a cap with this outfit, but she left the beret behind.

“Let’s go get some food first and then I’ll show you the hangar.” Shalikova said.

Maryam circled on her heel and laid eyes on Shalikova, positively beaming with delight.

“Handsome as always! No wonder you are one of the ‘four princes of the Brigand’!”

Shalikova felt her heart leaping in her chest. “Wait, wait– what did you say? I’m what–?”

“Oh nothing~!” Maryam started out of the room with a spring in her step. “Let’s go Sonya! We have a wonderful day ahead of us! Eating together, visiting the most romantic spots–!”

“What romantic spots? It’s a warship?” Shalikova said but was quickly spoken over.

“–I can even tell our fortunes in a secluded nook! It’ll be the best day ever!”

Sighing heavily, Shalikova followed along behind her.

As far as Shalikova knew the current state of the Brigand was one of escalated alertness.

Outside the rooms the hall was characterized by nervous activity. There was a great awful gash cut into the flank of the Brigand that needed repair, and the sailors were doing what they could while the Brigand was in motion. She saw men and women in the hall returning half-disrobed in pressure suits, wearing heavy magnetic boots and rope pulleys that others helped them to take off. They had come back from adjoining halls deliberately flooded and drained and flooded anew and with their pressures carefully adjusted to allow safe access to the damage sites. Full repairs to the exterior could not be conducted while the Brigand was moving “ahead full,” but they could make reinforcements to the walls of the flooded sector and set up tools and safety anchors to make future work much easier.

People were coming and going, at all times there was movement and chatter. Seeing so many sailors out working so hard made Shalikova feel so small. All she had been doing was sitting around and feeling sorry for herself. There was so little a soldier could do when there wasn’t fighting. She felt useless– and yet she also did not want any battles to break out, of course. They nearly lost Murati and Sameera in their first confrontation.

Both were still in the hospital as far as Shalikova knew.

“Pilot! You were awesome out there! Whoo!”

What was even more mortifying was that the sailors in the halls would greet her and cheer.

For the Sailors, the fastest way to the breach caused by the Iron Lady, was through the access ways linked to the upper pods of the Brigand’s double-deck layout. So many sailors from belowdecks who did not normally see Shalikova every day now got to pass her on the halls, closer than ever. She even thought she recognized a few of them from that big huddle and cheer that everyone held when she returned from the last battle.

So everyone who passed by made some kind of gesture or expression at her.

She tried not to wither from the sudden attention, but it was hard to wave back.

You guys are the heroes! I’m just going to get breakfast; I’m not doing shit!

“Wow Sonya! Everyone really loves you!” Maryam said.

Shalikova wished she had a hat to pull down over her eyes.

There was one upshot to all this, which was that the sailors were so busy in they were not crowding the canteen much at all. There were always a handful of them running in and out, taking bread and thermoses full of soup, but very few were sitting down to eat. Not only was there repair work (and the work of supporting those doing the repairs) on top of the regular maintenance work, but down at the hangar, the Cheka was in an abhorrent state and the other Divers had either hull damage, damaged weapons, or internal systems damage, or all three.

Everyone was so busy, and she did not hear a single person complain or look down.

They were all motivated. Maybe just by their own survival; maybe by mutual support.

Still, the enormity of the bodies at work made Shalikova feel tiny and worthless.

Behind the kitchen counter at the canteen, Logia Minardo looked much more relaxed than normal. She had her apron and plastic work clothes and her hair up in a blue bandana. Humming while she glided from one half of the kitchen to the next, multi-tasking like it was a partner dance with the equipment. Many of the heating elements on her stovetops had pots going with mushroom and algae broths destined for a sailor’s thermos. There were sheets of stretched dough ready to be cut into cracker-y biscuits, to refill the self-serve table. Every oven was running, probably baking those biscuits. Up front, there were a few trays of hot food kept gently heated by tray warmers.

“Ohh, she’s happy!” Maryam said.

Those hot food trays contained fluffy white rice, leafy greens in garlic sauce, soy cutlets flavored with beet sugar and soy sauce, and baked pirozhki each bigger than a fist with carrots, cabbage, and mushroom for filling. Flecks of oil glistened on the surface of the syrup-brown cutlet sauce and the crust of the pirozhok had a golden sheen likely achieved with a finish of margarine or shortening. Cooking for a warship was the art of making frozen and canned ingredients appealing. Shalikova knew the artifice. She could see the bio-stitcher built into the kitchen wall already processing a block of frozen vegetable matter into more “leafy greens” in the garlic sauce.

Maryam, however, was dazzled by the presence of the fake biostitch lettuce.

“Wow! Military ships have the best food everywhere in the world huh?” Maryam said.

“Yeah, we eat like kings.” Shalikova sarcastically said, unable to deal with her optimism.

Maryam put a finger on her chin and started reminiscing.

“Sonya, you may not have heard these names and places, but I used to serve on the flagship of the warlord Athena in Eastern Katarre. At first it was tough for food, I basically ate nutrient pellets as a larva, but when I turned nine years old, I think, Athena conquered and enslaved a food producing region with three stations. Then we were eating like true conquerors, even the lowest Naftis on the flagship got to have some meat and veggies.”

“Um.” Out of everything Maryam had just spouted, one particular word stuck. “Larva?”

She imagined a little purple worm with a smile and knew that couldn’t possibly be it.

“Oh that’s what Katarran kids are called. You know how Shimii are ‘kittens’.”

“We just call them kids or babies or children or whatever. Larva’s just– it’s weird.”

“It’s not inaccurate though.” Maryam said. She looked genuinely confused.

Thankfully Minardo wasn’t alone, and this awkward episode was ultimately broken by the appearance of Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa behind the counter, the day’s designated kitchen assistant. Her blond hair was bunched up in a bandana and she was not wearing her usual array of dark purple makeup, which made her look ordinary. Shalikova did not know much about her– she saw her in the halls, and sometimes begrudgingly sharing the showers with Alexandra Geninov. Those two were known as the “perennial late shifters” and had matching schedules.

“Salutations. Peruse of the vittles, but substitutions shall not be permitted.” She said.

Her unfriendly voice and glare gave the kitchen counter a walled-off, antagonistic vibe.

“You’re supposed to serve our share.” Shalikova said pointedly.

It was not often that she criticized another worker like this. But it had its intended effect.

Fernanda rolled her eyes and began to, quite begrudgingly, fill a multi-section plate for each of them. Despite her clear lack of motivation, she did serve equal portions for both of them, along with a prepackaged condiment and utensil pack for each of them. So she did do her job right. Maryam and Shalikova took their trays away, with Fernanda’s evil gaze burning into their backs like she wanted to lay a curse on them.

“She talked funny, but I think she’s nice deep down.” Maryam said.

“You think that about everyone.” Shalikova said. “Develop a bit of malice, wouldn’t you?”

They sat in a corner of the canteen, as was Shalikova’s habit. Maryam sat next to her and got started. She withdrew her reusable utensils, made of carbon fiber, from the bag which certified they had been cleaned and inspected aboard the Brigand itself prior to issuance. She quickly split the crunchy crust of her pie to reveal the creamy mushroom and crisp vegetables inside. With her spork, she poked at the biostitched lettuce happily.

“It all looks wonderful!”

With an enormous smile on her face, Maryam took a big bite of the pie.

Chromatophores on her cheeks gave her a softly glowing flush as she chewed.

“Delicious! Oh Sonya, the crust is so buttery! And the mushrooms are so meaty!”

Shalikova blinked hard. She picked at her own pirozhok and took a bite.

“It’s pretty good I guess.” She said.

Living in the Union wasn’t always easy. One had to get well accustomed to having what one needs over what one desires. There were always shortages of something so having a favorite food that was not biscuit or soy was asking for frequent heartbreak. And outside of canteen meals, it was difficult to get fresh food. However, the degree of privation a person had to experience to be this excited over pirozhki was something else entirely. Shalikova felt her heart stir with a sense of painful sympathy for Maryam. She had been a slave aboard some evil ship, to the point that the confines of the Brigand and its comfortable but basic rations were making her head explode.

As much as she wanted to judge Maryam sometimes–

There was no way she could.

Maryam really was someone who had suffered a lot. Her optimism was not naïve to pain.

Shalikova tried her best to make lighter conversation over the meal.

“You said you could tell my fortune, right?”

Maryam’s face lit up. Less from the chromatophores this time; more just her expression.

“Indeed! After I left the church, I supported myself through soothsaying.”

“Is that stuff actually real? Or was it just tricks?”

For an instant Maryam turned pure white. She seemed to do this out of distress sometimes.

“Of course it is real! I’ll tell your fortune right now Sonya!”

“Okay, but you have to promise you won’t tease me.”

“Tease you?”

“You can’t say stuff like ‘you’ll have a future full of romance’ or whatever.”

“But what if it’s the truth?”

“Maryam–!”

“Okay, okay.” Maryam’s fins drooped. “Fine, I will be completely honest.”

Shalikova didn’t believe something like fortune telling could ever be honest.

Nevertheless, she was curious to see what Maryam could do.

There was something about her– the way the colors played about her sometimes.

Those colors–? Was it just her chromatophores?

Maryam reached out and took Shalikova’s hand into both of her own.

She took a deep breath and then gazed directly into Shalikova’s eyes.

Shalikova fixed her gaze on the one being cast at her.

Around Maryam’s eyes glowing red rings appeared that made the colors swimming around her head suddenly come into striking relief. Before Shalikova could have almost ignored them, like the lights dancing inside her eyelids when she stared at a screen for too long or a trick of room LEDs but now it was like a gas that seemed to drawn to Maryam. Like pictures of nebulas from when teachers talked about what lay beyond the sky of the surface world; like the aurora said to have once existed in the far northern skies when such things were visible to humans.

For a moment, Shalikova felt something.

Like–

A tentacle or a tendril, rubbing– rubbing the back of her mind.

Not her cranium, not her brain, not the flesh– but the thoughts, the space of feeling–

There was a trickle of blood that dripped down Maryam’s nose.

“Maryam! What the hell? You’re bleeding!”

Shalikova reached out and touched Maryam’s shoulders.

Her wide-open eyes seemed to register motion again, as if she had woken from sleep.

One of her tentacles reached out to her nose and wiped some of the blood on the pad.

“Oh dear! I really went too far. Sorry Sonya, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shalikova couldn’t believe what she had seen and heard.

Those colors around Maryam, bright blue, and a stripe of yellow and green and black–

All of it dissipated, as if it had been a daydream, a delusion.

“You can actually read fortunes?” Shalikova asked. Her own voice sounded distant.

Maryam nodded. “I said I could Sonya, and I don’t lie. I was trying to read yours.”

“But you couldn’t?” Shalikova asked. “You couldn’t and it made you bleed?”

“Ah, no, the bleeding isn’t related, that just happens sometimes.”

“Maryam, what was my fortune?”

“Ah.” Maryam shook her head. “I couldn’t read it, sorry. This must sound really dumb.”

“How do you read people’s fortunes? When you do it, do you see colors around them?”

Shalikova must have gone insane.

She thought she really had to be completely losing her mind to ask such an insane question.

But the colors, she had seen the colors before! In the hangar, around people’s heads–!

Did– did Zasha have– the colors around her when she left– was it all black–?

“Maryam, please don’t tease me or joke about this. Are your fortunes based on the colors?”

Maryam nodded her head. Innocent, straightforward, without malice.

“I was hoping to dive into your aura, yeah.” Maryam said. Her voice was so untroubled.

How could she just say such things? Aura? “My aura? Is that what you call the colors?”

“Sonya, you look really distressed. If you want, I can teach you how to do it too.”

Shalikova’s heart briefly stilled.

It was stupid, it was so completely fucking stupid to be having this conversation.

How was it that Maryam so conveniently appeared, aware of all this complete nonsense?

“Maryam, you’re not teasing me right? You would teach me what you just did?”

“Of course. Anything for you, Sonya. I know you’ll pick it up quickly, you’re very skilled.”

Again she just smiled. That broad and bright and beatific smile bereft of mockery.

For a moment, Shalikova finally realized just how elevated her breathing had become.

She heaved a deep sigh and tried to calm herself down.

“I’m sorry. I know this must sound insane. But I feel like I’ve seen those colors before.”

“Oh yes, those colors like you call them, they’re everywhere that people are.”

“Is it some kind of religious thing? Like do I need to convert to Solceanism?”

Maryam narrowed her eyes a little and wore a growing distress on her face.

“Let’s pick that back up later, okay? I still want to see the ship. I promise I’ll explain it.”

Shalikova heaved another sigh. Maryam was right. She was being completely insane.

All this stuff was just her being stressed out and broken inside.

It had to be.

There was no way she had seen any fucking colors when her sister died.

“Right. I’m sorry. I’ll relax and we’ll continue the tour. I’m just exploding with stress.”

Shalikova let out a little laugh at herself. Like pressure being released to avoid a blowout.

“It’s okay! I promise I’ll make everything better. Let’s clean our plates and go!”

Maryam reached out and touched Shalikova’s shoulder reassuringly.

It was more comforting than Shalikova wanted to let on.

After the meal, they returned their trays and utensils and got back to the halls.

Shalikova did not consider herself much of a tour guide, but she knew a few places to take Maryam in the upper compartments just so she would know where things were. She showed her to the doctor’s quarters, carefully avoiding drawing the attention of the actual doctor; to the showers, explaining the open shower plan and watching Maryam turn completely white again in response; past the rooms of several more officers; each of the elevators and bulkheads, including the emergency escape hatch and pressure suit storage, unlikely as it was they would survive sinking long enough to escape; and finally to the recreational and social area. Several game tables were set up but stood unused. Those sailors who were there on break were lounging in the couches to slow jazz music.

“Wow! Sonya, are those game tables? Let’s play!” Maryam said.

“Huh? I mean– I wasn’t really planning to–”

Maryam took her by the hand and with prodigious strength pulled her to the tables.

“Hey–!”

They stopped around an air hockey table, and Maryam took her place opposite Shalikova.

She grabbed one of the paddles and took up a combative stance, grinning confidently.

“Sonya~! If I win this game, you owe me a real date at the next city or town we go to!”

“Huh? What are you talking about–? A real date?”

Shalikova imagined herself and Maryam in a city or a town station. She had seen station dates plenty of times in romance and comedy films they played at the Academy’s many mandatory social outings. She could see it: going to little restaurants, Maryam ordering the most elaborate thing on the menu each time; walking by shops or trade kiosks, Maryam picking out clothes and candies and bobbles from each and making Shalikova carry all of them; getting approved for an animal to care for together; putting their names together in the room register–

Opposite Maryam, a driven, deadly serious Shalikova picked up her own paddle.

“Maryam, you don’t know this, but I was known as ‘the terror of the tables’ whenever we had mandatory social time at the academy. You should surrender and give up your foolish dreams.”

Her grave tone of voice underscored the degree to which everything hinged on her success.

Meanwhile, Maryam turned red as a cherry and started clapping her hands together.

“Sonya! You are so cool! Wow, your serious face is so handsome! It’s getting me excited!”

“Shut up and hit the start button!”

When Maryam dutifully hit the button the table lit up and spat out a puck on the center.

There was a digital die roll that Maryam won so the puck was sent her way.

With a big warm smile on her face, Maryam smashed the puck with a savage thrust.

Oh right, Shalikova thought in the split second she had.

She’s a Katarran Pelagis– so even though she comes off like a purple marshmallow–

Shalikova threw a parry she was sure could catch it–

There was such force behind the puck that Shalikova sent it to the wall near her goal line and it angled back into her goal all the same, giving Maryam the first point of the game. She started clapping her hands again and wiggling in place– she was so excited to have scored that it was, even for Shalikova, almost cute to look at.

