The Past Will Come Back As A Tidal Wave [13.4]

After Descent, Year 958

In the middle of the Luxembourg School for Girls campus there was a grand square that represented one of the main social areas for the students. Gentle hills served as excellent picnic spots for the girls, and marble-tiled squares with fountains and gazebos offered a variety of backdrops for the cheerful blossoming of the Empire’s up and coming prizes, wives and mothers. At the center of the plaza there was an enormous tree, one of the largest trees in the entire Imbrium. Its wide green crown provided the best shade from the sun lamps.

One fateful day, as war loomed, and internal security worsened–

There was a crowd gathered around the tree–

Watching a dozen girls chain themselves to it, holding hands, standing their ground.

“No more wars! No more slavery! No more trading in blood!”

Hands linked together, old brown-tinged chains around their midsections, dirtying the white and yellow uniforms. Imbrian girls of surpassing tidiness, model students, blond-haired, blue-eyed, it was such an incongruous sight, and such incongruous words came out of their lips, that it felt like the whole school gathered to watch them out of sheer confusion and curiosity. Though they were not particularly famous girls, everyone at Luxembourg was the child of someone with at least some money and influence. If not born to someone like that, then sponsored by someone worthy of the school’s pedigree for a scholarship.

Until that day, those girls had fit into these molds perfectly.

Then they became new creatures entirely.

Around that tree, the girls had organized a protest– they were protesting at the school.

Such things had been easy to ignore in the changing times of the Fueller Reformation. For a time, the new, young Emperor tolerated a new, young culture of free discourse and critique. It was out of this leniency that Mordecai wrote his much-hated words about wealth and power, that the final rhetorical nails drove into the inviolability of increasingly sidelined aristocrats, and that the spectre of Imbrian fascism began to take its purest form.

In those times, even young girls were allowed the occasional foray into counterculture.

In A.D. 958 protest was no longer viewed as a plaything of fiery, modern girls, however.

With the colonies in revolt, Alayze preparing to invade, and conspiracies abounding–

School security ushered away and curfewed all the girls who gathered to watch the protest.

Formed a cordon around the tree and the hill that contained it and raised sound-dampeners.

And dispensed with the rod, opting instead for the full-powered vibrotruncheon.

Hiding on the sidelines of the protest, eyes filled with tears, watching the girls being violently and bodily removed from around the tree with her own eyes– was Gloria Innocence Luxembourg, a waifish, dark-haired, bespectacled young girl for whom everything under and around that tree was meant. Her own little white uniform dirtied with a bit of mud she turned up as she scampered through the park out of sight, wanting with all her heart to see– what she had failed to participate in. To see the consequences of her cowardice.

Yesterday’s bold promises of support for the members of her secret political reading group,

Whom, on that day, she watched the destruction of from afar,

understanding all too keenly it would have been different had she joined the protest–

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, as if in time with the beatings.


After Descent, Year 979

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg raised her hand to look into the screen of her high-end computerized watch. Its beveled white and pink chassis was fully customized to her own needs, with a cute, rabbit-like design and little hearts and wings on the wristband. She flicked her finger across the screen, scrolling past several pre-installed, discrete programs and bringing up her favorite and most useful feature of the watch–

“Just got out of bed and made myself up for the day. Feeling wistful. Uncertain.”

Her watch had already logged her mood for 426 prior days at various times of the day.

On the watch display, an analysis appeared–

“Have you had breakfast yet? Hunger brings vulnerability.” It said.

Beaming brightly, Gloria felt a weight off her shoulders. “Of course! Breakfast!”

Of course, breakfast– she was just hungry. No need to trouble herself further.

Once she had breakfast she could simply go about her day without troublesome thoughts.

And it was a big day indeed. She would need all of her faculties in order.

Supposedly, she was on vacation to Aachen, renting out modest lodgings for a quiet retreat.

Aachen was not known as a vacation destination, but nobody could question the boss.

Though Gloria hardly ever boasted about her wealth openly, as it would have been quite a faux pas to her leftist contemporaries, she was a member of an ultra-elite club of recently minted millionaires, and one of the most valuable people in Rhinea, if not the Imbrium.

Raylight Beauty seized a massive untapped market by treating women in all strata of society as customers who to whom they could advertise a wide range of products. Such that anyone could and would want to purchase cosmetics, handbags, underwear, personal care products and even certain supplements, from them, with their logo. Raylight Beauty could hardly be called a megacorporation. Its wealth and influence was a shadow of monopolies like Volwitz and Rhineametalle who wielded political connections in addition to their finances.

However, they had successfully swept away nearly all of their old-fashioned competitors in the women’s goods industry by spending big on modern, chic, female-centric and empowering marketing. They expanded aggressively, capitalizing on initial success in cosmetics to become a juggernaut of women’s and girls’ culture in the Mare Imbrium.

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg became valued in the hundreds of millions of Reichsmarks.

A certain small ship from a certain unnamed country had about three million marks to spend, a tidy sum which allowed them to make up the servicing of a large, complex ship at several stations, pay out hush money, and create walking-around funds for its employees to go on little dates. This amount likely represented a significant percentage of their country’s Imperial Marks holdings, which they held in credichips for various uses. That little ship would soon run out of funds in their adventures; meanwhile Gloria was unlikely to ever run out of money. Her wealth could only grow– so long as her current exploits remained on the low.

Despite all of this, she held herself to a humble standard.

She hired the stingiest and most old-fashioned aristocratic accountant she could find, rather than hiring some noveau riche money management company that might then encourage her to live a millionaire rockstar life of excessive spending. Her spending was modest, with infrequent travel, only a handful of private properties or station investments, relatively few and affordable vices, and few parties outside of luxurious corporate events for her employees. Much of her spending was in lavish donations to worthy causes and agreeable politicians, personal gifts to struggling girls whose stories moved her, and her biggest side-project of the past few years– the Reichsbanner Schwarzrot paramilitary.

Her lodgings in Aachen were located off to the side of the third tier’s high-end commercial facilities, which themselves lay a tier below the government palace. Unlike the offices and small apartments in the external layers of the first and second tiers, the third tier’s spaces for rent were a bit more luxurious, with many triple-wide and quadruple-wide suites.

For her stay in Aachen, Gloria had rented a triple-wide that was about five minutes walk to the commercial district. It was a winged design, with a central room that served as a lobby and entertainment area with couches, tea tables, synthetic carpeting, and a big, dedicated screen; off to the right were a bedroom with a king-size bed and ample storage for clothes and effects, and a bathroom with a large combination shower and bath; off the left there was a large kitchen and dining area as well as a mini laundry room adjoining.

In terms of aesthetics, it was acceptably modern.

Because of the LCD screen-walls and the square LED strips overhead, it was possible to change the room by altering the dominant colors projected, and the couches and other furniture was designed to gently reflect and distort the light to achieve different moods. That morning, Gloria had everything as it was formerly set, a moody, icy blue– as she left the bedroom she quickly shifted the color to a soothing, muted green. The mechanism was well-designed. It varied the shades and strokes of the green to avoid looking too uniform and constructed, preventing the entire room from looking like a continuous colored sheet.

Dressed in a thin white nightgown, her unbrushed pink hair spilling messy down her back and over her shoulders, and looking, in her own estimation, a bit plain without her makeup, Gloria ambled over to the kitchen. Thankfully with her second skin applied, she looked roughly how she wanted to no matter how much or how little effort she put into herself: she appeared to be in her early 20s rather than her mid-30s. Raylight’s cosmetics could do wonders, but there was nothing as effective as a full-body treatment– which Raylight also offered.

She opened touched one of the far walls of the kitchen and a refrigerator door slid open, releasing a cool mist. She shivered a bit. When she rented the place she had requested the kitchen be stocked as she did not wish to shop for food herself. So she found several items inside the fridge already. There were not enough prepared meals for her liking, and she would have liked more greens among her meals. Nevertheless, she procured a milk bag, punctured it with a straw and began to drink from it without reservation, while pushing items around, thumbing through the full inventory to decide what to eat.

Finding a package of cucumber cream salad and another package of chicken breast with cured egg yolk sauce, Gloria had her meal plan for the first half of the day. She took out both packages, unwrapped the chicken from the plastic, and touched the wall beside the refrigerator. A panel slid open to reveal an auto-cooker, entirely set into the wall and controlled digitally. She let it judge how best to cook the packaged chicken meal and it chose to bake, quickly coming up to temperature. It would cook in ten minutes.

Watching the chicken in the auto-cooker, Gloria drank the last of her milk bag and peeled the plastic off the creamy cucumber salad, stirring it around with a fork to redistribute some of the dill and parsley and to spread the mayonnaise and sour cream more evenly. She knew how to cook. Every student at the Luxembourg School for Girls was taught basic living and household skills for their eventual futures. However, like many graduates of the school, she also preferred to have help with this task, and she could afford it.

She nibbled on the cucumber. In the middle of the kitchen, in her night gown, she had not even washed her face, crunching on watery cucumber with creamy dressing. Her mind wandering. It was easy to entertain the cliché– that she was far from home. Far from where she should be. And yet even in this alien city, alone, she could bring with her almost any luxury. Even the luxury of simply doing nothing, but standing in her kitchen, food already cared for, and other affairs soon to be. Gloria was blessed in that way.

Some small part of that felt shameful, but when she thought about all she read in her life–

In her mind, in the socialist world, there would be people who loved to cook and would therefore cook for others. Alongside people like her who disliked this activity and could spend their time more productively if someone else cooked. Everyone would benefit in the end. There were people who were forced to do what they were not meant to, who lacked the opportunity to be what they truly wanted. Such a thing could be abolished, so that the thinkers could think and the cooks could cook. It was such a thing that she was struggling and working for ever since she started her little book club at school. She was not just an idle rich woman. She was well read, and she thought she knew the painful truth of the world.

Yes– she wasn’t just some idle rich woman.

At that moment, there was a buzzing on her wrist.

“I know, I’m letting my mood spiral again–”

When she looked down, it was actually a voice call.

She took it on her watch.

It was one of her security personnel– Orlan Aries. She had been expecting him.

“Ma’am, I am coming up now. The Pandora’s Box is done with their security stuff.” He said.

Gloria, unsmiling on the call, played up her typical affect with her speech.

“Orley! I am sooo happy to hear from you! Did your new friends treat you right?”

“I’d love to complain, but I would not be here without them.”

“That is worth more than a pfenig! So– what’s your voice-call appropriate take on them?”

Orlan sighed a bit on the call.

“I don’t know, ma’am. Let me see. I wish their ship had a smoking area. I don’t really understand why they are all vegetarians. Some of them drink too much and they always drink hard liquor when they do, which is insane to me because they are otherwise really buttoned up about other things. Almost every time when a Shimii is doing something and it’s prayer time they will just stop on the spot and pray even if it is inconvenient. All of them give me more of the vibe of Katarran mercenaries than, you know, people of their persuasions. However, they have an uncanny ability to accomplish the impossible.”

Despite his reticence, he gave a fantastic assessment and performed his role well.

Gloria finally smiled. The ability to accomplish the impossible, huh?

Of course– after all, they had already done something impossible to many people.

They were communists, in this awful world that contradicted them at every turn.

“Did any of them suspect you of anything?” She asked.

Orlan paused for a moment, grumbling a bit.

“I’m sure they must have realized anything I heard and saw would ultimately reach you, but they don’t care. They are not really given into paranoia and it is not like I had access to any classified records. Mostly I stuck to myself and out of their way, just observing. I was fiending for a cigarette the whole time, so I was a bit low energy. I did make friends with one of them– Murati Nakara. A really fascinating lady– she has lots of presence.”

Gloria would have to demand specifics later. “Very well. I can meet you in the early afternoon– the Tier 3 office, Location Karl. All of us will be there to chat, and then we we will move on. I trust you will not be late, Orley, or I will be quite pouty when I see you again. You can meet your own friends and take care of your own business later.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to get pouty ma’am. I’ll see you there.”

Gloria squeezed her wrist to end the call.

Her chicken was ready.

She took the half-eaten cucumber salad and the cured egg yolk chicken to the dining table and sat down to eat. Without Orlan’s voice there was a void of sound in the apartment that felt suddenly eerie. Gloria quickly summoned a bit of light jazz to help buoy her mood and thoughts as she ate. Thinking about what she would do next, what she would say.

She had to decide what she would do about her erstwhile allies.

More than the Eisern Front, it was Erika’s Nationale Volksarmee that worried her, a bit.

Gloria wanted full control of the United Front and everything that happened after.

In her mind, it should be hers because she had real infrastructure and money.

She had ships, she had soldiers, she had hideouts, she had accounts and paid informants, hush money, corporate spies, connections with Rhein-Sieg-Kries union leaders, Stockheim yards and Agri-Sphere activists. While Erika was doing petty banditry, she had been building something in Rhinea, something secret, but big, powerful, usable– Erika was a speck of dust to the Volkisch. But if the Volkisch knew how much power Gloria had, their hearts would have chilled to a stop. All she needed was a bit more to take the fight to them.

But Erika was the fighter, the real fighter. She had killed for the cause. More than once.

In her mind, Erika’s true place, her best place, was as a military leader for the Front.

Gloria wanted Erika to marshal the socialist forces, while she led them politically.

To do this, she had to gently convince Erika of where she was most useful.

And thus gently disabuse her of the little title of Premier she granted herself.

Both the communists and anarchists would be presenting opposing views on organization.

It would not be easy, but she might be able to convince everyone of a third way out of their current predicament– communist officers, leading experienced troops with on-the-ground support from the anarchist rabble, and the social democrats in a council crafting the policy that would win the heart of Eisental. An integrated command playing to their strengths. Each in their place, with their own specialty. In her mind it was the only way the United Front could ever work. In so doing, she might be able to convince Erika to accept the military position, to avoid any further infighting, and thereby temper her ambition.

Gloria would bring the matter up to her mentor, Kansal, who had experience in such things.

She would not carry herself exactly as Kansal wanted– but her experience was valuable.

Everything started to feel a bit more possible as she puzzled it out by herself on the table.

At that moment, her wrist began to buzz again.

There were not many people who could have bothered her then.

She suspected Orlan or Kremina and felt a bit irritated, lifting her watch–

To find the call was instead from Mia Weingarten.

Gloria picked up immediately after.

Grinning ear to ear.

“The pop princess herself! Mia I’m ecstatic you called!” Gloria assumed her perky persona.

“H-Hello, Ms. Luxembourg.” Mia said, her voice a bit hesitant and muted in response.

“No, no! Not Ms. Luxembourg– you can call me Gloria, darling, you know you can!”

“Thank you Ms.– Gloria. I– I’ve been– considering something– if it’s not too much–”

“My dear, don’t be so nervous– my door is always open to you. Always! I can tell you’re frazzled and in need. I’m here for you. How many times have we collabed? Your songs and your image have done so much for me and Raylight. We’re practically a little family by now.”

“Right. Gloria, this time– it could stir up a lot of trouble.” Mia’s voice went near whisper.

“Dear, nothing in the world is trouble to me. Why don’t you come over? We can talk.”

Gloria lifted her long, pale legs onto the table, leaning back on her chair, smiling like a fox.

Mia Weingarten hesitated on the call. Gloria could hear her delicious little voice tremble.

“Yes– I will, ma’am.” She finally said. “I mean– I’ll come by tonight. So we can– talk.”

“Fantastic! Marvelous! My schedule tonight is officially empty. I can’t wait to see you again. Don’t worry your pretty face over anything doll, Gloria Luxembourg will fix it all for you.”

“Yes. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll see you.” Mia Weingarten sheepishly hung up.

Gloria brimmed with anticipation.

Money was the devil; but a good deal was a good deal, and there was no better investment in the world than a pretty girl and whatever made her happy.


Euphrates’ path was an endless desert, each grain of sand the detritus of her experiences.

In her mind, in her dreams, she walked through the desert. It was vast, cold, and dark.

From shutting her eyes to reopening them, the desert was there to welcome her.

Memories, people, events, formed mounds in the sand that she crossed.

Dim recollections serving only as obstacles to her finding peace.

Ever blowing in a distant wind that never stopped, a current rushing perpetually.

Euphrates was a person, a woman, a lesbian, a former subject of the Federation of Northern States and then the hegemonic Aer Federation, and a Jew– but she was so ancient that these words had lost all meaning in themselves. Many of them were buried in time, and nobody whom she told could understand them. But even the ones that remained were eroded in her person. Sometimes she felt that nobody actually saw her as a human, but as a being. She walked, talked, had physical touch, but she could not be truly seen. Nobody existed who could see all of her– though one person tried her very best.

Euphrates hardly understood herself anymore. Were her recollections accurate?

People and locations, ancient scents and sounds, dust kicked off the dunes into her face.

Out of reach, only the barest scraps remaining. So close but still impossible to grasp.

Was this dementia? But her recall of fact and theory did not suffer for this.

Though it frightened her, some part of it also gave her comfort.

Maybe she could die. Maybe one day she would just become unable to think.

But– she had too much to keep living for. So she kept walking her desert, day after day.

It was not just her inner world that was so full and yet so empty either.

In the past, she had viewed the Aether as a predominantly empty place too.

Colorful, and filled with the vague presence of humanity, but without the substance of humanity. There was no sight, and they made no sound, there was nothing to touch. Endless drifting color suggestive of life but without the fullness of it. Perhaps everything was as illusory and devoid of complete truth as that empty world of colors.

Soometimes she even suspected humanity itself to be an empty shell of what it was.

However, something had shifted since Goryk’s Gorge– when she reconnected with people.

Slowly, she began to hear human speech occupying the Aether.

At first, it was the speech of people that she had come to know and perhaps cherish.

Tigris’ words, yes.

But also those of Murati Nakara, Ulyana Korabiskaya, Aaliyah Bashara.

People whose presence made time move for her again.

Perhaps it was because time was moving for her– she soon began to hear new voices.

Voices speaking all at once, from lips she could not see, people she did not know.

Uncaring but not kind– they all spoke at once and never cared for the impropriety.

But what they spoke of, in their voice, one and many, had themes of unity, connection.

Her desert, too, began to feature strange new voices and their singing.

And soon, it even featured more of the past, as if her memory was fertilized by the present.

Her memories, her inner self, became like a forest of enormous trees with silver crowns.

Euphrates walked upon moistened earth, through carbon puddles brimming with life.

Enormous roots framed her path and the trees looked down upon her with the great arms and all-encompassing crowns as if merged with the sky itself. “Looked down upon” but only due to their positions– there was no sense of contempt from the trees. They were filled with love and acceptance; she felt peaceful near them. They wanted her to know–

That they had always loved humanity, despite everything that happened.

That they still believed that humanity deserved to live, deserved to thrive and be free.

Hearing their song, she wanted to curl up at their roots.

It was not to be. Like so much dust, the vision, and its meanings, blew easily away.

Her eyes opened– she saw the olive-brown skin on Tigris’ bare shoulder and back.

Long red hair falling between them. Sound asleep, her breasts barely covered by the sheet.

She was in their shared bed, in their room on the UNX-001 Brigand, docked in Aachen.

Everything was dim, quiet. There was only a thin strip of light from under the door.

Because both of them were fairly thin and fairly short, they fit into one bed comfortably when they wanted. Euphrates’ eyes traced the lines of her companion’s figure in the shadows. They fit perfectly together. Tigris was taller, with her long, red hair and lithe limbs, more driven to physical activity. Euphrates was just a bit more compact and hermitic, a bit softer. Her own shorter blue hair, slightly wavy and swept evenly to the sides of her forehead. Both their faces were rather young-looking and much younger than they truly were. Tigris was perfectly frozen in her early twenties and Euphrates never changed much past twenty or so. Tigris was hundreds of years old now–

Euphrates was over a thousand years old, though the specifics escaped her.

The oldest year she remembered was D.C.E. 2035, when the Ayvartan Union defeated the Federation of Northern States in the War of the Great Continents.

During The Common Era– D.C.E. A long-gone calendar.

After D.C.E. came the Aer Federation reckoning of the years, A.I.

Aera Invicta, the indomitable epoch of a humanity fated to triumph over the stars.

Euphrates did not recall exactly when D.C.E. transitioned to A.I., however.

And now, the reckoning was A.D. — After Descent.

Now– the present was ever more taking prominence over the distant past.

There were no more stars for humanity. Only the merciful firmament of the ocean.

Nevertheless, they lived on.

Scarcely a day had passed since the Brigand had arrived at Aachen.

A sudden mood had taken Euphrates and her partner.

Euphrates had her arms around Tigris. One hooked under her chest, another over the hip.

Her fingers had been reaching between Tigris’ legs. They felt tempted to do so again, even.

The two of them worked up the mood and had sex– not too boisterously, but they did.

Enough to satisfy an urge for physical fulfillment that became rarer as the years passed.

Though perhaps they did not have that appearance to others, the two of them were a couple. Tigris was frequently critical of her, but Euphrates loved her like no one else in the world. Sometimes, Tigris was the sole proof Euphrates still had a body and emotions.

Long, long weeks and months and even years studying and theorizing and building and exploring in the darkest holes on Aer, inconclusive journeys in a frozen world that suffered nothing new to arise. Even in their stays in the labs they were cloistered. They were each other’s only source of stimulus, and yet, it was a rare occasion for them to share a bed, to touch, to hold each other, and even to muster the desire for sexual activity.

Perhaps, because their time was moving again, their bodies recalled their desires.

Euphrates pulled closer to Tigris again, who shifted slightly but remained asleep.

She kissed her gently on her nape. She felt her body heat, so close, so comforting.

Sometimes it didn’t feel real.

When Euphrates was a child, the world was locked in a hellish war.

Federation of Northern States troops, retreating from the invasion of their hated Ayvartan enemy, found her in a puddle of poisoned water in the aftermath of a scorched-earth chemical bombardment by heavy aircraft hoping deny the Ayvartans a minor village full of displaced people– including a few desperate jews in hiding. Perplexed at her ability to survive such a condition, they took her, and so began her confinement of innumerable years. Studied, used, a nameless subject from which information was extracted. Off her literal back, off her literal flesh, revolutionary biological research flourished around the world.

Her greatest fear was that she was still actually back in the laboratory, lost in delusions.

Sometimes she lacked any evidence to the contrary.

It was something she could tell nobody. Nobody would ever understand it.

Recently, she had found some evidence, however, that did much to put her mind at ease.

Norn’s mutilation that inflicted a terrifying agony upon her, like no pain she had ever felt.

Murati’s connection to her, which shared with her such warmth and determination.

Tigris’ heat and the cute little noises she made when they had sex that night.

Such things were not experiences she had as a little girl locked away forever in the dark.

She could only have these experiences because she was free, and her time was moving.

Her stultifying years in a glass cell could have never realized this vivid world.

“Mm. You’re doing stuff back there. Go back to sleep.”

Tigris mumbled, and slowly nestled her back closer to Euphrates’ chest.

Euphrates held her tight again. Whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Tigris muttered. “I love you too. Go to sleep already.”

Nestled together as they were, Euphrates found that sleep soon came into reach.

Next morning, the two of them slowly peeled away from each other and got dressed.

They had somewhere to be that day, and so they were both dressed similarly for once.

Euphrates was often the one wearing a vest, blazer, button-down and tie. Her basic state of being was formal, so she dressed formally, sometimes jokingly called a young master by the sailors; Tigris meanwhile was more used to work attire and made a face the entire time as Euphrates helped her button her old brown checkerboard sportcoat and properly set her tie. While Euphrates wore pants, Tigris opted for a knee-length skirt and bright red tights.

“We’re Ganges’ peers, do we really have to dress up like this?” Tigris asked.

“She’s in charge of an organization, so we should show her some respect.” Euphrates said.

“And what if she’s been a bastard this whole time? Will you still respect her in the end?”

“Let me be the one to show disrespect when the time comes. Can you promise me that?”

“Ugh. Fine. Whatever. You do the talking– but then why are you dragging me along?”

Euphrates smiled. “Because you are my inseparable partner-in-crime, obviously.”

Tigris averted her gaze and sighed and allowed her tie to be adjusted.

Euphrates felt a disquiet about her meeting with Daksha Kansal–

But it briefly dissipated when she stepped out of her room.

Instantly they were greeted by the main hall of the Brigand. Even when the ship was docked, there were still dozens of souls in the hall at any given time, smiling and waving to and from their business. Always courteous, driven by the animus afforded by their work and their overarching objective. Sailors undid panels to get at wires and junction boxes; logistics and managerial troops took up meeting rooms and discussed planning, supplies and efficiencies; Aiden Ahwalia cleaned the halls with a sour look on his face, recently demoted.

Euphrates sometimes stood for a moment and simply watched the people of the Brigand move about the hall, independently of her, each their own life so little and so vast.

She had been away from people just living their lives, for far too long.

“Hey, snap out of it, we’re going to be late. I’ve got stuff to do around here you know?”

Tigris put her hands on her lips and grumbled. Euphrates snapped out of her reverie.

“I’m sure Galina and Valya can survive a day without you.” She said.

“It’s not about that. Doesn’t seeing how hard these people work make you feel something?”

Euphrates smiled. “It does.” She said– and got started walking down the hall.

Tigris stared at her for a moment before following closely behind.

Everyone on the Brigand revitalized her outlook on life.

Or perhaps, they reminded her of an outlook she had, long ago when she treasured time.

On the Brigand, everyone believed in something unimaginable to most of the world.

That they could fight to liberate people from violence and deprivation.

Not just that they could throw away their lives against enormous, massive foes–

–but that they could possibly win.

Murati Nakara in particularly believed this with such fervor it made Euphrates feel shame.

How could anyone stand to be around that woman, who believed any less than her?

Slowly, her determination became too infectious. Who was the pupil, and who the teacher?

Now Euphrates could not help but to believe anew in possibility. In a hope for change.

So she had to do her own part to contribute. She could no longer simply observe.

There were people she had to take responsibility for– one ahead, specifically.

Down in the hangar, Euphrates and Tigris went through the boarding chute, checking out with Van Der Smidse and Zhu Lian, who were keeping track of everyone who was out and their destinations. They stepped through the boarding chute, and out the other end, entered the Stockheim port infrastructure. Behind them there were enormous projections on the walls, false windows revealing the dozens of ships docked in the berths around them.

Ships of various shapes and sizes, classes and purposes, all occupying this one interstitial piece of mechanical connective tissue. Their neighbors even included the Antenora, flagship of a certain Norn von Fueller. Euphrates looked at the vessel and resisted the idea that she could talk to Norn about what happened and convince her of anything.

Euphrates had hurt her– even more than hurt her, Euphrates exposed her to completely life-altering circumstances. She had saved her, perhaps, but she had also exposed her to ruin. Though there was inside her a voice that felt it was cowardly to turn her back on Norn, at the moment, Norn was stable enough not to pointlessly attack the Brigand. That was enough. Euphrates felt that the best thing she could do for her was to stay way from her.

And to avoid making the same mistake and having the same regrets now.

For example– with Murati Nakara.

“So where are we meeting Ganges?” Tigris asked.

Euphrates stopped in front of a nearby map board and pointed at their destination.

“A fundraising office for a Rhinean NGO, Kamma. She has some kind of ties to it.”

“Huh. I wonder if she completely gave up on the College of Neurosurgeons?”

“I think that Ganges had already given up on our projects for a very, very long time.”

Given what Euphrates knew about Ganges’ trajectory after leaving them; and that Kremina, who always lavished her with attention, was the only remnant of the Sunlight Foundation who remained at Ganges’ side; it was safe to assume she had divested herself of her old projects within the Foundation’s umbrella. Not that it mattered much– at this point, Solarflare LLC was not going to play any part in the Sunlight Foundation’s future, whatever that might be. If the only hard assets the Foundation retained were those that belonged to Yangtze and Potomac, then the organization was essentially a shell of itself. She had heard nothing from Nile or Hudson for many months now, so that, too, felt like a safe assumption. All that remained in the hands of Yangtze was the Indigo Research Institute.

That which Euphrates had built, and then carelessly handed to Yangtze, had turned to dust.

Part of her felt relief, though she did not know what Hudson and Nile were doing.

Nile, at least, was always disinterested in power, though she could also be overzealous when something other than power managed to capture her interest. Euphrates did not want to absolve her of suspicions without any evidence, much like she did not wish to suspect too much about Yangtze. But it was a rather safe bet that Nile was not carrying out some megalomaniacal ambition. Hudson, on the other hand, had always been a much less kind and caring individual, and could be downright callous in her pursuit of her own obsessions. It was easier to say Nile was harmless than to say the same for Hudson.

Regardless, if the Sunlight Foundation was utterly broken up, so be it.

At least its individual members had much less power to damage the world when separated.

“Euphrates, what will you even say to Ganges?” Tigris asked, as they made their way.

“I want to hear it from her what she has done and what she intends to do.” Euphrates said.

“We know enough, don’t we? She’s gallivanting around starting leftist movements.”

“I’m worried because of Kremina’s behavior– but also, the fact that she founded the Union and then left it, and has now founded a new group, it is concerning to me. Especially because I know what her immortality entails. I need to hear it from her– to see her intentions for myself. I need to judge her for myself. Only then can I be sure of what I will do.”

Tigris sighed. “Will you flip out if you detect some incongruity then?”

“I do not flip out. I will take responsibility for her, simple as that.” Euphrates said.

“Responsibility, huh?” Tigris said, letting out an even more exasperated sigh.

From Stockheim, the pair traveled up to the commercial district, past the second tier with its workplace buildings and the Volkisch Gau office, and up to the third tier. The center of the third tier resembled the first tier, with a grand atrium surrounded by circling paths that traversed several storefronts. Everything was higher end however; the restaurants had formal dress codes; the bars were not playing any sports or catering to the lunch crowd; even the corporate shops were populated only by the most expensive and exclusive subsidiaries of the megacorporations, such as Raylight’s Lucent Frau accessory shops and Rhineametalle’s Rare Earth electronics boutiques. Their destination was not any of the shops, however. Much like in the first tier, the surrounding areas beyond the walls of the shops were individual office and apartment units that were leased and rented privately.

Rather than climb the steps, Euphrates and Tigris took a long hallway to the leftmost wing of the station’s third tier. Here, space contracted, the ceiling was no longer almost a hundred meters above, and there were no grand and open landings and lobbies. Though the halls were well lit and projecting a bright paint job that made them look more inviting, they were still just steel halls and anything of note within them was behind a door. There were many doors, some labeled, some not. Euphrates wondered whether anyone minded that their lux triple-wide shared the same hall as a publicity agency for classic musicians, or other assorted private venues. She supposed not, if the walls were soundproof.

Every door was its own fortress. After a dozen turns, Euphrates found hers.

On the door, there was a logo, a half-white, half-black diamond made of knotted lines.

“I wonder where they got this from?” Tigris said.

“It’s a very ancient religious symbol, representing karma.” Euphrates said.

“How ancient are we talking?”

“Like everything down here, it’s so far removed now that its origin is meaningless.”

“Damn it, if you’re going to mention it’s so ancient, you should be ready with a number!”

Past the door, the same symbol was on every wall, as well as on boxes of pins and shirts and flags, likely for distribution to potential donors. This was a fundraising office for Kamma, an NGO that mainly distributed food and necessities to the needy– and also served as a front for some of the officers and advisors of the Reichbanner Schwarzrot.

Aside from the boxes of promotional goods stacked around the lobby, there were a few perfunctory chairs and a front desk attended by a young woman.

“Hello. Euphemia Rontgen. I have an appointment with Ms. Bhose.”

Ganges’ cover identity had put a meeting on the books with Euphrates’ cover identity.

“Thank you kindly, Ms. Rontgen. She is waiting for you. Left-hand door in the back.”

“Thank you.”

Euphrates and Tigris passed the desk and took the door they were instructed to take.

Inside was a small landing leading into the meeting room proper.

The larger portion of the room sat behind a sealable bulletproof and soundproof glass door. There was a long table and a presentation space adjacent, with enough empty floor space for a podium or a small stage to be erected. However, there was only a whiteboard on the wall instead. On the landing, just past the door, there was a minibar with a minifridge, disposable cups and a coffee machine, and a few unopened champagne bottles.

At the far end, Ganges, Daksha Kansal, stood alone, writing on the whiteboard.

“Come in and close the door behind you.” She said.

Tigris looked to Euphrates, silently requesting instruction.

Euphrates simply nodded and squeezed her hand briefly.

Together, they crossed into the meeting room proper and closed the glass behind them.

They joined Ganges at the head of room, looking at her scribbles on the white board.

“It’s nothing. I’m just messing around.” Ganges said.

She turned around from the board to meet them.

There were names on the board, some of which Euphrates recognized.

“Trying to remember the names of the United Front delegates?” Euphrates asked.

“I’m not that good with names.” Ganges said.

Euphrates was not sure if Ganges had aged or if she herself just never paid attention to how Ganges looked originally or whether her constitution ever changed across the years. In her mind, Ganges looked how she always had. Long, brown hair falling down her back, straight and a little bit stiff, but nicely glossy; dressed in a coat and turtleneck with comfortable pants and dress shoes, looking like a different flavor of ‘professor’ than Euphrates’ own buttoned-up appearance. Her face had some slight wrinkling, particularly around the eyes, but she still looked infinitely younger than she was, still radiating an earthy, strong beauty, a modern sort of handsomeness for a woman. She looked like a revolutionary.

Unlike Euphrates, whose time had frozen as an unformidable young adult, and who despite her years remained so, Ganges always looked like Euphrates wanted her to, perhaps. Like a mature woman who had drives and ambitions and solutions, who had shoulders that could bear weight. Ganges had been the first injection of hot, living blood into the Sunlight Foundation. She was the third member– after Euphrates and Yangtze formally began to toy with fate. Tigris was almost a hundred years later. Potomac, Nile and Hudson were relatively recent. The full roster of Immortals that Euphrates had become comfortable with– they had assembled– when was it–? Some time in 600 or perhaps 700 A.D.?

Maybe even 856 when the Nocht Dynasty truly began its spectacular collapse?

Obviously, the full membership had to have been in place before the 930s.

The Fueller Reformation– Mehmed’s Jihad– Norn– Project Deicide–

For those events, Nile, Hudson and Potomac were obviously very well established.

Amur was a full Immortal also. And they were trialing Tarim and Dniepr.

Euphrates could not properly remember the exact date– it ceased to matter to her.

“Greetings. I wish I could say I was looking forward to this but I have a pit in my stomach. Euphrates, I do not wish to be discourteous, but I do not want to have a debate with you. When Kremina suggested I tap Solarflare for help, I did not know that your position had become so complicated. Especially your relations with some troublesome company from my old country. I know you did not have a hand in their treatment of Kremina, and that it was mostly her own fault what happened, but I am still quite displeased by the affair. Union folks owe the two of us more respect than that.” Ganges said, hands in her coat pockets.

She then turned and waved to Tigris with a small smile. “Tigris, pleasure to see you again.”

Tigris waved half-heartedly; clearly annoyed Ganges addressed her so casually.

“I don’t feel the same way.” Euphrates said, smiling. “I want to be glad to see you again.”

“You want to be, but you’re not. You are just like me in that regard and you know it. I also wish I could be happy seeing my old friends, but then again, in my heart of hearts, as any woman does, I also wish for a pony, and for faeries to be real. Alas, none of those things are true or available in the real world. Living in reality, I solely want to placate you so that I might carry on my business unmolested. So, let’s do it. Grill me and then go away.”

“Fine. Do you know what Yangtze has been up to?” Euphrates asked suddenly.

Ganges breathed out, sounding slightly disgruntled.

“No, and I do not care. Yangtze is dead to me. I do not care about the Sunlight Foundation, Euphrates, which is why I left it over thirty years ago. It is you who cannot let it go. I tolerated your continued attempts to insert yourself into my affairs after I left out of fondness for you– I thank you for what little assistance you rendered to the Nakaras, by the way, and for trying to keep their memory alive even despite your principled inaction.”

“You’re welcome.” Euphrates said calmly.

“I can’t even believe you sometimes.” Ganges said.

“You’re not the only one.” Tigris grumbled.

“My vexatious presence aside. What have you been up to, Ganges?” Euphrates said.

“Trying to make the world a better place after untold years of twiddling my thumbs. Trying to make up for everything I did. Trying to find solutions. You would not understand.”

“I can hardly imagine letting Kremina go wild with conspiracies is helping. You said Union folks owe you more respect than my associates have shown.” Euphrates said. “That elides a foul level of conceit that I knew you possessed toward such things as physical contests, in the past. But I had hoped your affairs as a leader would be free of such arrogance.”

“No, Euphrates, I’ll never change on the inside, I’m too old, just like you.” Ganges said. “And setting Kremina aside, where do you get off on accusing me of being arrogant, or criticizing my approaches, when you have been taken by the most colossal arrogance on Aer yourself? Professor ‘I want to return the world to the surface’ over here? Compared to your arrogance in that project, my arrogance in founding movements and nations is minuscule.”

“You got me there. Nevertheless, if I don’t criticize you, nobody will. So here I am.”

Euphrates put on a collected front, but she was growing quite worried.

Ganges was always a bit rough around the edges.

She always liked to boast and wanted to challenge herself, and made rash decisions.

But she was not as self-centered before as she seemed now.

Ganges sighed openly, crossed her arms, and addressed Euphrates more seriously.

“My handiwork is beyond your criticism, Euphrates. There is an entire boat of people you have been rubbing shoulders with who would not be alive now without my Union. You want to know the truth? The Union was supposed to be the home of the freest people on Aer and the vessel for my redemption of humanity, for the prevention of our near extinction; but after four years of rulership, much like you, Euphrates, I stepped away from what I created and handed it to the stewardship of my pupils. I thought that was just and that it was necessary. But on my last day in the Union, my outlook changed. Like you have Yangtze, I’m afraid I have Bhavani Jayasankar. So just as you must be thinking of a solution to the problems you have created, I, too, am trying to find solutions. To atone for everything I have done in life, I have to make sure that the Imbrium achieves lasting freedom.”

“May I ask you to elaborate about this problem and its solution?” Euphrates asked.

Ganges grunted, annoyed at the continued interrogation. “You can ask, and I suppose I will humor you. I used to think a single, Imbria-wide left-wing entity could solve the inequality and violence of the Imbrian Empire and thereby preserve humanity, creating a long-lasting shelter and building our resilience. But after seeing the sort of personalities that abounded in the Union, and the difficulties it would have developing right, I decided that the Imbrium needs multiple sovereign leftist states acting in coalition. Something to check the power of people like Bhavani Jayansankar while still pursuing a broadly leftist agenda.”

“Bhavani Jayasankar was your student, Ganges.” Euphrates said. “She is a communist just like you. Now you are traveling the Imbrium to find someone who can ‘check her’?”

“You do not understand, Euphrates. Bhavani can say she is a communist all she wants. I have seen the depths of her actual heart and I know she is a demented securocrat. I never taught her to be this way, but the seed of her wanton militancy grew regardless. She is exactly the problem that humanity is facing, the avatar of our extinction. Free food, housing, education; she gives these things to people because she sees them as her barracked soldiers, not out of her sense of justice. I did not teach her well, that is evident: and just like you, Euphrates, who have decided to interfere with the affairs of your ‘students’ if you are sufficiently dissatisfied with them– I will do everything I can to prevent her wasteful forever-war on the world from occurring. That is part of my atonement to the world. Are you any different from me?”

Euphrates bristled. They were not the same. Because the scale was quite different.

However much Ganges personally disliked Jayasankar, the Union was a sovereign nation.

Daksha Kansal had founded a state that people relied upon for their lives.

While Yangtze, and the Sunlight Foundation, were a clique of scientific gatekeepers.

Lives and the stability of the world were not at stake purely in their decisions.

It was this separation that Euphrates hoped to maintain by preventing their interference in politics. But she failed, nonetheless. Yangtze was doing God-only-knew-what with all of the resources Euphrates abdicated to her– and here was Ganges, founding and abandoning her own political movements. Declaring them failures, setting them against each other like game pieces. They had taken their manipulation of scientific study and applied it to politics.

Worse, Ganges had convinced herself that she was saving humanity.

Just as Euphrates once had–

“Ganges, have you interfered with the Union’s politics since you left them?”

“Not as much as you might think. Whatever happens– it will be mostly Bhavani’s fault.”

“You must feel betrayed, then, that Buren is happily joining the Union.”

Now it was Ganges’ turn to bristle at Euphrates’ words, and what she had come to learn.

“Whatever you want to accuse me of, you yourself should see– the fact that Buren is developing according to erroneous principles, is because I let them choose. They are still their own sovereign nation, as you so put it, and their nationalism is strong enough that Bhavani cannot subvert them. So I am perfectly fine with what happened in Buren.”

There was no rhetoric that could hide the unseemly fact– Euphrates was having her worst fears confirmed before her very eyes. She wished that Ganges’ activism was something that was wholly altruistic, that she was seeding leftist movements across the Imbrium like a folk tale character, planting trees of liberation without agenda. And perhaps, she was doing so– the Union folks certainly still believed this to be the case. Her rhetoric that she was preventing human extinction elided to some selflessness. However, Euphrates feared that Ganges’ personal vitriol and arrogance would color the ultimate outcome. Systems had the results that they were designed for. If the Union became an ultramilitant and destabilizing power, it was because Ganges’ designs led to such destabilizing outcomes.

Much like Euphrates had to accept her failure for the Sunlight Foundation’s design.

Could Ganges herself see that? Or was she too close to the matter?

Ganges kept comparing the two of them, but Ganges looked too much like Yangtze.

Pursuing an obsession while claiming to be exclusively rational every step of the way.

Others might have fallen for her rhetoric, like Kremina– Euphrates could not.

She clenched her fists. The more she thought about it the angrier she became.

“The people of the Union still trust you. Respect you. Admire you, even.”

Ganges grunted. She spoke with a distant tone.

“They are entirely separable from Bhavani Jayasankar. I truly cherish how they feel about me. I still have contact with another of my students, Parvati Nagavanshi, from time to time, to coordinate certain useful things. She has been a fantastic help to me. But I also think she is a wasteful, violent lunatic and an egotist. If Bhavani ever falls she will fall with her. Do not overvalue their respect. It does not change that they developed incorrectly and that the course must be corrected in order for the Imbrium to last any further than this crisis.”

Euphrates held the cold gaze of her counterpart.

“Do you not feel that you might owe something more than that to Murati Nakara, Ganges?”

Bringing up that name brought up so much emotion in Euphrates.

Across from her, Ganges had no reaction to it. It was stark how neutral her expression was.

“No Euphrates, I saw to Murati Nakara a long time ago. I am sure that Bhavani and Parvati have indulged her fantasies of being a little soldier and she is doing fine. Do you want me to personally apologize to every dead revolutionary? This is ridiculous.”

Not even Murati–? Not even the girl whose parents she radicalized?

Euphrates had had enough of it. She could not tolerate this conversation anymore.

It hurt– it hurt, and it made her mad. All of this was her own fault, and it was mortifying.

Perhaps this is how Ganges felt toward Bhavani Jayasankar too. Hurt and angry.

Despite the irrationality behind it, the emotion, Euphrates could not help herself.

It had been so long since her heart beat so hot and so aggravated, so full of vinegar.

“Ganges. Do you still think you could win in a fight against me?”

Tigris glanced sideways at Euphrates in clear confusion.

“Euphrates, what is this about? Of course I can– but that’s besides the point.” Ganges said.

Without elucidating, Euphrates raised her hands up in a fighting stance.

“You’re joking.” Ganges said, incredulous, mouth slightly agape.

No word from Euphrates. Her eyes fixed Ganges’ own. Her hands did not move down.

Ganges grunted. She shut her eyes and looked at the ground. Frustrated.

“Is this what you came all this way for? To insult, accuse and then challenge me?”

“To teach you a lesson? You made me realize I owed you this.” Euphrates finally said.

“You are starting to really, truly, piss me off Euphrates.” Ganges said.

Tigris looked between the two of them, nervous, but not intervening.

Keeping her promise– whatever happened, she was letting Euphrates have it out.

“You’re pissed, you say? Then try to take it out on me. You’ve threatened to do it before.”

“I was joking. I never meant it like that. God damn it, I have never wanted to hurt you!”

Euphrates held her steel-like gaze on Ganges. “You won’t, don’t worry.”

“You’re really irritating. You’re so irritating. No matter what– you always find a way–”

“I realize I’ve been very selfish, all of my life. It’s high time I gave you something back.”

Ganges shifted her narrowed gaze. “Tigris, get her to stop, before I knock her down.”

Tigris said nothing. She crossed her arms and stepped aside as if to give them both space.

Her face was full of mournfulness and fear– Euphrates felt regret only for that much.

So many people had gotten stuck in the middle of her failures, for so long. For too long.

“Prove to me everything will go as you plan. Put your pride on the line.” Euphrates said.

“This is– I’m– Fine.” Ganges sighed. “You know what? Fine. Alright. You wanted this.”

Ganges slowly brought her fists up.

One dyed blue, one dyed red, both easily imbued with her flickering aura, still her natural stance after so long. With her red fist, her striking power was augmented by her wrathful aura, while her blue fist could weaken any blows with its languid, peaceful aura.

Tigris looked quite frustrated with the two of them but said nothing.

Standing beside two women in dowdy, collegiate attire with their fists up.

Sizing each other up.

Ganges, of course, moved first. Perhaps knowing Euphrates was not the type.

Perhaps wanting to decide the contest with the first move, as always.

Just like when she left the Sunlight Foundation, one day, without warning, without word.

Euphrates watched the red fist hurtling her way.

In that instant her own power swelled in response to Ganges’ attack.

Her mind lit afire with a wave of memories, cold and warm, sweet and harsh. Her biological family in a war-torn world, hated and persecuted but trying to cherish every day until a chemical bomb took all their days from them; then the confines of institutes and research sites and medical facilities, unbearable pain, and the naïve elation when the first of the doctors to ever speak to the ‘test subject’ told her that her life would save so many people; and then, under the rotting purple sky, striking the earth with hateful thunderbolts that erased whatever they struck, freed at last and smelling the air outside, with so few possessions but the clothes on her back and her ticket out of one world and into the next. Witnessing humanity’s final sin as one of the few who would live.

Then– Yangtze, the age of ignorance, trying to save the little knowledge that they could.

Azazel’s Empire, and the dark stability of its time. Ganges, the conspiracy, renewed hope.

Tigris– the love of her life. Her first reminder after many years– that she was still human.

Euphrates felt her heart swell and tear, bleed and weep, with emotions like she never felt.

Hearing, in her ears, in that instant, whispers of dozens of human voices together in song.

Something enormous watched her. It whispered to her the inscrutable echoes of humanity.

One small, weak, pure white hand met the furious red fist and turned it aside in an instant.

And a wave of pure white sublimity threw back Ganges and slammed her to the ground.

Her aura that should have blunted such strikes shredded like paper, scattering about her.

Euphrates practically leaped forward, suddenly overcome by her own insatiable grief.

Falling on top of Ganges, laying hands on her, holding her to the ground and weeping.

“What did you even learn from me, Ganges? Tell me! All those years! What was it for?”

Ganges tried to take Euphrates’ wrist but could not budge her, could not escape her.

“You’re condemning me without even seeing the results!” Ganges cried. “You are basing everything on your useless ethicality! I’ve accomplished more than you ever have! You do not understand anything! I am atoning for hundreds of years of inaction! I am desperate!”

“Do you really think you have atoned for anything, referring to oppressed people who admired you, followed you, trusted you– like they were undercooked experiments in a beaker?” Euphrates’ voice raised, higher than she had ever spoken, it had been so long since she shouted, that it broke– nevertheless she continued to shout. “Atonement, your atonement– is it all about you then, Ganges? Are all our fates only in your hands? I was so blind– not just about Yangtze, but about you. This wasn’t just about Mehmed or Norn– I created a machine that desensitized all of you to the human world. That’s what the Sunlight Foundation ultimately became. I can’t believe it’s only just now I realize how insane we all were– the surface was as full of horrors as the civilization here is full of its own dignity and beauty! What were we hoping to achieve? What are you, Ganges, hoping to achieve here? Will you abandon Gloria Luxembourg like you abandoned Bhavani Jayasankar if you deem her to develop wrong? Will she also become nothing to you but a failed experiment?!”

Euphrates shouted, putting her hands on Ganges’ shoulders and squeezing the fabric of her sweater, lifting her, banging her against the floor once with an anger she had not felt in hundreds of years, maybe thousands of years. How long ago had she given up on herself, given up banging the glass of her enclosure even after she was released from it? How long ago had she consigned herself to watching through the glass and doing nothing?

How long ago had she cut herself off from everything?

“I cannot afford to fail!” Ganges screamed back. “If she is not cut out for it then yes! I will find a more suitable candidate! I must do this, Euphrates, because nobody else is willing! You and I cannot save this world but someone must! We have to create the conditions for that! We have to do this ruthlessly! Otherwise humanity is as good as dead on our account!”

Euphrates could hardly stand to listen to her.

“Whatever happened to your ideas about human connection? About the aether? About the psychic connections between our brains? About the current that was becoming stronger between all of us, connecting us? What happened to us, Ganges? Why did we cause so much harm when we knew, demonstrably– we discovered something so beautiful.”

“Reality happened to us!” Ganges shouted. “Material reality! Not just our little fantasies!”

Hearing her shout back so loudly, Euphrates paused in her hopeless assault.

Ganges, laying on the floor, shut her eyes and breathed in ragged. Defeated– hurt.

“Euphrates, please stop knocking me about. You’re hurting me. I’m not young anymore. You do not understand. You cannot. Because you will be fine no matter what happens. You will live to see all of our mistakes. I pity you– I really do. But I have to use my time wisely.”

Euphrates drew her eyes wide. Her heart sank suddenly. “You gave up your immortality?”

“Yes. Do you see then? Do you understand I’m sacrificing everything for this? Do you understand why the personal feelings of Gloria Luxembourg or Bhavani Jayasankar do not matter? I gave up my immortality because I needed to understand that time is running out. I needed to humble myself and I needed to pay a price for my inaction.”

That was not enough. It was not enough as much as Euphrates wished she could accept it.

One of her few precious people who could have shared the eras with her–

Someday her friend would die– but she would die a person Euphrates could no longer love.

No matter how desperate she was, it did not atone for anything.

“Ganges, it doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t redeem it, that you’ve made yourself suffer personally for it, that you’ve inconvenienced yourself. That doesn’t set right what you are trying to do to these people and the lengths you say you are willing to go. Ganges, I’ve been with those people you claim did not develop correctly. The people that you discarded. They are sacrificing everything too even if you do not care about their ends. It is not about sacrifice– it’s about what we did with that sacrifice. I don’t have faith in you. Whatever you were scheming to do with Gloria, and with them– I won’t allow it to pass easily.”

Euphrates lifted her hands from Ganges. Eyes filled with tears– pathetic, helpless tears.

“I don’t need your faith. I get the message. You’ll crush me like a bug if I interfere too much. There is nothing I can do about that. You have me in your grasp now, the only true immortal. Fine. I’ll tell you this: I will stay out of Gloria’s way– she will succeed or fail on her own merits, and so will the United Front. Perhaps Kremina and I were not so different. Damn it all.”

Ganges looked so tired and so weary of it all. Drained from all the shouting.

Euphrates was in so much pain, such consuming pain. She had loved them all so much.

None of these events had transpired how she wanted. None of it had been fair.

Loved them too much, became too blinded by her love, and now lashed out because of it.

This awful scene she had caused was worthless. It would do nothing. It was irrational.

All of this was her fault. She had been so ignorant. She had been so self-deluded.

Willfully, convincing herself every step of the way. Everything is fine, everything is correct.

What we are doing, nobody can do, and it is necessary. Everything is necessary.

Because it is us– because it is these people whom we love and trust– therefore it is right?!

Because I like to work with them– because I want them to succeed– it was all fine then?!

It was all crashing continuously over her shoulders, heavy water beating her to the floor.

Her fantasy of ‘saving the world’ was completely at an end. She was just another human.

And the people she loved sharing every moment of that cruel fantasy would be gone too.

Because they had become just like her– pursuing their own delusions.

“Euphrates, please get off me and leave. You got your way. It’s done. I am done.”

Ganges was practically mumbling, unable to meet Euphrates’ eyes.

Finally, Tigris stepped forward and gently took Euphrates’s arms, urging her to move.

Euphrates raised her sleeve to wipe her own tears.

Allowing Tigris to help her to a stand, she turned her back and kept walking.

Out of the meeting room door, Ganges disappearing behind her–

Through the front door–

Out into the third tier commercial district–

“Euphrates, where are we going now?” Tigris asked.

Euphrates did not answer.

In her mind, she was just walking through more of the dust of something once dear.

Climbing those dunes over and over again, that desert of her infinite unreachable memories.

Every grain of sand was sharpened into deadly glass. Scraping, cutting, bleeding her.

Her heart hurt and she did not want to talk, and she did not want to stop walking.

Until, in some nondescript meaningless hallway where she had no right to be–

Euphrates simply broke down crying against a wall, letting all the ugliness out.

And Tigris, at her side, simply watched, and consoled her, held her– and cried with her.


“Bah! What we have here is the finest fighting force for liberation in this damned Imbrium Ocean! If the statists just can’t see that for themselves, then that’s their problem! I am not expecting much here, but maybe we can convince some of them to see reason, ha ha!”

An old rusty barrel belched fire and smoke toward the rocky ceiling, where it was promptly sucked up by old struggling oxycyclers that allowed the old shafts to remain semi-habitable. Aside from the smell of burning in the thin air, there was the rattling sound of the oxycyclers, and the rough floor and walls, and a biting cold. Unwelcoming sensations.

Oil and combustible pellets had been set ablaze in the barrel to confer some warmth, and there were many such barrels. Arrayed around them were bedrolls and tents and boxes of food and equipment. A multitude of figures huddled around them, hidden in black hoodies with thick work gloves to protect their hands from the chill. Most of them were masked up and wore shaded glasses or visors and those who were not, stuck out immediately.

Of the anarchist movement’s visible faces, the most obvious was Taras Moravskyi.

Loudly shouting and boasting without filter even under these dim circumstances.

He was the leader of the “Anti-Authoritarian Volunteer Brigade,” one of the arrows of the Eisern Front. Out of everyone assembled, Moravskyi certainly looked the most warlike. He was a tall and wide individual, with an enormous chest and shoulders and a strong back, thick arms, a square jaw warped by a scar. His laugh was sonorous and deep. He wore a heavy beard, cropped his hair, and wore a thick black trenchcoat that he modified with strips of red synthetic fabric, as if his own political armbands. Nobody in the Eisern Front wore any uniforms, but Moravskyi’s trenchcoat came the closest to representing them.

“Of course, we have some fine cadre assembled here, Comrade Moravskyi. But you see, I still don’t ascribe any particular importance to this event. It is likely to be dominated by the statists as any such event. Whether or not it succeeds, we know that the struggle will continue. So I believe there is little need to compromise or accept odious ideas, nor to proselytize overmuch. Of course, I will still support your endeavors as our delegate.”

Sitting on a bedroll on the floor next to the barrel, across from Moravskyi, was a woman with a soft smile and a gentle face who seemed out of place amid all the hooded heads. She too wore a long black coat, but she wore it over a long dress, its blue skirt section and white button-down top with a black and red ribbon giving her the silhouette of a modest school teacher, perhaps from Luxembourg itself. Her only visible sign of an anarchist’s typical unruliness was her long hair, which had been died a dark, glossy red but had clear black roots, and the uneven dye job left black bands scattered that elided the truth.

Her meticulous makeup and seemingly delicate beauty drew quite a few eyes at the camp.

Her name was Tamar Livnat, leader of the “Anti-Civilization” Aerean Preservation Militia.

