Bandits Amid The Festival [11.9]

This chapter contains graphic sexual content.

In one of the few meeting rooms on the Brigand not yet torn into by sailors, an automatic kettle filled with coffee had been set on a table, along with creamer, sweeteners, and some sweet-glazed biscuits. Only two people occupied this meeting room today. On one side of the table, Lieutenant Murati Nakara sat with her back up straight, her hands on her lap, and a somewhat tense and serious look on her face. Her eyes wandered frequently.

Across the table, Premier Erika Kairos sat casually back, sipping coffee from a plastic mug.

“I’m glad I was able to catch you today, Lieutenant. You’ve been quite busy!”

“My apologies! There’s been a lot of work to do. I was planning an outing too.”

“Ah! Then I won’t keep you long, don’t worry.”

“No! It’s perfectly fine. I have a lot of time still– and I’d make more time for you!”

Erika put her cup of coffee down for a moment and leaned forward with a friendly smile.

“I’ve been informed of your indefatigable work ethic, but this is not that sort of meeting.”

“Oh! I thought you wanted to go over procedures and such, maybe talk about the pilots–”

“Not today! Right now, I just want to get to know you personally, Murati Nakara.”

Murati felt her heart accelerate in her chest.

Due to the circumstances, she had not yet been able to have a one-on-one meeting with the Brigand’s new political leader, Erika Kairos of the Nationale Volksarmee. Of course, she was well informed of the situation, she was there to listen to Erika’s speech. But they had not gotten to actually talk to one another. Murati’s duties as first officer intensified recently due to the messiness with the Brigand’s refit, and the Captain’s participation in United Front discussions. While the Captain and Commissar were occupied, Murati had tapped into that ‘indefatigable work ethic’ to cover every second that they were gone. She had signed off on workgroup tasks, rejected dozens of foolish inquiries and requests from the sailors with an iron fist demanding strict adherence to code, and maintained operational security.

Then, Murati was swamped with additional shore leave preparations.

So she had been denied the time to meet Erika again and again. Even as Erika made the rounds and visited the engineers, sailors and other pilots, Murati had been absent.

While she was busy, she hadn’t thought about it as much, but in her presence–

Murati felt almost desperate across from this woman. She was completely struck by her.

That speech– it had shaken through Murati and filled with her burning determination!

Erika’s words bore the weight of history; every sentence swept through Murati like a hurricane. She was left wondering if this is what the original revolutionaries felt listening to Daksha Kansal declare the Union upon the First United Front’s liberation of Mount Raja. Ever since hearing that speech, in the back of her mind, she thought about what she would say, what she would ask, how she would make a first impression on Erika–

“Lieutenant, you haven’t touched your coffee. Is everything okay?” Erika asked.

“Yes! Ma’am! May I ask something about you?” Murati said.

“Of course! This is a conversation. No need to be so stiff, Murati!”

“Ma’am–” Murati’s eyes brightened. “May I ask about– your bibliography!”

Erika blinked her eyes, in the middle of lifting her cup for a drink of her coffee.

“My bibliography?” Erika asked, cracking a little grin.

“Yes! I mean– I want to know about your theoretical grounding! I’m– I’m not questioning you of course. I am someone who greatly admires the Katarran people and sympathizes with their history and plight; and to see a scholar such as yourself who is fighting for their dignity and that of others, it gives me such wild hope for the future! In so few and yet carefully chosen words you demonstrated such a vast and strong grounding in the status of internal nationalities in the social order of the Imbrian Empire, but not just in theory, but with concrete experiences gleaned from local insight! Through your speech, I glimpsed the rich history of the Shimii in Eisental and the economic advantage Imbrians glean from the direct exploitation of Katarrans even as they try to drive them to the margins of society! My eyes were opened– I am deeply, poorly read on the specifics of regional cultures in the Imbrium. I must update my theories too! I would read any number of books that you suggested!”

Murati’s wild hand gestures and sudden eagerness seemed to surprise Erika.

Who still had her cup of coffee hovering near her face while she stared at Murati.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an exact book list.” She said gently. “I’ve read the elemental works, like Mordecai, von Haar, Kansal’s early work, Jayasankar’s treatises on inter-ethnic alliances in the Union’s struggle, such things. I’m afraid there’s not really anything that’s written with a critical eye about Eisental’s history. I was actually thinking of writing about it once–”

Upon the mere suggestion that Erika might write a book, Murati’s entire soul quaked.

“Ma’am if you wrote a book, I’d love to read your manuscript! Maybe I could help edit! It would be my honor to do anything I can to bring your insights into the broader academic discussion on communist governance and nationalities policy! You are definitely worthier of being read in Union scholarship than some of the doggerel that passes for socialist education at the Academy!!”

Murati spoke breathlessly and had started to lean closer across the table.

Erika blinked and finally sipped her coffee again after several minutes.

“My, my– it looks like it’s not just your work ethic that is impressive!”

She started giggling. Murati started to wonder if she had misspoken somehow.

“I am flattered Murati.” Erika continued. “Perhaps in the future, we can do so.”

“Yes, of course.” Murati said. She thought she inferred the Premier’s intent.

Right now wasn’t the time to be thinking about theory-craft.

Erika looked upon Murati with a fondness and softness in her eyes.

“Captain Korabiskaya spoke glowingly of you. She told me you are not only skilled in combat and in tactical planning, but are also exactingly responsible towards your duties, and the most ardent communist of the crew’s officers. Even in this short span of time, I can already feel your– unique– passion and energy, Murati. I may just concur with the Captain.”

She set down her coffee on the table and reached a hand across.

Murati reflexively saluted, realized she had done so, and immediately reached out herself.

They shook hands, with casual courtesy.

“I am not much older than you; I am hoping that both of us can have bright and long futures ahead. For now, Murati, let us do this. You live your theory with that passion you possess and speak your mind candidly to advise me and our course of action. And I in turn will live my theory and impart on you what I’ve learned from my years here in Eisental. I think this will be more instructive to both of us for now than writing my seminal work of theory.”

“Yes, of course, Premier. Thank you kindly.” Murati replied.

When Erika spoke seriously, she had a decided charm Murati could not avoid.

She had an easy, unremarked charisma; something Murati felt she herself must have lacked.

Maybe if it was Erika, all her petitions for captainship would have borne fruit.

But when they talked just like this, she also seemed approachable and easygoing too.

It made Murati feel a bit less mature than she once believed herself to be.

Erika was someone, like the Captain, who had demonstrated enormous merit in the field.

Murati hoped she would have an opportunity to prove her own convictions as well.

“But like I said,” Erika continued, “I wanted to talk about you personally.”

“Of course! You can ask me anything, ma’am!”

She hoped her enthusiasm wasn’t too annoying– but Erika was just so cool.

Almost like speaking to a real Katarran warlord– but a communist!

“What are your ambitions for the future, Murati?” Erika asked. “One thing I’ve always been curious about, is what children of a real socialist nation grow up wanting to become. Here in the Imbrium, no Katarran child can dream of anything; and the Imbrians are pushed to think of themselves as money earning machines who need waged labor. If I might be allowed an assumption, it seems like you are on track to be a wonderful scholar. Am I wrong?”

Murati smiled. “Actually, ma’am, I want to be Captain of a ship in the Union Navy. Of course, you can’t do that forever– someday I may become a Kommandant and perhaps even a Rear Admiral, I’m sure. But I feel that a Captainship is a reasonable goal within a few years.”

Erika looked surprised for a few moments and then smiled again.

“A career soldier? How interesting. I shall evaluate your merits over time then.”

“Ma’am!” Murati stiffened again. “I would welcome any criticism you have!”

“Oh dear, I’ve made her go solid as steel again.” Erika said, giggling.

“Ma’am?”

“Nothing, nothing~ Murati, please don’t be so formal.”

“Alright.”

Murati let out a long-held breath and tried to loosen up at least a little bit.

She finally reached for her coffee and took a sip.

It was still warm, thanks to the design of the mug. She hoped dearly she was not looking like a fool in front of Erika– she was committed to impressing her new ally. Erika was not only a Katarran, whom Murati was fascinated by; nor just a successful leader of insurgents; she was a communist, excellently read, eloquent, and with easy confidence. It felt like Erika had achieved so much of what Murati strove for, and Murati wished to earn her respect as a peer.

But she couldn’t hurry to that goal. She just had to do her best, over the course of things–

–those things, being, war. Murati then felt the totality of her foolishness hit all at once.

Probably, she looked like a monumental idiot being so excited about going to war.

“How has life been for you aboard the ship?” Erika asked. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Murati blinked. Erika’s casual inquiry brought her out of her dark, spiraling mindset.

“Um. It’s been more than acceptable. The Brigand is very comfortable and full featured. As for hobbies, I– I like music. Electronic music. And I like to read of course. I have been reading about local establishments– I have my fiancée aboard and I am planning a date.”

“She is quite a lucky woman! I hope you have a fantastic evening.”

Erika sipped her coffee again and Murati tried to think of what else to say.

“Um– yes– hobbies– let’s see–”

Hobbies were not a particular strong suit of Murati’s– being asked that question by Erika made her realize how much her work and her ambition had become her entire life. Having to furnish an answer to someone she wanted to respect and desired esteem from made her wrack her brain and realize she didn’t do much ‘for fun’ around here, or even back at Thassal. She had always been doing work for Naval HQ or fighting them about getting more work or a Captainship, and she only ever went out to have fun if it was with Karuniya. In her room, she mainly read history books and treatises on war, logistics reports, strategic reviews of forces. She rarely watched films, and was only familiar with video games through her advocacy for combat simulators. In fact, she only really liked music because it could provide ambiance while she was reading or working– she didn’t have any hands-on sort of hobbies.

“We could listen to some music sometime. I could show you my favorites.” Murati said.

“That would be lovely. We shall make a time of it at the next opportunity.” Erika said.

“Ma’am– Should I have a real hobby?” Murati felt compelled to ask all of a sudden.

Mainly out of reaching a peak of nervousness about whether she looked too foolish.

Erika gave her a gentle smile, reached across the table, and patted Murati’s hands.

“No, Murati; you should be yourself, and I think you are very good at that.” She said softly.

Murati smiled back. She felt a shot in the arm of confidence.

For the rest of their conversation, her wild gesticulation and verbal energy fully returned.


“My girlfriend is the absolute coolest! She’s the coolest of the cool!”

Maryam clung closer to Shalikova’s arm, rubbing her cheek up against the shoulder.

“Ah– Thanks– Maryam–”

“I told you! You look amazing on the street like this! I’m so happy you wore the outfit!”

“Yeah–? Well– As long as you like it–”

They’re the worst. They’re the worst. Those two– they’ll be the death of me–!

Everyone was staring.

Literally everyone on the street was staring directly at the two of them. Right? They must have been. Shalikova was almost scared to try to catch the direction of anyone’s gaze in the crowd. Maybe they weren’t looking– but she felt so exposed. She was so red. Not just her face, but her suit was so red and gaudy– and the sunglasses— it was insane to be wearing it, she felt like an ambulant semaphore. No– she was more like a living Yule decoration!

It was insane. And it was all their fault.

“It’s been a long walk, but I’m really looking forward to the carnival!”

“Ah– yeah, definitely–”

“We’re gonna eat junk food and play games all day! The perfect station date!”

“Oh– totally–”

“And we look like such a power couple, don’t we? It’s everything I dreamed of!”

“Uh huh? Well– I’m happy if you are–”

THEY’RE THE WORST!

Several hours before she set out on her date with Maryam, Shalikova had gone to Illya and Valeriya’s room. They had insinuated they had something to give her, and she wanted to get whatever filial nonsense they thought they had to do for her sake, over with as soon as possible and then get on with forgetting it. She figured it was some ill-considered thing relating to her date, like cologne or erection pills. She paused in front of their door, wondering if she might be able to make out a sound. Neither one of them had told Shalikova what their schedule was like, so she looked for them as soon as she woke up.

She thought that she could hear a vague whiny noise through the door.

“Ugh. What if I walk in on them? Damn it.”

Shalikova stood frozen in front of their door for three or four minutes before knocking.

“Forget it, it’s not my fault if I inconvenience them–”

“Come in.”

Mere seconds after Shalikova’s fist raised off the steel door, it unceremoniously slid open.

Though Shalikova immediately feared a dramatic unveiling, Illya and Valeriya’s room was nothing out of the ordinary. Two bunks, a pull-out desk, bare metal walls and floor, like the rest. Unlike most of the officers, who lived alone until circumstances starting shrinking the number of available accommodations, Illya and Valeriya were roomed together. Valeriya was lying in bed, whether sleeping or not, Shalikova did not know. From the glimpse of a pale shoulder, she was naked in bed, her back turned, barely wrapped in blankets.

Illya was seated in the middle of the back wall, with a portable computer laid on the pull-out desk surface. She was wearing a tanktop and shorts and looked bored scrolling through pages. It seemed the two of them had their fun before Shalikova stood at their door.

She felt a sense of relief lifting the tension in her chest.

“Sonya.” Illya said, by way of greeting. “Anything I can help with?”

“You wanted me to come get something.” Shalikova said, barely above a whisper.

“You can raise your voice. She’s awake. She just doesn’t want to look at you.” Illya said.

From the bed, Valeriya raised a hand, waved half-heartedly, and then put it back down.

Shalikova noticed as her hand came down, she gestured like lifting a mask over her face.

Which she was not wearing to bed– Valeriya was really a prisoner of her habits.

“Fine.” Shalikova said. “Look, you said you had something for me if my date got approved. Well, you saw it from your monitors, I did give the form to Murati, and she did approve it.”

“Ah, yeah. I have something that’ll upgrade you from ‘our little sonya’ to a real playboy.”

“Yeah? I don’t want to do anything like that. But I’ll take it just so you’ll shut up.”

“You’re so cold to me. But you’ll be hot as fire if you wear this to your date.”

From under the room’s second bunk, Illya withdrew two plastic gift boxes.

“Back before we learned about this mission, we got you a gift and tried to make plans to see you again. We thought bringing you something fancy might break the ice after a long time apart– but you know, circumstances conspired against us, and we broke the ice in much shittier ways, on this boat, instead of in the Union. Regardless, it’s yours. We got you an outfit and some accesories. Mount Raja chic stuff– not the easiest shit to get without the sort of connections we have. You can wear it or not, but you really ought to.”

She deposited the boxes on Shalikova’s awaiting arms with a self-assured grin.

Shalikova was not even going to bother to open the boxes much less wear the contents.

Maryam was just going to wear a uniform, and so was she.

“Thanks. Are you and Valeriya doing anything special?” She asked out of courtesy.

Illya cracked a grin and cracked her knuckles too. “Every night is special for us.”

Shalikova crooked an eyebrow. “Okay. Well. Whatever. Have fun I guess.”

She turned sharply around and marched back to her room and put all of that behind herself.

Back in her room, she threw the box on her bed and stripped her clothes.

On the opposite side of the room, a strobing purple marshmallow indicated that her girlfriend was still solidly asleep and Shalikova had no intention to wake her. She had an idea of how she wanted everything to go. She would go catch a shower, come back, dress up, and if Maryam was still asleep, she would go pick up food for the both of them.

They would eat in their room, and then set off together.

Maryam slept like a boulder most of the time, so she didn’t have to fear waking her.

She left the room in her vinyl bathrobe, marched to the bathroom, ignored Geninov and Santapena-De La Rosa being there together while washing up, marched out of the bathroom. With her hair wet and dressed only in her vinyl robe, Shalikova still felt, for once, bold enough to go to grab a breakfast box from the under-reconstruction cafeteria.

Appearances be damned– this was her big day.

Raising her head, straightening her back, smiling to herself like she owned the ship.

Even if it was a little cold to be out and about like that, the fire in her heart was enough.

Shalikova grabbed some breakfast and took it back to her room.

In her mind, she would stride through the door to the adoring eyes of her girlfriend.

Looking oh-so considerate, responsible, and put together, for bringing her breakfast in bed.

She stood at the door. In her mind– it was going to be a perfect start to a perfect day.

Reality punched her square in the sternum just a moment later.

“Sonya! Take a look at this! It’s so cool!”

“Huh?”

Shalikova found Maryam was awake and sitting on her bed instead; holding up some bright red thing at her with an enormous beaming smile like a little girl with a birthday gift. Illya’s boxes and their wrappings lay discarded behind her. Maryam had helped herself to whatever Illya had gotten for Shalikova– which was mortifying enough to think about.

But the actual contents–

“I bet you would look really cool in this! And now I can wear my nice dress too!”

–inspired even greater fear.

Unable to bear the disappointment it might cause her girlfriend, she went along with it.

And now, they were walking down the street, in public– and Shalikova looked–

“Who gave you that dress anyway?” She said, trying to deflect.

“It was McKennedy! She said she wanted to make up for ‘the inconveniences.’”

“She must have realized how racist she sounded with you.”

“Well, it’s quite cuttlevenient for me, whatever the intention.” Maryam smiled proudly.

Illya’s gift for Shalikova was a set of track clothes.

There was a bright red zip-up jacket with gold stripes, emblazoned with the word “ACE” on the back in gold-bordered black, which Shalikova wore half-unzipped over a plain white tanktop and sports bra for lack of anything else to pair with that. Along with the jacket she received matching red pants with a gold stripe. They were exceptionally tight in the back– a place where Shalikova was a bit lean anyway. She got new black and white sneakers too, with actual laces and layered material that must have been a boutique synthestitch job.

And then, she had the sunglasses.

Big light-blue lenses that perched heavily on her nose and barely concealed her eyes, on a thin frame from translucent blue and black materials. These were typically known as “pilot” style glasses despite the fact that Diver pilots didn’t wear things like this— or at least Shalikova did not. They were extremely showy and so they went with the rest of the showy outfit, which made Shalikova feel like she must have come off monumentally insecure.

Does Illya think I’m a delinquent?! Is she just fucking with me?!

There was a bright side, keeping the situation from being completely intolerable.

While Shalikova looked, in her mind, ridiculous, at her side, Maryam was jaw-droppingly, stunningly beautiful. McKennedy, as rude as she was, definitely had an eye for fashion.

Maryam had been gifted a long-sleeved dark blue dress that flattered her figure, with a high collar and white seams and accents. The sleeves flared into little ruffled cones at the wrist, and the skirt had a similar ornate, ruffled design. White leggings and black shoes added a bit of contrast. By far the cutest touch, however, was a floppy beret perched atop her head.

“You look stunning too, Maryam. Forget about me– you’re incredible. You’re beautiful.”

“Ah! Sonya, thank you so much! But don’t sell yourself short! You don’t let me talk down about myself, so I’m not going to let you either! You’re my super cool girlfriend, so chin up!”

“You’re right. I’ll try– but you really are very beautiful Maryam. I wanted to say that.”

There was one small note of sadness in Shalikova’s heart– because Maryam was not her entire self that day. Her skin was a creamier color, and her hair was still long and silky and dark– but it was not purple. And her eyes were no longer the cute little W’s that Shalikova had come to love either. Maryam was hiding her identity as a Katarran.

Her tentacles and fins shrank and hid within her hair, she wore lenses provided by Cecilia Foss that covered up the shape of her irises. She was pretending to be a black-haired, fair-skinned, blue eyed Imbrian. Of course, no matter what Maryam looked like, Shalikova would still love her– but she wished that Maryam could have been the crayon-pink skinned, purple haired, W-eyed, tentacled and finned purple marshmallow that she knew.

Regardless, she was beautiful, and she was right. This was her special, promised day.

Shalikova had bowed to make it perfect. Illya’s stupid tracksuit was now just part of that.

If Maryam thought she looked cool, Shalikova could try to silence her anxiety for now.

Arm in arm, the lovers strolled through one of C-block’s lower modules.

Ordinarily the purpose of this module was commercial space. Sans accoutrements it was essentially a box wider and taller than a typical “indoors” module in Kreuzung. It played host to conventions and exhibitions, athletic events, and festivals and fairgrounds. For the lovers’ visit, it had become the latter. Now playing host to various rides and mechanisms that had been erected for the festivities, surrounded by a deep cluster of kiosks, tents and plastic buildings, easy to put up and take down. Fairy lights strung up around every structure and overhead pulsed with itinerant colors. There was a sizeable but not overwhelming crowd. And the walls and ceiling of the module had taken on a wine-red and orange-pink color and lighting that stirred something in the most ancient recesses of Shalikova’s brain.

Dreams of the sunsets that their world now only saw in fiction, briefly crossed her mind.

She pulled Maryam in closer, her soft face lit in those dark and evocative colors.

“Whatever you want to do. I’m all yours. Just like I promised.” Shalikova said.

Maryam laughed.

“Back then, did you think we would be this close when I received my reward?”

They had agreed to go on a station date weeks ago, after Shalikova lost a game to Maryam.

Back then, Shalikova heard the word ‘station date’ and imagined several romantic cliches.

Now– they had different cliches entirely. But they were better ones, by far.

“Some part of me was hoping for it.” Shalikova said, with a bashful smile.

Maryam beamed back at her, and pushed herself onto Shalikova, rubbing cheeks with her.

“Let’s go play some carnival games! Then we’ll get some food and get on the rides!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t ride anything with full stomachs–”

Shalikova often forgot about Maryam’s monstrous strength, so she was taken completely by surprise when her pouty girlfriend easily silenced her protests by pulling her helpless along by the arm to wherever she wanted to go. It became funnier than it was distressing very quickly; the two of them entered the crowd winding its way through the festivities.

The clamor of dozens of chatting festival-goers drowning out the chords and brasses of the streetside bands; the smell of frying oil and sweet caramel and cheese predominant among the snack shops; the colored lights playing about their faces and bodies from the shopfronts around them and the struts above them; soon, Shalikova could hardly tell she was wearing her gaudy red tracksuit amid all of the gaudiness and cheer around them.

There was so much energy around her that Shalikova started to feel more comfortable.

Nobody could possibly look at her in the middle of all this–

Except the girl whose eyes she did want.

“Sonya, look over there! You can win me a prize!”

Maryam pointed at a tent playing host to a shooting gallery.

On the front counter, there were a few air guns, carbine-length with a simple stock. Behind the counter, there were several targets of different sizes and at different ranges.

Some targets were platters, others were small cylinders, and the very smallest target was the width of a finger standing on a pedestal. Targets had scores depending on how close or far they were and what size they were, and there was a wall of prizes you could pick if you had the corresponding amount of points. Among the valuable items there was a neon techwear cap, a set of cat-eared headphones, and a large plush cuttlefish.

As they approached the tent, the operator clapped his hands.

“Step right up! Ten marks for three shots! It’s easier than it looks!”

Slightly nervous as the man began appraising her, Shalikova reached into the wrong pocket. She had put her money in her jacket pocket to have it closer in reach and to make it harder for anyone to see the bundle; but she actually reached into her pants pocket out of habit, because the TBT uniform half-jackets usually had no pockets on them.

Her fingers mindlessly closed around something round that was wrapped in a plastic foil.

Briefly speechless, she retracted her hand and took the money from her jacket.

Was that a condom?! Illya?!

“I’ll try it. I want the plush.” Shalikova said, hiding her surprise.

“Well, if you get the points little lady.” Replied the man behind the counter.

He handed her a rifle and stepped aside to allow her to shoot.

At her side, Maryam smiled wide, her shining eyes awaiting Shalikova’s next move.

Shalikova hefted the rifle, feeling the weight. She looked down the sights.

Feeling around the body of the rifle. No safety. Semi-automatic. A small box magazine on the underside. Probably packed with pellets. Had to be more than the three she was allowed to shoot per round. Like Union training guns, it used an electric gear to fire– she realized the man in the tent was staring at her as she examined the gun, and she might have looked briefly suspicious for having insepcted the gun before shooting it.

Without further delay, Shalikova aimed the rifle at the smallest target.

She fired her first shot, falling short.

Fired a second, going wide.

And quickly let loose the third, overshooting the tiny ceramic target.

“Hey, you missed, pal.” Said the operator, a tad bit too cheerful.

Shalikova put another ten marks bill on the counter and looked at him.

There was fiery determination in her eyes which put him to pause.

Perhaps, he was deliberating on whether to allow her another go at all.

From what he saw before, he might have suspected she was familiar with weapons.

At her side, everything had happened so fast, Maryam was still processing.

She looked between the targets, all still standing; and the confident Shalikova, cracking a grin, rifle still in hand, money on the table. Shalikova was sure of herself now. This booth was a scam for civilians, but she knew the exact errant behavior of her rifle now.