Would have been cuter if she hadn’t been scored on.

“You’ve got a good arm, but have you even played before?” Shalikova said.

“Here and there.” Maryam said, putting her hands to her hips and puffing herself up.

Shalikova swung, angling her shot such it bounced off the walls diagonally as it went–

Maryam smashed it back so fast Shalikova barely moved her arm before it slipped past.

What did they put in her vat that made this softie so strong?

“No more Ms. Nice Shalikova.”

When Shalikova was given the next puck, she reared back like she was pitching a ball.

Maryam braced herself.

Shalikova swung–

Maryam moved to parry–

No puck– Shalikova hit nothing! She had feinted!

In the next moment she swung back around and struck the puck while Maryam was out of position.

She could taste the 2:1 score and the powerful comeback win that would soon follow. Table masters and gamers alike referred to this hidden technique as yomi. No matter how physical she could get, Maryam was less experienced in the battlefield and its language. She did not understand the layer of mind games that surrounded a pitched combat between two foes no matter how unequal their strengths. Shalikova had her now.

Seconds later, with a clumsy circular motion that seemed like she was trying to clean the table more than hit the puck, Maryam nonetheless sent the puck flying back to Shalikova’s goal. Too caught up in her triumph, it was Shalikova who was now off-guard against the incoming attack from the opposite side of the table, and despite the relative weakness of the shot, it passed through her sloppy guard leading to ignominous defeat.

Thus the match ended with a score of 3:0.

On the table, Maryam’s side lit up with LEDs and triumphant little noises.

Shalikova’s shoulders slouched, her eyes drew wide. She was on the hook for a date now.

“Yippeeeeee!”

Maryam cheered and jumped and clapped her hands.

Her whole body strobed with colors like if a glowstick had become a person.

“Sonya~! It’s a date! Next town over!”

She put her hands behind her back and leaned forward on the table, smiling.

Shalikova sighed and resigned herself.

“Sure. Whatever. But you have to promise to behave.”

“Yippeee! Of course I’ll behave! Thank you Sonya! It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Right.”

Shalikova supposed it could be fun to go out with Maryam on the town.

She could call the game they just had a fun time. It was certainly distracting.

“Alright, I’ll take you down to the hangar now. Just stick close and don’t bother anyone.”

Without thinking, she offered to hold Maryam’s hand to guide her there.

Maryam of course wasted no time grabbing hold of Shalikova and squeezing her fingers.

Her face flushed, with a bubbly, fluttery smile.

Once it dawned upon Shalikova–

–well, it’s not like she could just snap her hand back immediately.

That would be rude.

And Maryam’s hand was nice and soft and warm anyway. It was just nice to hold.

So she held on to it for a bit.

But only a bit!

Shalikova showed her the way to the elevators, and they rode together down to the hangar. She almost forgot to let go of Maryam’s hand before the elevator doors opened– there were too many people, and it would have been misunderstood. Thankfully, Maryam did not seem to mind. She was immediately captivated by the scope of human activity in the hangar. Soon as they stepped out of the elevator doors there was already a crowd right in front of them. A large, dark-blue section of the Cheka had been stripped off the machine and laid on the hangar floor. It looked like a shoulder mechanism. They were installing battery cells into connectors along the shoulderblade.

That meant a crowd of several men and women all crawling on the chunk of mecha.

“Wow! There’s so many people!” Maryam said. “It’s almost a little overwhelming.”

“It is.” Shalikova raised a hand to her head, feeling a headache coming on.

She took Maryam around the hangar, showing her the workshops where various small parts were being machined for use in the repairs. Worn tools were being actively maintained in order to be quickly put back to use, and Zero Space Packaging crates that had to be disassembled to access the contents were being handled to expose extremely tightly packed spare parts and raw materials. There was so much engineering activity Shalikova felt they should hurry along, so she showed Maryam the simulator pods and dissuaded her from going in them.

“I’ll show these to you some other time; we don’t want to get in the way or distract people.”

“Aww. Well, alright. How about this, one of these nights, let’s sneak out to the hangar!”

Maryam’s eyes shone with a mischievous light.

Shalikova narrowed her own eyes at her.

“Sneak out? It’s not like there’s a curfew or anything. Do you just want us to be alone down here?”

“Yeah! I only promised to show you my special powers. It’s for your eyes only~!”

Her voice took on a playful little turn at the end. Shalikova thought about it for a second.

“Oh, so you’re thinking we’ll come down here and trade? I show you how to pilot–”

“And I’ll teach you how to gaze into the world beyond!” Maryam excitedly interrupted.

Maryam’s instincts were ultimately right.

It’d be too embarrassing to talk about fortune telling with a ton of people around, with how seriously Shalikova was intent on taking it. She was glad the canteen was empty when she was stressing before. It would be a relief to talk to Maryam about this nonsense without anyone around to see it, and finally get it out of her mind for good.

“Alright, it’s a deal then. But probably not tonight. I woke early, so I shouldn’t be up late.”

“Deal!” Maryam clapped her hands. “Sonya, show me the big robot you pilot.”

“It’s not a robot. It can’t do anything on its own. It’s a vehicle.”

“Show me the big robot!”

“You’re not even listening.”

Shalikova took Maryam to the other side of the hangar from the pods, navigating the crowds of people working on the many disassembled sections of the Cheka. Her Strelok was only lightly damaged in the battle, so it was already back on its gantry with new, unblemished armor plates swapped in and there was only one sailor at its feet, running tests on the water circulation system with a computer and a pump machine. Maryam was taken aback by the size, craning her head up to stare up at the head of the machine from up close. It was over four times their size, and it was easy for Shalikova to forget the enormity of it because she was always climbing inside.

“Amazing! It’s so bright and smooth, it’s like a shining knight armor!” Maryam said.

“I’m glad you like it, I guess. Do they have Divers in Katarre?” Shalikova asked.

Maryam’s fins wriggled as she pondered it. “When I was a larva they didn’t, but then, I think someone stole one from the Empire because I remember by the time I became pre-adult, they were kinda everywhere. You would always see Ifrit class in every cargo space they could cram one in. It was really big and rough and spiky and scary.” She shuddered briefly. “Nothing like yours, Sonya! Yours is so gallant, it fits you perfectly! I can see you fighting like a hero in it!”

“I’m not a hero. I’m just– I’m just staying alive.” Shalikova said.

“You’re a hero to me Sonya. You saved all of our lives after all.”

She hated this kind of compliment and hated this kind of conversation.

“You didn’t have to come out here on this mission right? But you’re risking your life–”

“Maryam, please, that’s enough.” Shalikova interrupted. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Oh! Okay then. Absolutely I’ll stop. Maryam is keeping cuttlequiet for Sonya.”

Maryam ran her fingers over her lips as if sealing them– they really disappeared for a bit!

Shalikova burst out laughing. She was so affected she hardly knew where it came from.

“You really are something else sometimes!” She cried out, holding her own stomach.

“Pelagids can do really funny things.” Maryam’s voice was muffled by her sealed lips.

She ran her fingers over her lips again and they reappeared. An ordinary human girl’s face.

“Is this also ‘soothsaying’ or just slapstick?” Shalikova asked, in good nature.

“This is just the power of biology! Having been made in a can is fun sometimes.”

Maryam gave Shalikova a thumbs-up and closed a transparent grey eyelid over one eye.

Her crooked little grin– she was winking! It was as if she was winking with a fish eyelid.

Shalikova could not help it. That ridiculous sight made her start laughing again.

Laughing and goofing off in front of the Strelok. It was in this state that two of them were approached by a tall, lean, long-haired blond woman in uniform who was quite amused to see them. She paused behind them and laughed and when they finally noticed, they quickly identified her as Ulyana Korabiskaya, the Captain of the Brigand. Her uniform was always well in order, and her face was always done up lightly and professionally.

She had the sort of air of womanly confidence Shalikova couldn’t even dream of.

Their interactions were pretty limited, which only heightened the mystique around her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Ulyana said. “Your laughter was so innocent, it was cute.”

“I was showing Maryam around the ship, ma’am.” Shalikova said, remembering to salute.

Ulyana waved down her saluting hand as if to say such formality was unneeded.

“That is very kind of you Ensign. I’m glad the two of you seem to have hit it off.

“Hit it off? I guess you could say that.” Shalikova said.

Maryam made a mischievous little face behind her that Ulyana laughed at.

“I’m happy for the two of you! Honestly, we’d been hoping that you would finally let her out of your room sometime soon!” Ulyana said in good cheer, winking at Shalikova who immediately frowned at the implication. “Getting serious for a moment, we have to talk to her about the information she promised us. Now more than ever, we need all the intel we can get if we are going to survive. We’ve got a staging room ready upstairs. That ok?”

“Of course. I understand.” Shalikova said. “Maryam, you’re okay going with the Captain?”

Maryam’s fins dropped a tiny bit. But she smiled at them, nonetheless.

“Of course. I’m not just here to play with Sonya after all. I’ll do my part for the ship.”

“Splendid. I’ll be taking her then; you’ll have her back before dinner, so don’t fret.”

Ulyana winked at Shalikova again. Sensing the mischief in it, Shalikova turned her cheek.

Nevertheless, as the captain led Maryam away from the hangar, Shalikova felt herself coming down from the rush of trying to keep up with the cuttlefish girl. She had to admit it felt a little bit emptier and a little bit too quiet now that Maryam wasn’t there, goofing off, pushing her to go out and eat and play. Had she been on her own Shalikova would have simply sank further into her own morbid thoughts. Maryam had been so kind to her.

In her absence, the world felt suddenly emptier, both in the hangar and in Shalikova’s heart…        


Previous ~ Next

Pursuers In The Deep [7.6]

“Ship detected on passive sonar. Profile is Kühne class light transport.”

“That should be them.”

Norn rested her head on her fist while watching the main screen.

Algorithmic prediction drew an ETA for seeing the ship visually of about twenty minutes. It was moving at combat speed, which for a transport ship meant escape speed. This was not what they had planned when they initially coordinated the pickup, but a lot of things had happened since then to all of them.

Oddly enough they had detected no other vessels pursuing, but they still had to be cautious.

Selene had some kind of attack and was resting in the med-bay, and Norn refused to let Adelheid start the Jagdkaiser, so their choices for defending themselves in case of an attack would be limited. Hunter III did not have enough biomass available to take on an ocean-going form of any use. Worse came to worse, Norn would have to go out there herself in the Jagdkaiser, something she was not necessarily against, but–

It shouldn’t have mattered! She gave clear instructions through her agents.

This was not the plan.

“I don’t get it. What are they doing? Keep your eyes and ears peeled.”

Unless the defectors turned on them, there shouldn’t be a problem.

But why were they going so fast? This contravened everything they had planned.

“This is the problem with bringing outside help, when you’re used to excellence.”

Norn heard the bridge door open and glanced out of the sides of her eyes at it.

Through the door, a red-head in a pristine grey uniform walked in. Her hair was loose but neatly brushed so it had a tidy look; beneath her coat, skirt, and white-button down shirt she was clearly wearing a very covering black bodysuit from the tall black boots on her feet, all the way up to the neck. Her cheeks were rosey with makeup, and she flashed a bright lacquered-red smile.

“Awaiting our guests?” Adelheid asked, her tone quite cheerful.

Norn smiled back. “Less awaiting them, more trying to puzzle out their erratic behavior.”

“No plan survives your subordinates huh? Anyway: I went to check on Selene. She’s awake, but I told her to rest up more.” Adelheid said. Her smile faded a bit. “Livia says she had a mental breakdown. She’s on anti-psychotic medication. I’m worried that Livia is just prescribing stuff to get it out of the vault.”

“You can trust her. She has good bedside manner. If she sneaks a few pills, it’s nothing major.”

“Regardless, since we have a situation, and with Selene down; what will we do if it turns into another fight? Potomac is an awful pilot. Hunter III doesn’t have a lot of monster left in her. And I’m an ace but you won’t let me pilot at all.” Adelheid shrugged. “How do we know that transport isn’t a trap and won’t try to attack us?”

“We’ll let the 150 mm guns do the talking.” Norn said. “Relax. Trust me on this one.”

“You’re so stubborn. Fine then. If the ship goes down, you better wed me before we die.”

“I promise on the honor of the Fueller family, I’ll have vows ready in that case.”

Norn put on a mischievous grin. Adelheid scoffed and turned her cheek.

“Hmph! You’re not being serious at all. Swearing on the Fueller family, you bastard.”

“Y’two ought to get married now cuz all ya do is be noisy to each other.”

From the back of the bridge sounded the sleepy voice of Hunter III of the Third Sphere.

A pale spindly girl in a black robe, her eyes closed with a smug little expression.

“You’re not required to be here. We’re in the aphotic zone now.” Norn said.

Leaning back against the wall, Hunter III crossed the overlarge sleeves of her robe.

“Well, I wanna be here, so.” She said lazily, through a long, deep yawn.

“Suit yourself.”

Norn signaled for Adelheid to sit next to her, which the adjutant did.

“We’ll be ‘engaging’ in a few minutes.” Norn said.

Imperial ship guns were usually non-retractable, unlike Union ship guns. They had nothing to hide and no need to conserve space in their station docks, which were massive and could be expanded more if needed. Those 150 mm guns Norn described were therefore always bristling like fangs atop the elegant hull of the Antenora, and it took little work to get them ready to fire at a moment’s notice. As the transport ship approached, the guns were sealed, drained, loaded, and made ready to fire in the immediate instant that Norn gave the order.

Soon that blip on the main screen began to get closer and closer.

“Send them an acoustic message to request a laser connection.” Norn asked.

One of her drones dutifully obliged.

On the main screen, the prediction, which was essentially points on a topographical chart, updated to a full visual prediction on the main screen, superimposing the predicted elements over the sharply photorealistic three-dimensional picture of the ocean around them. Now they were able to “see” impossibly far as a ship approached, five hundred meters away in a surprisingly clear ocean, instead of within a cloud of murky biomass.

“Ma’am, they responded that their laser communicator was damaged in an incident.”

“What?” Norn crossed her arms and stomped her feet, utterly perplexed. They had agreed on everything that needed to be done! “That’s the oldest fucking excuse– do they think I’m stupid? It’s like they want it to look like it’s an obvious trap! Tell those idiots to connect to laser right now or we’ll blast them out of the ocean! This instant!”

“Maybe it did break?” Adelheid shrugged.

Before Norn could scold Adelheid, the communications drone responded.

“Ma’am, they say that fighting broke out among themselves and very few survived. There was damage to internal systems. They have the ship on auto-pilot at the moment and are requesting clemency and a chance to transfer.”

Norn stared at the communications drone and back at the main screen.

“What a mess!” She cried out. “Fine, tell them to dock with us. But watch them closely.”

On the approach, Norn waited on the bridge until the Kühne class was well past the range where they could have pulled some kind of trick, like deploying Divers from the cargo hold or unloading a torpedo out of a utility tube, or even setting themselves up to ram. Hundreds of grueling meters passed as the ship simply lumbered close, efficient as autopilot could be. Ranged by every weapon on the Antenora and surveilled by every sensor, the Kühne class dutifully submitted to the Cruiser’s jet anchors allowed itself to come attached to a sidepod docking chute.

“Here.”

From a chest on the side of the Captain’s chair, Norn withdrew a six-shot revolver.

Without hesitation she handed it to Adelheid, who took it into hand easily but with a passing glance at Norn. Had any of the crew been the chatty or gossipy kind, this would have been an important gesture.