And she viewed Moravskyi with a bit of contempt, as one might view a screaming child that was not one’s own. She could not wave away his accomplishments, having been fighting longer than the rest of them. His history was also in its own way somewhat pathetic– Tamar had accomplished in a few years what Moravskyi had in twenty, and she had contributed to Bosporus’ revolution while Moravskyi failed to do anything to respond to the Volkisch Movement in Rhinea. Never even mind his previous failure– in the Union.

Of course, she would not say such a thing to her dear “comrade.”

After all, it was convenient that he volunteer to speak to the United Front.

Let the loudest man labor audibly while the quietest man labored in secret.

“We should get ready to meet them soon.” Tamar said. “I sent my bodyguard ahead to scout the venue. Once I hear from her I’ll be glad to accompany you, comrade Moravskyi.”

“Livnat, the thing I hate most is breaking camp to go talk to the vatnyks.” Moravskyi said.

Despite his sighing, he would do it. Because behind the bluster, he needed the help.

At the moment, the two militias were stationed in the deep, disused passages of the Aachen Massif, the enormous mountain located behind and partially connected to the Aachen stations proper. Each group had about two dozen of their fighters huddled around burning barrels, forming a vanguard, with the vague suggestion to one another that they could summon more if more were necessary. They had been awaiting a third group, the Anti-Fascist militias, but this group had failed to check in with them at the eleventh hour.

She still hoped they would show up at the United Front.

There was nothing they could do– such was the nature of mother anarchy’s children.

The Eisern Front was always a loose assemblage of anti-state forces, in solidarity with each other’s actions but hardly communicating, fearing ever consolidating any of their forces or taking major joint actions. Coming together en masse increased the chance that they would draw unwanted attention. For what they were doing– leaving improvised explosives in government offices, hitting supply ships, assassinating specific people — it made little sense to have an army that moved as a visible collection. It was deleterious, even.

At first the Eisern Front was strongest in Bosporus, recruiting in the student revolts and protests, and in the edges of the Palatine, Buren and Rhinea. When the Bosporus revolution succeeded and took on the anarchist rhetoric that now characterized it, the Eisern Front, who participated in a disjointed fashion, gained a friendly rear area, with some ability to supply. The Buren “red fascists” as they called them, expelled the anarchists from their borders, but they still had connections in the Palatine, who did not undertake such active clearing actions. With the Palatine as a porous road, they could make a move into Rhinea– a worthy endeavor for the Eisern Front and for their Bosporan supporters.

The Palatine had the strength to completely crush the anarchists but were not exercising that ability. Something was happening there. Waking the giant prematurely was impermissible, but Rhinea was a much softer target. The Volkisch were not only more fractious and undisciplined than the imperials, but also far more odious than the staid and lethargic remnants of the Imbrian Empire. A victory over them would be a beautiful symbol of the righteousness of anarchism. Furthermore, infiltrating forces in Eisental allowed for the possibility of encircling Khaybar and finally evicting the Shimii from the pass.

With a free and anarchist Eisental, Bosporus’ revolution would have access to the world.

However, the Eisern Front by itself lacked the ability to carry out any of this.

It would have been different if they could have opened the Khaybar Pass themselves, but that was impossible, as the loathsome Saraya al-Khaybari group occupying the area was far too entrenched for the anarchist insurgency to displace. The United Front presented an opportunity to gain some common allies against common foes. But they could not tip their hand quickly. Their first order of business was to resource– if they could walk away with more weapons or funds from the ill-gotten gains of that bitch Gloria Luxembourg, then it was worth dealing with her bullshit. Secondly, they hoped to infiltrate some of these organizations and maybe turn their fighters and officers away from their statist causes.

Finally, they might hope to secure assistance against Khaybar, with the promise of vast reinforcements from the anarchist militias of Bosporus lying just beyond the pass. While the Union refused to cooperate in breaking the pass, it was possible that their agents would be more pragmatic if the end result was the destruction of the Volkisch Movement. Moravskyi was far too proud to make such a bold request, but it was an item Tamar kept in her pocket, turning with her fingers until such a time as it might be advantageous to play.

Secretly, there was also the possibility that they might seize the ships of the statists.

The Eisern Front lacked the grand warships and military arms of their erstwhile allies.

If the talks completely broke down, then the statists were easier targets than the Volkisch.

Moravskyi supported this option and Tamar pretended to find it distasteful.

“It’ll be hellishly tough, but it might be worth the gamble.” He said, of this plan.

Should such a thing transpire, Tamar would happily sit back and watch Moravskyi try.

And maybe she would join if the odds seemed right to her.

After all, she had more up her sleeve than she let on– but only if the timing was right. Her visit here was all about the timing and circumstances. If the timing remained inappropriate, then she was just Tamar Livnat of a small, humble militia and nobody would be any wiser. She supposed that Moravskyi must have been the same as her in that regard. If he was not, then he truly boasted for nothing, and she would hate him even more in the end.

“Moravskyi, I have a question for you, if you would not mind.” Tamar asked.

“Comrade, you must dispense with the formalities. Anarchists speak their mind openly. Social conventions are just the fascist in your brain holding you back. Say anything you want!”

“I shall endeavor to do so.” Tamar said, smiling. “There is a rumor about the slave revolts in the southern colonies, what became the Union’s revolution. With your history you might be able to clarify it. The rumor that there was a secret agreement between Daksha Kansal and the then-young Duchess of Veka in the east– that she would delay participation in the hostilities in exchange for limiting the Union’s territory at Nama Flow. It is history that Veka failed to open a second front, and the Union succeeded in defending its place.”

“Pfeh!” Moravskyi made a spit-like noise. “The Union– I do not know for certain but I wouldn’t put it past that goddamn bunch of red fascists to have done it! Me and my boys, we wanted to go all the way. Having little duels in the Serrano border and stopping like two gentlemen, when the Imperials had killed our guys, and we had killed theirs– it didn’t sit right with me. And letting the Vekan savages off too– yeah, that Kansal absolutely rejected trying to extend the revolution beyond the three colonies. That’s when I knew the Union wouldn’t ever be righteous. I tried to mutiny; you know? But– it wasn’t to be.”

Tamar smiled a little.

It wasn’t to be– what a funny way to say that he completely failed.

“Thank you, comrade. We will value your historical perspective in the coming days.”

“I wish you had not reminded me of it, to be honest.”

It was useful for Moravskyi to have the Union fresh in his mind going into the talks.

Getting his mood nice and sour would make things take longer and be more interesting.


On the edge of the plaza in the middle of Aachen’s second tier, there was a café and deli that served the office workers coming out for breaks and lunches from the surrounding complexes, and the Volkisch Gau; and for visitors looking to relax in the presence of the park’s lush flora. All seating at Fae Folk was outside the café, on tables and chairs under the crowns of several trees, with the small, plastic café building serving only as a kitchen and counter, with a display for the deli sandwiches showcasing the stacks of meats and pickles between fresh baked bread. A simple but popular place in a strategic location.

At a particularly slow and unconventional time, mid-morning, a pair of women arrived.

Ordering a plate of shredded beef, meat broth, blood sausage, without pickles or bread.

Their beautiful countenances, animated voices and showy attire drew in the workers, who slowly began to cede their initial argument on the specificity of the order, which was like no platter that they offered. It went beyond the customer simply being right– they felt a strange sense that they had to go the extra mile for these particular customers.

They felt they had no other choice.

However, they did provide excellent service in the end, with smiles on their faces.

Of the two women, the most assertive was a princely, tall, pale woman with an almost faery-like beauty. Her fair face had a grin on it that did not falter even at the first denials from the workers, and once she had convinced them to serve her specific order, she laughed gently, gesturing to her companion. Handsome and orderly, she wore her hair down to her neck, intermittently white, black and red, with swept bangs parted on the left. She was sleek and lean, with broad shoulders and a slender chest, dressed in a sportcoat and pants over a provocative, deeply plunging ruffled shirt exposing some of her chest.

At her side was a princess-like girl, smaller and daintier, adorned in lace and ribbons. While the taller woman had slightly more angular facial features, the shorter one had a soft and gentle, almost angelic beauty. Her dress was pure white with the hem at her ankles, interleaved diaphanous portions and cut-out loops along the sleeves and flanks exposing gaps of unblemished white skin. Her very long hair fell behind her back, dyed with similar red and black strands as that of her companion, decorated in a large ribbon that was almost like a pair of wings growing out of the back of her head. She carried herself in a whimsical fashion, giggling and smiling, deferential and girlishly receptive to the endless flattery and attempts to impress with which her companion showered her.

“Darling, they were so rude to us before, but look at them go now!” She giggled.

“Of course– but do not view them too harshly, my love. They simply required instruction on how to meet the needs of more high-end clientele. Proper conditioning made all the difference. Let us understand this is all part of the hominin experience.”

The taller woman invited the shorter one to take seat under the trees.

Taking up a four-seat table by themselves, rearranging the chairs so theirs were closer.

Watching with mild amusement as the workers dropped everything they were doing to ready their orders. Though everything was already prepared, the pair requested a large amount of each item, and particular arrangements. They wanted the broth in a kettle with cups to serve, and the sausages cut into bites, and the beef cuts arranged like flowers, and for no item to have touched brine or sat under a lamp. It took a few minutes, but three workers soon had everything laid out on the table to the pair’s liking and stood before them.

All bowing, and thanking them, and letting them know everything would be free.

“See how obedient they are now? Thank you dearly, little hominins. You may carry on.”

That tall and graceful visitor with the cruel grin was Syzygy Enforcer I: Avaritia.

“My prince, so graceful and merciful toward such rabble! Ahh! I am falling in love again!”

And the delicate, hyperfeminine beauty with a callous smile was Syzygy Enforcer III: Gula.

“Would you like a cup, my sweet little morsel?” Avaritia gestured to the kettle.

“My lips will accept anything of yours, my prince.” Gula said, winking coquettishly.

Avaritia took the kettle, stood from her seat, bowed near Gula, and began to fill her cup.

Gula giggled, clapping her hands together at her lover’s graceful mannerisms.

Once the cups were filled, Avaritia sat anew, and offered Gula a blood sausage.

Taking a piece with her fork and holding it up in the air.

“You’re too kind, my guardian, knight of my heart.” Gula said.

Her lips had barely spread when the sausage seemed to simply disappear from the fork.

In a split second, Gula was chewing delicately, as if the movement of the fork to her mouth had been edited out of video footage, such was the speed and abruptness of the transition. Avaritia watched in rapt attention, throwing amorous smiles and whispering sweet nothings as the smaller woman poked at every item of food on the table.

Many morsels consumed without even a touch.

Avaritia ate almost nothing– nearly all of the food was going to Gula.

While the two were captivated with one another, in their own island of public affection–

There was a sudden, rhythmic clapping of heels on floor tiles.

Suddenly, a shadow stretched over them and just as suddenly dipped below them.

Across from the pair, an uninvited guest, a woman, took up one of the remaining seats.

She leaned forward, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, setting black-gloved hands on the table with a smile as if to show she was not holding anything. Dressed boldly in a dark blue suit jacket without a shirt beneath, perfectly fit to her strong shoulders, buttoned just low enough to expose cleavage and a black bra with an ornate trim. She had matching dress pants and high heels worn without socks or tights. Elegant waves of glossy, silky blond hair she wore to the shoulder, lusciously red lips, perfectly fair skin, and a knockout body– and she walked like she owned the entire station, and this table with it too.

Such daring attire did not look out of place in the same table as the pair.

However, the glances that they gave the visitor did not suggest familiarity.

“Don’t mind me.” She said, with a bit of a Volgian accent. “Keep the good times going.”

“Darling, were we expecting such a modern visitor?” Gula asked, bearing sharp teeth.

“No dear; but do not fret. Stranger– to whom do we owe the pleasure?” Avaritia asked.

In response to the inquiry, their visitor pulled down her sunglasses and winked at them.

Avaritia’s lips curled up into a grin. She recognized her. Of course–

“Korabiskaya.” She said, a hint of danger in her voice.

Across the table, Ulyana Korabiskaya smiled, fingers delicately pulling the glasses off her nose and into the pocket of her jacket in one elegant motion. Her heart was beating fast, but she relished being able to surprise these two demons. Her performance of confidence in this moment was ironclad, she was giving everything with the utmost focus.

Everything for a femme fatale’s red lips and cool gaze.

“Indeed. But what should I call you? Something shorter than ‘the fake Zozia’?”

Ulyana leaned back on her chair, putting one of her heels up on the table.

Gula stared at Ulyana’s long legs in the fitted dress pants.

Personally, Ulyana thought her legs looked spectacular, but Gula looked, finally, annoyed.

“Darling, perhaps we ought to show her–?”

Avaritia raised a hand as if to call a halt. Gula’s eyes lost some of their icy focus.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten. Enjoy the spread and leave the talking to me.”

“Yay,” Gula smiled placidly, turning her attention back to the food.

“Did you brainwash her too?” Ulyana asked.

“No, she’s just like that. Now get your feet off the table or I’ll cut them off. It’s rude.”

Ulyana acquiesced. From that woman, the false Zozia, “Avaritia,” it was not an idle threat.

In terms of their respective combat abilities, Ulyana was outclassed.

Outclassed by sheer magnitudes— completely, exponentially unable to defend herself.

Avaritia could have swatted her into a smear if it came to a physical brawl.

But not in these circumstances.

Not in public, not in the middle of tier two of Aachen, not in some café at the park.

Not with the Volkisch Gau and the Uhlan barracks a stone’s throw away.

Not against Ulyana, whose willpower she could not break as easily as she did to others.

Thanks to the reports from Euphrates and Arabella, Ulyana knew her advantages.

So far, they had cleared the first hurdle. Avaritia was not jumping the gun to attack her.

Therefore, the two of them, commanders on opposing sides, could finally talk honestly.

“You are not Zozia Chelik and Ksenia Apfel. I know that much. You are Omenseers.” Ulyana said the last in a tone slightly more hushed than the rest. “I’m at your table today to talk business, and this time, to talk business to you, to the Omenseers, not the personas you adopted. I want to talk honestly, about your motives and about my own.”

Gula reached across the table suddenly, drawing Ulyana’s eyes toward her hands.

She picked up a piece of blood sausage, took it to her mouth, and chewed happily.

Avaritia grinned. “Just to talk? Or did you also feel like sweating a little?”

God damn it– Ulyana was letting some of her nervousness get through.

“After what happened in Kreuzung, we’re all sweating a little, aren’t we?”

“I’m mostly untroubled.” Avaritia said.

“Mostly untroubled that three of my subordinates killed a dozen of yours?” Ulyana asked.

Avaritia’s eyes fixed Ulyana’s directly. She was still grinning, but the barb had struck.

“A free lesson in our positions: death is less of an obstacle for us than it is for you.”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I want to officially apologize for what happened.”

For the first time Avaritia looked surprised. She kept grinning, but her eyes opened wider.

“You want to apologize? Interesting. Do go on. Apologize to me.”

Ulyana smiled back. “Consider this my official apology. One of my subordinates violated my trust and ignored orders, leaving our protection to attack you. It is my understanding that she heavily injured you, and I am glad that you were not killed– it would have made reconciliation much harder.” She spied the face of her opponent as she described what happened and thought she saw faint irritation creeping across that handsome face of hers. She continued when Avaritia offered no response. “Three more of my subordinates joined her, again without orders, starting a skirmish with your troops, resulting in disproportionate loss of life. I deeply regret this incident and I am here to make amends for this. None of this was my intention and I have disciplined all of my subordinates involved.”

Avaritia made a low noise, like a single cut-down breath of a longer laugh.

“You are referring to my attacker as your subordinate.” She said. “You can’t be speaking to me today and fail to understand the significance that she and that body of hers have. She is someone fit to lord over you. Frankly, it’s even a bit insulting for you to address her so.”

“I describe the situation as I understand it. I apologize if I had caused offense– I am not fully conversant in your culture. That aside, I want to hear your thoughts in response.”

“I find it ridiculous that you would come to me to apologize.” Avaritia said. “But it’s also very interesting, and I like you hominins best when you are being interesting. For better or worse you have such a depth, such a capacity, to do things that are strange and whimsical.”

“Will you accept my official apology, Avaritia?” Ulyana said, finally using her name.

Avaritia bristled. “Of course not. What can you even do for me to compensate for it?”

“Let me reach into my coat, without a violent reaction– I have something for you.”

Ulyana lifted her her gloved hand and gestured just over her partially exposed breasts.

“Go ahead then.” Avaritia said, a curious look in her eyes.

From an inside pocket of her jacket, Ulyana withdrew a vial filled with a thick red fluid.

Blood. Human blood.

Her own blood, slick in the vial as she turned it. Treated to slow coagulation.

Inside the vial, within the blood, also floated a sliver of slightly more solid matter.

Avaritia’s face lit up. She laughed.

“You have no idea what you are offering, do you?” She said.

“My blood, skin scrapings, and a bit of my flesh, taken from a harmless place.” She said.

Ulyana set the vial on the table, tapping on the plastic cap. She slid it over to Avaritia.

Avaritia looked down at the vial. She picked it up, looked into it, shook it.

Anyone else in this situation might have considered the possible threat posed by an enemy bearing a gift. Whether poison or something more high-tech like a swallowable tracker, a human would have had doubts and suspected some kind of trick. Avaritia did not seem at all troubled by such possibilities. She simply and elegantly uncapped the vial and took Ulyana’s flesh into herself without questioning the contents or Ulyana’s character. Swallowing it swiftly like a shot of liquor and seeming to enjoy the taste. Ulyana thought, perhaps there was no meaningful way for a human to poison this creature.

In fact she had not even bothered. She was being quite honest in her approach.

There was nothing else that she had and was willing to give that Avaritia might accept.

But if Omenseers liked the taste of humans, perhaps Ulyana might turn out to be a delicacy.

Avaritia set the empty vial down on the table, rolled it back to Ulyana.

Grinning ear to ear.

“You have no idea how close you came to destruction with that gesture.” Avaritia said.

“I have some idea.” Ulyana said, trying to sound calm.

Beside a vague desire to find out whether she was tasty, Ulyana also knew, from Arabella’s distressed account of the events in Kreuzung, that there was a possibility Avaritia was actually a walking and talking DNA-based computer. In that case, Avaritia, who possibly consumed Zozia Chelik and Ksenia Apfel in order to impersonate them, could potentially gather information from human DNA that she consumed and store it in herself. That taste of Ulyana would tell her– whether Ulyana was worth killing or not.

All of these were conjectures, but Ulyana liked her chances, and was notably still alive.

“Ulyana Korabiskaya,” Avaritia said, an amused note in her tone of voice.

“Indeed. What say you?” Ulyana asked, meeting Avaritia’s eyes with an iron focus.

“Apology accepted.”

In the next instant–

the grinning demon reared and lifted her arm and thrust forward with abandon,

to offer a handshake.

“What say you?” Avaritia said, her hand awaiting.

Ulyana, initially startled by the sudden movement, soon returned the gesture.

Sighing deeply, her chest pounding, feeling the sweat beads dribble down her collarbones.

“I am glad we can put this behind us. I have something else I wish to discuss.” Ulyana said.

Still holding Avaritia’s hand in her own.

Unsurprisingly, the monster in human skin had a gentle and unpretentitious handshake.

She had nothing to prove to a lesser being like Ulyana, whom Omenseers lorded over.

“I want to ask you for a favor, and in turn, I will owe you a favor.” Ulyana said.

“Interesting. I am slowly warming to this possibility.” Avaritia said. “It is rare for hominin to pay me tribute as you have. I believe you are a rare hominin who is close to a true understanding of the world and its correct order. I will not go out of my way to protect you, but I’d hate for you to die unspectacularly. So, tell me how I can help you.”

Avaritia sounded flattered, full of herself. What had she gleaned from that blood?

Ulyana gently and with respect, unwound her fingers from Avaritia’s own.

Her touch was warm, like that of any human. Not that she was expecting much different.

“I understand that you do not truly care about the anarchist cause. You are infiltrating them for another matter. I won’t pry into your motives unless you wish to disclose them, nor will I protect the Eisern Front from your activities. But I want your cooperation– share confidential information from the anarchists with me. In exchange, I will assist you in achieving your aim, in accordance with the value of the service you provided for me.”

“I’m curious how you found us. We haven’t joined the anarchists just yet.” Avaritia said.

“Unsecured CCTV. We have a good hacker, and you stick out in public.” Ulyana said.

Whether or not Avaritia even understood the response, she did not further pursue the topic.

“Very well. You, again, truly have no idea what you are offering, Ulyana Korabiskaya.”

“No, I don’t. Nor do I expect you to explain. But present matters are worth future risk.”

Avaritia slowly worked up a laugh in front of Ulyana, lowering her eyes to the table.

“Incredible! What an incredible Hominin! Your soul is truly bright.”

“So they tell me.”

“I will accept your offer.” Avaritia said. “I will even courteously explain what I will demand from you. Right now, I am looking for certain individuals. I will not disclose the criteria– but in the future I might seek your assistance in finding them, and when I do, you will help me devour them. That is what you signed up for. In exchange, I will play the best anarchist I can, and I will become your asset within their organization. We have a deal.”

Ulyana did not feel particularly proud to have agreed to kidnap people to feed this beast.

But it was all incumbent on the assistance Avaritia provided, and when she cashed it in.

Perhaps by then, Karuniya Maharapratham might have made a crucial breakthrough.

Unsavory as it was, this was not the worst concession Avaritia could have demanded.

The Brigand had killed plenty of people too, with families, hopes and dreams of their own.

At any rate, all of that was a problem for the future Ulyana Korabiskaya, that poor bitch.

In the present, she would hope that there was a benefit to doing all of this.

Especially since the rear of her thigh quite stung where it was incised and then stitched.

“Tell me– what made you so sure I would not simply devour you here?” Avaritia said.

She still wanted to talk– fine, Ulyana could humor her and thus, maintain her good humor.

“With your power, you’ve had ample opportunity to pursue your grievances with me. You could have followed Arabella to the ship, and we could have killed each other in fruitless struggle. You did not; you sent your subordinates first and ultimately you let the matter go entirely.” Ulyana said. “So, I began to understand you care about resources and have a specific agenda. There are people worth killing for you, worth devouring. From what we have learned, and also the fact you were impersonating Zozia Chelik, I realized you were there to kill Zozia and infiltrate the anarchists. It was within your means. You have proven me correct. You are only targeting specific people and won’t go out of your way for others.”

“Interesting. So, armed with that deduction, you then risked coming to meet me?”

“Is it so odd to you? My life is always on the line here. I’m not on a pleasure cruise.”

Ulyana put on a smile a bit more elegantly cold than Avaritia’s grin.

“You’re quite crafty. It will be quite convenient when I get to use you.” Avaritia said.

“You’ll get as much as you give. Work hard, okay?” Ulyana replied.

She stood up unceremoniously, turned her back on Avaritia and Gula, and left the table.

Anything could have happened in that split second–

And nothing at all did. Avaritia and Gula remained seated, returning to their meal.

Ulyana walked away, with her deal struck and a burden off of her shoulders.

They could find each other again easily– they’d see each other at the United Front.

There was nothing more that needed to be said, and Avaritia did nothing more.

However, there was a takeaway from the encounter the Omenseer may not have foreseen.

“You’re not all-powerful. You don’t have the resources to stop us.”

Ulyana smiled to herself. Every enemy in front of her had some kind of weakness.

Leaving that particular corner of the wooded park, Ulyana walked to the diametrically opposite corner, to a second café that was also taking advantage of the same business model as Fae Folk was. There, under a tree, she spotted a Shimii woman, skin a rich olive-tan with bright orange eyes, her dark-furred ears fluffed up and upright. Dressed in a cute yellow cardigan over a warm brown dress, modest and timeless, her long, dark hair worn freely.

Along with a conspicuous looking pair of sunglasses perched on her soft nose.

“Mind if I join you?” Ulyana asked, looming over the girl’s table with a rakish smile.

Pushing down her sunglasses, her Commissar, Aaliyah Bashara, looked up at the Captain.

“How did it go? I’m glad to see you well.” She said, a small smile playing on her lips.

She would not say it outright, but she looked like she could finally breathe easy.

“Everything went as I hoped it would. We’re all set for now.” Ulyana said.

“I was against attempting this– but I am glad to have been wrong this time.” Aaliyah said.

“I appreciate your discretion as always.” Ulyana said. She pulled her glasses down her nose slightly, to expose her eyes. “Aaliyah, we went to some lengths to get these clothes and dress up, and we’ll have to change again soon– would you mind having a drink with me? I would like to indulge the fantasy of a charming executive and a vibrant girl.”

Her gloved finger slid playfully across the drink menu projected on the table.

Aaliyah glanced at the menu and back at Ulyana, meeting her eyes.

She smiled and let out a little sigh, perhaps more fond than frustrated.

“I will let your charms overcome me this one time, Yana.” Aaliyah said.

Ulyana smiled, and took her seat, not across Aaliyah’s table, but close beside.

She reached and took Aaliyah’s hand, gently gliding a thumb over her fingers.

“How does a Radler sound?” Ulyana said, her free hand tapping on the menu.

Aaliyah smiled, her lightly flushed face again mixing exasperation and endearment.

“I’ll have whatever you are having. Just don’t take advantage, you cad.” She said softly.


“Social fascists and red nationalists, the lot of you! Going to send me to your gulags?”

“Worthless blowhard! You anarchists can’t even organize your wardrobes!”

“Ahh– everyone’s so energetic– can we perhaps take a breather to look at this chart–?”

At the bar and restaurant Oststadt, the private VIP back area resounded with the screams of its occupants. Thankfully, the front of the bar had also been completely bought out and buttoned up, the glass doors shut and a sign out in front, and it looked to the world as if the place had mostly just closed for the week. Discretely, the venue was actually rented in its entirety for a week of events hosted by a wealthy heiress. No activity spilled out onto the raised street adjacent establishment’s plot on the third tier commercial district.

The décor for the Oststadt was rather unique among Aachen’s restaurant culture. Completely white walls faked the black veins of real marble, while decorative white plastic columns with gold-painted rings on their bases and ends framed the bar, the doorways, and the divisions between booth seats in the restaurant area. Fake laurel wreathes, biostitched, perfumed daily, and set high up on the walls, added pops of green to the decoration. The Oststadt evoked an eastern aesthetic, which to the Imbrian mind was usually Veka, but in this case, was meant to be even farther east, recalling old Katarran decadence. It was likely this classic, romantic aesthetic that drew Gloria Innocence Luxembourg to host in it.

It served as an almost ridiculous backdrop to the farce that its fake marble walls contained.

Where the Oststadt was old and stately, its inhabitants were for better or worse quite new.

“Do you remember what even started this argument?” Ulyana asked, shoulders sagging.

“No.” Aaliyah replied, the fur standing up on her folded ears, her tail curled into a spiral.

There had been so many exchanges of barbs and the retorts had become so circular that it was nearly impossible to entangle what had set them off. Taras Moravskyi had entered into the meeting full of bluster, greeting no one, never introducing himself, and immediately demanding that the meeting begin even though some of his own colleagues had not even assembled yet. Erika Kairos had been watching him the whole time and seemed, perhaps, to know about him, enough that she shouted back with a mind to put him in his place and establish order over the proceedings. Moravskyi shouted back about the ‘fascist in her brain’ and the two of them were off. There had not been a moment’s peace since then. It was only by some miracle that Erika did not reach out and tear Moravskyi’s head off.

“You red-fascists were never serious about reconciliation! You were always here to try to get us to show up and impose your rules on us! But Taras Moravskyi is here to tell you we are indomitable! We will take you to task for your crimes against the people!”

“Taras Moravskyi is here to act like a babbling drunk! Much like he is at any other place! Barking about imaginary crimes to a people he has not served in years! We are here to talk about more than squatting and detonating fireworks in public parks!”

Ulyana could hardly believe that Erika would stoop to such–

No. She paused and realized that she could believe this scene completely and utterly.

She could believe it, because–

Murati.

It was just like the disciplinary records of Murati’s previous behavior.

Erika was just like Murati– she just had more responsibilities to keep her occupied.

Those two–

“Could Murati blow up like this in the middle of the ship someday?” Ulyana mumbled.

“Captain– We have more pressing concerns.” Aaliyah said, sighing deeply.

Besides Moravskyi and Erika, whose presences monopolized the “proceedings,” there were a few other people waiting and watching at the table. Avaritia and Gula eventually took their places, sitting at the far end of the table removed from the cacophony. Avaritia shot Ulyana a wink, which Ulyana did not terribly appreciate at the time. In the midst of the sound and fury, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg struggled to get through to her counterparts. As always she represented an overly-precious and sunny presence. Dressed in a long, angelic white dress with a figure-hugging bodice, transparent sleeves, and a slightly wide skirt, her long, pink hair flowing in glossy, subtle waves. She had a portable with some kind of plan on it that she wanted Erika and Moravskyi to stop fighting long enough to actually look at.

In addition, there were two other figures of the anarchists.

A young woman, rather pretty, dressed a bit conservatively, that Ulyana did not know; and standing against the wall directly behind her, an unarmed bodyguard with her arms crossed and her head bowed. From their positions she surmised the woman at the table was one of the Eisern representatives, but she had not even had a chance to introduce herself. She made no fuss about it and simply watched as it was all mildly amusing to her. Meanwhile the woman behind her shot contemptuous looks at the table every so often before turning her gaze back down to the floor. She was a broad-shouldered and broad-backed woman, tall and dexterous of figure. Her hair, long and black and straight, and the small features of her face, reminded Ulyana somewhat of far easterners like her security officer Zhu Lian.

For Ulyana, that was a rare sight– but there were plenty of Hanwans and Yunese in Veka and it stood to reason they could have made it to any part of the Empire from there.

While their passivity was curious to Ulyana, she could not blame them for keeping clear.

Meanwhile Daksha Kansal and Kremina were mysteriously absent despite their supposed involvement. Gloria had excused them to Erika prior to the meeting. It was this more than anything that made Ulyana a bit disappointed– she had wanted to see Daksha Kansal again after all these years and perhaps ask her a few questions that had been troubling her. For Ulyana, as a Union officer, it was difficult not to think of Kansal as a negligent parent in an admittedly petty way. Especially because of Kremina and her arrogance back in Kreuzung.

No use dwelling on it; seated closer to Ulyana were Erika’s guests for the deliberations.

“Hey, can we just tell them to shut up? This is getting ridiculous. I’m about to blow too!”

Ulyana was seated the closest to the leadership trio– unfortunately– and Aaliyah sat directly beside her. On Aaliyah’s right, Eithnen Ní Faoláin sat with her arms crossed and her head bowed, looking mighty annoyed at what was transpiring and making it known. Rather than her Republican uniform, she was dressed the same as Aaliyah and Ulyana in a Treasure Box Transports uniform. She had her red hair up in a bun, and the uniform looked good on her. On her right, sat her adjutant Tahira Agyie, a slight woman, dark-skinned with braided hair, the braids collected into a ponytail. She pushed up her glasses. Eithnen’s shirt was half unbuttoned and her tie hung undone. Tahira was meticulously dressed in comparison, and she sat almost stiffly straight beside the looser and more relaxed Eithnen.

“Captain, I’m afraid it would only give them another target.” Tahira advised Eithnen.

“I suppose so. Ugh. I barely even understand some of what they’re saying.” Eithnen said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aaliyah said. “I’m sure they must be running out of steam.”

In the next instant, a sharp and sudden wail rose over the cacophony–

“BOTH OF YOU BE QUIET! LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW!”

So shrill was this cry that it might have rent armor and set agarthicite to bursting.

Erika and Moravskyi both stopped in their tracks, breathlessly staring at

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg.

Teeth clenched, shaking hands on her portable, reddened eyes, troubled breathing.

“Excuse me, friends, comrades, even,” Gloria said, with Erika and Moravskyi finally under control, however briefly, and barely able to maintain her dainty affect “I did not organize this little shindig to inflame tensions between us. We are here because we have a common enemy, and greater responsibilities– so if the esteemed members here do not have a proposal to make, then allow me to put forward a framework that we can discuss.”

She held her portable computer with both hands, showing Erika and Moravskyi the screen.

At the precise moment that Gloria was showing off the screen, Ulyana could not see it. She would later learn that there was an excruciatingly detailed organizational chart with more twisting lines than a noodle dish. In this chart, Gloria herself sat at the very top, Erika directly below, and all military forces under Erika’s control with the anarchist irregulars subordinated under this umbrella as if they did not have an officer class which– technically they did not. In the specific moment of the unveiling, what Ulyana could actually see were the confused expressions on Moravskyi’s and Erika’s faces as they looked at the screen. After a moment they squinted their eyes as if it would make something else appear on it.

Gloria smiled brightly and proudly, like a child showing off a graded test to her parents.

Increasingly, Erika’s and Moravskyi’s expressions showed very similar consternation to that which they began the meeting with. Neither could contain their level of offense.

“You want me to order around this chaotic rabble?”

“You want me to take orders from this authoritarian harpy?”

Immediately, Erika and Moravskyi’s rage-filled gazes met one another again.

Before they could start another shouting match, however–

Tahira Agyie raised her hand from beside Eithnen, surprising even her Captain.

“Excuse me! Might I have a word before any– further debate?” She asked.

Gloria and Moravskyi turned to look at her with a mild confusion.

Erika seemed to silently urge her to speak.

Gloria acquiesced to the interruption.

None of them seemed prepared for anyone outside their bubble to have spoken up.

“Thank you.” Tahira said. She stood up from her seat. Her voice surprisingly calm. “From what I was able to draw from our– spirited debate– it appears we have a bit of an impasse on the topic of integrating our forces. I would like to propose an initial solution to this issue. In the Republic forces, there is an instrument known as a Joint Information Exchange Center or J.I.E.C. that acts as an official intermediary between the Republic Navy and useful militant groups, such as the Rhodos Republic in Katarre or the Restoration Society in the Yu states. When one group finds intelligence noteworthy to another group, they share it through the J.I.E.C. and are able to coordinate and support each other, while retaining their individual autonomy of action. Since there are obstacles to an integrated command, why don’t we instead begin with a Joint Information Exchange for the United Front? Captain Eithnen Ní Faoláin could perhaps assist– she served with distinction in J.I.E.C South.”

Eithnen looked startled to have been addressed at all in the middle of that description.

“Huh? Oh, I mean– yeah I was in charge of J.I.E.C. South for a bit– before I got demoted and sent to jail that is.” Eithnen did not look very happy to be remembering it, or to be speaking at all, but she stood up beside Tahira to address the room promptly now that she was drafted into the conversation. She managed a professional tone of voice. “I worked with a militia in Hanwa– the Patriot Society or something like that– and well, I definitely did not have even a little bit of control over how they carried themselves. But I did get intelligence from them on Hanwan actions, and I did contribute intelligence back. So it does stand to reason we could put together a similar thing for the forces here and make it work.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Tahira said, taking over again with a rare smile on her face. “I believe that a J.I.E.C of our own could be a coherent framework for our future cooperation while preserving our multiplicity of opinions and types of actions. In the coming meetings, we could further refine and discuss how we would organize and use this system– but for now, I believe it serves as a good guarantee that no group shall control the others, in part or in totality, and should allay the concerns of Mr. Moravskyi as to his group’s autonomy, as well as Premier Kairos’ concerns toward organizational discipline. While also allowing us to make concerted use of our resources toward a common goal. I yield the floor.”

Tahira saluted the three leaders, Luxembourg, Kairos and Moravskyi in turn.

She then sat back down, quietly and calmly, and Eithnen quickly sat down beside her.

Ulyana and Aaliyah were stunned– none of this was anything Erika rehearsed with them.

Erika in fact had kept what she would say and do in this opening meeting close to the chest. Before devolving into communist schoolgirl debate club arguments– which Ulyana assumed out of respect for her was not what she intended to do and she was just caught in a passion.

But Tahira had just stood up and potentially saved the entire meeting more wasted time.

Purely improsivational. Such was the prowess of Eithnen Ní Faoláin’s adjutant.

Mashallah,” Aaliyah whispered, sighing deeply. “I’m really glad we rescued them.”

Ulyana turned to face the three group leaders, who remained a bit stunned for a moment.

Perhaps ashamed of their previous antics compared to Tahira’s reasonable proposition.

To her credit, from among the three Erika recomposed herself and spoke first.

“Though she is one of my subordinates, independently of that I find it a most excellent proposition from adjutant Agiey.” Erika said. “The Nationale Volksarmee does not wish, and does not currently possess the capacity, to lead all of the forces of the Front as the esteemed Ms. Luxembourg proposes. We recognize Mr. Moravskyi’s concerns over his autonomy also. At this juncture I agree a framework for coordination makes more sense than an integrated command structure. I am in favor– what say my colleagues?”

“Ah– Yes, indeed, indeed.” Gloria said. “It sounds a most appealing idea. I worry that it might be too unambitious for what we could accomplish? Perhaps we can even expand it into an instrument to share policy ideas and even pool supplies? I think all of us can benefit from a deep but individual cooperation. We’ll discuss it– for now, I vote in favor.”

“I–” Moravskyi still looked a bit taken aback. “Yeah– I guess that sounds good for now.”

Meet with reason, even Moravskyi seemed cowed into silence.

With the rousing debate concluded, the United Front ratified its first agreement– they would establish an instrument for coordination and decide its character and contents another day. And so, everyone adjourned, and agreed to reconvene throughout the week to continue discussions on how best to cooperate, what their objectives might be, and on resourcing.

“Don’t you love it when things come together?” Erika said, tossing her hair on the way out.

Ulyana and Aaliyah stared at her but said nothing, and glanced at one another with a sigh.

In that moment they perhaps shared a single simultaneous thought:

Murati, please do not develop this sort of temper!!

Eisental United Front Status

Nationale Volksarmee (Presiding)

Reichsbanner Schwarzrot (At The Table)

Eisern Front (At The Table)


That night, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg was consumed in a fury.

“I can’t believe it! I just choked in the middle of all that! God fucking damn it!”

She stomped her feet and threw her plushies and bit the pads of her thumbs.

Her first setback transpired before the meeting, when Daksha Kansal told her she would be limiting her presence to the United Front and would not attend the first several meetings. Her stated reason was that she did not want to monopolize the initial character of the United Front with her presence, and instead wanted to serve as an advisor to whatever form the United Front took after the initial discussions in order to preserve their spontainety and dynamism. Effectively, she would participate in the final events of the week as Gloria had planned them. Gloria almost wanted to tell her to her face that she knew this was bullshit– but she held her tongue and controlled her temper in front of her mentor.

Then, in the United Front’s first meeting, she ended up the meekest of all the leaders.

Erika and Moravskyi were always going to come to blows, there was no doubt about that. They were natural opposites. Erika herself must have planned to try to cow Moravskyi, or at least to come out of the first meeting with her independence and strength demonstrated and preserved. She had something to prove. Moravskyi was a blowhard by nature– he was always attending just to shout and bluster about his autonomy and moral rectitude. He was the established old soldier who now had to deal with the up-and-comers.

Knowing this, it was up to a third party to create any balance. Gloria had hoped to either mediate between them or to get them to calm down– giving them the way out of their predicaments. She knew it was a long shot, but they barely even read the charts.

Then that one Republican defector threw a massive spanner in the works.

While she was tongue-tied in the face of Erika and Moravskyi, Tahira Agyie proposed a thoroughly reasonable idea that everyone could get on board with. The fact that a guest from the Volksarmee camp was the one to finally deflate the tensions was galling– Gloria should have brought some of her own people, but she was so focused on her own self and her own image. But of course, nobody else in Schwarzrot had any ideas anyway.

She was the one with the ideas here!

Not only that, but the rest of the Eisern delegates were quiet the entire time.

They did not even attempt to reel in Moravskyi! They made no proposals of their own!

Almost as if they wanted him to derail everything! They were far too passive.

She could point fingers all day. One fact remained clear.

Gloria had blown her first shot at taking control of the United Front.

It was not the last shot she would have– but it was the best one.

Fuming alone in her apartment, she dropped on the couch, and wrung a cushion in her hands.

Beginning then to think about her next move.

In order to make up for this setback, Gloria had to find some way to expand this “instrument of coordination” to include the ability to influence her partners. Money was her first idea, and the easiest one that came to her. Money was something she had in spades, and that everyone else sorely needed. Erika was likely low on funds and Moravskyi likely had nothing to his name. Gloria would have enormous soft power within the United Front and its organizations if she could wave money around within the agreed framework.

In theory, she still held all of the most important cards.

The Reichsbanner Schwarzot had the money, it had ships, it had divers, everything.

On her whim she could have summoned a force strong enough to take Aachen.

Possibly.

Once these meetings were over and they had to fight the Volkisch, it was unconscionable that the likes of the Eisern Front could get anything done without Gloria’s money and manpower. The Nationale Volksarmee was a different story, but not that different. They had hardware and experience, but they had no influence or wealth, and would need to establish better supply. She could still exert some control over them too.

Gloria started to calm herself down.

Even in the worst case scenario, she was still the best positioned out of the three to become the leader of a leftist Eisental. Her vision of the world had the most appeal to normal people, and she had the most resources. Even if the United Front ended up with Erika at the fore, Gloria would never be far behind. She was already monumentally ahead of the game. Would the people of Eisental care who was the most eloquent and influential in the United Front? It would be nothing but an anecdote in the history books. Gloria could still win.

Then she would shape Eisental in her image– and maybe even the Imbrium.

President of a Social-Democratic Republic. Carefully managed markets, exemplary labor relations, strong wages and plentiful goods, freedom of the press and speech, full gender and sexual equality, a flourishing of the arts, a professional army of liberated and educated men and women. It would dispense with the bleak totalitarianism of both the Fueller Reformation and the Union Revolution but preserve enough of the Imbrian character to allow for a smooth, peaceful transition toward socialism. Her people would learn to love socialism, from the crudest laborer up to the managerial and business class. In her imagination, even the steel and glass of this world was brighter, even the water would shine, and all of it under her graceful and beautiful countenance, like an angel.

“There is no need to fear, Gloria Innocence Luxembourg.” She told herself.

Yes– she had an immutable advantage. Power born into power, instituted into her flesh.

Those girls protesting the war just didn’t understand how futile their struggle was.

Some hierarchies, some injustices, were burned into the flesh of the Imbrian permanently.

Identifying where things would change, and where they would stay the same–

Understanding that only power could topple power– noblesse oblige–

That was the difference between the mighty Gloria Innocence Luxembourg and

the poor girls who founded a book club she attended only to have it beaten out of them–

Gloria’s eyes drew wide. “No– Don’t– don’t think like that! Why that–? No– I’m not–”

In a sudden panic she scrolled through the functions of her watch for her mood manager–

When suddenly there was a ring on the digital doorbell.

Catching her off-guard, as she lay nearly in tears on her couch.

“Ah! One little second please! Still prepping my makeup!” She cried out.

Just barely falsifying her tone of voice to fit the character she wanted to play.

From the door, a voice message played.

“Ma’am, it’s me, Mia. Please take your time. Thank you for having me.”

Gloria had almost forgotten–

She bolted to a stand and ran into her bedroom. This she could not afford to mess up.

Looking herself over, the wall over her vanity cabinet becoming a mirror.

Her hair was a bit messy. She brushed it quickly. Her dress looked– acceptable.

For something she had been wearing for hours it was practically pristine.

She touched up her makeup. Applying a bit more eyeshadow to mask the puffiness.

It would not do for Mia to know that she was crying and screaming.

“Coming~!” She said, her voice returning with ease to its saccharine register. “I am so sorry! My day has been soooo busy, Mia, dear! Your presence is a breath of fresh air!”

Before Mia could send another message through the door, Gloria had bolted back to it.

When the door opened, there was no evidence she had been hyperventilating.

And on the other side, stood a truly ravishing girl, the real prize of the day.

Mia Weingarten was a shot of adrenaline to the constitution of a weary Gloria. Just looking at her sent electricity running throughout the heiress’ body. Wearing a large and lacy black hat with a black coat and sunglasses to try to disguise her appearance, but beneath, her delicate frame stood lightly draped in a tight little synthetic dress, exposing her shapely legs, her thin and elegant arms, the slim collarbones and small shoulders. Framing her narrow waist, curving over small, supple breasts. Her girlish face with its youthful features.

Bashful, perhaps ashamed. So beautiful, so tantalizing.

Gloria reached out and took Mia’s hat in a playful act, unveiling her sky-blue ponytail.

“Come in, come in! Make yourself at home, Mia dearest.”

For a moment, Mia stood on the edge of that threshold after being invited.

Perhaps realizing that if that door closed behind her, she had made a certain decision.

And indeed, once she worked up the courage to cross into Gloria’s apartment–

It took the merest instance for the door to close and lock behind her.

Her timid expression did not change. Nor did Gloria’s irrepressible excitement.

Gloria led Mia to the couch, urging her to get comfortable.

From the kitchen she returned with drinks, slim glasses held between thumb and forefinger.

Set them down on the table and sat next to her guest, who smiled a bit, accepted it politely.

Mia reached out, drank, put the glass back, in a quick, almost desperate motion.

While Gloria’s hand wandered to Mia’s lap, stroking the soft, silky skin of her plush thighs.

Crawling tentatively beneath the hem of her short skirt–

Mia’s eyes wandered away in shame–

Until Gloria’s hand reached out and gently guided her chin so that their eyes met again.

To where Mia could not escape the irrepressible hunger in that gaze.

“So, Mia, my sweet, what is on your mind? No request is too great for what we share.”


Previous ~ Next

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

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

Norn von Fueller reached up under her blond hair, to her ear.

She pressed her hand against it.

“Something wrong?” asked Adelheid van Meuller.

“Do you hear a clock going off?” Norn asked, feeling just a bit ridiculous for doing so.

Adelheid smiled with apparent enthusiasm.

“Yes, indeed I do, Norn. It is the biological clock of a young and fertile noblewoman, whose body yearns to bear many children to continue her lineage.” She looked at Norn with a mock aggrieved expression. “Unfortunately, such a future is not for me– I have been abducted and corrupted and no longer serve my naturally-ordained function.”

“Shut up.” Norn said, in a low, dangerous voice.

“Hmph!” Adelheid playfully turned her cheek with a mischievous smile.

Norn lifted her hand from her ear and found the ticking to have stopped.

She tried to put it out of her mind.

Her eyes wandered over to Adelheid was they walked.

“Despite your tongue, you look lovely.” Norn said.

“I know.” Adelheid replied. “You look handsome. Of course, you must, I dressed you.”

“Your handiwork is acceptable.”

“Weak praise.” Adelheid said. She pouted.

“Earn more. Be a good girl for me.” Norn said, her register lowering as she said the last.

Norn could practically see the thrill go down Adelheid’s spine in reaction.

“I’ll show you.” Adelheid mustered the will to speak before averting her gaze, a bit huffy.

They both had social calls to make with the station’s high society, but as ever, Adelheid showcased the sheer excellence she was forced to cultivate as the upper crust of Imbrian nobility. Her outfit was simple in its silhouette, with a figure-hugging, sleeveless red dress and a matching red, long-sleeved half-jacket without buttons. However, the finer details added immensity– her dress had a line of clear vinyl running a tasteful arc down the synthetic fiber exposing her flank, a bit of her stomach and hip, some leg; her jacket had a diamond-shaped back window that exposed a similarly cut-out portion of her dress, thereby revealing her upper back; her accessories, like her heels, bracelets, and the lurid red collar she insisted on wearing, were all rather expensive pieces.

Her fair skin was tastefully flushed with makeup, a gentle red shadow applied precisely around her eyes, dark red lipstick with just enough gloss. Her red hair was partially tied up in a deliberately messy low bun that drew attention to her collar and nape, affixed with pleats. She wore on her hair a golden ornament in the shape of a whale’s tail.

She was ravishing, exquisite, a divine beauty, Norn’s flawless red ruby.

Of course, instead of saying all that, her praise amounted to saying she was, ‘lovely’.

Holding back made it mean more when Adelheid was broken down begging for it.

It was much harder for Norn to evaluate her own self– because she hated herself, but she also loved herself, or least, she required herself. She was her own greatest tool and greatest obstacle, a harrow personal complex. So she remarked that Adelheid had done an ‘acceptable’ job, but Adelheid had been enthusiastic, so Norn figured she must have looked well. Her own hair was styled simple as ever, into a ponytail with a slight arch from the back. But she wore it with a gear-shaped ornament with a ribbon in the Fueller colors, which Adelheid designed by her own hand and had printed out special for the occasion.

Her manner of dress was typical of herself, somewhat plain with a long-sleeved shirt with a slight plunge to the neck, and a pair of dress pants and shoes. However the quality of each of these articles, from the materials to the trim, was exquisite. She wore a half-cape based on the banner of the Fuellers, with embossing meant to evoke a silicon chip and computer board etchings, over the green and blue Fueller colors. Adelheid had done a bit of makeup for her, a tasteful bit of lip gloss, a touch of eyeliner, and brushed and treated her hair personally. It was hard for Norn to concede that her countenance was beautiful, but she was assured that she looked attractive and she was thus confident in herself.

“Remind me, who are you meeting with up there?” Norn asked.

“Herta Kleyn’s son’s bride-to-be, Mia Weingarten.” Adelheid said. “And another friend.”

“Ah, I have heard of her. A pop singer I think– you knew her in school I presume?”

“Luxembourg School for Girls; incubating life-long friendships.” Adelheid mocked.

“Are they getting married soon?” Norn asked, more interested in those particulars.

“Well, we’re living in pretty uncertain times aren’t we Norn? So, maybe?”

There was a sense of trepidation as the Antenora began its official business in Aachen. Much like Aachen itself, their status was in-between states and awaiting its total resolution.

Officially, Norn was the head of the House of Fueller, the ruling family of the former Imbrian Empire– what this meant after Konstantin’s death and the unofficial dissolution of the Empire was anyone’s guess. Aside from Norn’s own personal capacity for violence, there was little official consequence for attacking her or subjecting her to rendition outside of the Palatine, the only area in which the Fuellers still had total military control.

However, Norn was also not keen to return to the Palatine.

She wanted to give Frederich Urning time to tussle with Erich and learn the outcome from afar. And she needed to keep Selene away from Yangtze the Ninth.

So her next destination would most likely be Trelleborg instead.

Meanwhile, Aachen was now one of the last game pieces that the Volkisch Movement had spilled from the board when it upset the order of things in Rhinea. The local, elected liberal ruling class in Aachen must have known this could not last forever, and that the Volkisch would come to pick things up from the floor one day. They had to have any kind of plan to preserve their own lives. But throughout the station, Norn saw nothing but business as usual. Shops were selling guff to untroubled consumers, office workers went to their jobs, finances were diligently tracked, and everyone stared when they saw a black military uniform moving in the crowd as though it was still an anomaly. Did they all know something she did not, or were they all, truly, stupid enough to just sit and do nothing?

In Kreuzung, Violet Lehner made her views on liberals quite plain, and on public channels.

Norn had accepted an invitation to meet with the current governor of Aachen, Herta Kleyn.

Partially to see whether the Kleyn family had anything to offer.

But also out of personal curiosity to see whether they had any kind of future plans.

To think of throwing a wedding under these circumstances seemed rather ludicrous.

If time was ticking for anybody– it was for Herta Kleyn’s liberal government.

With this destination, and these shadows looming over, Adelheid and Norn journeyed up.

Dressed their best for their individual social calls.

At the utter peak of Aachen’s core station, despite the government’s progressive bonafides the top of the tower held the same thing as the top of every other tower in the Imbrium Ocean– the palatial estate belonging to the station’s governor. The elevator banks dropped the pair at the outermost part of a concentric ringed layout, like a strange and enormous orrery, in the center of which was a three-story villa, painted a near-white shade of periwinkle with an angular black roof. Offset square doors and windows, all made of obscured glass, dominated the façade; but the most prominent feature were a trio of large balconies, one just off-center at the peak of the façade, and two others opposite each other. There were two walls separating the outer parts of the rings with the interior, which contained the house and its gardens. These walls had checkpoints with guards.

Norn could not help but notice as she approached that the guards were all Katarrans.

Or at least, all of those that she could see at the checkpoint.

Though she hid this fact, she was of course a Katarran herself and could spot her kind.

In this case the spotting wasn’t difficult.

Tucked under their caps, the guards all had white, or blue or purple hair– common Katarran dye-jobs. Their skin colors were also starkly different from those of Imbrians, with grey-blue, cartoonishly pink and even a mottled red among them. All of them wore a standardized uniform with a jacket, vest, pants and a cap, but no gloves, so she saw that some of them had webbed fingers. Others had fin-like ears or vestigial gill openings.

None of them had guns– that she could see.

Norn and Adelheid approached the checkpoint and identified themselves.

“The Lady of the House is expecting you. Come in, please.” Said a burly guard.

That tacked-on ‘please’ seemed almost sarcastic.

These were still salt-of-the-earth Katarran mercenaries, just dressed up fancy.

No glory to a job like this; but Norn was sure that it must have paid quite well.

Otherwise they wouldn’t even have bothered to memorize any kind of script of any length.

“Hmph. They were leering the whole time.” Adelheid grumbled.

Norn laughed.

“We dressed to be looked at, didn’t we? I’ll kill anyone who touches, don’t worry.”

Through the checkpoint, between the walls of brick and spearpoints, there was more grass.

When they finally entered the inner ring with the house, they were flanked by bright red flowering begonias. Following a short, tiled path, they reached the door to the house, which opened before they could even reach for the handle. Awaiting them inside was a tall young man in a green vest and a white shirt, beckoning them with a very small smile, his heart clearly quite elsewhere but going through the checklist of pleasantries.

“Welcome, Lord von Fueller, Lady van Mueller. I’m Isaiah Kleyn. My mother wanted me to greet you– she is upstairs. As is Mia, Lady van Mueller. She is excited to see you.”

He greeted them warmly but somewhat distantly.

His eyes had a certain intensity to them, and he had a brooding look, with long hair and a soft jaw, the sort of boy who was a product of this liberated time period. Norn had been surrounded by military men her whole life who looked down on such appearances– and yet never realized that the powerful men of the world were not the grizzled bearded navy men but the pretty boys like Konstantin scheming behind their backs.

Norn’s lips curled into a grin. “Pleased to make the acquaintance of the lucky bridegroom!”

She shook Isaiah’s hand and watched him wilt under the attention, avoiding her gaze.

“Thank you, milord.” He said sheepishly.

“We would be so interested in attending!” Norn said. “It’s such an opportune time for a wedding– occasions of joy and unity are most impactful when held in dark times. The bond between lovers is a triumph of the human spirit against the crushing despair of the world!”

“The date is– yet to be determined.” Isaiah had to think on that for a second.

“Well! I understand.” Norn said, her tone so indulgent Adelheid started to roll her eyes.

“Norn let’s not keep him. I’m sure he has his own business.” Adelheid said.

She took Norn’s arm, the intimacy surprising Isaiah, and led her to the stairs.

Norn allowed Adelheid to pull her away and just considered it something to pay back later.

From a surprisingly small and cozy foyer, a set of spiraling steps took the pair all the way to the third story, where they would each depart for opposite sides of the villa. Despite the exterior, the interiors were fairly simple. There were several flower vases, and a few pieces of art, but the false wooden floors and periwinkle walls were mostly barren. Perhaps Herta Kleyn had not had the time to add her own flair to the presidential palace–

or perhaps she had no flair to add.

“Norn, don’t bother them too much.” Adelheid pleaded, before they parted ways.

“I can’t guarantee that.” Norn said, before brushing her fingers across Adelheid’s cheek.


On the eastern balcony, a trio of very different young women shared a white tea table.

Beyond the balcony’s balustrade, there was a projection of a beautiful, shockingly verdant garden below and around the structure, with enclosed rivulets and ornate pillared fences. This illusion was generated by a set of mirrors, speakers and a diffuser; piping in gentle music, the sounds of water flowing from hanging aquaponics down to earth-grown trees, and the smell of herbs, leaves and flowers and the moistened plots of soil.