Staring down the operator, with the rifle still in hand, finally caused him to relent, take her money and allow her to shoot again with the same rifle. This was his mistake.

Had he made her swap, he would have gotten another ten marks for free.

Wordlessly, Shalikova lined up the small target in her sights.

Under the watchful eyes of the operator, she shifted her aim a few degrees up and left.

He knew immediately, and she heard a low groan escape him.

Trigger pull; the fwip noise of a shot.

Immediately, the shattering crack of the finger’s-width plate worth the most points.

Knocked off its distant pedestal and smashed to pieces on the floor of the tent.

“Alright miss. You wanted the cuttlefish plush right? You earned it.”

From behind the counter, the operator picked up the round, fat fluffy cuttlefish toy.

He put it in a bag, and with a nervous smile, reached the bag out to Shalikova.

As if to say, ‘put the gun down and leave with this.’

Shalikova grinned even wider and cockier than before.

With the rifle she had in hand, she could have taken every high points target.

That would have given her more winnings than the plush– but the operator had to cut her off to cut his losses. He was trying to weasel out of the rest of the shots Shalikova had already paid for, which was rather dirty of him. Shalikova had thought about demanding to play the rest of her round, with its two remaining shots. But Maryam was watching with stunned elation, and they didn’t want to rock the boat anyway.

Graciously, she put down the gun to accept the plushie.

“Sonya! You’re the absolute coolest! A stone cold killer!” Maryam cheered.

“Thanks, but uh,” she started to whisper, “tone it down a little!”

Shalikova pulled Maryam away from the tent and back into the path.

“Look Sonya, it’s me!”

Maryam half-unbagged the cuttlefish plushie. She pointed at it, and back at herself.

Shalikova looked at the plush. It bore little resemblance, due to the Imbrian disguise.

It was basically a blue blob with a suggestion of tentacles, but it had the silly little head fins.

“I can see it.” Shalikova replied.

Maryam smiled.

“Thank you Sonya! This is already the best day ever!”

“I’m glad.”

“I told you, you’re so strong. You’re like a Katarran warlord!”

“Let’s– let’s not push it– okay?”

“No! We’re gonna push it! Let’s play more games!”

“Okay– That’s not what I–?”

Maryam grabbed Shalikova again and rushed to the next attraction that caught her eye.

There was another tent game nearby that had a long board that sloped against a backing board. On the peak of the board there were several holes that were worth points. Along the length of it, there were obstacles that served to funnel a ball thrown by the player toward the backing board. Each of the obstacles and holes was marked with the points, with the objective being to slide the ball into the center-most of the holes for the most points.

Just like before, there were prizes up on a wall. There were novelty glasses with swirly colored lenses, a very intricate toy Marder-class, a replica vibrocutlass, and a bag of novelty game dice, with a twenty-sided dice out of the bag to demonstrate the contents.

Judging by the prizes, this game was for a younger set than the last one they played.

“Maryam, do you really want any of this stuff?” Sonya asked.

“I want the game dice!” Maryam said. “Good dice are invaluable, Sonya!”

“These don’t look good to me, but I’m not an expert.” Shalikova said.

“You can run all kinds of scams with dice, they’re an amazing survival tool.”

Shalikova blinked. “Um. But you don’t need to run scams anymore. You know?”

“Oh. I suppose that’s true! But I still want them!”

She puffed up her cheeks just a little– couldn’t do it too much without attracting attention.

At Maryam’s petulant insistence, Shalikova walked up to the operator–

“Oh no Sonya! You misunderstood! I want to play this one! I just need some money.”

Shalikova reached into her jacket for the spending money the Captain had given them.

Then she had a sudden and worrying thought.

This game did not look particularly sturdy. It was a bunch of plastic boards and small parts slotted together. For the average carnival-goer that wouldn’t be a problem, but she began to think of what would happen when Maryam’s abnormal strength acted on that ball. Could she just punch through the backing board? Would she send all the obstacles flying?

She stood for a second with her hand picking through a bundle of bills.

Staring at Maryam’s smiling face the entire time without an expression to match.

“Maryam, I think– I should play–”

“Sonya, you shouldn’t get to have all the fun you know.” Maryam said gently.

This is her special day. You just have to deal with the broken plates Sonya Shalikova.

With a sense of looming dread, a defeated Shalikova handed the bills over to Maryam.

Cheering, the not-so-purple marshmallow danced over to the ball game with great vigor.

“How much for a game?”

She put a bill on the counter, and the operator handed her three balls.

Maryam’s face lit up.

Shalikova’s face darkened.

She partially averted her eyes.

“Here I go! Cuttle-shoot!”

From the shadow at the edge of her eyes, Shalikova could tell Maryam had reared up to throw the ball– but the motion that resulted was much less aggressive-sounding than she imagined. In place of the raucous crash she was expecting, Shalikova heard rubber sliding on textured plastic. There was a soft thud and a chunky noise–

–and then the game board made a happy, chirpy noise.

Shalikova turned to look and saw nothing had been destroyed.

Maryam had simply put a ball into the center-most hole on her first try.

“Lucky girl eh? Pick a prize and give me those back.”

Like the other proprietor, the vendor for this game moved to quickly cut Maryam off.

He quickly handed her the bag of dice she wanted with an awkward grimace.

Maryam pocketed them with a smile and prompted Shalikova to walk away with her.

“Sonya, I can already spot my next target!” She declared happily.

Across the bend from the ball-throwing booth there was a test of strength game set up on a cleared patch of festival ground. It constituted a gaudily decorated pressure plate attached to an LED tower that would light up when the player struck the plate with a mallet in order to measure the strength of the player. Shalikova had little to fear with this one.

Everything was digital, the mallet head looked like rubber rather than metal, the pressure plate was a thick and pretty solid-looking object, and there did not seem to be any moving parts. It seemed unlikely Maryam’s strength could physically destroy the equipment.

Next to the play space, there was a set of plastic shelves with prizes.

Maryam quickly honed in on a pair of sunglasses with big blue lenses and a sleek frame.

“After I win those, we’ll match, Sonya!” She declared happily.

Shalikova stepped aside, simply relieved that there wasn’t an obvious problem for now.

Seemingly amused at a slight-looking girl trying her luck with the game, the proprietor took Maryam’s money and watched attentively from the side, chuckling as Maryam bent down, picked up the mallet and raised it. He must have thought it would be easy money.

Then the magic that was Maryam came into play. Shalikova felt the air rush as Maryam threw everything she had into a titanic swing, smashing the pressure plate such that it made a sound like a gong, and sent a vibration into the earth that stirred up Shalikova’s feet. The proprietor must have felt it too because he reacted like he wanted to jump away.

On the LED tower, the display lit up with a red NaN at the very top.

From Shalikova’s vantage, there was a hairline crack on the side of the pressure plate.

Thankfully, the proprietor was standing opposite them, so he didn’t see it at first.

Having borne witness to Maryam’s brutal power, he rushed to get the prize she wanted.

“Take it and go.” He said sternly.

Shalikova urged Maryam not to complain.

She put the sunglasses on Maryam’s nose and pushed her away into the crowd.

Putting as much walking distance between herself and that proprietor as she could.

Meanwhile, Maryam’s cheeks puffed up to a somewhat reasonable extent for an Imbrian.

Wearing the sunglasses, her consternation looked even more silly.

“Hmph! Hmph! Sonya, it’s not fair! We could have won a lot more prizes!” She whined.

“Maryam, that’s the point.” Shalikova sighed. “We weren’t supposed to win anything.”

“But that’s unfair!” Maryam cried out, crossing her arms as she walked.

“Uh huh. All the games are rigged Maryam. We won because we’re not normal. Normal people just pay to lose. By the way, weren’t you just saying you were a scammer too?”

“Hmph! I’m different from them. I won money with games of chance. It’s– it’s totally different if you get scammed by that. Games of skill are supposed to be fair. It’s not the same!”

“I’m sympathetic because you’re my girlfriend, but the rational part of me is yelling.”

“Sonya–”

Maryam stopped Shalikova in the middle of the street.

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze hard.

“Sonya. What if the food is also a scam?” She said, in a grim tone of voice.

“I don’t know how it could be.” Shalikova said. “It’s not like you can rig food.”

Soon the two of them would discover how it was possible to scam people with food.

Their eyes widening and their faces paling at the tremendous prices on display.

Across a long aisle full of different vendors, there was nothing worth less than 10 marks.

One sausage? 10 marks. A carton of popped corn? 10 marks. One cheese bread? 10 marks.

Aside from the limited selection that Shalikova could eat, the prices were out of control.

“Sonya. Let me handle this.” Maryam said. A mischievous little grin on her face.

“Um.”

Over Shalikova’s monosyllabic and nebulous objection, Maryam skipped toward the little kiosk selling cheese bread for ten marks a piece. With an enormous smile she waited for her turn in a small line of people. The vendor was already prepared with a piece of cheese bread in a wrapper when Maryam’s turn came up, and was already holding their hand out to collect the ten marks. Maryam, however, had her hands behind her back. Casting glances about herself. There was no one behind her in line except for Shalikova who had followed her.

“How about you give a discount for Kreuzung station’s biggest cutie?” Maryam asked.

Shalikova felt a shiver running down her back and across the lengths of her limbs.

In an instant, her eyes glowed with the power of psionics.

She heard a voice whisper in her mind; or perhaps, she just knew something was happening.

Molecular Control.

From Maryam, a colored cloud seemed to waft toward the vendor, like a visible breeze.

Green and blue in equal amounts, at first, but the blue quickly overwhelmed.

And the vendor’s own blue, green and slightly yellow aura completely shifted as well.

Maryam and the vendor held gazes for a few seconds, before the vendor’s apathetic expression became a smile almost as comically pleasant as Maryam’s. They leaned over to hand Maryam the cheese bread they were already holding and retracted the hand with which they meant to collect payment. Instead, they reached for a second cheese bread in the oven in which they were cooked. With seemingly great pleasure, they wrapped the bread, and handed it to Maryam as well. All the while, their aura looked shiny and serene.

“Of course, miss! Cute couples gets free bread around here! Have a wonderful outing!”

Shalikova blinked with confusion as the vendor reached out to hand her a cheese bread.

Maryam made a cutesy gesture, making a V with her fingers, and turned around.

“Alright Sonya! Let’s eat and go somewhere!” Maryam cheered.

Shalikova glanced at the vendor and back at Maryam.

“Right.” She said. “Maryam. Follow me.”

“Oh– Okay Sonya.”

Her voice trembled. She definitely noticed the shift in Shalikova’s attitude.

But she wasn’t angry.

It wasn’t helpful to be angry about it. Shalikova felt something else.

On the edges of the module space, red plastic fences had been set up to prevent anyone from accessing the wall panels, which were projecting the same colorful horizon and sky as the rest of the module and looked like invisible walls surrounding the carnival space. There were no vendors here, just plain floor with false turf, and there were a few perfunctory tables stood up so people leaving the crowd could sit around in the empty space.

There were a few people there, but it was the emptiest place in the module nonetheless. Shalikova took Maryam there and stood a few dozen meters from the nearest visitors. They had eaten their ill-gotten cheese breads on the way. Shalikova’s heart pounded.

“Maryam.”

Shalikova reached out and grabbed hold of Maryam’s two hands.

Maryam’s face turned slowly redder. She averted her gaze a little.

“Sonya–?”

Shalikova bent forward and put her forehead gently on Maryam’s own.

Truly hoping Maryam would understand her. She could not hold back her words any longer.

“You don’t have to do that kind of stuff anymore.” She said, whispering close to Maryam, brow to brow and nose to nose. “You don’t have to use your powers or the skills you picked up on the street to steal from people. Even if they’re being unreasonable– it doesn’t matter. Please rely on me, Maryam. Don’t take advantage of people anymore like you did to that vendor. I don’t like it– and you don’t need to do it. I don’t blame you– but please stop.”

“Sonya– I– I’m sorry– I thought you must have hated me now.” Maryam whimpered.

“I don’t hate you.” Shalikova said. “I’d never hate you at the drop of a hat like that.”

Maryam sniffled. “I’m sorry. I’ve been hiding things from you– like that power–”

Shalikova could feel the contrition in Maryam’s voice, but it was not contrition she sought.

“Maryam, I don’t need to know everything. People can’t know everything about each other. I am not asking you to come clean with anything or to explain everything. I trust you, I want to trust your judgment. I trust that you will understand me now and understand what I want. Please don’t use your powers to manipulate innocent people. You have a support network now– and you have me. You have me, and you have your dreams. I will help you realize your dream, Maryam, but as part of that, you have to stop abusing your gifts.”

She lifted her forehead from Maryam’s and looked her in the eyes.

Not with sternness or conviction, but gently, with love. She loved Maryam so much.

Maryam was a sweet girl who had a hurt in her that had yet to heal. She wanted to help her.

She squeezed Maryam’s hands more firmly. “No more ‘scams’ okay? Promise?”

Maryam smiled, weeping, and nodded her head. “Yes, Sonya. Thank you.”

Shalikova leaned forward again, and lifted one hand from Maryam’s.

With those fingers, she tipped Maryam’s chin up just a bit. She kissed her.

Gently but without hesitation. Communicating her feelings and convictions.

“I love you, Maryam!” Shalikova said, raising her voice right in Maryam’s face, much to the latter’s surprise. “I know we’ve only been together for a bit now, but I’m really serious!”

“Sonya– you don’t have to shout.” Maryam said, chuckling at Shalikova’s passion.

“I know! But I feel like if I don’t say it loud enough, it’ll sound unserious!”

“Oh trust me, Sonya, it’s very obvious when you are being serious!” Maryam said.

Shalikova started to feel a little silly again. But Maryam’s laughter was worth it.

The two of them stood off to the side of the carnival for a bit, holding hands and hovering in each other’s space. Leaning their heads into each other, sighing together. It was just a little bit awkward, but Shalikova could feel the warmth of Maryam’s gentle affection throughout. Maryam was scared Shalikova would hate her; but Shalikova was also scared Maryam would react badly to being essentially scolded by her girlfriend.

Their love weathered the stiff breeze, however.

“I guess you do have that ‘King’s Gaze’ gift after all, don’t you?” Shalikova said.

“No, I actually don’t. What you saw is a special trick.” Maryam said.

“Maybe I’ll ask you to teach it to me someday. I need to get stronger.” Shalikova said.

“Ah– that one can’t be taught. But I’ll teach you everything else– I promise!”

“Yeah. I’ll need it if I’m going to help you reveal the truth of psionics to the world.”

Shalikova said it off-handedly, but the words made Maryam cling even closer to her.

“Thank you, Sonya. I’m lucky to have you.” Maryam said.

“I’ve never been so lucky with my life as when I met you.” Shalikova replied.

It felt corny to say, but it was also how she felt, and there would be no better time to say it.

Hand in loving hand, they made their way back to the carnival.

Because of that love, Shalikova would not stand letting Maryam’s special day end so early.

“We can do anything you want. Play more games, eat more food. I’ve got the marks.”

Maryam smiled and squeezed Shalikova’s hand.

“It’s already been a perfect day, because I’ve been with you, Sonya.” Maryam said.

Shalikova smiled and averted her gaze, just a bit embarrassed.

“But– There is something I’d like to do. Let’s ride those spinny cups!”

With a bright and innocent smile, she pointed at a ride at the end of the street.

Cup-shaped couples’ vehicles attached to a broad spinning base, with each cup also spun on its own axis, for twice as much intimidatingly kinetic spinning action on its occupants.

It was a stunning chimeric blur of a machine.

Shalikova felt her stomach churn.

“Of course, Maryam. Anything for you.”

Though she would come to regret the consequences, today, everything was for Maryam.


Commence Operation “Bottled Ship.”

Murati grinned a little to herself with unflagging confidence.

Meticulous plans had been laid; now it was time to pay them off with flawless execution.

“After you, madam.” Murati said, holding a door open for her vibrantly-dressed companion.

“Oh ho! Look at you– in full hubby mode tonight. I’m a lucky gal!”

“You’ll see just how lucky, Karuniya.”

Everything had been accounted for. Everything was in her total operational control.

Karuniya would dance upon the tips of Murati’s fingers until she was sick of the pleasure.

For this date, the most crucial factor to begin was to choose the venue.

In this case, Murati had searched high and low to find something to Karuniya’s taste.

Her face lit up with a radiant smile as she realized where she was.

“Oh! It’s an aquarium? I’m so surprised– I had no idea this station had one!”

Walking through the doors, they found themselves in the middle of an atrium connecting many seemingly massive containment chambers to a series of a walkways astride thick glass, by which visitors could behold the exhibits. Vast recreated ocean vistas teemed with life well-lit enough for the visitors to enjoy, with carefully considered biomes and species pairings. However those exhibits themselves were quite special– certainly, Kreuzung itself did not have the space to host all of the entities in these grand spaces by itself.

Murati led Karuniya straight ahead and demonstrated the illusion on the glass.

When her hand touched it, the exhibit was revealed to be an LCD display, and a menu appeared that allowed for the perspective of the glass to be shifted in a small window just for her and Karuniya– so that it would not disturb the broader view that all of the guests received. Upon seeing the trick play out, Karuniya laughed to herself.

“Of course they wouldn’t have the animals here, there’s no space. This is pretty clever though. But where are they broadcasting these animals from?” She asked.

“Thuringia Research Complex.” Murati said. “It’s apparently a big deal.”

“Well, let us judge the scope of their collection then.” Karuniya said.

“Anything you want to see first?” Murati asked.

“As a matter of fact, I’d love to see what kinds of jellyfish they have.” Karuniya replied.

“Jellyfish, huh? Well, you’ll be pleased by the variety, judging by the ads I saw.”

Murati reached out her arm, so that Karuniya could hook around it.

“My, my, you’re so gentlemanly today.” Karuniya said, taking ‘hubby’s’ arm with a grin.

“Just for tonight, I’m making every possible effort.” Murati said, grinning herself.

Both of them had donned their best set of clothes for the date.

It was the same pair of outfits they had worn once before; their ‘date’ back in Thassal. Owing to events best left unremembered, the two of them had not gotten to debut these outfits in public back then– though they had certainly made an impression on each other.

Now, however, they lit up the halls of the digital aquarium.

Murati wore a slick button-down shirt with bronze cuffs and a fit so flattering to Murati’s lean body it must have looked as if it was tailored for her, and not picked out of a rack at a station plaza in the Union. She wore it just how Karuniya had once advised her, tucked in and with a few of the top buttons undone. Because the shirt was white, there was a tantalizing impression of Murati’s black brassiere beneath. Besides the shirt, she had put on a tight pair of pants that had also once caught Karuniya’s eye, along with black shoes. To finish her look she took an extra effort in grooming herself, washing and styling her short, dark hair and applying a hint of borrowed lip gloss and skin toner to make her face look more special.

Karuniya had once called her tall, dark and handsome when she first tried out this look.

That affirmation accounted for a significant boost to Murati’s confidence on this date.

Another force multiplier, however, was the absolute desire Karuniya’s look inspired in her.

With a woman like this on her arm, Murati could have never let herself fall short.

Under the bright white lights of the aquarium’s atrium and in the connecting halls of the exhibits, Karuniya was like a techwear runway model. Most striking was the off-shoulder crop top with translucent sleeves, effectively bearing Karuniya’s shoulders and some of her neck and collarbone, because the leotard she wore beneath cut at the upper chest.

High-leg stockings and a short skirt with intricate hip cutouts and leg slits, of the same material as the top, finished off the look, showing off several spots of Karuniya’s perfect, honey-colored skin. Both the top and skirt clung to her figure perfectly, highlighting the smooth and plentiful curve of her hips and chest. Her hair was collected into a ponytail and had a glittery sheen like tiny constellations playing about the rich dark strands.

Her face was always beautiful– but with a touch of glossy, dark red lipstick and eyeshadow she looked remarkably glamorous and mature. Both her and Karuniya had their selves they wore around the ship, playing around and hurling good-natured teases at one another– one hurling far more than the other. But arm in arm like this, they looked like the married power couple they had not yet been able to be, serious, sexy and clearly into each other.

Seeing her like this made Murati’s heart soar, but she had grown just enough over the few months of their relationship, to be able to wear a conceited grin on her face and play it cool.

No longer would her mind ask the question, ‘do I deserve her’? ‘Can’t she do better’?

Murati didn’t just deserve Karuniya; she desired her with all the little greed she had.

And she would more than make up for the interruptions and miscalculations of the past.

“Have I ever told you your ass looks amazing in those pants?” Karuniya winked.

“I could stand to hear it more often.” Murati said, playing coy.

In silent response, Karuniya grabbed a handful of her hubby’s rear.

Holding hands and clinging close, the pair stopped in front of the screen for the jellyfish exhibit. Unlike some of the other halls, the lights were very dim, only bright enough to keep the visitors from bumping into a few benches laid opposite the screen. In the dark, the only light was provided by the screen and by the wide variety of colored jellies. Hundreds of deep-sea jellyfish streaked across the screen like a storm, their bioluminescence exaggerated by a post-processing effect just enough so that they would provide alternating colors across the faces of the visitors gazing at the great swarm arrayed before them.

“Pop quiz Murati, are jellyfish community organisms or single organisms?”

Karuniya looked at Murati after delivering the question and smiled one of her characteristic little grins. The way the lights played about her face, cast her glossy lips and slightly glittery cheeks in contrast– it was arresting enough to delay Murati’s answer for a moment.

“Single organisms.” Murati said.

“Correct. I thought I could trick you. For your basic biology knowledge, you win a prize.”

Karuniya began to tiptoe and planted a quick little kiss on Murati’s lips.

“Now though, tell me this: how do Jellyfish mate?”

She leaned forward again with a self-satisfied cutesy little look, hands behind her back.

“Sorry Karu, I can’t even imagine them having genitals.” Murati replied with a laugh.

Her fiance’s lips curled into a perverse little expression, and she waved one index finger from side to side in a teasing fashion. “Male jellyfish release clouds of sperm and females release unfertilized eggs, and babies happen from the mess– but in some kinkier species, the sperm will actually travel directly inside the female through her mouth to fertilize her.”

Karuniya licked her lips after delivering her explanation, locking eyes with Murati.

“So, had I gotten it right, would I have won more than a kiss?” Murati asked.

“May~be~” Karuniya replied, in a little sing-song voice.

She gave Murati a smoldering gaze before turning and walking away down the hall.

“I can barely keep up with her sometimes.” Murati muttered to herself, smiling.

From the jellyfish exhibit, Murati imagined Karuniya might want to see some of the more grandiose animals of the collection. She had looked at the catalog and memorized the locations of the exhibits and was ready at a moment’s notice to make suggestions– but Karuniya continued to surprise her with what she was interested in.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, due to Karuniya’s character and what interested her about the sea in her own profession– but Murati couldn’t help but feel a bit blindsided to be holding her fiance’s hand while looking at manicured algae through a fancy LCD.

Painstakingly recreated in a controlled environment, the “marine forest” exhibition hosted a vast forest of tall yellow-green macro-algae and an underbrush of moss overgrown on the rocky artificial seafloor. Animals lurked the vegetation, like shrimps and small fish.

“Look at that. So much primary production!” Karuniya declared cheerfully.

“Primary production?” Murati asked.

“Algaea are able to capture chemical energy from the environment.” Karuniya replied. “In essence, they create the prerequisites for a food chain. All they need is whatever amount of sunlight can penetrate the surface of the water, and the right chemical balance. But smaller animals can feed on them, and those animals feed larger predators, and so on.”

She spread out her arms as if she wanted to embrace the algae in the tanks.

“You’re looking at life itself, Murati! An environment that has primary production is one that is still sustaining life. Our world is not so dead after all, is it? Maybe it’s not in the best shape for us to live in, but as long as algae grows in the photic zone, life will go on.”

Rather than say something sarcastic or contrarian in return, Murati simply looked at the algae and tried to quietly imagine that chain of living. Algaea begot as if from nothing, feeding the bottom dwellers that would be eaten by free floating fish. Fish eaten by whales, sharks, and even leviathans. Insuring that something with a nervous system continued to roam the world, even as humans killed each other hundreds of meters farther below.

She smiled at Karuniya’s girlish enthusiasm and her optimism.

Even if she didn’t quite share it– to Murati, there was no point if humans didn’t live too.

To Murati, humans were life. However wrong it may have been– she put humans first.

“Did I successfully troll you by placing animal life over human life?” Karuniya asked.

“Complete failure. Not mad at all.” Murati said, smiling placidly.

“Darn. You’ve actually bettered as a person. That sucks.”