On most ships, doctrine was that only the security team carried weapons openly. The ship’s captain had a six-shot revolver in their bridge for emergencies, but it was frowned upon for them to openly carry a weapon unless they were members of the Inquisition or another special body. There were all kinds of rules of propriety and noblesse for ship commanders– for the captain to hand her revolver to another was seen as an act of deep and abiding trust.

Norn did not care about such things. She was an Apostle; she was her own gun already.

However, she did know Adelheid would appreciate the gesture in a tense moment.

Adelheid pulled out the cylinder to check the loaded rounds and then flipped it back.

She had a little contented smile on her face. Just what Norn wanted to see.

“Hunter III, you too– both of you follow me. We’re the greeting party.”

Norn stood up and started walking, expecting to be followed without hesitation.

She was correct. Adelheid and Hunter III trailed only a scant few steps behind her.

Behind the hangar was a small module that acted as the docking bay, and it was here that the mechanisms for the docking chute were kept. Pressure was equalized on the chute to match both ships, so that when the doors opened on the opposing vessel there would not be an immediate blowup and flooding. Norn watched on a small monitor in the arrival area linked to a grainy camera in the chute, allowing them to look past the thick bulkhead door. She saw a pair of figures step into the deployment chute and approach their own door. They looked unarmed and harmless.

“I’m opening the bulkhead.” Norn said, gesturing over her shoulder.

Hunter III and Adelheid backed off a step, Adelheid with her hands on her sidearm, Hunter III with her arms hanging at her side and beginning to form hot black digits like razor fingers hidden in her sleeves, trailing thin vapors. Both of them could act much less explosively than Norn, so she would prefer they handle any problems with the arrivals. With her backup ready, Norn activated the clunky bulkhead mechanisms and watched the door cacophonously unlock.

“Bonjour~!”

“Uhh, hello!”

Once the bulkhead had fully opened, Norn found herself greeted by a pair of Loup women.

At the head of the pair and wearing a smile too broad for Norn’s level of tolerance was a tall, handsome Loup woman in a white and purple suit. She was well pampered, olive skin lightly touched up, her lustrous black hair falling to the shoulder in gentle waves around and behind stiff ears, wolf-like and sharp but with the fur perfectly manicured. Bright green eyes, deep and narrow, glanced casually from Norn to Adelheid before settling back. Her coat and pants looked expensive and refined, with gold cufflinks and a ceremonial braid across the chest to denote rank — but her attire was marred in places by brown stains. Her long, slender, tapered tail wagged incessantly.

As she stepped forward, this woman spread her arms open as if in invitation.

“You can stay right there for now.” Norn said, declining whatever the Loup offered.

“Of course, of course. I would not dare impose on the great Praetorian.” She said.

“You certainly know how to sweet talk, at least.” Norn responded.

Beside her, with a big smile and a certain nervous energy to her movements, was a young woman several centimeters shorter, her short, blunt blond hair quite tidy. Folded dog ears and a skinny but flexible and fluffy tail defined this girl’s Loup features. Lightly bronzed skin, with wide open, friendly brown eyes, she seemed the stark opposite of her compatriot. While the taller woman carried herself in a way that seemed rather playfully lascivious, the shorter girl looked almost innocent, calm, and glowing with a youthful vivaciousness. Her clothes were far more standard, being the grey coat and uniform pants of an ordinary soldier of the Empire, but pressed perfectly neat.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Lord von Fueller.” Said the taller woman. Her red painted lips curled into a confident grin, her wolf-like tail batting rapidly as she bowed with an arm over her breast, cutting a dashing figure with sabre on hip. “Yurii Annecy Samoylovych Darkestdays, Gallic-educated Polkovnyk in the South Kashak Host. I am here hoping to serve as a Fueller retainer– oh, and this is Petra Chornyi Sunnysea. She’s just happy to be around.”

“Hello!” Petra said. She began to speak very rapidly. “I joined the master so she would not have to flee alone! When the master was accused of various romantic improprieties I thought to myself, ‘this cannot be right, master is very moral, otherwise she would not have such an esteemed rank as Polkovnyk’ and I decided that–”

Be quiet now, Petra.” Yurii said, putting a heavy hand down on Petra’s head.

“Yes master! Of course!” Petra said happily.

Crossing her arms and staring critically, Norn noticed blood on the sabre also.

Polkovnyk is indeed a high rank within the Loup hosts. I see why you would be dressed so lavishly and boast of a classic education. But I am curious how such a refined woman allowed so much staining on her coat.”

Norn pointed at the brown on Yurii’s coat. Petra followed her finger to it and gasped.

“Master, I can clean that for you–”

“No, Petra it’s stained.” Yurii sighed. “Milord, we had unfortunate incident on the way.”

“Unfortunate how? Explain.” Norn demanded.

Yurii reached her hand up to her forehead, with a wan expression, as if she was suddenly struck by a migraine. Not exactly the gravity Norn expected from someone who had apparently survived the deaths of potentially dozens of other people on that transport. When Yurii finally spoke up after various gesticulations, her “woe is me” tone of voice quite grated on the ears. It was hard to tell whether she was taking it that seriously.

“Oh milord, it was truly a trial for me! The Vekans fabricated a scandal to try to remove me from my position, so I was forced to hire a mercenary crew to ferry me and a few companions likewise persecuted away from the Vekan state. Unbeknownst to me, those same companions had been plotting all along to make for the Royal Alliance instead. Of course, I already had agreements with Fueller family agents, and I was not about to ignore such a prized position. Unfortunately, we could not reconcile our differences save through a bloody coup of the ship.”

Upon hearing her master’s sufferings retold, Petra’s eyes teared up and she covered them.

“Poor Master! Everyone cornered her! I felt so bad, she had to send them all to God–”

“That’s quite enough Petra, thank you, wipe your tears.” Yurii grumbled.

Norn scoffed. “You roped a crew in with bribes who turned on you at the first opportunity because they were carrying a wanted criminal who was taking them on a practical suicide mission. Then when the winds turned foul you killed everybody. You should’ve just come alone. I don’t understand why you needed an entire transport for this.”

“Praetorian, I beg you to understand! For our entire history from the surface to the sea, it has been a grave dishonor for any Kashak to leave behind her sword, shield, armor and horse. It simply would not do!”

Yurii puffed out her chest with indignant pride. Norn supposed she meant her Diver.

That was a pretty unbelievable excuse from this dandy. She just wanted to be waited on.

Norn shook her head. “So I guess if I look in there now I’ll just find a charnel house?”

“So confrontational! I am the victim here you know, not all those of turncoats and thugs.”

Yurii shrugged her shoulders. Throughout, she really seemed more annoyed than anything.

Norn could see an aura around her that was untroubled, with the slightest hint of violence. Red and blue with a gradation to purple. No green, no yellow, she had no fear to her, no turbulence, no regrets. A thin black stripe suggested she was thinking of death, however. Red was usually outward violence; black was more of an inward feeling toward one’s own mortality and pain. That pattern allowed Norn to guess at her inner nature.

Yurii’s aura was colored by feelings of violence and an acceptance of violence to herself.

That kind of thinking suggested– a completely deranged individual.

Norn grinned almost as broadly as Yurii had been grinning at her.

This could be fun. It might even ultimately be useful.

“At any rate,” Norn said, “you promised us intelligence on the Vekans when we agreed to come all the way out here to rescue you. If you’re showing your face in front of me, then I assume you are able to uphold your end of the bargain. Otherwise, we will not be speaking for much longer and I’ll sink that ship with your corpse in it.”

Yurii was unfazed by the threat.

“Of course milord! In fact, this was part of the ruckus. So I couldn’t keep it on my person.”

Petra’s face lit up. “Ah yes, I kept this very safe for Master–”

Without warning and without even allowing the young girl to say anything more, Yurii then indiscreetly reached across to Petra’s chest and pulled something out of her coat, leaving her yelping and bewildered. Her long fingers produced a thin, black object with a connection port visible between halves of the plastic chassis.

“Everything I exfiltrated is in this memory stick. I can decrypt it for you.” Yurii said.

“Decrypt it huh? You’ve really covered your bases, Ms. Samoylovych.”

Norn smiled ever more broadly, feeling a rush of excitement toward this unruly cur.

Behind her Adelheid seemed to roll her eyes. Perhaps sensing Norn’s brimming sadism.

Then it was Norn’s turn to spread her arms out dramatically and speak effusively.

“Welcome aboard the Antenora! We’ll take care of the formalities soon. Just know that you serve the Fueller family now, with me at its head. Should you fail me or step out of line, I won’t hesitate to twist your head off like a doll I don’t want to play with anymore. Here we don’t care about your name or pedigree or criminal record. We only follow the law of Norn von Fueller: you do as I say, or I’ll make you hurt a hundred bodies’ worth of pain before you die.”

Yurii stared silently. Petra tipped her head to one side in a cutesy, spacey-eyed gesture.

Adelheid blinked hard and crossed her arms. Hunter III seemed to mimic Petra.

At Norn’s brazen declaration, the black stripe in Yurii’s aura expanded and flared just a little bit, having brought her feelings of death and pain further into focus in her emotional space. Her body language remained untroubled. In fact judging by the cheerful, amused smile that appeared on Yurii’s face, she may have been titillated rather than terrified by the notion that Norn could kill her easily. Norn was quite interested in that reaction.

This is someone I could get along with. She thought.

Yurii bowed with her hand across her chest in a way that again, almost made her seem handsome and mannered.

“Well met! Such terms are not uncommon to a Loup from the great eastern Hosts.”

At her side, Petra, who still looked vaguely emotional about everything, also quickly bowed in a similar fashion, her smile a bit vacant. Her aura was far simpler. It had turned almost completely green after Yurii had told her melodramatic account of why she killed her crew, and with a bit of blue when Yurii grabbed her suddenly.

Petra wore her emotions quite obviously.

Poor thing.

“At any rate, we’ll get your equipment out of the Kühne so we can continue on our journey. I believe it would be for the best if we sank that awful transport so you could forget this miserable chapter of your life, wouldn’t you agree, Samoylovych?” Norn said, stepping aside as if to allow Yurii and Petra to pass the bulkhead.

Yurii looked thrilled at the prospect.

“Oh, absolutely. I should’ve known the Praetorian would understand the situation so well.”

Adelheid sighed openly. “I’ll go get the crew started on that then. Welcome or whatever.”

She turned around and stormed off with heavy footsteps toward the hangar.

Norn wondered idly what that attention-grabbing display was about–

–probably just starting to rile her up again for next time. It was starting to work, too.

Yurii watched her go out of sight with keen interest.

“Ah, unfortunate, I didn’t get to be introduced to that bright and beautiful young lady.”

Norn’s eyes locked to hers immediately with a force that seemed to make Yurii step back.

“Adelheid van Mueller. She is my esteemed, long-time, personal adjutant.”

Yurii silently nodded her understanding. Good dog. Her hungry eyes drifted over to Hunter III.

“And this cutey? I can’t help but wonder about her unique attire. Is she the chaplain? I could use a private religious consultation you know.” Yurii brought her thumb up to her lips, curled in a fanged grin.

Hunter III stared directly at her with narrowed eyes and then openly licked her lips.

“Boss, I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna be eating this girl soon ain’t I?” She declared.

Norn grinned and shrugged as if it didn’t concern her.

Yurii stared at Hunter III with a perhaps even more lascivious expression.

“Don’t worry over her, Ms. Samoylovych. I’ll explain later.” Norn said.

Despite all the of the mysteries and insinuations, Yurii remained steadfastly upbeat.

In fact her aura seemed to become ever brighter, while her smile was ever wider.

“I had heard rumors that the Antenora was a special vessel. Even the past few minutes have me intrigued. I will serve with distinction under your command, Praetorian. I am positive the Fueller family is the winning team to be on now. Yurii Annecy Samoylovych Darkestdays only plays for the winning team — for a cut of the winnings.”

Yurii casually walked past the bulkhead and cast an apathetic glance behind herself.

“Petra you can stay with the Kühne and get sunk if you want.” Yurii said dismissively.

Upon being addressed, Petra snapped her slightly hanging jaw shut and stood in attention.

“Ah! Not at all Master! I was just spacing out. Of course I’m coming with you!”

Petra followed innocently and smilingly behind, as Norn led Yurii deeper into her new life.

Welcome to the Antenora! Norn thought to herself, laughing inside. Fresh meat!


In the middle of a private garden rotunda at Heitzing Officer Cadet School, a young woman prostrated herself, putting her head to the cold white tiles largely unlit by the false sun outside. Through the gaps in the enclosing pillars of the rotunda, thick rose bushes prevented visibility from outside the building. She was caged in, surrounded, the fence-door into the interior of the rotunda having closed ominously behind her. She was trapped.

For the sake of her beloved friend, Gertrude Lichtenberg prostrated herself.

Standing in front of her, looking down from above, was a slim blond woman wearing the ornate coat of the Fueller family over a casual button-down shirt, giving Gertrude an imperious gaze and wearing a wide grin. At her side was a disinterested redhead in grey uniform. Both were beautiful, powerful women of high society, while the girl begging them was a swarthy, lanky tomboy in a blue cadet’s uniform, weeping childishly.

“Norn the Praetorian, I put my head to the floor for you. Please grant me an audience.”

Her voice was cracking. Her heart slammed against the confines of her chest.

All of her skin brimmed with unease. This was Norn the Praetorian.

Word had it that she had killed people for lesser slights than being begged like this.

“Please. I am unworthy, but I beg most humbly. Please.”

Norn sighed openly.

“How did you find out I was here? I’ve never seen a kid so annoyingly resourceful.”

Gertrude hardly expected to hear her speak.

She almost thought she would simply die right there.

“I–,” Gertrude could not possibly say how. It was purely insane. “I overhead an officer give gossip, ma’am–”

Norn laughed. “Keep lying to me and see where it leads, you arrogant girl.”

Nevertheless, she silently gestured with her hand for Gertrude to stand up.

Was she being given an audience?

She stood from the floor, and saluted Norn with her eyes red and puffy with tears.

“You cut a dashing figure when you’re not on your knees.” Norn joked.

“She’s boring.” At her side, the redhead interjected. “She should grow out a ponytail.”

Norn’s hand seemed to mindlessly toy with a lock of hair from her own ponytail.

Gertrude stood speechlessly for a moment. “I– I’ll take your advice, milady.”

“Don’t mind her.” Norn said. “Talk to me, cadet. Who are you supposed to be?”

“Yes milord. I’m Gertrude Lichtenberg. I recently achieved the rank of Junior Petty Officer.”

“Petty Officer Gertrude Lichtenberg.” Norn repeated. “You have achieved your initial rank, so you are on your way out of this Cadet School. Why are you here begging? What opportunity do you seek?”

Gertrude swallowed hard before speaking.

It was tough to speak of. It was still hard to believe.

“Milord, I believe that I am being singled out for sanction by Inquisitor Brauchitsch.”

Norn eyes widened with surprise. She crossed her arms and watched Gertrude intently.

“Brauchitsch? How is he ‘sanctioning’ you? I don’t understand.”

“I– I don’t know why he would target me ma’am, since his arrival, several officers in his orbit have insulted, provoked and even endangered me. Lord, I– I have a very important friend, a Northern Loup, Ingrid Järveläinen Kindlysong. She was detained recently for false charges of assault– she was goaded ma’am, she was threatened and goaded into a fight with one of Brauchitsch’s supporters, to protect me. My contribution for her alibi was then stricken down!”

“I truly haven’t heard about any of this. Am I being kept in the dark? If there was an assault on an officer on campus during my stay and I wasn’t informed, I’ll definitely take it as Doenitz keeping me in the dark. I have to wonder what he and Brauchitsch are up to.” Norn said. She looked almost like she was speaking to herself or maybe to the girl at her side, staring at Gertrude’s shoes for a moment rather than her eyes, deep in thought.