Adelheid thought the last smell resembled, vaguely, like when Norn ejaculated on her face.

She tried to keep this thought out of her mind as she pretended to be impressed.

“It’s quite a beautifully set scene, Mia!” Adelheid said. “And the spread, my oh my.”

“Ah, thank you, thank you. I really wanted this to be special.” Mia Weingarten said.

Seated with her back to the balustrade, and therefore to the projection, Mia Weingarten almost looked like part of the cozy but extravagant fantasy surrounding them. Her slender body covered in a sweeping white dress as if the wind itself had wrapped around her, with an angled skirt, diaphanous material over the shoulders, bell sleeves and pure white leggings. Her hair, once naturally black, was bleached and dyed a pale blue for appeal, and tied in a ponytail that curled slightly on its ends. Her face had an incredibly youthful beauty to it. Adelheid, with her lurid mind, wanted to say that she had an extremely virginal appeal– but she kept this strictly to herself as well. Mia was not a lurid girl at all.

Her eyes kept lingering momentarily on the collar Adelheid wore.

But she, too, said nothing about it.

“It’s not often I get to dine so fancy and so free! Can I dig in, please?” abruptly asked the third woman on the table, Hannah Schach, clapping her hands together and smiling rapturously at the snacks arrayed before her. With Mia opposite them on the table, Adelheid and Hannah on the other end were seated closer than Adelheid would have liked.

Particularly due to Hannah’s new and unfortunate predilections.

“Oh! Yes, please, help yourselves.” Mia said, extending a hand to gesture at the food.

Between the girls there were a few wooden boards with snacks. One had a tiny cup filled with a spiced sweet syrup, and another with cucumber dressing, along with cheese, tiny pancakes, fruits, honeycomb and sausage. By far the most eyecatching board had thin slices of bright red, fatty beef, cooked rare and drizzled with an olive oil fragrant enough to be a dominating scent. Another board had small cups of expensive fresh vegetables, including luxurious pink radicchio, brightly green spinach, thin-sliced cucumber and accompanying purple turnip slices. Dressings were served separately to keep the greens crisp.

Finally, in the center of the table, there was a three-tiered array of dessert platters.

Macarons, fluffy cheesecake, tiny bundts on small saucers, caramel-topped puddings.

And of course, there was tea, richly sweet, fagrant dark tea with cinnamon and cardamom.

Hannah quickly struck a piece of meat and savored it, having a near orgasmic response.

“Oh! Ohh! Mmm! You can practically taste the money!” She said, wriggling in her seat.

“I’m glad you like it.” Mia said, looking slightly nervous.

Adelheid stared as if she could psychically beam some shame into Hannah Schach.

She raised her teacup to her lips to prevent herself saying anything.

And so the first formalities passed– and the rest of the tea party formalities began.

“I am so thankful that we were all able to meet again.” Mia said.

“I was pleasantly surprised to receive an invitation.” Adelheid said.

“Me too!” Hannah added, chewing on some cheese. “I didn’t think any of my old friends even knew about my new job or anything! I got on the next ship from Stralsund when I got it!”

“I guess it’s no secret for me– I’ve had public appearances with Norn.” Adelheid said.

A little careless to speak on a first-name basis with Lord von Fueller– but it didn’t matter.

Mia was too meek to question it anyway. “Yes! I learned you were serving aboard the Fueller flagship, and then I heard from Madam Kleyn that the Antenora had docked in Aachen.”

Adelheid was not so fond of how easily their arrival was known.

But there was nothing she could do about it– and it was not tea-appropriate to say.

“Hah, is that the kind of gossip a pop megastar has access to? Scary, scary!” Hannah said.

“No, just me specifically I think.” Mia said, laughing. “A perk of being part of the family.”

For a few minutes, all of them made small talk and caught up.

“This might sound conceited, but um, have either you heard any of my songs?”

Mia looked a little bashful around her old friends as she asked this question.

Hannah laughed as she smeared a macaron in the spiced syrup.

“Are you kidding? Of course– ‘Angel in the Deep Abyss’ was inescapable last year.”

“Right. That got used for Raylight commercials and stuff like that.” Mia said, smiling.

Adelheid hardly needed an introduction to Mia Weingarten’s life after school. It was all over the magazines that she kept up with. She was a cover girl, she was interior material, she was on the top 50 charts– and the subject of gossip. Mia’s kind of optimistic, romantic pop was a light in the darkness of the Imbrium for a lot of people, particularly other young girls with big feelings to process. She was hugely popular. The Weingartens were a minor moneyed family, but their connections were enough for Mia to get a push. Most people probably did not know that she loved to play instruments and used to write little love poems in high school– but Adelheid also did not know whether that mattered now either.

How much of the current Mia was herself or a fabrication, Adelheid did not know.

Politely, she simply went along with the assumption that this music belonged to Mia.

That the Mia in front of her was a personal construction, and not a studio efigy.

Hannah Schach seemed to love Mia’s music– but only the songs that played in ads.

Again, the polite curtain over the mouths of the girls prevented any comment on this.

After Mia, Adelheid spoke discreetly about her life as an adjutant aboard the Antenora.

She talked vaguely and at much shorter length about her life: about how dull the bridge was, about how the crew were impersonal and robotic, about how bad the rations were, about getting frequently bored and reading magazines. Then she realized how lazy she must have sounded– and added that she was indispensable to Norn and had to look after her health, kept her organized and even helped her dress for this occasion.

That seemed to finally impress her friends, much more than her lazy, bratty daily life.

“It’s hard to believe two of my besties both joined the Navy.” Mia said.

“Ehh, I’m just like a paper pusher, really.” Hannah said, dipping a meat slice in the syrup.

“Serving aboard the Antenora has had its ups and downs.” Adelheid said vaguely.

Mia smiled and reached out a hand, touching Adelheid’s own.

“Addy, dear, you have to explain yourself further. I’m so curious.”

“Well, the ups, are Norn von Fueller, and the downs, are Norn von Fueller.”

Everyone laughed. Adelheid felt satisfied with her participation in the small talk.

A noblewoman had to know exactly how much to say– and how much more to keep close.

Then, finally, it was the third woman’s turn to speak–

Hannah Schach had become a Volkisch officer– and remained a finance geek.

“Now, this is not financial advice,” Hannah said, putting down her teacup, clapping her hands together and rapidly blinking her egregious eyes– modified with novelty pupils shaped like hooked crosses in wreathes, to resemble the hideous back symbol of the new Volkisch Reichsmark, “but I will say, I have been investing a tidy percentage into the civilian software market the past few years and into very specifically financial technologies. There are a few companies, small right now, but worth watching, who are looking to take us into the future, and I assisted one in particular in securing funding– I cannot say which, lest I be accused of things. You know how it is. Nevertheless– I believe the very fact that we still print and use polymer bank notes is ludicrous, caveman-like, and physical bankchips are not much better. To me, and this is only my opinion, but the future of all money-handling is purely digital, hands-off transactions. But not just transactions– it is also in the digitalization of all potential assets as exchangeable value stores that can appreciate over time!”

She broke out into a laugh, and it was so loud that Mia must have felt pressured to join her.

Adelheid did not laugh with them, and instead sipped her tea for plausible deniability.

She had never liked Hannah Schach, but they could have been said to be friends in the sense that they could be seen to share company. That was the way of the things for Imbrian noblewomen with high expectations placed upon them. Influential and rich women stuck together, as much as their family rivalries allowed, for they had no one else. However, looking at Sturmbannführer Hannah Schach across the tea table, with her, Adelheid felt that she wanted to stick her to plastic explosive and detonate her from a safe distance.

Dressed in a black uniform with a rather brazen and eyecatching cut; a figure-hugging short skirt, high boots squishing her thighs to a remarkable degree, and her large breasts nearly bursting from her shirt and jacket. Her shoulder-length blond hair had a perfunctory brushing, but still looked a bit messy, punctuated by the thin, golden crown-like ornament she wore atop her head, with three gold bits that looked like fins or swept ears. There was a lot of gold decorating her, in chains and pins and rings and bracelets and a gold choker, all of it probably unauthorized for a military officer, not that any Volkisch thug would ever care. Her face was conventionally pretty, but her expressions were so often ridiculous and exaggerated that she lacked the dignified beauty required of a noblewoman.

Across from Mia, the two looked like a dainty angel and a cackling demon sharing a table.

These were the “friends” Adelheid had climbed the tower to meet up with.

“Um, I’ll keep it in mind, Hannah. Can I ask how you ended up in your– current position?”

Mia gestured toward Hannah, but Adelheid thought she was gesturing toward the uniform.

“Well, after Luxembourg I applied to a technical college and graduated top of my cohort in Financial Management– and was registered as a stockbroker by the Imperial Treasury and Finance Authority– and then I just happened to meet Luciana Waldeck.” Hannah said, pausing to nibble on some of the charcuterie, “Back then I was kinda sympathetic to the Libertarians, and even applied to their party, but I worshiped the ground Luciana Waldeck walked on! She made crazy returns investing her inheritance with super-risky moves on emerging companies and leveraged assets, it’s like she was psychic or something! She totally took me under her wing– and then I became really bullish on national socialism!”

Luciana Waldeck did make a lot of money essentially gambling her family’s inheritance.

Adelheid knew that Waldeck presently achieved more notoriety as the founder of the Black Sun Valkyries, an esoteric clique within the Volkisch Movement exclusive to women and girls. There they could be groomed into Waldeck’s insane divine femininity cult– and she apparently targeted other rich idiots too proud of their investment portfolios,

like a certain Hannah Schach.

“Madame Waldeck and I got to know each other a bit more and we became rather close. Then she joined the forces of the Reichskommissar. Now she is going to manage the western Eisental security zone, which comprises tons of Rhineametalle holdings, as well as Agarthicite mines, steel production, consumer goods factory-stations, and even more– and she has asked me to be Finance Commissioner of the Rhine-Sieg-Kries Gau and the planned Wehrkreis Westen zone. I’m quite excited! Sooooo many of the major corporations have presences in Rhine-Sieg-Kries! I’ll be rubbing shoulders with the bigs!”

As she spoke Hannah forked a piece of the beef and dunked it repeatedly in honey.

So this was the caliber of the typical national socialist– greedy, venal, and in power.

Luciana Waldeck also nearly twenty years her senior, but Adelheid was sure that she and Hannah must have been item– aside from the cult allegations, there had been plenty of gossip about Waldeck during her earlier years when she was a fashion icon and briefly an actress. And Hannah was someone more drawn to power than gendered expectation.

Adelheid might not have had much ground to call it shameless, but she felt it still was.

“That sounds so scary!” Mia said. “I would go nuts with worry managing a whole region!”

“Nah, it’s super easy. I’m already doing some napkin math about it in my spare time. With Madame Waldeck there, I’m sure we can get the profit machine moving breakneck.” Hannah said. “The actual problem is like, how uppity the factory workers are, but we can fix that.”

Well, at least Adelheid learned something that might interest Norn.

“Enough about me though– hey, Mia, when’s the wedding happening huh? Will you get it catered? You need to have me on the guest list and order some extras!” Hannah smiled. “If this is how you throw a tea party I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world!”

“Right, of course I wanted to invite all of you.” Mia said. “That’s part of why I set this up.”

“I’ll do my best to attend– present circumstances are a bit difficult.” Adelheid said.

“I can go anywhere I want, I’m Madame Waldeck’s favorite, she’ll pay.” Hannah chortled.

“We’re– still planning. But I did want to reconnect in light of the proposal.” Mia said.

“Isaiah Kleyn right?” Hannah said. “Is he actually an Eloim? Candles and all that?”

Adelheid shot her a look for her insensitivity.

“I suppose so? The Kleyn family are not religious.” Mia said, surprised by the question.

“Hmm, I see, I see.” Hannah said. Her hooked-cross eyes staring mischievously.

Something snapped– Adelheid had enough of Hannah Schach.

“Are you going to enlighten us about race science next, Hannah?” She said. “Will it be as directionless and naïve as all the magical thinking you try to pass off as financial science?”

She couldn’t help but be snide– she had contained herself for far too long now.

Mia turned to her with almost equal shock as she had at Hannah’s insensitive question.

Hannah puffed up her face with indignation. “There’s the nasty-tongued Addy I remember! I was wondering when you were going to finally bite my head off! Well, if you’ve been around the finance world, it’s just a fact that Eloim have outsize influence and power. Bosporus especially is all their doing. But I’ve got nothing against them personally!”

“Miss ‘I’ve got nothing against them’ except for a prepared essay-length tirade. You’re a caricature. I can believe you’d let yourself get roped in with these criminals, you lowlife!”

“Noblewoman Addy still talking like she isn’t disinherited for being a walking scandal!”

“Please stop fighting!”

Mia shouted over the two of them.

Hannah and Adelheid looked at Mia, then at each other, grumbled, and sat reared back.

“Adelheid, I’m not offended at her. Please don’t fight.” Mia pleaded.

Adelheid could hardly believe anyone wouldn’t be offended by Hannah’s entire self now.

Despite this, she accepted her friend’s wishes and simply remained quiet.

“Hannah don’t egg her on anymore. We’re not kids– let’s just calm down.” Mia said.

“I didn’t do anything. But fine.” Hannah said, crossing her arms and turning her cheek.

After settling a truce, there was silence between the trio, the jovial atmosphere dying down.

They sipped their tea; Hannah continued to eat; Adelheid stared into the illusory distance.

All quiet– until Mia bowed her head and her sobbing overtook the light music.

Sobbing that grew in intensity, that brought about tears, that made her makeup run–

“Mia?” Adelheid said, not knowing what to say to follow this acknowledgment.

Mia burst into tears, into ugly, full-bodied sobbing, shaking, bowed over the table.

Holding herself with her arms, rattling the cake stand and the teacups.

“Oh.” Hannah said, finally acknowledging the hostess’ distress.

Head bowed against the table, her arms trying to hide herself, Mia wept with a fury.

Adelheid stood from her seat and approached, tentatively holding her hands over the girl.

“Mia? I’m sorry– I was out of line. Let’s relax and talk about it, okay?” She said.

In truth, she was anxious, a rare emotion for Adelheid– she didn’t know what to do at all.

On some level she felt this was a failure of empathy, and that it made her look bad.

Laying hands on Mia’s shoulders she felt intense shaking, and the pounding of her heart.

Even Selene never had a tantrum like this. Adelheid could only try to quietly comfort Mia.

Hannah remained seated and stared at the two and tried to make herself small and scarce.

“It’s not– It’s not you– I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Mia said, barely raising her head.

“Maybe we ought to just reconvene some other time so Mia can rest.” Hannah said.

Adelheid threw her a glare that looked like it might knock her off her seat.

“Yes– yes, let’s– let’s meet again okay?” Mia stammered out, raising herself up a bit.

She sat back on her chair, Adelheid still holding her shoulders as if she might collapse.

A handkerchief in her slender fingers wet and stained with running makeup and nasal fluid. Had anyone in high society seen such an overt and unsightly display of emotion– It would have been terrible for Mia. For her to show it, meant something had broken.

Her façade had a crack.

Hannah left without further prompting, perhaps assuming Mia could get ahold of her.

Adelheid remained, rubbing her shoulders gently and patting her back as she cleaned up.

“Mia,” Adelheid leaned forward and whispered. “Let’s exchange numbers, okay?”

When they arrived at Aachen, Norn got them all Rhinean-style portables to keep in touch.

On the table, Adelheid laid hers, face-up and unlocked with her profile on the screen.

Mia looked down at it, nodded her head silently, still wracked with gentler sobs.

She added the number to her own portable, and then held Adelheid’s fingers for a moment.

Through that touch, she shared the gratefulness that she could not speak.

Finally, it was Adelheid’s turn to leave Mia’s side. She would have to wait for Norn a bit.

Descending the stairs to the foyer, her portable suddenly buzzed– a message from Mia–

“Adelheid, I had a suspicion, but I confirmed it– you’re actually really strong. You are a disgrace to a powerful family, everyone speaks ill of you behind your back, and you have to fight and be in danger– but you accepted all of that and you’re your own person now. I’m too much of a coward. I can’t make my own way; I can only do what I’m told. No matter how much I cry, I can’t escape this. My family decreed that I’m going to marry a man I don’t love, because otherwise, I will lose my comforts and status. I’m being used as a political prize. If only the emperor hadn’t died; my naivety could have simply lasted forever.”

Staring into her portable, Adelheid sighed deeply and wondered what she could even do.

For as strong as she might have been, Adelheid was also a very special case and very lucky. If Mia did anything as scandalous as Adelheid had done her life would have been destroyed, and she was unlikely to be ready for what that entailed. She was never as rebellious as Adelheid, never as devious, and there was no Norn waiting to safeguard her.

Mia was much more a noblewoman than Adelheid–

because Mia was someone whose life could be shattered so much more completely.


On the opposite end of the villa from Adelheid and her friends, Norn was ushered into a covered balcony with a table. There was no embellishment of the surrounding view. Over the balustrades Norn could only see the far off limits of the steel enclosure, the security walls below, and the top of the Aachen spire overhead. There was a small table with tea and snacks, on wheels so the guests could make use of it as they needed.

Four wooden chairs were arranged in a vague circle.

“Duke Norn von Fueller! Perhaps the most interesting guest I’ve ever had. Have a seat!”

At the head of the group was Herta Kleyn, the hostess.

Her cheery attitude and smiling face– Norn couldn’t help but grin herself.

Matriarch of the Kleyn family, once considered noveau-riche to the nobles outmaneuvered by her merchant ancestors– but in the new order of the world, she was old money.

For a woman in her late fifties, she was only slightly weathered with age, her brown hair interspersed gray, her eyes and lips wrinkling on the edges, her skin slightly spotting on her neck and hands. Dressed in a black coat over a long blue dress with a small cap atop her head. She looked the part of the grand stateswoman, modest and coordinated and without a hair out of place, timeless– sedate. Without a hint of either disorder– or dynamism.

“Our other guests should not be long.” Herta said.

Norn took her seat nearest to Madame Kleyn and helped herself to some tea.

She was so bored she needed whatever slight hit of caffeine she might get from it.

“Whom else shall I have the pleasure of meeting today?” Norn asked.

“Ah, none so illustrious as yourself milord– but they should prove colorful.” Herta said. “You shall see.” She waved her hand as if blowing away Norn’s curious questioning. “I’ve been anxious to ask you, milord, if I may– how fares Syrmia of late? We were such dear friends– if only the circumstances permitted I would have loved to have her here with me now.”

Syrmia von Fueller was Konstantin’s biological sister, and Erich and Elena’s aunt.

In terms of the day to day affairs of the Fueller family, Syrmia did all the actual work.

When Konstantin began to retreat from politics, she took over the running of things.

It was then, perhaps, when she began to envision Norn as a possible successor.

Had the Imbrium Empire not broken apart, surely Syrmia would have tried to crown her.

She and Norn had a history that was both tender and sordid.

Perhaps she had the same kind of history with Herta Kleyn–

Syrmia was certainly capable.

“Syrmia is doing well. She is quite busy, but she is looking after her health. She misses her brother dearly, and the situation of the Imbrium weighs upon her, but she’s a stout-hearted lady. Such things cannot keep her down for long. I can let her know you asked; maybe put you in touch? She would love to hear from you. You were very dear to her.”

Norn was not always wanton– she knew how to project the royal dignity when it mattered.

“That would be fantastic. Thank you, milord. She was dear to me indeed.” Herta said.

“How fares you, if I might myself ask?” Norn said. “Rhinea’s situation is quite complex.”

“It is milord. Despite this, I fare quite well.” Herta said. Norn studied her face closely, but Herta’s expression betrayed no change in emotion. She was clearly anticipating the question. “I believe incoming administrations matter little when one has demonstrated good stewardship of their position. I have spoken with Adam Lehner, and I will speak with Violet Lehner– Mr. Lehner did not seem too interested in trouble and I think Ms. Violet Lehner will only be even more amenable to peace. I am optimistic. Do not worry about me– I would not trouble someone of your stature over these petty regional affairs.”

Norn could have burst out laughing, she was practically screaming inside.

This had to be a front– Herta had to have something up her sleeve somewhere.

If this was what she actually thought, Norn was sipping tea with a corpse.

She would not push the point. It would have been rude.

She already asked and answered the polite question. Now she just had to wait and see what Herta told her less illustrious guests about the situation, and how they responded. While they waited, they talked carefully about the snacks, about Aachen, about the times. Norn, as the woman of higher station, could afford to say very little, and Herta, knowing exactly where she stood, did not push. Instead, she contributed most to the conversation. Aachen was bustling, progressive– a place that was making strides in providing opportunity to everyone that lived within it. Careful language. Aachen’s people were industrious, engaged, active participants in seizing the opportunity of a better life. As for the times, of course, they were awful on the surface; nevertheless, Rhinea marched inexorably to progress.

Progress, was opportunity– the chance for a better, more equitable life.

If you could reach out and seize it. Such was opportunity, that snake-like word.

“Conservative movements come and go but they don’t deliver. We have had conservative presidents before and Rhinea’s progress has marched on because it must. We know the bluster got them into power, but it cannot alone keep them there.” Herta said, when asked about the Volkisch. Norn wondered how much was encompassed in the ‘bluster’ Herta spoke of: the arrests and killings of liberal elites and intellectuals, the Blood Bund’s murders of Eloim and Juzni activists, the horrific border conflict Adam Lehner now waged? Herta moved on from elucidating on this subject quite quickly. “Violet Lehner strikes me as a keen woman who was handed a terrible situation by Thurin. Perhaps the violence that swept up Kreuzung the past week was a failure of individuals that her leadership can resolve.”

This woman was either living in a house of delusions or she was an irreverent liar.

Norn would have been angry, but this was so incredibly brazen she was just confused.

Rarely did she have occasion to talk to liberals.

Herta Kleyn sounded insane to her.

Konstantin’s court had always been repleted with a different strand of delusion, that of the nationalist with a hand on the hilt awaiting any crack in reality into which a sword might fit. But the delusion of the warmonger was aggressive and wanton and as such it had to actively enter into conflict with reality. Herta’s passivity, her certainty that everything was already aligning to her advantage without her lifting a finger or even striking at her most obvious political enemies– that was new and strange to a military woman like Norn.

Norn would not get to probe Herta’s ideological matchstick house any further, however.

Soon, their guests arrived at the entrance to the balcony.

Immediately, Norn began to feel she was seeing into the inside of Herta Kleyn’s sleeve.

She made a mental note that whenever it was polite, she might have to follow it up.

From behind the glass door entered one woman first, who had no intention to sit or walk more than a few steps onto the balcony. She was a tall woman with very fair skin, and long, silvery hair that stretched below the waist. Her tall, furry ears and bushy tail of the same hair color singled her out as a Shimii– but unlike any Shimii Norn had ever seen, she had two tails which waved in the air separately. Her face had a dignified expression with blue-colored lips and eyeshadow and was quite striking. Her body was draped in a long white dress, sleeveless, shoulders bared, with a halter-neck decorated with a golden choker.

She had a rather excellent figure and filled her dress quite exquisitely.

Norn cracked a grin.

However, that grin was the first, flimsy disguise at seeing something which unsettled her.

A sash worn by the woman, with blue, red and golden colors, clipped with,

an emblem,

a miniature figure-eight shield bearing an impression of a horned bull.

“Greetings, esteemed hostess and guest. Allow me to thank you and to usher in my charges for today. My name is Raiza Sarakaeva, Akolouthos in the Varangian Guard of the Mycenaean throne. As is customary, I cross the threshold first, and give introduction, and I then depart, to provide security by the door. I ask for your understanding and a brief silence.”

Into the drama of the age, entered the Mycenae Military Commission of Southern Katarre.

Norn was already somewhat suspicious and disquieted by their presence alone.

But once the woman made herself known, and as a servant then introduced her master,

upon hearing the name spoken by the Shimii, and as the master of Mycenae entered–

“All hail Her Exalted Majesty, Bearer of the Golden Legacy, Astra Palaiologos.”

Norn’s chest went cold. Doubting herself, head racing, had she heard that–

her name, undoubtably– her name? had she heard–?

her name. she heard her name spoken and

shadows extended before her eyes heart sinking synapses fired half-recognitions in par-frozen time breath arrested eyes dilated far past rage

angled toward disgust the shaking world turned before her

shock,

it was shock, she was in shock–

Norn’s whole being arrested as she experienced a hitherto unfelt terror.

Astra Palaiologos was her own name, her name, only her name, her burden to bear.

Her secret shame into which all her fury and horror and disgust was bound, only hers.

And in front of her another woman, another girl, now wore that name.

It took all her strength to prevent herself from standing and attacking like an animal.

It took even more discipline not to freeze time to buy herself a moment to think.

In the span of seconds she had to endure her heart shuddering, electricity under her skin.

And swallow it all to put on a calm face and maintain her façade.

They couldn’t be allowed to know.

“Welcome!” Herta clapped. “I told you, Duke von Fueller, our guests would be colorful!”

At this remark, the “Varangian” at the door shot them a look, before departing.

Then, out the door stepped the so-called Warlord of Mycenae: Astra Palaiologos.

Norn had feared the most that she would see herself walking through the door and not be able to explain any of it. That they had kept something of her, of her blood or hair, some awful preserved token by which they could own her likeness forever and there would simply be a second one of her. But the inheritors of the Royal Household had made their own ruler, not entirely in her image– though, when she looked closely enough there were uncanny things, like the way she stared, her expressions, the way she moved–

Astra Palaiologos of Mycenae was a quite slender girl, with a petite figure, and a soft but regal face that was incredibly beautiful, with remarkably sharp, red eyes that had a piercing gaze. Even a casual glance felt like she was seeing through all of them. It was that more than anything that reminded Norn of herself. The girl had quite copious, soft-textured and long white hair, fluffy and wavy, almost trailing to her feet. Within her hair there were black strands that glowed gently purple with bio-electric discharges. Thicker and girthier forms of these same strands formed a four-pronged crown behind her head, the protrusions almost horn-like, two black tips over the back of her head and two curling around the side– an expression of a non-human donor that Norn could not identify.

Certainly, Astra had to be a Panthalassian– a Katarran pelagid created with rare DNA.

Norn had the DNA of two recovered ancient beasts as part of her pelagis process.

Mycenae’s ultranationalists would not have tolerated any less when creating a new ruler.

In dress, Astra looked almost a farce, her short stature and thin body festooned with medals and clad in a garish, gold and black military uniform– or it would have been a farce, without the sheer presence which Astra effortlessly commanded in her every movement. Her long gloves and tall boots, her garrison cap, the various medals and the gold shoulder-chain, she wore them all with a quiet dignity and self-respect. There was something about her which commanded attention. She looked unerringly confident in herself.

“Thank you for the invitation, Madame Kleyn. I am pleased to make new acquaintances.”

Astra stepped forward, but there was another person moving in behind her.

“Per the terms of your invitation I am traveling alongside several of my warriors.” Astra said. “I invited my mentor, Labrys Agamemnon, to join us, but she felt she would look out of place, because she is very tall and large. Instead, I brought the Merarch Odyssia with me.”

Unlike her servant prior, Astra did not introduce Odyssia and simply took her seat.

Once the warlord had sat down, the Merarch entered from the hallway.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I love to talk. My name is Odyssia Metis.”

The Merarch was a tall woman, long-legged, wide-shouldered, dressed in a typical military uniform– hers much darker than it was gold compared to Astra’s uniform. There was a hint of pigments to her, a pale shadow over her eyes and a hint of gloss on her lips, her skin a natural pale gray that turned glittering blue around patches of scales behind her jaw, and on her neck and ears. She wore her long, white-blue hair tied with a dark blue ribbon.

Her permanent expression was a self-amused grin.

Norn immediately felt like she wanted to slap the taste of out that pretty mouth.

After her own introduction, Odyssia sat on the remaining chair, completing the party.

“It’s such an immense pleasure to host such illustrious people from such a distant shore.” Herta said. “Please drink and eat your fill, we can bring out more food and tea at any time. I’ve been so curious to hear about Katarre from its own people– it is so difficult to get news about the events in the warlord states, and yet, a unified territory of Katarre would be the largest and most populated country in the world. I feel that the peoples of the Imbrium should be paying much more attention to Katarre’s future.”

Astra’s strands blinked, perhaps bristling at the question.

Her expression did not change.

Her tone, also, was perfectly measured. Not emotionless, but somewhat dispassionate.

“Mycenae has maintained some contact with its Imbrian neighbor in Veka.” Astra said. “And we have traded with Imbrian states before. But we are also cautious of our need to maintain our independence and self-sufficiency, as well as control information for our own security. We don’t want to be seen like the Republic of Rodos trying to imitate the Cogitans, or Argos practically begging for support from the Hanwans. There are no Imbrian vassalages in the Western Katarre for this reason; therefore also limited contact.”

“Of course, I understand.” Herta said. “I am curious about this journey, that has taken you to this balcony for tea– how did it begin? And how do you feel about it, Your Majesty?”

Properly addressed as a person of lordly stature, Astra seemed to put on a very small smile.

“It all began with a routine transaction. We put out feelers that we were looking to buy materials for arms from Veka, who have large manufactories of gunpowder and massive ironworks. Mycenae is ever vigilant to improve its stocks– we Katarrans believe that a day called Polemos will come when all of Katarre will launch into battle to decide the final rulership of the land. We build our arsenals tirelessly for this task.”

“I’m curious about the conditions for this grand battle– is it near or far?” Herta asked.

Astra shook her head. “We will feel it in our blood and bones when the time comes.”

“Oh, I see.” Herta said, blinking rapidly with confusion.

Imbrians never understood about Katarrans how much mythopoetics played a role in their world and how they conducted themselves. Even in the expressions of Katarran culture in the mercenary diaspora, this always baffled the Imbrians. Superstitious habits, the creation of charms, respect for rituals and prayers, an obsession with achieving great deeds.

Imbrians had seen nothing of what Katarrans were capable of in this regard, Norn knew.

When Norn learned about psionics, a few things she knew about her people began to make more sense because of it. She felt that perhaps Katarrans implicitly understood this underlying current of the world, and this connection that they had or could have, and that their culture expressed this in superstition and cultic beliefs. The backwardness seen by Imbrians was perhaps an emotional advancement that Imbrians themselves lacked– Euphrates and company used to speculate Imbrians were less psionically capable than other cultures precisely because of their hegemonic and racist beliefs.

Not that this explained whether the altars and rituals and warcries had actual power.

Norn had never actually seen such things used in battle, only heard of them.

As ever, she was a being torn in half, Katarran and Imbrian only partially, tragically.

Astra continued her story with what Norn perceived as a hint of smugness.

“After making our business intentions known, we were surprised to receive contact from Rhineametalle representatives, looking to beat the Vekans to an arms deal. It was a very generous offer. They wanted to give us a tour of their facilities, and to schedule a joint military demonstration, in addition to signing off on our purchases in person with their CEO. My mentor and I both believed that this was an opportunity to act on the world stage as a nation and score real legitimacy as claimants to Katarre. So we set out with a Rhinean escort. Tragically, the Empire entered its time of troubles in the middle of our journey.”

“Right, it’s quite unfortunate.” Herta said. She sipped her tea and picked up a macaron before continuing. “Has Your Majesty given consideration to beseeching the nations to put aside their differences and allow you to pass back to Mycenae? Surely no one wants another enemy, and it might even bring about some diplomacy between us all.”

“We have, but for now, we would like to complete our transaction with the Rhineametalle consortium.” Astra said. She paused to finally sip her own tea. “With the Union conquest of the territories south of Rhinea we may actually be dealing only with them to return to Mycenae, so we are not particularly worried about our way back home.”

Norn was surprised to hear a Mycenaean talk about diplomacy with the Union.

But perhaps they had much more in common than either of them realized.

“Ah, yes. Excuse me, Your Majesty, I should introduce my other guest–” Herta began–

“No need,” Odyssia interrupted. “I can feel it in the room. Her power and presence practically flood over us. That is Norn Tauscherer, the champion of the Imbrians, isn’t it? The Praetorian who represents the peak of Imbrian potential? Slayer of the Royal Guards of old Nocht?”

Herta glanced at Norn with a sudden anxiety. “Merarch, I’m afraid that name is–”

“It’s fine, Herta. I don’t expect our guests to know my change of title.” Norn said.

She was more amused than anything. This Odyssia– she truly wanted to make her beg–

“No, it’s not fine.” Astra suddenly said. “Odyssia, you will address her with respect.”

Odyssia looked at Norn with a sudden pathetic little smile.

“It’s Duke Norn von Fueller now.“ Norn said calmly, grinning back.

“My apologies, Duke von Fueller.“ Odyssia said. She bowed her head to Norn.

“Apology accepted. I couldn’t possibly hang this trifle over our guests.” Norn said.

She turned to Astra, who gave a curt nod with her eyes closed in response.

Though she was putting up a strong front, Astra still unsettled Norn.

There was something about seeing her move and talk that felt too familiar. There was something of herself in this girl whose circumstances she did not know, but whose provenance she was all too familiar with. Astra had been made, just like Norn had been made, meticulously bred from a primordial soup of DNA and chemicals in a mechanical, sterile womb. For her to have legitimacy, she must have had DNA from one of the previous rulers or their concubines. Such material was preserved, somewhere– but how did Mycenae happen to chance upon it within the chaos of Katarre’s fallen age?

Or perhaps it was all in her mind– perhaps Mycenae was lying.

Who could confirm?

And yet–

Intuition told her that Astra was of her kin– and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

Was Astra at that very moment thinking the same? That Norn felt far too familiar?

If she was considering it, her expression betrayed nothing.

Hopefully Norn’s own expression and mannerisms were equally secure.

For both of them, perhaps the best outcome was for nothing to be confirmed or learned.

To meet here, go their separate ways, never thinking of what had transpired.

Just another crossing of currents whose waters treaded their distinct, unknownable paths.

No matter what other conflicting things Norn might have felt about the princeling girl.

Who seemed so much like her– too much like her–

“Odyssia, take over answering our hostesses. I’d like to enjoy the sweets.” Astra said.

Her horns briefly glowed a bit as she spied the wheeled cart and its delicacies. A plate of colorful macarons and cake bites, a tray with long croutons to dip in steak tartare and top with vibrant salmon roe, orange-flecked spicy pickles topped with hot chutney, and the decanters of tea. Odyssia helpfully reached out and rolled the table over to her master so Her Majesty could partake of the spoils, and Herta encouraged her to eat.

Astra gingerly picked out a macaron, looked at it, took a bite.

That stoic expression melted, momentarily, with surprise and delight.

Was this the first time she had tasted something so sweet and delicate?

Norn grinned and sat back, waiting for Herta to ask another asinine question of their guests.

“So, anything you want to know about being a real, top Katarran warrior?” Odyssia said.

She looked delighted to be the center of attention.

Had she been on stage Norn would have thrown something and aimed for the face.

Herta thought about her question for a moment, and then asked, smilingly,

“In your position, what do you tend to do for fun and levity? What do you go back to?”

Prompting her guest to smile even wider than ever, while shrugging,

“Well, sometimes you can just seduce one of the numeroi and have a bit of fun–”

As soon as Odyssia was done speaking, Astra shot her a severe look.

Odyssia stopped in her tracks.

From an ordinary perspective this was perhaps just military authority at play.

However, Norn’s eyes could see the black tendrils of aether snaking through the air.

Linking Astra to Odyssia and gripping the latter with a supernatural fear of death.

Norn’s senses had not been wrong– Astra had power.

Not only that, but the shadow behind her, when she called upon her power–

It was this element that was most fearsome. It did not remind Norn of herself, but rather, the otherworldly presence of someone like Arbitrator II. Someone who felt like a monster wrapped in human skin, who occupied a room with an unseen self while their flesh occupied the mere space of a single human being. That uncanny feeling of ancient, primeval strength was not merely Astra’s confidence in herself. It was the purest, rawest power.

What had Mycenae done? What had they unearthed?

Astra’s donor was no ordinary beast.

And clearly, she did not just command respect, but actual power, in Mycenae.

Summarily and invisibly beaten down, Odyssia fell immediately into compliance.

“–well, you know, wine, fine foods, the usual stuff, we’re people just like you are!”

Odyssia remarked, glancing askance, while Herta sipped her tea with embarrassment.

Once her gaze turned, Norn called upon her power and tried to read Odyssia’s aura–

hoping to see the effect Astra’s power had on her–

–and found nothing at all to be read.

She could feel that Odyssia had psionic power, but her aura was completely invisible.

Astra had affected it– so Odyssia was not immune to psionic power.

But her aura– was impossible to read–?

Norn recalled what Selene had once reported about Sonya Shalikova, one of the pilots of the Pandora’s Box. She clearly demonstrated psionic powers, and Selene could feel the power from the enemy pilot, but it was impossible to gauge its directionality, character, texture– because the aura was simply invisible to psionic sight. This made it much more difficult for Selene, who was used to employing her psionic sight as an advantage, to read Shalikova’s movements and fight her. Ultimately, Shalikova defeated Selene in this contest.

Now Norn found herself staring at the face of a woman whose martial power, she felt,

was palpably enormous,

and yet her aura was invisible, hiding her true feelings, intentions, and possibly abilities.

The Mycenaean Military Commission was much more frightening than she had imagined.

Did they know the kind of power they wielded? How far had their research taken them?

Or were their abilities still explicable only through the mythology of Katarran deeds?

Pythian black witchcraft, Mycenaean astrology, old Katarran Kingdom Mageía.

Was that all they knew– or were they on Euphrates’ theoretical level?

Before Herta could ask another stupid question Norn finally interceded with her own.

“Merarch Metis, can you regale us with a tale of your greatest battle?” Norn asked.

Moreso to prevent more boring talk about nothing than to extract information.

Odyssia lit up, practically beaming. “There we go! I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that. Your Majesty, may I tell them about the Great Hunt launched for the Shadow of Tyrins?”

Astra looked up from the sweets table, having just taken a cheesecake bite.

“That was before my time– yes, I’m also interested. Go ahead.” Astra said.

Odyssia cross one leg over the other and leaned forward, sitting rather strangely.

Cocking a grin, practically vibrating with excitement, Odyssia began, “This was something like twenty years ago. I was still a humble numeroi serving at the pleasure of my masters,” Herta began to sip her tea with embarrassment again, reacting to the clear innuendo, much to Odyssia’s continuing amusement, “a powerful Leviathan was sighted multiple times in the Tyrins region, a very deep region with most of our mining stations at the time. It attacked two ore bearing ships, and resisted an attempt to kill it by, according to eyewitnesses, flitting away, disappearing. Miners began to claim they ran into the beast in the mine shafts and the ore processing stations. It was as if it was drawn to the Agarthicite. It was described as a great horse-like beast with long paddled legs, with a mane of fleshy strands that burst with electricity, powerful enough to disrupt even our EM equipment.”

“To put a stop to it, the Commission deployed an entire Turma, a fleet section, with 25 ships and thousands of men. Such was the importance of this mission and slaying this beast. Our supply lines to Tyrin were crucial to our survival. I was part of the numeroi, the footsoldiers, of this Turma. This was a time when Heavy Divers had only just entered into military understanding. The Commission came to learn of Divers from the Union revolution, through news from Veka. We were beginning to make our own– by modifying the very labor hardware also used by miners. The Commission also began to test using modified hardsuits and sealed power armors instead. If you were thrown into one of those, all you had were heavy personnel-size weapons and some petroleum-fired jets.”

Odyssia put a fist to her chest. Herta looked horrified at the prospect.

“So there I was, with nothing but a machine gun, a diamond blade, and my hardsuit!”

“Oh my, how frightening!” Herta said. “Could you even see at such depths?”

“Barely anything! I only had one light on my hardsuit, and obviously no computers!”

“Goodness!”

Norn glanced at Herta with narrowed eyes, while the old woman clutched her heart.

“My officers didn’t like me at all, I was too freewheeling, and a libertine and I did not respond to their advances– well, I was rebellious.” Odyssia stopped herself from another sexual remark when Astra shot her another glare. She shrugged and continued her story. “After spotting the beast, the fleet concentrated fire, but it avoided everything! So they get this bright idea to launch numeroi out to fight it in hardsuits with personal weapons. Enough troop saturation and someone would hit it! Because the hardsuits were not designed for fighting, the weapons were actually welded to it on bands so we wouldn’t drop them, and improvised triggers were placed inside the hands of the suits for us.”

“Those weapons were worth more than your life at that time.” Astra added.

“They probably still are!” Odyssia said, earning her a narrow-eyed stare from Her Majesty. “Anyway, so we’re all getting thrown out of a chute that’s meant for mines or drones, since we didn’t have dedicated deployment chutes back then like we do now. Of course, it’s an absolute slaughter out there, I’m seeing and hearing suits popping everywhere which means a bunch of numeroi are joining the marine fog. In the distance, all I can really see beyond my floodlight is the snaking purple streaks of the Shadow of Tyrins. One bolt of lightning from its horns and it was over for anyone there. Nobody could stand against it!”

“How did you conquer such horrendous odds?” Herta asked, on the edge of her seat.

“Well– first, I turned my floodlight off. Then, I kicked the numeroi in front of me in the back of the head.” Odyssia said. Herta gasped and averted her gaze. Odyssia continued, proudly, seeing nothing wrong. “Their floodlight started wiggling all over the damn place and attracted the thing’s attention. It was the size of the kind of Divers we have now, it was huge, and it cleaved right through my compatriot with its tail and popped them like a bubble. But their sacrifice was not in vain– I threw all my fuel into blasting right into it, engaged my saw, and I started chopping like you’ve never seen! Like a woman possessed! I figured out that it was avoiding the muzzle flashes and blasts, so I did not use my gun. I dug so deep into that thing’s hide I probably made a little womb in it for myself. There was gore going everywhere, my visor was caked in it, and I didn’t stop chopping at it. When I was rescued, I was so freaked out I tried to chop at my superior officer and got tied up and beaten.”

“When all was said and done, we lost two ships, and 500 men.” Astra said. Her strands lit up a bit. “That much I knew from the official records. Anything else do with the Shadow of Tyrins is myth and legend. All commanders of the mission were sworn to secrecy and most of the numeroi saw nothing at all. At the time, it was thought to be an embarrassment. Not so much now. Truth be told I only vaguely knew of Odyssia’s involvement in the matter.”

“Heh, well, I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t slain the beast. My superiors were incredibly keen on killing me or worse, but even they had to admit it was too useful to have an insane killer on their side who could tackle the danger so they wouldn’t have to.” Odyssia said. “After that, I was raised from a Numeroi to a Domestikos, as a formality, but I still basically just did dirty work and killed tough opponents– I was basically the designated hero of my Tagma and that was it. But I got better rations and I was bothered a lot less.”

“And now, here you are,” Norn said, “have you earned some peace as a Merarch?”

Odyssia crossed her arms and leaned back. “Nope! I still basically do the same shit.”

Astra glanced at her and shook her head. “Manners.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Odyssia said, shrugging again. “But you haven’t heard the end of the story yet. Nobody will believe this next part, even if they believe the rest. But I must still tell it. When I was killing the beast, soaked in its blood, I received visions. Visions of it traveling a long, lonely current, fighting and killing, eating anything it defeated, growing stronger, bigger, stranger. Painstakingly acquiring the abilities it demonstrated. And as I killed it, I felt like I became it for a moment, wandering my own path, an endless journey of battle from which I grew and learned and defeated countless opponents. A journey taking ever farther from home. I saw my own future in the spilling gore of that beast!”

“Incredible.” Herta said, her excitement for this much more dulled than the previous events.

“To me, the beast was saying– as long as your two feet keep moving, you’ll keep fighting. But you’ll be invincible, as long as you don’t let anyone block your path or tie you down.” Odyssia shut her eyes and seemed to contemplate her own words for a moment,

looking much too satisfied.

Astra grunted. “You are tied down. You still have to answer to your orders.”

“That doesn’t count, Your Majesty!” Odyssia replied. “That’s every Katarran ever!”

She gave her master a big smile that seemed to mollify her.

“Well– I’m glad you’ve found peace of mind in the midst of your service.” Astra said.

“Thank you for the story, that was fascinating.” Herta said.

With how much the Mycenaean talked, there was no interest in Norn’s own stories.

So she simply got to sit and take in Odyssia’s boasting, Herta’s naivety, and Astra.

Astra Palaiologos. That was her name. It was also Norn’s name.

Some part of it did not sit right with Norn. It made her feel angry and helpless.

However, she could not afford any response. She had too many troubles as it was.

As much as she liked to sell herself as invincible, there was only so much she could do.

Navigating the Imbrium Empire’s collapse would already take everything she had.

To go to war with Mycenae for digging up the grave of what she was meant to be–

Or worse– for some foolish idea that this girl needed a rescue Norn never received–

It was not possible. She had to disabuse herself of the notion completely, and immediately.

Sipping tea, having cakes, watching from across the room. That was all she would do.

Hoping that this Astra Palaiologos would be less abused than the one that preceded her.


Since their arrival in Aachen, the Brigand immediately launched a multitude of missions with most of its top personnel and that of the Rostock involved, along with some help from the John Brown, particularly Burke Zepp and Marina McKennedy. They had experience with such things; the missions would focus on reconnaissance, information gathering, and expanding their contacts in the station. Kalika and Homa established a presence in the Shimii Wohnbezirk; Illya and Valeriya scouted out the Uhlan barracks and kept an eye on the station’s security forces; several pilots were sent to scout the habitations, the commercial districts, and the office spaces as plainclothes travelers; Murati had been deployed to a somewhat dubious expedition into the Gau offices, uniformed as a fascist.

Even the Captain and Commissar had left the ship on important business.

This left the bridge under Alexandra Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa, who normally had nothing to do while docked and could be reasonably left in charge.

With limited authority— except in case of a truly dire emergency.

All of these preparations required haste, and the usual deliberations had to be skipped or abbreviated to set the pace. There was little time to be cautious, and a lot to be done. Their objectives had to be underway or accomplished before the United Front gathered– the true goal behind these various maneuvers was to hopefully achieve advantage for the National Volksarmee in the upcoming talks. Knowing the station, discovering the strength and reach of their allies and enemies, formulating a plan, all of this was crucial to not walking in blind and looking foolish in front of the Eisern Front and Reichbanner Schwarzrot.

They did not hope to come out of the talks as the undisputed major influence of the Front.

Certainly the Eisern anarchists would not allow this to happen, even if the demsocs did.

However, they could not enter the room with flagging ambitions either.

That would have been a waste of everyone’s time.

There would be fiery passions flying in the United Front, and they had to be able to stand as equal partners at least. To show their resources, capabilities, and determination, the Volksarmee had to work hard in the precious time they had before the meetings. So they would comb the station, compile data, set up watches, pick up informants. It would not be wasted work even after the United Front– someday, Aachen would be a battlefield.

Hopefully not soon; and hopefully, they would have reliable allies at their side then.

Because most of these activities involved the officers and special guests of the Volksarmee, the sailors and some of the remaining officers remained on the ships and continued their day-to-day routines. But there was one project, in the very heart of the UNX-001 Brigand, that did involve several officers and did not involve Aachen itself.

Despite this it was a project of grand importance.

“Welcome to the third ‘Project to Learn About Weird Stuff’ on the Brigand!”

“You can’t call it the third one– the others were ‘Meetings to Discuss Weird Stuff’.”

“Ah, whatever, I can do what I want because I’m the officer in charge of it!”

Karuniya Maharapratham and Braya Zachikova welcomed their guests to the laboratory.

Those guests being Arabella, or Arbitrator I; and Olga Athanasiou, or Hunter I.

Karuniya had interacted with them several times already; and now she had access to a bevy of reports with additional information about who they actually were.

Arabella had come aboard the ship under mysterious circumstances during the events at Goryk’s Gorge, over a month now before their arrival at Aachen. Back then, her hair was white and red and her skin complexion very pale– now she was wearing her hair in a blue color, and her horns, smooth and vascular and sprouting from under her messy bangs, also had blue tips. Her skin was a little bit ruddier than before, suggesting she had picked up or was forcing color to it. Her body was otherwise the same as before, lean and lightly muscled with gentle curves, dressed in the teal jacket and button-down shirt and skirt that made up the Treasure Box Transports uniform worn around the Brigand.

Olga, meanwhile, had undergone no transformations since they met her. She was pretending to be an armored gurnard Katarran woman, the same kind as several other members of the Volksarmee, with curved horns coming from the back of her head that framed a plain white-haired ponytail. Her skin was very pale, and her figure was a bit fuller than Arabella’s, while her stature was a bit shorter. She wore a simple black hoodie and pants and wore an expression halfway between uncaring and annoyed at all times.

What had changed about them was that Karuniya now knew what they really were.

It had been easy to tell everyone they were Katarrans, and Olga successfully pretended to be Katarran in society for years– which was interesting, owing to the social position of Katarrans, this was not necessarily an advantageous identity to adopt. Regardless, what they actually were was a sentient species of hominids theoretically parallel to humanity known as the “Omenseers.” What Karuniya knew so far about the Omenseers is they were allegedly an ancient culture not necessarily of hominid origin, but which at some point, was revived through experiments on spliced hominid DNA to create the ones they knew now, using something similar to the Pelagis Process that Katarrans used to reproduce.

A lot of the information she had access to about them was sketchy and confusing.

Euphrates and Tigris had conjectures about the provenance of the original “Omenseers,” believing them to be a near-prehistoric race of soft-bodied fish-like organisms that might have lived in caves– nothing but a physical conjecture based on rationalizations, irrelevant to the current Omenseers who were not soft-bodied fish-like organisms living in caves, who possessed psychic abilities, and who, when asked, had no idea how this could possibly involve them in any way. Karuniya completely discarded this information, not as necessarily untrue, but as presently useless. They were not going to crack the origin of humanity here.

Arabella apparently had genetic memories which she recently recovered and then lost again due to the traumatic experiences she underwent in Kreuzung. She was apparently created as a bioweapon by the Surface Era civilization and condemned by her former masters, whom she spoke about with semi-religious anxiety. Before acquiring these memories, she would say the Omenseers were a facsimile of an ancient culture– whether she meant a culture of the Surface Era or even before that, was anyone’s guess.

There had always been theories and conjectures that the Surface Era civilization was far more advanced than the After Descent civilization, but that most of their technology was lost above. These were largely crafted after the Fueller Reformation in the 930s, when thinkers like Mordecai were given space and opportunity to voice criticism on the development of the Imbrian Empire and its systemic disparities.

Mordecai argued that the upper classes of the Pre-Descent world likely had a purely extractive relationship to the new ocean polities. Wishing to hoard their wealth on the surface, they leveraged their social control toward the retention of an imperial core above the waves, thereby limiting the total development of the ocean habitations and locking them out of potentially transformative technologies, such as the blueprints for the Base Code. They were locked into the role of consumers, until the exporter nations of the surface were completely destroyed or collapsed, orphaning the Ocean. Other less political theories were that likely many Surface technologies were useless underwater, such as higher-bandwidth forms of radio-electric communications, and yes, certain theoretical weapons and optical technologies, and therefore they were excluded from the ocean; and that the surface civilization ended suddenly before ocean-adapted technology was fully ready.

Karuniya was deeply interested in working on these lines of reasoning– if Arabella was a surface relic, then her memories could concern much more than the Omenseers exclusively. It could mean blowing wide open several other mysteries about the world. Whether it was possible to extract this information was unknown, but she would try.

Olga, meanwhile, had a simplistic and soldier-like view that reminded Karuniya of a certain someone that she knew– Olga did not trouble herself with scientific inquiry. She added to the collective knowledge the detail that Leviathans were able to become Omenseers, if they achieved psionic powers like the kind that Murati had disclosed. She also elucidated on the Omenseer caste system, a seemingly arbitrary social control lever devised by their supreme leader, Arbitrator II, who was apparently Arabella’s biological sister. It seemed that in the Omenseer society, function preceded form– if the Arbitrator created a ‘Hunter’ then they were leaner and lighter and quicker, but also a bit sadistic. But Olga did not know whether Arbitrator II chose and then implanted these traits, or if she found creatures that possessed these traits in some form and then set their caste based on these discoveries.

Despite these disclosures and any implications they might have had, Olga was utterly untroubled about her origins, and did not dwell on existential questions about herself or about her species. Whether or not she was human did not matter to her; whether or not she was a created or natural being did not matter to her; her present state and the Volksarmee’s goals was everything to her and she abhorred distractions from them.

Her own genetic memories were a thoroughly tertiary concern to her.

However, she agreed to participate in this project in order to–

“–I just want to make Erika happy.” Olga mumbled.

Meanwhile, Arabella also agreed to cooperate because–

“–I just want Braya to be happy.” Arabella declared.

“You don’t need to make me happy! I’ll be– I’ll be fine either way.” Zachikova grumbled.

And so, after some brief interviews and going over old information, the Project proceeded.

At the head of the project was Karuniya Maharapratham.

She was required to describe herself as part of the initial history of the Project, which touched upon personnel– but what could be said about Karuniya Maharapratham, a woman that was beyond description? She was beautiful, exceedingly so, with vibrant honey-brown skin and long, silky dark hair and a soft and pretty face; she was exceptionally intelligent, the recipient of multiple aptitude certifications and holder of two degrees; she was unfailingly charismatic, with an eclectic sense of humor and a hyper-modern eye for fashion, and a sexual powerhouse able to rope in the most eligible bachelor on Solstice, Murati Nakara, into following her around the Imbrium like she was tethered on a–

“You’re taking years to fill out a form that has like four fields on it!” Zachikova shouted.

Assisting in the project was Braya Zachikova, a short woman of diminutive build with thin limbs, narrow hips, a flat chest and ghostly pale skin. Her tawny brown hair was tied into a silly and pretentious spiraling ponytail, and thick, angled antennae took the place of her ears. She had a negative attitude and dour bearing. Her face might have been attractive had she ever even attempted a smile, and if she got any sleep to get those black bags out from under her robot eyes, and if she went outside or stood under a–

“Why are you filling out my part of the report?! Let me look at what you’re writing–!”

“Leave me alone!” Karuniya cried, holding the portable away from Zachikova’s grasp.

“I don’t have all day to stand here and watch you two bicker.” Olga grumbled.

Once all the formalities were out of the way,

Zachikova and Karuniya formally welcomed their guests and got to business.

“At the Captain and the Volksarmee Premier’s request, we are going undertake a project to further study and understand Omenseer physiology. While I have a scientific interest in this, the ultimate goal of the project is a military one– if Omenseers are biological weapons, we would like to understand the ways their bodies work for the purpose of carrying out our mission.” Karuniya said, smiling brightly and holding a portable computer in her hands as she spoke. “For now, our immediate goals are exploratory, but our ultimate goal is to restore Arabella’s alleged DNA storage and to establish Omenseer-friendly logistics, create health supplementation for our Omenseers, and perhaps design Omenseer weaponry that takes into account your unique abilities for combat purposes. These are long-term ambitions– we’re nowhere near any of this, but I want to give us some goals to pursue.”

“Thank you so much!” Arabella said. “I’m sorry for being a burden! I am in your care!”

“You’re not a burden!” Zachikova protested. “Stop apologizing.”

“I’m hoping this doesn’t take up too much of my time.” Olga mumbled.

Karuniya continued explaining the purpose of the project–

“A secondary concern is we want to understand whether Omenseer and Human physiology are compatible and in what ways they might not be. We want to avoid making any dangerous assumptions. For example, are Omenseer tissues like ours? Or do they have novel behaviors? Can Omenseers derive nutrition from our food, and what is their body’s metabolic response to it? And perhaps even uncover mysteries such as: can Omenseers have sex with humans? I’m vaguely aware of this actually happening, but I wonder if it would–”

“You’ll wonder nothing. We are not bothering with that.” Zachikova grunted.