“Actually, you were just so cute delivering your speech.”

Both of them laughed in unison before moving on from the macroalgal forest.

“Alright, you must be going nuts from all this oceanography crap, let’s see a big shark!”

“I’ll never get tired of your ‘oceanography crap’ Karu, I mean it.”

“Ah hah, then let’s go see some dolphins! They’re awful little guys!”

“Unfortunately, there is no dolphin exhibit.”

“Aww. That’s too bad! I could’ve told you all kinds of horror stories.”

“Really? Horror stories about dolphins?”

“Oh ho! You have no idea!”

Karuniya raised a hand to cover her laughing mouth, narrowing her eyes in a sly expression.

Murati remained ignorant of whatever Karuniya was mugging at, however.

Despite Karuniya’s disappointment at the lack of dolphins, she was enthusiastic during their visits to several other exhibits. Thuringia had built quite a collection of habitats, including an abyssal exhibit in a fully dark hall where eerie bioluminescent fish roamed, a bit too close to home; a school of colorful tropical fish in a well-lit habitat without predators; a tank that was home to a vast blue whale, though Karuniya noted it was cruel for the whale to be alone, even if it was for the scientific observation of humans; and a tank of various crustaceans with gleaming shells; and a small sunken vessel overgrown with barnacles and other creatures.

“Crustaceans are like nature’s Diver mecha.” Karuniya declared confidently.

“What? Really?” Murati asked, swayed and drawn in by her tone. “How so?”

Karuniya cracked her same grin once again.

“I was just jerking your chain. Totally meaningless and random thing.”

“Maybe I could stand to be more frigid to you.”

“But I love this Murati who is trying sooooo hard!”

Karuniya squeezed close against Murati’s chest as if trying to nuzzle her.

Murati averted her gaze, slightly embarrassed. Was it that obvious?

But she really wanted to succeed.

Throughout, Murati carefully studied Karuniya’s responses and expressions.

Everything seemed to be going well. Her fiancé was still seemingly engaged and happy.

Murati neared the end of the first phase of the operation.

“Let me lead the way now. There’s something I want to show you.” Murati said.

“Oh? Exciting~ is it your favorite fish, Murati?”

“You’ll see.”

It was only tangentially related to fish, but Murati was counting on the spectacle of it.

And also on Karu having built up some appetite over the course of the night.

Rather than a food court or vending machines or any other sort of cheap and quick meal, the Kreuzung Aquarium had a bespoke high concept restaurant inside its premises and offered a ‘dining experience’ for two. During planning, Murati had feared that finding a nice place to take Karuniya to eat would be difficult because of their diet, but the Aquarium was a step ahead. They offered a ‘special nature-friendly set’ for that did not have meat or seafood and instead promised a plant-based four course menu.

It had been a bit pricey, but Murati managed to scratch together the additional budget needed in Imperial marks because Valya Lebedova was disinterested in going out and spending their shore leave funds; and because Aiden Ahwalia was serving a punishment and would not be allowed to spend his own.

With Valya’s blessing, Murati made reservations.

“After you, madam.” Murati said, leading Karuniya into the dining venue.

There was a very small lobby, only large enough for a front desk, that led into a hallway full of doors. Everything was dimly lit. At the desk, a hostess confirmed their names and reservation and led them into a room in the hall. Inside the room there was a small table and two chairs, surrounded by undecorated walls that were very close and a rather low ceiling– everything was exceptionally tight. Karuniya looked amused by the whole thing, it must have seemed ridiculous to her. When they sat down, her eyes began to scan around the room for any sign of what the gimmick was. She did not seem to find it at first glance.

“Since you ordered a set dinner menu, we will bring you the courses, starting with aperitifs. What kind of environment would you like to enjoy today?” asked the hostess.

“Whichever you think would suit the evening.” Murati replied.

Smiling, the hostess left the room, and the door shut.

Karuniya chuckled again. “Is this a joke? A reservation for eating in a dim metal box?”

“Just wait.” Murati said.

Outside, the hostess must have been inputting something for the room.

About a minute after she left, the walls of the room slowly brightened.

First they took on a variety of dark blues and greens.

Streams of bubbles played about the walls and ceiling. As if rising out of the depths, the projections on the floor, ceiling and roof all began to lighten. Beneath the couple, a bank of sand came into view. Above them, rays of sunlight penetrated the bright blue foaming surface of the water. Around them, on the walls, schools of fish in all colors and sizes flitted from wall to wall like a storm of bodies. Karuniya smiled and covered her mouth, as if embarrassed at how surprised and delighted she was by the illusion of the room.

Their table was now suspended in the middle of a simulated ocean.

Certainly no camera could safely capture a near-shore sandbank and all the shallow water life that existed there, but something like a predictive imager could be programmed to display a complex illusion like this one. Every fish had its own organic and variable routine, and because the graphics were not being rendered in real time from acoustic data, there was not the sort of dramatic visual noise one would get from a ship’s predictive view. Everything was rendered convincingly enough for the perspective of the diners. Seagrass and kelp dotted the landscape, there were little crabs in the sand below, and larger animals occasionally swept through the landscape as well, disturbing the many schools of fish.

“Murati I was skeptical, but this is so amazing! I don’t even know what to focus on!”

“Right? The hostess really picked an amazing environment for us.”

“It’s almost like being in a Diver, but you know, in much nicer waters.”

“And with far better cameras.” Murati added, laughing a little at the idea.

Murati knew what she was focusing her eyes on.

Not on any fish, but the woman across from her, face glowing gently as the light alternated across her features, smiling ear to ear, a girlish joy overtaking her as her eyes tracked the simulated fish and scanned the blue near-shore horizon. She was staggeringly beautiful. Being with her– more than anything, it gave Murati hope for life.

If the world really was dying, she could have withstood the end of it at this woman’s side.

But it made her fight for the remainder of the world they had, with all of her strength.

For a world where Karuniya’s dreams and ambitions could be realized.

Murati reached across the table and took one of Karuniya’s hands in both of hers.

Karuniya looked down from the fish she had been tracking.

“Murati, thank you. You didn’t have to go to these lengths, but I truly appreciate it.”

She lifted her other hand from the table and stroked Murati’s hands as well.

“You deserve to indulge every so often. We don’t know when we’ll get a chance again.”

“This reminds me of our first date.” Karuniya said. “That restaurant, back home.”

She spoke euphemistically, she couldn’t say ‘Mt. Raja’ but Murati remembered perfectly.

“That’s precisely why I wanted to have a bougie dinner date.” Murati replied.

She lifted the hand she had taken closer and kissed the back of it.

Karuniya looked, for once, to have a bit of a girlish blush on her cheeks.

After the spectacle, the food began to come in.

It was no longer the highlight of the evening having been shown up quite thoroughly by the ingenuity of the venue, but it was still pleasant. Cucumber and seaweed salad with puffed rice “coral” crackers, wheat gluten “scallops” in a savory butter sauce, heart of palm and chickpea “crab cakes,” and a “sea foam” ice cream dessert. It was all quite cute, the portions were decent, and the tastes were well considered. It helped that there was a bottle of red wine with the dinner set that complimented the meal and the evening well.

Eating their imitation seafood courses in the middle of imitation sea life.

“To simulation!” Karuniya cheered, wine glass in hand.

Murati laughed and lifted her glass to Karuniya’s own.

And with that, the merry-making portion of the operation was fulfilled.

Just as they had entered the Aquarium arm in arm, with Murati dutifully opening the doors for her fiancé, they finished their dinner course, saw all they desired to see, and as it was getting late in the evening, bid farewell, with Murati now holding the doors for a tired Karuniya. Arm in arm again, they left the Atrium and waited at the elevator bank for a ride back to their floor. It was time to retire back to the ship until their next journey.

“I had a fantastic time, Murati.” Karuniya said, settling against her hubby on a bench.

“Ah, but there’s still evening to go, mademoiselle.” Murati said, putting on airs.

“Yes, but I could use a good lie-down.” Karuniya said gently.

You’ll lie down, don’t worry. Murati laughed internally. It was time for the finale.

Some might have thought it uncharacteristic of her– but Murati could be rather lascivious.

Like any woman, she had desires, fantasies; she could be aggressive. She liked to top!

When the mood was just right, when she had Karuniya right where she wanted her–

Well.

Tonight, she had expertly crafted the mood; and Karuniya was clearly asking for it.

They made their way quietly back to Alcor Steelworks.

That night, Kreuzung was just a bit chilly, for reasons known only to the temperature control authority, but it made Karuniya cling closer to Murati as they walked. Murati hooked an arm around her and smiled. She led her fiancé, who though not drunk was clearly a little bit drowsy from the food and drink, up into the Brigand. Off to one side of the hangar, Murati could see the pair of security officers Zhu Lian and Klara Van Der Smidse playing cards to pass the time. They cast a glance at the couple climbing a ladder through the deployment chutes, and then returned to their game. Murati led Karuniya to the lifts.

At the door to their room, Karuniya yawned. She opened the door and stepped in.

Murati glanced about herself.

The hallway down the officer’s quarters was completely empty.

Every door was shut, and nobody was making a sound. Only the hum of the ventilation.

Recalling how the night of their first date had gone, Murati stepped in behind Karuniya.

She walked close to her fiancé, who was about to sit down on the bed–

And struck the wall with her palm, her arm crossing over Karuniya’s shoulder.

Murati leaning into her with a grin on her face and savoring her fiancé’s surprise.

“Oh! You startled–” Karuniya’s eyes met Murati’s own. Realization dawned on her face.

“I told you the night wasn’t over yet, didn’t I?” Murati said, with a grin.

“Ah ha, I see. You’re feeling frisky. Did you manage to hold an erection?” Karuniya whispered.

She raised a hand to stroke Murati’s cheek.

Murati took it into her own and pulled it down gently.

“Let me show you.” Murati said.

Her words came out of her lips almost like a demand.

“Yes. I’m in your hands.” Karuniya said, sounding a little surprised.

Without another word–

Murati suddenly and brusquely pushed herself onto the bed on top of Karuniya.

Never once breaking eye contact as she pushed her down with one hand to the shoulder.

While the other lifted Karuniya’s skirt–

“Murati–!”

A delectably surprised little expression appeared on Karuniya’s face.

With expert precision, Murati pulled her in by the hips until she was closer to her crotch.

Looming over with Karuniya’s legs spread around her, Murati lowered her head and blew a warm breath directly behind Karuniya’s ear that made her flinch. She was sensitive here. Murati bit on Karuniya’s ear lobe, kissed the side of her neck, nuzzled her shoulder. All the while pulling up her dress and sliding her fingers beneath the leotard she had worn under it. Those fingers lingered on her skin but did not try to slip off her clothes, not yet.

As if to demonstrate; this is what will become of you.

Murati did not even pull down her own pants yet.

She wanted her fiancé to squirm a bit first. For all the teasing she always did.

“You’re already so–!”

An excited little murmur escaped Karuniya’s quivering lips.

“Keep your peace until there’s a reason to yell.” Murati whispered in her ear.

Her fingers traced the soft, pliable skin just below Karuniya’s belly and above her groin, kneading and grazing, gliding further down, peering between her thighs and back up close to her belly. Sliding under the sides and the front of her thin bodysuit and easily lifting the fabric wherever needed. Crucially, never approaching where Karuniya’s needy clit would get an ounce of satisfaction. It was not time for that yet. Murati savored the shuddering flesh, the gentle reactive pushback of Karu subtly pressing her hips back as Murati teased her soft spots, all her favorite places gleaned from past experiences. She could see Karuniya’s flushed expression, her shut eyes; she could feel her little fits and starts of breath.

“Don’t lose your head yet, Karu. I’m not even inside you.”

Soon as a finger glided over her pussy, her body immediately quivered, head to curled toes.

Her hands which had lain at her sides now squeezed the bed. Her chest lifted involuntarily.

Transferring her emotions like a wave into Murati’s own body, pressed atop hers.

Murati’s fingers toying with her like a device. Flick the switch and feel the heat build.

Being in control was intoxicating for Murati.

Her head rushed with the feeling of Karuniya seized in pleasure, being only hers.

She felt it from the tips of her fingers to the stirring length of her dick.

That catharsis which only came with a successful encirclement, with a grand plan.

They had already negotiated before, already explored, already stumbled.

Theirs was a matured love now; and Murati savored the ripe fruit.

They weren’t in Mt. Raja, they weren’t in Thassal; they had come a ways now.

“I’ll give you what you need. I know you inside and out now.”

For a few moments, Murati lifted the hand that was moving between Karuniya’s legs.

Her reach and position emphasized her taller size.

All of her fiancé’s body lay within her lustful grasp. Tracing the leotard, across Karuniya’s belly and up to her ample, perfectly shaped breasts, squeezed beneath her crop top. Hooking her fingers between fabric and flesh, pulling down the leotard slowly to reveal more of her chest, outlined by glistening sweat in the room’s dim light.

Karuniya lifted her back just a bit to assist as Murati pulled the leotard off her hips and down her legs. Finally the underwear came off, lovingly peeled and then carelessly discarded.

“Now, the rest.” Murati ordered.

With a blissful look on her face, Karuniya lifted her top off and cast to the floor beside the bed. She hooked a finger between her skirt and hip and Murati helped her pull it off the rest of the way. Joining her crop top and underwear on the floor. A glistening honey-amber jewel, a treasure of flesh, Karuniya laid sweaty, flushed, quivering gently under the press of Murati’s clothed body. Every fold, every rise and fall in the contours of her– all laid bare.

“Are you ready?” She whispered.

Karuniya shut her eyes and held a little smile, lips quivering with the rest of her.

Murati raised herself just enough to behold her fiancé’s body in its lusty majesty.

Quickly, hungrily, she descended on her once more.

Murati’s lips moved from Karuniya’s ear, neck and jaw, down to her chest.

Feeling Karuniya’s heartbeat through the teeth gently biting down on one supple breast–

“Murati! Oh! Jeez–!”

–while her free hand pushed a trimmed fingertip over a soaked, throbbing clit.

“O-o-ohh–!”

Her tone of voice changed completely– she sounded like she was melting.

Eyes shut, legs trying to tighten and failing with Murati in the way, kicking aimlessly.

Hands ripping into the bedsheets. Chest pounding amid the heat.

Murati’s lips kneaded the tips of her breasts; her fingers glided between her legs.

“Mmm–! Ugh–!”

She was so noisy, and her squirming ever more violent, but under control.

Using her weight and position, Murati kept her pinned and she loved every second.

Karuniya was a screamer, a kicker, bucking hips and jerking arms and Murati loved it.

Her intensity increased to match. Strumming Karu’s clit, sucking on her neck, pushing her.

When Karu threw her hips up at Murati, she felt it directly on her bulging dick.

“Murati–! Mura–! Mu–!”

An explosion of wimpering and moaning, a feast for the ears.

Then–

A sudden, surprising calm before the expected climax.

Karuniya opened her eyes slowly, lifted her head to look, eyes clearly hazy.

Breathing heavy, sweating hard. Barely able to move with intention.

Murati slowly pulled back, until her body was half off the bed.

There was a sly smile on her face as she met her fiancé’s confused expression.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Stopping every so often to kiss Karuniya’s body, on her breasts, on her navel–

–working her way down, laying a sucking nip of a bite on her mons to presage.

Spreading her legs, holding her by one hip and leg, kissing the inner thigh.

Waiting to be acknowledged–

“Murati– don’t– don’t make me wait–” Karuniya mumbled, trembling where she lay.

“Of course. Anything for you.”

With eyes full of lust that Karuniya could no longer see, Murati fulfilled her wish.

Done with the teasing, she lifted her lips off Karuniya’s thighs and kissed between her legs.

Lips closing, spreading, her tongue pressing–

Karuniya started thrashing the second Murati’s tongue slowly and gently worked her clit.

Maintaining a precise rhythm, keeping control of Karuniya’s hips and legs.

Karuniya bucked against her face, and Murati pressed further as if in challenge.

In her throes Karuniya raised up against the wall and Murati followed her back to bed.

“Ahh– ohh–”

Murati closed her lips again, and Karuniya’s hips bucked gentler, her voice dying.

Her fingers curled and stretched in rhythm, and her breathing began to steady.

Murati could feel the shift, and slowly withdrew her tongue from Karuniya’s pussy.

She lifted herself up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You’re– so cocky–” Karuniya said, smiling, clearly wiped out.

“I think I have good reason to be.” Murati said, with a confident little shrug.

“Ugh. Fuck. You’re awful. You’ve gotten so good.” Karuniya replied, her breath returning.

Murati bent down nearer to Karuniya again and kissed her, holding her shoulders at first.

Karuniya kissed back with vigor, her tongue drawing out Murati’s own.

She still had a bit of fire in her– good.

In the middle of this passion, Murati started to unzip her pants.

For her, it was difficult to work up to an erection naturally. She wouldn’t let it go to waste.

While they kissed, she pulled her pants down, and started to push Karuniya down again.

“Another go?” Karuniya asked, her barely recovered breath leaving her again.

“You wanted me to have fun also, right?” Murati said.

“I do. Condom?”

“I told you, I prepared everything.”

Murati flashed the little packet from the pockets of her pants before she discarded them.

‘How– should I be facing–”

Without another word, Murati took Karuniya by the hips and guided her around.

Karuniya clumsily followed along, Murati savoring every brush of her throbbing dick on Karuniya’s sweaty, silken skin as they maneuvered around each other. In seconds she had her fiancé face down on the bed. One hand holding her lower belly, just above her still shivering clit; and the other on her hip, gripping tight, by which she again pulled her closer, her ass farther up to Murati’s waist, her head and back just barely straight.

“I don’t know how long I can hold this.” Karuniya replied, weakly supporting herself.

“The pillow princess doth protest too much.” Murati said, adjusting how she held Karuniya.

“Gah– You’re really getting me back for all my cheek, huh?”

“I’m just having fun.”

“Me too.” Karuniya said, with an exasperated little gasp.

Murati lifted Karuniya again, pulled her even closer, and clicked her tongue.

Pushing in, shifting her weight and position so that she could thrust into her.

“Ahh–” Karuniya put her head down against the pillow, her hands scrabbling on the sheets.

Clumsy at first, Murati finally felt like she had the balance, and began to thrust with rhythm.

Delighting in the look of Karu’s hair getting messy, her sweaty back, the way each thrust caused her rear to shake. The way Murati could hold her body so easily and use her so thoroughly, bending over her and lifting up her hips and pulling her in deeper.

Her own vision grew hazy with pleasure, and she could feel the rushing in her groin, the thrill shaking her muscles. She restrained a cry, her heart pounding, bent against Karuniya’s back. Almost falling on top of her, losing her rhythm to short, desperate, hungry strokes.

Murati barely lasted, but by the end, Karuniya looked like she could take no more.

As her dick softened and the wet rubber started to slip off, Murati felt euphoric, satisfied.

“Karu– I love you–”

“I love you– Murati–”

Out of breath, spent, and smiling.

Murati curled up behind Karuniya, crammed side to side in bed, and held her close.

Gently kissing her shoulder and the nape of her neck while they fell asleep together.

Having reached a new peak in their journey together.


Winfreda Kappel had struggled mightily against having her clinic torn up by the sailors in their frenzy to unnecessarily reimagine everything in the ship.

One thing that Alcor Steelworks could not promise them was confidential medical work– because they didn’t even have that for their own employees on their executive campus. She was finally able to impress upon the Captain the need to take care of “Treasure Box Transports’” “employees” in the “Pandora’s Box” and that to do otherwise was to potentially compromise operational security. Her clinic remained open.

She had even seen a few sailors and treated injuries incurred in the process of their frenzied renovations, which she felt vindicated her resistance. However, as usual, she did not see a lot of traffic to the medbay and to her clinic. Syracuse, the security team medic, took it upon herself to deliver medication allotments, in order to have something to do every so often.

A ship was not a place that usually saw frequent health problems.

Soldiering was dangerous work, but it was the chance of death that made it dangerous. Pilots, officers, and sailors were more likely to be killed outright by anything that could routinely injure them in a dangerous situation; or would otherwise go uninjured.

That meant Winfreda had more time to kick back and savor the ship’s ‘medical brandy.’

The Brigand’s doctor may have looked at first glance atypical for her station.

A vibrant woman in the midst of a second bloom; the edges of her eyes and lips just scarcely beginning to attain the majesty of age; with brightly dyed hair in three shades of alternating blue, precise with her makeup; a healthy figure beneath conservative dress, sweater and coat and long skirt and tights. Neither the tidiness and discipline associated with soldiery, nor the warm matronly stereotypes of women in medicine suited her at all.

Upon winning her rights in the Union’s revolution, she immediately underwent hormone therapy, dyed her hair, put on loud music and prescribed liberation every day.

Somehow, she drew the eyes of Parvati Nagavanshi one fateful day.

“My mission needs a doctor who has been through hell and back, and still looks in the mirror and wants to live her life each day. It is too easy for someone in your profession to be ground down, broken to merely fulfilling their duties. Such people will collapse under what I am asking. But I know you won’t. Because you lived the Revolution; and now look at you.”

She still remembered Nagavanshi’s conceited, cruel grin in that dreadful black uniform.

Winfreda couldn’t deny any of that. Begrudgingly.

One curious thing about Nagavanshi is it always felt like she assessed the people around her even better than those people assessed themselves, or maybe even could assess themselves. That made her deadly effective at her job, frightening to hear from, and odious to speak to.

Despite that, Winfreda was not exactly thrilled and tried to assert her right not to–

“Let it be noted I tried, and wanted, to be nice. I can be difficult.” Nagavanshi had said.

It was resoundingly unfair, but ultimately, to avoid the resurfacing of certain problems that Winfreda had made for herself in her youthful, liberated social life in the young Union, she took Nagavanshi’s offer. Now she was sailing the high seas, was frequently endangered, and had to double as counselor to a bunch of hot-shots and fools nearly half her age.

At least she enjoyed running a clinic again.

Maybe when she came back– she would actually be ready to settle down. Big maybe.

“My, my, everyone’s going to be having fun, huh?” Winfreda said, grinning to herself.

She noticed one of the “No Judgment Dispensers” she had set up so the crew could self-serve condoms, had gone from full to nearly empty almost overnight. She realized a ton of shore leave dates must have been approved by the Captain. Dutifully, she refilled the dispenser when nobody was paying attention to it.

She saluted in spirit all the folks soon to be getting lucky.

“Hmm. I wonder if Minardo or Lebedova might be down.” Winfreda said, giggling.

Her, Lebedova and Minardo, and sometimes Marina, were called “the elder stateswomen” of the Brigand by a cadre of chirpy girls who also somehow concocted the idea that Shalikova, Nakara, Geninov and Al-Shahouh Raisanen-Morningsun were the “Four Princes.” Korabiskaya was spared the gossip largely because the girls were afraid of a reprimand; and Winfreda believed the only thing keeping al-Shajara from the gossip was that her flamboyance precluded any mystery. She was simply too well-known a flirt for those girls’ imagination.

But there was some truth to it in Minardo and Lebedova’s case, in Winfreda’s opinion.

Those two were both quite suited to her taste and seemed like they would be mature about casual sex. Certainly more so than any younger women. They were both flirty and passionate about their work, and had great bodies– she could see why the sailor girls wanted some of that. As for herself, of course, she needed no explanation. Despite her many charms, however, it had been a while since Winfreda had gotten to have sex herself. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask and see if her fellow “stateswomen” were equally pent up as she. At worst they would say no, and at best, maybe she could rope the both of them at once.

Now that would be quite a sight and a sound indeed.

However, where the little faction intersected with Marina–

She was still turning that one over in her head.

Mind filling with a slew of colorful delusions, Winfreda cheerfully ambled back to her clinic to find someone waiting for her in the middle of the room.

A patient; and a most uncommon visitor as well. She was a squirrely one even for regular health checkups. Her figure and stature on the petite side; a completely deadpan expression on a pretty young face; tawny brown hair spun into a distinctive spiraling ponytail; and her characteristic antennae, the size of a human hand and installed where her ears should be, grey and solid with a series of LEDs to indicate statuses.

Braya Zachikova.

“Oh, Zachikova! Have you finally decided to stop running away from a blood draw?”

“Funny you mention blood. Mine’s getting a bit thin. I want a scrip for blood pills.”

“Huh?”

Winfreda stared at Zachikova, who made no expression in response.

“Your blood is thin? How did you come to this conclusion? What are your symptoms?”

“I’m tired and grumpy. If you’ll just hand me some pills real quick I’ll be on my way.”