“Maybe he thought it wasn’t important enough to bother the mighty Praetorian.”

Once more the red-head added a snippy-sounding comment and shrugged her shoulders.

Gertrude felt nervous again. She was being heard, but it was such an insane situation.

She felt insane saying this, but there had been so many situations recently–

Gertrude was being targeted and there was no way to escape Inquisitorial Sanction. She had some idea s to why– maybe it related to Elena– but she was helpless. Ingrid could be tortured to death for an indiscretion born of this injustice, and nobody could say anything. Gertrude herself could suffer more indignities or even be killed or have her career destroyed. She was not a noble, just a daughter of a family with good connections. She had nothing that she could do to defend herself, no way to escape the seemingly randomly cruelty that befell her.

Except–

“Milord, I need your aid and sponsorship. I need you to intervene on our behalf. Me and my friends have been the target of grave injustices, cruel, random, and violent and I believe it will only get worse. Since he stationed himself in the cadet school Inquisitor Brauchitsch has led some kind of campaign against me specifically. I do not understand why. But if I became the servant of someone more powerful than he, I could retaliate.”

Norn allowed Gertrude to complete her emotional spiel before responding.

“Honestly. You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

She walked over to Gertrude and gave her a light smack on the cheek, firm but not too painful.

When they were close and she was standing, Norn could not look down at Gertrude.

She had to look her straight in the eyes and she did, fixing Gertrude with a powerful gaze.

Her lips curled into a demonic grin. Gertrude felt her breath catch in her own throat.

This was a deal with the devil, and she knew it.

“Retaliation, eh? I like that word. So I can’t say I’m uninterested, however, I have no time for unambitious beggars. I’m not just going to rescue you. If you have concrete demands of me, then make them. What do you yearn for? What is your heart’s desire? Do not lie to me. If you dare lie to me, I will strike you with a hundred times the strength of that last slap I dealt you. So be honest: what would you do with my power, Gertrude Lichtenberg?”

Norn felt enormous, her presence took up all of Gertrude’s vision, all of the rotunda.

Choking, monstrous power the likes of which she hardly understood.

But she couldn’t– she couldn’t just tell her– Gertrude couldn’t simply–

“Gertrude Lichtenberg. Why did a woman of no name or note come to this place?”

“I–” Gertrude hesitated. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “I want the power to rectify the injustices happening in the Empire. This is why I left Luxembourg to join the military. I wouldn’t have the power to fight for what I believe in as just a girl– I needed to be a soldier. I’ll be a soldier that checks evil men like Brauchitsch.”

She delivered her speech with as much eloquence as she could muster.

Norn’s eyes narrowed with rage and in the next second Gertrude’s vision swam.

Her fist came lightning fast, as if time had stopped before the blow was delivered.

Gertrude stepped back and doubled over as Norn pounded her stomach with such force that she felt her feet had lifted off the floor for a moment. Staggering, choking, feeling the bile rising to her throat and the spreading of brutal pain across her core that seemed to shake all the muscle under her skin. Legs buckling, she fell to her knees for support, dry hacking and heaving into the white tiles. Mind foggy, reeling, uncomprehending.

One punch, just one punch from this woman and Gertrude nearly blacked out.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you? I warned you not to lie to me. You cannot lie to me. You will not lie to me, Lichtenberg!” Norn shouted. She was suddenly impassioned. “You have nowhere near the power to be able to lie to me. All you have is the disrespect and audacity. If you lie to me again, my next strike will hurt a thousand times more than this. Choose your words cautiously, Gertrude Lichtenberg. Lie again if you dare.”

On the floor, shaking, all of her willpower crumbling, Gertrude mumbled in pain.

What would she do with the overwhelming, brutal power of Norn von Fueller?

Having experienced that power, Gertrude could not possibly lie again.

She gathered all of her breath that she could and spoke up as loud as she was capable.

“Elena von Fueller.” She gritted her teeth and wept with shame. She wished she could dig her fingers through the tiles. “My goal is Elena von Fueller. We were classmates. I want– I need to see her again. Once she graduated from Luxembourg I would lose her forever. I want– I need a high rank to have her.” Tears overcame her.

She felt Norn’s hand on her hair and flinched, expecting another blow–

Instead Norn gently guided her eyes up to meet hers.

Norn was smiling. A warm, merciful, kind smile unlike any she had worn before.

“Finally. That is indeed the truth. A simple and carnal truth, my favorite kind. And it is this truth, then, which will lead to the destruction of Ludwig von Brauchitsch and the rise of Gertrude Lichtenberg. Isn’t it dramatic? Isn’t it worthy of an opera? I relish the chance to realize it. Such a simple, beautiful dream. A dream to destroy a world for.”

More than the pain, more than the shame, Gertrude felt an overwhelming terror.

An eye-opening fear of the monsters lurking in the darkest corners of Aer.

Gertrude had sold her soul to a demon and she knew it.

At that point in her life, there was no turning back from what she would become.

But that foggy scene of cold sweat, floral scents and overwhelming fear was interrupted by a loud noise which took the young officer cadet Gertrude Lichtenberg from Heitzig all the way back to where she truly was. In the cold and desolate wastes of Sverland. Her bed on the Inquisitorial flagship Iron Lady, the living proof of the promise of power which Norn von Fueller had granted to her. Saving her life; damning her life.

Gertrude bolted upright in bed, sweating bullets, awakened into a spiraling state.

In a panic she pulled up the soaked tanktop she was wearing and found her stomach intact.

With that moment of panic passing, Gertrude felt suddenly overwhelmed and ashamed.

Panting in bed, a message on the wall beckoning her to respond in real time, a real time she was not yet ready to face. Hours had passed, so many hours, she had practically slept a whole day. All of the events prior to her passing out in bed crawled over her, icy as the sweat down her back. She staggered at the enormity of things.

Elena– Sieglinde– Norn– Ingrid–

Gertrude stretched her hand over to the wall and accepted the message as audio only.

“I’m here–”

As she said this Gertrude cast eyes at a bundle on the bed beside her.

For an instant, she feared that in some fit of stupid, drunk emotion, she, and Ingrid–

“Ma’am! It’s Schicksal! We’ve contacted the Antenora, she’ll be docking soon.”

Ignoring Schicksal with a renewed panic, Gertrude swung the blankets off herself–

And she found no trace of that emotional Loup in her bed. Of course; of course.

It was just stray pillows and the way she had bundled herself in her blankets. Ingrid was gone. And in the maelstrom of emotions she was feeling, Gertrude did not know whether she wished they had really slept together. Unbidden her brain dowsed her in all kinds of shameful fantasies. What if she had fucked Ingrid’s brains out? What if she let herself get pulled into a reckless passion, damn the circumstances? Would that have satisfied her? Would it have been cathartic? She sighed, running her hands over her face. It was almost enough to make her cry.

Schicksal spoke up again. “Ma’am? I’m sorry, is this not a good time?”

“It’s fine.” Gertrude said bluntly, trying to collect herself. “What’s their ETA?”

“About twenty minutes at the Antenora’s current heading.”

“Tell–” She hesitated to say her name then managed to say a few choppy sentences in an almost normal tone of voice. “Ingrid and Baron von Castille. We’ll greet the guests together. Set up a private table. Staging room four. Set up food and drinks. Do I really need to say more?” Gertrude practically shouted at Schicksal.

“N-Not at all ma’am!” Schicksal’s voice turned quickly nervous. “Of course! Right away!”

At once the audio message window disappeared from the wall.

Gertrude brought her hands up to her face and groaned loudly into them.

Of the twenty minutes she had, she must have spent at least five screaming.

Then she rushed to the bathroom, throwing off her tanktop and shorts along the way.

Opening the false wall panel into a 2 meter by 2 meter shower box, she stepped inside, set the temperature low and shocked herself with a blast of icy water. Her skin shivered violently from the back of her neck down her spinal cord. She gritted her teeth, put her head to the wall, and stared at the bare metal under the water for a solid minute while she shook out all the tension in her body. Her fear and trepidation, the pounding headache from having slept too long, the brimming panic beneath her skin, all of it was sent to oblivion by the sheer overwhelming force of the cold water. One thing she learned from Norn. Cold water was mighty. It could wash away anything.

Water had shaped the contours of the surface world, and now, the confines of all humans.

But it was still merciful if one understood the nature of its mercy. Just like Norn herself.

Despite everything, by the time an orderly came to collect her she was already well dressed in her ornate coat, cape, and tall hat, boots smart, hair in a tidy ponytail, projecting the dashing figure and confident, collected smile she wanted. No trace of ever having wept on the swarthy olive skin of her face. At the door, the orderly saluted her– farther down the hall, a tall blonde woman with a dispassionate expression and a shorter, grinning brunette with sharp dog-like ears and a wagging tail awaited Gertrude. She smiled and nodded, greeting both of them cordially.

Some part of her still feared a reaction from Ingrid–

“Good to see you up, you slept like a rock! I’m so happy for ya!” the Loup said jovially.

Ingrid was her best friend– of course she would not hold some kind of grudge.

“All thanks to you for the pick-me-up.” Gertrude replied.

“Hah! God don’t even mention it. Let’s just go meet this master of yours.”

Ingrid grinned brightly at her. She really was a lovely girl, a ray of sunshine.

Gertrude felt her wavering heart finally sit still for a moment.

They were fine; there was no hatred to fear between them.

Sieglinde responded to the greeting and two friends with a quiet, “Inquisitor.”

And a short nodding of her head to punctuate the greeting.

“Nice to see you too.” Gertrude said.

With that, the party was collected and took themselves down to the docking bay.


“Inquisitor Lichtenberg! I never imagined I would see my protégé in this barren sea!”

At the head of the party arriving through the Iron Lady’s docking chute, that unmistakable voice and grinning face could be none other than Norn von Fueller, fair faced, blond-haired, with a fit but unassuming physique. She had at her side her trusted adjutant Adelheid van Mueller as well as a dark-haired Loup in military garb. Upon their arrival, Norn took Gertrude’s hands into her own, looking her up and down in uniform with excitement.

“Amazing! You really do command the authority of office with that look.” Norn said.

“She even did her hair up in a ponytail. Has she grown taller?” Adelheid added.

They were doting on her like she was a kid. Gertrude sighed openly.

“It hasn’t been that long since we last met! And I was fully grown back then!” She said.

“It is the responsibility of the master to tease her foolish apprentice.” Norn said. “So, are you going to introduce me to your cohort? You’ve already met Adelheid van Mueller, who as always acts as my adjutant, while this lady is Yurii Annecy Samoylovych Darkestdays, once a Polkhovnyk in the Southern Kashak Host.”

Yurii bowed upon being introduced. “Pleasure to meet the esteemed Inquisitor.”

Her words were thickly lacquered with a tone perhaps sarcastic or disdainful.

Gertrude could tell right away this lady was a problem. She was Norn’s kind of crony.

Highly skilled, greatly troubled, probably horrifically violent in some way.

Norn did not allow just anyone to speak or act freely in her presence.

All of her crew received some kind of training so as to never speak a word out of turn or divulge any secrets. Once upon a time, Gertrude had thought it had to do with bribes or benefits. She found that Norn spent lavishly on the salaries she offered and even took care of the families of her people forever. But there was something else– even Gertrude had, at times, felt utterly overpowered by something in Norn’s speech and atmosphere that smothered any notion of dissent. There was no way to explain it but people simply obeyed Norn.

If only I could have that kind of power–

Gertrude proceeded with the pleasantries.

“Proud to make your acquaintance as well. I admit quite a fondness for the Loup people.”

Ingrid made a face and sighed.

“Let me introduce my people then. I don’t have a formal adjutant, because I don’t want to take this woman out of the pilot’s seat.” Gertrude gestured toward Ingrid, who still looked a bit taken aback by her former and current comments. “This is Ingrid Järveläinen Kindlysong. You may have briefly met?” Gertrude looked to Ingrid and finally saw her face and had to keep herself from making any comment or gesture. Ingrid sighed again.

“Nuh uh, first time seeing her.” She said. “She signed off on my release when I was getting thrown in a hole in Heitzing but I never met her. I gotta say, she looks like she could tear me in half, like the stories.”

Gertrude blanched but Norn took the comment in good humor.

“I wouldn’t do that to Gertrude’s most beloved friend.” Norn said.

Ingrid tried to keep a straight face, but she was clearly avoiding looking at anyone now.

Norn’s gaze turned to the tall, brooding blond woman on Gertrude’s other flank.

“And this is Sieglinde von Castille. I would recognize her anywhere.” Norn said.

“Good day, Lord von Fueller.” Sieglinde replied. She offered a short, perfunctory salute.

“We settled a matter on the Castille estate when her parents passed. We needed an agreement in place since she was a soldier and only heir.” Norn said, looking at Gertrude and explaining the familiarity. Norn was the Emperor’s right-hand woman on any serious matters concerning the aristocracy. “I don’t know how you ended up with the Red Baron in your retinue, but you should consider yourself quite lucky. She is a very wise and level-headed lady.”

Sieglinde joined Ingrid in casting eyes away from the party.

Gertrude felt suddenly that the mood was turning absolutely rancid.

“Let’s depart, we shouldn’t stand around talking in the docking bay. I’ve prepared a table.”

With that declaration, Gertrude led a change of scenery. From the docking bay, the party traveled to a small planning room, all white walls with little adornment. They were seated around a square table for six, its farthest ends folded so it comfortably and intimately seated only as many people as needed. There were slots for computer terminals to affix, but these had been removed as the room had a much less technical significance on that day.

In their place, there were plates of food for the guests.

Gertrude had expected some light snacks, but the kitchen went all out within the confines of all the ingredients a military vessel would have on hand. There was a panzanella salad, made with black bread and salted canned tomatoes. Even sized chunks of dry bread grew moist with a quick dressing made from the tomatoes’ own juices along with oil, mustard, and sugar. There were two types of sausages on the ship, a softer pork, fat, and buckwheat sausage and a harder, dryer, smoked beef sausage, and both were used to great textural contrast in a main dish of sausage and peppers in a beer sauce. This was accompanied by boiled potatoes, smoked cheese, and sauerkraut.

No beer was served for drinking; they had glasses of a sweet, non-alcoholic malt drink.

“Quite a spread! I had no idea that we would be dining so lavishly.” Norn said.

Gertrude stared at the table and shrugged happily. “To be honest, I didn’t either.”

Everyone began to serve themselves from the plates– though with some resistance from Adelheid van Mueller who at first wished to be served by an orderly or by Norn. Norn of course refused instantly to serve her anything and demanded in return that she serve herself. After raising her voice to her adjutant, the argument was Norn’s victory and Adelheid demurely served herself. Yurii and Ingrid seemed to want to monopolize all of the meat toward their own plates. Gertrude was not too hungry, and Norn seemed equally disinterested in her food. Sieglinde topped her plate mainly with side dishes, seeming particularly fond of the plain boiled potatoes with cheese.

“Ms. Järveläinen, you’re a Northern Loup correct?”

Across from Ingrid, Yurii hailed her in the middle of the meal, a glint in her bright eyes.

Ingrid put down a piece of beef sausage she was about to chew on.

“Uh huh, you can tell from the name can’t you? And you said you’re a Samoylovych, right? Samoylovych Darkestdays. So that means you’re a Southern Host Loup from Veka or thereabouts, that right?”

“Indeed. I’m curious– I never caught your rank, Ingrid Järveläinen Kindlysong.”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “I’m just a Sotnyk, nothing that should catch your attention.”

“Just a Sotnyk? But aren’t you a daughter of the famed Arvokas Järveläinen?”

“Grand-daughter. He wasn’t that fertile to be having kids in his nineties.”