She stared daggers at a Karuniya that began to wear a conspiratorial grin on her face.

“I just think, since both of our subjects have very close human partners–”

“That’s enough of that train of thought, Professor Pervert!” Olga shouted.

“I’m on Mushroom Lady’s side on this issue!” Arabella also shouted.

Karuniya’s eyes darted toward Olga and then Arabella, her face draining of color.

“Professor Pervert?! Mushroom lady?!” She cried out in despair.

“Can we please move on already!?” Zachikova shouted, joining the chorus.

Once everyone’s emotions had settled, a glum Karuniya resumed productivity.

“To begin, we’re going to have to gather an initial pool of biological materials so I can get started identifying your genetic or enzymatic properties. I will henceforth be responsible for the health of our Omenseer personnel the same way as Dr. Kappel is responsible for the health of our human personnel. I have some medical training, and she instructed me on proper collection methodology and Union regulations. I have medical supplies available that I hope can be universally useful even if your physiology is significantly different to humans. We will take several samples, establish an initial biomedical profile, and run tests.”

Zachikova looked at the Chief Science Officer beside her with narrow-eyed skepticism.

“Describe to them what you’re actually going to do to them!” Zachikova demanded.

“I have lots of tests prepared.” Karuniya said. “Skin, hair, blood, bone marrow, fluids–”

“Bone marrow? Isn’t this going a bit overboard? What is it even for?” Zachikova asked.

“I’m going to compare everything to a template normal human, Murati.” Karuniya said.

Zachikova narrowed her eyes ever more. “Wait– Why did you choose Murati for this?”

“I mean, she’s a very excellent human don’t you think?” Karuniya said, smiling. “Plus I have access to her genetic material very easily. I don’t have to involve anyone else if I use hers.”

Zachikova blinked and then crossed her arms, staring daggers at Karuniya.

Arabella and Olga both looked unbothered by the prospect of bone marrow extractions.

Nor by Karuniya somehow collecting and keeping Murati’s fluids.

“I’m not doing it for funsies! I’m helping her with her health stuff!” Karuniya said.

“You’re a sick person. I can’t believe I ever trusted you.” Zachikova replied in a low voice.

“Why are you being so sensitive, this medical stuff is extremely routine and–”

“Why are you so INsensitive! Ask yourself that and repent, you mad scientist!”

Arabella raised her hand suddenly. “Braya is scared of the doctor, Miss Mushrooms–”

“It’s Maharapratham!” Karuniya shouted just as suddenly.

“–please be understanding of her needs if you can.” Arabella finished, unperturbed.

“I was afraid of going to the doctor because of you, Arabella!” Zachikova said.

Olga turned around and quietly started to walk away until Karuniya rushed to get her back.

Once the proceedings were returned to order for the upteenth time, Karinuya retrieved a pair of wheeled tables bearing a few boxes of medical equipment, such as long hollow needles in sterile packaging for retrieving bone marrow, and smaller needles with blood collection tubes. There were swabs and scraping pads for collecting skin samples, and small containers rated for different kinds of fluids as well as for the hair and marrow samples. This gave the Omenseers in attendance a preview of what the next step in the process would look like. Karuniya retrieved a medical mask, gloves and sterilizing gel.

“Okay! We’re going to start with Arabella, collect blood and skin, and go to Olga.”

Karuniya gestured for Arabella to sit down on a chair she wheeled to one of the tables.

Arabella nodded her head and took her seat. Karuniya pulled up the sleeve of her uniform and took her blood pressure, and then wrapped a band tight around Arabella’s arm to check for a good vein to draw blood from. All of these things she had been instructed on before, both at the Academy where she took a few courses on medical assistantship and nursing, and by Dr. Kappel preparing her for this new role. She had a bit of leeway as it seemed that Omenseers had the ability to recover from very ghastly wounds.

Still– she did not want to hurt Arabella and was exactingly careful.

“Have you ever had any shots Arabella? Or any kind of bloodwork?” Karuniya asked.

“Braya stuck a needle in me, in Kreuzung. It filled my veins with her love.” Arabella said.

“That was morphine.” Zachikova said, sighing.

Karuniya warned Arabella gently that the needle was going in and began the blood draw.

While drawing the blood into the tubes, she turned to Zachikova.

“You know, we have no idea whether she would be affected by our medicines.” She said.

Zachikova shrugged. “She was nearly cut in half! You would’ve done the same!”

“I did feel a little bit woozy now that I recall.” Arabella said. “But I was also very nervous.”

“You were also bleeding out! Being woozy is not evidence of anything.” Zachikova said.

“Interesting. We’ll test pharmacokinetics on you some time.” Karuniya said.

Four tubes slowly and gently filled with perfectly ordinary-looking red blood.

Arabella received a plain bandage in return.

Karuniya set the collected matter aside on a test tube stand labeled ‘Arabella’. She changed her gloves, cleaning her hands with antibacterial gel in between applying a new set of gloves, and withdrew the next set of tools. A package ncluding scrubbing pads and a solution to moisten and loosen skin for collection. Karuniya applied the fluid to the pad, pressed it on the skin and scraped on Arabella’s outstretched arm several times, in long, gentle up and down motions. Once she was done with one arm, she confined the scrubbing pad to prepared test tube, opened a second package, and she performed the procedure on the other arm, labeling and putting away the samples after she was done.

She changed her gloves again, beginning to hum a little tune as she did so.

There was something satisfying about working with people.

She understood how Dr. Kappel had so much enthusiasm despite the gravity of her work.

Though she was mostly qualified for what she was doing, she was not a medic by profession and hardly ever had cause to take care of anyone. While collecting samples hardly qualified as bedside manner, it made her feel fulfilled to do something so concrete for the crew. Given how hard everyone else had been working– Karuniya had felt a little bit useless before.

Even with her newfound role as Murati’s co-pilot– it was nice to have science to do.

More than just growing mushrooms– or killing people.

Piloting a Diver was not anything she imagined taking pride in.

Having a scientific project that would help them understand and care for (and make use of) the Omenseers in their crew, and advance humanity’s knowledge of another hominid, that was the kind of thing she had dreamed of doing. It was not oceanography, but she nursed a vain little hope that it would really, truly matter. And in mattering, it might perhaps make her matter a little more. Maybe her name would be remembered in the future.

“Alright, Zachikova, I’ll have you take Arabella aside, behind that divider,” Karuniya said, pointing to a prepared space curtained off with a mobile divider, “And help her collect the fluid and hair samples. You’ll just follow this booklet, and use these tubes, they’re already labeled. Everything you need is right there.” She pointed to the table where there was another sample collection kit already prepared. “While you’re doing that, I’ll take Olga’s blood and deal with her. Tell me when you’re done.” Karuniya signaled for Olga.

Zachikova picked up the box and took Arabella by the arm, who looked happy to be pulled.

Olga stepped forward with her hands in her pockets, sighing.

Karuniya repeated the skin swabbing and the blood draw with greater confidence.

Her patient was quiet and cooperative, and responded very little to small talk questions.

“How are things usually on the Rostock? I haven’t had a chance to board.”

“They’re unruly as hell, but they get things done.”

“Have you known Premier Kairos long?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a big communist die-hard like her?”

“It’s whatever– I only believe in Erika being in charge.”

“Um. Are you eating anything tasty after we’re done?”

“No.”

Once the blood and skin samples were collected, Olga once again tried to leave.

Karuniya once again urged her to stay– and also lifted her portable computer again.

She had to call someone.

“Please hold on. I’m not done with the blood just yet.”

Olga grumbled. “You only took four from Arabella. Why do you want even more of mine?”

“Yours is special,” Karuniya smiled, “please just wait a moment, you’ll see.”

Moments later, a disgruntled-looking woman entered the laboratory, carrying something.

“Hey, wait,” Olga shouted, “what is going on here?”

Without so much as a wave of the hand, Logia Minardo walked past Olga and stood beside Karuniya holding a plate covered with a cloche. A comely older woman with shoulder-length, dark hair, impeccable makeup, and a curvy and rugged body, Minardo, who was known for her affable and energetic personality, wore an uncharacteristically disgruntled look on her face. She stared at Olga with a particularly sharp glare that Olga definitely noticed.

Karuniya clapped her hands.

“Olga Athanasiou, meet our beautiful head chef, Logia Minardo!” Karuniya said.

“I know who she is.” Olga said. “What’s she doing here and why is she mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” Minardo said. “I’m mad at the world– and disappointed.”

“What does that even mean?” Olga shouted, waving her hands helplessly.

Karuniya gestured toward the plate and the cloche covering it.

“You see Olga, I want to test to see if there may be an enzymatic difference between an Omenseer eating human meat and one who has not eaten any. I want to test this hypothesis by having you eat some human meat now and then give additional blood afterward. That way I can compare your blood when starved of human tissue; to Arabella’s blood who has recently eaten human tissue; and also to your blood after eating human tissue. It will give me more data to analyze! I know you have reservations, but I thought this might go down easier if it was prepared properly– so I received special dispensation from the captain to involve our resident expert chef, the widely beloved Logia Minardo, to cook the meat.”

At Karuniya’s side, Minardo stared at Olga with a combination of exhaustion and disgust.

Olga gritted her teeth and closed her fists. She glared death and violence at Karuniya.

“…Steak, with a peppercorn cream sauce.” Minardo said, voice devoid of emotion. “Reverse seared and butter-basted, in a cast iron pan that was immediately ferricycled afterward.”

Unveiling from beneath the fancy cloche, a finely cut steak in an unctuous-looking sauce.

So served and so dressed, it well disguised this was cut out from a dead Volkich soldier.

After learning more about Omenseers, the Captain and Commissar had begrudgingly decided to retain the corpses they had and preserve them just in case. Karuniya had some ideas for how she might use the remains to make Omenseer supplementation.

For now, however, all she had was a very simple preparation– human steak.

All smiles, she gestured toward the food almost like a presenter at a show.

“Doesn’t it look good? Alright, eat up, and after two hours I’ll take your blood again.”

“I have to sit around here for two more hours?” Olga whole body slumped.

“The Premier said you have to cooperate!” Karuniya replied, with a sing-song voice.

Zachikova soon reappeared with Arabella in tow and their fluid test kit completed.

She glared just as violently and disrespectfully as Olga was glaring at Karuniya.

Karuniya, meanwhile, simply shrugged her shoulders with an inassailable smile.

They could call her whatever they wanted, but she was soaring with excitement.

Thus, the inauspicious but important beginning of the Brigand’s Omenseer project.


Like most stations, Aachen Station had use of the space beneath the baseplate as well as the actual towers themselves. In addition to the maintenance area, there were a few areas off-set of the baseplate and reachable by elevators. The first was the Shimii Wohnbezirk, but besides that, there was also an additional habitat about a third of the size of the Wohnbezirk. When the primary stab was dug out to insert Aachen’s core pylon, a residential and storage area for the workers was constructed offset the pylon. Once the station was completed, this area was abandoned, until a few enterprising souls claimed pieces of it and made it a seedy but lively residential and commerce area. Here, the wretched underclass of Imbrian society mingled with the Katarran underworld, both unwanted.

“Chloe, will we actually be safe down here?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry– we’re not looking for trouble, and I’m pretty tough y’know!”

Chloe Kuri flexed her unimpressive biceps while Elena Lettiere watched, unimpressed.

As the foremost intelligence agent and chief gossip among the crew of the Rostock, Chloe Kuri had become a known figure even among the crew of the Brigand. A member of Erika Kairos’ inner circle, Chloe loved to collect and trade secrets and personal information and was in her own words also a hobbyist thief and lockpick. Her small stature and sharply practiced lightness of feet assisted her in sneaking around the station– or so she said. She was a short and curvy Katarran with silver hair and girlish features, dressed in a hooded cape over a cut-off top and shorts. Always smiling, and quite excitable.

Elena had learned from the “gossiping aunties” of the Brigand that Chloe Kuri had helped a few people in Kreuzung during the last days of their stay. She helped purchase contraband and advertised her information services to various people, either in exchange for extra rations or equally juicy secrets to that which she could divulge. Elena sought Chloe Kuri, hoping that the petite Katarran might be able to find out any information about a certain friend of hers among the Katarran whisper networks– in exchange, Elena disclosed to Chloe her status as Princess von Fueller– which Chloe already knew about.

“It was a funny attempt though– I appreciate it! I’ll help you out pro-bono!”

Or rather– Chloe would help out– in exchange for being dubbed a knight.

Elena pretended she could knight Chloe in any way that mattered, and Chloe was satisfied.

Now, Chloe was upholding her end of the bargain.

But not in a way Elena had envisioned.

“When we arrived I immediately scouted out the Katarran spots like I usually do. I heard about an informant who showed up recently but already has become legendary for the amount of information she brought to Aachen from other parts of the Imbrium. She’s really made an impression on the Katarrans around here! She’s a bit eccentric and uses a lot of code names– calls herself All-Seeing Eye. It’s worth a shot asking her!”

When Elena voiced concerns about descending below the baseplate, Chloe smiled wide,

“Ask for forgiveness, not permission. That’s how Katarrans get things done!”

Elena suspected this was less a Katarran thing and more of a Chloe thing.

Nevertheless, she snuck out with Chloe with such ease that at first it felt like a setup.

In a corner of the Stockheim dock station, they found a cramped cargo lift used for small loads and found that it had been modified to withstand the weight of human beings. Nervous, but willing to go to some lengths for information about her friend, Elena followed Chloe’s instructions, and the two of them shared a cramped lift all the way down below the baseplate. They arrived at a landing with a half-closed shutter, and Chloe easily squeezed through. Even for a skinny girl like Elena, it was a tight fit– she couldn’t imagine any ordinary Katarrans fitting through that way. This was definitely another Chloe special.

“Chloe, are you sure this is the right way down? This seems dangerous.”

“This is Chloe’s way down– there’s probably other ones, but this is the one I know.”

They had only been here two days and she already had ramshackle shortcuts?

Nevertheless, following a few turns around maintenance tunnels, they exited out onto–

“Haaren,” the parallel world of Katarrans and crime beneath Aachen station.

According to Chloe, it was derisively named after a former hunting ground of the Nocht Dynasty– contrasting the exorbitant luxury and waste of a place built entirely for kingly sporting pursuits with a habitat of depressing limitations occupied exclusively by self-described lowlives. Underground Haaren was rather vertical– each small block containing a handful buildings that straddled a ramp down to the next level, with the highest level seeing the rock ceiling held up by pillar supports, and the rest seeing in their too-near sky only the plate that held up the tier above. In total there were maybe thirty buildings, but there were more dwellings and businesses in the form of street kiosks and tents pitched in alleyways and corners. There were snaking paths through the space that were improsived around whatever was erected in their way, navigable only because Elena could see ahead of herself where people were going, and thus, where she was allowed to go.

Grimy streets, slick with droplets of water that leaked in through the firmaments, and lit by dim neon signage, LCD screens enticing the street wanderers to drink, gamble and fuck, and small torches, running out of battery, rigged up to poles. There was an immense press of human bodies slipping into the alleys, standing before the kiosks, sitting miserably on the streets, and going into and out of the bars, shops, brothels and inns. There was a soup kitchen being run by a group called “Kamma,” along with a few bunkhouses that looked to be managed by religious people. Most of the people around the illicit businesses were Katarrans while most of the sad and bedraggled folk were Imbrians, Loup and Shimii, a strange inversion from the social positions that Elena imagined. Not that there weren’t poor Katarrans– almost everywhere, there was a Katarran being roughed up.

“Stay close to me and be careful.” Chloe said as they walked in from the elevator bank.

Avoiding a fight that had broken out between two Katarrans outside a bar.

Elena had been given a hooded cloak to wear, covering up her features. She had freshly dyed her hair black, and with her face covered, she hoped nobody would realize she was a pretty young girl and try to do anything– between her and Chloe, they were the smallest people around on the streets. She grew increasingly nervous as they walked.

Around them, the shops had all kinds of things available. Most sold snacks or handmade textiles, mainly fried or dried foods and squares of synthetic cloth. Some promoted military parts of dubious provenance for sale, including Imperial transponders and communications systems that purported the ability to fool patrols or supply ships, as well as “military-grade” weapons. Others had uncooked food in various conditions, mainly fish.

“Chloe?”

“Yeah?”

While they walked, Elena leaned over Chloe’s shoulder to whisper.

“Are there places like this everywhere?” She asked.

“There’s a lot of ‘em!” Chloe said. “Every station has some abandoned areas and some less-traveled ones. A lot are remnants of the shafts dug by workers who were setting down the Core Pylon and building out around it. When people can’t afford to live in the core station, they don’t just disappear, they have to go somewhere. There’s nothing but the station and the ocean, so they go wherever the law doesn’t follow. I think most stations would rather they just eat each other down here than take up even more prison cells.”

“I see.” Elena said, her voice trembling a bit. She was so shocked to see all of this.

She knew, intellectually, that places like this were bound to exist.

Because space in a core station was at a premium, and you had to pay for lodging.

Therefore, it had to follow– those who were not able to pay had to go somewhere.

In Kreuzung, she heard that homeless people were beaten on the street.

So clearly, they had to go somewhere that nobody was looking at.

Everything Chloe said made complete sense– but seeing it was another matter.

Elena felt so deeply foolish walking through the crowds of hard-done folks.

What if she had inherited the crown– could she have ever turned this around?

No– that was a foolish thought too. Because the crown would have blinded her.

These people would have just remained invisible to her.

Only a proletarian could see them and maybe even understand them.

Now that she could see them, see the dirty choked-up streets and the tents and the overflowing alleyways and the fact that these people had nothing here but a red light district and some charity, everything ruled over by the huge neon signs advertising booze and sex– the idea of an underworld was made manifest before her. It was not a lurid fantasy anymore. Even though these people had some measure of freedom to do what they pleased, they were visibly hurting, deeply hurting. Elena could not help but to feel a mixture of the seedy underworld fantasy but also a measure of regret and perhaps even pity.

“Don’t pity them too much.” Chloe said, perhaps realizing what Elena’s silence might have meant. “They wouldn’t want you to. More than your pity, what they would want is your help. But if you give them money, it will only tide them over for a moment. To truly help, just support the Premier and the mission. Remember we’re down here for a reason.”

“Right.” Elena said, trying to cast eyes away from any faces in the crowd.

“Besides, it might sound cruel, but these places can be really convenient for us.”

Elena did not think it was cruel– because she thought of Chloe as a member of this place.

Someone who moved beneath the eyes of the Imbrians living peacefully in the station.

Of course it was convenient for her. It was what she knew, it was part of her strength.

If she were a leviathan, this was the ocean she swam through.

Regardless, they were, indeed, down in Haaren for a specific goal.

“Thank you, Chloe, for everything.”

“Don’t mention it. No more talking for now, okay?”

Chloe led Elena down several tiers of the Haaren substructure.

In each, they saw more of the same, though the lower tiers had more habitations and less crowded streets, as if all the action was focused more on the higher tiers. Even below ground, the peak was the economic center, and the very bottom was the remnants and cast-offs. But the very bottom was where Chloe led Elena. There was much less construction on the last tier, and many more tents and makeshift dwellings for the poor.

In the back of the bottom tier, there was an enormous, out of commission pipe.

“This is capped, leads nowhere– but she’s living in there. All-Seeing-Eye.” Chloe said.

She looked excited, as if she had been waiting to meet the mysterious informant herself.

Elena could see a faint glimmer of light deep within the pipe.

There was about a meter and a half between the ground floor and the lip of the pipe, so Elena had a bit of an awkward climb up onto it. Chloe helped her up, and she then reached out a hand to help Chloe up onto the pipe as well. Once they were both standing within it, they walked deeper inside. Elena thought the pipe might have been moist, but it was perhaps the driest place in Haaren, completely dry, without even a hint of rust on the grey steel structure around them, and none of the leaks outside.

Lights had indeed been installed– there were a few LED strips linked with snaking cable.

“Chloe, should we call something out?” Elena whispered as they walked.

Chloe cupped her hands around her face as if to amplify her voice and began to shout.

“We come seeking information! Please reveal yourself, famous informant!”

This seemed terribly silly and nothing at all like what Elena imagined she would say–

“I’m quite revealed already. Move closer and we’ll deal.”

And yet, it provoked a cordial-sounding reply from further ahead.

After a few more paces they could see the cap at the end of the pipe, with a few more LED strips affixed to the area than normal. At the far end, a person who had been laying alone on the floor pulled a battery-heated blanket from over herself and stood before them. At her feet, there were a few silvery packages and emptied bottles of water. She was a short and thin woman, not as short as Chloe, but a bit shorter than Elena, whom others considered girlish in height and figure. She had small forehead horns– likely a Katarran.

It was difficult to see in the dim yellowish light from the LED strips, but Elena thought the woman’s hair was a very pale color, maybe with a bit of pink to it. Two braids met in the back of her head, from which two long tails of her hair also extended, and she had neat, blunt bangs up front, a rather elaborate hair style for someone living in a pipe. Her clothing was very tight, with a long, uniform red and black plastic dress-jacket, the buttons offset to the left of her slim chest. Flourishes of cloth on her sleeves made them look like fins.

Far too fancy altogether to fit in with the rest of Haaren.

Discarded in another corner was a cloak with a symbol on it Elena had never seen before.

A sun partially obscured by a heavy dithering, with a rainbow-colored ring around it.

“You are the information trader called All-Seeing Eye, is that right?” Chloe asked.

“Even if you just ask her, can we even know that this is the right person?” Elena asked.

All-Seeing-Eye looked at them with an inexpressive face– and sharp, golden eyes.

“That is correct. I have no way of proving my identity. You will simply have to accept the risk as you would do for any transaction. You will find few people more knowledgeable than I am in Haaren. For the right price, I can elucidate anything for you– or even tell you a fortune.”

“A lot of the Katarrans around here talk a great deal about you.” Chloe said.

“They have reason to. I have assisted a few; and I have read the doom of several more.”

“Right.” Chloe said. She turned to Elena, “apparently, she correctly predicted the gambling fortunes of a few mercs around here, and predicted the deaths of two others, who, well, yeah. Not around anymore.” Chloe smiled and crossed her arms. “That’s how she first came into prominence, but she also had information that led to a big hit on a supply ship too, and news about Veka and the Palatine too. Everyone says she’s legit.”

“Then why isn’t she being swarmed with people demanding her information?” Elena asked.

“Hmph.” All-Seeing Eye shut her eyes and crossed her arms. “Because I assert myself.”

“Well, it’s more because– you have to understand, Katarrans, and especially mercs, we can be really superstitious folks! You might not get it if I just tell you, but this lady is way too ominous. So a lot of people around here will talk up how great she is, but they aren’t going to risk getting a bad fortune from her, or being given information about how their hits and heists might crash and burn on them.” Chloe said, smiling a bit nervously.

Elena felt a sudden bit of chill. “So why did you recommend her to me?”

Chloe shrugged. “You’re an Imbrian! You don’t believe in anything right?”

“Well, first of all, I’ll have you know, I identify with my mother’s elven heritage–”

“–Okay?”

“–and secondly, I’m actually getting a bit freaked out here!” Elena shouted.

Suddenly, All-Seeing Eye reached out her hand and laid gentle fingers on Elena’s cheek.

Quieting her whining instantly, and just as instantly setting her heart to a rapid beat.

She eased Elena’s chin toward herself and looked her directly in the eyes.

For the first time, All-Seeing Eye smiled. Elena dared not move a muscle in her grasp.

Her face was pretty, girlish and delicate, but her gaze was rather intimidating.

“I will be leaving Aachen soon. For you, I will listen to one final request, for a small fee.”

She lifted her hand from Elena’s face, and Elena took a step back, still surprised.

For as lithe as this woman was, she commanded an immense presence.

“What’s the fee?” Chloe asked, taking charge since Elena was temporarily out of sorts.

“I want a bit of her hair. I’ll preserve it and use it for no deleterious purpose.”

“Elven hair, huh? You’re not going to do any kind of Mageía with it are you?”

All-Seeing Eye cracked a smug grin at Chloe, whose body language turned a bit defensive.

“Hmph. If you’re a Katarran you should know that no serious Mageía can be done for such a small sacrifice. Were I to ask for her blood or teeth perhaps. As it stands you are near to offending me– take the price or leave it, it is final, and I will soon be gone. All I intend to do with her hair is to offer it to my lord, the Demon King, as a small obeisance.”

“Demon king? Now that’s a really trustworthy codename! Are you a Pythian?” Chloe said.

“How limited your imagination. I grow tired of your skepticism.” All-Seeing Eye said.

“I’ll do it. Don’t worry about me, Chloe. I don’t care even if she does try to curse me.”

Elena mastered herself, embarassed at how easily she had been stunned by the woman.

She had not risked admonishment from the captain and snuck out to this unpleasant place to simply walk back empty-handed. Some part of her could feel it when she was touched by All-Seeing Eye, and when their gazes met. They had formed a deeper connection than was visible. This woman had power and meant what she said. This was a small price for her to ask, and Elena could stand to gain from dealing with her. And somehow, she also knew– that a touch as gentle as All-Seeing Eye’s could not have been meant in malice.

All-Seeing Eye was not capable of malice, she thought. She had no basis for this.

But it was her feeling— maybe it was some latent bit of psionics in her that still worked.

“Very well. What is your request?” All-Seeing Eye said.

Chloe looked at Elena with a soft, supportive gaze.

Elena took a deep breath. Her body tensed, and she felt a thrill of anticipation.

“Can you tell me what you know about Inquisitor Gertrude Lichtenberg? Has she been seen recently, or made any kind of statements, or done anything that you know?” Elena said.

“Very well.”

Those words nearly made Elena’s heart stop with surprise.

And she thought she saw a small smile as All-Seeing Eye answered her affirmatively.

She walked over to her cloak, and from under it, withdrew a portable computer.

Returning to Elena’s side, and making sure to block Chloe’s field of vision–

All-Seeing Eye showed Elena a few tidbits of information that sent her spirits soaring.

Records of a Vekan ship, the Aranjagaan, making contact with the Iron Lady!

Judging by the date– it was just after they had departed Goryk’s Gorge.

By now, this was quite a few weeks in the past for all of them.

“As you can see from these records, she was peacefully seen off by the Vekans in the direction of Konstantinople where she would assuredly be safe from harm.” All-Seeing Eye said, her voice barely above a whisper close to Elena’s ear. “Does this satisfy your heart? Perhaps you want a fortune, to insure you might yet meet again?”

“No. It’s okay.” Elena said.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, and shook her head.

All-Seeing Eye shut her portable computer off, holding it by the handle with a hand.

Then, she swiped one of her fingers at Elena’s hair, a flourish that glinted in the dim light.

Demonstrating after that she had taken a few innocuous locks of her hair as the payment.

“Then that is our transaction. Honored to do business, in the name of the Demon King.”

All-Seeing Eye bowed to Elena, with one hand outstretched, and another over her heart.

Then, she returned to her heated blanket, shut it off, and began to collect her trash.

Chloe stood off to the side, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“Hey, I’m so sorry– this chick’s a total quack! I should have never–” Chloe began–

Elena shook her head, weeping, but still smiling. “No, it’s fine, Chloe. It’s great.”

“It’s great?” Chloe asked, clearly confused.

“I’m completely satisfied. Thank you so much. Let’s get back before we get yelled at.”

Her heart felt like it had been drained of a horribly constraining pressure.

It was not a lot of information, but it was enough.

Gertrude had left Goryk Gorge, and at the Vekan border, she avoided a confrontation and was allowed to leave for Konstantinople. Most of Sverland was Union territory now, which meant that if the Vekans did not get her, and the Iron Lady continued to sail independently of Norn– then Gertrude must have made it to safety in Konstantinople.

They might still meet again someday.

No– they definitely would. Elena did not need a fortune to know that.

It felt silly to think about the future when the present was so tenuous.

But she wanted to believe.

“Someday, I’ll show her the new person I am now. And we can start over.” She whispered.

Her tears were tears of joy. Her friend, her old love, was still alive out there.

Elena was sure that they would share their apologies and get to talk again someday.


Soon, that Chloe Kuri and her mysterious elf left All-Seeing Eye’s makeshift home.

She did not see them out, did not need to. Their transaction was over.

And what a fine transaction it was. All-Seeing Eye was quite pleased with it.

Her stay in Haaren was over too. Her next destination was Trelleborg.

Another new horizon in her wanderings to support her master’s passionate ambition.

Transacting was her business, but not her true purpose.

She was the spearhead of the Demon King, scouting the western side of the civil war.

Nevertheless, her transactions in Haaren had been satisfactory. She had learned some useful information, demonstrated the might that was held in the hand of the Demon King, and the Katarrans were largely congenial to her presence. It had not been difficult to travel to Aachen, and the stay had been peaceful, so she deemed it a successful visit.

However, Aachen was heading for turbulence.

There was a dangerous current in the Aether, she could feel it.

She had to stay ahead of it, for now.

For the sake of her mission, this was not the place to hold her ground.

It was just another transitory stop on the journey that her Demon King decreed.

Maybe with more time, she would have checked the depths of the Aachen Massif–

–but she was ill equipped to dig too deep anyway.

“Let me see– was my hunch correct?”

All-Seeing Eye put the strands of hair she had collected into the palm of her hand.

Looking at them and channeling the power to unveil their true form.

Biokinesis.

In the dim light in the capped pipe, the black hairs turned a gentle indigo.

Elven heritage— and not just any elven heritage either.

“Elena von Fueller.” All-Seeing Eye said, smiling. “My lord will be pleased to hear of this.”

She gently, almost reverently, placed the hair into a small container.

This, she stowed into pockets in her coat, along with her portable computer and blanket.

Everything fit a little too well, as if the coat was shifting its size to fit everything snugly.

All of her trash she put into a bag that she would throw out along the way.

All-Seeing Eye felt strangely satisfied. It was amusing to have encountered that girl.

“We’ll meet again, Elena von Fueller. I don’t need a fortune to tell you that much. Perhaps someday I can retrieve you for her– she will never say, but it would surely please her.”

Elena and whoever was guaranteeing her safety. Their paths would cross again someday.

Whether in association or conflict, it was yet to be determined.

But not now– in the maze-like currents of the Aether, this was but a liminal space for them.


“Alright, alright, you damn social fascists all got me to sit down, so now what?”

“Well– of course, I have thoroughly planned out a multi-point agenda for us–!”

“Moravskyi, you blowhard, don’t think you’ll have the room to yourself just being loud!”

In the backroom of a little pub that was entirely bought out for the purpose–

Around a long square table with drinks and snacks and a half-dozen portable computers–

A sharp-gazed Katarran woman with smoke blue hair and a barrel-chested, bearded man leaned across the table practically growling in each other’s faces with anger. Beside them, a dainty woman in a white dress with perfectly styled pink hair waved her hands helplessly while an older, brown-haired woman sighed. Around them, a collection of assorted attendants and supporters watched the unruly proceedings with exasperation, embarassment, helplessness, apathy and even a vaguely concealed delight.

It was the opening day of the United Front deliberations.

The communist Nationale Volksarmee and their newly-acquired allies and assets,

The Reichbanner Schwarzrot and the vast finances of the Luxembourg heiress,

The disparate anarchist Eisern Front and the leaders of its enigmatic three arrows,

All had managed to gather in Aachen to reach an agreement about their shared enemy.

And perhaps to decide the future of the Eisental region, and maybe all of Rhinea–

But almost immediately–

Erika Kairos and Taras Moravskyi howled at one another an instant away from brawling.

Gloria Innocence Luxembourg tried to get them all to look at her slide presentation.

And off the side of this farce–

Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya and Commissar Aaliyah Bashara watched,

faces drained of color with exhaustion and disbelief and ears ringing from the shouts.

They turned to face one another with the same quietly screaming despair in their eyes.

What are we supposed to do now?!

While the Volkisch lurked in the far distance, scheming to pick up the pieces they had overturned, the United Front squabbled over the rules at the game table.

Eisental United Front Status

Nationale Volksarmee (Deadlocked)

Reichsbanner Schwarzrot (Presiding)

Eisern Front (Deadlocked)


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.5]

Red lights flashed silent alarm across the UNX-001 Brigand, while a calm voice spoke through every implement from which sound could be heard. “Alert Semyon!” She said, careful not to shout or betray anxiety, while still speaking in a clear voice. Alert Semyon would only be raised verbally three times and then Fatima would go quiet on the audio system.

Everyone on the ship understood what this meant. Sailors hurried to their positions, crossing paths in the halls. Sailors who had been resting in their barracks rushed to their assignments upstairs; sailors eating in the cafeteria or taking a break in the social pod rushed downstairs to the hangar. They checked on the walls, were bearing monitors indicated current information of the threat and ETA until probable active combat.

Upstairs, the sailors assigned as rapid response had their tools handy. They would watch out for any malfunctions or damage and make spot repairs. They would sound the alarm if they thought circuitry or water system functions were threatened by the stresses of the battle. Several of them received a new assignment that had been worked out during training in Kreuzung: clearing out and locking down the social pod and cafeteria and other unnecessary facilities with anti-flood barriers, to prevent a repeat of the scare that resulted when the Antenora breached their sidepod in Goryk, almost destroying the social area.

Downstairs, the main focus of the sailors was in getting the Divers ready.

Batteries were checked twice a day and refilled if necessary, so there was not much charging that needed doing to top the Divers off. All repairs and maintenance had already been completed on the main combat units. Owing to the recovery of Homa’s “DELTA” as well as the stripping-down of one of the reserve Streloks, there was an area of the hangar that was quite messy and in disarray, but the mess was pushed to the far side. Deployment chutes were prepared to be opened into the hangar in case of mobilization. Weapons were loaded and equipment attached to the Divers based on the pilot’s stated desires.

Throughout the ship, people communicated in whispers, sign language and hand signals, or by writing on portables and showing the words to one another. Sailors were trained to walk quickly with soft footfalls and to work with precision and care so as to not bang on metal. This minimized the amount and intensity of identifiable noises that an enemy could potentially pick up prior to combat. It was very little, and the ship was not entirely stealth capable, but it could be very quiet if the distance and conditions were right. Once the cannons were firing, all bets were off, but until then, there was an eerie combination of haste and silence as the alert was sounded, and then executed upon.

Many of the upper pods were soundproofed, however, and the Bridge was no exception.

On the bridge, Captain Korabiskaya arrived and took her seat, followed by Commissar Bashara. At their side, Premier Erika Kairos also arrived along with her bodyguard and attendant Olga Athanasiou, both taking their places. Kalika Loukia had briefly held the bridge while the rest got ready to coordinate another day’s worth of rationalizing the inventories of the Brigand and Rostock and connecting the two ships and their crews– but that work would be put on hold. Fatima al-Suhar stood from her station, ready to give her report. She pointed at the main screen, where the simulated silhouette of a Republic “in-line-2” class Frigate appeared along with those of Imbrian Cutters and Frigates, as well as an old, very large and bulbous shaped cruiser, two generations old, a Serclaes-class.

“Captain! Our situation is as follows–”

One more time, the door to the bridge opened.

Scurrying inside and trying to appear as if they had not interrupted–

Murati Nakara, in the company of an unfamiliar face.

A young lady that had the same uniform as the rest but making her first appearance on the bridge. Cheerful-looking, her pretty face unbothered even as the red alarm lights cast an eerie color over her– the brown-haired Loup with the ponytail and makeup elicited a few curious glances. Murati wanted to say nothing upon entering the bridge, but practically everyone was looking at her directly, even Fatima, who was also waiting to speak.

“Sorry to interrupt– I was kept– taking care of something. Um. This is my new adjutant.”

Stumbling over her words, Murati at first gestured toward the woman beside her.

Almost immediately she underwent every conceivable human emotion in an instant.

What would anyone think if Aatto talked some nonsense? She nearly interrupted herself–

“My name is Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather. I will give everything to support your cause.”

She spoke politely and vowed her head and held her portable computer to her chest.

Wearing a demure and innocent smile.

Murati stared at her for a moment. She could not believe what she had heard.

And everyone else’s gazes shifted between Murati and Aatto with confusion.

“Okay, thank you, Aatto.” Commissar Bashara said, clearing her throat. “Fatima.”

Standing next to the sonar station, Fatima al-Suhar’s ears and tail stood on end.

“Oh! Yes. My deepest apologies. I was simply being polite. So, the situation–”

Ten minutes ago, Fatima first detected distant noises in the water that to her golden ears registered as explosions from middle caliber ship ordnance. Soon after the predictive computer parsed the same sounds as ordnance, and in addition, detected a wide-area active sonar pulse. Per protocol, Fatima responded to being picked up by active sonar with a return pulse scan from the Brigand, and the Rostock responded similarly.

They discovered the combatants several kilometers away in the northwestern direction. There was a Republic “in-line-2” class Frigate, so called for its two rows of guns in fixed positions integrated into the ship’s bow– chasing it was an Imperial Marder-class Frigate, a fairly ubiquitous class that everyone on the bridge was familiar with.

Complicating the situation, the Marder, having acquired a Republic Frigate and begun to chase, also reported the discovery to other nearby Imperial ships. Converging on the republicans were three additional Frigates from the North-Northwest as well as an old Serclaes-class Cruiser from the North. All of these ships were assumed with reason to have belonged to the Rhinea patrol fleet. If these patrol ships received the retrofit that other Volkisch Frigates did, then this entire force could be said to include 20-30 Divers in addition to the ships themselves, as each ship likely carried 4-8 Divers. Though she did not know the reaction her command would have to these discoveries, Fatima called for Alert Semyon just in case– they had been detected by sonar, so they had to be prepared.

“That was a quick and sound judgment Fatima. We commend you.” Ulyana said.

Fatima’s ears wiggled slightly and she smiled.

“Now we have to decide how to respond.” Aaliyah added.

“Right now, we have some cover for our actions, I believe,” Erika said, pointing at the screen, “As far as they know, what they have on sensors is a dumpy-looking hauler, no offense,” she smiled and waited a second as if to allow anyone to take offense if they would, but finding nobody disagreeing with her on the Brigand’s comeliness, she continued, “and an Imperial Ritter-class. Much of the time we have found that low level patrols will ignore the Rostock’s movements because they assume Ritter cruisers are led by big shots who they couldn’t hold accountable for anything if they tried. So we end up slipping by without effort.”

“In that case, all of those forces will converge on the Republicans.” Ulyana said.

“They won’t be able to survive it.” Murati said. “They will absolutely be overwhelmed.”

“Zachikova, get a graph of all enemy positions on the main screen.” Ulyana said.

“Yes ma’am.”

On the electronic warfare station, Zachikova got to work. Arabella peeked over the top of her desk curiously, having been sitting beside it the whole time. After a few seconds of typing, the predictor displayed for everyone in the room the surrounding area.

To think they were so close to Aachen’s hydrospace– but this situation was even closer. Murati took a few steps from the entrance to look more closely at the main screen. There were no landmarks to speak of. Any battle would take place in open ocean. So everything came down to the state of the combatant’s equipment, their tactics and formation, and whether they could gain any advantage in the information space. In terms of pure hardware on all sides, the Brigand and Rostock could be put at a disadvantage.

There was something of a plan forming in her mind, but she did not have enough data–

“Would it not be prudent to avoid this battle entirely?” Aaliyah asked.

Murati turned around and stared at her. Aaliyah seemed to notice but ignore her gaze.

“I’m positive if we decided to intervene, we could also still get away.” Erika said.

“Right, but– the Republicans in this area have all carried themselves awfully and they did not even want to join the United Front to begin with. They have caused us major inconveniences, they wasted significant manpower, and for what? Very nearly destroying a station full of innocent people. We could just leave them to their fate and speed on to Aachen.”

“That’s a bit cold.” Ulyana said. She smiled a bit nervously at Aaliyah’s words.

“But not unwarranted.” Aaliyah said. “Our intervention could cost us lives and equipment.”

“You are right.” Ulyana said. “Our most practical response is just leaving this be.”

“I will defer to your counsel in this matter.” Erika said, crossing her arms.

“They’re our allies! You’re going to hand out a death sentence to this one frigate crew?”

Murati raised her voice near to a shout, her hands curled up into fists.

Ulyana stared at her a bit in disbelief; Aaliyah rolled her eyes; Erika smiled suddenly.

“It’s true that the command of the Republic fleet in this area supported a heinous atrocity for very little strategic gain. It’s the truth that they went out on their own, foolishly. They could have never held Kreuzung. It was more likely they would destroy the core than successfully occupy it.” Murati said. “I am not denying that. But it’s horribly disproportionate to abandon these soldiers to die for that, when we could rescue and recruit them!”

“Then moralizing aside, our personnel could die carrying out this rescue.” Aaliyah said.

“That’s always a risk! It’s a risk of anything we do! That in itself is not an argument!”

“Now who is being cold toward other’s lives, Lieutenant?” Aaliyah spat back.

Having that statement turned on her gave Murati a brief pause to consider her words.

Her chest felt like it constricted and prevented her from making an angry response.

Was she being callous toward her comrades lives–?

Her head fogged from the sudden anxiety.

No– of course she was not– she was just trying to get them to see sense–

There was a loud clapping of two hands from the side of the bridge.

“Enough!” Erika said.

Firmly but not unkindly.

A sound that prompted Murati to take a deep breath and right herself.

Erika seemed more amused than aggravated about the argument. “Murati is correct. For the insurgent any action taken is done at the risk of their lives. If we wanted to preserve our equipment and lives we would bury them in a hole and do nothing, but that does not advance our objectives. So then the question is, how do we turn the cost and benefit of this situation to our advantage. In this, Aaliyah is not wrong to say, we have no idea what we are dealing with when we deal with the Republic here. We could be fighting for nothing and thus dying for nothing. So it is not so easy as to rush in and save the day at any cost either.”

For a brief moment, the room was silent– until one still-unfamiliar voice sounded.

“In that case, we just need to come up with a battle plan that will lower our risk.”

Stepping out from near the door and joining Murati’s side was Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather.

Murati looked almost surprised to have her support despite her supposed adjutant status.

“I strongly believe we can succeed if we entrust our strategy to my master!” Aatto said.

She gestured toward Murati as if framing her with her hands, smiling brightly.

Murati felt like her heart dropped lower into her chest.

Eyebrows furrowed and raised all across the bridge in confusion.

Ulyana stared at Aatto, speechless; Erika suppressed laughter; Aaliyah looked livid.

“What did she say? What did she call you? Is this your instruction, Murati?!”

“I– It really isn’t– she’s just–” Murati tugged on her own collar with growing anxiety.

“Now, now,” Ulyana spoke up suddenly, “it’s my turn to say not to indulge in silliness.”

She patted Aaliyah’s shoulders as if gently trying to prevent her jumping over the divider.

“Ms. Jarvi-Stormyweather is not wrong either!” Erika said. “I’ve read the files; this is Murati’s specialty, is it not? Her tactical plans have turned around some bad situations before! I do think having the Republicans in our debt might be advantageous in the future– and besides, the destruction of five patrol ships, including a Cruiser, can only be helpful to us.”

“I am not being silly.” Aaliyah said. She sat back in her chair. “I just want to clarify.”

“Don’t worry. We all understand you, Commissar.” Erika said, amused.

“It is my job to provide perspective. I am not mad and I am not being silly.” She said again.

“Yes, that’s very true. Thank you Commissar.” Ulyana said, also amused.

“Okay, okay, the first matter is concluded. We are intervening.” Olga said, sighing audibly.

Murati breathed a sigh of relief herself. She then made eye contact with Aatto.

Putting on such a furious gaze that she almost sent a psychic wave out to her.

Aatto seemed to notice and looked bashful for the very first time since they met.

You will ask permission to speak!! Murati shouted in her mind.

It was very rare that she spoke like this with anyone, so she was not sure it worked–

Yes, master!! A million apologies! No, a billion! I will accept any punishment!

Thankfully it seemed Aatto really did have some modicum of psionic experience.

Where she got it from and how far it extended was a question for another time.

For now, it was good enough that she did actually support Murati when it mattered.

As objectionable as some of her language and habits were– maybe she could actually help.

“Since we are intervening, we need a plan and we need it soon.” Erika said. “Tarrying too long will be effectively the same as abandoning this ship– they are taking fire as we speak.”

Murati knew this quite well. She turned back to the main screen.

At the moment, her thinking was that this reminded her of the Battle of Thassal.

That Republic frigate could hold out against that single Marder, if not in the long term then at least for the moment. In this scenario the real problem was the reinforcements. They were divided up and trying to converge on one target to overwhelm it. Murati was trying to think of a way to keep them from coming together and thereby disrupt their operation. She could not assume that each element of the patrol was moving closely and with coordination the way that the enemy fleet groups were in Thassal, however. Depending on the speed of each different element, the timing to defeat them in detail might be too tight.

One solution could be splitting their own forces. Should she recommend the Rostock engage the Marders while the Brigand commits to the rescue? That would depend on whether the enemy Marders were modified to carry more Divers, like she knew other Volkisch units had been. It was possible if they sent the Rostock alone it could be overwhelmed by that many Divers. The same might happen if the Brigand went alone. The more she thought about it, dividing their own forces was out of the question. She grunted. What was the answer?

“Aatto.” Murati said. “Is the Serclaes-class roughly as fast or faster than the Marders?”

Aatto smiled. “As a matter of fact master, it is actually slower than a Marder.”

“Really?” Murati asked. “Tell me more about it. I know it didn’t see front-line service.”

Behind them Aaliyah seemed to want to ask why Murati kept being called “master”–

Ulyana continued to work to calm her down, however–

“It’s true, the Serclaes class never saw service in the Grand Fleets.” Aatto said. “Because the class is heavily overburdened compared to thrust and while well-armed and armored, it was considered a crippled design due to its lack of speed. After all, a fleet is only as fast as its slowest element, and it is unacceptable for a Cruiser to be that slow. It was used in Imperial propaganda to emphasize its size and armament and was dubbed a ‘Heavy Cruiser’ but that was all it was, propaganda. Few were built and only used for interior defense.”

“Then out of this group, the Serclaes will surely arrive last.” Murati said.

“Significantly so, I predict.” Aatto replied.

A small smile crept across Murati’s features. Newly energized she turned left.

“Zachikova, can I get a more accurate depiction of the distance between the Marders?”

“I’ll try to get the computer to rerun it with greater fidelity. No promises.” Zachikova said.

On the main screen, the Marders were zoomed in on. A different became apparent.

In the broader picture of the scenario, the Marders looked like they were grouped together.

Upon zooming in on them, however, they were not arrayed in a standard arrow-head.

Two were coming in a line together and were not observing a shooting formation.

And the third was two kilometers behind the rest and moving as if to flank, not join them.

Murati pointed at the screen as if her finger would stab the frigates out of existence.

“I’ve got you!” Murati said excitedly. Her smile turned into a bloodthirsty grin.

Aatto wagged her tail and joined Murati in smiling– hers more admiring than violent.

“Captain, Commissar, Premier, I have a plan. But once we deploy, we have to be quick.”

Murati turned around to look her superiors in the eye. Determination swelling in her chest.

Even Aaliyah was not looking so skeptical as before. Ulyana looked a bit relieved.

“Go on, Murati. I’m ready to see your sorcery in action.” Erika replied.

For a moment, Murati was surprised to see it referred to as sorcery– but she liked it too.

At no time was she as conceited as when she figured out a problem like this.

“First, we need to converge all forces on the Republic In-Line-2 and rescue it. Then–”

Murati laid out her thoughts before anyone.

Though she felt her observations were not so revolutionary– people were impressed.

“Remind me to doubt you a bit less next time, Murati.” Ulyana said, as the plan unveiled.


Orders from the bridge relayed down to hangar engineering, and to the Rostock as well.

The Brigand and its new sister ship changed course, veering north-east together.

On the Brigand’s hangar, the pilots of the 114th rushed to their machines and suited up in black, thermal-padded pilot bodysuits. Murati Nakara ordered a quick huddle and advised on the overarching plan. For the pilots, it was not anything too complicated.

At first, the overall goal for everyone was to eliminate all targets and secure the Republic frigate from enemy fire. Then they would have to switch strategies. Dominika Rybolovskaya and Sameera al-Shahouh Raisanen-Morningsun, with their Strelkannon and Cossack, would be tasked with guarding the fleet from ordnance and Diver attacks. Khadija, Shalikova, Valya and Murati would intercept the incoming enemies and look for openings.

“We can’t be too reckless, but speed is of the essence. Unless we can break through each enemy in turn, it is possible that we may be outnumbered and encircled.” Murati said. “Rostock and the Brigand outgun the enemy ships significantly, so our focus needs to be the enemy Divers. If we allow the enemy Divers to act freely then we will be defeated.”

Around Murati, her fellow pilots nodded their heads in acknowledgment.

“Any questions?” Murati asked. She intended this to be about the plan, but–

“Yes. Who is that?” Khadija, smiling mischievously, pointed over Murati’s shoulder.

Behind Murati, a set of tall, brown-furred dog-like ears wiggled; a very fluffy tail wagged.

“That is my new adjutant, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather.” Murati said, as if it was enough.

“Huh?! Isn’t that the woman who was threatening you in Kreuzung? Isn’t she a fascist?”

At Murati’s side, Tigris spoke up, her jumpsuit stained with accidentally spilled lubricants.

“She defected– we’re working on it– she’s– she’s a reform fascist.” Murati said nervously.

“What? What does that even mean? Are you okay, Murati?” Shalikova said, confused.

“I am not a fascist anymore. I am for the supreme power of the proletariat.” Aatto said.

“Do you mean the national proletariat?” Khadija said, suppressing laughter.

“The proletariat is the proletariat. It’s all the same isn’t it?” Aatto said, shrugging.

“She’s a reform fascist.” Murati said. “Stop asking me about my adjutant and move out!”

With a few laughs and stares, the pilots left Murati’s side and headed to the machines.

Tigris stayed behind for a moment. She pointed a wrench in her hands at the Agni.

“I’ve got some fancy ideas I haven’t gotten around to, but for now, it can hold a gun.”

“Thank you, that’s all the capability I really needed.” Murati said.

“I also removed some of the ‘hadal armor kit’ I developed. Since it won’t be going below 3000 meters deep or encountering Leviathans, probably– with the extra weight off, it’ll be faster. I recommend you do not try to play the hero. Hang back, and act as support for now.”

Tigris briefly explained the changes and then left Murati’s side to assist around the hangar.

All of the pilots were taking care of final personal and practical matters before deploying.

“Aatto,”

Murati turned to face her new adjutant. Her heart was a bit heavy.

Certainly she was sympathetic to Aatto or she would not have tolerated being a made to look foolish in front of people to cover up for her. She knew Aatto must have been dealing with trauma. And she was beginning to see first-hand what she hoped to get from Aatto– someone who had lived in the Empire, worked for them, had access to regional knowledge Murati lacked. In the best case, Aatto would not just take over some of Murati’s busywork, but she would help cover up her blind spots or gaps in her strategies. That was the role of an adjutant– like the Commissar and Captain, who had a productive rapport.

However, Aatto had a long way to go in terms of fitting in with the Brigand.

Murati could not help but feel, still to that moment, that this might all be a mistake.

“Yes, master?” Aatto said.

“Ugh.” Murati gave up on dissuading her from saying that. “What do you see in me?”

Aatto seemed to understand Murati wanted a serious answer.

She took a moment to think before speaking.

“I see power, intellect, determination and the will to sunder the petrified Imbrium Ocean.”

“I think you have me wrong. I’m not that big of a deal. I’m not vying for power here.”

“Perhaps not yet. But I see it in you. You want to topple the current order, don’t you?”

She recalled the things Aatto said in her cell. Some of them with great nervousness.

“I want to topple it because it hurts people. Not for my own sake– or because of Destiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me, master. I will assist you in this endeavor regardless.”

“You need to do more than that. You must realize there is a burden to being a defector.”

Murati took Aatto’s digital computer from her hands and showed her the files on it.

“There are books on Union politics. Read them. You’ll take the pledge too.”

Aatto nodded her head. She had a demure smile throughout. It reminded Murati of cafeteria workers. Service personnel had difficult jobs, and smiling was a part of the job. In the Union cafeteria workers were treated well, and they were respected, because they had been entrusted an important task. But it was strenuous labor that they would often perform regardless of how they were feeling. That smile was just a part of preparing and serving food. Murati felt that Aatto’s smile was for her, and so ‘part of the job’. It hid whatever Aatto was feeling inside. That was why she would not stop smiling for anyone on the ship, even after all she had been through. It troubled Murati that she felt this was the case.

But there was nothing she could do about it in that instant.

“I would say, ‘good luck, master’ but I have the utmost confidence in you.” Aatto said.

“And why is that?” Murati asked, meeting her eyes and trying to smile.

“Because I saw the look in your eyes when you realized your strategy. You don’t just want to carry out your duty solemnly for its own sake. You want to destroy this enemy.” Aatto said.

At first it was Murati’s snap reaction to deny to herself that this was the case–

However, it was entirely true.

Murati wanted to punish the imperials and bring justice to them since she was a child.

At Thassal she had gotten her first taste of their blood.

Standing amid Imperial ships exploding, thousands of their people dying, she thought,

All of you deserve this.

So she could not deny what Aatto was saying– but neither would she acknowledge it.

“What kind of plan would you have come up with, Chief Petty Officer?” Murati asked.

Aatto kept her answer succinct– after all, it was almost time to deploy.

“I would have just abandoned the Republicans. But– I like your way much better.”

“Well. Thank you. It’s your first day on the job, so do your best.”

“In service to you, I will never falter, master.”

Murati turned around and left Aatto’s side, heading for the Agni. Her heart remained heavy.

At the foot of the Agni, she found her fiancé Karuniya Maharapratham in her pilot suit. She had been tasked by Murati with overseeing the loading of the HELIOS drones into the shoulder binders on the Agni. Upon Murati’s arrival, she turned to face her, put her hands on her hips, smiled and leaned into Murati’s personal space. She had a strange look on her face.

In that moment, Murati feared for the worst.

“Soooo, I heard a weird woman is following you around and calling you ‘master’ now.”

All of Murati’s fears cascaded over her shoulders until she thought she would fall.

“Who told you that? It’s nothing. She’s– she’s just a little– odd in the head.” Murati said.

Karuniya continued to grin and stare at Murati. Chest out, hands on her hips, smug.

“Nothing untoward is happening! Why are you looking at me like that?” Murati whined.

“Oh nothing~– to be honest, I’m glad you made a friend. Maybe you can be besties.”

“Karuniya, I have friends.” Murati said suddenly. “I have no problems making friends.”

“None of the officers count. And I don’t count either– I’m your wife~” Karuniya teased.

“It’s not fair that you don’t count– okay, fine, let’s just drop it. We need to get moving.”

Similar scenes seemed to play out at some of the other gantries in the hangar.

At the foot of the Cheka, Sonya Shalikova held hands with Maryam Karahailos.

“Sonya, I believe in you! Score super awesome kills and become a Diver Ace!”

Shalikova blinked. “Maryam– that’s a bit macabre– it isn’t a game you know–”

“Oh, but I heard that for every kill you get to put a notch on your Diver, and at five–”

“That’s not untrue, some people do that– but it’s kinda weird when you just say it.”

Between the open cockpits of the Strelkannon and Cossack, their two pilots met.

The taller Sameera looking down at Dominika, who put on an aggrieved expression.

“I’m warning you to reign in your gallivanting attitude this time.”

“I will control myself if you promise me a reward when we get back.”

“Sameera–! You–!”

Meanwhile–

In front of the Strelok One~bis, a tall and pensive blond woman stood with her head bowed. Compared to the Shimii she was speaking to there was a visibly humorous contrast of their size difference and the level of deference of one to the other. Sieglinde von Castille was nearly bowing to Khadija al-Shajara, who looked none too amused by the body language and nervous stuttering. She waited for a moment for Sieglinde to struggle with speaking.