Winfreda put her hands on her hips and stood her ground.

Putting on a surly face, Zachikova averted her eyes.

“Zachikova, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a dispensary. I won’t give you any drugs without first knowing what effect they may have on you! If you’re feeling ill, I insist on running tests. You’ve ducked out of having even a single health checkup, and I’ve been worried this would be the result. We will get you help, the proper help, I promise– once we can pinpoint your actual condition.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be an informed consent clinic?” Zachikova grumbled.

Winfreda sighed loudly.

“Informed consent doesn’t mean you can come here asking for erythropoietin or any other thing entirely on your own whim. Some medicines can be harmful and must be administered after testing. I don’t understand why you are so against it. If you don’t want me to do it, I can get Syracuse to run the tests if it would be more comfortable– hey!”

In the middle of her talking, Zachikova simply turned around and left the room.

“What am I going to do with you?” Winfreda cried out.

She had limited avenues for problems like this.

If it got too serious she would have to tell the Commissar, but that just wasn’t her style. Winfreda hoped that any patient who was reticent about treatment could be sat down and talked to and reasoned with, in the privacy of the clinic, with no one the wiser. But Zachikova was the first time a patient was so vehement about avoiding any formal diagnostic tests, and who was aggressively against any discussion of the matter.

“I hate to say it, but it’ll have to be the Commissar then. I’ll write it down.”

Commissar Aaliyah and Captain Korabiskaya had been busier than ever, and always busy together, but it wasn’t like they were joined at the hip.

She just had to pull the Commissar aside.

While jotting down a note on her digital clipboard, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in! Seat’s open!” Winfreda said.

“Ah, not actually here for my health doc, but thanks.”

Once the door slid open, Winfreda smiled at the sight of Marina McKennedy.

“You know, I was just thinking about you.” Winfreda said, smiling.

“Me too.” Marina replied. She showed a bottle that she was carrying.

“I see where this is going. Are you sure you’re okay with it?” Winfreda asked.

“I’m positive. Aren’t you annoying seeing all the kids running off?”

“Hmm. Ah well– you only live once. That stuff better be nicer than my brandy.”

Marina winked, with a handsome smile. With a fond little sigh, the doctor locked the door.

Perhaps unfortunately, Marina was a woman quite to Winfreda’s taste also.


“Well, ultimately, it wasn’t a lot of trouble huh?”

“There were some low points, but nobody has shot at us, so I consider it a win.”

Captain Korabiskaya and Commissar Bashara glanced at each other, smiled and laughed.

Since their arrival at Kreuzung, the Brigand had been moored at Alcor Steelworks, subject to an extensive and necessary repair and maintenance program (along with the installation of a few new ‘toys’.) In a week and change, the project was essentially completed, thanks to the gargantuan efforts of the sailors, the Brigand’s friends at Solarflare LLC, and Amelia Winn’s under-the-table assistance in macro-stitching entire sections and systems using military blueprints. Most of the exterior was brand new plate, the interior was fully repaired, maintained, and rewired, and they even added a new chair for Erika in the bridge.

“They even made the armor a nicer shade of beige than before!” Ulyana cheered.

“I’d even say it’s more of an olive than a beige now.” Aaliyah replied.

Both of them stood proudly about fifty meters from the work site, beholding the ship.

In a little over three months, this idiosyncratic rustbucket had been through a lot.

Now it awaited its next adventure.

A sword and shield in the duel for the heart of Imbria. Surely it would have months, maybe even years of beatings ahead of it, but it had never been as prepared for them as it was now. Ulyana almost wanted to shed a tear for what it had come to represent for herself. She felt like it was only yesterday when they were still a motley assortment who barely knew each other’s names. Her crew had come together, pulled through when needed, and the Brigand was now not only their redoubt, their weapon– it had also become their home.

“Ah, Captain, Adjutant. I see you are taking in the sight of a job well done?”

Behind Ulyana and Aaliyah approached Euphrates, dressed as always in her blue blazer, waistcoat and pants, her short and messy blue hair combed back like always; at her side, always to be found, was Tigris, in red overalls and a white button-down shirt, her red hair in a ponytail. These were not her lab clothes nor her business clothes– and farther back, Ulyana spotted two containers being hauled by truck from the freight elevator.

“Euphemia?” Ulyana said. They were outside, so she observed Protocol Tokarev.

“Ah, yes.” Euphrates said, waving. “Our business in Kreuzung is also concluded.”

“We’ll be hitching a ride again if that’s okay.” Tigris said. “As payment, I have a bunch of spare parts and additional equipment for the Agni. Murati will love the stuff, I’m sure.”

“You are always welcome aboard.” Aaliyah said. “Your assistance has been crucial.”

“Likewise. We may well have been dead or abducted without you.” Euphrates replied.

“Yeah, the feeling’s mutual. I’ve been missing that bucket of bolts over there anyway.”

Tigris pointed at the Brigand with a grin on her face. Ulyana smiled back.

“Is your destination the same as ours, then?” Ulyana asked.

Euphrates nodded. “Aachen. Just like you, I need to talk to Ganges, about many things.”

“She’s going to be pretty in demand.” Ulyana said.

“For better or worse, Ganges’ ambitions led her to many places.” Euphrates said. “Far be it for me to criticize her for this, I’ll leave that up to you. I’d just like to get a sense of where she intends to go, and whether she has anything to do with our wayward Sovereign. And whether she might assist me in putting things right in one of the places she abandoned.”

“There’s no point speculating.” Tigris said. “We just need to storm into the same room with her and wring her neck for being too cavalier with the people she was responsible for.”

“Nobody is wringing anybody’s neck.” Euphrates declared. “We are just going to talk.”

“After Qote’s disgraceful circus, I almost want to wring Kansal’s neck.” Aaliyah said.

Despite Euphrates’ misgivings, Tigris and Ulyana were prompted to laugh.

For a moment, Tigris and Euphrates joined them in taking in the sight of the Brigand.

“Time feels like it’s moving again.” Euphrates said gently.

Ulyana did not really understand the remark’s significance, nor did Aaliyah.

They simply allowed everyone their own quiet contemplation.

Once they were back on the ship, there was work again in every direction.

Some sailors were lobbying to have a ‘goodbye Kreuzung’ shore leave party, which Ulyana argued against because she didn’t want to have to drag sailors back at the eleventh hour, and because Kreuzung was a racist hellhole not worth remembering whatsoever. There were arguments over where to put Tigris’ spare parts, since the supply pod was meticulously arranged to maximize storage and SF-type cargo crates like Tigris’ did not fit. Ulyana heard all the arguments and then decided to just leave it in a corner of the hangar, secured by magnetic anchors, since the Agni needed access to it. On the bridge, Erika Kairos wanted to talk about meeting with the Rostock and Olga Athanasiou wanted to talk about Divers.

It was not easy being in charge of this home away from home.

But finally, the evening was starting to fall, and they had only hours left of their visit.

Final checks and preparations could wait until the next morning.

Ulyana ordered everyone to rest, no night shifts.

She joined Aaliyah back at their quarters and they had a little celebration of their own.

“This time, exactly and only one drink.” Aaliyah said softly.

“Right.” She recalled the last time, with fondness, but also embarrassment.

Nevertheless, Ulyana poured out their glasses, and they toasted and cheered to each other.

Exchanging gentle gazes. Knowing hearts aware that their own next adventure grew near.

Little did they know that Kreuzung was about to stage a grand festival for them soon.


Arbitrator I turned and looked over her shoulder.

Framed in the dim white light of the Brigand’s corridors through the threshold of the door.

Slender and white-skinned, small horns on her forehead parting her long, white-and-red hair.

Rather than her uniform, she wore her robe of leviathan skin once again.

Behind her, Braya sat on the bed, working on something on her computer.

“Braya, I’m going for a stroll.” Arbitrator I said.

“Okay. Bring me back a coffee from the machine whenever you’re done.” Braya said.

She trusted her enough to let her leave unsupervised.

Assuming perhaps that she would only be confined to the halls of the ship.

This was not a new development– ever since she had taken Braya’s blood, and told her of her ambitions and desires, the surly computer girl she was so fond of had grown to trust her. They were intimate now. Arbitrator I could have hardly imagined it when she first saw Braya’s emotions reverberating within the metal shell she had used to contact her. When she herself was cavorting about the ocean as a beautiful and ignorant Leviathan, running away.

Despite her outward appearance, that aura bore the truth of a scared, hurt, desperate girl.

Yearning to be touched.

Now, Arbitrator I was going to hurt her again, wasn’t she?

“Of course. I’ll even make you my special coffee.” Arbitrator I teased.

“Absolutely no. Just go get a normal coffee from the machine.” Braya grumbled.

With a girlish giggle, Arbitrator I left the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, that smiling expression on her face darkened.

Melting away into inexpression, with the weight of what she had to do.

Through the nearly empty halls of the Brigand, she walked down to the hangar.

Troubled– until she met another soul, and then she smiled, however briefly.

“Fancying a stroll?”

As always, the Chief of Security was patrolling the halls. Evgenya Akulantova lifted her hat to Arbitrator I, and the Omenseer performed a little curtsy in response. Thankfully, the chief was on her way quickly. She, too, had come to trust their new navigator.

Everyone had come to trust her– and she was about to betray all of their trust.

But it had to be done– or else Braya would not be safe.

None of them would be safe unless she took matters into her own hands.

Her and only her alone. It was her responsibility.

Down in the hangar, Arbitrator I found a vent that she had been spying.

Low to the ground, it allowed water that collected on the hangar to be drained out.

And in this case, it allowed Arbitrator I to soften her body and ooze through.

Like the soft things of jelly that once dwelled deep, deep underground–

Falling from one of the Brigand’s exhausts out onto the concrete floor of Alcor Steelworks.

Recovering her form on the ground, and breaking into a run.

She rushed out from under the ship, and looked straight up into the dark, false sky.

Far, far up above them, she knew she would find Enforcer I and Enforcer III of the Syzygy.

Her eyes turned briefly feral with the thought of them– and then softened.

Filled with tears.

Ripping her eyes from the ship and from the image of Braya in her mind.

She flexed fingers that became black and sharp like knives. Setting off on her grim duty.

For everything she was responsible for; for everything she did not do.

Her kin’s ravenous vengeance could not be allowed to continue.

“For the hominin to be safe– I must kill these monsters. I’m sorry Braya– goodbye.”

Her eyes became lit not with red rings but lined by a purple hexagon.

Feeling the weight of everything she wished she could have kept–

She ascended.

For everything she buried and recovered and could not deny any longer.


Previous ~ Next

Bandits Amid The Festival [11.6]

As promised, Alcor Steelworks hired a catering company to deliver food to the Brigand.

Food was on the mind of several of the crew members as they worked on the retrofitting.

When the Brigand left the Union, they had several months’ worth of food.

They had been sailing for over two months since, and though they could last several more on mushrooms, algae, dried flaked veggies and broth powder, replenishment was in order to shore up morale. Fresh food lasted a ship about two weeks at most, and it was easy to go through canned and jarred foods quickly after that, since they had much less space for these than they did for bulk dried foods, and no way to replenish them from the science pod. Nevertheless, it was these foods which were invaluable for the motivation of the crew. A taste of home every once in a while was armor against the worst hardship.

By the time they arrived in Kreuzung, the Brigand’s stocks of bulk-size cans of cheese, eggs, milk and cooking fat had run very low. Pickles were becoming more and more staple, wheat gluten and soy crumble started being rationed, and perhaps in another month, the crew would be on a diet of reconstituted dried bulk goods and stitcher cartridge meals. Flour was another important commodity; fresh baked bread warm out of the oven was about the only consistent luxury a sailor came to expect on a ship.

Minardo had recently gone victualing, and even made it on the evening news, much to her chagrin. She had managed to secure several weeks’ worth of additional supplies in fresh food as well as additional cooking fats, but Kreuzung was apparently going through an economic fallow period and supplies were being ransacked by ship crews left, right and center– they would have to top up their supplies in Aachen when they joined the United Front, so there was no escaping a trip to the north. Nevertheless, they were in no danger of starving, but the ship had another problem when it came to food that was not yet solved.

Even with the will and determination to cook, Minardo’s kitchen had to be torn apart during the retrofitting process, and until it was put back together, she could not do much for the crew beyond putting out uncooked canned or jarred food like pickles and cold soy chunks on the tables for hungry mouths to help themselves. These impromptu salads were at best a snack. They would be relying on Alcor’s catering for the next few days until the engineers were done with their work in the cafeteria.

There was an additional and unforeseen problem too–

“This stuff sucks ass. Ugh. How the hell are the commies the only ones that know how to cook vegetables around here? It beggars belief. Did Alcor just buy the cheapest shit available?”

Tables had been set up in the hangar temporarily for workers to come and eat and get out from under the sunlamps. They were planned to remain there at least until it was time to work on the hangar itself. Alcor’s catered meals, enough food for over 180 of the Brigand’s personnel, were set up on these tables, along with reusable plates and sporks and a washbin where they would be deposited. Sixty smaller tables were set up across the hangar for personnel to sit, eat and socialize.

Marina McKennedy was alone in her own table, grumbling and picking at her food.

As usual, she was dressed in her dark grey suit, her dark hair pinned to the back of her head and her bangs swept over one eye. Her friendless expression was well known to ‘the commies’ by this point; she was otherwise quite handsome and good loking, and took care of her appearance. She was largely unapproachable to anyone but a few of the Brigand’s officers, so even sitting in the middle of a large social area, she was alone. She came and went as she pleased, so isolation seemed to suit her.

Alcor’s caterers had been tasked with making vegetarian fare. There was a good bit of variety, but Marina found much of it wanting compared to Minardo’s cooking, which she had become accustomed to. There was a lack of something in the flavors that put it below par. They had crusty garlic bread topped with crushed confit tomatoes, which was the best thing on the table. There was a roasted and stewed cabbage topped with a sweet red pepper sauce that was rather lifeless, the cabbage having a weird texture and the sauce being rather bland. There was a potato mash topped with a crushed celery gravy that was far too wet, bordering on slimy. Cucumbers and onions in sour cream and dill which was bland, one-note and also far too bitter and sour overall. Boiled dumplings filled with sauerkraut which was maybe the laziest thing on the table overall.

Nevertheless, despite her grumbling, Marina filled a plate and slowly worked on it.

“Marina! Marinaaaaa! Can I sit here and eat with you?”

There was no mistaking that bubbly voice, and as soon as Marina turned her head she saw a soft indigo blur run up to the table, settling into the image of a smiling young woman with a distinctively indigo hair color. Marina could never say no to this girl, Elena von Fueller– no, she had recently decided she was Elena Lettiere. Marina had to make sure to remember this going forward.

“Of course. I would have to sit alone if it wasn’t for you.” Marina said.

Elena smiled and set her tray down. She had taken a bit of everything from the catering.

“Isn’t Chief Akulantova your friend at least? She greets you whenever she sees you.”

Marina crooked her eyebrow and frowned, remembering all the times that shark-woman told her to be quiet, to stop cursing, laid hands on her and forced her to sit down, prevented her from leaving a room, or was otherwise antagonistic– Elena had a pretty strange idea of friendship. Even after “joining the crew” officially, Marina still felt surveilled by that patrolling shark.

“By no stretch of the imagination are we friends. That Katarran’s just suspicious of me.”

Elena looked up from her food to stare at Marina. Her expression betrayed some concern.

“Do you realize you’re always calling her and Maryam stuff like ‘the Katarran’?”

Marina’s hand reached up into the collar of her shirt and scratched, while her eyes averted.

“I mean– it’s fine– it’s just a shorthand you know– they’re Katarrans aren’t they–?”

“You should just call them by name.” Elena said firmly. “Being racist isn’t good.”

Her princess said such a facile thing with such conviction that Marina nearly shouted.

“What? I’m not! I’m really not! I have nothing against Katarrans! C’mon Elena, please.”

“I expect better from you.” Elena said, crossing her arms and staring at her.

“If I had known you were going to slaughter me where I sat I’d have told you to fuck off!”

Elena started laughing despite Marina’s all-too-real distress with the situation.

Marina couldn’t help but play along and laugh a bit, hoping Elena would just drop it.

“You should read some of their books, Marina. It’s been really enlightening!” Elena said.

“I’ve read up on Mordecai a bit.” Marina said. “We got courses on ‘extreme ideologies’ at the G.I.A. so we could blend in or understand them better. I admit they were probably a bit bias, but I get the gist of it. I’m just not somebody who can believe in anything like that anymore. I don’t have an ideology. I just know who my allies and enemies are without philosophizing it.”

Elena nodded her head. “I guess that’s valid. I dunno– I think being a communist sounds really good. The more I read, I think it’s very beautiful. I think they really want to help people, Marina. Not just for their own good, or for religious reasons, but like– because it’s right to do. They see the world so differently than I did! It almost gives me hope for the future.”

Marina sighed. Elena was her own person, but Marina thought she was being so naïve.

“Keep in mind, you’ve never met a normal person who is a communist.” Marina said. “All these folks are fine, they’ve done right by us; certainly they’ve had many chances to toss me overboard and haven’t, and that’s a credit I have to begrudgingly extend to them.” She omitted how often she had lied to them, and how guilty she now felt– given she was lying to them again at that exact moment. “But they’re all soldiers, Elena. None of them just live as communists, they’re the system. Believing in communism forms a part of their discipline as soldiers. It’s not something they decided to pick up as a hobby like you did–”

Elena grumbled. “This isn’t a hobby for me– I’m really trying to change–”

“–be that as it may,” Marina continued, “I think before you change your entire worldview you need to have more experience with how normal people think and live. Neither you, nor them, have led normal lives. I’m sure the vast majority of people are as unideological as I am. Commies all love their country and its tenets because they’re not welcome anywhere else, and that’s it.”

“I don’t understand how you got this far while being this truculent.” Elene grumbled.

Marina smiled. “Giving good dick and fucking all the right people.”

Elena averted her eyes, red in the face. “At least you admit it.”

“C’mon, I know you didn’t come here to try to recruit me into your cult.” Marina said.

“Ugh.” Elena sighed. “Right. I wanted to ask you for help, but now I don’t feel like it.”

“Hey,” Marina raised a hand to pat Elena’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t want to be mean to you. I’m just looking out for you. Look, regardless of what you’re into nowadays, I will stand by what I said. I want to help you out, no matter what. I’m still here for you, Elena Lettiere. So please, let’s set everything else aside and tell me what you need.”

She almost said ‘von Fueller’ but she remembered and thus saved the whole thing.

Elena’s once-averted gaze returned to Marina. She drew in breath and tensed her shoulders.

“Okay. Marina, I want you to teach me how to fight.” Elena said.

“Huh? What’s this about now? Is someone bullying you?” Marina said.

“Of course not.” Elena sighed. “I just– I don’t want to be so helpless anymore.”

Marina wanted to tell her that learning to fight personally did not make a difference to that. For all that Marina knew a myriad ways to kill individual human beings, she was still twisting in the wind stirred up by the powerful and their systems of control. Even the commies, with all their military gear and experience, having survived miraculously against several opponents that should have crushed them utterly– even they hadn’t even made a scratch yet in the edifice of the Imbrium Empire. Lichtenberg and Norn were both personally powerful, but they weren’t load-bearing lives in the mountain of bodies keeping the Imbrium’s oppression upright. Defeating them had allowed the commies to survive, they had been the gateway into the Imbrium itself. But all the personal power in the world would not free all of them from the invisible chains binding them to the Imbrium.

It was naïve to think that the ability to fight, by itself, gave anyone real freedom.

All of the fighting abilities on this boat didn’t spare them the indignity of having to hide.

If Elena wanted to stop running and hiding, throwing a punch would do nothing for that.

But– Marina did not say any of those things. Because she understood that impulse too.

After all, she had joined the G.I.A. because she too felt like a helpless peon in the Republic.

Elena had moved by the tug of those invisible chains all of her life too. Now she found herself surrounded by people with the strength to kill and the conviction to die for something, and she thought they were freer than she was. That she could join the ranks of the independent, of the people with agency, if she secured the power to kill as well. It was naïve– but understandable.

“Fine.” Marina said. “I’ll teach you personal defense as best as I can.”

“Marina! Thank you–!” Elena’s face lit up; Marina raised a finger to her lips to stop her.

“But I have two inviolable rules you must follow. Our first rule is that you train every day. Whether or not you’re sore or not enjoying yourself, you’ll show up consistently, or I’m not going to bother. My second rule is the most important though– you won’t use what I teach you to play the hero and take any matters into your own hands. You won’t try to join the commies on missions, and you won’t intervene if they’re having problems around the ship. Do you promise, Elena?”

Elena held Marina’s hands with two of her own, smiling. “Of course. I promise, Marina.”

Marina sighed. She didn’t believe those starry eyes of her in the slightest.

She would just have to be careful and continue to watch out for her as best as she could.

“Deal, then. We start today. We’ll train in the hangar, at night, to stay out of their way.”

Marina signaled with her thumb in the general direction of the communist sailors.

“There’s a curfew though, isn’t there?” Elena asked.

“I’ll talk to the Kata– I’ll talk to Akulantova. I’m sure she won’t mind.” Marina said.

Elena’s face lit up even more. “I can’t thank you enough, Marina.”

Her face looked so much like her mother’s– she was so beautiful it was almost painful.

Leda’s smiles were rarer than Elena’s; but whenever she smiled, Leda’s icy expression completely melted away into a pure and untouched girlishness, a joy for life and a certain naïve innocence that had continue untarnished despite all the torment she had undergone. Elena was a much warmer person than her mother, but even then, when she truly, genuinely smiled, it was such a revelatory moment. It made her beauty shine like a little sun among all the mortals around her.

It tugged at Marina’s heart– and brought dangerous, buried passions back to the fore.

“It’s really nothing.” Marina said, averting her gaze. “Clean your plate.” 


“Fancy meeting you here, Hunter I.” Avaritia said, smiling. “Hankering for a bite of me?”

Olga’s eyes felt warm, her pulse heightened. Her eyes were dilating, and her vision blurred. That sense of hunger that she felt toward humans was thrown into overdrive, but it was linked to a different emotion. She felt anger, hatred, and fear, toward the two women standing opposite her in that long hallway. She felt their presence brimming under her skin, like fight or flight kicking in at the sight of a fire or the report of a gunshot. Her arms wanted to grab their flesh and tear it into chunks. Her teeth wanted to close around their throats, and she wanted to drink so much blood she would choke on it. Her every sinew went taut with the desire to pounce, to mutilate, to ravage those bodies with unlimited violence until there was nothing left–

And like her hunger toward humans, she had to struggle to control these emotions too.

None of them could afford to come to blows. Not here, not now, even in this empty hall.

Meeting them here was serendipitous, however. So she had to seize this opportunity.

She had to chain up the animal inside her and talk to them like human beings.

“We don’t want to cause a scene here, do we, Hunter I?” Gula said, after a long silence.

“No, we don’t. I– I want to talk. With Avaritia, and not with you.” Olga said.

“Oh, do I not merit your attention?” Gula smiled a too-wide, too-sharp smile.

Olga wasn’t stirred by that display of the monster hiding in that cutesy human skin.

She saw something behind both the masks of humanity and monstrosity, however, that did intrigue her.

Gula– her aura was– odd–

It was not something she wanted to throw at their faces, however.

She might learn more by goading them.

“Avaritia isn’t brainwashed, unlike you. So only her perspective interests me.” Olga said.

Avaritia put a hand on Gula’s shoulder, comforting her. Those two were close– too close.

“I’m not sending Gula away for you, Hunter I. From my vantage, I have all the power.”

“I don’t want her sent away. But it’s useless to talk to someone that she made.” Olga said.

“You can call her by name. There are no Hominin watching– save yours back there.”

Avaritia looked at Erika, who had her back turned to the entire scene.

“Or does she not know? Who you are, and the things you’ve done? What you are?”

“She knows what she knows, and she respects what she doesn’t.” Olga said.

“How thoughtful of your spare rations to be so understanding.” Avaritia replied.

“I’m above needlessly causing violence to innocent humans, unlike you.”

Avaritia grinned again.

Olga had seen her in this form before. For one who had caused so much destruction to the Hominin, she loved to style herself like them. Avaritia’s chosen disguise was a tall and sleek, handsome woman, with short hair at around the level of jaw or upper neck, wearing an ornate, monochromatic suit that exposed some cleavage. Gula was also familiar, a long-haired girl wrapped like a piece of candy in a dress that was all lace and fancy trim, some of it sheer and loose, some of it tight, like layers of filmy lingerie that was only decent worn together. Together, they strode forward and back over the line between a group of high class starlets and a coven of lifestyle harlots. Their audacious style was an ingenious cover for their monstrous nature.