Ingrid fixed a serious look at Yurii, and Yurii’s face darkened just a bit.

Gertrude’s gaze was finally drawn to the two. Norn, also, started watching with interest. 

“Are you trying to declare a blood feud at this table, Yurii Samoylovych?” Ingrid asked.

“I’m just curious. Did you have many friends among your kin growing up? Over sixty years ago you Northern Host sided with the Fueller Reformation. Arvokas Järveläinen was king among the kinslayers of that dark time– did your family motto not become ‘hunters of wolves’ after they slaughtered mine? So tell me, did you make many Loup friends? I would’ve been so afraid of sitting next to a ruthless kin-killer in the making who doesn’t even remember–”

Ingrid reached across the table and grabbed hold of Yurii’s collar.

This act of violence was not enough to wipe the smirk off Yuri’s face.

“Ingrid, stop.” Gertrude said. She turned to Norn. “Samoylovych is clearly provoking her!”

In that instant Gertrude felt helpless. Yurii was one of Norn’s people.

Could Gertrude even say anything?

Norn grinned to herself. “Samoylovych is telling the historical truth. It’s unfortunate they had to meet in such circumstances, but is it really up to us to intervene in this simmering ethnic pain of theirs?”

Despite Gertrude’s best efforts and racing heart the situation was not so easily defused.

Ingrid had a look of pure hatred for Yurii and the fingers on that collar shifted to the neck.

“No offense to your boss Gertrude, but if this fucking bitch doesn’t shut up right now–”

“Aww, first name basis? Does she have your leash too? Cute; so loyal for a Järveläinen.”

Yurii grabbed hold of Ingrid’s hand by the wrist and slowly pulled her fingers off her neck.

Ingrid gritted her teeth and fought back, grabbing hold of Yurii’s hand.

She could not overcome. Ingrid’s prodigious strength was not enough.

“Samoylovych is not normal.” Norn said. “So this is a mercy for you. Yurii: down, boy.”

Yurii laid Ingrid’s hands down on the table and retracted her own, smiling all the while.

Gertrude fixed Ingrid with a look that said this situation had to be over, now.

For her part, Ingrid was furious but obedient, retracting her hands.

Rubbing her wrist surreptitiously where Yurii had grabbed her.

“This bitch Katarran or what?” She was mumbling. Thankfully everyone ignored it.

Norn finally cleared her throat loudly to get everyone’s attention and quiet the room.

“Gertrude Lichtenberg, while I have I enjoyed the food,” this she said with her plate nearly untouched, “and your hospitality, I did not come here for pleasantries, and you know it. Given that our subordinates have been making trouble, we should speed this along. You are clearly in a difficult situation. How did an Irmingard class, with its vast weaponry and defenses, suffer such a brutal and crippling attack? What is your mission in Sverland; why do you need reinforcements? It goes without saying that I’ll be upset if you hide anything from me.”

Gertrude knew she would have to explain to Norn what had happened in truth and in full.

However, the atmosphere of tension in the room was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

Mortified, Gertrude began with the most obviously difficult part of the scenario.

“I’ve been chasing a group of mercenaries who have abducted Elena von Fueller.”

Norn’s eyes drew wide. Even Adelheid, bored of everything else, looked up from her food.

“I knew it had to be something like that, with you– yet I’m still in disbelief. Elena perished, Gertrude, she is dead. Nobody evacuated from Vogelheim, it was a massacre. And you say you are chasing her?” Norn said.

Hearing those words drove a hook right through Gertrude’s chest drawing out fresh hurt.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I saw her. I saw her being loaded into a ship.” She said.

Her voice felt distant, like she wasn’t the speaker. Her head was filling with anxious fog.

“Master Norn, I’ve known Elena since we were small children. We have so much history. My father was part of the Imperial Guard in the summer palace at Schwerin Isle, he gave his life to protect that family! I played with Elena when she was a little girl for years, and I went to Luxembourg School For Girls with her for years, seeing her every day, even sleeping in the same bunk. Ma’am, I would know Elena anywhere, no matter what happened.”

Norn smiled warmly. She reached her hand out to the clearly suffering Gertrude.

Closing her fingers around Gertrude’s own in a show of solidarity.

The Inquisitor was speechless, gazing at Norn with a strange fluttering comfort.

Even Ingrid and Yurii were staring, now on the same side in their bewilderment.

“You’ve learned how to speak to me. You are telling the unvarnished truth.” Norn said.

Gertrude nodded her head. She felt her heart finally holding firm with determination.

“I saw her be taken. And I need your assistance to hunt down the forces responsible.”

Norn lifted her hand from Gertrude’s and sat back in her chair.

Her lips had curled back to that broad, malicious grin she always seemed to wear.

“Of course, as the head of the Fueller Family, I can’t overlook this. It behooves me to at least pay these mercenaries a visit and confirm the truth. How Elena got out to the Nectaris Ocean and how she survived Vogelheim– if she survived, of course. Those are questions that need answering. But Gertrude, you need to learn more about the exercise of power. I am disappointed in you. You failed despite everything at your disposal and command.”

“With all due respect ma’am, I had to be cautious to protect Elena. These mercenaries are extremely dangerous. They have military-grade Union equipment and top class pilot training.” Gertrude quickly responded. She felt defensive at Norn calling her out. “We had them outnumbered and outgunned with the help of Sverland’s patrolmen, but they still folded an entire patrol fleet with just their Divers. I am asking for help for a reason, Master.”

“Then I’ll crush them for you, but you have to agree that I am in command of this operation, and we will do things my way. Furthermore, we will leave now, on the Antenora. Your mercs have a head start on us.”

Norn gazed directly into her eyes.

Gertrude blinked.

She had considered the time, but the repairs on the Iron Lady were going well.

Going on the Antenora had not exactly been part of her plans.

Then again she never considered the Antenora would have been the one to answer her calls.

“Of course, Master.” She said. “I have no objections nor would my crew.”

Ingrid crossed her arms and withdrew her gaze. Sieglinde had no expression on her face.

“Marvelous. Then we should prepare and go on the hunt as soon as possible. I’ll take you aboard the Antenora, and I have room for exactly one additional Diver and pilot. Choose your best.” Norn said.

Those words felt like a hammer to Gertrude’s chest.

Norn had her own squadron. The Antenora was a Cruiser, it was not so roomy.

So Gertrude could only take one of her pilots with her. Choose your best.

Gertrude was briefly speechless. She glanced at Sieglinde and cast a long look at Ingrid.

Her heart turned so heavy. Her voice ripped out of her throat like shattered glass.

There was only one choice. And she hated that it was so.

“I’ll take Baron von Castille.” Gertrude said, voice shaking after a period of trepidation.

At her left side, Ingrid’s gaze immediately dropped to the floor. Her shoulders slouched.

If she only had one choice– Sieglinde was clearly the better pilot. She was legendary.

It hurt like hell to leave Ingrid behind. And certainly, it must have hurt Ingrid too.

“Ingrid, you’ll hold the fort here, okay? As soon as the repairs complete, I need you to rush in after us. I’m trusting you to keep everyone safe and in line, and then bring the Iron Lady in to cut off the mercs.”

Gertrude tried to soften it, like she really had something important for Ingrid to do. Like her staying behind was not a sign of Gertrude’s hasty abandoning of her best friend whenever it was convenient but was something calculated and grand and necessary that only Ingrid could do. Like it was a special little mission worthy of the trust and intimacy that they shared. Her voice could communicate none of this grandeur. And Ingrid’s wavering posture told the truth of it all.

Ingrid finally faced Gertrude after being spoken to. She raised her head up feigning pride.

She had a smile on her face. A wan, forced little smile more painful than her silence.

It almost broke Gertrude’s heart to see it.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll make sure these louts work themselves to the bone so we can catch up.”

Ingrid gave her a little salute with a very slightly shaking hand.

Sieglinde for the first time seemed to have a conflicted expression on her face.

Gertrude almost didn’t know what to say.

They were exchanging what must have been the most pained expressions of their lives.

All the while hiding behind false smiles.

Ingrid would not let herself be a nuisance here. She accepted everything immediately.

For Gertrude’s sake, she was always accepting such awful things.

I’m a god damned bastard. Gertrude thought. I’m the lowest of the fucking low.

But for she had to save Elena– everything she was doing was for Elena–

“Very well! I look forward to watching the esteemed Red Baron at work.” Norn said.

She nodded her head to Sieglinde, who had no reaction to the gesture.

There was little else to discuss.

And so, with little fanfare, Gertrude left Ingrid behind to depart for darker seas.

It’s for Elena’s sake. I’m doing this for Elena. Once I get Elena back I’ll–

I’ll make it up to Ingrid– right?

Even Gertrude was having trouble believing this anymore.

In reality– she really was doing far too much for herself

Far too little for others–

Nothing for Ingrid–

And if Norn ever asked the right question, Gertrude would not be able to lie about it.


Previous ~ Next

Pursuers In The Deep [7.5]

This chapter contains graphic sexual contenT and references to suicide.

A horrific wail escaped the gurgling throat of a mangled man twitching on the steel floor.

Her ears barely heard it, no matter how loud he screamed, she simply did not receive something audible from it. Instead, the vibrations of the sound on the bio-sensors in her body let her know the direction in which the sounds came from. This was useless: everyone was screaming, and so there was sound everywhere.

It would be more useful in the water, where she wasn’t.

She was in the middle of a metallic hall. Her claws were caked in gore burned black.

Rendered fat helped her digits slide to retain some motion, no time to clean off the crud.

Two bodies cast aside in two brutal swings– in a snap she charged the remaining man–

Her jaws closed on the shooting arm of a guard devouring the limb gun and all.

Separated processing centers received six different views of his shock-stunned body — and past it!

Movement–!

Two of her eyes spotted a machine gun pod crawling across the ceiling over the corpse.

With a flick of her tail, she instantly sent a spike flying at the speed of cannon fire.

Piercing the gun pod and spearing it against the rail it was attached to, ending the threat immediately.

A second pod followed on the same rail, but it was stuck behind the first one and fell silent.

She charged out of the hall and onto the hangar, away from the possibility of their gunfire.

Heck! That was close! I coulda been churned up bad! How many more of these are there?

She dimly wondered why the automated defenses hadn’t been spun up sooner.

But the tactics of station-dwellers were not her forte. She was a Hunter; she simply hunted.

Hunter III of the Third Sphere.

This was the name given to her by a leader of their kind: Arbitrator II of the First Sphere.

She never questioned it. She simply was who she was. She was an Omenseer.

Omenseers were the guides to the eldritch heavens and alien hells of the Ocean.

To take into the light those station-dwellers who were useful and worthy and willing to part with treasure.

That was all she needed to know about herself; and all anyone needed to know about her.

Her role was not to strategize. Norn did that– or whoever she worked for. She had no idea what the enemy’s plan was: she assumed the defenders were just stupid. And that was why she was tearing through them so easily. Anything more complicated than that was not her business. Ship-dwellers, station-dwellers, fake humans, whatever whoever called them– Hunter III knew they could be tough. Norn was absolutely terrifying for example.

These Ajillo humans were not very tough. Maybe they just weren’t ready to fight.

Expecting to kill more in the arrival gate, Hunter III was surprised to find that the red carpet and chute that Norn had come through was already secured. There were a few bodies, cleanly killed with one bullet through the brain, and Norn’s security detail stood guard in front of the entry chute, equipped with full power rifles that had made some dents in the steel walls. Five men stood in attention and saluted when Hunter III appeared as if she was their boss but said nothing to her. These same men had watched her sneak around and said nothing then too.

Now though, they did make signs using electric torches, predetermined signs.

They signaled that Norn had taken the control center. Everything was suddenly over.

Hunter III stared at the lights, unmoving, for the first time not thinking about the next jump, charge, slice, bite, or shot; for the first time finding herself with no further hostile targets and no further violence to commit.

Her brains were flooded with intense emotions.

Her whole reptilian-insectoid body vibrated with the weight of adrenaline and anxiety.

She had been killing, non-stop, target to target; killing and eating and tearing skin from meat and meat from skin to the point she could barely taste what was going through her, could barely feel what was entering her body and melding into it and burning in it for energy to fight on. For the first time she settled on the feeling of her sticky hot claws coated in God knows how much filth, barely able to flex one digit from the next to the point she had been swinging the claws as one thick cutting edge. She felt the pain of dozens of bullet holes barely patched by her “biopower.” Her body felt suddenly like a rubbery sheathe that she was buried in, hyperventilating for free air.

When her six visual sensors closed her mind staggered; she saw the pink and brown rubbery meat around “her” “own” “body.” Such a thing could not be said to exist, not in the middle of a transformation and yet, she was seeing that disturbing sight as if entombed in this form rather than in control and in synchronicity with it.

It signaled her disassociation from the “leviform” body her “biopower” had built.

Even if she wanted to, at this point, she probably couldn’t fight any more for a while.

Hunter III sat down on her rump, tail curled around her, and let the shaking go through her.

She had not hunted in what was maybe closer to months but felt like even years before now.

And it was getting to her mind, her heart. She was not a machine or a monster.

In fact, if you asked Arbitrator II, she would say Hunter III was the only “real” human here.

I let myself get too soft. I gotta toughen up again. It’s only gonna get crazier from now on I think.

She looked up at the men guarding the deployment chute.

They paid her attention when she moved her head to face them but said nothing.

All of the drones communicated with her only with flashing lights.

Nothing they were saying was important anymore and Hunter III paid them no heed.

Norn taught them Hunter III couldn’t understand them without “brainpower” in this form. Leviforms had different physical senses, but all shared the ability to do omenseeing and use brainpower. Almost nobody at this station had any “brainpower” that Hunter III could tell, much less the ability to do any “omen-seeing.” Norn’s crew did not, that’s why she could manipulate them so easily. Anyone Norn did not control had an amount of brainpower or even omenseeing.

Like Adelheid. Adelheid was being manipulated in some other kind of way.

Love maybe? Hunter III did not really know this stuff too much, though she sort of felt it.

She, in some kind of way, had feelings toward Norn too. Norn was–

Norn was– strange. She was just– strange– Norn was a lot of things!

She could be scary, frustrating, generous– she gave Hunter III a lot of emotions.

Norn said she would free me from Arbitrator II. Why free me though? I’m not trapped…

It was tough to get a handle on her thoughts and feelings.

Her brains were flooding with all kinds of thoughts. Some even the Leviform’s own–

There was not much point in thinking about it further than that.

She had to prepare to leave behind the leviform. Her mind clearly couldn’t take it anymore.

Hunter III quickly ran up a mental inventory of everything that had gone into her body.

She did not understand fully what everything was. Norn could say words like lipase and glycol to her but she did not understand her own body that way. She knew there were hard things, soft things, chemicals in her stomach, fats stored in her tissues, bones sheathed in muscle, sinews and nerves connecting everything. She knew instinctively what to do with the resources of her body to make structures like bio-jets, biocannons, and other secrets locked away in her flesh.

Once she ate the fruit, everything became looser, more flexible, easier to grow and change.

That fruit was filled with the marrow of life, with the power of humanity. Or so the Omenseers said.

Her instinctive control over this power let her understand her body instinctively, like breathing and walking.

In her stomach the guard’s arm she ate sat like a big lump, undigested.

His gun was partially digested.

She had used some of the metal to make the spike she threw at the gun pod.

This was something she did so automatically that she only took stock of it now. There was a lot of yucky stuff that made up a gun, like lead and gunpowder. She would leave that behind in the leviform exuvia and not take it into her “person body,” for the sake of her health. Anything in the exuvia was wholly separate from herself.