“Khadija, I– I’m here because– I just wanted to– for you–”

“Oh come on, hold your head up! Speak clearly! This is pathetic!”

Khadija reached out and with one index finger forced Sieglinde’s chin up.

Sieglinde looked briefly stunned by this level of physical approach.

For an instant she seemed to flinch as if she was expecting to be struck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that really what you wanted to say to me?”

“No.” Sieglinde sighed. “I wanted to wish you good fortune. On the sortie.”

Khadija put on a smug little smile, her tail waving behind me.

“Unlike you, dear, I don’t need good fortune. It’s all skill in this cockpit.”

With a teasing little wave, Khadija hopped onto the ramp and ducked into the open Strelok.

Sieglinde stood watching as the cockpit closed as if in disbelief of Khadija’s response.

And rushed out of the way when the gantries released the trundling mechas.


“UND-114-D ‘Cossack’! Sameera al-Shahouh, deploying!”

Mother’s surname again. Perhaps it just felt right for Eisental.

Under the feet of Sameera’s modified Strelok, the deployment chute piped in water and piped out any air until the chute equalized to the outside and then opened its hatch, releasing the machine into the ocean beneath the Brigand. Because the Brigand was moving at speed, Sameera had to immediately hit the pedals in her cockpit in order to begin generating thrust and avoid being left behind by the ship. Once she got to speed, she could keep up with the ship easily. Her feet on the pedals, her hands on the sticks, fingers ready to flick switches and press buttons installed by the stick housing or on the stick itself.

Sameera quickly checked her cameras.

She had a multi-sectioned screen in front of her that was technically split into 16 regions that could have different pictures. Most of the time, she split the picture only three ways. One main forward camera occupying half the real estate but directly in the center of the monitor; a rear camera on the left quarter; and a variable camera on the right quarter of the screen that she flipped between an upward and a downward camera, sometimes compulsively.

Below her camera monitors her communications equipment was installed. This box parsed communications data and piped it to her headset and monitor. Presently neither the Brigand nor a fellow pilot was in direct communication so the picture contained only her camera feeds. By default, communication was wireless data brought by laser, the most efficient means of data transmission underwater. Acoustic data transfer was the first fallback, because laser was incredibly range dependent, while acoustic wave decoding was less so. Imperial communicators, and old Union communicators, had a second fallback to radio, but radio equipment was not installed anymore on the latest Union designs as it was nearly useless underwater. They saved a bit of weight omitting traditional wi-fi and radio.

At the moment, there was nobody on the screen, and the communicator was silent.

That state of affairs would not last much longer, however.

From an adjacent chute, Dominika’s Strelkannon dropped out soon after.

Her machine was designed for heavy fire support.

For this mission, however, the heavier shoulders of the Strelkannon had been equipped with two pods each housing a double-barreled 20 mm ‘gas gun’, the same sort that ships equipped. With this equipment her role was ostensibly to fire light caliber munitions at dizzying rates hoping to intersect enemy munitions. Sameera, meanwhile, had to make sure she got to fulfill that role by killing anything that got too close to her.

Sameera quite fancied such a protective role.

She had set her sights on making Dominika her woman, after all.

“Dominika, how’s the water?” Sameera asked cheerfully.

“Dark like always.” Dominika replied, her disinterested voice coming out of the earphones.

At that moment Dominika’s expressionless face appeared on a corner of the screen.

“Unquestionably it is dark– but I don’t feel like it is ‘dark as always.’”

It was her first time out in it, and Sameera felt that the water in Eisental was much darker.

Fighting against Leviathans in Lyser, or against the imperialists in Serrano, there were still blues and greens to be seen in the water. Faint, but nevertheless apparent. In Eisental, an additional thousand meters down from those locations, her spotlights parted nothing but pitch black water. Not even with strained eyes could she see any green or blue.

“Sameera, I’m going to conserve ammo as much as I can. Can I count on you?”

“Got it. Don’t worry about a thing. They won’t get through me.”

“Also– I’m serious when I say this. Don’t run off like when we were escaping Serrano.”

“I won’t. I have someone who needs me now. I don’t need to impress anyone but her.”

For once, Dominika did not respond to that with sarcasm or a sour remark.

Soon after, the entire squadron formed up under the Brigand.

To the right of the communicator there was an LCD with sensor output. For most Divers the only capability of this device by itself was to display directional sound acquisition, and this was nearly useless in combat. However, in the presence of a ship, the Diver could sync with its higher-fidelity sensor data and acquire a sonar picture and even LADAR topography.

Once the 114th had formed up, this screen began to display a map with marked targets.

Updating in real time as the ship and the squadron approached their objective.

And even marking distant boxes on the camera feeds using overlays.

On the monitor corner, Dominika disappeared.

There was a priority shared feed to all pilots from the squad leader’s mecha, the Agni.

Karuniya Maharapratham in a pilot suit smiled and waved.

“Operator Maharapratham here! How is everyone? We will begin scattering the HELIOS drones shortly. Scanning and network propagation will follow after. It’ll take some time, but please wait warmly and look forward to all the data goodness coming soon!”

“Karuniya…”

Distantly in Karuniya’s audio, Murati could be heard saying something.

Sameera laughed to herself for a bit.

Between her comrades’ speech, she could hear distant sounds of ordnance.

Low volume booming that seemed to wash over her.

As they neared, the sound was accompanied by vibrations that stirred her machine.

On the map, the object marked “VIP” and the object marked “TARGET 1” approached.

“It’s time, disperse!” Murati ordered. “You know your roles! Begin the operation!”

“Yes ma’am!”

On Murati’s command, the Divers of the 114th launched out from under the Brigand, breaking up into loose sections of two units in mutually supporting range. Sameera led the way for Dominika, the Cossack and Strelkannon grouped closely together as they charged out into the black, empty expanse in front of them. There was neither seafloor beneath them nor sky above them and the Brigand grew distant in the marine fog.

Soon they knew of its existence only in the tracking data.

Similarly both VIP and enemy vessels were nothing but overlay elements and map blips.

Until they came into view.

First as brief flashes of ordnance in the water. Stronger vibrations accompanying each.

Then in the middle of the void of water appeared a long, rectangular silhouette.

Lines of gas gun fire burst from its midsection and aft, intercepting torpedoes and middle caliber rounds hurtling toward it every minute. Specks of light going off by the dozens followed by much larger explosions from the intercepted ordnance. The ship was fighting for its life, enduring explosive fire every minute. Though she could not yet see the Marder-class chasing after the frigate, she could track it, based on positional data which her computer would update in real time using logic given by the Brigand during the sync. In this way, she knew where her enemy was relative to the ship that they were trying to rescue.

“Captain Korabiskaya has made contact with the Republic ship.” Murati said to her pilots.

Regardless, they would have to be careful of its gas gun fire.

Having confirmed the position of the VIP ship, the 114th veered eastward away from it.

Moving towards the enemy instead.

“Avoid enemy ordnance, but intercept if you have a shot.” Murati said.

“I’ve got a hundred shots a minute, Lieutenant.” Dominika replied.

“Use them judiciously.” Murati instructed.

Dominika acknowledged, moving her Diver closer to Sameera but farther behind her.

“Acknowledged. I’ll take the lead.” Sameera said.

On her diver’s arm, she revved up the engine on her diamond spear in preparation.

Rotation was good and smooth. No motion lag– it had good heft when she moved the arm.

She grinned to herself, leaning forward just a little and flooring her pedals for more thrust.

Minutes after contact with the VIP, a second silhouette began to emerge from the dark.

Along with six figures disturbing the water, as they broke away from the “Marder” frigate.

Their first enemy had shown itself and the battle was joined.


Republic “In-Line-2” class Frigates resembled the Union Soyuz class in overall silhouette, but in the sum total could not have been more different. Integrated main guns on the bow meant that the Republic frigate had very stable shooting and twice as many barrels as the Union vessel, but could only bring its main guns to bear on targets it was directly facing.

This design was born out of the Republic’s obsession with breaking out from Ratha Flow and through the defenses at the Great Ayre Reach, reasoning that there was little opportunity to maneuver in that type of warfare and not caring what would happen in a prolonged campaign in Imbria. Everything else seemed designed to paper over this.

Beveled surfaces on the bow and aft gave a rounded and aesthetically pleasing appearance to the ship, unlike the boxy, completely rectangular Soyuz. Because of the guns in the prow it had a flat face that was not efficient in water-breaking. Integrated hydrojets in an armored stern gave the ship’s thrusters greater resilience, unlike the Imbrian-style exposed hydrojets that only had a flared skirt around them, but this also added weight. Despite the supposed higher efficiency of the Republic hydrojets, the added armor made the craft only slightly faster than a Marder or Soyuz. While viewed from the side the ship appeared to be a single rectangular block, the design actually possessed two broad sections. There was a very slight taper near the midsection to a thinner rear. It was there that the rear fins attached. They had a different design from Imbrian fins, slightly diagonal and strangely adjustable.

In total, this meant the In-Line-2 could never completely outrun a “Marder” or “Soyuz.” Whenever a Republic ship turned, it lost maneuver efficiency compared to Imbrian designs. On the maneuver this meant that despite higher top speed, the nimbler Imbrian frigates would catch up. All they had to do was keep shooting to force the Republic ship to snake.

Thankfully, the Republic ship in this particular chase had outside assistance.

As the 114th moved to engage the “Marder” chasing after it, the UNX-001 Brigand and the Volksarmee Rostock moved to cover it. The Brigand moved parallel to the Republic frigate while the Rostock sailed past and moved to engage the chasing Volkisch Marder-class along with the 114th Diver Squadron. Diver gunfire would soon begin trading.

Captain Korabiskaya sent an acoustic message to the Republic frigate along with the shared Union-Republic diplomatic cipher attached. This would inform the ship computer on the Republic side that it was allied traffic being received. Even if the Republic ship wanted to do anything drastic out of paranoia, it had to turn around to face and fire at them, so neither the Rostock’s Captain Daphne nor Ulyana on the Brigand felt threatened.

“Captain, the Republic ship answered.” Semyonova said, her fingers slowly brushing some of her blond hair behind her ears as she spoke. “They are identifying themselves as the ‘R.N.S. John Brown’ and the Captain is requesting a laser transmission to speak with you.”

“Right. Is HELIOS up? Can Daphne join the video meeting?” Ulyana asked.

“HELIOS coverage is at 43% but there are drones we can bounce to.” Zachikova replied.

“Semyonova, Zachikova, hail the John Brown and Rostock and connect us.” Ulyana said.

On the main screen, the picture displaying the LADAR topography and the sonar-based live target tracking was shrunk and pushed to one side. Still visible as needed but subordinate to an incoming laser call taking up most of the screen. In a picture-in-picture, there was a small square with Daphne, who was muted because she was soon to engage the enemy directly– but the larger picture unveiled the captain of the John Brown. Ulyana had not known what to expect, as she had met few Cogitans in her life and knew little about their demographics.

She was still somewhat surprised to see a woman around her age.

“Greetings, Captain Korabiskaya. I can’t thank you enough for your assistance. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Eithnen Ní Faoláin — in the Republic database this is rendered as Ethna Whelan to simplify. I, technically, am the Captain of this fighting vessel.”

She had given two slightly different pronounciations.

Ulyana was not sure her Volgian accent could handle either of them well.

The John Brown’s bridge was notably more cramped than the Brigand’s as there were several heads of hair visible around on the bottom edge of her main camera picture. Eithnen was a fair skinned and good-looking woman, the middle of her face full of freckles, her cheekbones high and slim, with brown eyes and a slightly long nose. Her hair was long and voluminous and shockingly red, so bright that any individual darker strand seemed to stand out, of which there were few. Parted more to one side with longer bangs on that side as well. She was dressed in a button-down shirt that was partially unbuttoned over sweat-slick skin, along with a blue military coat worn loosely, paired with a skirt and tights. There was a hat hanging on a guard-rail off to her side. Eithnen’s bridge seemed to be tight and concentric, with herself in a small central enclosure without much legroom and surrounded by her officers on a ring slightly below her. The door seemed to be directly behind her.

Certainly such a design was efficient, but Ulyana could not imagine fighting like that.

“Our nations stand united, and so do we, Captain.” Ulyana said. “What is your current status? More enemies are on the way from the north. We have a plan to attack each approaching enemy group to rescue your ship; but your support would maximize our success.”

“My crew is exhausted, Captain, but we have been exhausted for days. We will continue fighting to the best of our ability. To do otherwise would mean lying down to die.” Eithnen replied. Her expression did not change as she relayed her situation. She had a look of almost amused resignation in the face of this danger– bitterness, too. “We lack in almost every human need except ammunition for the ship’s guns. No medicine, eating a meal a day, and with nary the supplies to do more than keep the ship afloat if a bit leaky.”

“Those are desperate conditions. Should we prepare an evacuation?” Ulyana said.

“No, the ship can endure a bit more yet. I appreciate your concern.” Eithnen said.

“Then once the waters are calm again, we can at least make sure you can get to Aachen.”

“I do not relish returning there– but you are right, there is no other choice long-term.”

“It is admirable that you have maintained control of things in such a situation, Captain.”

“We have a new lease on life Captain– we can almost see the light at the end. While at first I and my crew consigned ourselves to death, we disabled the trap that was set to detonate our ship in case of our escape from our Republic Navy captors. Therefore I would greatly enjoy living at least a little bit longer– and in that, we do require your assistance.”

Ulyana narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What happened to all of you?”

Eithnen’s eyes drifted away from the screen, as if she was looking at her crew below.

She sat back in the little seat cushioning she was given in her tight bridge.

One hand running through her hair.

“Captain Korabiskaya, I hope you can be sympathetic even knowing this– but the John Brown is a penal ship. We are the 808th Penal Battalion.” Eithnen said. She spoke quickly as if she did not want Ulyana to have time to react before hearing her whole story. “We are all former prisoners and in fact former prisoners slated for execution. However, none of us here are violent offenders or sexual exploiters! All of us are victims of social and economic discrimination! That we are trapped here is a horrific injustice, Captain!”

“Captain Faoláin,” Ulyana smiled while troubling the pronunciation she had heard from Eithnen, “Regardless of your circumstances I would not just abandon you to be killed by the Volkisch Movement, having taken painful efforts to reach out to you. I have seen first-hand that the Republic can be quite unjust despite its promotion of ‘liberty.’”

Eithnen bowed her head to Ulyana, her hands clapped together in a gesture of submission.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Captain. If I am the last Republic officer alive here that can be held to account for the Core Separation at Kreuzung then I will submit to any punishment. I understand I have participated in heinous actions and that my own survival is not an excuse. I only want the rest of the hundred innocent souls on this ship to be safe.”

“There is no justice in punishing you in place of those who coerced you.” Ulyana said.

“I agree with the distinguished Captain Korabiskaya as well.” Daphne said suddenly, her first shared opinion in the discussion. “Forgive my interruption, I am Daphne Triantafallos of the Katarran communist ship ‘Rostock.’ I will be leaving the call now– battle will soon be joined!”

Daphne looked strangely cheerful to be on a collision course with an enemy ship.

Her face disappeared from the picture in picture, and the square disappeared with her.

“Communist Katarran mercenaries?” Eithnen asked.

“Communist Katarran comrades. Much more reliable.” Ulyana said with a smile.

“I see. Captain, allow us to join your attack. We don’t want to sit helplessly.” Eithnen said.

“We’ll take every gun we can get. Do you have any Divers?” Ulyana asked.

Eithnen shook her head. “We were not trusted to serve as more than interdiction support.”

“So human shields essentially.” Ulyana said. “The Republic– I’ll hold my tongue for now.”

“Hah! Insult that rubbish country all you want. I’ll gladly join you there too.” Eithnen said.

Ulyana found herself full of compassion for the plight of that lone frigate. Judging by Eithnen’s expressions and hesitations, her story felt genuine. Increasingly she felt such a distaste for the Union’s ‘greatest ally’– but for now she had to settle the immediate account.


One by one the missile hatches atop the forward deck of the Marder-class sprang open.

Trails of bubbles floated up from each bay as its Sturmvolker diver launched, six in all.

These modified Volkers lost their round chassis for a body plan closer to a Strelok.

Looking more like the intimidating footsoldiers they were meant to be, armed with 20 mm Diver caliber submachine guns, the Sturmvolkers dispersed from the side of the Marder they were meant to be guarding, charging into an expected melee. None of them stayed together in units. In every direction a lone Sturmvolker went, hunting after the blips on their synced sonars. One particular unit shot straight up over the battlefield before pulling into a steep dive, employing gravity and its superior position to attempt to meet its enemy with an advantage in maneuver. It moved with great confidence as if it would surely score a kill.

In the middle of its dive, it crossed the path of Sameera’s Cossack as she darted forward.

Stopping, turning, raising its submachine gun to open fire believing it had taken her back.

And meeting a spinning drill that instantly bored through the thin chassis of its SMG.

Through arms that shredded to pieces–

Into the hull directly through the cockpit seams in the chest armor.

Water pressure doing bloody work.

Perforated, the Sturmvolker imploded suddenly.

Bursting pieces deflecting off the drill.

Nothing but a cloud of red foam and formless metal shreds gently falling down the water.

Sameera retracted her blood-flecked drill and accelerated away from the debris.

“Finally got to debut this Diamond Spear. Simple, yet delightfully brutal.”

Anyone in a mecha she was ordered to kill was no longer a person in Sameera’s mind.

Like Leviathans in Lyser, they were just things to be hunted.

For a moment, she had thought, “would it be more taxing to kill humans than Leviathans?”

Then, in battle with those humans it never crossed her mind. She had her orders.

On the hunt for humans doomed to the wrong side of her attentions.

Because there were as many enemies as the attacking mecha of the 114th, the battle was not immediately intense. Pops of confused gunfire from the Marder’s gas guns sounded the loudest and punctuated the chases transpiring around its hydrospace, but these fusilades were ineffective. The dispersed Sturmvolkers swam in directionless arcs, briefly firing their SMGs at the flitting shadows of the Union mecha darting all around them but failing to make contact with their targets. Shalikova and Khadija took to the chase, and went after a Sturmvolker each as soon as they saw one. Murati and her Agni hung back. Valya drew away one of the Sturmvolker from the reach of supporting units. Sameera scored first blood.

“HELIOS will be up momentarily!” Karuniya replied. “Zachikova, you can start!”

Sameera spotted Zachikova’s vaguely cetacean-shaped drone go swimming past.

Dragging behind it a crate on a hook that it was taking to the east.

“Moving to block the laser relay.” Zachikova informed the team.

“Sameera, Dominika, can you tie up the Marder’s guns?” Murati asked.

Sameera waited a second for Dominika to speak up first.

“Acknowledged!”

So she could then say: “I’ll do you one better than tying them up, Lieutenant!”

Though the battle had begun far enough from the Marder to only vaguely see its outline in the distance, the ship was only a hundred or so meters away– and closing. Flashes from its 20 mm defensive gas guns shone brighter and faster but began to dim anew. Owing to the 114th attacking, the Marder ceased to shoot at the John Brown and turned northward, away from the Rostock. Sameera wondered if they knew the Rostock was an enemy.

“Dominika, can you follow me as close as possible?” Sameera said.

“The gas gun pods aren’t as heavy as the cannons, I can keep up.” Dominika replied.

“Awesome. This is how we used to do it to bigger Leviathans in Lyser. Floor that pedal!”

Sameera began the attack run approaching the Marder-class from the starboard side. Gun pods on the Marder were divided into four bow, two aft, four keel and two each port and starboard. Hurtling toward the ship on final approach, Sameera was acquired by two of the bow guns and one of the starboard guns, turning and opening a flurry of gunfire. She approached high and threw herself into a diving turn to break through.

A dozen shells detonated in a long trail sweeping over her.

Flashing light briefly overcame her cameras.

Booming noises; tinnitus in her ears.

Heavy vibrations transferred into her cockpit, rattling over her back and under her fingers.

Explosion after explosion, bursting in the surroundings, blossoming fiery bubbles–

“Dominika!” She cried out.

“Still here! Focus!” She was relieved to hear a response.

Shrapnel bounced off her armor, pockmarked it, she could feel each impact–

Nevertheless she broke through the interdiction fire with minimal damage.

Sameera and Dominika swept across the broad side of the ship, too close to be fired on.

Close enough that the forward camera view was like a looming horizon of metal.

Within seconds the skirt of armor around the hydrojets came into view.

“Near the aft; up and on the deck!”

“Got it!”

The Streloks climbed suddenly, swept gracefully over the aft armor skirt.

Turned sharply, banking in a half-moon arc–

and began to cross the length of the deck, passing the conning fin,

completely under the firing arcs of the gas guns.

“Now cause some havoc!”

Taking the neck of the ship, its Divers too distracted to come to its rescue.

Sameera reared up her drill as she charged, and landed on the deck with a thrown punch.

Thrusting her diamond spear through a gas gun pod and gouging its magazine from inside.

Meanwhile Dominika planted herself in the middle of the three remaining deck guns.

From the Strelkannon’s shoulders, quick, controlled bursts of gunfire hammered the pods.

Perforating the housing and detonating each gun into a bubble of gas and debris.

“Rostock, the deck guns are out!” Sameera called out.

The Rostock’s Katarran operator picked up the message immediately.

“Got it! Torpedo incoming!”

Having created an opening, Sameera and Dominika thrust up with all of their power.

Within seconds the enormous sword-shape of the Rostock penetrated the shadows.

Filling the hole in the Marder’s defenses with fire.

Sameera noticed the brief flash of the explosion on her underside camera.

Faster than she could see in the darkness, the torpedo hurtled toward the starboard side of the Marder’s deck detonated just short of a direct hit, but it was enough. Enormous shearing forces caused by the detonation, expanding and contracting as the air bubble “stuck” to the ship’s side. Such was its fury that it tore a gash separating parts of the deck from the starboard plate. Water rushed in. Atop the ship, the main gun turret was paralyzed.

Though the watertight interior was not penetrated, the Marder listed.

Tilting just enough to expose the upper deck directly to the Rostock’s 150 mm guns.

From behind and under Sameera the guns thundered.

Twin massive flashes lit up the deck of the Rostock for a brief instant.

Lancing across the water splitting the sea, the munitions put two massive holes in the deck.

Penetrations too violent and too near for the anti-flooding measures to prevent.

In moments the Marder began to unravel beneath Sameera, bulging apart with successive compartment implosions until it was split open like a ration box. Everything transpired with devasting speed. Debris and blood, foaming clouds of shredded humans and ripped steel and crushed objects, lines of ripped-up cabling. From the top of the disemboweled hulk that was once a ship teeming with life, everything that had constituted its strength now bled out into a homogenous cloud. Its remains slowly descended to the sea floor.

For a moment Sameera floated amid that macabre geyser with a neutral expression.

Another hundred or so human souls cast into the water never again to return.

“No– it isn’t as hard as killing a Leviathan.” She said to herself.

Too low for the communicator to pick up and transmit.

When she took a Leviathan’s neck and drove her weapons into it, wrung its life out herself.

She had to see the face of a dead creature before her and meet its lightless eyes.

Something she saw moving with vigor and purpose just seconds ago, became extinguished.

With humans, in their ships and Divers– there was too much metal between all of them.

That was quite lucky. She wouldn’t be much use to anyone if she could not kill people.

“Sameera, are you alright? Don’t just suddenly go silent on me!”

Through the communicator, Dominika’s voice. Her lag-distorted face on the screen.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been through much worse.” She said, smiling at the screen.

Once again engaging her controls, Sameera’s Cossack rejoined Dominika’s Strelkannon.

Diving back down to where the sinking Marder once was, and now the Rostock settled.

“Marder down! No danger of agarthic detonation!” the Katarran operator called out.

Murati’s voice sounded next.

Sameera realized the fidelity of her sensor package had now improved. HELIOS’ high-bandwidth information network was established and she could see the surroundings much more clearly both on her map and even on her cameras due to the predictive overlays. It was as if there was actually some light and air down here in the depths of the Imbrium.

“All enemies down. Good work! But it’s only the first phase of the operation.” Murati said.

“Distress signals from the Marder to the relay were successfully intercepted by the net.”

Zachikova’s voice. In the distance Sameera could see an unfolded, massive sail-like object.

An X-shaped rigging between which there were enormous sectioned aluminum nets.

The Marder had been slain, and due to the laser-blocking net, its communications with the nearby laser relays were blocked, preventing its allies from knowing the details of its final fate. Nevertheless, despite the flawless execution of the first phase, the enemy, to whom the plan was unknown, continued making their own adjustments to alter the situation.


“W-what’s going on? Is there fighting? They’re fighting the Volkisch?”

At first Homa could hardly believe any of this was happening.

Soon she felt that the truth was washing over her like ice-cold water.

She was going to die.

From her hospital bed, Homa watched the bearing monitors on the wall. Hands shaking, teeth chattering. She felt suddenly cold because of how much she was sweating, and her chest quaked with the rushing of her heart. She felt that if she took her eyes off the monitors that would be the moment where her life suddenly ended. On every wall there was an update on the battle– the enemy ships, cycling topographic maps.

Along with a message, also cycled every so often–

Steel yourself and keep fighting! These monitors were meant for the sailor’s edification.

This propagandistic affirmation did nothing for Homa, however.

In her mind, this felt like the same hopeless folly she had engaged in back at Kreuzung.

The steel colossus of the Volkisch, immense and immovable, was coming for them.

Homa was not safe. She felt this in every centimeter of her skin.

She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to–

“Homa! I’m so sorry, I was setting up the aid stations. Are you okay?”

“I’m– of course– I’m not–”

Homa struggled to breathe and speak. Alarmed, Dr. Kappel rushed to her side.

Dr. Kappel held her by the shoulder and laid a hand on her forehead.

“Your temperature feels normal. I thought you might be having a rejection symptom–”

“How can it be normal?!” Homa cried out.

For an instant the doctor looked surprised by her shouting. She was not angered, however.

“I’ll get you a serotonin inhibitor– it’ll help you calm down.” Dr. Kappel said gently.

“How are you so calm?!” Homa shouted. “They’re going to kill us all!”

Dr. Kappel sat beside Homa’s bed, still smiling gently.

She reached out and carefully held Homa’s hands in her own.

“I understand your fear. But I’ve seen them do miraculous things before.” Dr. Kappel said.

Homa’s eyes filled with tears. She could not stop shaking. She looked down at her hands.

“Is– Is Kalika out there too? Where– where is she–?” Homa stammered heavily.

“Kalika is not fighting. She is helping in the hangar. She’ll be fine. I’m here for you.”

Dr. Kappel stayed at Homa’s side in the infirmary. Stroking her hands and comforting her.


“HELIOS is at full propagation! Please enjoy the scenery and thank your gracious host!”

Karuniya Maharapratham’s cheerful voice rang throughout the Brigand’s bridge.

On the main screen the prediction overlay on the camera feeds became clearer and slightly brighter. They could almost see the seafloor and the undersea mounts in the distance became outlined as if in fog. It was impressive, but even a miracle technology like HELIOS could not perfectly part the sea in such a dark and deep place as Eisental. It was comparatively far less rich in visual quality than it was in Goryk, when they first used it. They would not be able to navigate exclusively by sight even with the HELIOS network.

However, they were not using it for the visual overlay effects.

High-fidelity real time positional tracking and seamless laser communication with all of the pilots and ships in the fleet was the actual boon– and that was still working quite well, even over 2000 meters deep. On the Brigand’s bridge, the faces of their six pilots appeared on the main screen. Everyone had come out unscathed after the last sortie, but this was only the halfway mark. After a quick evaluation of the battlefield, the 114th returned to the Brigand as the Rostock and John Brown also formed back up around it. In an arrowhead formation, they headed for the next set of Marder-class. They had about twenty minutes before the next sortie, so the divers stayed in their deployment chutes.

Sailors passed charging cables and additional ammunition to them.

There was light damage on the Cossack and Valya’s Strelok that was assessed to not to be compromising for the machines. Shalikova and Khadija had each scored two enemy kills and received light shrapnel damage from close-range SMG munition bursts, while Sameera had taken out one enemy diver and Valya another. Murati’s Agni was the least worn and torn of the divers, as she had done no combat maneuvering and only focused on giving orders and covering for the HELIOS drones. While Ulyana ribbed Murati on her passivity in the last sortie, Tigris actually spoke up to agree with her decision to stay back.

“I’m recommending the Agni not engage in intense combat if possible.” She said.

“So when is Murati going to be required to do any work again?” Ulyana teased.

“Why is everyone suddenly acting like I’m lazy? This isn’t funny!” Murati shouted.

“She can go crazy once I’ve finished up the ‘Tigris Pack 1’ for the Agni.” Tigris said.

“Very well, I can accept that for now.” Ulyana replied.

“Why are you ignoring me now?!” Murati cried out, to a few laughs from the pilots.

On the video feed, they could see Karuniya’s hand reaching down to squeeze her shoulder.

Beside Ulyana, Aaliyah shook her head with a sigh, and turned to Zachikova.

“Can we get an updated picture of the incoming frigates? Has their course altered at all?”

Zachikova nodded her head and did as she was told, prompting the main screen to update.

In place of the pilots, the tracking map with predicted movements of the enemy returned.

Showing the two Frigates still in a line as they approached– and the third now closing in.

“It appears that their formation is tightening relative to what was calculated before.” Zachikova said. “We will meet them all together. No more than a minute apart.”

For a moment, Murati seemed to freeze up.

There was an unexpected change in the enemy’s composition.

And it was the most dangerous group too– those Marders and all their Divers.

Regardless, if Murati was afraid she was not showing it.

“We will adapt then.” Murati spoke up. “Captain, are we willing to use our missiles?”

“They’re difficult to replenish so I hoped to save them for a worse situation.” Ulyana said.

“Well, this situation is worsening. I think this a good idea from the Lieutenant.” Aaliyah said, gesturing to the main screen, where Murati’s face once was. “With the Rostock also shooting, we could drop sixteen missiles right into the core of their formation and cause a lot of chaos if not an outright rout. Patrolmen might not retain cohesion after that.”

“I’d gladly spend some missiles to seize the day. The Rostock will assist.” Erika said.

“Very well. We’ll prepare the missiles to fire.” Ulyana said. “But what about the timing?”

“Good point. Fatima, have we detected any more active sonar?” Murati asked.

“No, not since they sent us into alarm.” Fatima said. “They’re likely going quiet now.”

“Zachikova blocked the final communications from the other Marder. Jamming started before the Rostock attacked the Marder. It’s likely the enemy is missing some critical details about that battle.” Murati said. “They will know there was fighting and they will know something of our composition depending on what the Marder reported. But do they all know that the Rostock was also their enemy? We could use the situation against them by constructing a false narrative to have them take up a predictable formation.”

“How can we manipulate them in this situation? They’ll be on alert.” Aaliyah asked.

“Does the Rostock still have its original Imperial communications equipment, Premier?”

Erika smiled. “I think I see what you’re getting at Murati. Yes, we do have it.”

Zachikova altered the main screen picture so Murati’s face could be seen over the map.

“You said that regional patrol crews assume the Rostock is an imperial vessel with a higher command authorization than themselves. That means they are not aware of each specific ship in the inventory and they are not doing due dilligence and demanding authentication.” Murati said. “Zachikova could use the Rostock to send an Imperial-encrypted acoustic communication to the Marders informing them to predeploy their divers in a boxed defensive position. We will pretend we are chasing the Rostock toward them.”

“Clever.” Erika said. “I quite like the idea. Let’s contact Daphne to set things up quickly.”

“Zachikova, do you think you can do it? And do it quickly?” Murati asked.

Zachikova stared at the picture of Murati in her cockpit with clear irritation.

“Who do you think I am? This is technically really easy to do. But will they believe it?”

“Is it underestimating the enemy’s intelligence if we all agree they’re not too bright?”

Murati smiled confidently on the screen. Zachikova sighed once more and got to work.

The Rostock pulled out ahead, deliberately being missed by a small amount of gunfire.


Alerted to enemy activity but not exactly what kind, three Marder-class did their best to pull tightly together before making their final approach to the expected battlefield. Hatches opened on all three, their missile bays releasing sixteen Sturmvolker divers divided into sections of four, each occupying a cardinal direction as to guard their intended ships.

As far as the patrol knew their mission had changed. From capturing a Republic vessel that had somehow penetrated Eisental’s defenses, to stopping a large-scale enemy operation that was even threatening a Ritter-class Cruiser responding to the nearby battle. Since their local heavy support, a Serclaes, was lagging behind as usual, the brunt of the response was their responsibility. They were just patrol– they would not question orders.

Approaching to within a kilometer range was the Ritter-class that had sent the orders.

Trailing behind it as expected were a pair of enemy vessels launching ineffective attacks.

Aside from the Imperial cipher the ship had attached no relevant authentication.

Nevertheless, the patrol crews could come up with their own excuses for that.

When a brand new Cruiser like that gave an order they simply complied for their own sake.

The Marders in their defensive box sailed confidently. With a Ritter, they had the numbers.

Then, within 750 meters, the Marders spotted a series of successive flashes.

From behind the Ritter– and from the Ritter’s own missile bays.

Over a dozen lines cut across the water. Supercavitating missiles had been launched.

Both Imperial Taurus class missiles and Union Biryuza class hurtled toward the flotilla.

At this range the Marders had roughly 7 seconds to respond to being fired upon by missiles.

In that time gas guns could engage and fire a few rounds in haphazard directions.

Divers could be issued and execute single-word orders.

It was not enough.

“INCOMING!” was all that went out across the patrol flotilla.

Explosions blossomed violent gas bubbles across the top of flotilla’s hydrospace.

Gas gunners and divers struck some of the missiles, but even those intercepted munitions traveled too close to the fleet. Such turbulent detonations inflicted shockwaves that shook the frigates and sent Divers flying out of place. Cavitation bubbles formed by the explosion expanded and collapsed, pulsating violently. The walls of these bubbles “stuck” to steel when expanding and inflicted shearing force on the same metal when collapsing. Unlucky Divers caught in their wake imploded, torn open; ships within the radius of the explosion had armor and gun turrets and sensor bundles torn off their hulls and cast out into the sea.

Each missile warhead caused an explosion large enough to engulf two divers.

Tightly packed and not expecting such an attack, the flotilla quaked from the blasts.

No direct hits were scored, but significant damage was inflicted to turrets, fins, towers.

In an instant, combat capability had dropped from near-overwhelming to nil.

A predictable formation and a well-chosen attack made the difference.

Ephemeral flames and streams of bubbles and clouds of hot vaporized water spread a fog throughout the formation that the flotilla’s ships and divers struggled to escape. Once certain that they had survived, the individual ships lost cohesion, realizing it was a trap, and began to flee outside of mutually supporting range. In the confusion their divers floated helplessly, gathering their wits and tentatively fleeing in random directions.

Little did they know that while focused on the death raining down from above,

their keels had been taken.

Beneath the enemy flotilla, several divers shot up and attacked from the sea floor.

Khadija al-Shajara was at the head of the group and rushed at heedless speeds, her targeting computer putting a yellow box around a nearby Sturmvolker that had been spotted on her path. She reared back one of her swords as she climbed, sweeping up and just over the Sturmvolker suddenly. Twisting her Strelok’s body, engaging the jet on her diamond blade and cleaving diagonally through the center armor around the cockpit.

Saw-teeth chewed-metal disintegrating in front of her as her target imploded.

“One more for me, little Shali-Shali~!” Khadija said sweetly.

“It’s not a contest! Focus up!” Shalikova shouted back.

One blade in each hand; Khadija engaged both saws and rushed to the next target.

She was unaware of how many enemies had survived, she was not looking at her sensors.

Her mind had a honed instinct for moving quickly and attacking without hesitation.

Above them, there was a Frigate trying to climb away–

From the distance, a thundering cannonade. Three blasts perforated the side of the ship.

The Rostock, Brigand and John Brown were bringing firepower to bear on the flotilla.

Thanks to HELIOS, they did not have to worry much about hitting their own divers.

Metal rained down from heavens. Khadija navigated the debris of the dead and dying ships.

Pieces of the ships deflected off her armor as she charged.

Snaking toward a Sturmvolker overwhelmed by the chaos.

Within the rain of blood and iron it sprayed its SMG haphazardly.

She could almost hear the pilot screaming and shaking within the cascade of death.

Bursts of ineffective gunfire grazed her shoulderplates and hurtled past her hip armor.

Not once did she slow down; not once did she lose confidence in her approach.

Khadija crashed into the enemy with her swords in front of her and tore across.

Ripping two massive gashes in the metal, severing an arm, engulfed in skin-color foam.

Barely recognizing a kill before engaging her vernier thrusters and kicking off the carcass.

Her computer had already identified the next enemy within the storm.

She reveled in it.

“Looks like I’ll be the one carving a notch on my cockpit today, Shali-Shali~!”

By the time Serclaes-class Cruiser arrived, it was to the scene of a slaughter.

Heavy and roughly spearpoint-shaped, the Serclaes bristled with 76 mm guns on its angled surfaces, as well as a single 150 mm gun turret with one barrel designed for precision fire. It would avail itself of none of these accoutrements. Arriving blind, having received only a few panicked transmissions from the Marder-group and nothing more, and now unable itself to reach the nearby laser relay to communicate with the rest of the patrol, it saw an enormous field of mutilated debris spread out before it– and two enemy Cruisers banking away.

Drawn to the enemy it could see, the Serclaes moved to bring its guns to bear on them.

Unaware of a third enemy, the original target of the chase, that had been laid in wait.

Coming in quickly from the opposite flank just as the Serclaes committed to turn.

Four resounding blasts from the 100 mm guns on the John Brown impacted the Serclaes.

Tightly grouped, the shots punched deep into the armor in quick succession causing the ship’s interiors to disgorge from the wounds like a bag turned inside-out. Water violently filled the ship and disgorged each compartment in turn. Once the remains of the ship began to list, it seemed a beast wounded, red frothing humanity and steel innards copiously bleeding from the perforations as its body gracefully arced toward the sea floor.

Demonstrating the inflexible but brutal firepower that characterized the “In-Line-2” class.

“They called us cowards. But here we are.” Captain Eithnen Ní Faoláin solemnly declared.

Not even a murmur got out about this engagement. The Serclaes died quietly.

In the distance, an aluminum sail folded back into its rigging and ceased blocking the relay.

Within the cockpits of several divers, pilots broke out into laughter, tears, or sighs.

Inside each ship, the officers and sailors stood briefly speechless at the circumstances.

Before breaking out into celebration.

Five ships, twenty-four divers, over 500 enemy lives. No casualties of their own.

Mere minutes decided whom would pay the balance with their dead.

An advantage that would have seemed overwhelming swung from one side to another.

Quick decisions; lucky guesses; irreparable mistakes, parceled out between combatants.

Incomparable levels of experience played a part; but so did the plan and its execution.

So did quick thinking and the determination to do battle in the first place.

For the Volksarmee it was an unlikely victory against the type of enemies they would have once run away from. Fighting the patrol in open water– it signaled a change in the era.

“All of you really have me believing in miracles here.” Erika Kairos said. “Good work.”

In each pilot’s cockpits and throughout the Brigand and Rostock, her voice broadcast.

Even after all they had been through, it proved that their survival had not just been a fluke.

Somehow, almost before they even knew it, they fought and won the Battle of Haaren Hills.

Opening the way to Aachen, testing their cooperation, rescuing a stray Republic ship–

And catching the attention of several different forces, once word of the event spread.


“We’re recovering the Agni! Get the crane here! C’mon, don’t leave our hero waiting!”

Chief Galina Lebedova shouted amicably at the surrounding sailors in the hangar.

Everyone had a smile on their face as they got the mobile crane over to the deployment chute and hooked the chain to Agni, pulling it up and onto the floor of the hangar. When the cockpit door opened, Murati stepped out into a wave of hands, patting her back, shaking her shoulder, clapping. They called her a hero and a genius. They saluted and cheered.

Ulyana had credited her with the battle plan.

Murati wilted under all the attention. She barely knew how to take a step forward.

So many people were smiling and laughing that she could not help but laugh awkwardly.

And she had some experience speaking in front of people, so it was not stage fright.

Rather, the sheer size of the group in the hangar led her to realize–

how many lives were at stake

in her conceited decisions,

recalling the Comissar chastised her

was all of this what she put at stake–?

“Hey, hey, don’t crowd us like this, I have a migraine! We need to rest!”

Karuniya stepped down from the rear seat of the Agni, gently pushing Murati forward.

Murati silently thanked Karuniya for being there with her.

Urged by Karuniya, Murati stepped off the cockpit ramp.

All of the sailors made way for them to go through to the elevator. Partway through they started clapping. Murati did not know why but the clapping bothered her a lot in that moment. It sounded much louder in her ears than it should and it rattled through her chest. Booming, thundering, vibrations transferring from metal through to her– no not from metal she was out of the metal. It couldn’t have been so loud as to move through the floor. She could barely meet the eyes of the sailors– they became an indistinct mass around her. Did Karuniya see all of this? Murati thought that she might stumble and fall–

“Please allow the Lieutenant through! She must attend her post-combat checkup!”

At the entrance to the elevator the crowd cleared away from a shouting Aatto.

She helped Karuniya to usher Murati through the elevator door.

Once the doors shut, all of the sounds shut out with them.

It was like a pair of hands had clapped in Murati’s ears and awakened her from a dream.

“Murati, are you okay?” Karuniya asked. “You look so pale– and you’re shaking!”

“I’m fine.” Murati said. “Really. I haven’t eaten today, I must be hungry.”

“Jeez. I should have had you eat a survival bar or something.” Karuniya said.

Karuniya turned from Murati to the Loup woman who had entered the elevator with them.

“You must be Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather! It’s our first time meeting isn’t it?”

“I believe so! I was only officially elevated to this role this morning.”

Aatto reached out a hand across Murati’s chest to shake with Karuniya on the other side.

Karuniya shook her hand with a strangely cheerful expression.

“I’m Murati’s wife, Karuniya Maharapratham. Pleased to meet you.”

She emphasized the word. Was she angry? Aatto had no reaction to this.

Between the two of them Murati felt like she had been trapped in a cage.

Everything was happening across the length of her like she had been made an object.

A firm hand shake. Smiling faces. An almost mock-saccharine atmosphere.

Aatto’s fingers then slipped from Karuniya’s grasp, to hold her hand by the tips instead.

She leaned forward in front of Murati and kissed Karuniya’s hand.

Karuniya went red. Murati drew her eyes wide.

“The Queen herself!” Aatto said. “I can already see it– a worthy partner to a king!”

Murati almost wanted to scream at her–

But the two of them were chirping too much for her to get a sound in edgewise.

“Oh my! She’s such a charmer!” Karuniya laughed.

Now it was Aatto’s turn to smile in a strangely cheerful fashion.

“I studied the roster. A formidable scholar is a perfect match for a consummate soldier.”

“Oh ho~! Murati, I already like her. You’ve got a keeper here.”

“I am flattered you think so. I simply wish to support unique talents in this world.”

“Thank you Aatto. My hubby can be difficult, so please be patient with her.”

“Of course, of course–”

“I’m the one who is being monumentally patient here.” Murati spoke up, fists tightening.

Aatto and Karuniya both giggled at the same time and in a frighteningly similar fashion.

Murati wondered if she might break their camaraderie by reminding Karuniya that Aatto had been a non-commissioned officer of the Volkisch Movement, but she decided against it. She did not want to hurt Aatto’s feelings when she could just be the bigger woman and endure her wife joking as she always did. It might even do Karuniya some good, Murati thought, if she made a friend. For as much as Karuniya joked about this, the same rules of friendship that she used to say Murati was friendless applied just as much to her.

At least the two of them were not fighting.

Karuniya could have easily decided to be offended by Aatto rather than amused.

After the door opened to the upper tier, it revealed Erika Kairos standing in the hall.

Murati saluted to her. Erika waved for her to put her hand down.

“Ah, Murati. May I accompany you for a moment? I wanted to talk.” Erika said.

“Of course.” Murati said. She turned to look at Karuniya and Aatto.

Karuniya waved her fingers as if to tell Murati to go on ahead, staying with Aatto.

Erika started down the hall with Murati following at her side.

“How are you feeling? Triumphant?” Erika asked.

“Not really. A little shaky I guess.” Murati said. “I haven’t eaten today.”

She was beginning to suspect it was more than food and maybe her nerves were shot.

But she did not want to admit that nor seek support for it.

Preferably, it really was just hunger affecting her.

“Does it feel surreal, to come out the other end of a successful plan?” Erika asked.

“A little bit. I don’t know whether to feel like we clawed out a victory, or won too handily.”

“When a battle starts, there are no even odds between the combatants. Nothing is fair and nobody is keeping score. There is just, always someone who will triumph, and someone who will die. You know– I felt that you are someone who would not appreciate being called a ‘genius’, so I called you something whimsical on the bridge, a ‘sorcerer.’”

“Even that feels unearned.” Murati said. “I’m not special for just making observations.”

“Perhaps not, but you are the one who spoke up. You had the courage of conviction.” Erika said. She smiled a bit more than she was before. Shutting her eyes and grinning with satisfaction. “Murati, what I find special about you is not how much you know about military matters– it’s what’s in here.” Erika reached out and suddenly tapped her fingers just above Murati’s breasts. “Before you chastised us, we were going to leave those people on the John Brown to die. I was leaning that way too. It was your words that saved their lives. It was your determination to abhor injustice even if looking the other way was the easier path.”

Murati had honestly never given her ‘attitude’ such as it was, that elevated sort of merit.

In her mind, what mattered was all the time she spent thinking about war, studying history, trying to determine correct understandings. Her heart, was just that of a communist, she thought. Anyone could have made that judgment; anyone with her knowledge could have made that plan. Everyone in the world should have had her convictions.

“I’m of the opinion you could use a bit more malice.” Erika said. “But I also just like you.”

Erika met her eyes with such a fond and gentle gaze.

Murati felt a bit embarrassed suddenly.

She felt like she needed to justify herself better to someone like Erika.

“I wouldn’t have made the suggestions I did, if I did not believe we could win.”

“And when the situation changed? You know– we could have run away at many points!”

“I still believed we could rout them. And I believed it was the best action long-term.”

“Keep believing wholeheartedly. Speak when you must, and then argue with whoever you need to, including myself. If needed, I’ll put my foot down as the malice that you lack.”

Erika reached her hand out again and patted Murati on the back.

Murati smiled at her and felt her head clearing just a bit more than before.

Her heart just a little bit less heavy than it had been. She felt just a bit less burdened.

She was not singularly responsible for everyone’s lives, not today, and not ever.

They had not done all of this just because Murati said so, but because they believed her.

Someday, if she was wrong, if they thought she was wrong–

There were many people with their own judgments around her who would guide her.

Murati was stubborn, she knew she would argue her own way no matter what.

But everyone was responsible together. Erika was right.

She needed to have confidence.

Sometimes the most callous thing toward life was to stand by saying nothing.

“I appreciate it, Premier. But I am not afraid to deploy the little malice I have.”

“Then I won’t underestimate you again. How do you feel now?”

“Better.” Murati said. “Could you tell I was troubled?”

For an instant, Erika flashed the red rings around her eyes that indicated psionics.

Then she crossed her arms over her breasts, shut her eyes, and looked a bit smug.

“You could say it was a mix of my own judgment as a leader; and a little diagnostic.”

“I see. Nevertheless– thank you, Premier.”

“My pleasure. Ask me someday to tell you the story of how I stole the Rostock.”

“Was it a plan comparable to what we pulled off today?”

“It was so much better. Intrigue, death-defying risk, with Katarran soul. Pure noir.”

“I thought noir stories are supposed to have bad endings?”

Erika remained quiet to that question but continued smiling to herself.

Eventually she ducked into another meeting room and bid Murati goodbye for the moment.

Murati thought that perhaps the story of the Rostock did have a bad ending.

And that there could be ‘bad endings’ where Erika still lived to tell that story anyway.

Whatever else she intended to communicate, Murati was simply glad for the reassurances. When she arrived at the infirmary some of the cheer she lost the past few days had returned.


After the sinking of the patrol fleet’s Serclaes-class Cruiser, the Brigand, Rostock and John Brown quickly fled the scene of the battle. Though each fleet had been prevented from transmitting to the relay during battle and therefore to the rest of the patrol, it must have already been common knowledge that the flotilla was moving to engage a Republic ship in the first place. If that specific operation took too long and suddenly went out of contact, then more of the patrol would immediately be sent to the area to investigate.

Ulyana gave the order to depart as close to combat speed as possible without raising further suspicion from any arriving patrol fleet vessels. An object moving too fast underwater would stick out too much– commercial vessels and off-duty military ships all traveled at restricted speeds either due to hardware, legal or doctrinal limitations. The Volksarmee had to get to Aachen as soon as they could, but without raising too much dust in the process.

“According to Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather, the patrol fleet in Eisental was stripped pretty bare so most their newer ships could be assigned to the Volkisch navy and their war in the south. However, we must retain a sense of urgency. Even a dozen Cutters can be a problem. Furthermore, we have to assume that Violet Lehner’s forces will be moving north to secure personal control over the region. They will likely be far more formidable.”

That was Erika’s assumption but Ulyana supported it, having watched video of her speech.

Violet Lehner’s “Zabaniyah” would be their eventual biggest problem.

For the moment, however, the state of the John Brown was the immediate concern.

To that end, Ulyana contacted Eithnen Ní Faoláin.

In the hangar, the Brigand’s shuttle was prepared.

Over the past week they had gotten some good practice with shuttling people and supplies while on the move between the Brigand and Rostock. This time the shuttle would be loaded with a large crate of tightly packed dehydrated ration bricks, making up a week’s worth of meals for 150 people eating three bricks a day. Part of the Brigand’s survival stash– but it would last the John Brown a bit, and provide needed calories efficiently.

Along with the crates, Ulyana Korabiskaya and Aaliyah Bashara would hitch a ride.

The Brigand’s shuttle was a wide, semi-cylindrical craft. It exited the ship via a moonpool that essentially acted as a much bigger deployment chute near the back of the hangar. Its cargo bay could hold one Strelok lying on its back, but was most useful in ferrying people and cargo crates to and from ships and stations without docking. Just like the Brigand, the shuttle had undergone an upgrade too. Its cargo bay and crew pod pressurized separately, so it was possible to actually dump out a Strelok somewhere as a neat trick.

Ulyana had no idea when they would make use of that, but Murati had suggested it.

So she would defer to that wunderkind’s judgment on such matters.

Aaliyah and Ulyana boarded the crew pod, containing the pilot and co-pilot’s seats and compartments where they could store emergency equipment and personal effects for their own use, and behind them, one long seat that could hold six passengers. Additional passengers could ride with the cargo. The seats were slightly stiff but comfortable enough for a quick shuttle trip. With just the two of them, the ride was not too cramped.

For this trip, their pilot and co-pilot would be Zhu Lian and Klara Van Der Smidse.

The two young stars of the Brigand’s security team, frequently seen patrolling together.

Over their security team armored bodysuits they wore work coveralls with grey hats.

Both of them had tied up their hair into buns. Klara was all smiles and amused with herself.

Zhu Lian retained a professional demeanor, while occasionally cracking a grin at Klara.

“The Captain should not visit another ship without an escort.” Lian said as they stepped in.

“I understand, but,” Aaliyah spread her jacket to reveal her revolver on a holster.

“Chief Akulantova insists.” Lian said, opening a compartment to reveal a submachine gun.

Klara showed that there was a grenade launcher under her chair in addition.

“I don’t think we’ll need any of these things, actually! Please calm down!” Ulyana said.

Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse engaged the electric power of the shuttle and locked down the compartments. Much like every other vessel, the shuttle was completely windowless. Cameras were used for navigation instead, and like a Diver, the shuttle could sync to the Brigand’s sensors as long as it was within laser or acoustic data range, receiving sonar and LADAR updates from it to navigate more accurately. For the passengers, a “window” was projected on the walls at their sides. Pilot and co-pilot had a multi-section display that could be divided among the shuttle’s cameras. Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse were not dedicated pilots, but every marine trained enough to be a capable shuttle pilot.

Below them, the moonpool filled, and the shuttle descended.

Once the hatch above them was closed, the hatch below opened to let them into the sea.

Hydrojets propelled the shuttle, quick enough to keep up with the ships in the fleet.

Their journey would only take a few minutes, but Ulyana still laid back against her seat.

She had not been on a small craft for a very long time.

Looking out the projected window and at the ocean next to her. On the bridge, the main screen picture made the ocean look so much smaller and easier to understand. While the view she had in the shuttle was no more authentic than that which she had on the bridge, it still felt closer, and the water outside felt darker and more vast. At the head of a ship, there were so many people and so much equipment working to give Ulyana a sense of what was out in the water with them. She never had to contemplate it herself for an instant.

In this shuttle, there was only her eyes and the unvarnished feed of a camera.

And the endless, teeming darkness of the Imbrium yearning to swallow her whole.

It unsettled her, momentarily. It made her feel weaker than she otherwise thought she was.

None of their pretensions mattered to the crushing, overwhelming fury of that water.

“What do you see out there, Captain?” Aaliyah asked.

“A lot of nothing.” Ulyana replied, covering up her brief bout of introspection.

“Truly? You looked like you would say something poignant about it.” Aaliyah smiled.

Ulyana looked amused. “Our pilots go out there all the time; none have come back poets.”

Aaliyah had a friendly laugh at the remark, sitting back along with the Captain.

Maneuvering with ease through the waters disturbed by the passing of the ships, the shuttle approached the underside of the John Brown. A hatch opened and a cable anchor helped guide the shuttle up into the ship. The hatch under them closed, and the top hatch opened. Three cranes lifted the shuttle from the water and the hangar hatch closed beneath them, setting the shuttle back down. Zhu Lian and Klara checked to make sure the atmospheric pressures inside the Brigand and John Brown matched, which they did– then shut off the motor and opened the side doors, putting down a step-ladder using a crank.

“You two will unload the cargo.” Ulyana said.

Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse both stared at her.

“Unload the cargo and stay here. We’re not going to have any trouble, I assure you.”

However, regardless of what Akulantova said to do, the Captain’s orders were absolute.

So they remained behind, watching like a pair of predatory birds while unhooking the crate.

Outside, Ulyana and Aaliyah stepped out onto a comparably very small hangar.

For whatever reason, everything was painted some shade of an odd and unwelcoming set of greens. Compared to the Brigand’s hangar it was narrow and the ceiling was low, which Ulyana expected, but the degree to which it was both of these things still took her by surprise. It was tighter than a Soyuz’s insides. There was only barely enough space for the shuttle in the back. The John Brown perhaps had the space for a Diver or two on the other half of the hangar, but there was only a single deployment chute, and no gantries. There was no workshop. The John Brown did not have stitcher machines of any kind.

If they kept any equipment here, it would be tough to maintain it.

Perhaps owing to the lack of space there were very few sailors in the hangar. All of them wore blue jumpsuits, and they were sitting and lying, overturned in various corners. Blankets and pillows had been given to them, as if the hangar had been converted into an infirmary. Someone who looked like they might be a nurse was tending to them, but had no supplies on hand. Several men looked only partially conscious. Simple hunger was not the only cause of this. Ulyana recalled that Eithnen told her they were without medicine also.

These sailors were ill, and going without treatment.

“You can see plainly our situation here, Captain. Thank you again for your support.”

An elevator opened near the shuttle bay and Eithnen Ní Faoláin stepped out to greet them.

She was accompanied by a shorter, comely woman with a thinner figure, properly wearing the blue Republic military skirt uniform that Eithnen wore only loosely. She had very dark skin, and black hair that was tied back into a braided tail. A pair of sleek glasses perched on her nose. Atop her head, she had a beret. Because the uniform was blue it reminded Ulyana of the cadets of the Union’s Academy in Mt. Raja. However, she recognized her uniform from her diplomat training. Eithnen’s companion must have been part of Republic military intelligence as an attaché. Not every ship in the Republic navy had an officer like that.