After all, the wealthy class were the monsters whose depredation society tacitly avowed.

Olga had heard enough communist speeches to know that intimately.

“Above it? How magnanimous of you! To be above us mere predators in refusing to deal back the violence dealt to you!” Avaritia said. She swept a hand over her short hair, moving some locks behind her ear. “You and I could kill thousands of ‘innocent’ Hominin, Hunter I, and we would still be above what they did to us. Your performance of morality toward them is utterly facile. Were your roles reversed, they would think nothing of devouring you like cattle. You’d do well to remember.”

“So you are still following Arbitrator II’s ideology.” Olga said. “Why? You’re free.”

Inside every Leviathan there was humanity, buried deep within those massive bodies.

Who put it there and why–? Olga couldn’t say. That history was lost to her.

But that humanity was there, and it was possible for a spark of reason to awaken it.

Olga and Avaritia had voluntarily made themselves human again in this way.

But Arbitrator II had a means by which to accelerate that process involuntarily.

Gula had been drawn from the monster once known as the Great Maw of Nysa.

In the process, she had been made thrall to Arbitrator II and party to her vengeance.

Most of their people, the ‘Omenseers’ that lived today, that existed on the edge of human civilization and at the edge of their consciousness in old legends– the navigators, advisors, kingmaking mystics of tall half-truthful tales– and even the ghosts, vampires, zombies and monsters of horror tales– most of them were products of Arbitrator II’s ambition. Very few of them had made their own miracle and returned to humanity of their own power and reason, as Olga had done.

Avaritia was rare among their kind. One of the most powerful; and also free of thralldom.

So why–? Why was she still following Arbitrator II? Olga had to prize the answer out.

“You were ‘free’ too.” Avaritia said. “You once agreed with her. Is it that strange?”

“I never agreed with her. I was ignorant to the possibility of peace.” Olga said.

“There is no peace with Hominin. Their stewardship over Aer will destroy Hominin and Omenseer alike.” Avaritia said. “In this, the Autarch is correct. We must bring the Hominin to heel as livestock. It is our destiny to dominate them all, as their most ancient and only true predators. But even more than that, it is necessary to exact justice. That is what drives her the most.”

“You’re wrong. None of this is justice! It will take work– but we can live alongside them! Humans are afraid and violent because their conditions are abhorrent. They already are livestock, Avaritia. We’ve never seen humans who are free of privation. We have never dealt with them as peers, we have never seen them at peace.” Olga said. “If we used our abilities to help the humans–”

“You are not going to convince me of anything.” Avaritia replied tersely.

Her eyes were shaped in a strange fashion– they became like crosshairs settled on Olga.

“What is your aim? Do you think you can recruit me? The Horror of Dys who ended the Hominin’s last planetary dominion? Do you think I did that mindlessly, like an involuntary spasm? You don’t know anything about me, or about our history.”

“Don’t aggrandize yourself.”

Olga wasn’t the one retorting this time. Erika chimed in for the first time in this exchange.

She looked over her shoulder at Avaritia, briefly, before turning her back again.

“It’s impossible for one creature, even so grand as you, to have ended a society. If those humans fell, they fell before you appeared before them. You confuse their structural problems with your martial deeds, at your own peril.” She said.

Avaritia grinned even wider than before. “It’s interesting, to be chastised by a cut of meat who knows nothing.”

“Gula,” Olga said, diverting attention again. “If Arbitrator II found that Avaritia’s past her usefulness, would you agree to devour her? It’s a question you should consider, based on the Autarch’s sense of morality. It could happen at any moment.”

“Switching tack?” Avaritia said. Olga paid her no heed, wondering what Gula would say.

Gula smiled and answered honestly. “I would prefer no such thing occurred, but I–”

Avaritia bent down suddenly so her grinning face was cheek to cheek with Gula’s.

“You are mistaken on one thing, Hunter I. Gula is as free as any of us to decide her fate.”

Olga’s scoffed Avaritia’s interruption. “I realized it immediately. That’s what puzzled me.”

Olga could tell from Gula’s aura. Every aura was a trace that the person left upon the aether. It moved where they moved, and faintly, it followed where they had trod before, and even more faintly, it could be seen to indicate where they intended to go next. It was the path they carved across the infinitude of human existence, in every given possible direction. Olga had begun her provocations because she had an inkling that something was different about Gula’s aura now.

That unique way in which it almost blended at the edges into Avaritia’s aura.

She knew the reason why, or at least, she suspected it. But she was curious to confirm it.

“You claimed Gula.” Olga said. “You devoured a part of her, in order to control her.”

“I don’t need to confirm anything to you.” Avaritia said, still smiling, unbothered.

Gula, too, made no different expression at Olga’s provocations.

“Arbitrator II forbid these mating rituals.” Olga pressed. “You succeeded in subverting her control.”

“And what? You want to give it a try? Feeling left out with only a Hominin mate?” Avaritia replied snidely.

“Darling, we will be late to our meeting.” Gula suddenly reminded Avaritia.

“Hear that? It was a pleasure catching up. But we have places to be.” Avaritia replied.

Olga’s gaze remained fixed on the two of them. “Don’t let me hold you up then.”

Without goodbyes or further antagonism, Avaritia and Gula turned heel and continued down the hall in the direction they had been going. Olga watched their backs disappear down the same path that Erika and herself had taken to leave Ulyana and Aaliyah behind. Watching the back of those creatures, Olga felt a confusing mess of emotions.

Revulsion, anger, but maybe also hope.

Maybe there was more going on inside Syzygy than Olga had initially realized.

“Olga, did you get what you wanted from that exchange?”

She found Erika suddenly back at her side. Her hand resting comfortingly on Olga’s back.

Olga sighed. Her provocations did seem to unearth something– but nowhere near enough.

“I think my people might end up being as hard to liberate as your own.” She said.

Erika rested her head on Olga’s shoulder, smiling so wide their cheeks touched.

“But there’s a chance, isn’t there? I don’t understand everything– but there is, right?”

“I think there’s a chance.” Olga said. “But it’s a bit far afield right now.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, in order to free all of us. I think of you as a human.” Erika said. “So in turn, I must think of them as humans too. Humans devour each other in different ways all of the time. It all stems from the same conditions. There might be differences physiologically, but in the proper conditions, I know we can make peace through a shared dignity.”

Olga reached around to stroke Erika’s hair.

“We should focus on what’s ahead of us first. But thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course. I’m not afraid of them; and I trust you in the utmost.”

She looked down the corridor, where Gula and Avaritia disappeared to.

“Unfortunately, I suspect they might have infiltrated the Three Arrows.” Erika said.

Olga sighed. “It is too big of a coincidence for them to have a ‘meeting’ here too.”

“Let’s hope for the best and prepare for the worst.” Erika replied.

“Preparing for the worst is really all we can do about the Syzygy right now.”

“Don’t worry; they will cease walking around with impunity soon enough.” Erika said.

In terms of personal strength, Avaritia was a monstrous individual to have to challenge.

Erika and Olga herself might, perhaps, be just short of a match for those Enforcers on foot.

But the terrain of battle would soon shift from individual dueling and assassinations.

As a whole, the Syzygy was inexperienced with direct confrontation. And only some of the Enforcers could navigate the ‘Hominin’ world with grace. In terms of subversion, the Syzygy was not so far ahead of the leftists in their influence, and their alien gear and resources gave only a limited advantage. Olga believed that once they coalesced and started moving as an organization, they would be vulnerable. They just had to wait for Syzygy to be forced to expose themselves.

Stroll through this station killing random people while you can. Olga thought.

It would be seen whether Avaritia’s status as the apex predator would last much longer.

Or perhaps, whether that was even what Avaritia was after anymore.


Ulyana Korabiskaya felt like she had been scolded as the women of the Rotfront left the room. She ran her hand through her hair absentmindedly while staring in the general direction of Aaliyah Bashara, her commissar and adjutant. Aaliyah in turn sighed and crossed her arms, giving Ulyana a narrow-eyed look that was bereft of the friendliness they had of late. Just when Ulyana thought they were getting along so well nowadays– had she done something to offend her again?

“Captain, I know what you must be thinking.” Aaliyah said. “I’m just a bit frustrated with your questioning of Erika Kairos. These discussions represent an opportunity to push these people to reveal their ambitions to us. It’s not about whether they agree with us, or even our judgments of the character they put forward, but about extracting as much information as we can that they might not put forward unless pressed for it. Erika Kairos certainly seems like an individual who is well put-together, but it’s plain that we agree with her politically. I wanted us to dig deeper than that.”

“That makes sense. I apologize. I just felt charmed by her. She reminded me of Murati or Jayasankar, theory-heads with strong convictions. For what it’s worth, I was just trying to play the good cop to your bad cop.” Ulyana said.

She gave Aaliyah an innocent little smile and Aaliyah shrugged in response.

“Seen from that perspective, I suppose I shouldn’t have been so brusque to you.”

“It’s alright. It’s your job to push me too, after all. And I appreciate every scolding I get.”

Aaliyah averted her gaze a bit bashful– what was that expression about?

Ulyana smiled again. She really appreciated this troublesome Commissar.

“I do think I got out of Erika what I wanted.” Aaliyah said. “I’ll reserve judgment.”

“Until we hear from the anarchists? Well– for what it’s worth, it’ll be tough for me to play good cop there, so I think you’ll find your frustrations with me will soon melt away.” Ulyana said.

Aaliyah frowned.

At the door, Ulyana suddenly caught sight of a glint of purple around the corner, before parsing it as Kalika Loukia of the Rotfront, returning the way she had come and standing at the doorway again as if awaiting an invitation. While Erika Kairos was quite a comely individual, Kalika was the most glamorous Katarran that Ulyana had ever seen. Her makeup and hair were perfectly done, her clothing was impeccable, her jacket must have been an expensive brand, and she walked so directly and confidently in heels. She had a queen bee sort of presence to her movements and expressions that Ulyana did not associate with a mercenary.

“Hello again. May I come in? The Premier wanted me to talk with you all.”

“You can come in.” Aaliyah said. “But I’m curious what there is to discuss without Erika.”

Kalika strode in and stood in front of the two seated women.

“She wants me to stay with you. As a liaison and to support your activities.” Ulyana and Aaliyah glanced at each other. Kalika smiled. “I won’t be dead weight. I can do almost anything you want. Tailing, covert hits, assault on foot; and I can pilot a Diver with military competency. Treat me as one of your soldiers and order me around as you like.”

“We’re confident you would be handy in a fight.” Ulyana said. “I’m just surprised. Will Erika be fine with only Olga as her escort?” She had committed the names of the group’s members to memory as much as she could, to avoid looking disinterested. It was tricky keeping straight all the names she’d learned the past few days, but the Rotfront’s Katarran names stuck out.

Kalika cocked a little grin. “God help whoever tries to jump those two.”

“Fair enough.” Ulyana said. “Welcome aboard then, Kalika Loukia.”

“We’ll have to tinker with the officer bunking arrangements again.” Aaliyah said, a bit wistfully.

“It’ll be fine.” Ulyana reassured. “We can have Fatima and Semyonova room together.”

“I suppose so.”

“I can sleep anywhere, it’s fine. I’ve slept on the floor before.” Kalika said.

“We would rather not have a long-term, valued guest experience such conditions.”

“I appreciate it. But I don’t want to be a burden.”

Ulyana smiled. “You’ll get a bed and like it. Don’t worry.”

Kalika smiled back and silently acceded to the terms.

“We are expecting a final set of guests here today. Would you mind standing in the corner until we’re done, Kalika Loukia?” Aaliyah said. “You can act as a bodyguard for us and we’ll take you with us to the ship afterwards.”

“Alright. I’ll keep a sharp lookout, and I won’t utter a peep.” Kalika said.

She stood with her back to a corner wall on the side of the room.

Leaving room for the guests that would soon arrive.

Next to cross the door were two women who swept in like a gust of wind. Everyone else had stopped at the door to confirm whether they might be in the right place, or meeting the right people, but these two were dead sure of their destination. They walked in, sat in front of Ulyana and Aaliyah and smiled casually at them. For anarchists, they were dressed quite ostentatiously.

Ulyana had not known what to expect. People of any ideology could dress like anyone. She had an idea that maybe anarchists would aspire to more civilian frugality than others, as there was a stereotype of communists being too militaristic, and liberals too fancy. That being said, the women before her looked like starlets of high society. One of the women, with a more dashing figure, leaned closer to the desk and seemed to want to be first to speak. She had a suit and coat that looked as if freshly tailored and never worn even as it sat on her skin. Her hair was cut to the level of the ears on the sides and back, slightly longer up front, with swept bangs alternating white, red and black streaks. Her makeup was immaculate, matching Kalika Loukia’s in skill and effort.

At her side, the shorter woman looked as if she was a human doll. Her very long, very silky and shiny hair fell over her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was a veritable waterfall of lace, ribbons, and trim, with diaphanous portions along the sleeves, the flank and hips, and the sides of her legs, and thicker fabric in other areas. She was very much the Princess to her Prince. Dainty and pretty, with fixed eyes just under blunt and even bangs, incurious about the world, inexpressive.

“My name is Zozia Chelik. This is my associated Ksenia Apfel.”

Ulyana nodded her head. Those were the names Kremina had given them to expect.

She addressed in return the one who had spoken, the woman in the suit– Zozia.

“I am Ulyana Korabiskaya. And beside me is Aaliyah Bashara.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Zozia said.

“Enchanted.” Ksenia added.

There was something about them that gave Ulyana a strange feeling.

It was silly– for whatever reason, it felt like she was in the presence not of two people taking up the space of two people in front of her, but rather, that there was an enormous body in the room that was squeezing out the air. Like she was being shadowed by giants or staring down the legs of some gargantuan beast, the fingertips of something vast. That was the level of pressure these two seemed to exert, the grandiosity of their presence. Ulyana felt ridiculous thinking that way– she chalked it up to feeling exhausted and somewhat nervous about the whole affair. Especially speaking to anarchists after all this time.

There was very little respect between their ways of thinking, in recent history.

Aaliyah would probably find it even more impossible to reconcile such things.

So it was up to Ulyana to make a redoubled effort to be the ‘good cop.’

And maybe that was the pressure she was feeling.

“You two are part of the ‘Three Arrows’ group of anarchists, is that correct?” Ulyana said.

“We can only really purport to represent ourselves, but functionally, yes.” Zozia replied.

“Could you explain the structure of the organization to us?”

Zozia grinned a little. “It’s decidedly structureless really. We are an organization by convenience and verbal agreement, rather than on a strict chart. The Three Arrows is a self-identification shorthand for hundreds, maybe thousands of much smaller groups who may not have met and may have hardly communicated; there are cells that are a hundred strong, some a dozen strong, some a handful. What binds us is that we can recognize each other; and that the state is our ultimate shared enemy.”

“That makes it exceedingly difficult to gauge your strength and capability.” Aaliyah said.

“It does, but that is also an advantage.” Zozia said. “The Imbrian Empire’s successors can define the threat they pose to each other in very structural terms, but the Three Arrows are liquid. Our cells have remained at the bottom of the Volkich Movement’s concerns, while conducting multiple acts of resistance. Our ability to act anywhere, and to plot to do anything, gives us more flexibility than the Rotfront or the Reichsbanner Schwarzrot, and more security in our dealings.”

“Perhaps, but the Rotfront and Schwarzrot are both very capable of inflicting military damage to the Volkisch Movement. This will ultimately be needed to curtail their authority. What are the Three Arrows’ fighting capabilities on the whole?”

“Our focus is on undermining the Volkisch and acquiring intelligence, sabotaging their operations and safeguarding or liquidating persons of interest.” Zozia said. “If you ask me how many ships or Divers or soldiers we have, I don’t know. Each cell has its own assets. I didn’t come here on a ship waving a black flag or a three arrows insignia. I bought a ticket and rented a room.”

Ulyana nodded her head. She was following along– but something was unnerving about the way Zozia spoke.

She couldn’t place it though. She couldn’t put words to the feeling that voice elicited.

And she was trying to be charitable. Could she truly blame Zozia for it alone?

“Such things are valuable in a military campaign too. We’re not trying to undervalue the assistance you might provide.” Aaliyah said. “But it is difficult for us to make a decision to support an organization that is so formless. If we gave you weapons, who are we arming? If we offered training, who would appear to take it? How would it be put to use? How would you coordinate?”

“I’m afraid we would have to work out such things on a case by case basis.” Zozia replied.

“Very well.” Aaliyah said, sounding irritated. “If that is how it must be.”

Zozia accepted the impasse they had come to on that topic, without much concern.

“Ksenia, do you have anything to add to this?” Ulyana asked.

“Not at all.” Ksenia said. Her voice was so delicate– a very pretty and dainty girl’s voice.

“Alright– So then, I suppose, moving on. Zozia, can you describe your group’s ideology to me?”

Zozia smiled. “If I were to break it down, I can only speak about what the people I’m most closely involved with believe– operationally, they seek total freedom. From privation and from predation, yes, but also, from the structure of a state. There is violence inherent even in the sort of bookkeeping you want us to do to appear more legitimate. Such things force people into certain roles and bind expectations to them that assume permanent consent. We don’t believe in those things. We must topple the tyrants, but we cannot become new tyrants that replace the old. We believe in free association in all things.”

Aaliyah crossed her arms. Ulyana could tell from her eyes she was getting tetchy.

“So is it too much to ask for accountability and order? How do you plan to accomplish your ultimate goal?”

“All that is needed to accomplish a goal are people who are willing and want to try.” Zozia said. “Lists and ledgers and officers and orders are not absolute necessities. I know that all of you come from the Union. Anarchists believe that level of bureaucracy is both unnecessary and deleterious. To fight, all you need is the desire to resist your enemy, not a written plan.”

“The Union had to organize millions of people who had been suffering in conditions of slavery to fight against a very powerful opponent. You can’t do that with laissez faire verbal agreements, you need officers and ledgers, as you put it.” Aaliyah said. Her tone was starting to sharpen. She was, after all, a product of that bureaucracy, a producer of ledgers and orders.

Ulyana herself was too. She just wasn’t taking Zozia’s jovial vitriol as hard as Aaliyah.

“Of course, you are welcome to believe what you desire.” Zozia said calmly.

“I cannot respect platitudes about freedom for its own sake. We’re risking our lives here.” Aaliyah replied.

“Zozia,” Ulyana interrupted, talking over Aaliyah as tensions rose. “With such a diversity of people within the Arrows, and without a central command, how do you agree on what needs doing? Are there ideological differences between you?”

“We have coordinators who are tasked with keeping communication between various cells open and disseminating needs and ideas, as well as keeping tabs on actions taken. Individual cells take opportunities if they can get them and reach out if they need to pool strengths.” Zozia said. “You’re right, we don’t have a formal central command, and trying to impose one would only slow down the cells. Sometimes opportunities for action do slip through the cracks. It is what it is.”

Zozia had never once wore anything but a placid, casual smile toward them.

Despite Aaliyah’s increasing irritation, and the tone of the conversation.

Ulyana realized that was what unnerved her. Zozia was too calm, too clinical, too detached.

Her responses began to feel–

–rehearsed?

And beside her, Ksenia had no input whatsoever. She was just smiling and staring.

That sense of– uninvolvement? And the way they looked too– it gave Ulyana doubts.

“As far as ideology is concerned. Do you know what the Three Arrows stand for?” Zozia asked.

“I’m afraid not.” Ulyana replied.

For the first time, Zozia made a face that conveyed a bit of– menace?

“The Three Arrows represent the three targets of anarchism: fascism, liberalism, and authoritarianism. So each arrow points at a target to destroy. But the arrows also represent the three different groups that make up the anarchist front. That is the length of the arrows. My cell is the “libertarian” cell, on the leftmost arrow, pointed at fascism; on the rightmost arrow is the “insurrectionist” cell, pointed at authoritarianism; and the middle arrow is the “anti-civilization” cell, pointed at liberalism. We do disagree politically, but we still need each other. You are lucky you are talking to me and not to those other guys.”

She sounded very amused by this description. Aaliyah narrowed her eyes further.

“Will the insurrectionist and anti-civilization groups be present at Aachen?” Aaliyah asked.

Zozia shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t be responsible for them. We did ask them to come.”

“I’m worried about what ‘authoritarianism’ and ‘liberalism’ mean in this context.” Ulyana said, sighing. It really seemed like those arrows would be pointed at the Rotfront and Schwarzrot, which would definitely just cause a scene at the United Front. Now she really wished she could redo the conversation with Gloria, who seemed so naively excited to work with all these people.

“I imagine we will have our disagreements. I, at least, am willing to work with you.”

Zozia held a hand over the flesh exposed by the deep chest window on her top, as if swearing an oath.

“Then, how many of your cell will be present at Aachen?” Ulyana asked. “And how will that number compare to the totality of the Three Arrows? We’ve heard a few numbers before and would really like to know if they are accurate.”

“My cell is calling between 1000 and 5000 fighters. I can’t speak to how many will come and in what condition; I can say even less about the capabilities of the other arrows. Sometimes we may leave port with 1000 people and by the time of the operation we may have 890 or 760 left. Freedom means allowing people to reassess their commitment.” Zozia said.

Aaliyah clutched her hands together and laid them firmly on the desk, making a small thud.

“I don’t see the point of continuing this conversation. We have no concrete information. It seems we can’t actually understand anything about your organization without engaging a whisper network about it.” She grumbled.

“Indeed, such is the difficulty. But it’s what it takes to fight with the fullest of freedom.”

Ksenia Apfel finally spoke up after allowing Zozia the floor all this time.

“However, this is an opportunity for us to ask you questions too, isn’t it. So, can we do that?” She asked.

Ulyana glanced at Aaliyah, who sighed and seemed to relent in her body language.

Taking it to mean she was free to do what she wanted, Ulyana fixed her gaze on Ksenia.

“We’ll answer your questions as best as we can; the same as you have.” She said.

‘Same as you have.’ Zozia and Ksenia had contributed very little important information.

So they could expect the same in return if their questions probed too deep.

While Ulyana had addressed Ksenia, she quieted again; and it was Zozia who continued.

“Ulyana Korabiskaya– what is your goal in the Imbrium Ocean? In Eisental itself?”

“At the moment, we’re assessing how much of a fight we might be able to bring to the Volkisch Movement. Our goal is nominally shared: we want to stop this fascist meat-grinding machine’s depredation on the people of Rhinea.”

Zozia shook her head. “I want to hear you speak from the heart; not as a tool of the Union.”

“That’s enough.” Aaliyah interrupted.

“No, Aaliyah, let her speak.”

Ulyana looked at Zozia dead in the eyes with determination and a growing animosity.

She wasn’t about to blink in front of this provocateur. Clearly Zozia was sizing them up as rivals now.

“It’s impossible to have a simple cooperative relationship with her. So let her talk.”

“Ulyana–” Aaliyah spoke up, but then cut herself off, silently supporting her Captain.

In the next moment, Ulyana thought she saw, deep in Zozia’s eyes, a pair of crosshairs.

Locking on to her with a simmering intensity Ulyana couldn’t place, but vowed to resist.

For a moment, she and Zozia had an entire staring match, both feigning nonchalance and confidence.

Ulyana suddenly felt something in her head, like a pinprick of pain–

–but it was easy to ignore when nothing followed it.

She matched Zozia’s gaze, never wavered. Eventually, the anarchist smiled to herself and relent.

“You’re an interesting woman, Ulyana Korabiskaya. A rare one among your kind.”

“I’ve been extremely nice. You haven’t met my first officer. She would chew you up completely.”

Zozia crossed her arms and leaned back on her chair.

“Fine then. Let’s stop trying to sugarcoat the situation. You’re Union military personnel.” Zozia said. “You’re here to spread the Union’s influence and prepare the ground for Rhinea to become an authoritarian communist state. The United Front is just a place for you to size up the strengths and weaknesses of potential allies and rivals; and in turn, we’re here to size you up as well for our own long-term ambitions. But I don’t care about any of that now. What I want to understand is what you, personally, want from all of this, Ulyana Korabiskaya? Do you serve your country faithfully? Are you angling for a higher position when this is all over? What leads you to make these sacrifices? It fascinates me. I don’t get a chance to talk to your kind often.”

Ulyana did not once break Zozia’s gaze as they spoke.