She concentrated on establishing her body within the leviform and separating from it anything deleterious. For a moment this increased the feeling of drowning within a pile of meat, and at its height, it almost led her to panic. No amount of discipline could surmount that sudden and torturous feeling when her own body formed within the leviform and the monster she had once been started to slough off, like a relentless shower, heavy and hot droplets of flesh sliding off her face and shoulders, digging herself out of a rancid-smelling miasma of meat and blood–

Hunter III screamed as her head was fully released, dilated eyes darting frantically–

Screaming at the top of her lungs through the bubbling, sliding, shedding fat and meat–

Feeling dizzy as her body turned suddenly lighter, released from the weight, stumbling–

White long hair, skin pale enough to almost see through, a skinny and vulnerable girl staggered forward her feet leaving behind a flattened gelatinous body like a macabre costume, bleeding from the slit along the back that her body escaped through. She was scarred, pronounced spikes growing on her spine and shoulders, the stub of a tail, thick scar tissue on her wrists, all connectors into the machine of meat that lay discarded–

Her vision swam in and out as her feet slipped on the metal floor.

She saw the men move to collect her, but nevertheless she fell. The cold and stale-smelling air of the station and the slight pungency of the body she left behind all vanished along with the colors trapped dancing in its atmosphere. Everything was black, everything was numb, silent, odorless, as her mind darkened with the feeling of falling, the sound of rushing air, a final twist of motion, a sharp thud as she hit the floor– and kept falling.

Falling;

Into the Ocean once again, into the ocean surrounding them all.

A black body glided through the water, briefly breaching the surface.

Blue sky flecked purple; something distant, massive, drove a thick metal spire into the water–

Pinpricks of violet from the air lashed at her, randomly, painfully–

Driven back into the water by the pain;

Through the currents and the endless blue where there was nothing to see but the dancing microscopic bodies of the tiniest chains of living matter, undisturbed by the events unfolding above the ocean, final stronghold of life in this tortured world. Time and space and place and identity meant nothing to the water that moved by the will of systems so complex as to appear alien, mythical, connecting the past, future and present in a chain of impossible causalities no one human life could have possibly linked and truly comprehended, not in their time, not in the times to come.

On this journey that body went not knowing where or when or why it was and simply eating, growing, mating, fighting, living, never the most massive being in its food chain but quick, clever, knowing when to charge and when to retreat. Rather than a hard shell it formed supple scales and gelatinous membranes; rather than a few thick jets it had many looping fins through which it could carefully guide out the water it sucked in through its gills.

On this journey, it went. Through times, places, unknown.

Outmatched;

An enormous body, a truly gigantic, massive being that was like a mountain of meat with great roaring jets, numerous remoral pods that fired a brilliant fusillade of spikes, hundreds of sensing organs that never failed to track. A dozen upright beings with arms that expelled terrible projectiles. A great gaping maw opened that swallowed and brought an end to that life, time yet unknown, purpose never found, position remaining a mystery, somewhere, sometime, in the unnamed immensity of the water. To be eaten, digested, broken down, and part of another life.

She;

Suspended in the bowels of a great being, situated firmly in a space, but unable to move, no current, sucking in but feeling no water to move through, no sound waves to see through. Hazy colors, a hazy picture forming in her once-useless eyes of a dark writhing black-and-red place. She (she?) was not yet eaten, not yet banished back to the carbon chain at the lowest rung of creation. She was still alive, but she was alive in a different way than before–

Her skin, her bones, they were no longer stiff, as if restraints had been torn off her–

“Awaken, become aware, and see the omens. Hunter III of the Third Sphere.”

Below her a group of upright beings with slender limbs, two eyes, hair, smiling mouths, watching her.

All of them smelled like the memories that were quickly fading from her shifting brain.

Red circles around their eyes and red circles around hers as she finally began to See.

Time;

Space;

Place;

Bodies;

When the feeling of weight returned to her Hunter III slowly awoke.

Laying in a soft bed, hazy eyes wandering, she was–

In the Antenora’s infirmary.

There were several beds, lockboxes full of medical goods, a variety of equipment. Hunter III had been fed things from here before. She spotted someone on the other end of the room, a woman, who was unaware she was being watched by the swimming, sleepy eyes of Hunter III. She pulled up her long, quite wavy blonde hair and unlatched a choker that was around her neck. A series of round red and purple bruises was joined by a new one as she injected herself with a large punch-needle full of a light blue fluid. She sighed with great satisfaction before fixing the choker.

Letting herself fall back on her chair with a placid smile for a moment.

Her eyes turned and saw Hunter III out of the corner of her thin-framed glasses.

“Sooner than I expected. Though, I suppose I can’t ever expect anything with you.”

The Antenora’s doctor, Livia Van Der Meer, turning a snake-like grin Hunter III’s way.

“How are you feeling? Anything irregular?” She cooed. Her eyes were a little red.

“Dunno.” Hunter III said. Her own head was still a little woozy.

“Norn forbid me from running any tests or taking blood, so all I could do was take your vitals and set you down somewhere comfy. All I know is that you turned into a monster and back; as you’re known to do.” Livia tittered. “But Norn’s off sulking right now so she can’t interfere if we wanted to have some fun. I’d love to study that interesting body of yours. What do you say? I’ve got plenty of drugs with interesting pharmacokinetics.”

“I dunno what that means.”

“Ah, forget it. I’ll draft something for you to read and sign; informed medical consent is important.”

“Are you ok? All ya keep sayin’ is nonsense to me.”

“I’m feeling splendid, little Hunter.”

Livia stood up from her chair and set down a hand on Hunter III’s head, ruffling her hair.

“Simply forget I said anything earlier. I don’t want to antagonize you.”

“I ain’t antagonized.”

“You won’t tell Norn?”

“Tell Norn what?”

“Good girl.” Livia ruffled her hair even more. “How was your sleep?”

Hunter III feebly defended herself from the petting.

“I dreamt I was a fish.” She mumbled.

“Hmm. That’s a very common dream. Moreso with children, but also adults too.”

“I don’t dream a lot.”

“Are you getting enough sleep? It takes at least 90 minutes to enter an REM cycle.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s the deepest form of sleep. It is regenerative, inspiring. Quite sought after.”

“Will I dream I’m a fish again?”

“Ah, forget it, cute little Hunter.”

Livia sat by the bedside, smiling as she turned half-shut eyes on Hunter III.

She sighed and adjusted the tie on her tight-chested button-down shirt. Her hands were covered in the black rubber sleeve of her bodysuit. Her coat, which was dragging down her shoulders, she also pulled back up, as if she needed to make herself look somewhat professional again before she could continue speaking. Pushing up her glasses and making a winking eye at Hunter III, she sat back, one leg over the other, arms crossed.

Tapping the side of the bedframe with the tip of one black pump.

“Norn says you’ll be resting and in reserve for now. You’ll be getting a reward, too.”

“Reward?”

“Norn has half a steer in the freezer. Prime red meat. Cooked however you like.”

Hunter III’s eyes opened wide. Her mouth started to water.

“It don’t need to be cooked much! Just thaw it out and torch it a teeny bit!”

Her heart swelled, animated and excited once more, practically jumping in bed.

“Blue rare then? I do love a bloody steak myself. I’ll let Norn know.” Livia said jovially.

Hunter III was so excited she could have leaped on Livia.

For that moment and the hours to come, all she could think about was: meat!


When the Jagdkaiser was returned to the hangar it was in a relatively poor condition.

At least, the part of the Jagdkaiser that Potomac cared about the most was in poor condition.

Sure, the mecha part was fine, and could have operated perfectly well sans the advanced psionic equipment, but who would call that an engineering triumph? Potomac’s inspection after Selene unplugged turned up extensive desynchronization of the homunculus brought about by acute psychomechanical stress. And Norn concerned herself with stuff like the Options — this was the real problem! Without orders and without thanks, Potomac set about recalibrating the Homunculus, so it aligned properly with the mechanical systems again.

While the entire Ocean moved around her, Potomac focused singularly on her task.

Hers was a single-minded focus, and things which did not interest her, she did not notice.

She dug into the cockpit of the Jagdkaiser, and there she stayed while the ship was stocked and inspected and finally made ready to depart from Ajillo. All manner of things had happened in there which Potomac was not concerned with, people were moving about, crates of stuff brought in, bloody people and things— it didn’t matter. Norn killed people seemingly every other day and her reasons were her reasons. Science did not concern itself with the ideology of the donors. As far as Potomac was concerned the sea could have turned upside down, as long as she could continue to work uninterrupted she would not have noticed. And presently, the sea looked quite upright.

Those outside of her organization might have seen her as odd, but among her peers she was entirely ordinary. Save for a rare few like Euphrates, the Immortal Council of the Sunlight Foundation was made up of malcontents that the “normies” would never understand. Her peers were people like Hudson, obsessed with internal organ cybernetics and making herself a machine, and Nile, who was obsessed with tinkering up viruses, parasites, and bacteria.

Potomac thus felt downright dignified to be obsessed with advanced computing instead.

But they were all disconnected from the world because they were seeking a greater truth.

That was the way of the Sunlight Foundation.

After all, if ordinary people could have done it, humanity would already be under the sun.

Because the Homunculus acted as a middleman between the neural input of the pilot and the mechanical systems of the Jagdkaiser, it could get desynchronized both ways, either becoming too sensitive to psionic signals (neurophillic) or too sensitive to digital signals (mechanophillic), creating lag and feedback everywhere. Potomac worked using a sensor which received a psionic waveform from the Homunculus, along with an electrical signal, and she used an electromagnet and her own psionic power to recalibrate the machine back to the desired balance. To untrained eyes it must have looked like she was poking the machine or waving at it — it was more than that!

This was science so advanced that it was verging on magic! Still, it was only science!

It was only the flexible ethics of this generation’s Yangtze that could have led them to finally develop machines like this. They had come close before, but psionic machines were a slow and nearly verboten development for the previous generations of Immortals. A new Yangtze, and new blood like Hudson, and heck, even Norn herself– the past thirty-to-forty years had been fun. They had made progress like they hadn’t in hundreds of years before.

Potomac was excited. She could not wait to see what these Homunculi could do–

–In less barbaric settings as this droll military vessel full of grunting, violent fools.

“Potomac.”

From below, a voice sounded up at her. How long had it been since she started?

She did not recognize the voice because she rarely recognized anyone’s voice.

When she was completely engaged, there were no other humans around her.

“One moment.” She said dismissively.

“You don’t even have to turn around.”

“Just a minute.”

“I’m just gonna ask a question.”

“Sure thing, sure thing, I’ll be ready in a second.”

“POTOMAC!”

Her sixth sense piqued; she felt a psionic outburst behind her–

Potomac turned in time to catch piece of torn carbon fiber hurled her way.

Below her, glowing with a bright red and yellow aura was–

Slender girl, pilot suit, purple hair, long rainbow-colored rabbit antennae, bright yellow eyes–

“Merrimack?”

“That’s not my fucking name you spacey bitch! It’s Selene!”

Selene balled up her hands into fists at her side, gritting her teeth, glaring up at Potomac.

Potomac sighed and shrugged.

“Your inventory codename was Merrimack. Forgive me for not keeping up.”

“Fuck you. Answer my question or I’ll split your head in half.”

Selene picked up another piece of carbon fiber, bits shorn off the Jagdkaiser’s legs.

Potomac looked around, briefly annoyed.

“Where’s Norn? Or Adelheid? Can someone please wrangle this lost child?”

None of the drones were paying attention. Such a thing was not their problem.

Another psionic spike–

Potomac pushed on the projectile and gently deflected it despite Selene’s furious intent.

“Alright! Alright!” Potomac shouted. “I’m sorry! Can we talk about this?”

She was unplugged, and wandered off by herself– why was she back now, and this belligerent?

“I want to know what’s inside that thing!”

Selene pointed past her at the homunculus system Potomac had been tinkering with.

Potomac stared speechlessly, unable to comprehend what was so upsetting.

“That’s all? You’re just curious about it? You didn’t have to throw things at me then!”

“It bled on me!” Selene shouted at the top of her lungs, her eyes tearing up. “I saw it, blood was dripping from between the plates on the dome! What the hell have you stuffed in there? What is it doing to me?”

“What? It doesn’t bleed– and it’s not possible for the organic matter to spill out of it.”

“Huh? It doesn’t– but it’s in there then? There’s something in there?”

Selene stood stunned; her violence suddenly halted.

Had the plates been able to drip at all, it would have compromised everything.

Potomac sighed and continued, matter-of-factly. “There is organic matter inside it, yes, but it could not have dripped on you. It’s a computer made from a neural organoid. It’s a bunch of tissue and I/O plugs in a contained environment. We made it out of pluripotent stem cells. Kind of like how we made you!” She tried to sweeten her tone as she watched Selene visibly stagger back a step, as if shocked dumb to hear this. “It’s completely normal! And it would not be able to bleed on you, the chassis is completely tight, and would need a major rupture before it spilled.”

Selene’s jaw shook. She stared up at Potomac and the Homunculus with drawn-wide eyes.

“It didn’t spill– but I saw– what did I–?”

Her body started to shake. Was this a fear response? Anxiety? She was mumbling too.

Feeling pressured to take some kind of responsibility, Potomac climbed down, out of the cockpit of the Jagdkaiser. Walking calmly, she stood closer to Selene, who made no move to respond or get away, transfixed on the interior of the Jagdkaiser’s cockpit and babbling something through her quivering lips only to herself.

Potomac begrudgingly spread her arms wide and drew Selene into a big hug.

“There, there. Clearly the current events are getting to you and your mental state isn’t 100%. You’re a sensitive girl. I forgive you. All that violence is unhealthy for you! I’ll ask Norn to give you a break from–”

At that moment, Selene screamed at the top of her lungs. She burst out crying.

Burying her head into Potomac’s chest and screaming right into the woman’s bosom.

Potomac hardly knew how to respond. She rubbed her head. She ruffled her hair.

With a sour look on her face, Potomac stood in the hangar holding the screaming girl.

Selene continued to scream, cry, to shove her head against Potomac. It went on; and on.


Hours after the incident that would be known as the “Ajillo Mutiny,” the Antenora departed from the station, having expunged all records relating to its visit save for small signs of the macabre violence which they had committed. It did not matter to Norn, who had gotten what she had wished for most of all: a chance to mete out the fullness of her violence on a suitably deserving fool. To test the freedom and dominance she attained, to flex the powers she had collected on her journey. A show of force not unlike those she performed under Konstantin.

After causing this scene, however, she quickly retreated back to her quarters.

Her physical appearance was causing her a thin mist of disgust and distress.

Dancing in the back of her head as if the tiniest insect had slipped beneath her skin.

Her skin which was no longer so fair, and in large part had become blueish-gray.

Her vibrant blond ponytail was returning to its natural silver-white coloration.

Norn shed her bloodstained and torn clothes and walked naked around her room, the wall surfaces mirroring her on every third panel. A warm yellow and wine-red radiance spread from the dim light sources sensually coloring the room. She could have banished the mirrors but she never did. Instead she stared at herself in them, as if equally fascinated and reviled, obsessed, and repelled. Her figure was no different, her stature, the sleekness of her limbs or the slenderness of her torso, none of it was any different. And yet she still felt like she was seeing herself as a monster.

She caught sight of her tail– a tiny little stub of a tail. It was growing. Again.

In an instant, almost automatically, she sliced it clean off with a telekinetic thrust.

A little bloody piece of blueish-gray katarran flesh landed on the floor.

Instantly, a tiny little round drone activated, picked it up, and took it out of sight.

Over the wound the blood curdled nearly instantly — Norn froze it shut.

When she cut her tail for the first time it had been agony.

Now, there was hardly feeling left.