“Let me introduce you to my indispensable adjutant, Tahira Agyie.” Eithnen said.

“Pleased to meet you. On behalf of the crew, thank you, Ulyana Korabiskaya, and you as well, Commissar Bashara. We could scarcely hope for any relief. We were prepared to die.”

Tahira shook hands with Ulyana and then Aaliyah in turn. Hers was a quick, efficient shake.

She wore at all times a measured expression on her pretty face, betraying no emotion.

Ulyana did not judge her for this. It was not easy to smile in their circumstances.

Eithnen on the other hand was very affable, so it was an interesting contrast.

“We come bearing some gifts. Enough food for the journey.” Ulyana said.

She gestured to the back of the shuttle, where Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse were working on getting the ramp down using cranks to conserve battery. Once the ramp was down they hooked the heavy crate to a winch and gently slid it down to the ramp and onto the floor of the hangar, before unhooking the crate and leaving it. While they were doing this, the Captain, Commissar and their counterparts continued their conversation off to the side.

“We can shuttle in medicine next.” Aaliyah said, glancing at the lethargic sailors.

“I can’t thank you enough. Some of these men, we have known about their deteriorating conditions for weeks now. Some have chronic illnesses, others just picked things up in Aachen. Most got worn down over time from lack of food, but kept working to keep us afloat.” Eithnen said. “Before the fleet was dashed to pieces in Kreuzung, our ‘commanders’ treated us like dirt. We were afforded nothing and kept locked up inside this ship.”

“That is horrific.” Ulyana said. “We’ll do what we can to assist your crew.”

“Thank you again, Captain.” Eithnen said. “Let us move to a meeting room in order to talk more comfortably. They’re also pretty cramped, but at least we can sit down there.”

“Of course. We can discuss the situation in-depth.” Ulyana said.

“This way.” Tahira gestured to the elevator.

Before leaving, Aaliyah turned around and shouted for Klara and Lian.

“You two put on some masks, get the first-aid kits and help out where you can!” She said.

Aaliyah pointed at the shuttle and then at the medical staff looking over the sick men.

Klara and Lian, sitting on the crate, looked helpless for a moment before moving to comply.

They were not medical staff, but Union marines received basic aid training too.

At least it gave them a different context for interacting with foreign sailors than suspicion.

“You’re all frankly amazing to me. I haven’t died and gone above, have I?” Eithnen said.

“We’re communists, it’d be a sad sight if we just sat around while people suffered.” Aaliyah said. “Trust us that you’re quite alive; we just have a different spirit than the Republic.”

Tahira stared at Ulyana and Aaliyah wordlessly for a moment before averting her gaze.

Eithnen put on a big, cheerful grin. “Well then! God bless the commie spirit!”


Aboard the Brigand, the door to the medbay slid open and closed quickly.

Hurried clacking steps from a pair of heels.

“Homa, are you okay? We’re out of danger now. I’m sorry I couldn’t support you.”

“It’s whatever.”

Homa recognized the horns and ponytail first, at the edge of her vision.

Kalika had come to visit.

Homa was lying sideways in bed, clutching her blankets as Kalika took a seat beside her. Even though she had her prosthetics installed, she was under observation until she had a few days’ worth of therapy. Her gait was still clumsy, though she was making progress.

More than that, she did not want to leave the infirmary during the commotion–

Because her heart had been gripped by an ice cold fear.

A shameful, chilling, awful fear.

Even now, lucid and medicated, she felt like she had been dowsed in ice water.

“Thanks to the crew, we were able to pull through.” Kalika said. “You’re safe now.”

Homa grumbled. She was ashamed. Ashamed of how frightened she had gotten.

“Did you go out and fight?” Homa asked, her lips trembling.

“All I fought were a few leaking pipes near the infirmary and the cafeteria. And some of the anti-flooding shutters.” Kalika said. “I was just doing this and that, trying to help out.”

“Why did they go pick a fight with the Volkisch?” Homa asked. “It’s just crazy.”

“They were rescuing some poor folks.” Kalika said. “It’s just the way they operate.”

“It’s useless– trying to be big dumb fucking heroes like that– they’ll just get killed–!”

Kalika did not respond. Homa snatched a look at her face. She was just silently smiling.

For some reason Kalika never judged Homa, never called her an asshole or a coward.

Sometimes it infuriated her. She wished someone would just slap her across the face.

Someone should just tell her already that she was worthless and lower than dirt.

They should just leave her crippled husk behind! Just launch her into the sea!

There it went again– she was crying. Crying and blubbering and shaking.

It was all she could do. Unlike Kalika, she could do nothing. She was utterly broken.

“Kalika,” Homa whimpered, “Can you– can you get me that necklace– on the table–”

Kalika nodded her head. She picked up Homa’s necklace from the bedside table.

Kneeling close to Homa’s bed, she put the necklace in her fingers directly.

“Rest up Homa. When you’re feeling up to it, we’ll resume your therapy.”

Homa did not respond to that. Once she had her necklace she hid under the blankets.

She clutched the necklace tight against her chest with her biological hand, crying openly.

Wishing she could hear the stupid little voice calling her ‘brave’ and ‘courageous’ again.


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.4]

Through the Osmium shutters, a hair’s-width of purple rays still bled through.

Dim purple sliced the shadows of the upper wall of the reactor engineering pod– leaving the steel thankfully intact. Just a hint of purple touched down upon the tea table set down incongruously below the raised reactor structure in the back of the pod.

Enclosed within enormous osmium and titanium structures flanking the main reactor were steam generators, circuits, converters, backup batteries, and turbines, that captured and converted and stored and transmitted as much energy that reactor had to give as possible. The heat of the agarthic reaction, the motion of the core array suspended in water, the erratic flashes of agarthic radiation that were characteristic of the lower grade agarthicite used in ship cores compared to station cores. All of it was the life-giving gift the sovereign mineral gave to its After Descent subjects. None of it could be wasted.

God lifted and encased upon its throne of carefully alloyed minerals.

At the back of every ship, this was the face that He showed to his subjects.

And within this temple, a few officers infrequently held tea parties.

Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya and Commissar Aaliyah Bashara were both in attendance, on the opposite end of the table. Between the table and the reactor there was a protective shield of lead and osmium for the occupants. Aside from thin, stray rays of agarthic light, the only illumination was a wax candle that had a musky, mineral-like scent. Compared to an electric torch, this knickknack was a waste of resources– but the woman who requested it received any such thing she wanted. She had a supply of such charms for the journey.

“Thank you for once again indulging me, Captain, Commissar.”

“Of course. Compared to everything else, this is an oasis of calm.”

“Strange, isn’t it? I have to consider the end of my life every second of every day that I reside here, but even so, every day is so peaceful. I could not ask for a better place to spend my final days. Even when the ship is shaking, and battle raging– I just have to tend to the temperatures and monitor output. If the worst happens– I’ll be painlessly erased.”

“Ah– no need to be gloomy, Chief! I’m sure you’ll have many long years ahead!”

“Oh, don’t worry. It has no bearing on my mood. I’m simply being realistic.”

Across from the ship’s leadership cadre was the least often seen of its officers.

Chief Core Engineer, and Hero of Socialist Labor, Iessenia Kurchatova.

Iessenia was a few years older than Ulyana but her actual age was not too evident. She was a pale and petite woman, pretty and vibrant, with girlish features and very long hair that had been dyed green to cover the drain of their color over time. Long locks fell over her shoulders, reached down her back, and she had fluffy bangs swept to either side. She wore a touch of lipstick, a bit of eyeshadow– but a lot of blush, coloring the middle of her face. She wore the Treasure Box button-down shirt and tie with a black mini-skirt and tights, with a white coat over it. On her wrists were steel cuffs attached to collapsible mobility aids that, in their resting position, stretched partway down the length of her arm.

More noticeable than these basic facts of her appearance were the vestiges of her vocation.

In several places in her body there were hexagonal burns, colored purple-black like bruises. There was a stretch of these burns across the upper left corner of her face, having claimed one eye which was replaced with a cybernetic implant. Her eyelid and eyebrow were reconstructed such that when she smiled and shut her eyes it looked pretty natural. Bits of less severe patches of burns could be seen on her neck and creeping over her right breast, slightly visible due to a few undone buttons. In the dim illumination in which Iessenia kept the room, there was a dim purple glow from the sinews on her neck and arms.

Ulyana knew this was owed to the level of agarthic salts in her bloodstream.

On her remaining biological eye, the color had been slightly altered as well. Purple was creeping in from the lower right quadrant of the eye. Close inspection revealed that the purple was actually made up of tiny hexagons, as if the visible pixelation on a low quality video monitor. Iessenia disclosed to Dr. Kappel that her circulatory system was largely colonized by Agarthicite in its microscopic “salt” form. Eventually enough agarthic salt inside her would react, causing an annihilation that would maim her internally.

It was likely that she would die from this– and not painlessly as she hoped.

Thankfully, that did not seem to bother the smiling woman who offered the Captain tea.

Unlike all the coffee-drinkers in the ship, she had this special dispensation as well.

Much like her scented soy-wax candles.

All for the comfort of the Union’s Agarthicite genius, awaiting her untimely demise.

Iessenia, like most core engineers, was the sacrifice at the altar of God.

For the sake of Humanity– so anything could be spared for her happiness and comfort.

“Today’s tea is my favorite. Masala chai. Black tea with sweetened milk and spices.”

Iessenia stared at her teacup quietly for almost a minute before taking an indulgent sip.

Ulyana lifted her cup to her own lips. Sweet and creamy and with a complex flavor from the aromatic spices. It was the richest cup of tea Ulyana had ever tasted. Like almost everyone on the ship she had a strict coffee habit to keep herself going during the long hours– but she could appreciate the delicate craft of preparing a nice cup of tea.

Minardo was a quiet genius with tea.

At Ulyana’s side, Aaliyah took a delicate sip.

For a moment, her stony demeanor melted, her ears folding, smiling with pleasure.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? I try to limit myself to one good cup of tea a day– I don’t want to be greedy, you know?” Iessenia said. “Minardo always makes an exactingly beautiful cup.”

“It is pretty good.” Aaliyah said, as if downplaying her earlier reaction.

Behind them, there was a sudden racket from sliding metal.

Double locks on the door into the pod automatically undid themselves to allow access.

Another young woman, also rarely seen among the ship’s population, joined the tea party.

Dressed in the treasure box uniform with a pair of black pants, she was younger than Ulyana and Iessenia and maybe even younger than Aaliyah too. Characterized by short dark hair that was a little bit curly, and light brown skin and a serious face that made small movements in its expression. Her figure was slightly fuller than Iessenia’s but not by much. Her body had not yet incurred any agarthic damage common to her chosen vocation. She was in as good health and spirits, or better, than the typical crew member.

In her hands she had a tray of snacks from Minardo.

Biscuits with a mayonnaise spread flecked with finely chopped pickles; and simple doughnuts filled with an equally simple jelly and cream. There were not a lot of provisions on the ship for fancy cafe desserts, but something could always be baked, and with sweeteners, preserved fruit and powdered milk a lot could be done. The new arrival set the tray in the middle of the table and took seat beside Iessenia with a small smile.

“Thank you for fetching the snacks, Petty Officer.” Ulyana said.

“It’s no trouble at all,” replied the young woman in a quiet and serious voice.

She was once Iessenia’s intern and student. Now closest companion on the voyage.

Petty Officer and Assistant Core Engineer, Nina Srivastavi.

“I’m thankful to you for helping our Hero of Socialist Labor over here.” Ulyana teased.

Aaliyah’s ears twitched slightly as if she picked up something in her tone of voice.

“It’s truly nothing major.” Nina said.

“She has been utterly indispensable to me.” Iessenia added, laying a hand over Nina’s own.

Aaliyah’s eyes darted down to the hands. She sipped her tea as if in lieu of speaking.

Ulyana noticed Aaliyah’s growing concern and steered things back around to business.

“We had a concern we wanted to share with you, Iessenia.” Ulyana said.

“Not about my social life I hope?” Iessenia smiled.

Aaliyah averted her gaze, still sipping tea.

Ulyana laughed it off without a direct response. “It’s about the shield we installed.”

“Oh yes!” Iessenia said. She raised her hand and gestured behind her as if waving to the reactor. “Clever little piece of tech! I am glad we got it to work in the end. I was aware that the ship had channeled paneling installed during its construction– such things have been theoretically possible for a very long time, but a bit useless in a fleet context, so it was not seriously pursued except by the Ahwalia administration. Ahwalia’s people wanted to have a very small, very high tech and elite navy– Jayasankar promoted a doctrine closer to that of the Imbrian Empire. Lots of ships, lots of fleets, lots of shortcuts. In a contest between dozens of ships, a shield on one or two just doesn’t matter to the end result.”

“In our context, it could be incredibly useful.” Ulyana said. “If it could work.”

“Indeed! It sucked a lot of power at Kreuzung, even threatened to blow a few circuits!”

“Initially we believed it was because we were running it out of the water.” Aaliyah said, finally entering the conversation. “But looking back at the maintenance logs, it seems like even with proper cooling we might not be able to sustain the shield for long. What do you think?”

“As far as the reactor is concerned, we certainly have enough capacity for it.” Iessenia said.

“Our problem is the ancillary parts, I think. I recall there being issues there.” Nina said.

Iessennia raised her index finger to her lips. She took a moment to think about it.

“I think the issue is with the converters. Reactor behaviors have to be converted to usable energy. We need to look at the steam capture, heat transfer and electric transformers. That is the bottleneck– the reactor’s effective power is as high as the converters can actually introduce to the rest of the system. So the converters– and then perhaps higher-tolerance cabling from converters to boards. That should enhance energy transmission.”

“Thank you both.” Ulyana said. “It’s a start– I can float the idea by Euphrates and Tigris.”

“My pleasure.” Iessenia said. “Say, can you arrange a meeting between us?”

“You and Euphrates and Tigris?” Ulyana asked.

“Yes! We have only met on brief business during the refit– I’d love to sit down with them as a social occasion and pick their brains. There are not many people in the world who are aware of systems like agarthicite shields– these are high-end theoretical pseudophysics with very little practical use or development. I want to know what else they worked on. I want to talk about stuff that only comes out of dreaming big, like Project Red Star.”

“We’ll see what we can do.” Aaliyah said. Her tone was a little bit more brusque.

Iessenia spoke more fondly about the scientific developments of the Ahwalia regime than anyone else on the ship. Project Red Star was like a bad joke to the Jayasankar regime– Iessenia had been right there in the middle of it, however. Given heaps of resources to “dream big” despite practicality and giving her all to advance science. None of the rank and file on the ship knew enough to begrudge her participation with Ahwalia’s biggest policy failure– but Ulyana thought it might have been the reason Nagavanshi consigned her to this dangerous journey, rather than keeping her working in the labs in Solstice.

“They’re busy, but I’m sure we can arrange something.” Ulyana said.

Her voice was gentler as if trying to smooth out what Aaliyah had roughened.

Iessenia did not look like she minded at all. She continued smiling.

“Thank you, Captain. If you have any other questions, I am at your full dispensation.”

She took another delicate drink of her tea. Her hands slowly began shaking.

“Ma’am, I think it’s time for your Neurotin.” Nina said.

“Oh, true. Can you be a dear and fetch it please?” Iessenia asked, putting down her cup.

Nodding, Nina stood from the table.

She crossed a door on the side of the room, entering a small shielded living space in which she and Iessenia slept and cleaned up and stored their things. She searched for the medicine.

Back at the table, however, the tea party simply continued.

“Silly hands.” Iessenia said, ever smiling. “But that’s just part of doing what you love.”

Perhaps in reactor engineering, the mood was always a tea party.

For those fighting aboard ships in this fallen era, perhaps life had to be like a party.


“Homa? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Hovering over Homa’s eyes was a hand, with only the middle and index fingers raised. On each finger, the nails had pink and blue colors beautifully patterned. To acknowledge the owner of that hand, Homa slowly raised her own hand with two fingers up, the “peace sign.” Only, she found that the arm which she had raised, and the fingers which were at its end, were completely black and had a sheen to them. She stared at the fingers, flexing them in front of confused eyes. She had not known what to expect– they were just limbs.

Each digit was visibly articulated, as if exposed bone. She could see the jointed metal bones turn as she flexed. Her fingers were slightly thicker than she was used to, but only slightly. They had tips that seemed soft, like plastic padding, but– Homa could not feel that they were soft. There were some sensations that terminated at her shoulder. Though she was moving something, there was a missing bit of feedback from her new limbs.

“I– I can’t feel it–” Homa mumbled. Talking mainly to herself, as if alone in the room.

“I’m sorry Homa, for military prosthetics, we do not carry nerve stimulators. We had to make some concessions between comfort and utility. It is certainly possible to reinstall the prosthetics with stimulators in the future, once the– current troubles– are in the past and we have the benefit of safety and better supplies. But these prosthetics are very durable and responsive. You will be able to live independently again in no time, I assure you.”

Through a mind fog, Homa vaguely recognized the voice of Dr. Kappel.

She followed the fingers that were adorned with pretty nails, up the arm, and to the face, with its blue makeup and multi-shade blue hair. Dr. Kappel smiled at her, and wrapped her fingers around Homa’s prosthetic hand. Homa could not feel the touch. Right in front of her eyes, she could see contact between skin and the prosthetic, but it lacked the warmth she expected to feel. This made the gesture just a little bit frustrating to receive.

Nevertheless, Dr. Kappel smiled brightly at the result.

“Good. Looks like the basics are in order. All the kinetics parts are working, the plastic sleeves are flush. Don’t make dramatic movements yet. Between the anesthesia and getting used to the neural interface, your arm may not exhibit the fine control you are used to– yet. I can assure you with time, your standard of living will be exactly as it was.”

“Except for the beef pot– I’m afraid we can’t do anything about that for now.”

“Ms. Loukia– please.”

Homa weakly turned her head and saw Kalika sitting on a chair beside the operating table.

She smiled a little.

Kalika smiled back, and playfully waved the fingers of her prosthetic hand.

Rather than the medbay, the operation had taken place in Dr. Kappel’s office, on a table that was set between the door out of the office and the door into the medicine vault. The table was pulled out of the floor and folded out, and would be folded and pushed into the floor when Homa left it. Anesthesia had been administered in the medbay, so Homa was only then getting her first look at the new surroundings. Her head was swimming.

“If it helps, I do not use nerve stimulators.” Kalika said. “I’ve become accustomed to swinging an unfeeling arm. It allows you to push it to its limits. Makes a handy shield too.”

“It will be a little more troublesome to have a leg that you cannot completely feel under you.” Dr. Kappel said. “But only a little. Most of the focus of our physical therapy will be to get you walking, Homa. With confidence and a good balance. We can begin soon. For now, rest as long as you need. You’re almost at the finish line, so no sense in rushing.”

Homa nodded her head. Despite the anesthesia wearing off, she was extremely tired.

There was a small part of her that was a bit sad and a bit bitter.

She had hoped that the surgery would dramatically change how she had been feeling the past few days. That she would wake up on the operating table like nothing bad had happened to her. Feeling whole again– not just functionally but in spirit. There was a part of her that felt that an arm was not simply a tool for grasping, but that she had been afflicted with a condition in which she lacked possession of an arm. She lacked a completeness of self. With that arm many things had been torn from her. Her future, the people she knew, her home. That arm had a spirit– it was touch, it was warmth, it was a sense of tenderness that flowed from her heart, through her veins, into the flesh. That arm was the things it had done just as much as it was the things that it did. That arm was an interlocking part of the puzzle of Homa Baumann’s life. With the prosthetic this was simply just not so.

Perhaps she would feel differently once she was off the table and active again.

But she could not help but to feel disappointed with the result.

Functionally, she could have the things which an arm did returned to her.

However, she still felt anxious at the idea that she would never be whole in her parts again.

Those anxieties festered into self-criticism of her own ungratefulness to the communists.

That ungratefulness, however, finally led her to think–

I never asked to be rescued. I could have been left for dead.

What do I have to be grateful for?

It was so presumptuous of them– my life should have just been over.

I have nothing– no home– no reason to live–

–not even all of my own body.

How am I supposed to live like this? How do any of you live with all of this?!

In the throes of a growing distress, she started to fall asleep once again.

Before she could find the energy to shout or be frustrated she dozed off completely.

Her head, fogged by bewilderment and confusion and pain, emptied completely.

Flexing in her sleep the fingers of the metal thing that had taken the place of her.


“Illya, I’m coming in.”

Shalikova stood in front of the door to Illya’s room for a moment, enough that she should have been acknowledged. When she heard nothing and realized the door was completely unlocked she delivered her intention and walked right through the door. Inside, Illya was surprisingly missing. There was only Valeriya, in a corner of the room, standing near a pull-out desk surface on the far wall. If Valeriya was there, Illya must have been fine.

“Oh, sorry for barging in, Valeriya. I just wanted to see whether you two were okay.”

Valeriya nodded her head silently.

There were a few curious details about the scene that drew Shalikova’s attention. Valeriya was dressed in an atypical fashion– she had a pair of underwear shorts and a flimsy little tanktop but her thin and fair figure was mostly covered up by what looked like a synthestitched plastic apron. On the apron there was a design of a teddy bear with a chef’s hat. It reminded Shalikova of one of her rejected designs for Comrade Fuzzy. Valeriya’s long, blond hair was tied up into a ponytail, and she had thick plastic gloves.

Hanging from her neck, and sitting atop her breasts, was her tactical mask.

She did not look in a hurry to wear it, even though Shalikova had walked in on her.

On the desk in front of her, a small metal frame had been set up. A recyclable canister of alcohol fuel had been set beneath the frame. To Shalikova’s surprise this canister produced a clean flame that was heating up a small metal cup-pot with something bubbling in it.

Shalikova dimly recalled these items.

Her Diver had a survival kit with food and a petroleum-derived ethylene fuel burner just like this. It was mainly a placebo– Shalikova could not imagine a scenario in which she would need to heat up food to survive inside her diver, where she was not already doomed.

“What are you up to? Is that a last resort ration?” Shalikova asked.

Valeriya nodded her head.

“You are cooking a last resort ration?” Shalikova asked again.

“I am a wife now.” Valeriya mumbled. “So I am cooking.”

Shalikova stared. “Not sure I understand. You’re a wife now?”

Valeriya nodded her head.

It began to dawn on Shalikova what that must have meant.

“Wait. You’re serious? Did Illya– did she really–?”

Valeriya nodded her head again.

Shalikova whistled with surprise and a bit of sudden cheer.

“Wow. I thought you would just shack up forever. Congratulations!”

Valeriya smiled.

A small smile, but for her, it was brighter than the sun.

Even a reserved girl like Shalikova could not help but feel a swell of joy for Valeriya.

For all the time that she had known her, Valeriya had been Illya’s shadow. As teenagers they were always together, and even when Zasha was around, it was clear who Valeriya had a crush on. They went to school together; they went into the Academy together; they went to war together. Even in the special forces, as far as Shalikova knew, they were inseparable. And now, on the Brigand’s historic mission, Valeriya continued to follow Illya without pause. Shalikova knew that Illya reciprocated Valeriya’s feelings romantically, but she also had a low estimation of Illya’s ability to commit– she figured Illya would have sex with Valeriya all her life without even saying the word ‘girlfriend’ to her much less ‘wife.’

In Shalikova’s mind, Valeriya deserved this marriage proposal.

“It’s vinaigrette with beans.” Valeriya said suddenly.

She pointed at the cup-pot, beginning to come to a boil over the alcohol-burning element. Normally in the Union ‘vinaigrette’ referred to a salad of chopped boiled root vegetables pressed together and dressed with vinegar and fat. Usually beets, carrots, potato, onion, and to add protein, red or white beans. Normally all the vegetables used would be pickled, or canned in salted water. Valeriya was cooking from a last resort block, so all the items were vacuum-pressed and dehydrated. She had brought water to a boil, to create essentially a mushy last resort vegetable stew. Judging by the flecks of fat in the water and the smell of vinegar, the vegetables were dressed before dehydration and compression.

Valeriya looked a little proud of herself as she stared at the bubbling little pot.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your meal.” Shalikova said. “Will there be a ceremony?”

“Not now.” Valeriya whispered. “We’re being punished.”

“Oh! Right– I had wanted to ask what happened at the disciplinary hearing.”

Valeriya pointed at the cup. As if to silently say that was the punishment.

“I see. Well– I don’t know whether to say ‘you got off light’ or to wish you luck enduring the torture.” Shalikova said, crossing her arms. “I guess it can’t be that bad when cooked.”

Using a steel spork, Valeriya mixed the stew up as it cooked.

Shalikova realized then that throughout all this talk, Valeriya had never raised her mask.

“You can pull your mask up if you want to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I want to talk to you.” Valeriya said. Her voice was still quite whispery.

“I see– just don’t push yourself just to be nice to me.”

Valeriya quietly nodded her head again.

Quickly stirring the little stew, breaking up pieces. She looked dedicated to the work.

“Sonya– how do you feel about Illya? Do you still admire her?” Valeriya asked.

Without meeting eyes, she asked the question, still stirring the stew.

And what a question it was– it caught Shalikova by surprise.

What kind of answer did she have to that? What DID she feel about Illya?

Shalikova stuck her hands in her pants pockets.

“That’s– I mean, I’m not a kid anymore, you know? So it’s kinda complicated now.” She took a moment to consider the question. For Valeriya, she tried to be honest. Sometimes Shalikova was quick to be difficult to Illya, but she tried to be kinder to Valeriya. “I don’t idolize her or anything– but like, I got on hormones because she did. I wanted to be a cool soldier like her and Zasha. Illya always encouraged me, even against Zasha’s wishes. So like– Illya is family to me. I care about whether she’s okay or not. I ask her for advice. But we’re both soldiers now and I am an officer too. I can’t ‘look up to her’ anymore like a kid does.”

“She would want you to respect her more than admire her.” Valeriya said suddenly.

Still not looking her way, just messing with her stew.

This was perhaps the most words Valeriya and Shalikova had exchanged in years.

“I guess that’s what I do. I am trying to take her seriously when she says I need to stick up for myself and make my own arguments. That’s something I’m trying to do with her too.”

“That’s good. Thank you for answering.”

“Alright?”

“I love Illya– more than anything in the world. And she cares about you.”

“So in the transitive property of doing the exact same stuff as Illya, you care about me too.”

“Yes.”

“C’mon– don’t just say ‘yes’ to that– I was teasing you–”

Shalikova felt instantly ashamed at her own mean-spirited humor.

Valeriya simply smiled and worked on the stew.

Behind them the door opened once more.

Illya walked in through the door, absentminded.

She had begun partially unzipping her security uniform bodysuit. She must have been working. She zipped it back up when she noticed Shalikova was in the room. Valeriya removed the cup-shaped pot from the spent alcohol burner and laid it down on a separate pull-out desk surface as if to set the table for dinner. She then waved at Illya.

“Sonya, what a pleasant surprise. Came to see whether I was still alive?” Illya asked.

She cracked a grin that Shalikova did not return.

“Uh huh. Looks like you’re good though, so I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Not staying for lunch?” Illya’s continuing sarcasm. Shalikova did not play along.

“Maryam is waiting for me.” Shalikova said. “But– Illya, you better treat her right.”

Illya stared at Shalikova. “Hey, where do you get off on telling me that?”

She was not mad– she looked more amused by the rebuke than anything.

No one knew better than Illya herself all that had happened with her and Valeriya.

“Sonya.” Valeriya mumbled, shaking her head gently.

“Nah, it’s okay. She cares about you.” Illya said. “Trust me, we’ll be fine.”

Shalikova sighed but she had essentially said what she had come in to say.

“Maybe I’ll have a bite, just out of curiosity.” She said.

From the floor, Valeriya pulled up a pair of metal seats around the pull-out desk. There was nowhere for Shalikova to sit, but she did not intend to stay long. Illya sat across from Valeriya, each with their own metal spork, and the reheated and boiled vinaigrette mush between them. Valeriya took a sporkful of the stuff, which was tinged red from the beets, and blew on it– then she gestured for Shalikova to taste it from that spork.

In order to satisfy her curiosity, Shalikova leaned in.

“It’s just like when you were a little beet yourself.” Illya said.

Shalikova felt immediately more embarrassed about it, but still ate from Valeriya’s spork.

She did not know what she expected from it. It was a bit– challenging.

There was some flavor. A bit of tang from the vinegar, some savory notes from MSG.

Owing to all the root vegetables, it was very starchy, and a little bit sweet.

However, the foremost characteristic of the meal was its lack of texture. It was impossible to discern an individual bit of carrot or beet despite the sizeable bite that Valeriya had gathered. All of its elements had become homogeneous mush. Even baby food was more of an eating experience. It was not so bad as to make her spit it out, but anyone with even the slightest sensitivity to the mouthfeel of their food might have felt disgusted by it.

With an untroubled expression on her face, Illya began to eat.

Valeriya retracted her spork and waited with a smile as if for Shalikova’s response.

What did she want her to say? She cooked a last resort ration, so her cooking was gross.

Still– it was impossible to be mean to Valeriya. Even about this culinary misfortune.

“Um. It was lovely. Thank you. You’ll– you’ll make a fine wife, ‘Riya.” Shalikova said.

Valeriya nodded quietly, looking pleased with herself. Just like Illya, she began to eat.

Neither of them looked troubled by the meal. They ate almost mindlessly.

For a moment Shalikova just stared at them. What a husband and wife they would make.

In the back of her mind she wondered whether Maryam knew how to cook anything.


“Aww, I hate to see those bright little cheeks of yours frowning. What’s on your mind?”

“Ugh. I’m feeling worried. There’s nothing I can do– Marina really stepped in it this time.”

“Oh dear. I would characterize what she did as much more than just step in it.”

“Agh, sorry– I don’t mean to reduce what she did, she really sucks– I’m just– blegh.”

“My, oh my. A lot of undignified noises coming out of the princess today~”

“I’m not a princess! Proletarians have the freedom to make noises.”

“Anyway, is it even your problem whatever happens to Marina? You’re your own person.”

“I mean– I don’t want her to be hurt. She was my mom’s– uhh– bestie.”

“You don’t say?”

On the Brigand’s cafeteria, a young woman laid over a table, making faces.

She was seated close to the front serving counter, with her head and arms on top of the table. Sometimes her arms would hang, while at others she would hide her head in them. She was easily identifiable to the crew by now: long purple hair, unblemished and heavenly-soft looking skin, a girlish and simple prettiness to her face. Were it not for the partial elfin ears which she had — and the perhaps exotic color of her hair, which was natural — it would have been easy to call her the perfect picture of the Imbrian woman.

Teasing that young elf woman was the ship’s cook, Logia Minardo.

Seated on the opposite side of the same table, taking a break. She pulled off her cap and set it down on the table, loosening up her sweat-slick, wavy black hair. Minardo was a formidable lady, with a big chest and wide hips and thick legs, lean muscled arms and shoulders. Atop that shapely figure was a soft face with a bright smile, eyes like jewels, red lips and gentle eyeshadow. Elena had begun to think, maybe she appraised older women differently from younger women. Maybe, just maybe, she had something of a thing for them– but even besides that, Minardo could only have been seen as staggeringly beautiful.

She must have been seen as such by anyone else too.

Thinking about that, Elena averted her gaze.

“Should I not be at this table? I can let you sulk if that’s what you want.” Minardo said.

Gentle, with just a bit of her ordinary teasing tone of voice.

“No, it’s fine. I should stop. There’s nothing I can do.” Elena mumbled. “Even if I could do anything I think Marina deserves to be punished. She’s been so– awful.”

They were talking around it, but Marina’s participation in the Core Separation Crisis was a deed of such disgusting callousness toward innocent lives that it was hard to quantify it. The Captain and Commissar had spoken briefly with Elena about it and seemed more concerned with the breaches of trust, or at least that was what they told her– but maybe that was just processing the horror that lay in the moral dimension of the transgression. Marina nearly abetted the deaths of potentially thousands. Millions? Elena hardly knew the scale.

In her own mind, it was such a crime she could only sulk about it.

She could not possibly process the actual scale of what had happened.

It was simply too big, and she, too small in its shadow.

“Cheer up, she’s just locked up. She’ll be out again.” Minardo said. “You know– I put in a word with the Captain, alongside Dr. Kappel, that I hope Marina will not be mistreated beyond what is necessary to instill discipline. She is a– troubled person– and I sympathize.”

Elena looked up at Minardo’s hesitating tone voice. She narrowed her eyes a bit.

“You’re friends with Marina too? I’ve never seen you together.” She said.

It sounded more accusatory than she wanted it to– but she did not take back the words.

Minardo looked more amused by this response than anything before.

She smiled and laughed and laid her head on her hands while staring down at Elena.

“You’re not her shadow! She can move when you aren’t around.” She said.

Knowing the kind of woman Marina was Elena could imagine she made passes at Minardo.

Something about that annoyed her but she did not interrogate this feeling any further.

Elena remained collapsed against the table and hardly moved except to turn her head away.

“Well– whatever then. I’ll stop worrying.” Elena said.

“Why are you so pouty all of a sudden?” Minardo asked, poking Elena’s cheek.

“Oh, looks like someone is a bit jealous?”

From seemingly out of nowhere, a second attractive older woman swooped in.

Elena let out a groan as Khadija Al-Shajara sat on her side of the table.

“Can you two go easy on me?” Elena moaned. She was practically surrounded.

“I just showed up, and already my character is under question?!” Khadija said.

Her wine-colored lips turned in a little grin; winking a heavily wine-purple shadowed eye.

“She knows what you are.” Minardo said. “Don’t worry Elena, I’ll protect you.”

“Uggghhhh.” Elena put her arms around her head.

Khadija made a cutesy shrug.

Those two played together far, far too well, Elena thought.

“I’m just here to have some lunch. I don’t know what anyone is talking about.”

“Ah, but where’s your new lady friend, Khadija?” Minardo teased.

Khadija averted her gaze with a suddenly sour expression.

“We’re not friends. She’s helping move crates around for the inventory and shuttling.”

Minardo laughed. “She is such a big lady. Glad to see she’s helping out around here.”

“Checking her out?” Khadija accused.

“What? No. But there’s no way to look at her without thinking she is big.”

“Well. You ought to help too. Those guns of yours could use some action again.”

Khadija reached over Elena to poke Minardo’s bicep.

“I do plenty.” Minardo replied. Like Khadija was finally getting under her skin.

“You both are doing plenty right now.” Elena mumbled childishly.

“Elena, did you know? Minardo was an absolute combat monster once upon a time.”

Khadija looked pleased with herself at how annoyed Minardo was getting with her.

“What was it they called you?” She acted dumb for a moment, letting the question hang.

“That was a long time ago.” Minardo grumbled, as if to signal Khadija to drop it.

“You’re not proud of it? Elena, our esteemed cook once earned the title of ‘The Human Stronghold’. Can I tell the story?” Khadija stared at Minardo with her tail swishing merrily behind her. Elena slowly sat up and looked at the two of them with a dull expression. Minardo sighed and shrugged and waved as if to say ‘fuck it, just go’. Khadija took exactly that meaning from it. “Elena, Minardo was part of a landing party in the revolution– all by herself, she held a narrow passage into the Sevastopol port structure, keeping a way open for close to an hour. She killed 26 imperials, turning back their assaults and protecting our beachhead in the port. Then she joined the arriving assault sappers and charged deeper into Sevastopol, and killed 26 more imperials in close quarters.” Khadija punctuated the numbers in her speech each time. “Those station battles were absolutely brutal. It was necessary for us to get foot-holds inside stations to evict the current, disagreeable occupants. And the defender always has the advantage inside of a station’s confines.”

Elena blinked, staring at Minardo for a moment before catching herself.

In turn, Minardo grunted and sighed and looked a bit helpless for just a moment.

“Those Imperials were pansies. It wasn’t much more to say you killed 26 or 52 than to kill two or four, when it came to close quarters battle.” She finally said, grudgingly acknowledging Khadija and her story. “By the time of the revolution I had already been doing like ten years of hard labor. The slave colonies were like a vacation for imperial nepo babies. I was slaughtering stupid kids, not even the guys who clapped the chains.”

“Well, they all deserved to die, and I’m glad they’re burning in hell.”

“Khadija.”

“But yes, it’s that brutal energy now kneading bread and stirring soup.” Khadija said.

“From an old friend to another, please drop it already, kitty-cat.” Minardo said.

“Of course, I’ll win the round graciously.” Khadija replied, winking and pawing.

Elena looked between the two of them with an appraising expression.

She was impressed by Minardo’s strength–

but seeing that it bothered her, she buried her reaction.

She did not want to hurt her feelings.

“Are you actually friends or do you hate each other? I can’t tell.” Elena mumbled.

Minardo and Khadija both looked at her pouting and snickered to themselves.

“Khadija is like this with almost anyone who gives her an opportunity. It’s fine.”

“Minardo needs my labor in the kitchen far too much to ever be rid of me.”

Elena stared at them with the same narrow-eyed look she once gave Minardo.

Minardo reached out and pinched Elena’s cheek suddenly.

“Are you jealous?” Minardo said. “Elena, we’re not romantic at all. You’re so silly!”

“I’m not jealous. I do not care!” Elena whined, pulling Minardo’s hand off.

“Minardo is not my type. You, on the other hand, have a chance, little Elena.”

Khadija winked again, leaning closer, chest on the table.

Elena averted her gaze again.

“Why do I keep trying to come here to relax, when you two don’t let me live in peace.”

“It’s because the practiced teasing of a mature woman wipes away all troubles.”

Elena suddenly broke out into a laugh. She could not stifle it that time.

Khadija was completely right– Elena felt much less troubled than when she first sat down.

Though she would not admit as such with the two of them waiting for a reaction.

She appreciated what they were both trying to do and felt– cared for.

There were other troubles she had in mind that she just could not tell Khadija and Minardo about. Things they would not understand. But coming here and getting fussed over did instill the feeling that these two women cared about her well-being in their own way. They wanted to see her smile and laugh, they wanted her to feel special and receive some attention. Attention that she took for granted when it was easy to come by– Bethany would not have approved of her being so needy and bratty, but it was nice to have that freedom.

“So– what’s for lunch today?” Elena asked. She raised herself back to a proper sit.

“Oh, good idea! You’ll love this, I’m certain. We’ve got gazpacho, eggplant fries, and a little sandwich with pulled soy, brown sauce and tomato pickle.” Minardo said proudly.

“Sounds delicious.” Elena said. She smiled at her companions as brightly as she once did.

For just a little bit she would allow herself to luxuriate in Minardo and Khadija’s attention.

Maybe having someone to fuss over was something those two appreciated as well.


“Braya.”

“Hmm? What’s up?”

“Do you think I should be nervous about my check-up with Ms. Maharapratham?”

“No.”

“What do you know about her? Can you tell me more?”

Braya Zachikova briefly put down her computer and looked over her shoulder.

Their shared accommodation was completely dark except for the light from the portable computer, and a bit of bioluminescence produced by strands interspersed in her partner’s blue hair. Behind her, Arabella smiled, her hands hovering just around Zachikova’s waist, squeezing and loosening in turns. They were sitting together on one bed, as they often did since meeting, Arabella’s back to the wall and Zachikova’s back to her.

Zachikova leaned back against Arabella, her head resting on Arabella’s breasts.

Arabella raised one of her hands and toyed with the end of Zachikova’s spiral ponytail.

“Back when you were a Leviathan, in order to keep you safe, I had to partner up with Karuniya Maharapratham and make you a subject of study.” Zachikova said. It was almost surreal to think back to that time, just weeks ago, when she knew nothing. “During the work we did tracking you and studying video of you– I thought that Maharapratham seemed very compassionate towards you. She cares about animals. I’ve seen how other sickos in the Union think about Leviathans, like it’s free target practice until they fuck up and get eaten. She really cared, and she wanted to prevent unneeded harm. You’ll be fine.”

“I see, so you entrust me to her. I feel relieved then.” Arabella said, smiling.

“You make it sound way too dramatic. She’s just going to take your blood or whatever.”

“Braya, do you think any differently about me now? After all that’s happened?”

“Yeah. You’ve ruined me for life and I can’t get away from you.”

“Hmm? I’m sorry– I’m just nervous is all.”

“I’m joking.” Zachikova sighed.

She tried to think of how to word what she wanted to say.

Even as she spoke, it felt like it did not convey the fullness of what she felt about Arabella. She still tried with every new word and did not relent even as she let her passions slip. “I don’t think any differently about you. If anything I feel closer to you than ever. I’m also someone whose head got fucked with– not as maliciously as with you, but I’m still not normal. Like– I’m just a nobody. Before the surgeries, and going into the Academy and then the spec ops, I was just some orphan of slave parents who died. I was nothing. When I think back, I’m still kinda nothing– I didn’t have friends, I didn’t fuck around with other girls in my school or win a video game championship or whatever. I can remember all the nothing I did but when you think about it, I effectively have no fucking memories anyway.”

“I see. In that sense– I guess our situations are more similar than I realized.”

“Memories don’t make you Arabella to me. You’re Arabella right now.”

Zachikova reached down and intertwined her fingers with Arabella’s own.

Arabella started to wiggle happily behind her back.

“Braya! Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” She said.

“It’s fine. I know you’re scared and that a lot of horrific shit has happened to you. But I’ll help you– and there’s good people on this ship too. I think it’s insane how much you’re taking on your shoulders. It’s not your responsibility, to make up for your sister, or the fucks who created you, or anyone else– but I’m still here for you anyway. Whatever you want to do, I support it. God knows it’s not like I have my own ambitions anyway.”

“We’ll find you an ambition while we search for my memories too.”

Arabella leaned down on Zachikova’s shoulder, rubbing her cheeks against it.

She was so warm.

A few weeks ago Zachikova might have pushed back.

Now, she was still a little annoyed– but she wanted to feel Arabella through her skin.

Until she felt a bit of a sting–

“Hey.”

Arabella nibbled on her childishly.

“If you need blood, just say it. Don’t just bite me out of nowhere.”

“Oh, I’m fine for blood. I ate a lot of human meat back there–”

“Don’t remind me–”

“–I’m biting you out of love Braya.” Arabella’s voice turned suddenly coquettish.

“That can wait until after hours. I’m working right now.”

Zachikova picked her computer up and stared down at the screen while Arabella’s head remained firmly on her shoulder. She felt another little nip from her lover, a deep nuzzle, and even the warm slickness of her tongue sliding over Zachikova’s neck, her fingers prodding her belly. She did not allow it to distract her. She was setting up a digital co-working space for the Nationale Volksarmee and Brigand to communicate together– essentially a glorified self-hosted BBS. It was a simple program. Much of the code was “in-strata” from similar programs and the predictor computer generated a decent user interface for it after a few proddings for it to do so. But she had to put it all together in a day or two, while her leg still hurt, and then also make sure it was not horrifically insecure or buggy.

On the Brigand, anyone who wanted to talk to someone could go and find them and talk to them in person. And in a fleet context, the only thing that mattered was following orders and the battle plan. Inventory comparisons only mattered to the logistics officers in the fleet command. One ship was not shuttling junk to another ship unannounced. Two ships did not randomly send engineers to each other to share ferristitcher blueprints or coordinate dangerous underway repairs. Fleet coordination was just totally different.

But the Volksarmee and Brigand were not two Union ships in a Union fleet with a grand battleplan drafted by a dozen Rear Admirals and a Fleet HQ with responsibility for all logistics. There was no huge staff to plan things. They had to exchange a lot of information between two ships on almost impromptu basis. Their work was like an ongoing conversation between new friends, and it needed a place to happen. Engineers did not have standard protocols for cooperating with each other, and there could be miscommunications. When the Captain approached Zachikova for a solution, she felt that a BBS was a more permanent and simple avenue than staging hundreds of video calls between the ships.

Such a piece of software was not in demand in the fleets, and was only used by civilians.

Sailors could use it to goof off; it could also engender bad information management habits.

Nevertheless for the specific use case of the Volksarmee and Brigand, it made sense to her.

It would likely be okay since the first version was deliberately extremely boring.

Nobody would be sharing nude pictures or lewd audio logs ZaChat.

It could not do so.

Or so she hoped. Computer programming in Zachikova’s era was a bit…odd.

Still, ZaChat was a predictable and simple thing.

Eventually she would upgrade it– but by then there would be better access controls too.

Her work was nearly complete.

She had released the beta version of ZaChat to a control group of officers and engineers. She monitored usage closely. Making sure every message was encrypted in transit between the ships, that chat logs were being retained on both the Brigand and the Rostock, and that data and access credentials were not coming or going anywhere they should not. So far everything seemed to go smoothly, for a thing Zachikova simply threw together.

“What are you working on?” Arabella asked, staring over Zachikova’s shoulder.

“It’s a program for people to message each other across ships.” Zachikova said.

“Can’t they reach each other and talk on the computer screens?” Arabella said.

“We want to keep Semyonova from going insane with hundreds of inter-ship calls.”

“Oh, true. You’re so considerate Braya. What are they saying on the program now?”

Zachikova looked at the board.

So far, the top posters were Erika Kairos and Murati Nakara, by orders of magnitude.

Largely talking to each other. Zachikova sighed audibly.

Utterly hopeless dorks talking about history and music in their own little thread.

In a few other threads on ZaChat, Katarran engineers from the Rostock were thankfully having productive discussion with Brigand crew like Chief Galina Lebedova and her nibling Valya Lebedova. They were hashing out work and equipment transfer schedules that worked for both crews as well as discussing events candidly in open chat threads. The atmosphere seemed jovial and there was actual verifiable progress being made.

Judging by that alone, Zachikova felt she could declare ZaChat a success.

Soon she could talk to the Captain about opening it up to more users.

Hopefully the sailors would not be too rambunctious–

It dawned upon Zachikova at that point she may have to moderate ZaChat–

She shut her computer off after a wave of stress.

“Arabella.” Zachikova said, sighing. “I’m taking a break. Bite as much as you want.”

Behind her there was a contented little noise.

Arabella drew her closer, pressing their bodies tight.

Once Zachikova felt the teeth start to dig,

and Arabella’s hands snaking down her belly, under her pants, between her legs,

she felt far more relaxed– until the first tight, warm contraction shook her skin.


“Ahh! That’s the end of the day for me– well. Until the fucking night shift anyway.”

“Indeed, gamer– do not so easily forfeit the call that beckon us to the dance of shadows.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.”

It was late in the afternoon and the weapons officers on the Brigand’s bridge were taking their leave for the “day.” They would be back in six hours to attend the “night shift” that was their main assignment during noncombat duty. Until then they had unstructured time to do with as they pleased. Alexandra Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa were meant to use some of this time to catch up on sleep so they could be ready when needed.

However, Alexandra, at least had other plans for today.

She kept them to herself– for now.

“So I got to the part where Ythyria starts looking at the prince– I thought this story was supposed to be lesbian? Like what’s going on there.” Alex asked Fernanda.

“Gamer, oh Gamer– how easily you lose faith upon any confrontation with intricacy! As with any endeavor, tribulation and torment enrich the quintessence of experience!”

Fernanda laughed openly while Alex stared at her as they walked down the halls.

Alexandra Geninov, self-described “sexy biracial chick,” with her light brown skin and messy brown hair tied back in a messy bun; Fernanda Santapena De La Rosa, with her fairer skin and straight blond hair with purple streaks. Blue and brown mismatched eyes alongside bright pink-red irises, the work of lenses; tall and short;  pants uniform and skirt uniform. Their animated chatter filled the halls, Alex’s deeper voice and Fernanda’s nasally tone.

Despite their contrasts, they seemed to always arrive anywhere as a set of two.

Arriving at their shared room, they dropped onto their individual beds and sighed audibly.

“Hey, Fernanda. Before nodding off, can I show you something?” Alex said.

“Is it about video games?” Fernanda said, briefly dropping her pretentious diction.

“Yes. But– before you stop me. It’s a kind of video game you would like.”

“I’ve told you already, that I have played games before– it’s not like I hate them.”

Two sentences without any thee’s or thou’s? A rare undressed Fernanda indeed.

“Okay, then you won’t object will you? For me? Just this once.” Alex said.

“I’m well aware it won’t be ‘just this once’– but sure. I have nothing to do.”

Fernanda sat up in bed. Smiling and laughing, Alex crouched next to her own bed.

From the set of drawers under the frame, Alex pulled out something wrapped in plastic.

She ripped apart the taped-up plastic wrap and unveiled a little beige plastic box.

“What? How did you get a Dendy?” Fernanda asked, staring incredulously at it.

Alex grinned, rubbing a finger over the slightly rough textured plastic on the case.

For now she would not comment on Fernanda being able to spot a Dendy instantly.

“A Dendy II, actually. One of our new allies uncovered this for me.” Alex said.

One of the Volksarmee officers, Chloe Kouri, loved video games and she apparently had something of a knack for infiltrating even crowded Imbrian places and going mostly unnoticed. After discovering this one morning in the Brigand’s cafeteria, Alex got the scheme in mind to see if Chloe could return to the street market and search for a video game console. Through sheer luck the console in question happened to be a Dendy II–

even Chloe did not realize it as she picked it up and brought it back.

Alex did not tell this story out loud– not wanting to try Fernanda’s patience.

It was enough to say that her scheming had paid off, in the familiar beige box in her hands.

Fernanda blinked. “So there was a Dendy in Kreuzung? And you bought it?”

“I also got a few classic Union storytelling games that run on it.” Alex said.

“I am a bit speechless. What the hell was a Dendy doing in Kreuzung?”

“I’m sure there are Imbrian enthusiasts curious about Union gaming.”

“But how would they get access to it? The Union does not have trade with Imbria.”

“Smuggling or something? Who cares– let’s play!”

Alex pulled out a serial cable that was rolled up in a little shelf in the back of the Dendy and found a serial port on the wall to plug it into. She flicked the switch, and in moments, the wall monitor created a window near the pull-out desk in the back of the room. Alex stuck one of the game cards into a slot on the side of the box and pressed a button to lock it. From the front of the Dendy, Alex pulled out two little controllers, with a cross-shaped directional pad and three buttons. She handed one to Fernanda and kept the first one herself.

At first the screen appeared completely black, and then appeared a block-font DENDY logo.

Then, a message from the Union Commissariat of Entertainment stressing that eyes strain, repetitive strain on the hands, headaches, and addiction might result from playing video games too much. The player had to tab through many screens of guidance and informational health material required by the Commissariat of Entertainment specifically for video games. Once this was done, another Commissariat of Entertainment screen urged the player to set an amount of session time, after which the Dendy would automatically save the game progress to battery memory and shut down. Alex set the session time for four hours, which was as long as the Commissariat would allow a single session to stretch.

“We are not playing this for four hours.” Fernanda warned.

“I knooooow.” Alex said. “Relax.”

Fernanda stared at her, sighed and picked up her controller.

They sat on the pull-out chairs near the pull-out desk and watched the screen.

Watching the little crab dig down and down as the game was prepared.

It was the kind of screen that, to a citizen of the sea, screamed– video games!

Perhaps incongruous– perhaps deeply mysterious.

Displayed on the screen, was a true miracle of underwater entertainment, recently arisen.

Each pixel in itself represented the combined efforts of hundreds of years of computing.

Of course, Alex knew all about how video gaming came about.

In order to truly understand “Dendy”, as Alex did–

one had to first understand the “Strata Crab” seen digging so industriously on screen.

Overwhelmingly, small devices in the Imbrium civilizations were thin clients, deferring some or even all of their computing to a vastly powerful supercomputer in their range, either part of a station mainframe or a ship supercomputer. These larger computers were referred to as “Predictive Computers.” True to their name, their primary design function was to assist in underwater navigation, identification and communication through analyzing data and “predicting” environments, trajectories and other partially known conditions with a degree of accuracy. Predictive computers were designed to take many sources of information, acoustic, visual, thermal, electric, and allow ships and stations to see and speak underwater– two things that were far more troubled by the deep than on the surface.

Predictive Computers performed these functions as part of their advanced and highly stable Base Code. This Base Code ran flawlessly in less than seconds and performed incredible computational feats in its specialized functions. Beyond prediction, the Base Code was imbued with a few other useful features. It could store information in databases, accept human language requests for data or analysis, decode acoustic text messages, and compare any number of like things with each other– byproducts of its function to guide humans on their underwater odyssey. However, there was one problem that the Imbrium civilization and, presumably, every other underwater post-surface society stumbled into. They did not understand how the Base Code worked. It was something of a black box.

Presumably, the Base Code had been worked out as a highly advanced form of machine learning, at some point. Predictors were often updated with new data for ordnance and vessels so they could properly identify them. But what the computer did behind the scenes with the data was a mystery– this design remained largely inscrutable to Imbrians.

It was impossible for a human to read the Base Code because there was far too much of it and none of it was legible in Low Imbrian or even High Imbrian– it was inherited from the surface world and went into widespread reproduction after the Age of Strife with the founding of the Nocht Dynasty. Even the scientists and engineers that had survived the Age of Strife had no idea how to actually read Base Code– seemingly, everyone just accepted the Base Code as an immutable part of computing that was inherited from the past.

Much like Agarthicite reactors, the form of the thing could be replicated, but it was not fully understood. Rather it was painstakingly observed to deduce workable interactions.

Base Code was simply copied onto new computers from old ones, making new predictive computers that all had the same functions. Base Code limitations and uses became readily apparent upon observation. It was possible, at times, to get a predictive computer to spit out a breakdown of a base code function through direct querying, but the predictive computer’s own understanding of base code functions was found to be utterly false.

Direct querying became a technical process of its own. Predictive Computers could be asked in various ways to attempt to do things outside of their known stated functions. Results would vary widely. Predictive Computers processed human language querying in bizarre ways, only answering consistently to known functions of the Base Code. A bad query would simply return false information or pretend to be doing something while doing absolutely nothing. This led to the widespread belief in the unreliability and inaccuracy of predictive computing. However, one miraculous function that was discovered was the ability to run subordinate instructions. This allowed the “Base Code” to be expanded through grueling trial and error with the foundations of civilian computing, “Strata Code.” Strata Code was, as its name suggested, piled atop Base Code in a variety of troubled ways.

When Braya Zachikova coded, or Alex Geninov played video games, or Homa Baumann read books on a portable computer, they were interacting primarily with features of Strata Code– these were the Programs most legible and understood to them, built on top of “Strata Functions” that were discovered to work through the expansion function of Base Code. Code that was not itself Base Code but was understood by the Predictor Computer. Knowledge of working Strata had been uncovered throughout the run of the A.D. years.

Therefore one arrived at the venerable “Strata Crab.”

There was a popular illustration of how computers worked in the Imbrium, known as the “Strata Crab.” The Crab was a program that wanted to do something, and its intended functionality was a tasty worm hiding somewhere beneath the sand. However many layers of sand, and the trajectory of the crab, illustrated the layered execution of Strata Code. There were several layers of cruft the Crab had to dig through to find its meal. A Program hit all of the working strata code in the right succession– dug through the layers correctly– to ultimately execute correctly. Of course, this was a simplification that also obscured the fact that a program, or crab, could also itself dump more sand on top– new Strata Code.

Or that most modern Strata Code was executed by flavors of “Silt Code” written in different, simpler programming languages developed over time that varied quite widely.

And so, on screens everywhere, the crab could be seen to dig, loading complex programs.

For those still following along with the history, the worm was in sight– video games.