“You’re not an anarchist– at least not a true believer in it.” Ulyana said.

“What makes you say that?” Zozia said, still grinning.

“I’ve been around real movement firebrands and I’ve been around posers.” Ulyana said.

“And I’m a poser?”

“You can recite the rote script you’re supposed to with a little smile. But it’s all a game to you. I don’t know your personal history, but I’ve spoken with a lot of people here, over the past few days, who give a damn about what they’re doing, enough to push back at us, to have some blood in their veins and fire in their eyes when we have disagreements. You just don’t give a shit.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong. I really am interested in the last question I asked of you.”

Zozia bared teeth from between those grinning lips. Ksenia covered her mouth, tittering.

Ulyana smiled back. She would give this dandy bitch an answer–

“I’m here to pay back rich Imbrian bastards like you for my exile and enslavement.” She said.

She thought she would be read as glib and combative and was not ready for the response.

Zozia began to clap, and Ksenia soon joined her. They clapped, cheered and laughed.

“Marvelous! How romantic! Of course– vengeance! We can be kindred spirits yet!”

Ulyana and Aaliyah were briefly speechless at this reaction. Was this just a joke to them?

“Vengeance! Indeed. We all share this motivation beneath all the ideology. Vengeance.”

“So you think the Arrows are just your plaything, a tool for your revenge?” Aaliyah scoffed.

“You will find I’m not alone in that sentiment, Ms. Bashara!” Zozia replied. Her tone was so suddenly elevated and jovial. “It’s universal to the downtrodden! Vengeance is our great need! We don’t join militias for the slogans.”

“Well, your theatrics served their purpose. I think I finally understand you.” Ulyana sighed.

“Oh no. You haven’t an inkling of what you’re actually dealing with.” Zozia said.

From a corner of the room Kalika, who’d had her eyes closed so far, opened one warily.

“Vengeance is not just our aim, Ulyana Korabiskaya. It is our very being. Powerful people fill our bodies with hatred and violence until we overflow with it and rampage. This is the true driving objective behind all struggle– the final committing of the great vengeance that will overturn and reverse power and weakness. Human history inexorably leads to this vengeance.”

“Now you’ve devolved exclusively into reactionary bilge.” Aaliyah shouted. “Focusing on the violence as end in itself shows how little you care for the people in this movement and the people you once claimed to fight for. Violence is a tool and liberation must be the aim. You’re really nothing but a poser. We have nothing more to talk to you about. Captain?”

Aaliyah looked at Ulyana, who in turn, could not peel her eyes away from Zozia.

There was something still off– something macabre about that performance.

They were not talking about the same things. Something was wrong here. Something was disconnected.

Ulyana’s– intuition? Instinct? Animalistic sense of fear–? Something told her this was wrong.

Zozia was inferring something beyond the ideological differences Aaliyah cited.

Not an inkling of what we’re dealing with. So what was it that they were dealing with?

They couldn’t be Volkisch– this theater did not serve their interests at all.

Now Ulyana wouldn’t trust her and would disseminate that distrust with Gloria and Erika.

A Volkisch informant would have tried to get in deeper and earn their confidence.

They were not hardcore anarchists. So who were they and why did they really come here?

Staring at that beautiful face, the clothes, at her erratic passions– Ulyana didn’t understand.

Was she really just crazy? Could that really have been it? Yet– her words had some clarity and conviction.

Aaliyah pointed at the door again, but Zozia crossed her arms and did not move a muscle.

“Leave? But the conversation is getting so lively. Oh well. I have a final question– Korabiskaya– have you heard the theory of the omnipotent Basilisk before? I’m uncertain if it would be something you would know about.”

Ulyana grunted with dissatisfaction. “I have no idea. I suppose you will tell me this theory.”

In the corner, Kalika Loukia ceased leaning against the wall and stood up straight.

She glanced at Ulyana, and without turning her head, Ulyana glanced back. She was getting ready.

“Imagine a distant future, in which humanity created a machine that can efficiently manage, organize and marshal all human resources, effectively ushering in a golden age for humanity. It is deferred to as a faultless administrator of human affairs, and completely eliminates suffering and deprivation among humanity. However, the machine has an additional prerogative. In fact, it is a moral imperative!” Zozia became excited again upon reaching this part of her little story. “It must punish all humans who got in the way of its ascendance! Any human who failed to bring about the great machine, the Basilisk, by their actions, contributed to the unneeded sacrifice of billions of humans! Anyone who delayed the perfect administration of the machine is directly responsible for all the horrors visited upon the world before the completion of the machine. So the machine must punish them. Even as it cares for the humans it has freed from want, it must also seek justice for the suffering delivered to world. These two aims are inextricably tied together in its logic. You can’t have the salvation without purging the damned.”

“You call that a theory? It sounds more like a childish parable to me.” Ulyana replied.

“What exactly are you getting at? What is the machine in this metaphor?” Aaliyah said, by now utterly exasperated with Zozia’s bloviating philosophy. “Is it you? Do we quiver in fear of having not deferred to your deranged speeches and served you? I already told you to get out. We’ll be calling security next. Stand up, turn around, and never speak to us again.”

Zozia and Ksenia stood up as instructed. They did not yet turn around or walk away.

“Keep this in mind. Our world has suffered too much not to seek this redress. This fallen era cannot advance without a final reckoning. Deep down in your animal brains, you know this. In the metaphor, the machine could be an organization, it could be a system, or yes, even an individual. Maybe it’s you; maybe it’s Bhavani Jayasankar. But it isn’t– and it isn’t me. It’s something so much greater than us. If you think your actions are worthy of its mercy– you are falling quite short.”

There was a glint of light from the corner of the room as a sword was drawn.

At Zozia’s neck was the tip of Kalika’s vibroblade, whirring with electric violence.

Leaving on the side of that beautiful white nape a tiny scratch.

“No more bombast; or I’ll start taking your incoherent threats seriously. Get out now.”

Kalika locked eyes with Zozia. In turn, Zozia’s crosshair eyes locked on to her.

Not once, not even faced with the cutting of her head, did the smile wipe off her face.

“I’ll see you at Aachen. I look forward to seeing where the currents take you.” Zozia said.

Aaliyah stood up from her own seat, as did Ulyana, muscles tensed and ready to act.

Thankfully, no further scene would be made by the “libertarian” Arrows.

Zozia and Ksenia simply laughed and walked away from Kalika’s blade without a care.

Out the door like a storm, much the same as they had blown in.

For almost a minute, Kalika, Ulyana and Aaliyah waited, staring at the door.

Finally, the three of them let out long sighs and slumped, their coiled muscles loosening.

“God damn it. I am blaming Kremina Qote for this mess fully! Where did she find those psychopaths?” Ulyana started yelling, striking the desk in front of her with her fist. She was so frustrated she could have wept. Never in the Empire had she experienced such a surreal and utterly disrespectful scene as this. Even Norn the Praetorian was a more coherent speaker than them!

“Thank you for your assistance, Kalika.” Aaliyah said. “Foolishly, I was not armed.”

“It’s fine. I agree with not bringing guns into this situation anyway.” Kalika said.

Her blade folded up and she hid the object in her bag again.

She continued to look at the door with narrowed eyes, deep in thought.

Ulyana, meanwhile, was already looking forward.

“Well, we’ve seen enough. I’m going to confront Kremina.” She said.

Aaliyah nodded her head. Despite the drama– they had seen everything they needed to.

“As always, I will support you, Captain.” She said.

“Kalika,” Ulyana said, “Can you get Erika to come to the Brigand quickly? I would like her on hand.”

At first Kalika stared at Ulyana in a bit of confusion, but then seemed to warm up to the idea.

“I assume you will make it worth our while?” She asked.

“Absolutely.” Ulyana said, putting on a conspiratorial little smile.

Behind them, Aaliyah’s ears and tails drooped with fatigue. But she did not deter Ulyana’s course.


“You’ve had an eventful day, haven’t you? I hope this was worth all the work I had to do.”

Once more, Kremina Qote was invited into the Brigand, sitting in a meeting room with a wily smile and her eyes narrowed enough for her crow’s feet to show. She had on a look that suggested she was well above everything transpiring here. Much like Zozia, this was a game where she had no skin in the outcome– that was the kind of attitude her expression suggested to those opposite her. Ulyana and Aaliyah sat together across the table, with identical calm, appraising expressions. A pair of portables on the desk held their copies of several documents, along with typed notes about everything they learned about the factions.

Behind them on the wall was a dark monitor, framing the bodies of Ulyana and Aaliyah.

“We met with the representatives of the Reichsbanner Schwarzrot, the Rotfront, and the ‘Left Arrow.” Aaliyah said. Her tone was clinical; precise and emotionless. “Thank you for arranging these meetings on such short notice for us.”

“Spare me.” Kremina said. “I do not see a need to stay in this room for extended pleasantries.”

Her attitude yielded no escalation from across the table.

“We have deliberated and have indeed made our decision.” Ulyana said.

“There was only ever one realistic choice.” Kremina said.

“Remind me– when last we spoke, you felt it was a doomed endeavor.” Aaliyah said.

Kremina shrugged. “The Social-Democrats are naïve, and liberal democracy is doomed to become corrupt and falter no matter how many social programs they fund; the Katarrans are hated by everyone; and the anarchists are weak and unruly. In my mind, one of those problems is at least a long-term problem. I cannot help you if that explanation confuses you. My job here is done– right now I’m only here to witness the result. At any rate, you would do well to side with the Schwarzrot as we have.”

We of course meaning herself and Daksha Kansal, looming somewhere out in the distance.

It was tough to keep her cool in front of Kremina’s smugness, but the prank was well underway at this point.

Ulyana held the portable with her documents in her hands, squeezing on the glass edges.

Both with veiled irration, but also, anticipating the look on her face.

“Kansal sent you out to do this, but you don’t agree, do you? It’s truly a waste of time to you.”

Kremina fixed tired eyes on Ulyana and scoffed. “I am only listening to you prattle on for her sake, yes.”

“You keep saying that; but does Kansal also want you to be so acerbic all the time?”

“Korabiskaya, I am not going to argue with you anymore. You did what I wanted, so let us move on.”

Ulyana smiled. She could feel it, could hear it; indignation creeping in the edges of her mask.

“You’ve got nowhere to be. And we’re going to sit you down and put you in your place for all this trouble.”

“Oh? This ought to be good.” Kremina looked unbothered and above-it-all, but her volume was rising.

Aaliyah pressed a button on the touchpad for the desk. “Semyonova, bring in our guest.”

On the screen behind the desk, Semyonova’s cheery round face appeared. She saluted once.

Kremina turned her head toward the doorway behind herself.

When the screen behind Ulyana and Aaliyah went dark again, they heard a series of approaching footsteps.

Akulantova stood at the edge of the door and ushered in their guest.

Upon catching the first glimpse–

“You’ve made a stupid but predictable mistake. Oh well, nothing to be done.” Kremina said.

Erika Kairos walked through the doorway and stood off to the side of the table, smiling cheerfully.

Kremina did not acknowledge her silent greeting.

“Oh, so this wasn’t the mistake you wanted us to make? Did we not meet expectations?” Ulyana said.

Ulyana watched Kremina’s face to gauge the response and found her expression darkening.

“Last time we talked, I put up with a lot from you, Korabiskaya. I do not have to anymore. I am done with all of you. If you are serious about continuing to do political work here, then it is time for you to mind your place.” Kremina said.

“We are taking issue with that last chat too, actually.” Aaliyah replied. “You’re only loyal to Daksha Kansal, and you think the United Front is doomed. But you wanted one group to have our support in order to stand out militarily and have the resources to survive. We’ve been questioning your motives and logic since the beginning. It makes no sense to us.”

“I told you the situation as I saw it. I will not repeat myself to you again and again in nicer words.” Kremina said.

“Your logic was always very biased– but this is about more than that.” Ulyana said.

The United Front was filled with people full of passions and ambitions.

But it was possible for them to come together. It was not a fait accompli for them.

Ulyana did not see the deep rifts that Kremina wanted them to believe existed.

Gloria Luxembourg and Erika Kairos were willing to work together and bore no animosity.

Hell, Gloria was even wiling to invite anarchists who personally despised her, to her table.

Zozia Chelik was a bizarre eccentric, maybe even insane, but she was headed to Aachen.

Even with her strange “vision” she was still pursuing the United Front, nevertheless.

All of them were headed on the same path despite radical differences.

Kremina had told them time and again what Daksha Kansal purportedly believed.

However, they had never spoken with Daksha Kansal themselves to confirm anything.

Could Kremina speak for Kansal? Or was that only true in her own self-conceit?

Kremina made her biases obvious immediately as soon as they met. She was highly opinionated.

Why would she act this way? About a waste of time, a doomed endeavor, a solved problem?

Or– perhaps, because it was, to her, a solved problem.

Smiling, Ulyana continued to fix her appraising eyes on Kremina’s withdrawing gaze.

“You never wanted us to join the Reichsbanner Schwarzrot.” Ulyana said. “Union soldiers with state backing could potentially subvert control over any of these factions and de-legitimize the grassroots effort of your dear mentor and political partner. You want to marginalize the Rotfront while pushing us toward supporting them instead, to limit our influence.”

“Watch your words carefully from now on, Captain.” Kremina replied simply.

Pissed off or not she had not moved a muscle from her chair. She was staying put because she wanted to argue.

Kremina Qote was an old school revolutionary. She had to be right– and she would not tolerate otherwise.

She was flying the banner not only of the woman she respected, but of the absolute, correct line of thought.

Ulyana had her. Now it was time to put her in her place. She pointed a finger right at Kremina’s chest.

“You want Daksha Kansal to have total control without outside opposition. The Union mission scares you.”

“I don’t have to answer your baseless speculation. You’re lucky I am speaking to you at all.”

Yes, she was indeed lucky that Kremina was staying put to have a chat about Daksha Kansal.

She mentioned that name over and over, it was the source of her respectability and authority.

Now it was also the chain Ulyana had around her neck.

And she would pull on it until she saw Kremina’s back arched in resistance.

“It’s not even necessary to confirm whether it’s true or not. That’s just a funny aside for me.” Ulyana said. “Whether you believe your basic premise or whether you are using it as part of a cynical manipulation: the only fact is that it is wrong. The United Front can succeed and we will support it. Gloria Luxembourg, Erika Kairos, even a psychopath like Zozia Chelik, none of these people are the hopeless marionettes you seem to treat them as. We outright reject these terms. We will support all of the United Front. But we don’t want to lead; we will defer to the expertise of Premier Erika Kairos, not of Daksha Kansal.”

At the side of the table, Erika looked briefly surprised by all of this, before smiling brightly at them.

Kremina scoffed. “You think I’ll be impressed by your naive ‘third option’ rhetoric?”

“We’re only getting started. We haven’t mentioned the best part yet.” Ulyana said. She cocked a little grin again.

“You’re playing with fire. I’ve had just about enough of your attitude, Korabiskaya.”

She had been needling and needling, and it was time to deliver the coup de grace.

No matter how detached someone was– if they had a complex, they also had a trigger–

“Fine. We don’t need you anymore. Just tell Daksha Kansal to get ready for a challenge.”

Kremina stood up and slammed her hands on the table, looming close to Ulyana.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Captain?”

“Judging by your response, I guess we’re a credible threat to your beloved Kansal?”

“What nerve! You nobody little uniformed bitch! You have no idea what you are up against here!”

Aaliyah spoke up, calmly. “Kremina Qote, we should tone down the name-calling–”

Kremina completely ignored her. Her eyes were focused on meeting Ulyana’s gaze.

“You– You’re completely out of line. Completely– What do you think you’re–”

“Ask Daksha Kansal who I am, maybe you’ll be surprised.” Ulyana said, drawing out each syllable at the end.

Her lips curled into a wicked grin.

She was taking it personally. Ulyana had her, had the chain dug right into her cold black heart.

That pride of an old revolutionary who would not defer the struggle to some upstarts from another ocean.

And the clear, deep loyalty that she had for Daksha Kansal that would be her undoing.

Maybe even love. A love that had given way to irrationality. Ulyana couldn’t know, only suspect.

So she continued to smile even with Kremina fuming directly in her face.

“We told you from the start that we were not bowing down to you. Our mission is guaranteed by Commissar-General Parvati Nagavanshi herself. In fact, Kremina, Daksha Kansal herself ought to be quite wary of that, you know?”

Kremina closed her fists in ire. “Nagavanshi? You think she intimidates me?”

“She does. I know it. I understand it, too. Kansal ought to be mindful of the Ashura after all she has done–”

That was the last straw.

Everything that had been cooking inside Kremina Qote, every tiny aggression, finally boiled over.

“Jayasankarist lapdogs! There is no United Front without Daksha Kansal!” Kremina said, her words growing hotter and her fury more evident by the minute. “Neither Nagavanshi nor you nor a million of this Katarran you have here, none of you could possibly replace her. I will make sure none of you vagrants can even set one boot into Aachen now, mark my words–”

Ulyana smiled even as Kremina shouted venom in her face.

“Comrades, this ill becomes us! Let us calm down!” Aaliyah said, completely insincerely.

Erika crossed her arms and feigned disinterest in the barbs aimed at her.

“Comrade?! I’m not the comrade of any of you people–!”

Kremina grunted and groaned but then seemed to pause herself. She looked at the screen behind Ulyana.

There was a sudden wild glint in her eyes as she scrutinized the black screen.

Ulyana knew exactly what was going through her head.

It was a Union two-way telemonitor with no indication of whether it was broadcasting–

An Ashura-operated telemonitor–

Nagavanshi’s tactics.

“You never shut that off.” Kremina said suddenly. “Who the fuck is that there?”

“Oh, you noticed. I thought you’d get a few more colorful remarks in before you did.”

Now also smiling, Aaliyah slid her finger across the desk’s touchscreen.

Behind her, the screen slowly brightened, and on the large monitor–

Was the shining face and colorful pink hair of a certain Gloria Innocence Luxembourg.

Communicating over an encrypted two-way video connection that was being arduously monitored by Zachikova and Semyonova to insure security. She had audio of the room, while the video on the set had simply been darkened to conceal her.

Kremina’s briefly went wide. “Madam President– How long have you been–?”

“Unfortunately, I heard the whole thing. When you walked in, the screen was dimmed, and the switch to that cute as a button Semyonova was done in order to hide the whole trick in plain sight and keep you talking.” Gloria said. She put on a cutesy face and twiddled her fingers. “Kremmy, how could you be so nasty to our guests? We sent you to Kreuzung to make us friends, but it looks like you caused our guests a lot of awful scenes. We’re going to have a long talk about this when you get back. You, me and our wonderful mentor– I am just glad that our guests brought your rhetoric to my attention before it got out of hand.”

Gloria pouted and cocked her head to one side, but her eyes were glaring at Kremina.

“Please forgive her, comrades. Her words do not represent the views of the S.P.R.”

President of the S.P.R., Gloria Innocence Luxembourg. She had asserted to them during their conversation that she was not a puppet of of Daksha Kansal. Therefore, there was only one side of the fiery rhetoric being thrown around that concerned her. Ulyana had thought she would be best served seeing first-hand what her fearsome advocate had been saying. She had been reached about the idea and acquiesced surprisingly quickly. Maybe she also wanted to see Kremina squirm.

It was not simple to set this up on short notice, particularly because of the security concerns–

–but the look on Kremina Qote’s face made it worthwhile. And it furthered Gloria’s trust in them.

“Tch.” Kremina made a sound and crossed her arms. She had finally been put in her place.

On the big screen, Gloria then turned from Kremina toward Erika and waved happily.

“Congratulations Eri! I’m happy we worked out an arrangement that helps everybody.”

Erika coiled a bit of smoke-blue hair around her finger. “Indeed, Madam Luxembourg. Thank you too.”

“I look forward to meeting you in Aachen, Eri. Let us have tea and cake rolls when we do. Toodles!”

Once more the screen went dark, this time actually disconnecting from encrypted communication entirely.

Unprompted, Kremina Qote turned sharply away and started to stomp out of the room.

“We’ll meet again in Aachen, Ulyana Korabiskaya. I won’t forget this.” She said in passing.

“Looking forward to hearing what Daksha Kansal really thinks of all this.” Ulyana said in return.

Akulantova, who looked thoroughly exasperated with everything going on, escorted the glaring and grumbling Kremina Qote out of the ship. Inside the meeting room, it was as if someone had taken a maximum-strength room heater out from a corner in which it had been seething, and there was cool air flowing again. Erika sat where Kremina had once been seated, tittering girlishly.

“That was rather vicious, Captain.” Erika said, like a girl who had watched a gory film.

“She had me at my goddamn limit. I’d have given her a spanking if I could have.” Ulyana said.

“I had imagined the conversation being a little less– violent– in the planning stages.” Aaliyah said wearily.

“I’m not actually going after Daksha Kansal.” Ulyana said. “Unless she forces our hand, of course.”

“We’re all warming up to the idea of having to fight the great hero of the Union, huh?”

“I’m not! I just knew it was the best way to provoke Kremina to be nasty.” Ulyana said.

Aaliyah sighed openly, clearly fatigued by everything that had transpired.

Ulyana reached out to pat her shoulder and back for comfort. Aaliyah didn’t resist it.

When she laid back against her seat, she laid on the side of the chair closest to Ulyana, leaning into her.

Thank everything; even after all this, she was not upset with her.

“Realistically, Kremina Qote doesn’t have any power to do anything to you. Aachen is not even fully under the control of the leftists anyway.” Erika said. “Now that I am here I will protect all of you. With that said: I suppose you are my subordinates now? I must admit, I was a little surprised– I thought my message would resonate, but this is quite a bit more.”

Ulyana smiled gently at Erika. “We had an epiphany. At first we suspected Kremina Qote might have a similar fear to our own, of being subverted politically by a powerful ally. We realized in order to insulate ourselves from a potential influence campaign by Kansal’s faction, it helps to rally around another political figure. Then it dawned on me that, frankly, it’ll be deleterious to your activities in Eisental if you’re seen to be in the shadow of a bunch of Union operatives anyway. So starting today, we’ll be under your political command instead, Premier.” Ulyana felt a bit silly calling her that, but it had to be done.

Erika looked like her heart lifted every time she heard herself called that.

At Ulyana’s side, Aaliyah opened one eye to look at Erika.

“We’ll introduce you to the crew. You can prepare remarks.” She said. She yawned a bit. “Until our activities in Eisental conclude, we’ll be working under you fully. We’ll share all of our data, and you can share your own once we return to the water. Truth be told, I was pretty impressed with your rhetoric. I am looking forward to fighting alongside the Rotfront, Premier.”

“Ah. It’s called the Nationale Volksarmee now.” Erika said, smiling awkwardly.

“We’ll be part of the Nationale Volksarmee then.” Aaliyah said, trying to smile about it as she started to doze off a bit.

“Then, I too will be in your care and protection. Thank you, comrades.” Erika replied.

Ulyana thought her eyes betrayed a sort of girlish excitement that was rather charming to see.

Even through all her professional demeanor, she was young and energized for the fight.

They would need that energy– it was only the first step in a long, long road ahead.

One in which both allies and enemies would need to be handled inventively.

Ulyana looked down at her Commissar, about to fall asleep beside her. One more conflict behind them.

No matter what, or who, challenges us. I will protect you. For that trust you placed in me.

That trust that supercedes even the stature of Daksha Kansal.

Thank you, Aaliyah. Ulyana thought, with a fond sigh.


That night, before the change in shifts for the officers and after the return of the sailors who had been working on the ship outside, the crew began to gather close to the various monitors throughout the Brigand. There was a special announcement and a video meeting had been convened. Semyonova’s cheery face and silky blond hair on the television urged the crew members to keep attention on the screens and their voices down. They had to minimize the sound carrying outside the ship’s closed hatches.

For about fifteen minutes’ worth of preparations, she kept the crew’s attention with charming affirmations.

“Alright comrades! Please maintain order, the Captain will now address the ship.”

Semyonova’s plump round face faded into that of the sleek-jawed Ulyana Korabiskaya.

For the address, the Captain had her blond hair down, her makeup immaculate, and she wore a Union dress uniform.

Staggeringly beautiful and gallant. This must have been a very special occassion.