Shutting her eyes, Norn walked over to the shower.

As much as Norn had wanted to keep her room spartan and miserable as possible, as much as she would have loved to hide herself in a literal can like a sardine, she did have a few necessities. Some particularly for the sake of certain others; the bed, for example, was a double-wide and plush, and there was a bedside table upon which there was a bottle of wine. For herself, she needed a personal shower and toilet. She could never allow anyone to see her so vulnerable. And there was a desk, too, with a dedicated terminal, which was the part of the room Norn used the most.

On the side of the room, the seemingly steel wall became clear glass and slid open, showing its true nature as the door to a spacious integrated shower with porcelain up to the knee, enabling it to serve as a bath also. There was an adjustable shower head with a variety of pressure settings, a set of fragrant bath and hair gels, scrubbing pads, and it even dispensed a black bath robe in a waterproof case for her use after the deed was done.

Norn slipped inside and shut the glass door and obscured it from no one’s eyes.

On a wall panel she set the water pressure and temperature digitally.

Pulling the shower head down, she stood directly under the gentle jets of warm water.

Hands up against the wall, head bowed, her soaked hair falling over her face, mist rising.

There was a sudden self-loathing thought that she could have frozen herself to death here.

Amid the prurient luxury of her pearlescent private shower, within the fog, a frozen statue.

Mehmed was never burned by his own flames; this was something the Sunlight Foundation once set down as a rule for the powers observed from the Apostles. Only Apostles had the ability to induce the extreme effects that characterized them. Accreting dust into boulders to fling, stirring gusts that hit with the force of a wrecking ball, hurling stalactites and searing flames drawn from seemingly nowhere. Apostles could not be hurt by their own powers–

–until Norn was observed.

Norn was unique among them.

She knew Majida could burn with impunity, just as Mehmed once did.

Had Norn not tampered with it, the little girl’s power would have also worked similarly.

It stood to reason to change the “rule” once there was an exception.

But Norn always believed she was totally unique, and unique in one specific way.

None of the Apostles hated themselves as much as she did.

So, of course, she could stop her own heart, freeze her own flesh off.

Psionics was the product of the human mind brought to its utmost extremes, living in a world that could kill humans at any moment with complete impunity, a world of such random and brutal cruelty. A mind subjected to the background stress of an existence which would never be truly comfortable, never be truly safe. A mind brought to an alien place and its alien pressures. The Sunlight Foundation believed the human mind was expanding somehow, underwater. The human mind was tapping into some kind of current which had existed unseen beneath the waves.

Mehmed once believed his power had a lineage to the surface — to the soul of the Shimii’s holy savior.

Majida doubtless believed the same, as the one now, essentially, carrying that exact “soul.”

Norn understood her psionics as the product of her own relationship to her ailing mind and the world around her. She had no special soul, no grand religious lineage. That she was an Apostle was a coincidence, an absurdity of life. She was born in a vat, tampered with using fossilized fish DNA. She was a Katarran, a twisted thing in the image of a human, made from tinkering with cells for the purpose of war. Normal Katarrans were sharks, jellyfish, crabs– she was a Panthalassian and so some of her DNA was drawn from mummified panderichthys tissue. She was a constructed thing, a walking falsehood. And she wasn’t even the constructed thing she wanted to have been.

She hid herself behind an Imbrian aesthetic, an Imbrian identity; and it gave her comfort.

Norn butted her head against the metal wall, shouting at the top of her lungs.

No one could have heard through the soundproofed walls, it was liberating, cathartic.

She hardly felt the pain. Only a tiny trickle of red trailed down the wall.

Water flowed through her hair, down her neck and over her shoulders and back.

Drops fell with rhythmic pops against the sleek porcelain floor of the shower.

Save for that, and the heavy panting of the woman inside it, the place was soundless.

Her own little world with as false a sense of peace and security as she herself was false.

Tears drew from her eyes that collected down the drain with the rest of the water.

Fangs bared; a ferocious grin appeared on her face as she began to weep.

“Konstantin, can you see me now, from where you are? Are you hurting too?”

Like the human brain screamed psionically for new powers with which to survive, a new world itself was screaming to be born within the Imbrium Ocean. A world that started with the abortive revolution of the Fueller Reformation and now reached its climax. Norn shed her tears in the shower and indulged her thoughts of self-destruction; because she had to walk outside of that glass cage where her fury and sorrow was bared and fertilize the ground of the new world with all of the vermin of the old. Their bodies, their minds, their ideas, their goals; compost for her garden.

Most of all, Konstantin’s body, mind, ideas, and goals.

His was the most potent fertilizer of all, and the one Norn most sought after.

She would hurt him, to his grave and beyond it. In a way that he finally truly felt.

“Fair’s fair, isn’t it? You never understood my pain.”

She started to laugh, clapping one of her hands over her eyes.

Eyes still copiously shedding tears.

“You took advantage of me. But I was always going to have the last laugh. I told you!”

Grinning with gritted teeth.

“All of your treasures would be mine, to enjoy, to discard, to break. No hard feelings!”

Thin red circles appeared around her eyes as she punched the wall.

Enough to deform the metal; while only lightly hurting her fist.

Katarrans were built pretty sturdy. That was the whole point of them as a people.

Her other hand reached for the gel dispenser.

Foaming suds spread across her hair, her body, as she rubbed herself down with it under the water. Switching the shower head to a special spray mode meant to blast dirt off her body — however effective it was at actually cleaning her, it had a soothing effect on her body, like the massage that Adelheid had promised and likely would not deliver. Having lounged around enough and achieving the end result of taking a shower at all, a cleaner, much less emotionally fraught Norn stepped out of the shower, wearing a black robe open down the middle.

Sighing deeply as the cool air of the room caressed her bare chest.

“For everyone’s sakes, I have to–” She started to speak but paused when she heard a titter.

When she took stock, she found someone sitting at her bed, legs crossed.

Smiling a vixen’s smile, giggling to herself, one hand lightly over her lips.

“Oh my~ what a lovely sight. I barged in just in time.”

Adelheid’s gaze disrespectfully traced Norn’s exposed body from her breasts to her dick.

There was really no other way to interpret that lascivious expression. Sitting there in her button-down shirt and tie, her open coat, her little skirt and leggings, her hair pinned up, and her bodysuit curiously missing.

Staring right at Norn’s groin.

“You’ve got some nerve lately.” Norn said.

“I’ve been curious actually, do all Katarran women have one?”

She pointed between Norn’s legs, causing Norn to follow her finger mindlessly.

Staring down at herself, she sighed, already exhausted with Adelheid’s manic play-acting.

“We’re all genetic freaks. It’s not something consistent. We are whatever comes out.”

“So it’s not something that’s really chosen, it just happened?”

“No Adelheid, as a fetus, I did not choose to be born with a dick.”

“So sarcastic! But you don’t dislike it, I know that much.”

“You’re right, there are things about myself I hate far more.”

Norn wandered to the other side of her room, pacing near her desk.

Adelheid smiled and tipped her head a little, making a cutesy shrug.

“I think you’re beautiful.” She said. “All of you is. In whatever form I see you in.”

Norn shot a glance at her.

“Trying to cheer me up?” Norn grunted.

“That or watch you sulk more in the nude, either works!” Adelheid teased.

Norn turned her back.

She reached for a plastic band from her desk and tied her hair up in a ponytail again. A seemingly innocuous action but she carried on with it methodically, in silence, for a minute or two. Waiting to see if she heard another peep out of Adelheid, her emotions simmering to a calm but constant bubbling. When she turned back around, she walked as if going past Adelheid on the bed. Her eyes stared past the beautiful redhead as if in disdain.

Then she stopped in front of Adelheid.

She turned toward the younger woman and raised a hand to her cheek.

Tracing the outline of her jaw, the softness of her chin, a grin growing on Norn’s face.

Adelheid looked up at her, sitting on the bed with a tiny halfway smile, lips barely parted.

Norn’s fingers lifted off that rosy cheek and gave it a few soft taps.

“Norn–? What’s with you–?”

Upon hearing her voice again, Norn’s fingers came down much faster, striking the same cheek.

Watching Adelheid cringe and grit her teeth in response to the slap– pure endorphins.

Grinning, Norn grabbed hold of Adelheid’s hair by the bun and pulled her head back.

Leaning forward and taking in Adelheid’s wide-eyed surprise, staring deep and close.

“Norn–! I–!”

Shut up.”

Norn stared directly into her eyes and Adelheid submitted instantly, her lip quivering, vocalizing nothing.

Internally she was satisfied with the reaction, but outwardly Norn scoffed.

“You called me Astra Palaiologos– don’t think I forgot. It’s been burning in my head. You’ve tested my patience before, acted out in all manner of stupid ways. I trusted you with that name, and you just spat it back at me. It is not my fault for trusting you: it’s your fault. You’ll behave– You’ll learn to behave because I’ll make you.” She pulled Adelheid’s red hair enough to loosen it from the bun, the silver hairclip fell clanging to the ground. Her dexterous fingers quickly seized upon the loose hair to retain firm command of Adelheid’s head, with a brusqueness that led the redhead to reach up to Norn’s hand reflexively. “And who said you could touch me? Hands off, now.”

Rather than strike Adelheid’s hand, she slapped her across that same reddening cheek.

Adelheid brought her hands down to the side of the bed, gripping the sheets.

Norn glanced at the door; eyes briefly glowing. All of the locking mechanisms engaged.

Then she turned her gaze, now bereft of psionic potency, back on her prey.

“Passphrase. Tell me now.” Norn demanded.

In a muttering little voice. “Cusp.” Their passphrase; something that couldn’t be misheard.

It was a weak, but instant reply. It almost prompted Norn to praise her– almost.

Not yet though. Nowhere near close.

“And if you can’t speak?”  

A more animated voice came out of Adelheid, between a little gasp as Norn’s hand crawled down her neck and grabbed hold of her collar and tie as if to force an answer. “Clap my left hand, three times.” She said.

“Correct.” Not good, acceptable, satisfactory. Nothing for her to feel lifted by.

Only ‘correct’.

Without warning Norn pulled her tie up, suddenly forcing Adelheid to stand up straight.

“Norn, I can be–!”

Shut up.”

Just taking her, pulling her, having control of her, sent blood rushing through Norn.

She felt herself coursing with vigor, every part of her standing alert.

Whenever she raised her voice, whenever she exerted physical force– pleasure swelled.

Feeling the tiny pulses of Adelheid’s life through the collar, through the grip on her hair.

“Can you be good?” Norn asked; but gave no time to answer.

In an instant Norn served herself the girl’s lips, stealing the lacquer taste of red lipstick and the bitter bite of the wine she had left out. Possessive tongue intruding past, longer, deeper than Adelheid’s own like she could taste the back of her throat, warm breaths captured from the girl squirming in her grip. Holding her tight by the neck and hair, asserting her control. Adelheid’s eyes shut from a brief but sharp scraping of teeth as Norn suddenly parted.

Adelheid’s jaw hung slightly open, a tiny pinprick of blood on the inside of her lip.

Tongue drawn back, labored shuddering breaths, a droplet of sweat down her red flecked cheek.

Her eyes were cloudy. As if she was staring past Norn.

Norn’s fingers crawled, between the tie, into the collar, running over that soft pink skin.

Adelheid shivered as if electrified by the touch. She locked eyes with Norn.

“Can you be good?” Norn asked her again.

“I can be good.” Adelheid said. Her voice drawling, distant.

Those words in that tone– they were a jolt of pure pleasure down all of Norn’s veins.

“We’ll see.”

As if there was no weight to her, Norn suddenly threw Adelheid back down to the bed–

Holding the tie–

“–!”

Adelheid vocalized something incoherent as she jerked forward on her leash.

Pulled to the end of the bed once more, her head coming to rest against Norn’s belly.

That hand which had been holding her hair from the back now held it from the top.

Palm resting over Adelheid’s crown and guiding her head farther below.

“Do I need to remind you what to do?”

She didn’t.

Adelheid’s lips closed around Norn’s cock with no further prompting.

For a moment Norn almost lost her iron-like composure.

That touch, that feeling of pressure and tightness over her most sensitive skin– Warmth, the slickness of Adelheid’s lips and tongue as she took Norn in deep and drew back over the shaft– to see those soft lips stuffed full of her erection and incapable of backchat– it was intoxicating, it started to flood over Norn’s mind, to draw out the fullness of her senses, from below her belly to her hips and the tips of her breasts, like electricity and fire–

Above all else, the sense of control

Looking down at the cascade of red hair parting for that pearl-pink face so focused on her.

She hardly needed to be told. She was so dutiful, so instantly bound.

Pulling back, sliding her tongue over the blueish-pink head–

Staring up with her cloudy eyes while kissing playfully on the very tip–

“Don’t get too full of yourself.” Norn mocked, briefly shutting her eyes.

In response, Adelheid took her into her mouth fully once again.

Norn drew in a breath, shutting her lips. Holding back any sound of satisfaction. Trying to appear composed despite the quaking in her gut and groin. Norn stroked Adelheid’s hair with increasing intensity as her lover eagerly tasted her. A fluttering feeling for her lover soared in her heart; as burning a passion as she felt below.

At that point, Norn felt, her own body was perfect. Paired with Adelheid, it was perfect.

“You’re trying so hard. I’m going to test you then.”

Her free hand crawled to Adelheid’s face.

Caressing fingers on one white cheek, briefly pulling the hair out of her lover’s eyes.

Drumming on the silk-soft flesh, one-two-three–

Drawing back from that cheek–

Striking sharply–

Adelheid groaned through a mouthful of cock.

As she recoiled from the slap there was the briefest brush of teeth on Norn’s shaft.

That fleeting sting sent a thrill rushing through to Norn’s hips, made her quiver.

Adelheid knew not to bite down. She struggled and succeeded in controlling herself.

Norn loved the threat of it. That ephemeral press of the hot vice on the skin of her dick.

Her fingers dug into Adelheid’s head, her feet shifted, she bent forward, beginning to shake her hips and thighs in rhythm to Adelheid’s mouth, to lose herself to the tight, rushing sensation suddenly reaching its peak. A smile, a wild mad smile on Norn’s face– she fought back laughter. It was all she could do to let off steam, in a way that would not give in and show too much leniency. All the while the tension continued to build inside her.

“Let’s see if you’re really a good girl.”

Stroking her hair with one hand while holding her head with the other–

Then seizing her by the back of her head, playfully going deeper in her mouth.

Pushing her closer, sliding every millimeter she could–

Her tip held tight in Adelheid’s throat–

“Nothing– nothing to say–?” She teased but in reality Norn could barely breathe.

Such emotion, such a swelling surge of pleasure, Norn could hardly remain upright, feeling Adelheid’s shaking body coming closer, enveloped in her flesh, savoring the wet gagging noises and closed-eyed focus from her partner who was so compliant, who made no protest as Norn thrust ever deeper into her mouth and into climax. Shuddering from her core, feeling all of the pent-up tension come washing over her, doused in that passion–

“Good girl. Good girl.” Norn gasped for breath.

A trickle of fluid spilled from Adelheid’s mouth as Norn pulled back, mixed spit and cum trailing from those obedient red lips. Adelheid’s deeply flushed face glistened in the light with beaded sweat. Red hair hanging messy, framing fog-lost eyes gone to a world of their own. Chest rising and falling, panting, plaintive in posture, arms holding weakly onto Norn for support. Legs shaking, toes curling, her heels discarded meters past the foot of the bed.

Norn watched her, drawing back, recovering her own breath and composure.

Watched her, as the smallest impression of a smile began to form on her face.

“Don’t get complacent. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

She bent down to fix Adelheid’s distant eyes with her own focused gaze.

When their eyes met, Adelheid quivered again.