One of the things Base Code could do was generate graphics. One of the things it did poorly was generate new graphics on command, rather than synthesizing environment graphics from natural sources. Strata Code was eventually invented to provide a graphical display layer for more things than just dataset text or predictive imaging graphics from sonar or LADAR data. However, this code ran devastatingly poorly at first. In addition it was difficult to eke out more performance from supercomputer hardware without impacting its ability to perform Base Code. Owing to a variety of economic, political and social reasons, the Imbrium did not put any of its engineering prowess behind the development of accessible computing or code execution for a very long time. But ultimately, enterprising generations of Imbrium engineers embarked on the creation of ancillary hardware, such as the various thin clients, which were in some ways more sophisticated units than the supercomputers– because they assisted in the running of feature-rich Strata Code.

Thus, the stage of history led inexorably to the video game console.

An ancillary piece of hardware specialized in innovative video game code and associated strata functions, to a degree previously thought impossible. Creating new, rich content experiences for civilians. Not simulations of military hardware, nor the realistic machine graphics used by films, but a brand new form of entertainment all its own. Beautiful, state of the art sprite characters easily generated by small devices, which could be moved on command by the players using various inputs. This allowed the setting of challenges for the player to overcome, the creation of stories for the player to experience and highly stylized characters some might have even considered more beautiful than life.

And it all began, with the hopelessly inscrutable Base Code, and the humble Strata Crab.

As for the Dendy itself– it was a somewhat sloppily reverse-engineered form of an Imbrian video game device that Alex Geninov played as a teenager in the Union during the Ahwalia years, where civilian entertainment products had a boom. That it ended up back in the Imbrium ocean where Imbrian video game enthusiasts became fascinated with this strange foreign device and its games, perhaps said something profound about society.

Or perhaps about Katarran smuggling predilections.

“I already have a headache.” Fernanda groaned.

“Huh? We haven’t even gotten to the title screen.” Alex said.

“I feel like just turning this thing on is radiating tedium.” Fernanda replied.

“I don’t get you. Just hush, you’ll love it when it actually starts.” Alex said.

On the screen, several progress bars appeared, and a graphic of a little crab digging.

Building pixel stores– compiling silt codes– pre-organizing post-routines–

Finally the title screen appeared: “The Solstice War.”

There was a young woman in a military uniform, looking through the glass of a digital porthole at a sphere of annihilation going off in the distance from a destroyed imperial ship. Everything was rendered in gorgeous 12-bit color 2D graphics. Sophisticated and stylized designs lent a certain beauty and attractiveness to the characters and made excellent aesthetic use of the color restrictions. Such was its style that gamers throughout the Union had fallen in love with the brooding, handsome, and charmingly autistic protagonist of the game, whose default name “Madiha” was used to represent her in various fanfictions and fanarts, erotic fancomics and even in small tribute fangames continuing her story.

Alex renamed the character upon starting a new game, to, of course, “Alex.”

“Why am I even here, gamer?” Fernanda grumbled.

“You haven’t played this one? I thought I’d get you to admit you had.”

“I have only read the erotic comics and fanfictions of it.”

“There’s a second player. You can name her after yourself.”

Alex pressed one of the buttons to move to the next screen.

Fernanda turned a bit red. She must have known what this entailed.

That second player had the default name “Parinita”– “Madiha’s” love interest.

Nevertheless, she did as she was instructed, renaming her to “Færn.”

Alex stared at the odd spelling. “Wait– is that like your–”

“Just get on with the game.” Fernanda warned.

At first blush, “The Solstice War” seemed like any standard “dungeon” game.

There was a protagonist and a supporting party member, they had parameters that determined the success and failure of certain challenges, they had items to collect. Maps of locations were presented to the player with “nodes” to which they could travel– these would then expand into “screens” of the dungeon that players could interact with in greater detail. There were battles, talking to NPCs, and puzzles to solve, either with logic, collected tools, or keys or other knickknacks uncovered along the way. Both Player 1 and Player 2 were asked to make decisions and could even separate, splitting the screen in half.

But “the Solstice War” was not known as a “dungeon” game, but a “storytelling” game.

Many challenges could be skipped with a careful eye to the character’s personalities and predilections. Charisma was the most powerful parameter, and a keen understanding of the magic spells, called “tactics” due to the game’s militaristic flavor, could enable the player to sidestep many difficulties. There were hundreds of thousands of lines of text to enrich the story and characters. Developing the love story between Player 1 and Player 2 was one of the game’s joys. Players 1 and 2 were sometimes asked to talk about each other.

Combat was there for those who desired it, but it was not strictly necessary.

This was all quite unlike “dungeon” games, known for their violence and treasure.

A collaborative storytelling experience about a romantic story.

Even across just the first hour of the game, Fernanda seemed to arrive at a burgeoning understanding of what made it special and unique among video games. Alex, who had played the game before, led Fernanda down a path that was richer in stories. She was gripped from the first scene, where “Alex” executed the corrupt military commander who had been verbally abusing “Færn” and blaming her for the many inefficiencies of the outpost. Just as “Færn” was stricken at first sight by the melancholy beauty of “Alex”, Fernanda herself realized they were written as tragic lovers and her face began to light up.

In the next scenes, the two navigated an attack by an Imperial force that outgunned and outnumbered the characters’ and the outpost’s forces. But through their bond, and timely decision-making, as well as “Alex” uncovering her hidden powers, they turned back the tide and bought the Union precious time. There would be more tribulations to come.

So began a story of war, conspiracy, betrayal, and sapphic love.

“Gamer. I hardly knew you had it in you, to appreciate culture like this.”

Alex grinned. “So what do you think of video games, huh? They’re an artform aren’t they?”

Fernanda grumbled. “Hmph! I never said I hated all video games! Don’t act so smug.”

It was not all rosy– some systems and solutions were a bit inscrutable.

Dialog was sometimes very convoluted. Fernanda loved this, Alex not so much.

And the audio was not great– especially on an old, well-traveled Dendy like this.

Room computers and wall-windows were not the best interfaces either.

Without a dedicated “gaming monitor” the fullest beauty of the graphics was lost.

However, by the second hour, the two were practically leaning against each other.

Unaware of their proximity due to how engrossed they had become in their roles.

Talking like one was Madiha and the other Parinita, working through the various challenges– and Alex pretending not to know the solutions, gleefully roleplaying along and letting Fernanda take the lead on what objects to interact with, who to talk to, what conversation strategies to use, what fights to pick and how to succeed. Though they would eventually have to go to sleep to get ready for their shift, Alex felt quite elated.

By the time they shut off the Dendy, Fernanda had Alex promise they would play again.


“Ah! I haven’t had such a good workout in forever! It’s nice to be back to the routine!”

“Hm. I guess it’s nice when the gym is kind of empty too. Though– it could be emptier.”

“Hey. You wound me. I spotted for you and everything.”

“Yeah you were a great help, and you had an amazing vantage point on my tits I bet.”

“Again, your sarcasm wounds me. Ascribing such impure motives.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I don’t actually care anyway. Take a gander as long as you like.”

Aside from the two figures in conversation, the Brigand’s gym was completely empty.

Just past the social area of the Brigand, also nearly empty at peak working hours, was the gym, a vital part of the operation. Everyone got a chance to use it if they liked, and everyone was encouraged to. Physical activity was important to keep a healthy body and mind on the ship and to pass the time healthily. To that end there was something for everyone. Running machines, staircase machines, and stationary bikes were popular. There were of course weights of all sizes, and racks for climbing and pull-ups; punching bags, a small sparring arena with a padded floor; and even a ten meter long range with adjustable targets for archery or air-guns. A dispenser for electrolyte-rich bottled drinks in two different flavors, stationed near the door, reminded everyone to keep hydrated as they worked.

Standing near the exercise machines, pilots Sameera Al-Shahouh Raisanen-Morningsun and Dominika Rybolovskaya stretched their arms and legs on top of padded plastic mats. They had just gotten done with their daily workouts. Not all pilots took exercise as seriously as they did, so they were often seen together at the gym even when it was nearly empty otherwise. This happened enough Sameera had begun to notice Dominika’s preferences– she was drawn to the archery range, the stair climb and the weights. Sameera in turn loved to push the exercise bike hard, and then she took out a lot of steam on the punching bag. She thought that perhaps Dominika was just more meticulous than her.

Lately, she thought a lot of things about Dominika.

Under the glow of the yellow sunlamps and the white LEDs, Dominika’s pink skin glistened with sweat as she stood to full height from stretching her legs. She went still for a moment, catching her breath, staring down at the floor in her shorts and sports bra. So lightly dressed, more of the chromatophores on her body were exposed, small bumps on her skin that glowed gently. They ran down her chest, on her hips, her back. Interspersed within her long red and brown hair were black-striped, fleshy strands dimly glowing.

And her eyes– bright pink with a blue limbal ring. Absolutely captivating.

They met, Sameera’s admiring gaze and Dominika’s narrow-eyed look of disdain.

Rather than scold her, Dominika sighed and turned around.

“You’re catching a shower too, aren’t you? Come on.” Dominika said.

Sameera was quite sweaty herself. Even the fur on her ears and tail was moist.

She smiled and followed behind Dominika.

To their shared surprise, the Brigand’s shower room was also pretty empty.

Dominika quickly threw off her sports bra and pulled down her shorts. She started walking toward the showers without acknowledging Sameera. Behind her, Sameera disrobed a bit slower. Dominika was so thin and lean and her figure almost nymph-like that she could not help but watch as she left her side. That she was a head taller than Dominika was a fact that buzzed around in her brain infrequently, and always ended up somewhere else.

After a truly laborious removal of her own sports bra and shorts, Sameera followed her to the showers. She sat next to her, set the temperature and dispersion of the showerhead, and relaxed as cool water crashed over her head. Two backs to the wall, smiling with relief as the sweat washed off them. Sameera undid her ponytail, and her long, wild brown hair fell over the sides of her and down her back. Her tail splashed on the water. There were no sounds but the running water and no smell but the shampoo and soap dispensers.

“Nika.”

“Sameera.”

Sameera laughed. “I heard there’s some kind of social function going on tonight.”

“You want to take me out on a date.” Dominika said. She shrugged. “We’re just on the ship it’s not like it’s anything special. So whatever– I’ll go with you. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Sameera wagged her tail excitedly.

“What’s with you?” Dominika asked with evident, narrow-eyed disdain and skepticism.

“What are you asking?” Sameera replied, acting dumb.

“I mean–” Dominika reached behind herself and switched the water from falling in a mostly uniform stream to widely dispersed pattern. “I had fun on our date in Kreuzung, but if you think I’ve fallen in love with you or something– I’m not so easily impressed. You can’t just act like it’s a given I’m letting you have me. You’re not so charming that you can just–”

“Oh? You want to be pursued more aggressively then?”

Sameera practically sprang. Cornering Dominika under her showerhead.

One arm on the wall, another on the floor, their faces centimeters from each other.

Eye to eye, nearly nose to nose. Dominika lying back against the wall. Sameera atop.

Locked eyes, a bigger body, a hunger in her eyes and mischief on her face.

Sameera inched forward and took Dominika’s lips into a kiss.

Tasting her briefly, feeling her out, tentative but energetic–

At no point did Dominika struggled or kick her off.

Encouraged, Sameera slipped her tongue past Dominika’s teeth.

Raising a hand to hold Dominika’s cheek, closing her eyes, kissing her with ardor.

She had demonstrated her intent.

Approached, played, savored– and stepped back.

Smiling with the width of a finger between herself and Dominika.

“Was that more impressive?” Sameera asked.

Dominika averted her gaze, keeping a neutral expression.

“Only– a little– playboy.” She said, struggling to catch her breathe.

Never had such critical words made Sameera so contented.

She winked and got off of Dominika and sat next to her again, laughing.

“At least I know the right direction to take!” Sameera laughed.

Dominika grunted, but smiled just a little.

As much as Sameera liked when Dominika played hard to get, reciprocity was far sweeter.

In the shower, Sameera’s hand laid over Dominika’s hand and was not refused.


Having sailed for months by now, the Brigand’s crew was used to the rhythm of daily activity and they had gained some confidence in their response times should an alarm sound. Union ships valued a balance of readiness and morale. Because the crew had been through so much recently, Captain Korabiskaya had the idea to stage a screening of a film so everyone could get together, relax and have some communal fun for a few hours after work.

She left the decision of what film to show–

To First Officer Murati Nakara. Whose eyes drew quite wide upon hearing the news.

“I– this is– this is a bit sudden.” Murati said.

“Just look at the ship library and see what interests you, Murati!” Ulyana said cheerfully.

“You need to get used to making command decisions again.” Aaliyah said bluntly.

Murati blinked. “I’ve– I’ve been making decisions– I’ve been working hard–”

Even she knew this was not exactly the case. Certainly, Murati had not been doing nothing this whole time. She had been in important meetings. She had delegated a few tasks to her own subordinates. She had gone over Diver combat data working with Valya, and wrangled Aatto– but she had also been writing her book an awful lot handn’t she?

And mostly posting a lot on ZaChat the past day–

Neither of her superiors would have it– Murati had a command decision delegated to her.

“Just pick something, Murati. We’ll show it tonight. It’ll be fine, pick anything.”

“No, Captain! Murati, don’t just pick anything. Pick something that will improve morale.”

Two pats on the back was all she got after that. Murati was left to make the decision.

A few minutes later, she had made her way further to the back of the ship.

Walking stiffly and with a clearly troubled expression.

Crossing the door into her wife’s laboratory.

“Hubby! You’ve come to visit! I haven’t seen you in days!”

Karuniya Maharapratham called out in a sweet voice and clapped her hands together.

“You see me every day.” Murati mumbled this so as to be just barely audible.

“So what has dragged you away from your book, to see your boring old ball and chain?”

“Karu– please– I’m not that bad to you am I–?”

Eventually Karuniya stopped teasing Murati and invited her to a desk around the back of the tree. They sat together and Murati confided her predicament to her wife. It was not necessarily that Murati did not know any films. She had seen films, played video games– she had experienced entertainment. However, none of those things were her first choice for distractions. She was much more of a reader. What movies did sailors enjoy?

Weren’t they rowdy and rambunctious? She had always been cloistered among officers.

“I’m so glad you confided in me, Murati.” Karuniya said. “Your salvation is here.”

She raised an index finger pointedly and winked at Murati.

“Are you a film fan Karu? I really had no idea. We always went to restaurants or concerts.”

Karuniya crossed her arms, and smiled with great confidence.

“I am not an expert. But I can make trivial decisions without thinking about them so much.”

Murati raised a hand over her face. “Karu– Come on– This is serious here–”

“I don’t understand why you are soooo anxious, Murati.” Karuniya said, giggling.

“This is a command decision Karuniya! Captain Korabiskaya and Commissar Aaliyah must be wondering if I can handle the burdens of a commissioned officer and judging whether I can be promoted. I let my guard down and kept working on my book and testing Zachikova’s program, and now this. This can’t be something trivial– they are testing me.”

Karuniya stared at her for a moment, laid a hand over her mouth and stifled a laugh.

“Murati, you really are so cute. I’m so glad I have you wrapped around my finger.”

In turn, her hubby met her eyes with a helpless expression.

That was what it took for her to realize she was being just a bit ridiculous.

“I’m glad you think so, though I object to this characterization.” Murati said, sighing.

Karuniya reached out and squeezed Murati’s hand for comfort.

“I’ll look at the media library with you, and we will pick a movie together.”

“I’ve only got a few hours to pick something. It’s going on tonight. It’s just so sudden.”

“It’ll be fun! Just don’t take it so seriously. Between the two of us, we’ll find something.”

Silently, Murati thanked Karuniya so much for deflating all the tension in her chest.

Taking up a chair next to Murati, Karuniya brought a portable computer for both to use. She accessed the Brigand’s onboard media library, which served the books, music, comics, art collections, programs and films that were approved by the Union Navy. With a few taps of Karu’s slender fingers, she brought up the library of films. There were hundreds of films to choose from. A few independent or classic Imbrian films with “appropriate ideological content” were canonized as part of the Union’s “film history.” But the Union also had a film culture that had produced a few hundred films in the nation’s twenty year existence. There was movie-making going on even during the Revolution.

As soon as there had been a Union, there had also been Union film-making.

Everything from comedies to dramas, romances, morality plays, action stories, and propaganda pieces. They could sort the media library based on a lot of criteria, like the year and the genre, but they looked through everything just to see what was on offer. Karuniya arrived at a good suggestion as they scrolled through. She figured that sailors would appreciate a good comedy. Everyone could use a laugh, and even the cheapest jokes could draw one out, but not all people had a taste for romantic films or dramas.

“That is a very good point. Narrows it down, but it’s still so much.” Murati said.

Karuniya tipped her head closer to Murati, leaning into her while showing her the films.

“Oh, look at this one. A comedy about a ne’er-do-well father-in-law ending up being cared for by his son and the son’s newlywed bride. Sounds like universally-beloved shenanigans!”

“I don’t know that I want to sit and think about these particular themes for an entire night.”

“Huh? But your taste shouldn’t matter– well, look here! There’s a raunchy sex comedy!”

“The Commissar would absolutely object to this! I don’t even know how that got in there.”

“It’s there because we’re all adults who fuck, Murati. Jeez– okay, how about this?”

“A comedy about an Imperial falling into a coma and waking up in the Union during the early years of the Jayasankar regime, experiencing culture shock–? I don’t know. I think we have enough culture shock right now. We want them to take their minds off things right?”

“How is it you’re being this sensitive? They’re sailors–! Oh! Look at this one!”

Karuniya pointed her finger at a movie called “Supply Ship Groza.”

Physical comedy taking place in an inter-station supply ship. It seemed light-hearted.

“Karu, I think this might be the one!” Murati smiled.

Suddenly, she put an arm around Karuniya, pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thank you! This is perfect. I’ll send this to Semyonova. She’ll help set up the projection.”

Karuniya rubbed up against Murati with a placid little smile.

“You’re welcome. But I require a reward for my services.” She said mischievously.

“Oh?”

“First, you’re going to take me to the movie tonight.”

Then, Karuniya raised a hand to Murati’s cheek and drew her in for a deeper kiss.

It was a quick embrace– but her tongue crossed Murati’s lips in its span.

When Karuniya drew back she looked Murati in the eyes.

“Second, you’re going to do more than kiss me after the movie.”

That coquettish grin on her face said it all.

Murati felt the tensions of mere minutes ago wholly leave her body.

To be replaced by other, more electric sensations.

“You know I can’t ever say no to that face. I’m all yours, Karu.”


Semyonova announced the movie night on every screen in the Brigand, so everyone was instantly made aware of it. It came as a pleasant surprise with immediate effect. There was a burst of excitement from all corners, slightly deflated when a clarifying announcement was issued that there would not be liquor rations. Still, the mood was electric, with everyone in the halls wondering what movie would be shown and looking forward to it.

Homa Baumann was not planning to go watch the movie.

She had woken up in the afternoon and had her wholly vegetarian dinner and felt off.

From the operating table in Dr. Kappel’s office, she was back in the infirmary.

Waiting.

“Sorry Homa! I got pulled aside to take care of the bridge for a bit!”

Through the door into the infirmary, Kalika Loukia reappeared with a bag in hand.

Homa stared at her with an unfriendly expression.

“Was I gone that long?” Kalika asked.

Homa sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care.” She raised her voice, almost without meaning to.

Kalika smiled. “I hoped the prosthetics would cheer you up a bit– I understand though.”

She unzipped the bag and laid some clothes on the bed where Homa was seated.

There was a sleeveless white button-down shirt, a teal half-length jacket with long sleeves, a pair of pants and a skirt both of which were black, a set of white underwear, a green tie, and a pair of shoes. This was the uniform she had seen most people on the ship wearing. Everything was cheaply synthestitched, and the shoes especially looked a bit formless and unappealing. Homa would have to ask if they could give her work boots back.

“I’m not wearing a tie. Can they synthestitch me some casual clothes?” Homa grumbled.

“No~” Kalika bent down a bit and flicked Homa’s nose gently.

For a moment, that little teasing brush felt almost scandalous. Could she do that?

It was the momentary outrage that gave Homa some perspective on her own behavior.

Still– she was not able to fully control herself. Her tone of voice remained a bit elevated.

“Ugh. I get it– I’m being a brat. I’ll just– I’ll just shut up then!” Homa said.

Kalika remained bent forward in front of Homa and leaned even closer.

Speaking almost nose to nose with Homa’s face. A small smile on her red lips.

“I’ve told you, I understand you’re frustrated. I’m not going to ask you to pretend everything is fine. But I also am not giving carte blanche for you to yell at me all day. Let’s cool it a bit. Take a deep breath.” Kalika looked at Homa expectantly. “Deep breath, Homa.”

With Kalika right in front of her face, she could not refuse.

Homa drew in a deep breath.

Then she let it out.

There was nowhere for it to go so she practically blew right into Kalika’s face.

Kalika did not look bothered by it. She looked more content than before.

“Feel any better?”

“No?”

Her head and chest felt a bit less tight and knotted after she let the air out.

But she did not want Kalika to be right.

So she denied anything changed.

“Alright.” Kalika drew back from Homa and gestured to the clothes. “Pants or skirt?”

“That’s actually a really hard decision for me.” Homa said.

“It’s not a final decision, though. You can always wear one or the other.” Kalika said.

“I don’t know, Kalika. Do I look like I should be wearing a skirt?”

“You would look lovely in a skirt. Take it from a real fashionista.”

Homa’s ears folded against her head. She averted her gaze.

“No offense– I’ll just take the pants for now.”

“None taken. Would you like to dress yourself, or would you like my help?”

“I’ll do it.”

Kalika turned her back to Homa. “I can whip right back whenever you want me to.”

They had already seen each other completely naked before, but Homa appreciated Kalika having discretion nevertheless. If she struggled with dressing herself, Homa did not want someone staring at her and trying to gauge whether to jump in to save her or not. That would have made her furious. It made her a lot less self-conscious about relying on Kalika to assist if she could choose at any time when to cut her out or let her in.

Homa reached the end of her hospital gown.

Her biological fingers, and the fingers of her mechanical hand, closed around the hem.

She pulled it up and off of her body. As natural as breathing.

Nothing odd happened.

So far the prosthetic was responding fine.

Homa grabbed the synthetic brassiere, put her arms through.

Reached behind her back.

Her mechanical fingers dropped the clips a few times. It was a tiny bit frustrating.

Nevertheless, with time, her quite modest breasts were quite modestly covered up.

Similar to the brassier clips, it was a bit of a challenge to button up the shirt. Holding really small things in her hands and manipulating them precisely was strange. Her fingers on the prosthetics would drop and slip over the buttons, and even if she tried to switch the hand she was using, it was tough to hold the fabric around the button-hole open. Her hand was just so much clumsier than she was used to, and she could not feel it, no touch, no smoothness of synthcloth nor the roughness of the hard button.

Just as with the brassiere, however, the shirt was buttoned up in due time.

Homa clenched her jaw and let out a low hiss.

With the shirt on, she put on the panties and the black pants she had been given.

No problems with those. Everything fit fine and the efforts to put them on were simple.

Finally, she slipped the shoes right on. Cheap shoes like these just fit like a thick sock.

“I’m done.” Homa said.

Kalika turned around. She clapped her hands. “Look at this handsome young lady!”

“C’mon.”

“You really were serious about the tie huh? Don’t you want to look really professional?”

“Not interested.”

“Fair enough.” Kalika held out her hands.

Homa looked at them for a moment before raising her own arms and taking them.

Entwining her fingers and Kalika’s own. Kalika gently urged Homa stand.

To get her legs off the bed, Homa turned sideways.

She set her prosthetic leg on the floor first. Shifted her weight on it, tested its strength.

Everything seemed firm but–

For a moment, as she made the effort to stand, she could feel the flesh weighing on metal.

There was an uncomfortably cold sensation because of this.

Alarming as it was at first, Homa choked the feelings down, and made to stand straight.

Kalika held her hands tightly, supporting her.

“Do you want to try taking a step?”

Homa nodded her head. She lifted her prosthetic leg, inched forward, set it down.

Again she felt that cold sensation where the metal met flesh, but it was not as bad as before.

However, as soon as she set her foot down, she felt her weight slide a bit.

Kalika steadied her as she stepped back herself.

She cooed to Homa as they walked. One solid step; one clumsy step; one solid step.

“Good, good. Take it easy, one step at a time.”

“Okay.”

“Everything in the world worth doing can be done one step at a time.”

“I don’t need your amateur therapy during all this.”

“One step at a time, and you’ll be less grouchy in no time.”

Kalika laughed a little. Homa grumbled.

She held that hand tight however, felt Kalika’s own steel fingers with her own flesh.

Mirrored her steps, relied on her guidance, leaned into her when near falling.

For a moment, holding Kalika’s hands and walking step by step, almost with grace–

It almost felt like dancing, which Homa had never really done. But she had read about it.

Seen it in films; fantasized about it, maybe, once or twice. Dancing with someone nice.

Homa was not some hero, she chastised herself.

Kalika was not her storybook princess.

But–

it made it easier, and feel better, to think of the infirmary as a grand ballroom.

Her fingers closed tighter around Kalika’s hand.

She met her eyes more closely than before.

Step, by step.

Their little clumsy storybook dance down the aisle across from the beds.

It made Homa feel a little bit more whole than she was before.

Her steel walls and the plastic smell, took on color, took on a floral scent, took on grandeur.

“See? You’re doing great. Soon you won’t need to hold anyone’s hand.”

A chill ran down Homa’s back that she would not admit.

Because she immediately thought–

“I still want to hold your hand.”

She did not say this out loud. She did not want to admit it. She felt ashamed of it.

Such feelings were useless to hold for someone who only pitied her.

And Homa had already been hurt a few times by allowing herself such vulnerability.

Nevertheless. Nevertheless. Nevertheless.


“Sonya’s taking me out to a movie! I could turn gold with happiness!”

“What ‘taking you out’? It takes minutes to walk down from my room–”

“Sonya’s taking me out~ Sonya’s taking me out~”

Shalikova looked at Maryam bobbing her head happily and simply smiled.

They walked down the hall holding hands, toward the social area.

Game tables, couches and other furniture were moved or folded into the floor. Chairs were set up for the movie watchers; there was not enough space for everyone so a similar arrangement was made in the middle of the hangar so more would get a chance to join a movie-watching party. Dispensers for pickles, bread, broth and watered-down juice were moved from the cafeteria to the social pod and hangar to give everyone easier access to snacks. On the stage a black rectangle appeared on the wall to demonstrate where the film would be displayed from. As Shalikova and Maryam approached and took a seat at the back row of chairs, there were already dozens of people seated and chatting lively.

There was a lot of curiosity, since the film to be shown was kept secret.

“Sonya, I bet you’ve seen so many movies.” Maryam said.

“Not a lot actually.” Shalikova said. “I preferred the arcade when I was bored.”

“Oh right! You did say you were the ‘terror of the tables’!” Maryam said.

“Not so loud.” Shalikova whispered. “But yes I played a lot of table games back when I was in school. Pool, and table hockey and tennis and all that. All the student lounges had a bunch. Solstice had nice arcades too. I liked going around town looking for them. You could wander off in any direction and find lounges and games. Theaters were a bit less prevalent.”

“I haven’t seen very many movies.” Maryam said. “Do you not like them, Sonya?”

She must have noticed Shalikova’s sour expression as she waited for the movie to start.

“No, it’s just– theaters are really crowded. With pool or whatever it was just a few guys.”

And just like a theater, the social pod was now quite crowded.

Shalikova endured it for Maryam’s sake, however.

It was very difficult to infect Shalikova with enthusiasm, but Maryam was so happy that she could not help herself but to crack a little smile. Watching her on the edge of her seat, hands on her lap, staring at the screen with stars in her w-shaped eyes. Bobbing her head with enthusiasm and waiting for the scenes to fill with color. Maryam had been through so much– and she was on this damn ship now going through even more tribulations.

She deserved a moment of excitement and levity.

To be taken care of and made to smile.

Everyone on the ship deserved it, really. These were the moments they worked hard for.

So when the lights dimmed, and the screen lit up with the film and everyone clapped–

Shalikova reached out and squeezed Maryam’s hand in the dark, for her own happiness.


Movie night came and went, with applause, laughs and a brief respite.

“Supply Ship Groza” became a new favorite among the sailors. Around the halls and hangar they could be heard quoting the jokes at each other, and calling each other Mykolas, after the clumsy protagonist. Having a social function was good change of pace. For everyone, they spent some cherished time shoulder to shoulder, but the work, as always, continued. It was a new day, the Brigand and Rostock were ever closer to Aachen.

It was busy again, and might soon get even busier.

Officers led a different life, however.

On that morning, Murati stood outside of the brig.

She was quite happy with last night. But the task in front of her was a daunting one.

Once the door opened– out walked the task. In full Treasure Box Transports uniform.

Bushy brown tail swinging behind her, now coming out of black uniform pants. Her brown hair tied into a very professional ponytail, a garrison cap between her tall ears. Shirt buttoned up completely this time, a brand new jacket in freshly synthestitched teal. Afforded a ration of makeup she had used to doll herself up quite presentably.

An almost comically saccharine smile on her face upon seeing Murati.

“Chief Petty Officer Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather! Reporting for adjutant duties!”

Murati could hardly believe these were words she had to hear.

“How do I look master? It’s such a cute uniform. A very clever disguise.”

“I told you not to call me ‘Master’. How many times do I have to say it?”

“But it befits your great stature and the profound respect I have for you!”

In fact, Aatto had made out like a bandit.

Normally, defectors were viewed as something of a burden to their new country. They probably had a limited amount of intelligence, and limited military utility. Under normal circumstances, unless it was a Katarran mercenary with a crew, a defector was unlikely to be allowed to keep their military rank, or join the host nation’s military. Defectors were usually just a small influx of specific intelligence, and a moral victory for the host.

Because of the Brigand’s unique situation, however, Aatto was getting golden treatment. The Brigand had to be open to defectors as a way to acquire manpower. She had actually been advanced a rank– in the Volkisch, she would now be a Scharführer instead of a Rottenführer. Special assignment adjutants to commissioned officers could not be entry-level Petty Officers. Delegating work to someone with minimal clearance who lacked the rank even to organize the specialists was a waste of everyone’s time, so Aatto had to have a senior non-commission rank. If it worked out with Aatto, raising the Brigand’s practical skeleton crew of officers by one was a significant boon to acquire.

Of course, it might not work out with Aatto. She was a former Volkisch after all.

“We are not going to have a big fight about this. It’s decided. She’s your responsibility, Murati.” The Commissar had said. “I believe you when you say she wants to turn over a new leaf. The Captain and I had this conversation prior– we can’t refuse even Volkisch defectors at this point, and you could use somebody to assist you. But you can consider this a test of your judgment. We are trusting you, not just her; and if she burns us, it’s on you.”

Murati could be putting everyone at risk, and even moreso, her chances for a promotion.

With a sigh, she turned over a portable computer to Aatto.

She then set her shoulders, took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the Loup.

Taking one step into her personal space and standing taller than her counterpart.

“This is yours because it is crucial to your work. It’s disconnected from the network and contains all the data your clearance allows plus some educational products. For now, you will work off this device and if you need anything not on it, you will request it through me. Prove to me that you are reliable and trustworthy and you can get access to the network. Just know and understand this, with great specificity, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather: if you scheme against or betray us, I’ll follow you to the ends of Aer to tear you limb from limb!”

Murati jabbed her finger into Aatto’s chest, frustration clearly spilling out of her.

She had hoped to sound commanding and intimidating, but lost control to her passions.

Her speech had an effect, however.

Aatto’s eyes drew wider, her grin more twisted, smoldering with a bizarre euphoria.

She clutched the portable computer to her chest, her entire body shaking.

“There it is! That grand and dominating power dormant within you–! Such radiance–!”

“I’m being serious!” Murati shouted back at her.

“Of course– of course–” Aatto’s breathing became briefly troubled. “I live only to support you and witness your deeds! I will absolutely, without a doubt, employ every part of this body in most excellent service! Master, what ordeals will you subject me to today?”

Why did she sound so happy to be subjected to ordeals?!

Just as Murati struggled to think of a reprimand Aatto would not somehow enjoy–

There was a voice, low but with an undertone of distress, coming from all directions.

Accompanied by flashing red lights from high on every wall.

It hardly had to be said– before she understood the voice Murati felt she already knew.

“Alert Semyon! Alert Semyon! All personnel shift immediately to duty Semyon!”

Fatima al-Suhar was sounding an alert from the sonar station on the bridge.

One that they had heard a few times already– alert Semyon meant combat stations.

“Master, is this a combat alert?” Aatto asked with vivid excitement in her voice.

There was no time to try to correct her bizarre fascinations.

Once again the currents were sending sharp steel the Brigand’s way.

Murati and the rest of the crew would have to hurry to meet it, for all they held dear.


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.3]

Gefreiter— what is the fate of the Loup? Tell me– what you’ve forsaken.”

In the shadow of the Patriarch, standing raised upon the church stage, a great gold sun disc hanging on the wall at his back– there was a girl in her blue sailor uniform, ears folded, tail held straight and alert. Around them the church was like a suffocating cage of hard-edged shadows cut only by candles and torches on the stage. A red gleam exposed the severe expression of the Patriarch from around his long hair and thick beard.

“Answer me, Gefreiter— what is the fate of the Loup? Do you know better than God?”

She knew the answer she would not speak.

Just as he knew her name and would not use it.

Loup were born into servitude.

Servitude to God, through worship; Servitude to the state, through following of the rightful authorities; Servitude to the Family, and to the Father above all. God, the King, the Father of his House, they were all tiered delineations of the same principal figure of absolute power and respect. Loup valued order, authority, and were born to defend both.

“Salvation is a grueling process.” Said the Patriarch. “It begins, it continues, it never ends, until the Sun finally shines upon you and takes you into the firmament. Salvation requires baptism, its beginning; then it requires supplication and worship, to sustain it. Loup, Gefreiter, are a people of great humility and supplication. Our virtue is to toil in life so we can smile in heaven. But look at you; an apostate under my roof. You wear the uniform of a state you betrayed; given life by a God you swear against; and so you wear the skin of a people you reject! You spit on everything that we are. You humiliated us; humiliated me. ”

“She was my mother.” The Gefreiter finally spoke. “She was your wife!”

Tears formed in her eyes. She cast a helpless, wavering gaze up at the looming Patriarch.

“You were supposed to protect her! You speak of my betrayal; you betrayed her!”

From the stage a swift kick struck the girl in the neck and knocked her on her back.

“Silence! You are truly her child! You hellspawn! I ought to split your skull open!”

“That’s enough Gregor. Or you will meet the same fate to which you consigned your wife.”

White light cut across the center of the red streaked darkness of the church.

Casting the Patriarch into the long shadow of another man much like him, approaching.

Dressed in a black and gold uniform, a tall hat. On his ears and tail, the fur deeply grayed.

At his side was a younger woman in a similar attire, swarthy-skinned and dark-haired.

The two Inquisitors approached the church stage to shield the girl from the Patriarch.

When the girl reached the side of the Gefreiter she made to assist her–

“No, Gertrude. Not yet.” Warned the older man. He turned to face the Patriarch.

“Samoylovych. The southern heretic.” Said the Patriarch, disdain ample in his voice.

“Gregor.” High Inquisitor Samoylovych replied. “I’ve come to reclaim Imbrian property. That’s how you see us, isn’t it? I am appalled with you. I cannot stop the Council of Officers from enabling zealots like you; but Aatto is completely innocent. She was not in league with anyone, nor plotting anything; she is just a scared girl witnessing the destruction of her family. You cannot charge her with capital crime as you see fit. Even in the Host.”

Never once did the Patriarch cede from his position. His tail swayed gently behind him.

He was not rattled by the words of the High Inquisitor. In his eyes there was only zeal.

“I have done nothing in my life out of convenience.” The Patriarch said. “I have only ever done what was required of me by God or country. To have brought a child into the world with a liberal and a blasphemer and traitor, is a shame to me, a shame to my country and a shame to the Church; and I have done my duty in setting it right. I was tested; I stood with God.”

“And what? You will murder your daughter for God? Is that in the Revealed Truths?”

“Salvation is a grueling process.” The Patriarch said. “None of us can escape the Destiny that God sees in the instant of our birth, Samoylovych. That is why we must submit to the church and the Revealed Truth and set aside our hubris. Leniency nurtured vipers in my home. You ask what I will do? I will repent until my death; and remain devoted to the rightful order.”

The Patriarch turned his back on the Inquisitors and disappeared into the back of the church.

High Inquisitor Samoylovych grunted. He stomped his foot on the floor.

Putting a crack in the tiles. He let out a wheezing cough from the exertion.

“Inquisitor Samoylovych,” Gertrude Lichtenberg asked, “what will we do with the girl?”

“We’ll take her, of course. She can still serve in Rhinea or Veka.” Samoylovych sighed.

On the floor, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather looked up at the gold sun on the wall of the church with terror in her face. As if staring at the candle-lit face of God itself, a horrifying God of blood-letting that longed to devour her. That sign of the collective immiseration of the Loup in the pursuit of further submission to the will of the Divine. That Sun and the God it represented and the teachings that were associated with it had destroyed more human lives than anything in the world; they had destroyed all of Aatto’s life as she had lived it and everything she cherished. In an instant, it had blinked, and the force of its shutting eyes ended her long-held stability. Submission to what family? Submission to what state? Submission to what God? She had nothing and was helpless to do anything!

Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather’s life as she had known it ended without warning.

“None of us can escape Destiny.” She mumbled to herself. Weeping profusely.

“He’s wrong.” Samoylovych said. “The power to defy Destiny exists. But those who wield it have turned their backs on the Loup and on the atrocity of the Host. That is the truth.”

Aatto would ponder those words for years. Perhaps far longer than Samolovych intended.


Since they left Kreuzung, the Brigand resumed a feverish level of activity.

In the halls, sailors and technicians and engineers, of which the Brigand had well over a hundred, went from repair jobs to meetings, from the hangar to the cafeteria, from work to bed, having but a lunch and three twenty minute breaks throughout the day with which to decompress. It was busier than it had been during their expeditions in Goryk.

Chief among the reasons for this heightened activity was the depth. In Thassal, Cascabel and Serrano, the average depth of human activity was between 900 to 1500 meters deep. It was in these depths that the Brigand had been built and though it was tested at up to 2500 meters in the Nectaris Continental Rift, it was not ran for weeks and months in such depths. Eisental’s floor was on average 1800 to 2800 meters deep, just narrowly avoiding Hadal or Deep Abyss depths. The Brigand would be at this depth for an indeterminate period.

As such, the Brigand was subject to close to twice as much strain from the depths, since the deeper the water, the greater the pressure on all systems of the ship. There was no fear that the Brigand would suddenly spring a leak and explode completely– if that were the case all of humanity would have gone extinct already. Pressure hulls were very sturdy, and advanced forms of flood mitigation, as well as the presence of sealant gel in the centers of plate structures and between the armor and pressure hulls, meant that strikes from ordnance were actually survivable for the internal modules. It was very rare for a ship to implode from mishandling. It had to be considered as a possibility, but it was still rare.

However, the actual routine problem was with small parts. Particularly, the water system and electrical infrastructure. Water for the hydrojets was sucked in through intakes using powerful turbines and pumps– from there, some water was diverted into internal tanks, the crew water system, and reactor cooling. Then the water would go back out eventually, either directly through the hydrojets or fed out of waste chutes or reactor control pipeline.

Pipes inside the pressure hull were prone to leaks, and because the water system had to work harder and under more stress, it demanded more electricity, stressing the electric systems and possibly stressing the reactor core array as well. Sailors and technicians’ time at these depths was spent monitoring for leaks, actively monitoring power, swapping any electrical and electromechanical parts that were stressed or failing, and most importantly, tightly planning maintenance, replacement and recycling of such crucial parts.

Almost anything on the Brigand could fed into the ferricycler to be turned into mineral mush that would then be fed into stitcher machines to make new usable parts to cycle back in. But at some point, new, unrecycled parts had to be introduced back into the system– there were unavoidable diminishing returns involved in recycling parts continuously.

Other things that broke with some regularity included doors, kitchen appliances, the games in the social area, and most of all, the Divers. Divers had to be considered “broke” the instant they left the ship, because their anti-corrosion coatings would start wearing off, joints would take a beating, and small instruments like the sensors would certainly receive some abuse. This was before the sailors considered any battle damage the Divers took on top of that unavoidable wear. As such the hangar saw frequent spikes in activity.

On mission, the sailors kept pretty busy. There was always something to do.

Therefore, the Brigand’s halls and hangar always saw at least some people moving through.

Sonya Shalikova, meanwhile, had precious little to do on any ordinary day.

As an officer and a pilot, she had the privilege of relaxation.

In exchange, she braved the ocean in defense of the ship, risking her life every sortie.

Not everyone was cut out for that.

There were some people who had panic attacks just seeing the empty black ocean all around them, their spotlights unveiling only the endlessly falling rain of biological matter known as the marine fog. Others became greatly sick from the way the Diver moved out in the water, as the Strelok or even the Cheka cockpit was poorly stabilized. Still more refused to have anything to do with the endeavor, as unlike a ship, it was quite easy for a Diver to receive any sort of damage and fail catastrophically, since their hulls were much thinner.

For Sonya Shalikova, throwing her life into this maelstrom was all she knew how to do.

It had never been a question of whether or not to pilot a Diver.

Piloting was all she had to give to the world. Or so she thought.

Lately, at least, she had experienced a few positive additions to her worldview.

She had forgiven herself for the death of her sister Zasha.

Rather than throwing away her life because she felt useless and listless doing otherwise–

Shalikova now wanted to fight to protect her crew and many precious persons aboard.

To uphold Zasha’s memory and the wishes she had for Shalikova.

Fighting to enjoy her moments of happiness; rather than fighting out of a sense of misery.

So now, as she wandered the halls full of sailors, with nothing to do herself,

rather than think,

I’m so useless– all of these people are the real heroes,

she instead reminded herself,

I need to relax more– no use being high-strung then flaming out when it matters.

Taking care of herself and her body and mind was part of her responsibilities as a pilot.

Her free time, that privilege, was also part of the needs of the job.

But–

Ever since the escape from Kreuzung’s core station, something had been bothering her.

They had an encounter outside Kreuzung. Shalikova recalled not only the psionic powers of the enemy pilot and her fearsome aura, but also the sturdiness of a new type of Diver she had been piloting. It had withstood several close bursts from the Cheka’s AK-96 assault rifle. Firing from a distance at a moving target would have severely diminished the effectiveness of the rifle’s 37 mm supercavitating rounds. These weapons had an effectiveness that sharply declined beyond 50 meters or so. In the water, if you could see something to shoot it, it was only then that it was in the effective range of a Diver assault rifle.

However, Shalikova had fired from close range on a stationary enemy, several times.

Everyone else seemed to overlook this freakish durability, but Shalikova could not.

Murati might say that with appropriate tactics, they could still defeat this new model.

Shalikova, who experienced it first-hand, began to believe they needed stronger weapons.

She was not savvy enough to determine what they could do with their current resources.

So she ultimately decided to take the concern to someone who could research it better.

“Valya, do you have a moment?”

“Oh! Shalikova and Maryam! Just a sec!”

These days Shalikova never went anywhere without her brightly smiling marshmallow.

So even as she walked the halls, Maryam was always following along.

Valya could most easily be found in the hangar, where they had increasingly taken on the role of the squad mechanic for the 114th, the Brigand’s assigned Diver unit. In the center of the hangar, along the walls, there were several gantries, each of which held a Diver aloft. Metal arms assisted the Diver so it would not need to stand under its own power while recharging and while undergoing repairs. They also held the machines in place as the ship maneuvered. Shalikova met Valya in the shadow of a Strelok, still the most common mecha in the hangar despite several recent acquisitions. It was the mainstay of the Union soldier.

Like all Divers it was roughly person-shaped, with an oblong cockpit encased in explosive-resistant armor plates that met precisely on the center of the chest, where they could open to allow entry. A hip section attached a pair of legs slightly offset of the cockpit, while a pair of shoulder sections affixed the arms. Atop this stocky body plan was a rectangular, roughly square head. Two cheek plates held together an array of cameras and sensors hidden behind bullet-proof glass, the “eyes” of the machine. Behind the machine were the main thrusters, fed by water from the shoulder and hip intakes. Mounted on a multi-sectioned “backpack,” the jets could rotate as two independent sets for greater maneuverability.

Shalikova whistled when she saw the state of the machine. This Strelok was receiving some specific attention. The unpainted steel plates on its legs having been taken off along with the cap on the hydrojet intakes set into the Diver’s knee that fed its legs jets. In addition, the support thruster for that leg had been removed and set aside. Known commonly as a “vernier” or “solid fuel” thruster– the latter moniker had come to refer to the fact the thruster was not electric, and in truth the fuel used by the Union was usually cheap liquid, though staged-burn solid compounds were higher quality. Under the armor, additional structural plates had their bolts removed and were peeled off, exposing flexible pipe, wires and the inner workings of the Strelok’s knee, such as the mechanical joints.

Inside the exposed metal there was a layer of black-brown grime that had accumulated.

“Coming down!”

Climbing down from a ladder, Valya removed their goggles, leaving a streak of grime on their own cheek. They smiled at Shalikova and Maryam with a refreshingly sunny demeanor. Dressed in a black sports bra beneath a half open gray jumpsuit, soaked in sweat and smelling of grease and metal. Some grime had even streaked over Valya’s salmon-pink hair, which they had not put a cap over while working. With a heavy tool in one hand, and the other waving jovially, Shalikova thought Valya was truly in their element.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you! It looks like a lot of work.” Shalikova said.

“Well, I’m already down! So it’s fine. There’s plenty of time to get back at it!”

Shalikova had thought of Valya as a reserved person, but they seemed to light up more when they were able to work on the machines. Despite the clear grueling effort they were going through, they never seemed to shine as brightly and talk as confidently as when they were covered in grime with a tool in their hands and safety goggles pushed up over their hair.

“Is something wrong with the Diver?” Maryam asked.

One of her tentacles flicked toward the Strelok’s bared knee.

Valya followed the tentacle with their eyes, then laughed.

“Just a routine checkup. It’s filthy inside, isn’t it? This is the Strelok that Ahwalia trashed back in Goryk, and then it got fixed up and returned to the reserve. Recently a sailor piloted it to go out and check how the missile launch bay covers were holding up in the water. When the sailor was on his way back, the leg jet started getting sticky. I think it had microfractures this whole time in the leg so the jet was losing a tiny bit of water into the plates.”

“Wouldn’t it explode or something?” Maryam asked.

“Nope, the leg interiors are not pressurized, but it is still a problem.”

“I see, I see.”

Shalikova patted Maryam on the shoulder, silently asking her to defer questions for now.

Maryam noticed and nodded her head.

“Valya,” Shalikova turned to the salmon-pink haired pilot, “I need to talk to you.”

“Ah, they’re in high demand today I see.”

Valya and Shalikova both turned to meet the owner of a familiar voice.

Elegant, enunciated in a sultry and playful fashion.

From behind them approached a familiar Shimii with long, blond hair and a strikingly glamorous affectation. Her sophisticated radiance was undeniable and it was hard to turn away when she was taking up attention. Heavy wine-purple eyeshadow and well-applied blush, glossy lipstick adorning a confident grin. A hint of wrinkles around the eyes and neck seemed as though an artful exposure of her maturity. On her, the standard uniform shirt and skirt seemed to flatter her curves, black tights accentuating the contours of shapely legs. Her ears and tail were perfectly manicured and had an almost divine appearance of fluffiness, while her tail was exceptionally brushed and strikingly silky and clean.

Her every movement oozed the easy confidence earned with age.

Shalikova averted her eyes before Khadija al-Shajara teased her for staring.

“Aww, I saw you turn away Shali-Shali.” Khadija said. “Don’t hurt a lady’s pride now.”

“It’s not that at all.” Shalikova said, turning a little red.

Teased anyway; there was truly no escaping from Khadija!

At her side, a cheerful Maryam waved to Khadija with both her tentacles and hands.

“Greetings to the lovely V.I.P. as well!” Khadija said. “You two arrived first, so you should conclude your business with Valya first before I steal them away.”

“That’ll have to wait Khadija– I still have to finish this one too.” Valya said.

“Oh, but I need my Strelok to be ready for standby.” Khadija said, leaning closer to Valya.

She put on an expression that was both pouty and somehow still flirty.

“You’ve got a point. I guess I can just leave this here.” Valya said, leaning back a little.

“Why is Valya doing all this work around here anyway?” Shalikova asked.

Valya shook their head. “Too much to get into– but I can handle it, so don’t worry.”

Khadija crossed her arms and leaned back on the leg of the Strelok, waiting her turn.

Her ears were clearly piqued to try to catch some gossip, however.

Shalikova sighed and laid out her request.

“Valya, did you get a chance to look at any data from the Cheka? Or Khadija’s data?”

“Uh huh, I’ve looked at everything with Murati.”

“I’m worried about the model of Diver we fought around Kreuzung.” Shalikova said.

Valya nodded. “That was Rhineametalle’s Panzer model. We actually have data on it from R&D leaks that were turned over to Union spies– but that was two years ago. We didn’t even load that stuff into the dive computers because we never expected to run into it.”

“I nearly emptied my magazine into it and it did nothing.” Shalikova said.

“You’re exaggerating, dame Shalikova.” Khadija interrupted. “You managed to fend it off and we are unsure of how much damage we did to it. Combat damage is more than just dramatic armor penetrations. For all we know it was limping away without life support.”

Shalikova felt mildly irritated at Khadija’s condescension– but it was pointless to pursue.

“Had the Brigand not been close I’m almost sure it would have kept fighting.” She said.

Khadija did not respond, preferring to continue leaning with arms crossed and eyes shut.

“I can try to comb over the data more thoroughly.” Valya said. “I’ll talk to Murati about it too– if she thinks the 37 mm guns seem ineffective against that Panzer we can explore solutions. I think I know what she’ll say though. One encounter is not a lot of data.”

“We don’t even know if they have mass produced the thing.” Khadija replied.

“I just think we need to keep it in mind.” Shalikova said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Khadija winked. “You need to have more confidence in yourself, lady prince.”

“It’s not about self-confidence! One of us could lose our lives if we underestimate that thing in the middle of a fight! It’s senseless not to prepare every possible advantage!”

“Good answer.” Khadija said. “You do make a finer leader than me, Shalikova.”

Shalikova had raised her voice to Khadija, who seemed far too satisfied with the result.

“Hey, c’mon, relax you two. Khadija, you can stop teasing her.” Valya said.

“I’m relaxed. I said what I wanted to say. Come on Maryam.”

Over Valya’s scolding of Khadija, Shalikova turned around and left the hangar.

Trying to work out the frustration that she knew she felt, and hated feeling.

Despite her anger she had grown up just a bit, enough to have more perspective.

In her heart she understood what Khadija was doing.

It was the same thing Illya had told her in Kreuzung. She had to speak up her convictions, even against her experienced seniors. If she was wrong, she was wrong, like Illya said– if she was right then she had to be ready to meet the confrontation and prove herself right. That was part of being in the military alongside war heroes like Khadija and confident theoreticians like Murati. Shalikova had a fearful conjecture and Khadija challenged it with her own knowledge and experience– they didn’t know if there would be more Panzers and they didn’t even really know what effect they had on Nasser’s Panzer. Khadija probably wanted her to stand up for herself and her ideas instead of turning cheek.

Shalikova just was not used to having arguments and resolving confrontations.

When she was assigned to the Thassal fleet she just did whatever she was ordered.

She never would have thought she would have the ability to influence a mission long-term.

Some part of her hated the idea of ‘being a leader’ more than anything.

It was annoying! It exposed her to stupid contradictions! It meant talking to people!

But another part felt that it was necessary. Especially in this case, she couldn’t keep quiet.

“Sonya, are you okay?” Maryam asked. “Are you mad at Khadija?”

They got on the elevator to ride back up to the Brigand’s upper tier.

“I’m annoyed. I felt like Khadija was treating me like a kid.” Shalikova said.

“I think she respects you a lot! I’m positive she just wanted to help!” Maryam said.

“You’re too nice, Maryam.” Shalikova sighed. Her softie marshmallow at it again.

“It’s okay Sonya. I think everyone on the ship thinks highly of you!” Maryam said.

“It’s not that– whatever.” Shalikova simply let things lie at that point.

Once the elevator doors opened, Shalikova led the ever-cheerful Maryam back to their room. As soon as she was through the doors, Shalikova threw herself on her bed and hugged her hand-sewn teddy bear plush, Comrade Fuzzy, tightly against her chest. It was cathartic to hold something tightly. She needed a few minutes to decompress and she wished for silence– and Maryam had seen this enough by now to know. Shalikova heard her girlfriend sit on her own bed, and then no other sounds of cuttlefish activity. She felt grateful for the silence, and even more grateful that at least Maryam truly understood her.

“Maryam, just give me a minute. I’m sorry I haven’t been great company today.”

“It’s okay Sonya! You take all the time you need. I completely understand!”

Shalikova could see Maryam smiling in her mind’s eye and it warmed her heart.

Another thing she never thought she would find herself doing, back at Thassal.

In just a few months, she had changed a lot, hadn’t she? It all felt so– silly.

She hugged Comrade Fuzzy less tightly and a bit more tenderly instead.

Tension was slowly leaving her body. The voices in her ears began to quiet.

I’ve grown a lot I guess– but damn it if I don’t still have a lot of work to do.

Shalikova sighed to herself.

Nothing could ever be easy– not for every long.

Not for soldiers out fighting at sea.

After a short rest, Shalikova turned around in bed, still cuddling with Comrade Fuzzy against her chest. She faced Maryam’s bed and found Maryam seated cross-legged on top, with her eyes shut and her arms crossed over her chest. Her top fins wiggled gently and her tentacles swayed within her hair. She breathed in and out with a deliberate timing. Her soft facial features were slightly screwed close, furrowed brow and cheeks pulling up.

“Trying to concentrate?” Shalikova asked.

“Oh! Sonya! No, I was just relaxing.” Maryam said.

She opened her eyes and smiled. Shalikova’s face sank into Comrade Fuzzy.

“Maryam, don’t keep things from me. You’re no good at it.”

“Ah– well, alright. Since you caught me.”

Maryam shut her eyes, crossed her arms and put on a confident little expression.

“Sonya– I have been finking about our royal cuttlenundrum.”

Maryam grinned.

Shalikova groaned.

“Did you think about it beyond what fish puns to make?” She said.

In response Maryam turned red and puffed up her cheeks, prompting Shalikova to be quiet.

“Okay, sorry–! I was just making fun! Go ahead.”

Maryam shut her eyes, lifted an index finger and looked deep in thought for a moment.

Shalikova stared at her while she puffed herself up for whatever she was about to say.

“Sonya–”

Lifting her pink hands and putting one fist on the other palm like a gavel.

“–it’s time to ask Euphrates, because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah I kinda figured we would arrive there eventually.”

Shalikova laid a hand on her own forehead, lifting up her bangs and sighing.

“After I confessed I was psionic to Murati she told me Euphrates and Tigris were helping her– so I guess it’s okay. As long as Murati does not become involved.” She said.

“Sonya, why are you so against the Lieutenant? She seems nice.” Maryam asked.

For a moment Shalikova imagined Murati fussing over her and Maryam and grimaced.

“Because she’s annoying. Let’s leave it that.”

Maryam gave Shalikova a scrutinizing look before dropping the matter herself.

Shalikova hid fully behind Comrade Fuzzy again.

While the two of them were staring from across the room, something lit up on the door.

In the middle of it a picture appeared in a square computer window.

Short blue hair, wavy and messy, on a youthful, fair-skinned face.

Euphrates was right outside the door, politely requesting access to enter the door.

Shalikova stared at the door with mild surprise.

She half-expected anyone looking for her to be like Illya and just bang and shout on it.

“Speak of the devil. Come in!” Shalikova called out.

Across the room, Maryam had a conflicted expression for a moment and averted her gaze.