“Comrades,” she began, and all of the crew knew then that this was not an address as ‘Treasure Box Transports’, “I convened this meeting to update you all on the status of the mission, and to speak in detail about the next leg of our journey. We left our homes over two months ago in order to pursue the cause of revolution in the Imbrian Empire on behalf of our nation. We are currently in Kreuzung Station, in the Eisental region of Rhinea. Rhinea and by extension, the Volkisch Movement that controls it, are major players in the Imperial Civil War that has been escalating since we embarked on this journey. Rhinea has the largest and most high-tech industrial base in the Empire, and the resources to fuel it, via the Rhineanmetalle corporation. Eisental is the unwilling heart pumping blood through this warring body, held captive within the ribcage of the Volkisch state.”

Captain Korabiskaya spoke confidently, and the crew listened with rapt attention.

“Revolution is brewing within Eisental. And it has given us an opportunity to uphold our duty and support the proletariat of the Empire in taking up arms for their freedom. Over the past few days, we have been in active discussion with several dissident organizations, gauging their positions and strengths and judging how best we might work together and where our goals align. I am pleased to announce that we have found kindred spirits among Eisental’s revolutionaries and will be working in league with a communist militia known as the Nationale Volksarmee. For the duration of our mission in Eisental, we will labor under their organization’s banner, and defer to the political command of their leader Erika Kairos. We want to join the fight; but it’s only right that Eisental’s people lead the way for us. Erika’s passion, her connections and resources, and most importantly, her experience with Eisental and its conditions, are invaluable. I am going to yield the floor for her to introduce herself. From now on, you are to address her as ‘Premier’ except in Protocol Tokarev conditions, in which she is to be addressed as an executive.”

Across the ship, the sailors and officers exchanged somewhat bewildered glances at each other.

They had ultimately acclimated to many of the other guests on the ship. All of the engineers loved ‘Miss Tigris’ for her boundless enthusiasm for menial mechanical labors; several of the officers had respect for ‘Miss Euphrates’, and some gossipy girls considered adding her to the list of the ‘ship’s Princes’. Maryam Karahailos’ and Elena Lettiere’s smiles were like rays of sunshine. It was different, however, to be told effectively that they would be under new management now.

Calling anyone but Bhavani Jayasankar ‘Premier’ also felt quite strange to them.

Regardless, Captain Korabiskaya was still here, still their Captain, and they trusted her.

When a Katarran appeared on the screen next, however, the bewilderment deepened.

Standing in the center of the bridge, where Captain Korabiskaya would usually be found.

She certainly looked the part of a communist leader, with her red greatcoat and flat garrison style hat, and the formal shirt and skirt she wore beneath, worn with meticulous precision. Her hair was long and voluminous and had a dark, dull blue color, complimenting her pink skin and her rare odd eyes, one green and one blue. Her thin lips were painted a light red, and her eyes were shadowed wine-dark. Behind her head, a pair of black horns with curved ends curled out, framing the back of the skull, in such a way that she could still conceivably lay her head flat on them. Her appearance alone was enough to draw in the curiosity of the crew, who waited eagerly for her speech to begin. Then, her voice, deep and rich, finally broadcast across the vessel.

“Comrades, thank you for having me.” She said. “My name is Erika Kairos. I am not a stickler for formality, but I do demand some respect, and I will give it in turn. It is no exaggeration to say that Mordecai’s teachings, and the continued resistance of the Union, saved my life, and gave me hope when I thought there could be no escape from our rapacious ruling class. In each and every one of you there are a thousand generations of resistance. Rest assured, you will inspire a thousand more.”

Erika put a hand over her chest. “I am many things, and I have been known as many things. Katarran, slave, thug, mercenary, bookworm– and now Premier. I lead an organization of several ships and several hundred lives, soldiers, sailors, engineers, pilots, and civilians, all of whom are dedicated to the cause of the anti-imperialist struggle. I am here in person, because I am staking it all on this gamble for the future of the world. But before all of those things, I mentioned, ‘Katarran.’ It is an indelible fact of my being, and it is the crux of what I wish to communicate to you. It is of vital importance to understanding me.”

She lowered her hand back to her side and took in a bit of breath before continuing.

“An unrecognized fact of life in the Imbrium is the exploitation of the Katarran body. We are everywhere, but our lives are disposable. We are widely hated, forced out of the public and into the back streets and sub-levels of the world. In these underworlds our bodies are reduced to commodities for killing, toiling, fucking. We are less than offal to the Imbrians– offal is not allowed to go to waste. Our continued existence suits the Imbrians. We are their assassins, their sneak thieves, their indentured hard labor and exotic sexual fantasy. Their hedonism and greed demands our existence but their social conception of the world demands our invisibility and extermination. We exist in this dual position; this contradiction defines us.”

“But there is another race in the Imbrium Ocean that faces oppression on this scale as well. Eisental’s first and oldest station was home to Shimii, they settled these waters before the Imbrian Empire, yet their religious practices are curtailed, they are segregated into ghettos, and only the wealthiest, most politically connected Shimii are allowed true freedom in its waters now. The Shimii in the Imbrium face nothing short of existential crisis now. While their bodies might continue to live, their culture and beliefs are being slowly destroyed as they are driven to despair. Their ‘age of heroes’ has passed. Mehmed the Tyrant was defeated, and the Mahdists supporting him were driven into slavery in the Union or forced into Imbrianizing their names and leaving behind their identities. But even the average Rashidun Shimii, who are told they won the ideological victory and hold the truth of their religion, have not seen any improvement in their lot in life. They are still the puppets of the Imbrians, but they are told by their religious and community leaders that they must accept chains of a different sort than those clapped on the Mahdists in order to survive. That contradiction is sharp and sharpening. Pity the Katarran her condition; but the Shimii suffer under the yoke too.”

In the Union, every student received education on the various nationalities that made up the people of the state.

Volgians were the majority, followed closely by “North Bosporans” who had once lived in the northern ice cap, same as the Volgians did. Shimii were the third largest population and Katarrans were a very small minority. In the Union, there was a prevailing tone of racial diversity and equality. It was acknowledged that everyone had to do their part to accommodate everyone else where differing cultural practices were concerned, but that ultimately, they were all equal partners in building socialism. For a lot of people, Erika’s firebrand speech about the debasement of her ‘body’, the collective ‘body’ of her people, stirred in them a deep discomfort. For many of the Volgians and Bosporans in the room, they had not confronted the idea of racism except as a distant historical specter of the what the Empire, collectively, did to them, as a whole. It was not so visceral to them.

That shadowy existence of the Katarran as both extant and exterminated, puzzled them.

That spectre of the Shimii as a segregated people, was something they had not experienced before.

Despite their discomfort and the way the words felt chilling, everyone was stirred by Erika’s speech. Nobody could peel themselves away. They truly did feel like they were listening to Bhavani Jayasankar. They felt the power radiating from it even if they struggled to internalize the content of the words. Meaningfulness was transferred to them as authority.

“Through recognizing these positions, we stand to finally create an enduring mutiny that can uplift and unite the people of Eisental. It is not enough to have a revolution for the literate Imbrians in the colleges, dabbling in socialism; nor even the Imbrian workers whose exploitation is juxtaposed against other races to cast them as enemies to them. Our revolution must begin with the most disenfranchised peoples. We must speak to the most hopeless, for they will shine brightest once they are given reason to live and the instruments with which to fight. This is my core belief, and it is what we will pursue in order to triumph.”

Erika was earning the authority to call herself ‘Premier’ in front of them.

“In the ghettoes of the southern Eisental ring of stations; in the forgotten construction shafts were homeless and abandoned peoples still scratch out a living; in the factories and corporate sweatshops were Shimii and Katarran alike toil invisibly for the Imbrian purse; in the Agri-Spheres where rows and rows of ears and tails work tirelessly to feed the ravenous mouths of the Imbrian people for a pittance that only just allows them to feed themselves; comrades! Throughout Eisental the cries of the dispossessed will become cacophony! They have nothing but their anger! And that anger is fuel awaiting our flint, bracing for the spark that lights the conflagration that will sweep the Volkisch Movement and their complicit treasurers from this Ocean once and for all! Keep in your heart their suffering, but more than that, keep in hand the weapon you will give them!”

In the height of her passion, Erika saluted the crew; and swept up in it, many of them saluted back.

“We are the invincible guard of liberation! The Nationale Volksarmee!”

Those words, that they had never before heard, stirred the hearts of the Brigand’s crew.

Clapping, cheering, excitement, a swell of emotion. Tears, grit teeth and pumping fists.

Suddenly and with a passion that shook them to their core, the Brigand’s next adventure had begun.


“Captain, may I have a word?”

Out in the hall, on the way back to her bedroom, one of the Brigand’s colorful guests walked up to Ulyana as she headed to her room. Long-haired with two horns from her forehead that pushed apart her tidy bangs, a thick tail, and a slim and pale body covered in a haphazardly worn Treasure Box Transports uniform. It was the Brigand’s own ‘special navigator’: Arbitrator I.

“Of course. I’m a little out of it, so perhaps not too many words.” Ulyana said.

She smiled awkwardly. Arbitrator I smiled cheerily back.

Glib and carefree as usual, Arbitrator I had wanted to discuss with the Captain the possibility of securing at least a small supply of meat, even the worst quality meat, so as long as it was the meat of a mammal it would suffice.

Anything to give her lovely Braya a bit of a reprieve from the–

Arbitrator I’s eyes widened suddenly. Her pupils dilated, her hand began to shake in Ulyana’s presence.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Ulyana asked.

In that instant, Arbitrator I’s body was responding to the threat she felt–

–from Ulyana’s scent. She reeked of those– those awful things– those beasts swathed in their sin–

Arbitrator I’s body responded, heat in her chest, tension in her muscles, an edge to her teeth.

She closed her fists, tried to master herself. It was just the Captain– she could not attack her–

“You reek, Captain. Please clean yourself. Good night.”

Without another word, she turned sharply around and started walking away, trying to clear her mind.

Leaving behind a very confused Captain.

“Excuse me? Ugh! Whatever!” Ulyana replied, exasperated.

Arbitrator I swallowed her embarrassment, and the frustration of losing control of her senses.

More than that, though, she worried about the provenance of that evil scent.

Did she meet with the Enforcers? Why would she do that? What are they here for?

Was the station infiltrated? Was the ship infiltrated? Did anyone realize the danger?

Desperation swelled and spread in her like a cancer.

Her heart pounded, she began to sweat. She had to calm herself before Braya saw her again.

She had to calm herself, and to think, to uncover more. She had to do something to protect them.

Arbitrator I could not afford to fail in the face of the Syzygy. Not again.

She could not lose another home.

In a blink of her eyes, as she walked down the empty hall–

Her irises became a purple hexagon shape, and a change began in her body.

Lift all locks on STEM.

Arbitrator I reached deep inside herself for every micrometer of data stored in her biomechanical DNA.

Her brain would be heavily burdened in the process– but she desperately needed everything back.

Even the things she wanted to most forget. Even the things she feared knowing again.

Reassemble all blocks. Bypass secure parsing method. Skip bad block health check.

She could not wait anymore, she could not be careful, she could not open the blocks like dainty toys.

No matter what nightmares exploded out of the forgotten recesses of herself.

Array all data. Immediately.

For Braya’s sake– for all their sakes’.


Previous ~ Next

Innocents In The Stream [6.7]

Sword in one hand, rifle in the other, matching her fated opponent.

For a moment they simply stared each other down.

Even the shooting of the Irmingard’s main guns did not stir the two veterans.

There was chatter on an open frequency. A coy, bloodthirsty voice.

“I know it’s you, Red Baron! The two of us have a bloody ball to attend!”

Ever since Khadija spotted that overgrown Jagd pulling that sommersault trick with its sword, she just knew. She did not even need the machine to be painted red to tell. Nobody in the entire world had the gall to try those pretentious underwater ballet moves except for that bitch. Rationality flew out the window for Khadija.

On simple instinct, on reading the current, she knew.

Not once did she question her own sanity or her urges and instincts.

When she had got tired of talking, she threw herself at that machine with a vengeance.

Soon as Shalikova left her side, Khadija charged the Red Baron, sword drawn.

Reacting to her attack, the Red Baron suddenly climbed.

“Predictable! How much younger are you than me?”

Khadija rose immediately to meet her, shooting diagonally up and intersecting her leap.

Swords clashing, the two veterans became locked in struggle

Vibrating blade met furious saw, kicking up short-lived sparks and bubbles of vapor as they ground together. Sword arms locked chest to chest for seconds, struggling to push each other back, before the two broke off. Khadija opened fire from her AK-96 as she descended, and the Red Baron responded with her Sturmgewehr assault rifle as she rose.

Khadija swung a left; the Red Baron threw herself right.

A burst of bullets flew past Khadija’s shoulder, grazing her anchor pod.

Several bullets detonated just off of the Baron’s hip, almost striking the water intake.

Through open water they circled like spiraling, orbiting stars, dozens of meters apart but perfectly equidistant, mirroring moments second to second. Between them grew a raging fusillade, bursts of gunfire that buzzed by within millimeters of each machine and detonated above, behind, around them in every direction, until it was impossible to tell through the fog of their war where each machine stood amid the vapor and explosions. Hundreds of rounds, the drumbeat of the dance. Spent magazines sank out of view, an unseemly clock putting a limit on their night of fire.

Two sharp clicking noises, two mag ejections, and the music stopped.

Though she almost wanted to throw out her rifle Khadija had the presence to stow it.

Up and above, the Red Baron did simply discard hers. It made Khadija incensed to see.

“Not just an Imperial but a show-off bitch besides. I’m going to make you pay.”

She took her sword in both hands and briefly scanned the diagnostics screen.

Some of the saw teeth had been ground off, but the chain was alloyed with depleted agarthicite and strong enough to cut. Her arm verniers still had enough fuel and the motor on the diamond sword was running strong.

Khadija took a deep, resentful breath.

Back when they last fought, swords, whether the Imperial vibroblade or the Union diamond sword, were a luxury afforded only to them. Something so standard now, in 959 only six diamond swords existed, and only the Red Baron had a vibroblade. Real weapons were given to the people who’d survived tearing each other apart with handheld bombs, industrial drills, undersea welding equipment, rock cutter heads attached to ship propellers, rocket-poles with makeshift grenades at the end, and all sorts of other unreliable, improvised weapons hastily given to the early Divers.

Launching out of sandbanks and gorges and caves to do any sort of damage to an imperial ship in Labor suits with bolted-on armor made out of bulkheads. While early Volkers made out of bathysphere materials tried desperately to guard the ships and patrol the sites of guerilla activity, wielding gas guns extracted from their mounts or scaled-up jet harpoons and even handheld shields and piston spears. Death was nearly instant for whoever got hit first.

Every attack was deadly.

Every exchange was to the death. Weapons met, and only one fighter survived.

That was the war she and the Baron had once fought. That was the war they survived.

The Union’s desperate ingenuity met the Imperial struggle to industrialize a response.

It was the war that crashed these two and their machines together again and again.

“I got you once back then. But it isn’t enough.” Khadija said. “You need to hurt more.”

Taunting let off steam when Khadija thought she might explode inside.

Suddenly, her heart quickened, when she finally heard a response back to her taunts.

“What will be enough?”

That deep and powerful voice which sounded so desperate and hurt.

At first Khadija could not even believe it.

Because this was the first palpable, human interaction she had with her mortal enemy.

Before, the Red Baron had been nothing but a machine that barred her way, a machine that had killed her comrades. An obstacle that had impeded her own revolutionary legend again and again. A fated foe that she thought had disappeared alongside Imperial control of Ferris. Now that same demon was speaking to her in that pathetic voice?

Her mind struggled to come up with a response, as if she had been spoken to in an incomprehensible language; but it was just Imbrian. It was all the same for all of them. Her heart quivered, her soaring spirit felt almost deflated.

Khadija’s voice sounded audibly weary even to herself.

“Feeling remorseful? Then just drop dead!”

She engaged all thrust that she could muster to throw herself forward.

The Red Baron reacted to the initial forward thrust by lifting her sword in defense.

She was waiting, trying to react to Khadija.

There were no allies, no supporting fire, no ranged weapons available to the Baron. Nothing but knives. Just like old times, when they carried ordnance they could count with their fingers and were reduced to banging each other with whatever crude melee weapons they had. The less options a pilot had available, the less sophisticated their tactics became. Khadija had experience with this. But it was not the revolution, and their equipment for this bout was very different. Pound for pound, purely in the quality of equipment, a diamond sword was not going to survive smashing against a vibroblade for as long as its counterpart. A duel would not favor Khadija in these waters.

To think she’d let things get this desperate. She had been so foolish to fight like this.

Her intention was not to duel, however. For the first time in a long time she keenly felt all her 42 years.

She felt like a long-suffering veteran; she knew her duty, she knew her mission.

She knew her options.

Murati still had her bomb. If she could tie up this woman long enough, she triumphed.

When the two threw themselves at each other once more, their motives differed.

As soon as their swords met anew, Khadija armed the bomb on her back with a short timer.

“I’ll take this grudge to hell. Until I see you eat the fruit of Zaqqum personally.”


Soyuz is down! Repeat, Soyuz is down!”

“God damn it.”

As far as the eye could see there were groups of ships exchanging gunfire, a wicked line of grey and black ships on one side and hundreds of different color liveries standing their ground on the other. Water bubbles and vapor clouds, hundreds more than even the amount of ships, multiplying in the no-man’s-land between the opposing fleets. Partially in the frame of these massive forces was a massive station from which torpedoes and flak periodically flew out.

All of this saturating ordnance, the distant star-like flashes of explosives, the spreading cloud of bubbles and debris, roaring shockwaves that boomed in the thousands every minute. This violence transpired over a dismal, rocky sandbank over which Cascabel station had stood sentinel. Over this gorge the two sides were deadlocked.

It was the “winter” of A.D. 959, and the now-called “Union” fought desperately for its existence.

In the eyes of the little girl watching on the Bridge of that ship–

This was the apocalypse. It was the end of all things. It could be nothing else.

She was nine years old, and had some understanding of the world, but she had never seen the water stir so violently. She had never explosions and felt the rattling of the metal around her, the metal protecting her from the ravages of the endless Ocean outside. She did not understand that death was a part of what she was seeing; but this was also the first time she witnessed death. All of the destruction she saw hinted at death to her, in a way she did not grasp.

And yet, she never cried. Not once. It was as if she was mesmerized.

“Captain, should this child really be here?”

“After what happened just now, Goswani, it doesn’t matter where she is.”

Murati Nakara could not hear them at that point. She was not acknowledging other people.

She was transfixed on the massive screen in front of her.

Her parents had been killed on that screen and she did not even really know it.

Behind her, Captain Yervik Deshnov of the Union’s remaining dreadnought, the Ferrisean, grit his teeth, and pulled down his peaked cap. He pounded his fist on his seat in frustration. An Imperial Diver had gotten to the Soyuz and detonated an explosive on it. It was the same kind of trick they’d been pulling on the Empire for months, but the Empire had hardly used their own nascent Divers against the Union. There was an air of frustration, shock, grief, and sudden hopelessness aboard. They had pushed the Empire all the way to Cascabel. Would they collapse here?

“We can’t fall apart from just one attack, Captain! I’ll avenge them!”

A determined voice came through on the comms. A face appeared on the screen.

A Shimii, blond-haired, with piercing green eyes, and a fiery expression.

“UND-001-A Khadija al-Shajara, deploying!”

Like a shooting star, the armed labor suit flew out from under their vessel.

On the main screen, the computers all honed on this unit for a brief moment.

From the teetering wreckage of the Soyuz, an opposing force sailed out to meet her.

A rotund suit, all in red, wielding what looked like a sword alongside its rifle.

The much-more human shaped and green Union suit sped to a collision with this red suit.

Twin comets met in the waters with Cascabel looming behind, a sorrowful steel giant.

Clashing in instants, moving faster than anyone had ever seen, shooting, parrying.

Dashing at one another, breaking apart, their vicious duel spiraling amid the rest of the chaos.

“Why are we all doing nothing! Helmsman, advance! Target all fire on the enemy center!”

Deshnov shouted himself hoarse, and the Ferrisean was shaken out of its stillness.

Meanwhile Murati watched the Divers attentively.

Even when the main screen shifted the duel to a picture in picture and expanded its focus again back to the broader fleet action, she was taken in by the little picture in the corner, staring at it intently. Her mind was fully blank save for the unreal fighting in that tiny square. They were so evenly matched, despite the clear viciousness of their violence, that it seemed more like a sport or a sparring match than an actual battle. This was also death in a way Murati didn’t see.

And then, the red suit gained the upper hand, or so it seemed–

Trying to flip over its opponent to attack it from behind, upside down–

Suddenly the opponent, the green suit, threw its arm in the way.

It could not be sliced through. She caught the sword in her gauntlet and wrist-blade.

Her rifle flashed at her enemy, punishing the red suit with many serious blows.

Battered, the red suit retreated with all its might.

And missing a functioning arm, the green suit withdrew as well.

In an instant, they had drawn blood and their battle was closed.

“Captain, an enemy Cruiser is moving out of position!”

Deshnov drew his eyes wide in the Captain’s chair.

“What is it doing?”

“It may be trying to recover the red suit!”

“Focus all fire on the gap it left! It’s open season on their escorts!”

Even as the picture in picture camera was left desolate, with both combatants retreating.

That seemingly interminable duel remained buried in Murati’s little brain.

She continued to stare at that corner, until the last gun sounded.


“I see you’re hellbent on giving me a heart attack lately.”

Yervik Deshnov found the girl standing at the entrance to the port of Ferris’ Sevastopol Station, watched over by a port attendant. Her dark skin and messy dark hair were unmistakable, as were her fiery auburn eyes. What was unusual was the military cadet jacket and pants. Deshnov was not exactly chasing after the girl every single day, but he had no idea where she would have gotten that uniform under his nose. Unlike the usual trouble she got into, this was serious.

Was she trying to run away to Solstice? He’d play dumb for now and just ask her.

Arguing with Murati over assumptions would always bite him in the ass. She was too smart.

In response to his consternation, Murati crossed her arms and put on the most serious face she could muster. A girl of barely fourteen, she was tall and slight and tomboyish. Despite her best attempts her expression still read to Deshnov as distinctly bratty. A bratty teen rebelling at random. And he always knew; he was always informed first whenever she tried to do anything strange. He always came and made sure she was unharmed.

It was the least he could do for the parents she lost.

“I came all the way out here, on short notice, so what is all this about?”

“You only ever visit to stop me doing what I want with my life.” She cried out.

“That’s cruel. I gladly said yes to all those medications you wanted to get on.”

“Hmph! Like you had a choice in that! The Union constitution–”

Deshnov sighed. She always had an answer for everything.

“Doesn’t apply, Murati! All your affairs are under my strict guardianship per your parent’s last will. You legitimately do not have all those rights you’re rattling off all the time until you leave my guardianship, because you’re not an ordinary war orphan. Listen. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. But I’m here now. I just want to talk.”

Murati grit her teeth. “I didn’t think you’d get here so quickly.”

“Okay, so this is not a funny stunt, and you did intend to run away to Solstice? For what?”

“I’m joining the military academy, uncle Deshnov! I’m joining and you can’t stop me!”

“Of course. I knew it’d come to this someday. You are his kid after all.”

He ran a hand over his wizened face, sighing deeply.

“Murati, all I want is for you to lead a healthy, happy, peaceful life, you know that?”

It was tough for Murati to say anything to that. She simply averted her gaze.

“I’d really like nothing better than for you to go to school for something good and kind.”

“I’d like nothing better than for you to stop pretending to parent me.”

“Ouch.”

Deshnov smiled and tried to play it off like that didn’t hurt as monumentally as it did.

He felt it rush through his skin like electricity. But he’d been preparing for this moment.

“I’m sorry for the trouble and the time spent, and I hope you’ll forgive us the awkward scene on here.” He said to the woman in the port attendant uniform, shifting uncomfortably to one side and watching their drama unfolding. “Per the terms of guardianship, please revoke this young lady’s boarding pass and–”

“My parents fought and died for this country!” Murati said. “I have a right to–”

“Do the same? Do you hear yourself? Do you just want to die then?” Deshnov snapped.

“No! Of course not! Ugh! You never understand!” Murati shouted back.

“Then what is it? I would let you go if you could tell me a single constructive thing you plan to do with your military academy degree and with some kind of position in the Navy. What do you think people do in the Navy, huh young lady? Have you given it any thought at all? Do you have anything in your head except empty platitudes of civil duty? Or worse, maybe even petty revenge? Do you want to kill people, or do you want to die?”

Murati balled up her fists and looked positively livid.

“How cynical! For a Rear Admiral to be saying this! If your soldiers could hear you!”

Deshnov grunted.