Norn crawled into bed, imposing herself once more.

Adelheid folded as Norn advanced, lying back and letting her lover loom over.

Laying one forceful hand over Adelheid’s wrist for support, Norn let her free hand roam.

Tracing a line from navel to breast as she popped every button on the girl’s shirt.

Unveiling a fashionable black brassiere, sheer cups with a butterfly wing pattern.

Norn pulled it down gently.

Basking in the glow of those pert, pale breasts soon exposed.

Her eyes broke from Adelheid’s hazy gaze. It was her turn to lavish Adelheid’s body with attention, to worship at her altar as she had been worshipped. Of course, her worship had a different tone. She was slavish in her own way but Norn wanted to see red, wanted to leave a claiming mark. Slowly, methodically Norn brought her lips to the tip of one of Adelheid’s breasts, taking the dark-pink flesh into a kiss while stroking the other breast, squeezing it in her hands until the tips of her fingers dug. She felt Adelheid quake as her tongue flicked over the girl’s nipple.

Heard her whine and felt her shifting legs as sharp teeth grazed past the nipple–

And closed on the areola, leaving a circular impression on the pliable skin–

“–!”

Adelheid made delightful little noises, whining and panting as Norn teased her breasts roughly.

Tongue tasting sweat, mismatched teeth marks and bright red spots of sucking kisses–

Relishing in the feeling of that perfect soft skin giving in so easily, turning so red–

Feeling every tiny vibration of the skin against her lips, the little moans and sharp intakes of breath–

“Turn over.”

By the same hand she had been squeezing against the bed, Norn helped Adelheid to shift position. Her prey dutifully showed her back, and Norn pulled her shirt all the way off to expose it. Another ocean of white to turn blissfully red. Adelheid was strong for a rich girl, but still soft all over, the slightest trace of Norn’s hands leaving red trails on the girl’s skin. She was sensitive, shuddering predictably at the claws awaiting the taste of skin.

Norn’s wandering hands crawled down that beautiful back to the waist, taking their time.

Short blunt fingernails tight enough to draw a scarlet path that caused her back to arch.

Over the gentle slope of the lower back to the curve of the buttocks, beneath black and silver fabric.

Skirt and tights went down below thin, silky panties designed to match the bra.

They slid down off her firm, round rear quite easily. Norn pushed her head down.

She couldn’t see Adelheid’s face anymore, only the waves of red hair.

Yet she had a vivid picture in her mind. Those entranced eyes half-shut, biting her lips, taking in sharp breaths. Her hands drawn together against the headboard as if bound despite being left quite free. The moment Norn finally cupped a greedy handful of her ass, Adelheid’s entire body visibly shuddered in anticipation. Fingers dug, released; a firm slap drew a surprised little cry from Adelheid’s lips and left a red imprint as bright as the bite marks.

Bent over, rear up and head down, with Norn’s face now buried in her hair.

Shaking from outstretched hands to curled toes, her back drawing in and out with the exertion of breath.

While Norn loved to see her expressions, she relished in having only body language to divine from.

“Good girl, good girl. You’re really improving. You’ve earned a reward.”

Once more Norn’s hands traveled skillfully where they wished, but so did her lips.

Sucking, biting kisses tracing down that slender white neck, those soft, round shoulders, and the supple impressions of the shoulderblades. She found a spot, silk-soft and firm, right behind the shoulder, to leave a bite, to sink her teeth and carve an impression of her hunger on Adelheid’s white flesh once more. Adelheid gasped, cried out in surprise, and her shuddering and shaking transferred to Norn who had fully climbed over her, skin to skin, breasts against back, pressing her soft dick against softer flesh and her fangs tasting a bead of sweat and iron–

And in response to that wavelength which formed between their flesh–

Norn slipped her hand between Adelheid’s thighs while biting down on her back.

“Ahh! Norn! Norn!”

Hearing her yell that name in passion was almost enough to get Norn hard again.

Her agile fingers split Adelheid open, massaging her needy clit–

“Ahh–! I love–! I love you–! –Norn!”

That was all she had wanted to hear.

Such a thing as she could not say with words, Norn said with her hands, with her lips.

Brought to her peak by the touch Adelheid bucked her hips, threw her back, squirmed, and moaned in Norn’s embrace while those fingers continued to work her clit in perfect sync drawing out every possible second of passion. Norn felt her stiffen, straightened, slacken, hands coming down from the headboard. Her whole body softened; tension released by the swelling rhythm of an orgasm that shook her hips and thighs with a final throes.

Adelheid fell silent and still, insensate in her own ocean of blood and pleasure.

Norn’s teeth released Adelheid’s shoulder and caught in her own passion Norn suddenly laid copious kisses wherever she could reach, on the neck, on the cheek. Not to paint over the reddening white of her lover’s skin but to satisfy her own irrepressible, flooding desire to love the girl whom fate had given her.

Coming to lie behind her, to take her a gentle embrace, holding her tight.

No need to speak, to say, “good girl,” and disturb the moment.

She knew she was a good girl. And she knew that Norn, certainly, loved her back.

Norn pressed her forehead to Adelheid’s face, feeling her peaceful breaths.

She treasured her so much. She wanted to grab hold of her and never let go.

For a moment, she felt perfect. All of her past disappeared, all of the souls tethered to her.

Born Astra Palaiologos; became Norn and then Norn von Fueller.

Created in Katarre in a bid to end the desperate struggle there.

Holding her beloved close, Norn felt like a person made in heaven instead of a vat.

Now she had a new Ocean to rule with a new purpose.

I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you and everyone else from all of this.

They couldn’t simply say these things to each other. But their bodies always knew.


Hours passed, with Adelheid sleeping soundly on Norn’s bed under wine-red sheets.

Norn herself rested, for a time.

However, she soon received a message, and then a call. Dressed in the Fueller family coat over her robe, closed and buttoned down, she took the call on her desk. A two-way video window appeared on the wall of the desk. With the way it was oriented, Adelheid was vaguely visible in the background. She was bundled up and decent, however.

“Is this a bad time–? Oh. I did not intend to force you to appear in that skin, Aunt Norn.”

“I could’ve declined. I’ll be looking the picture of Imbrian perfection again soon.”

“I see. Very well. I have a few things I wanted to discuss before I leave the capital.”

On the screen was a young man with golden blond hair, his beautiful features clashing with the drab rigidity of his pristine military uniform, grand epaulets, and red cape, his chest adorned with dozens of honors, all framing him as some mighty conquering force and not the boy she knew him as. To Norn, this was someone she always thought of as “a boy”: Erich von Fueller, first in line to the throne in the traditional order of things, oldest son of the late Emperor Konstantin von Fueller. A boy with the same emotionless face as he had in childhood.

“You’re leaving Heitzing? Is it time for the Bosporan campaign, this soon?”

“No, not yet.” Erich said. “The Volkisch Movement to the south is testing our patience.”

“That’s not all they are testing. They are goading you, but you also don’t have the freedom to rise to every provocation, little man. To conquer the west and south, is to leave the east and north without forces. You do not have the power to conquer both, and you will not ever have it if you choose your targets poorly.” Norn said.

“I am not going to conquer the Volkisch. At the moment, they are too useful.”

“Ah, so a show of force to bring them to heel.”

“Precisely.”

Norn felt terribly amused by all of this, wearing a broad grin as she listened to her newphew.

“It’s also foolish to call too many bluffs. Your father was too fond of ‘showing force’, to the point he ‘showed force’ everywhere at once and had no position from which he could mount an effective, transformative campaign. You would do well to know where you can afford to commit and for how long.” Norn said. She smiled casually.

Erich’s expression did not change in response to her.

“I understand. Thank you for the wisdom. I believe this skirmish will be punctual and short. Unlike father I am leading this show of force myself. I could fail; but if I do, I will do so personally.”

“Entertaining the possibility of defeat was so not like you, years ago. You’ve matured.”

“I’ve grown quite independent. But I also have something to lose now. I’ve fallen in love.”

Norn grinned. Such a funny thing to say! “Fallen in love? I can relate to that.”

Erich nodded. “Adelheid van Mueller is the girl on the bed?”

“Indeed. How are the Muellers doing lately?”

There was no shame between them. It was like an exchange between fond friends.

“Adelheid’s connection to you has irreparably tied them to the Fueller family. It prevented them from running away to be at the head of the Royal Alliance, despite being the number two family in influence. They are instead a functional but not spectacular part of my logistics network. Serviceable but not splendid. To think that girl’s love for you destroyed the second family of the Empire so thoroughly. It gives me hope for the future.”

“I’m glad you find it charming. I’ve been feeling like I’m twenty years old again.”

“I am happy for you. However, there is a reason I called beyond catching up.”

“Of course.”

Erich’s expression had never turned smiling nor overtly serious. He was just not like that with anyone as far as Norn knew. He was always stone faced and neutral. However his tone of voice could indicate his mood. He had been animated, speaking out of a sense of love for the one family member whom he wanted to be cordial to.

However, now his voice had become graver.

“It’s about father. I tell you in the hope that our alliance will persevere despite–”

Norn smiled broadly and interrupted him quickly. “I know you killed Konstantin.”

There was no surprise in Erich’s face. He had anticipated that reaction. Of course he had.

“You grew to become chiefly responsible for his security. So of course you knew.”

“I knew. Knowledge of your plot was, in fact, what prevented me from killing him.”

“In a sense then, you raised me for the task. Or it was favorable to you how events played out.”

“This was the outcome that caused Konstantin the most pain. So of course I desired it.”

Erich nodded his acceptance. It did not faze him.

“I made sure he knew it was me, and that he was too crippled to say so until his end.”

“You’re wrong that he couldn’t say so, Erich. We talked plenty in his dying days. Nobody but me knows how long he had been truly ill nor the characteristics of his illness. He knew it was you. It killed him more than the injection.”

Erich blinked and kept his eyes shut for a moment. “I see. You talked, but he wouldn’t say it aloud.”

“He was so proud of you. He never knew he was so hated. By you and in general.”

“I despised him utterly. Him and everything he stood for. I wanted to avenge mother.”

“Well, now he is dead and everything he stands for is in pieces.” Norn said, grinning.

“Not everything.” Erich’s gaze drifted. “Aunt Norn I must know: did my father love you?”

“Oh?”

Norn put on a bloody grin in front of her nephew’s deathly serious face.

“Do you think I’m one of his treasures that still needs breaking?” She said coyly.

“Not necessarily. Should we ever come to blows, I hope it would not be over something so petty and pointless as this. Furthermore, whatever the answer, you’ll always be my favorite family member.”

How amusing; playing the sweet boy still when he had grown into a schemer himself.

“So just out of curiosity? We had a complicated relationship. He loved me sometimes and hated me other times. I at best found him amusing and at worst disgusting. I am certainly thankful for all the power and authority he conferred unto me, even as I was abusing it to torment him. I– I never loved him.”

She hesitated only slightly.

If she ever loved Konstantin, it was more like an awful younger brother than anything else.

Erich seemed satisfied with the answer.

“I have been preoccupied with understanding father. Now that I have to exercise power in his absence. What drove him to take power? What led him to fail to enact his so-called Reformation? Did he struggle against the forces trying to restrict his revolution or did he embrace them? Was it hedonism, nihilism– why did he fall?”

Norn scoffed. “He has nothing valuable to teach you. Just forget about him.”

Erich nodded. “No one wishes to forget him more than I do, Aunt Norn.”

“Is that why you let me take over the Fueller family without objection?”

“Yes. I surrendered the stewardship because I despise the Fueller name and its people.”

“Even Elena?”

Erich briefly paused. He was clearly surprised and collecting himself for a response.

Norn pressed him. “Enough to kill her, even?”

“When her mother was killed, I felt thrilled because it would hurt father. As for Elena herself, I have always contained myself to doing the bare minimum to support her, and I did the bare minimum. I treated her well, but I could never love her. It is good that she is gone; she was too helpless for this world and would have only been used her entire life. She is doubtless in a more merciful place now. But I did not kill her. I would never do that.” Erich said.

A carefully crafted response, but still a completely snake-like one.

“Your choice of action and inaction was tantamount to sanctioning murder.” Norn said.

“I miscalculated the degree of danger she and I were in. It was one of doubtless many errors I will make.”

That was the thinnest veneer of an excuse. As far as Norn cared, Erich did kill Elena.

He killed her as soon as he scheduled that party and he knew it.

However, it did not matter. Just as it did not matter that he killed Konstantin.

In Konstantin’s case, Norn was in the same place as Erich was for Elena.

Action and inaction tantamount to sanctioning murder.

Doubtless Norn had premeditated Konstantin’s death far more than Erich had for Elena’s.

Erich did not dwell on it. He seemed to finally say what he came here to say.

“I wanted to reaffirm our alliance. Not from my end, but from yours.”

“Oh? Surely you see that I am enjoying the lovely ship you have granted me.”

“Aunt Norn, your existence and power is a threat and moderating influence on the Sunlight Foundation and this is why I want to continue to equip and supply you. Working with them has shown me that they are the next terror that must be destroyed after the Imbrian Ocean is reunited. From Nile’s poisons to Hudson’s machines, to Yangtze’s foul intellect, they have broken their self-styled scientist’s creed and cannot be trusted to continue on in the shadows. They have wronged you in the past. I believe you can agree with me. And that it can continue to unify us for the moment.”

“I’m hurt. You act as if it’s inevitable I’ll betray you unless we have a common enemy.”

Norn pouted and feigned injury, making a face almost like what Adelheid would have.

“You have a track record of needing those common enemies, I’m afraid.” Erich said.

“Is that so?”

“As much as I esteem you, Aunt Norn, I know you will give me no choice but to fight you.”

Norn fixed his eyes with a suddenly proud, red-ringed stare. “You’d be a fool to even try, my sweet boy.”

His mind was as guarded as his father’s was. A vexing mental labyrinth.

But the sensation of her probing must have still bothered him. He did not let it show.

Instead, he nodded solemnly. “Will I see you at the Fueller family reunion soon?”

“I’ll try to make it, of course.” Norn said. Her eyes softened and she smiled again.

Bounding back from threats to casual family talk had become quite a Fueller pastime.

“Very well. It is always refreshing to speak to you. I hope that those defectors prove useful.”

“Best of luck to you on campaign, my precious nephew.”

She truly meant it. It would be a pity for him to exit the stage this early.

Especially if what he said was true, and he had learned to love another person.

As always, the Imbrium Ocean was simply replete with dramas and tragedies.

Erich’s face disappeared from the screen, but there was another call lined up.

Norn put it on one-way video. She could see who it was, but they would not see her.

A woman with copious, wavy blonde hair and a devilish smile appeared.

“I’m here.” Norn said.

“Good evening boss. I have prepared everything for the procedure.”

She gestured to a machine behind her, and a visible container of biomaterials.

“Splendid. Can’t wait to be in your care again, doctor.”

“I’ll even be a bit sober for it. I’ll await your arrival, then.”

Doctor Livia Van Der Meer disappeared from the screen.

Norn sighed. Her new Second Skin was ready to be applied.

Looking over her shoulder at Adelheid, she wished she could sleep so soundly.

Before she could leave the desk and return to bed, there was yet another message.

“As soon as they see my computer is on they just start flooding me.” Norn grumbled.

This one, however, piqued Norn’s attention.

It was a distress signal forwarded from the bridge to her room.

From the Iron Lady — flagship of the Inquisition and its flagship Inquisitor, Lichtenberg.

Norn flashed a sudden smile.

“Little Gertrude? My foolish little Gertrude is here? Oh, this I must see.”

Truly the drama of the abyss never ceased! What brought Gertrude out here?

Could it be–?


Previous ~ Next