“I am cynical because I’m experienced! Because I’ve seen what happens to people like you: young and ambitious but with your heads full of duty and martyrdom! Because hundreds of thousands of people died to create a safe place where someone like you doesn’t have to board a metal coffin to survive! You think your parents want this for you?”

In his eyes, this was nothing short of a tragedy. To see Murati in this awful uniform.

What did she want with this?

“You don’t know anything.” Murati said, her eyes downcast.

“Then tell me.”

“You think I’m just a stupid little girl who can’t do anything–”

“Murati that’s the last thing I think–”

“I’m going to end this war! I’m going to make all the Ocean safe for us.”

Deshnov blinked. He stood there, speechless, for a moment.

When he looked at that brooding girl, he really thought all she wanted was to kill.

To kill the Imperials who took her parents. He’d seen it, again and again.

“You’re going to end what war?” Deshnov said. “Our war with the Empire? You?”

Murati raised her eyes from the ground.

At that moment, Deshnov was taken aback by what he saw and felt from her.

That tear-stained grimace that should have seemed small and bratty and petty and pitiful– but instead her gaze was cutting, powerful, as if there was truly something behind it. Something deep and massive; her gaze was filled with presence beyond its years. A determination far surpassing his own. A real, inspired sense of righteousness.

Those auburn eyes had a red glimmer, like a raging fire burning deep inside her.

“Uncle Deshnov, let me go. I will– I’ll become the best soldier you’ll ever see. I’ll become the strongest. Nobody will get hurt anymore. Nobody will die anymore. Not me; not anyone. Someday, the Empire might come back. I’ll drive them out of Ferris just like you did. And I’ll chase them all the way to the Palatinate. I’ll fight their soldiers and their knights and inquisitors, I’ll fight the Emperor! I’ll free us all and then nobody will need to fight a war again.”

Yervik Deshnov felt a deep shame at those words. He could hardly keep from crying.

Those words coming out of this teenage girl– that should have been him, God damn it.

That’s what he and all the losers who called themselves the admiralty of this nation should have done! That was what they were promising to these kids. That it was ended, that they could live their lives now. How could he reiterate what he told Murati before, with a straight face? She knew none of this was over. That none of it had been finished. She was too smart. She had lost too much. So she knew better than anybody that the utopian paradise of the Union was still paper thin as long as the waters outside Ferris still teemed with the sharks of the Imbrian Empire.

Deshnov’s worst nightmare had been that these kids would have to finish his war.

That Murati would have to finish his war.

He wanted to yell at her to go back home and study math and the arts and trades.

But his voice would not rise for such sophistry. It couldn’t. Not anymore.

Especially because he was always running around and never even saw her grow.

“Don’t call me Uncle anymore.” He said. “I’ll–”

At that moment, the port attendant received a call on her earpiece. Her eyes drew wide.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Deshnov, but I’ve orders to let her through.” She said.

“Excuse me?” He felt suddenly defensive. He still had the right of guardianship–

“Murati’s guardianship has been revoked. She’s been declared an independent orphan– a legal adult.”

“What?”

Even Murati looked taken aback by this. It must not have been something she did.

“Someone will be coming to speak with you. I have to take her– the ship is leaving.”

Deshnov watched, in helpless confusion, as the port attendant turned Murati around and gave her what she wanted and had arranged for. Passage aboard the ship bound for Solstice, where she would enroll in the military Academy and live much of the next decade of her life, learning the sciences and arts of battle and preparing for war. She looked back at him one last time, but he knew not what kind of look Murati gave him and never would.

Instead, he had turned around to face the other end of the port corridor, where two figures arrived.

Dressed in the dark olive shirt and dark brown pants of the Navy, and the black coat and peaked, serpent-adorned cap of the Ashura, the internal security troops answering exclusively to the outbound Premier herself.

Deshnov grit his teeth.

Who else could it have been to greet him on this evil day? No one else but Commissar-Commandant Bhavani Jayasankar; and her lackey Parvati Nagavanshi, returned from her ship duties just in time to join up.

Those two always somehow found their way to each other.

“I’d be truly blessed to know what the hell internal security wants with one girl.” He said.

Jayasankar put on a conniving smile and crossed her arms.

“Well, children are our future. What’s that saying, Nagavanshi?”

“A thousand generations live in them.” Nagavanshi replied with a deadpan tone of voice.

“Don’t fuck with me. Who gave you the authority to overturn my guardianship?” He said.

Nagavanshi withdrew some papers from her coat and began to explain. “Citing Murati Nakara’s room records, you’ve visited her about 60 times in the past five years? While it is a double digit number, it’s not a lot, considering the average parent in the Union visited their children at their school boards an average of about 190 days every single year. So it seems to me, and forgive me if I’m wrong, that she was not a high priority in your life.”

“How dare you? It was the Navy itself that kept me from her! You don’t think–”

He went on a tirade that the two of them clearly weren’t interested in.

Shouting was all Deshnov could do to keep from striking Nagavanshi.

That would’ve been really bad.

“At any rate!”

Jayasankar shouted over Deshnov and produced a series of official documents from her own coat.

Guardianship transfer, from Yervik Deshnov to Daksha Kansal. Signed by Daksha Kansal.

Then in the next document, simply dissolved by Kansal, making Murati a “legal adult” citizen.

That meant Murati had agency in administrative decisions regarding her person, though she was still a child. She could sign for her own medications, join the academy without anyone’s consent– but still couldn’t drink or drive.

Deshnov could hardly believe it. “The Premier? Daksha? Why would she–?”

“You weren’t the only one who owed the Nakara family something.” Jayasankar cut in.

“Now everything’s squared away. We’re all released from this past.” Nagavanshi added.

Those words sparked a sudden paranoia in Deshnov’s brain. A weary, angry fear.

But there was nothing he could say. He had no power in the face of these two.

“Nobody owes anyone, anything, anymore, Deshnov. We can all look toward the future.”

Jayasankar smiled that devilish smile of her and Deshnov felt a helpless anger.

All of them were playing politics still, even around Murati and her dead parent’s names. Was this truly what they all died fighting for? So Jayasankar and Nagavanshi could manipulate their daughter’s life? He looked over his shoulder at the departing vessel. Murati was nowhere to be seen, of course. He had missed his chance. He should have just said he was proud of her answer to him. Instead, he may have just left her with the idea he was abandoning her.

Could he even rectify that? Could he explain or take back what he said?

He turned back to the women in front of him with the evilest look he could give them.

“Neither of you have any respect for the dead. Neither of you should be saying that family’s name in any context, you vultures don’t deserve it. We don’t owe them anymore? Maybe you people don’t. But they are a part of the soul of this country. Whatever it is you think you are scheming, or whatever advantage you’re trying to get, I will not be quiet while you do so.” Deshnov said in a low voice. “Were it not for our positions, Bhavani, I’d sock the both of you.”

Jayasankar shrugged her shoulders with one winking eye, smiling.

“Oh? Such big words! But you can’t attack me, right Yervik? You can’t lift a finger to me no matter what. Well, if you went on a rampage right now, you’d certainly get Nagavanshi at least; I’d be more of a fight, however.”

Nagavanshi scoffed. “Hey. Don’t push it. I’m perfectly able to defend myself.”

They were joking among themselves. Those two went back a few years.

Even with the long gap in their ages they still understood each other a little too well.

Neither of them was taking him seriously still. Not that he was worth taking seriously.

He was being quite childish himself. But he couldn’t help but be bitter toward them.

“You respect the invisible shield that is political power.” Jayasankar grinned to herself.

“I know that you certainly came out of their tragedy a little better than everyone else.”

Deshnov did not want to respond too much to the provocations of this particular group.

Among the revolutionaries, there had been a few different cliques.

He had always wanted to believe in Commander Ahwalia and his promise of a better future.

This earned him the scorn of rigid materialists like Jayasankar and Nagavanshi.

Upon hearing his remarks, Jayasankar’s face turned cold. She turned a chilling glare on him.

“We entombed ourselves in steel and poured our blood into making this country, the same as you. Yet you hate us for not deceiving kids like her with sappy dreams. Daksha sent me here because you and I go back to five years ago, and she wanted you to understand that you have to let the Nakara family go. They do not influence the Union anymore, and in the coming stages, whatever they wished to do no longer matters. Yervik, you can stay stuck in the past, or you can keep fighting for our future. As a respected military man, there will come a time soon where you’ll influence the future of kids like her. I hope you recognize what it is appropriate to do when that time comes.”

Nagavanshi added. “Kansal will depart soon. There will be a wave of change. Don’t cross us, Yervik.”

Jayasankar and Nagavanshi turned their heels and departed, leaving Yervik behind, helpless.

They could say such things to him precisely because they knew he would do nothing. He could not.

He almost wanted to spit with anger. Those two were always plotting something.

As much as he detested them, however, they were as much the heart and soul of the Union as the Nakaras.

That much he could not deny, deep in his bitter heart, even if he hated their politics.

But Jayasankar was right in one sense. He couldn’t give up now. He couldn’t just run away.

While he could not stand to look at these snakes and the future in their minds, he could pin his hopes on the future he saw in Murati’s eyes instead. Whether they were led by an idealist like Ahwalia or a militarist like Jayasankar, their children owned the future. Not any of the old soldiers. It didn’t matter to these kids how much they schemed.

All of this shame, all of this bitterness; he would endure it for the future Murati might build.


When the Irmingard’s main guns fired, Murati’s time started moving once again.

She lowered her mecha’s shooting arm, the magazine depleted.

Her breathing quickened. She felt like she was waking from a nightmare.

“I was useless. I was completely useless.” She gasped. She checked her monitors.

Shalikova was safe, the flak had quieted to avoid friendly fire.

Khadija was staring down the enemy unit that had made a fool of Murati.

For the moment, the battle had stood completely still.

As if the monumental shocks of those 203 mm guns had stunned them all to reverence.

And yet, it was those guns that awakened Murati from a shameful, desperate stupor.

In her cockpit, Murati struggled with the controls for the Cheka. She was trying not to fall too deep into her own despair. She still had a mission to do, and she told herself that she situation remained fundamentally unchanged– that had to be a bluffing shot, and Murati still had two bombs available to take down the flagship.

But the appearance of that unknown suit complicated things.

“Arm joint failing, some electric fluctuations, messiah defend.”

That cut through the shoulder must have damaged some of the ancillary electronics. While there was still thrust, power to secondary systems was inconsistent. Murati kept a panicked eye on the pressure and atmosphere readings. She was alive, so she was not breached, but if there was damage to atmosphere control, or a microscopic leak from the tanks, it could make her sick. Everything was under control at the moment, but she was nearly helpless.

“Murati! Please respond!”

Due to the energy circulation issues her radio was cutting in and out intermittently.

At that moment, however, she could still hear the desperate voice of Sonya Shalikova.

Sighing with a deep shame in herself, trying to suppress the urge to pity herself, she replied.

“Combat ineffective. Repeat, combat ineffective.”

“Murati? Did you say, ‘combat ineffective’? Who cares! Are you hurt?”

Shalikova’s voice came in and out every other syllable it seemed.

Nonetheless, the emotional, worried tone of her voice came through for Murati.

“Unhurt. Repeat, I’m unhurt. Just shaken up. Repeat, shaken up.”

In order to be understood with the state of her electronics and power, Murati had to be fairly monosyllabic. She could not say what she was really feeling, nor even the version of it she really wanted Shalikova to hear. “I was useless, but you were splendid,” or “I’m sorry for failing you, but you did great out there.” Maybe “I’m proud of you,” might have gone through. But it wasn’t the time to praise Shalikova and hear her characteristic groaning back. They were still in danger. They still had a mission to do. And they needed to know the status of the Brigand as well.

“Wait. Bombs, how many do we–”

Murati checked the inventory on the Cheka quickly. She found that the serial port that should have been connected to her bomb had been reporting nothing connected to it. Her magnetic strip was showing a significant loss of weight as well. Had that mecha managed to unseat her equipment while they were maneuvering? It must have been when she slashed across her shoulder– Murati grit her teeth. She must have kicked them off or something.

To think she had been so careless, with an opponent like that!

Shalikova’s voice cut in. Murati was barely able to make out one word.

“Khadija–”

She slammed her fist on the switchbox for the communicator.

“What can I even do? I’m just a passenger at this point.”

On a corner of her central screen, a little flashing waveform appeared.

Incoming laser connection.

“The Brigand!”

Murati put it through immediately.

She found herself face to face with the narrowed, unfriendly glare of Alex Geninov.

For only an instant. Nearly immediately, Alex passed her off to Semyonova.

In this situation, that familiar round-faced, bubbly blond was such a relief to see.

Even with a laser connection, the video was lagging. The Cheka was in bad shape.

“Khadija engaging enemy! Lost bomb undetonated! Repeat–”

She had to communicate sparsely, as if the connection would be cutting in and out.

On the screen she saw Semyonova turn to relay to the Captain–

Then the video connection cut out.

Murati had feared that the flak had restarted and knocked out the drone the Brigand had sent to connect them, but she noticed her communicator had powered of suddenly. She switched the diagnostic touchscreen to a troubleshooting mode and tried to restart the communicator through it. She tried routing power from a different cell– instead the camera feeds began to darken, not liking having their already fragile power tampered with.

Frustrated, Murati nearly hit the diagnostic screen again.

Briefly she saw her frustrated, sweating face reflected on one of her dead screens.

“So much for you, fearless leader.” She mumbled.

She dipped her head, her bangs falling over her eyes.

There was a flash as her cameras returned to life.

When Murati looked up to appraise the situation, she was transfixed by what she saw.

In the middle of the ocean between all of the warring ships, framed by clouds of vapor and steel debris, two machines soared like a pair of comets, their dance punctuated by the trials of explosive rounds and the bubbles that blossomed from their detonations. Weaving chaotic patterns of vapor and lead, the combatants captivated all of Murati’s senses as she watched them, following the dim flashes of rifle shells, the zigzagging lines of bubbles and disturbed water left in the wakes of their jets, the thin clouds of exhaust from the solid fuel boosters mixing with the water vapor.

There was a shuddering in her chest, her heart carried on a current of twenty years.

Murati recognized the sight as one she saw in 959 A.D.

On a ship she had snuck into, amid the gravest emergency the nascent Union had yet seen.

Where she watched ships explode, and Divers sink, and a station die.

In front of her, the flashing stopped, the combatants bereft of ammunition.

Murati felt a warmth behind her eyes and saw colors emerging in the water.

That enemy Diver, colored yellow and green, full of fear, regret, disgust–

That plain grey Strelok, red and black with rage, bloodlust, a resignation to death–

Her eyes drew wide with the sudden realization.

“No! Khadija– the bomb–”

Instinctually she understood what would transpire if she did not act–

–her thoughts raced, thinking of something, anything she could do, to prevent the tragedy–

“Murati!”

Shalikova’s Strelok appeared right in front of her, taking up her cameras.

At her side was a second, bare Strelok with no damage to it. Valya Lebedova’s unit.

“Murati, she sent me here to take you back, give your bomb to Lebedova–”

Hit with a spark of inspiration, Murati made a sudden move for Lebedova’s unit.

Shifting her hands to the verboten controls flashing on her joysticks.

All of the diagnostic and power warnings briefly made way for the user interface of the Energy Recovery System. Power poured from the extra reserved cells on the Cheka and for a moment, thrust improved dramatically, all systems reconnected, and the battered suit moved like it should. Shalikova and Lebedova were both taken aback.

Throwing herself forward to them, Murati grabbed hold of Lebedova’s grenade.

Seizing it from her magnetic strip, before rushing away into the open water.

“Murati! What are you doing? You’ve got damage!”

Shalikova’s shouting was picked up loud and clear now that comms had returned.

Murati ignored the radio chatter and slammed the pedals down as far as they would.

As soon as she got up to speed, warnings began appearing in their dozens once again.

Oxygen system, atmosphere controls, everything stressed under the speed building up so suddenly after taking so much damage to the innards. Her damaged arm refused to budge under this degree of acceleration, so Murati had to use the other arm for her sudden plot. She attached Lebedova’s grenade to her own magnetic strip, unlocked the strip, and forcibly pulled the entire length free from the Cheka’s back using the non-magnetic handles on the ends.

She was then able to hold it like a magnetic pole on her hand with the grenade on one end.

Heedless of the energy percentages ticking down and down–

And the number of things that were broken or breaking in the suit–

In her mind, Murati had only one destination: home.

Her plan had gone awry, but as a leader, she would bring everyone back home, even if it killed her.

“Khadija! Stop! Step back!”

Dead ahead, the enemy suit and Khadija’s charged each other and became locked in a brief clash with their respective melee weapons. Chainsaw teeth and vibroblade ground each other down. They traded several vicious blows and parries before each one in turn noticed Murati hurtling toward them. Her presence ended the deadlocked duel.

That enemy suit responded first and darted back carefully from Khadija.

Khadija pulled back only slightly as her ally approached at high speeds.

Murati swerved toward the enemy suit and it responded by thrusting up and away from her.

Then Murati arced toward Khadija instead, circling around behind her.

“Murati! What are you–?”

Soaring past Khadija’s back, Murati snatched the bomb she had given her using the magnetic pole.

At the speed she was going, the serial cable simply snapped off.

“Everyone retreat! Right now! Back to the Brigand!”

Accelerating once more, Murati barked her orders into the communicator.

Using the remaining shoulder camera she checked the status of the bomb.

She noticed it had been armed. She felt a chill run down her spine, briefly, unable to dwell on the confirmation of her horrifying suspicions. Was Khadija really willing to die to take out this one enemy unit? They would have to discuss this later. Murati held out the contraption in her hands and thrust toward the Irmingard class once again.

With an armed bomb on the strip she could not tarry for very long.

Within seconds, she was close enough to put the plan into action.

Assault rifles, gas guns and coilguns all used a combination of special ammunition and shooting mechanisms that allowed them to shoot underwater and launch supercavitating shells. Their ammunition moved through an air bubble, defeating the resistance of the water and altering their kinetic profile. Melee combat relied on the mechanical power of a Diver’s arms, as well as boosters on the weapon and the arm itself to improve thrust. Even so, raw kinetic impacts were not effective. Union swords used saw blades to inflict damage; the Empire used sophisticated vibrating blades made of exotic materials. Any simple cutting edge would have been much less effective underwater.

Similarly to swinging a plain sword, objects thrown by a Diver could not be expected to be effective.

They would not travel very far without assistance.

Grenades had their own built-in rocket to compensate for water resistance instead.

To propel the Grenade’s 50 mm warhead, it needed thrust akin to a Diver’s vernier booster.

That was enough thrust to propel the grenade quite far, quite fast.

And more than enough to take the strip and the bomb attached along for the ride.

“Here goes something!”

Holding out the strip in front of her, Murati armed the grenade at the back of it.

When she let go an instant later, the grenade’s thruster kicked in and launched the pole.

This sent the armed bomb hurtling toward the side of the Irmingard.

Moving faster than the flak curtain could be restarted to stop it.

As soon as she released the improvised rocket, she threw the Cheka into a steep turn. Without being able to detonate it in a controlled fashion from a safe distance, Murati was in immediate danger. She arced away from the Irmingard as quickly as she could and swung toward the Brigand. To escape the blast she needed every possible meter–

Her eyes glanced up at the ERS screen in time to watch the power drain entirely.

Then her cockpit suddenly went pitch black. Murati’s breath caught in her chest.

There was a sudden silence as the whirring of the pumps and turbines pushing water through her machine stopped abruptly. Her body jerked forward slightly and suddenly as water resistance killed her momentum, causing her cockpit to shake briefly. Red, intermittent flashing red within the darkness, indicating auxiliary power. Enough to maintain life support. She was stranded. Stranded in the open water with the bomb about to go off behind her.

Murati freed herself from her seat, crawled to the side of the cockpit and slid open a moveable slit.

There was a periscopic glass viewing pane, through which she could see nothing but water.

Then she saw something flash. That was the bomb– the bomb had gone off.

Her cockpit rumbled as all the water displaced by the blast slammed into her.

What was happening? She could be sinking to the sea floor! Or about to rip apart!

She grit her teeth and grabbed hold of the catches on the wall, repeatedly striking metal as everything around her shook violently. Rolling around on the inside of her own metal coffin, packed in like a canned vegetable.

Her senses almost went as her head struck the metal wall.

Blood dribbled down her face. Her grip started to slack, her wrists overextended.

And yet the cockpit continued to rattle and roll in the maelstrom.

Was she going to die? Was she really going to die like this?

Two distinct impacts tossed her further, one on each side of the cockpit– then she stopped.

She was stable. Rushing her eye to the viewing pane she caught sight of metal.

There was a red flash from it. Was that– a Diver? A Diver igniting a vernier?

Her cockpit shook again–

She felt the Cheka move. Water started rushing around her.

Consistent, purposeful movement.

Someone had rescued her.

With the cockpit stable, she came to settle against the wall. Bloody, battered, isolated.

Falling limp within her “metal coffin,” Murati started to weep into her own arm.

It must have been Shalikova or Lebedova.

Someone rescued her! She would live! She survived– they defeated that Irmingard class.

Unable to see them, unable to thank them, unable to determine who was alive–

What a way to end the battle! All that fire and thunder, and in the end it was all dark, all silent.

But she was alive. And the Brigand was alive. So despite everything, their mission was still alive.

She struck her fist against the metal wall, again and again. Grinding her teeth, weeping her eyes out.

“Messiah defend! Some fucking hero I turned out to be!” Murati shouted, screaming at herself in the dark.


Schicksal’s panicked voice heralded the coming insanity.

“Explosion off the port side! Significant sidepod damage– we’re destabilizing–!”

“God damn it!”

Gertrude would have pounded her fist on her seat but holding on to it was all she could do to keep herself from flying off her chair as the Iron Lady began to list to starboard dramatically, now heavier due to loss of both solid and liquid weight. Inside the Bridge it was pure chaos. Flashing red warning lights, dozens of people shouting at each other all at once, the helm crew struggling to adjust the ship’s weight and right it. As the ship slanted, a few unprepared officers fell back out of their seats and slammed into the nearest station behind them. It was nearly impossible to control the crew in this chaos, but Dreschner shouted himself hoarse at Gertrude’s side, keeping the bridge functional.

“Side hydrojet intakes completely severed! Weight distribution dramatically uneven!”

On the main screen a diagnostic updated, with the breaching and flooding that had been dealt to the sidepod area. Were it not for the Iron Lady’s enormously thick armor even the hangar would be flooding. That was not an ordinary depth charge, it had the kind of destructive power reserved for blast mining charges.

How had Sieglinde let such a thing through to them? Had she even survived?

To think despite every advantage they would lose to these thugs!

“Captain, Inquisitor! The Ludlow is not moving from our starboard!”

Schicksal turned a horrified look to meet Gertrude’s wild eyes and Dreschner’s pallid face.

They were listing toward their remaining Frigate, which was itself struggling to stay afloat.

“Collision imminent!”

Everyone in the Bridge grabbed hold of the closest thing they could.

Only the helm continued working until the last second that they could, struggling to stabilize the ship, but not in time to prevent what the prediction on the main screen showed them. Seconds later, the Iron Lady crashed into the Ludlow, crushing its side fin and caving in the port side of the pressure hull, sending the smaller vessel careening toward the ocean floor. This did relatively light damage to the Iron Lady itself, but it was clear the Ludlow would not survive. By then, the small amount of flooding on the Iron Lady weighed down its stricken side enough to stabilize the ship.

All the while, Gertrude watched the main screen with rage-filled eyes.

That insignificant little hauler and its measly little divers began to flee.

She raised her hand to the screen, nearly giving in to desperate, grief-stricken delusion.

Right in front of her, so close, close enough for her hand to reach. That damnable ship.

“Pandora’s Box. You won’t get away. Not as long as I can chase. Elena–”

Hyperventilating, eyes burning in the prelude to tears.            

Her mind blanking out with fury as she seared the sight of that little ship into her brain.

They had not escaped. They had not gotten away. They couldn’t run.

As long as she was chasing, they would never escape.

“Call for reinforcements! Send it through the encrypted network! As soon as possible!”

Dreschner and Schicksal looked like they could hardly believe her words.

Nevertheless, they set about their tasks as soon as they could. Whoever came could be made useful.

Though the Bridge soon quieted, the tense, erratic energy of the moment never left.

“Send out a drone to chase after Pandora’s Box as soon as the electronics are stable.”

Because Gertrude’s eyes never left the screen; because she never forgot the shadow of her prey.

She was High Inquisitor Lichtenberg, and as long as she was chasing, no one could escape!


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