Shalikova let go of Comrade Fuzzy and sat up, tossing her hair.

“Good afternoon, Maryam, Sonya Shalikova.”

Euphrates and Tigris crossed the threshold and closed the door behind themselves.

It was the first time Shalikova had a meeting in private with the ship’s “technical partners.”

Shalikova waved quietly in response. Maryam continued averting her gaze.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t turned tomato-colored yet.” Euphrates said.

In response, Maryam puffed up and went red and continued quietly refusing to respond.

“We just came to check up on you.” Tigris said. “On both of you.”

“In fact we just got done covering up for you.” Euphrates said.

“What?” Shalikova stood up straighter in bed. “What does that mean?”

Euphrates put her hands in her coat pockets and smiled.

“Your ability to use psionics came up in conversation– the Captain and Commissar were a bit alarmed to hear that Maryam was psionic as well. I knew she had to be responsible for the Ensign’s psionics.” Euphrates said. For a moment Shalikova went wide-eyed with burgeoning panic. Euphrates must have noticed, as she took her hands out of her pockets to make a comforting gesture. “No, no, no, don’t be afraid. We vouched for Maryam’s trustworthiness and made ourselves responsible for preventing such surprises in the future.”

Shalikova sighed. Maryam continued to give Euphrates and Tigris the silent treatment.

“I figured Murati would have to tell them eventually.” Shalikova said.

“Don’t blame Murati, she has been incredibly discreet.” Euphrates replied.

“Fine. So then– what are the two of you checking up on us for?” Shalikova asked.

“We’re supposed to–” Euphrates began–

“Slow down with the we,” Tigris interrupted. “You volunteered to compile everyone’s psionic potential on the ship. I’m a mechanical engineer, I have things to do. So you have fun covering up all the staring you’re going to do at people on this ship. I am not helping.”

“Can you help me just this once? I really need your assistance.” Euphrates said.

Tigris averted her gaze in the same direction as Maryam. She crossed her arms.

“Whatever. Whatever! I’ll stick around this once.” She said.

“Thank you. Now, take a look at Ms. Shalikova here– you’ll see the problem.”

Shalikova narrowed her eyes, meeting Euphrates and Tigris’ gaze with quiet consternation.

She saw red rings appear on their eyes. Tigris in particular scrutinized Shalikova for longer.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tigris said. “I can’t see anything, no matter what I try. What the hell?”

“Indeed.” Euphrates said. “Ensign, are you employing psionics at the moment?”

“No, I’m not.” Shalikova said. “This is something Maryam said too. My aura is weird.”

Tigris took a deep breath and looked at Shalikova again with renewed intensity.

Shalikova heard Tigris’ speaking in the back of her mind–

Oracle’s Voice: Epexegesis.”

Shalikova instinctively responded with her own psionics having detected Tigris invoking a power. She then saw several thread-width lines of colored light, connecting the fringes of Tigris’ aura to her own– or perhaps to where her own aura should have been. Except, the threads stopped just short of Shalikova and hung in mid-air utterly disconnected from anything. She knew right away that whatever Tigris had attempted to do failed.

“Now you can see why I wanted you to try.” Euphrates said.

“Yeah? But I still can’t understand anything even with Epexegesis.” Tigris sighed.

“What are you two up to?” Shalikova asked. “Why are you trying to read my aura?”

Despite the sudden intrusion and strange behavior of their guests Shalikova was not fearful. This was because Maryam, on the other side of the room, was still pouting and staying out of it as if it was just any other casual occurrence. Maryam would have definitely rushed to defend Shalikova from anything violent or harmful. In addition, Shalikova almost felt like she had her own voice in her mind which was telling her that it was harmless, or perhaps more accurately, it was making that knowledge implicit to her understanding.

Shalikova felt like she had always known, somehow, what this power was meant to do.

It was meant to read auras more deeply than was possible by simply looking.

“Aura reading is something common to psychics. It should not offend you.” Euphrates said.

“She has a right to be offended.” Maryam said. “It’s not up to you.”

“Finally, my dear former pupil deigns to speak with me.” Euphrates smiled.

Maryam stuck out her tongue at her.

“I’m trying to read the aura to get a feel for your psionics, but it’s impossible.” Tigris said.

“And we’ve never seen anything like it.” Euphrates added. “So it’s quite novel.”

“Okay? I have no idea what means for me.” Shalikova said.

“Neither do we.” Euphrates said. “But you don’t look unhealthy, at least.”

“She’s fine.” Maryam said. “Sonya is special! She will use her powers for good.”

“Right. And she’s particularly special to you, isn’t she?” Euphrates said.

She reached out and poked one of Maryam’s head fins, causing Maryam to flinch.

“Ugh! Don’t treat me like a kid.” Maryam said. “I’m not the same as I was!”

“No, you are not. You’ve traveled, found a purpose and people to care about. I think that is lovely, and it was never our intention to bar you from it.” Euphrates said. “You can disagree as vehemently as you want with our ethics as you see them. But to me, you will always be a special pupil whom I had a wonderful time teaching. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Hmph. No thanks. All you taught me was to do the opposite of you.” Maryam said.

“She’s become such a cuttletrarian.” Euphrates said.

“Ugh. I’m leaving.” Tigris mumbled.

“Wait.” Shalikova said, raising her hand. “We need your help with something.”

She turned to face Maryam. “Maryam, tell them. You yourself said we needed them.”

Maryam’s colors went dull for a moment. Her fins and tentacles deflated a little.

“Maryam, please.” Shalikova said. “We promised to help, remember?”

“We did promise.” Maryam had an uncharacteristically disagreeable expression.

With her eyes narrow and an unfriendly glower, she explained their predicament.

Recalling how Elena Lettiere told them that Norn prevented her from using her psionics.

Euphrates and Tigris were quiet as Maryam explained Elena Lettiere’s predicament.

At various points in the story they glanced at each other from the corners of their eyes.

Shalikova noticed it– Maryam might have not, or not cared.

After the conclusion of the story, Tigris looked conflicted and Euphrates unmoved.

“So– I dunno, you tell me. How do we exorcise a psionic effect from someone?”

Maryam asked with some of her quiet innocence returning to her mannerisms.

“Maryam– tell me this. How do you define what is real?” Euphrates asked back.

She smiled as if she had just said something very profound.

Maryam’s face instantly turned tomato-red and her eyes went suddenly wide with fury.

“I knew it! I’ve had it up to here with you! Goodbye! I’m not dealing with this again!”

In an instant Maryam stood to leave–

but just as fast Shalikova stepped forward and grabbed her by the jacket.

They stood in the center of the room, with Maryam frowning as she was ensnared.

“Maryam, c’mon, have some patience! For me!” Shalikova pleaded.

Arms crossed, face boiling red, cheeks puffed up, Maryam sat back down on the bed.

This time Shalikova sat beside her to comfort her while Euphrates and Tigris stood.

“I know how you feel– but try to endure it. I get what she’s saying.” Tigris sighed.

“I’m not that annoying, am I?” Euphrate asked. “It’s actually important to consider for this scenario, Maryam. You heard Elena Lettiere describe her experience and drew a conclusion, but think about it: what makes an experience ‘real’? Is there an objective quality, extrinsic to humanity, that makes information, experience, or sight, concretely ‘real’?”

Maryam stared at Shalikova and gestured toward Euphrates with exasperation.

“I’ll answer.” Shalikova said, before Maryam could say something rude or irascible. “I’m not the biggest brain around here, but I’ll try my best to answer earnestly. In the Union, we are taught to be materialists. We believe that the world and its laws are knowable– thinking comes from material conditions. So I guess that, whatever someone experiences, comes from a condition of their material existence. So– whatever you think, it is rooted in something which is real. So Elena must have a reason for what she saw.”

“That’s a good answer– but, do you think you fully verified Elena’s ‘experience’ here?”

“We took her at her word. She told us what she felt.” Shalikova said.

“But people can misinterpret fraught subjects such as these. Especially naïve people.”

Even Shalikova was starting to get agitated. “Look, I’m not a philosopher.”

“Alright, let us set aside the frameworks.” Euphrates said. “Let me clarify what I mean as much as I can. Maryam has presupposed that Elena is ‘under some kind of curse’ that ‘Norn put on her using King’s Gaze’ which then ‘prevents her from performing psionics.’” Euphrates held out fingers for each of these conditions in her argument. “However, how do we confirm this is the case? These are some big leaps of logics. I actually have a counterexample: it is also possible that Elena simply believes she is incapable of performing psionics due to Norn’s influence, without the existence of an actual ‘curse’ at all. You said you read Elena’s aura, but that aura is primarily borne of her own emotions. Even if you think you can feel a trace of Norn there, you do not know why or how. It could all still be ‘in Elena’s head’.”

“That’s what she means by whether something can be objectively real.” Tigris said. “How can we be sure of what happened to Elena? It’s actually easier to believe that Norn influenced Elena’s behavior like, on a traumatic level perhaps, without it having anything to do with ‘curses.’ It could be Elena’s got some learned helplessness to deal with. Or she’s been in Norn’s shadow enough to have internalized a fear of her retribution.”

“Why does any of this matter?” Maryam said. “You’re just philosophizing not helping!”

“I never said I wouldn’t help.” Euphrates said. “But you have to understand, where psionics is concerned, we have to be really careful to consider the variability of the human psyche and of human emotions. My answer from experience is that there is only observable reality– therefore we must be careful what we make others believe to be real. Maryam, if you had tried to ‘remove a curse’ from Elena without understanding what is truly happening, you could have irreparably influenced her mind and damaged her sanity. Imagine if by tinkering around with Elena’s mind within this rhetorical framework of ‘removing Norn’s curse’, you caused her to irrevocably believe Norn is her enemy? You have to be careful.”

Shalikova nodded along. She was a bit fascinated by Euphrates’ logic.

She supposed human minds were still highly complicated, even to experienced psychics.

Henceforth she would have to be careful when she encouraged Maryam to use psionics.

She had not realized she could so much harm to a mind.

“Human minds are conceptual spaces. To their owner, the information that their mind can process is the only thing they can confirm to be ‘reality’. The information and ideology they acquire throughout their life is a function of their material circumstances, that is very true. But what you see, hear, and even smell or taste can still be altered by the condition of the mind. There are people who see things that are not real, and staunchly believe in things they cannot substantiate.” Euphrates said. “Knowing this to be true, you have to be wary of executing a ‘conceptual attack’– using psionics in a way you think is helpful, but that could alter their reality in a way you might not have intended. Not only will the effort be very taxing on your psionics, the end result could be horribly disruptive to your patient.”

“Norn doesn’t even need to use her King’s Gaze to affect Elena.” Tigris added. “For example, if she got to Elena as a kid, when her mind was the most pliable and vulnerable, she can make her believe anything. She could have already been under conceptual attack– we don’t know.”

“It may even be simpler than that, far simpler. At least, simpler in comparison to a decades long conspiracy.” Euphrates said. “Before we do anything, Maryam, I need to talk to Elena Lettiere myself. I want to ask her about Norn and their relationship and then see how she feels. To take it for a given that she is under attack by Norn, and try to tinker with her mind to change that– it could be a horrible mistake. You can’t do such things lightly.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Maryam said, averting her gaze, crossing her arms and pouting.

“It’ll also have to be another day. We’re kinda busy, you know?” Tigris said.

“I understand.” Shalikova said. She turned to Maryam and touched her shoulder for support and affection. “Maryam, I know you wanted to be the big hero, but they’re right. Elena should not just go along with our conjectures. Even if we have the best intentions we need to be careful. Let’s get everyone together and try to figure out more, okay?”

“Sheesh.” Maryam snorted. “Fine, fine, fine. I never said I wanted to force her or anything.”

“Of course. You just got a little over-enthusiastic. It’s part of your charm.” Euphrates said.

“Hmph. I’ve not forgiven you two.” Maryam said. Pointed glaring at the two women.

“Forgiven us for what? We haven’t ever done anything to you.” Tigris said, exasperated.

“For being bad and selfish people!” Maryam said, raising her voice.

“Huh?” Tigris cried out, taken aback by her tone and forcefulness.

“Hmph!” Maryam averted her eyes and puffed her cheeks up.

“Tigris is extremely altruistic. You can be pointed and say it’s my fault.” Euphrates said.

“Hmph!!” Maryam puffed her cheeks up to an even greater degree.

“I won’t disagree with you either.” Euphrates said. “I am– amending– my ethics a bit.”

For the first time her words sounded just a bit hesitant and unsure.

Maryam opened one curious eye to stare sidelong at Euphrates.

Even Tigris started staring at her too.

Euphrates held her hands together in a plaintive gesture, still smiling.

“Inaction and indecision– played more of a part in my thinking than I’d like. I admit it. I allowed events to spiral out of control. I lost perspective.” Euphrates said. “Being on this ship has made me feel that time is moving again for me. And that I must move with it. I can’t remove myself from culpability. I am looking to set things right. Norn, Mehmed, Ganges, Yangtze– any pain they caused is my shared responsibility. I accept it now.”

“Great. Could’ve fooled me.” Tigris replied, glaring at Euphrates again.

“I am not asking for forgiveness, Maryam. But I’d love to have your help in the future.”

Euphrates adjusted her coat, and bid farewell, with Tigris following close behind.

Still arguing about what Euphrates meant and whether she was serious.

That conversation was not for the two left behind, however.

When the door shut, Maryam let out a breath that must have been held long.

She then leaned heavily on Shalikova, squishing her cheeks up against Shalikova’s chest.

“Sonyaaaaa that was super annoying! You have to be really nice to me now, okay?”

“Sure, Sure. Come here. You’re still a big hero to me. A big, squishy softie of a hero.”

Shalikova held Maryam close, stroking the fins on her head and laughing a bit.

Thinking about Maryam and Euphrates, she felt a bit silly about her feelings toward Murati.


After what she considered a somewhat embarrassing appearance at the ‘Meeting to Discuss Weird Stuff’, Murati made for the brig. Hardly knowing what to make of it that the enemy officer whom she had captured had requested an audience with her specifically. She had no investment in whether or not she would be effective in extracting any information from the captive, so it made no difference to her and she was not exactly anxious.

But she was perplexed and a little bit annoyed.

What would she even say to a fascist, face to face?

Murati had argued with fascists in her head for years.

Anyone who studied theory would likely have had similar moments– putting together a worldview and acquiring a set of convictions required challenging their competing notions in her own head. In Murati’s mind, she had argued with the Imbrian Empire, and lately she had argued with the Volkisch Movement as she learned more of their ideology while continuously refining her own. Why was she not a Fascist? Why was she against Imperialism? Answering these questions was necessary to arrive at the truth of communism.

But she had never thought about what she would say to a living fascist in a discussion.

She had at most thought about what she would say if she had to execute a fascist.

“The People make up a Nation; you’ll never build a Nation without lifting them up.”

Then she would pull the trigger and turn around without even looking at the gore.

Maybe it could use some refinement–

At any rate– on the walk over, Murati wandered what she would say.

To Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather, sitting in the brig, requesting to speak with her alone.

Without much progress made in refining a concept of this encounter in her own mind, Murati stood at the door to the brig and gathered her breath. When the door slid open, Murati saw Dr. Kappel jotting something down on her portable clipboard computer. The doctor noticed Murati at the door and gestured for her to wait before coming in. She then stepped outside the brig and shut the door and bid Murati follow her a few steps away, so they would be farther from the brig when speaking. Murati figured she had been evaluating Aatto, and caught a glimpse of a photo of Aatto taken with the computer camera for her file.

“Murati, I completed a preliminary evaluation of Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather.” Dr. Kappel said. She clicked the switch to shut off her computer. “This evaluation was performed for the sake of her health, as one of my new patients– and I will not disclose any specific physical health conditions, or anything she specifically confided in me. But I thought that it might help you to speak with her more effectively if I gave you my basic assessment of her first.”

Murati bristled a little bit. “So the fascist also has medical rights on this ship?”

“Murati, everyone has rights on this ship. As long as I am the ship’s Doctor, we will not deny captives basic treatment. It would be senselessly cruel.” Dr. Kappel sternly said.

“Fair enough.” Murati replied. She felt a little embarrassed in her response.

However, she was also too stubborn to apologize, and still felt she was justified too.

“At any rate. I am not a psychotherapist, but I am trained enough to serve as a counsel for the ship, and I performed some initial assessments of Aatto’s mental health. Are you interested in hearing them, or would you prefer to form your own?” Dr. Kappel asked Murati.

“I’m interested. How coherent is she? Is she holding up well in the brig?” Murati asked.

“She’s quite coherent.” Dr. Kappel replied. “She is willing to talk and is in fact affable in conversation. She answers questions and does not appear distressed by her current predicament. She has realistic expectations about her captivity, but has not expressed any anger, frustration or anxiety about being imprisoned. Her physical health is adequate. However, despite her attitude– I would say her mental health could be at risk.”

“How so?” Murati asked.

“I believe she might be a suicide risk.” Dr. Kappel said. “And my true motive for speaking with you is that, during your interrogation, please be wary of Aatto and if needed, stop her from hurting herself. She has expressed that she holds her life in low regard, and made a few morbid jokes without prompting during our discussion that trouble me. Coupled with the certainty and confidence she projects, I fear she may decide to– escape, in that way.”

Murati was a little bit shocked. She was briefly unable to speak as she processed.

More shocked about her own reaction than anything– she felt a bit of a pang of nerves.

Why would she care if the fascist does anything to herself? They were lower than dirt.

And yet– she didn’t want to be party to someone trying to hang or stab themselves either.

Not in this sort of environment. There was no battle raging in here.

“I won’t bring in anything into her cell, and I’ll watch her carefully.” Murati said.

“Thank you. I don’t expect you to treat her kindly– but remember we have standards.”

“I know.” Murati said. Internally, bristling at the idea that Aatto deserved anything.

Dr. Kappel nodded her head in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

“Wait, Doctor.” Murati said. Dr. Kappel paused to hear her out. “Do you know why Aatto wants to talk with me? Did she tell you anything about that? The Captain and Commissar have not had time to properly interrogate her just yet– but they wanted me to acquiesce to her request. I do not know what benefit she gets out of talking to me.”

“My fear aside, I think it may be a matter of pride or respect for her.” Dr. Kappel said.

“That makes sense. She confronted me directly and I made a fool of her.” Murati said.

“Right. She may want to look into the eyes of the person who captured her, to hear her voice, to be processed by you, as a form of accepting and coping with her failure. I will keep to myself exactly what she said, and like I said, I won’t ask you to moderate your voice.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I will do my best to try to handle things– humanely.” Murati replied.

“That’s all I ask. She may be unworthy of our respect, but she’s still our responsibility.”

Dr. Kappel reached out a hand and Murati shook with her, leaving on better terms.

Now, however, Murati was actually troubled by the idea of meeting Aatto.

Her situation became more complicated than ‘yelling at the fascist.’

Nevertheless, Murati returned to the brig with her hands closed into fists.

Farthest from the door were the few barred cells on the ship. On the right-hand side were the solitary confinement cells, all of which were now unoccupied. Just past the door, standing between the landing and barred cells, Zhu Lian stood guard. Murati found her in the midst of untying her long, dark hair and retying it into a ponytail. She dressed in the same nanomail bodysuit she usually wore, with thicker plates of separated armor on her chest, gloves, waist and leg guards. She had a collapsible baton hooked to her belt and no other weapons. Murati waited for her to be done with her hair before speaking.

“Greetings, comrade. How’s the prisoner doing?” Murati asked.

Zhu opened one eye and let go of her ponytail. “Oh! Hello Lieutenant. She’s behaving.”

“I’ll be stepping in to talk to her.” Murati said.

“Yeah, I heard from the Commissar. She’s all yours. Where should I wait?”

“You can stay here for now. Has she said anything?”

“She said she was excited to meet you. Weird, huh? Like I said, she’s quite well-behaved. I expected her to be more aggro but she has been remarkably quiet and polite.”

Murati nodded her head, walked past Zhu Lian and stepped up to the bars of the cell.

As soon as her shadow crossed the bars, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather’s gaze lifted to follow her every move. Aatto was seated on the fold-out bed provided in the cell, her hands crossed on her lap with eyes cast downcard. She smiled and raised her head upon seeing Murati approach. Aatto had been stripped of much of her uniform. Her coat was gone, her boots were gone, her hat, all of her pins and collar patches and armbands. Aatto was only allowed to keep her button-down shirt, sans tie, as well as her pants, sans belt.

Even her brassiere had been taken– exceptionally evident with her shirt halfway open.

Dark blue eyes meet auburn; Murati stood across the bars.

Aatto stood in turn to meet her.

“Thank you for granting my request. I’ve been dying to meet you.” Aatto said.

“I am just following orders. I’m only curious to know what you want.” Murati replied.

Aatto smiled, a little too happy for Murati’s taste.

She was shorter than Murati, though she would not have called Aatto short overall. She was a well-proportioned young woman, busty, average in figure, decently fit. Fair skinned, dark-eyed, with sleek cheekbones and a small nose with a tight bridge and slightly rounded end– she certainly could have been described as attractive. Her long, brown hair was well-kept, silky and shiny even with minimal hygiene the past few days. Blunt bangs covered her forehead, while the rest of her hair was long and straight. Her tall, sharp ears had abundant fluff while her tail was bushy and bristly, widening with fur across its length.

Her body language was confident and quick. Her hands moved a bit as she spoke.

Unlike her stern commands in Kreuzung, her voice in captivity turned somewhat sweet.

“I would like to throw myself upon your mercy, and under your power.” Aatto said.

She bowed her head, at first– then dipped into a stage bow, with one arm out.

“No mercy is necessary. As far as I know, nobody intends you harm.” Murati said.

“It’s more than that. It’s about my purpose.” Aatto said. She stood back up to full height.

Her voice reverberated through Murati’s chest like a shockwave.

Those dark-blue eyes flashed a strange gaze at Murati’s own.

In that instant, Murati pulled her internal trigger in reaction.

Red rings glowed around her eyes which met their counterparts in Aatto’s own.

They were reading each other’s auras– Aatto had some psionic ability.

Not only that– Murati could see in her aura the bizarre euphoria slowly becoming evident in her expression as they stared each other down. Aatto’s tail began to wag so strongly it started striking the bed repeatedly. A cheek-to-cheek smile flashing white teeth; embroiled in a white and blue flame of an aura, impassioned, exuberant, sublime–

With a texture like a waterfall, like rushing silk, an unbroken current–

There was no denying what was going through her mind.

“Murati Nakara, please take me as your own instrument! Let me be of use to you!”

Murati was stunned to silence. Those words completely shattered her composure.

There was not a hint of aggression or hesitation in Aatto’s aura or her body language.

She was sincere; utterly sincere. Her every emotion was sharply focused on Murati.

“I want nothing more than to serve you! I wish I had been born a part of your body rather than all of mine. I want to see your power! Let me defect and I will show you how useful I can be! This body– you can do anything you want with it! All of my life has led me to this moment. Take me, or strike me down, whatever you wish! But I know that in life, I can be a great asset to you! I will tell you anything you want about the Volkisch! And I’m not just an informant; I’m a great analyst and organizer! Let me be your personal adjutant!”

Aatto’s speech continued to rise in volume and her expression grew wilder.

As if by continuing to speak she was making herself more and more excited.

When she finally finished, there was an enormous void where her shouting had been.

Readily filled anew– by the roaring indignation within the object of her admiration.

“Are you insane?” Murati shouted back. “You want to defect because of me?”

“Yes! Please take me under your command! I will do anything!” Aatto said.

“Absolutely not! Absolutely not! I would never–! You insane fascist!”

“I’m not a fascist! I’ll be whatever you need! Please let me join you!”

“Do you even hear yourself? Have you any shame? How can I possibly trust you?”

“Give me a chance and I will absolutely prove myself worthy of trust!”

Murati and Aatto shouted back and forth at each other, as if neither was listening.

Nothing could have prepared Murati, this situation was in none of her plans.

None of the possible conversations she imagined with this woman led to this outcome.

Aatto did not seem suicidal, at least– but she was certifiably, completely insane!

It shook Murati– the kinds of words she had never heard in her life.

Murati had never been so admired, no one had ever thrown themselves on her.

And all of this desire was coming from the imprisoned fascist?

Some part of her was susceptible to the flattery– but she categorically rejected it!

“Why me?” Murati asked, sounding like a mortified girl. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“Of course it has to be you!” Aatto said. “You demonstrated true power to me, Murati!”

“Power– right! You’re also– no, shut up, one moment–!”

Murati turned around suddenly. Near the door, Zhu Lian stood with her mouth covered.

She saw Murati turn to face her, and silently realized the reason for her doing so.

Zhu Lian, nearly laughing, left the room instantly. Hopefully she would be discreet.

Murati turned back to Aatto to find her holding the bars with her face against them.

That demented smile as if a permanent feature of her expression.

In her mind, Murati superimposed the black uniform full of fascist symbols over her body.

She shook her head, balled up her fists with frustration. Her head filling with violence.

Stepping up to the bars herself to lock eyes with Aatto, so close she could feel her breath.

“Be completely serious. Nobody is listening. Tell the truth. Now.” Murati said.

“You know I am telling the truth. You can see it. I am not lying to you.” Aatto said.

She was not lying to Murati. She was completely earnest, completely certain, and peaceful.

That smile on her face that seemed like it would never wipe off was utterly sincere.

But none of it made any sense!

“Who are you? Who are you really, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather?” Murati asked.

“I was but a living corpse until the sight of you made me want to live again.” Aatto said.

“Ugh! That’s insane! That’s nonsense! Stop making shit up! I won’t fall for your tricks!”

Murati knew Aatto was not tricking her. Murati knew that Aatto was telling the truth.

However, in the landscape of what should have been true, her answer was impermissible.

“Tell me the truth! The actual, whole truth, Aatto! What are you trying to do?”

“Murati Nakara, the Loup are a warrior culture of the Imbrium Empire. We are born to follow the orders of unworthy masters. I was nothing but a soldier, but hardly any good at direct combat– in Rhinea, they made me into an intelligence analyst and then a field agent. I did this task for the Imperial Navy and then the Volkisch inherited me like an old coat left in a closet. But I was never loyal to the Volkisch– in fact, I actually saved many Liberals from persecution! I falsified information, rerouted patrols! I betrayed the Volkisch!”

“Like I believe that.” She was telling the truth. Still telling the truth. Her aura was bright and untroubled and unmistakably clear. “Do you have any proof?” (She was telling the truth.)

“Ask the social-democrats in Aachen about Illaria Howell and Heimdall.” Aatto said.

“I suppose I will.” Murati said. Her resistance remained firm. “But why would you spy on or turn against the Volkisch? Why help the Liberals? What was in it for you? I know you possess powers yourself. You just showed them to me– I’m sure you meant to do so as well.”

“Yes, I meant to show you– though my power is far weaker than yours. I can only see.”

“Fine. Answer the question. You had personal power and standing– why risk yourself?”

Aatto’s smile wore steadily away as she answered.

“I helped the Liberals because I thought that they would take up arms and fight against the Volkisch. It all came at me like a flash. Several most-wanted persons cases fell onto my lap. In the course of my typical work, I had the opportunity to fix papers and assist in the escape of Illaria Howell, a big liberal politician, before she was purged by the Sicherheitsdienst. We met briefly in the course of events, and she vowed that she would form a resistance network, and I agreed to help save more liberals in order to help her do so. My heart fluttered– I wanted to see the Liberals destroy the Volkisch and reassert their place in the world– I wanted to see if they could overturn what seemed like their wretched Destiny.” Aatto said. Murati noted her darkening demeanor. “But all they wanted was to escape with their lives. Illaria had lied, none of them resisted. They simply wanted to go into hiding and avoid any danger. Their cowardice sickened me– I endangered myself for nothing. So– I resigned myself to return to the Volkisch, to what seemed like my own fate. Then I was captured by you.”

She raised her head again to look at Murati. Some of her bright cheer slowly returned.

That way she looked at Murati– with such fondness and tenderness– it was frightening.

“You rescued me from them, Murati! From my indenture to those weaklings!”

“Stop calling me by name, I don’t know you!” Murati grumbled.

“Oh! Of course. Of course! Forgive my impudence. You are someone who is worthy of the utmost, strictest respect. What is your rank– or should I just call you my Master?”

“What?! No! People will misunderstand! Don’t call me Master! I’m nobody’s Master!”

Murati stepped away from the bars while Aatto kept a thoroughly fixed gaze on her.

“Of course. Whatever you say.” Aatto replied. “You are my King.”

“Absolutely not! I’m nobody’s King!”

Exasperated, Murati turned her back on Aatto to avoid her eyes.

Behind herself, she heard a sharp intake of breath as she took steps toward the door.

“Please don’t go! I’m sorry! Please! I’m truly serious! I am defecting! Please!”

Murati fully intended to leave and did not immediately pause when she heard the cries.

“Please don’t abandon me! I truly can get better! Please! I want to change my fate!”

Close to the door, Murati fully stopped. She sighed to herself. She laid a hand on her face.

Aatto was openly crying and screaming and begging like she had been beaten.

I want to change my fate.

At no point had Aatto been lying to Murati. She knew that well.

Maybe even without psionics, she would have felt Aatto’s bizarre sincerity as well.

Her demeanor had changed entirely like she had swapped one identity for another.

It was shocking– but it was also hard to trust anything she said.

However–

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Murati asked, still not turning around.

She felt a pang of a truly wretched sympathy.

“My father once said– the world is a barrel-organ that God turns. We are just spectators to a song already recorded on the drum.” Aatto said, breaking out into outright sobbing and weeping. Her voice cracked– Murati thought she heard a banging on the bars and recalled Dr. Kappel’s words. She turned around immediately and found Aatto thankfully unharmed but drooping against the bars with all of her brightness and strength sapped. “I was born to be a servant– to unworthy rulers– but I don’t want the fate of the Loup– I don’t want the fate of the Loup–! Please, don’t abandon me– don’t– when I found hope–”

“Be quiet!” Murati said. “Just for a moment– be quiet. Please. I won’t leave yet.”

Aatto seemed to have spent all of her exuberance. But she dutifully quieted down.

Hanging against the bars as if holding them was all she could do to stay up.

Her eyes running red, tears down her cheeks, lips quivering with sobs.

If this was all acting– it was terribly convincing.

(And could her aura even lie about such clear and open intentions?)

Murati was torn in half by opposing instincts.

There was a part of her that reveled in the power to cause Aatto suffering.

That voice said,

“this fascist should die screaming with the agony the Volkisch inflicted on the world.”

There was a part of her that softened to the plight that had reduced Aatto to begging.

That voice said,

“this girl should be able to overcome the ideology that has had her captive for life.”

How was it that a person lived ‘inherited like an old coat’ by an evil military regime?

But then again– Murati did not know that much about Imperial Loup culture either.

What was the fate of the Loup? What would Murati be consigning Aatto to suffer?

What had Aatto suffered already that led her to this place? To her present mania?

Murati walked back to the cell and stood opposite Aatto once again.

Aatto raised her head and stared at Murati. Not smiling anymore– broken down.

It was tough to look at her now, having seen her previously carefree smile shatter to this.

Knowing that all she did was turn her back once to cause this to happen.

“Do you believe in the racial superiority of a class of ubermenschen?”

Murati’s question momentarily perplexed Aatto. But Murati did not follow up.

She did not even meet Aatto’s gaze until the captive provided an answer.

“Of course not. I’m a Loup. I wouldn’t be considered as such.” Aatto whimpered.

“Do you believe there’s an untermenschen class unfit to have agency in their lives?”

There was a heavy note of bitterness in the next answer.

“I believe the Imbrian people are largely a smooth-brained rabble.” Aatto replied.

Murati’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you believe there is ‘life unworthy of life’ such as social parasites and degenerates?”

Aatto paused for a moment, catching her breath. “Well– It depends–”

Murati frowned. “Do you believe that all Imbrians form a ‘Volksgemeinschaft’ that must carry out their unique racial destiny through the conquest of enemy racial communities?”

“I guess my definition of Imbrian is pretty broad, if I were to submit it–”

“Do you think there is a conspiracy of enemy races against the ‘Volksgemeinschaft’?”

Aatto put on a small carefree grin again.

“Well– I think, if you look at the evidence, the Cogitans and Hanwans recently–”

Murati slammed her hands on the bars in exasperation. She failed every question!

Aatto drew her eyes wide with surprise at the striking on the bars.

“You think exactly the same as a fascist! You’re still a fascist with fluffy ears and a tail!”

“Please forgive me! All I’ve ever known is the Northern Host and the Volkisch Movement! I can change if you help me! Show me your books! Teach me what you believe!” Aatto said.

“Damn it, you’re just saying whatever I want to hear?! You manipulative bitch!”

“No! It’s the truth, you know it’s the truth! You can see it! Please– I’m begging you.”

Aatto lifted her hands from the bars and clapped them together, shaking.

As if in prayer or reverence, a supplicating gesture. Her ears folding, tail dropping.

Murati was utterly exasperated and out of sorts with this whole charade, but–

No matter how much she wanted to harden herself and cast this woman into the fire.

It may well have been cruel and inhumane to simply walk away and ignore Aatto.

She could feel what she believed to be truth in her heart and it weakened her front.

There was no equivocating that Aatto was an Imperial officer and had worked for the Volkisch. Wearing that uniform was an atrocity. She tried to do some good in her position, maybe– but she had warped reasons for doing so. Even if she was perhaps not an ordinary fascist she was certainly an elitist and a mystic. That idea of hers– trying to find someone who would fight the Volkisch to “overturn Destiny,” it was clearly a gigantic delusion. Aatto could have easily just been fishing for the winning side to save her own skin.

But– it felt more difficult to condemn her after seeing her break down.

Murati started to retrace the path of her own current convictions, searching her heart.

Child to labor organizers who were punished with slavery, and who died in the service of communism. A nun and a traveler who became scientists, who became communists, who became fighters willing to kill for their beliefs. They had changed over time. Like all citizens of the Empire they had not been born communists. They had arrived at that conviction.

Murati became a communist in the nation her parents helped to found, and now she could judge Aatto for what she thought with a lifetime worth of living and studying under communism. Her material conditions led her to her present state. It could have all gone quite wrong somewhere in the middle. Even in the Union, there were still nonbelievers in communism and even people who still held on to nationalistic or liberal ideas.

Murati had an opportunity that was explicitly denied to someone like Aatto.

Aatto had been brought up to an entirely different set of circumstances. She could have been said to have been a slave herself. Loup were a racial minority in the Empire, raised and valued as military manpower. That much Murati knew, even if she did not know the exacting cultural specifics of the Loup Hosts. She did not know much about their religion or traditions or family lives, and had only superficial knowledge that the Northern and Southern Hosts differed culturally. She did know that Imbrians could put Loup in torpedoes and shoot them at enemy ships to try to board them. She did know that the royal family once upon a time had a tradition of keeping a royal guard brigade half-composed of Loup kidnapped from their homes as children and raised as soldiers entirely within the captivity of Heitzing.

Even if that tradition had been overturned by the Fuellers– it still spoke to something.

Imbrians saw the Loup as inferiors. They were not equals in society. Far from it.

They were all objects; instruments of war that could only thrive in the military.

Despite this, there were plenty of Loup still fighting for imperialism and the Volkisch.

There were many Loup who still internalized fighting for this status quo as a virtue.

But there was one Loup, in front of her, begging for a chance to do otherwise.

Perhaps a Loup could not be a fascist in the way an Imbrian could. It was more complex. Perhaps that was only an excuse Murati was making for herself, for this Loup. For this fascist— specifically. Because she could see her hurt right in front of her eyes. Even despite her convictions. Even despite everything she had come to believe. Her rationality told her that it was too convenient to view Aatto as a special case among the fascists.

Aatto had not been without choices. Her condition could not be entirely given onto fate. She could not be seen as entirely helpless. Even if she seemed to believe that she had been led to this by the nose, she always had choices. All humans did, even if those choices were grim and hopeless at times. To wear that uniform and work as a fascist, was a horrific choice– but she had also made the choice to rebel. More than once. And perhaps given a chance, Aatto could rebel enough to make amends for whatever circumstances led her to Volkisch service.

To condemn Aatto to “the fate of the Loup” as she put it– Murati did not have the steel in her chest to do that. As much as she felt like she was betraying her own convictions for not hating Aatto with every fiber of her being, for not stepping past those bars and beating her into a pulp the second she tried to beg for forgiveness. None of that would actually be justice. None of that would overturn the yoke the Volkisch had on anyone else. It would just be petty, senseless vengeance, in effigy, for the same monsters that probably tormented Aatto greatly herself. Murati grit her teeth at her own soft-heartedness.

Defectors existed in all causes to all causes– by that rubric, Aatto was not hopeless.

For everything else, Murati could only have faith and hope she would not regret her choice.

“I will talk to the Captain and Commissar about your defection.” Murati said.

She tried to keep a stoic tone and would not meet Aatto’s eyes any longer.

Aatto stared at her and smiled through her tears. Her face instantly brightened.

“Thank you! I won’t let you down! Your magnanimity is radiant! You are a true saint!”

“I’m not guaranteeing you anything!” Murati said sharply. “But I will talk to them.”

“Of course. I know you don’t have absolute power– though you deserve it–”

“Ugh. Don’t make me regret this.” Murati said. “You better be serious about it.”

“I am serious! I will be more than an adjutant! I will bear your scepter! I’ll be your knight!”

Murati could not have balled up her fists any tighter hearing all of that nonsense.

What kind of a mess am I getting myself into with this woman?

She tried to focus on material things. There was too much idealism in the atmosphere.

A Volkisch defector could be a great asset!

Aatto had been part of the Volkisch intelligence, the Sicherheitsdienst. If she truly had the kind of access to divert prisoners, fool patrols, and falsify documents, then Aatto could be a trove of information on the Volkisch and their operations and processes. Even taken with a grain of salt, it could help. And if she was telling the truth, she was crafty enough not to be caught, and she had connections with the liberals. They could use Aatto to help them find more Volkisch willing to turn and talk, or act as spies, perhaps. Even if she also insisted on being Murati’s adjutant– well, Murati could always use the help. She had been incredibly busy lately. But Aatto’s slavering displays of devotion were incredibly vexing.

It would be terribly embarrassing if she spent all her time trying to lick Murati’s boots.

But– Murati had given her word now. She had set her mind to being responsible for this.

Having Aatto locked up until she lost her mind and hurt herself was not a solution.

Maybe accepting her defection was not a perfect solution. But it was comparatively better.

So, Murati could say, in a unforeseen and surreal way, this was a productive outcome.

She could say that to herself repeatedly like a mantra until she shouted down her anxiety.

Still– Aatto’s behavior was unnerving. Something had to be done.

Something had to be said.

She turned her back again and found the words to voice her worry.

“I’m leaving. By the way, I have a wife. So– if you’re after me for– baser reasons, you had better not get your hopes up.” Murati said. She felt insane for feeling like she needed to clarify such a thing. But Aatto’s behavior had to be corrected somehow.

“I see! Well, that’s not a problem for me.” Aatto casually responded.

Murati was not facing Aatto but could practically see her expression in her mind’s eye.

Her mind was briefly overcome in a storm of emotions.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? WHAT–?!

Murati vocalized nothing of the screams and expletives going off in her mind.

She simply and silently put one foot in front of the other and vacated the brig.

Her head throbbing and pounding– but her heart lighter and less aggrieved.


“Marina, we’re back here again. Again! After all the times you withheld information from us that ended so well.” Ulyana said sternly. “What do you have to say for yourself now?”

“At this point I am not sure I’d ever trust another word out of your mouth.” Aaliyah added.

“I have nothing to say in my defense. I apologize profusely.” Marina mumbled.

“You apologize– and yet keep choosing to lie to us every time anyway!” Ulyana shouted.

For their final disciplinary meeting of the day, Ulyana and Aaliyah saved the worst.

Marina McKennedy in her suit and button-down shirt, with her hands cuffed behind her back. Seated on a table across from Aaliyah and Ulyana, with Klara van Der Smidse looking over her. Out of everyone on the ship who had taken some misguided action, Marina was the only one being treated as actively dangerous. Ulyana felt like she had ample reason to think so. Marina was the only one who had consistently been in a situation like this and simply never reformed herself. In every situation since they allowed her aboard Marina had deceived them. And now Marina was also the one who had caused actual, verifiable harm.

For Illya or Zachikova, their last escapade was the first time they disobeyed orders.

Both of them at least had a noble reason– saving their comrades.

Marina, meanwhile, had aided and abetted in the Kreuzung Core Separation Crisis.

She confessed to everything with hardly any prompting.

“I was looking for information on an old partner of mine– a scientist named Asan. In the course of that, I ran into Kitty McRoosevelt, a GIA agent who was behind the Core Separation plot. I knew what Kitty was up to, she told me up front. I tried to dissuade her from it; but then I assisted her. I helped her secure mercenaries and refined her plan. I knew if I didn’t do anything, she would just get herself killed. I could see it in her eyes that she was ready to die. I thought if she succeeded it might create an opportunity for you and that it might save her life. I was wrong. I knew I was the moment I saw those lights start flickering.”

“You’re damn right that you were wrong!” Ulyana shouted. She could not help but feel incensed at the unfeeling delivery of this excuse, for the degree of evil that had been committed. “Marina, potentially torching an entire station is not worth an opportunity! You assisted this madwoman in attacking a reactor! You could have compromised the entire structure! Citizens of a station have nowhere to run to or hide from that! If you destroy the tower they will die crushed within it! Without hope of escape! Anyone who could escape would be the rich or the Volkisch! Is this truly how the G.I.A. operates?”

Unlike in past confrontations, Marina did not try to excuse herself.

She did not meet Ulyana’s shouting with her own, nor did she continue equivocating.

Instead she looked down at the table, her hands tied behind her back.

Unable to meet the eyes of her now captors.

“An apology is worth nothing to us Marina. The scale of your deceit here is intolerable. You almost certainly have the blood of innocents on your hands for this.” Aaliyah said.

“I’ve always had the blood of innocents on my hands.” Marina mumbled.

“Don’t even try it.” Ulyana said. “You’ll find no sympathy from us with that excuse.”

While the Republic of Alayze and the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice were strategic allies against the Imbrian Empire, Ulyana would not tolerate Marina’s lazy and callous defense. The G.I.A. could lie, cheat and steal all it wanted, but all was not fair in the course of war– there were things which were beyond the pale for even special forces or spy agencies to do. There had to be a level at which brutality was not worth success– and there was one.

On a material level, attacking stations was difficult for any combatant under the ocean, because a station was an enormous prize that was easy to destroy, and thereby condemning and annihilating everyone inside it– but useless in such a state. Capturing stations was the most difficult part of any armed conflict, more difficult than fighting fleets. There were ways to do it. Compromising the electricity or blowing it up was not on the table.

It was taboo– because it was foreclosing the possibility of human life itself.

Such wanton brutality did nobody favors. It moved humanity closer to total extinction.

Even the greediest and most sadistic madmen of history had avoided the cardinal sin.

There was nothing but water out there– the human world was inside the stations.

Whether to plunder, whether to build power, or set people free– the stations had to stand.

To attack a station with the intent of destruction was to attack human life in itself.

Nobody would gain anything from it. All of humanity would simply, permanently lose.

“What can I even say to this anymore?” Ulyana said. She had shouted herself out of breath.

There was nothing more to say. Marina had gone too far. They could hardly fathom it.

It was hard to speak of punishments for something like this.

Somehow anything they said or did felt like it was not possibly enough.

Still, they had to reach beyond the emotional and assert a realistic response.

“I advise we strip Marina of the rank and credentials we afforded her.” Aaliyah said.

“I’m still on your side. I still want to help.” Marina said. Still staring down at the table.

“You have gone too far this time Marina. I am not able to excuse what you did, to myself, in any fucking way.” Ulyana said. “You’re damn lucky. We are not about to have an execution carried out on this ship. Your words are meaningless; but your actions may yet redeem you. For now what you’ve earned yourself is two weeks of solitary confinement, and the loss of your rank aboard the ship. Once you come back out, you’re a civilian to us.”

“An untrustworthy civilian who will be monitored stringently.” Aaliyah added.

Marina smiled bitterly. “You’re right. I’ve been lucky one too many times haven’t I?”

“Sit in the brig and think about what you did. It’s you who has to live with that.”

Marina grit her teeth. She still could not lift her gaze to meet theirs.

“Damn it. You’re both soldiers too. Where the fuck do you two get off on judging me?! Commie bastards. How many people wouldn’t you kill for a victory?”

From across the table, Ulyana suddenly raised her arm and slapped Marina across the face.

With such vehemence she knocked Marina sideways out of her chair.

Aaliyah had no admonishment for this act of impulse.

She quietly stood up from her chair and with Klara’s help got Marina up from the floor.

Marina weakly struggled in Klara’s grip, but could not escape the security girl.

From her expression it was evident she knew she was completely out of hand.

“Take her away.” Ulyana said sternly. Klara nodded and led Marina out of the room.

The last Ulyana saw of Marina that day, was the glint of tears in her eyes.

When the door shut, Ulyana broke out into tears too.

The Captain’s whole body was shaking from the anger and shame bound up inside her.

How could all of this mess have happened, under their watch?

Were they that useless and helpless?

“Captain, we trusted her and had that trust violated. It wasn’t our fault.” Aaliyah said.

“I know.” Ulyana wiped her eyes in vain. “It’s just– god damn it. It’s so senseless.”

Aaliyah returned to the Captain’s side and rubbed her shoulder for support.

“There’s always going to be a horrid, bloodstained line between the need to take action and the need to take the right action.” Aaliyah said. She was not weeping, but had a tender expression. “We can’t hold ourselves up too high– we can be as ethical as the situation allows us; we can try to avoid unnecessary, senseless violence. But our actions against the Empire will have consequences like this– or worse. We have to be ready.”

“I know.” Ulyana said. She lifted a hand to her face to cover her weeping eyes.

Deep down what hurt the most is that only a very thin line separated them from Kitty McRoosevelt. Would they ever become as desperate as she had been?

Ulyana could not deny it– not decisively. That was the worst feeling of all.

“You have a good heart Captain.” Aaliyah said. “You don’t have to bear Marina’s burden.”

“Thank you.” Ulyana said. “I just feel responsible. She admitted to it so callously.”

“Can I be frank with you, Captain?” Aaliyah said.

“Always.”

“Don’t let this become another Pravda for you.”

Ulyana locked eyes with Aaliyah for a moment. She swallowed the shock.

Despite a brief surprise she quickly recognized Aaliyah’s support for what it was.

“Thank you for your candor. I won’t break down. I just need time to process.”

“Thank you. I understand. It has been a heavy few days for you.”

“For us, Aaliyah. You are invaluable to me. I’d go insane without you.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. I believe you’re stronger than that.”

Aaliyah smiled at Ulyana. Despite her tears, Ulyana smiled back.

They remained together in the room for a few moments, decompressing.

Then, the meeting room door blinked, a bright computer window opening on its surface.

Murati Nakara was requesting access to the room.

Unexpected but not a problem.

Ulyana wiped her tears.

Aaliyah sat beside her and verbally commanded the door to open.

“Greetings. Captain. Commissar. I spoke with the prisoner– it’s funny, actually–”

Murati walked into the room and sat on Marina’s chair– she had on a strange expression.

They had never seen her so apparently nervous, and yet almost laughing.

Ulyana and Aaliyah followed her with their eyes. Murati had a manic sort of energy.

When she spoke, she started gesticulating with her hands in a rather dramatic fashion.

“Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather– is defecting to become my personal adjutant. There are a few things we can confirm to be sure of her sincerity, but I will take responsibility for her.”

Ulyana and Aaliyah blinked at her silently for several heavy heartbeats.

In both their heads a calculation of the circumstances seemed to play out.

Their facial expressions went through several increasingly darkening shifts.

“I guess we need to discuss what to do about her rank right? I have some ideas.”

Murati added this while nervously picking at her own tie and collar.

Speechless, Captain and Commissar both laid their heads against the table.

As if a wave of exhaustion had suddenly claimed their ability to stand.

Instantly, the room went silent, save for Murati laughing a bit, nervously still.

For several minutes the Captain and Commissar simply groaned in response.


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.2]

A pair of dark-furred cat-like ears stood up straight and engaged in a subtle wiggling.

“I’m hearing an Imperial ship! Ritter-class Cruiser!” Fatima al-Suhar called out.

Several bridge officers stiffened up in their seats.

The Ritter-class encompassed quite a few ships that had given the Brigand and its guests substantial grief in recent events. The Aleksandr detected near the end of the battle for Kreuzung; the Greater Imbria that had chased Elena Lettiere out of her home; and worst of all, the Antenora, flagship of the fearsome Norn the Praetorian. Ritters were high-tech types of vessels that could fight toe to toe with the Brigand if not give it pause outright, with comparable 150 mm guns, secondary 76 mm guns, missiles, torpedoes, drones and Divers.

“Check for the IFF before getting nervous.” Olga Athanasiou said, in a blunt tone of voice.

There was a rare configuration of command on the bridge. Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya was out taking care of ‘personnel issues’; Commissar Aaliyah Bashara joined her; and Premier Erika Kairos meeting the sailors and thus, also indisposed. Prior to their adventure in Kreuzung this should have made Murati the next-in-command on the bridge as First Officer.

Instead, Erika’s right-hand woman Olga Athanasiou was given the bridge, sitting in the big chair in her black hoodie and long casual pants, her pale hair tied up in a ponytail. This was more of a mercenary situation than the strict military regimentation the crew was used to.

On the main screen, a small Zachikova model appeared and nodded her head.

She pointed her round, tiny hand at waveform graph that appeared beside her little body.

“This signal perfectly matches the ‘Day Code’ given to us by Premier Kairos to identify the Volksarmee’s acoustic beacon IFF. I am certain that this is an allied vessel.” She said.

Olga smiled and leaned farther back in the Captain’s chair, putting her feet up.

“That’s the Rostock then. Helm, rendezvous with them. Signals, send an acoustic hail.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Kamarik and Semyonova worked as instructed, efficiently and without complaint.

“So– do you think she is ever going to learn our names?”

On the opposite side of the bridge from signals, Torpedo Officer Alex Geninov grumbled.

“Gamer, tis been but few moons since she joined our band. Silence your errant tongue.”

Gunnery Officer Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa whispered back with typical verbosity.

Olga sighed audibly at the two of them.

“Rejoice you two; I know your names, because you get scolded the most!” She said.

Fernanda shot Alex a glare as if to say ‘you got me in trouble again!’

Alex squirmed in her seat, under both Olga and Fernanda’s glowering expressions.

Even with Olga in the Captain’s chair, there could still be an air of familiarity.

Soon after, the National Volksarmee flagship answered the Brigand’s message. Within 30 minutes the two vessels closed enough to one another for laser-based communications. On the main screen, the Rostock came to loom massively within 50 meters of the Brigand in the otherwise empty-seeming, near-black landscape of Eisental. It was the first time since they had left Thassal Station that the Brigand was face to face with an Imperial model ship on assuredly friendly terms. Quite a unique image to be seeing in ultra-high resolution.

The Ritter-class, also known as the “Sword class,” resembled what its nickname suggested. The prow of the ship was sharp and roughly triangular, while the gently flared rear armor over the hydrojets resembled a sword’s handguard. Atop the slight curve of the top deck rested the main gun turret, its dual 150 mm barrels and their chunky drainage housings permanently engaged, unlike the Brigand’s retractable guns. But the Rostock had a few modifications. Most obviously, it had a livery, dark green with a red stripe running across the bow. In addition to the interdiction gas guns and the secondary 76 mm cannons, there were also additional jet anchor pods installed on the front and rear of the ship. Sixteen cells of vertical missile launchers were evident as well. How had Erika acquired such a vessel?

Olga always answered the same– that is a story for another day.

So the crew remained curious but nonetheless professional as they could be.

“Yeah, that’s her all right.” Olga said. “Accept the hail, Sig– Semyonova. Main screen.”

Semyonova smiled at Olga. “Yes ma’am. Right away.”

She promptly routed the communication from the Rostock to the main screen situated on the forebridge. After a few seconds a woman appeared, saluting the entire time, rendered massively in front of everyone due to the size of the main screen. Like Olga and Erika, the captain of the Rostock had the same rectangular horns coming out of the back of her head pointed up, barely visible from behind her peaked cap. Her skin was lightly pink with orange mottles visible around her neck. On her cap, there was a silver badge that had been evidently defaced, a crude star cut over whatever it had once represented. She dressed in a long red coat over black pants and a cut-off black top, and wore her dark blue hair quite long.

“Comrade Olga. Captain Daphne Triantafallos of the Rostock is reporting in.”

Her voice was serious and her enunciation was very deliberate.

Olga cracked a little grin upon seeing her.

“How have things been, Daphne? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and we’re going to have do it while on the move. It is going to be pretty annoying, you know, so get ready for that. But until Erika gets back from chatting, we can take it easy for a little bit.”

Rather than respond, Daphne glanced around.

From her vantage, she could see some of the Brigand’s bridge crew.

“These are Union soldiers, Olga?” Daphne asked.

“Indeed they are.” Olga replied dryly.

“To think– I will fight alongside the great liberators of the southern sea. It is my honor!”

Semyonova narrowed her eyes with confusion as Daphne adopted a more compliant tone.

“May I attend the Brigand for a spell in order to observe their operations? I’m sure we can learn something that will improve the Rostock’s efficiency!” Daphne said, with a little smile.

Olga laughed. “Sure, sure. We’ll have a lot of people coming and going.”

“Are we that special?” Geninov whispered, but not low enough–

“Have some faith, torpedoes!” Olga declared almost as quickly as Geninov spoke.

Geninov frowned, and there was some light giggling throughout the bridge at her expense.

On the leftmost edge of the main screen, beside Daphne, a second figure peeked into the picture. Daphne turned to acknowledge her and bid her to come closer and greet everyone. In the next instant, a round-faced and pretty young woman took the opportunity to jump in, cling very close to Daphne and fully enter the picture. Dressed in a plastic, hooded coat with numerous pockets that seemed like it had either been sloppily dyed red over or blue; or that it had faded from red with specks and streaks of blue dotting its surface. When she pulled her hood down, she rendered visible her brown hair, collected into a big braid. Her skin was a brownish-grey with spots of white, but most peculiarly, she had a single horn stretching from the top of her forehead, a few centimeters long before it was broken off. Big orange eyes and rosy cheeks, gave her a more girlish and soft appearance than Daphne’s sleek edges.

“Greetings everyone! I am Nomia Grammateas. I am Daphne’s adjutant. Nice to meet you all.”

She spoke in a voice so dulcet-soft she earned an easy comparison to Semyonova.

“You can catch up later.” Olga said. “Daphne, we should not stay put for much longer. We need to get the show moving. Pull the Rostock alongside us, we’ll synchronize navigation data. We can use shuttles or Divers to ferry personnel between the ships in motion.”

Daphne acknowledged with a shallow nod.

In a corner of the main screen, a camera picked up movement and brought up a picture-in-picture showing the ocean ahead of them and what had been detected. There was only one sight to see. The Rostock began to pull water through its jets again, leaving the area of the forward cameras to be picked up by side cameras. Slowly circling around the Brigand to face in its direction while maintaining a fifty meter distance from starboard. Olga ordered Kamarik to get the Brigand moving also; the two ships resumed their journey together.

Olga sat back in the Captain’s chair and shut her eyes for a moment.

She thought of the amount of work ahead of them before Aachen. They had to synchronize the data of both ships; come up with a slew of protocols for working together; collate a shared inventory; make communications routine enough that both crews became habituated to working together and making joint decisions; all of this just in the middle of the ocean while hurtling toward greater troubles. There would be even work at Aachen, and even more to do once they worked out any kind of plan against the Volkisch Movement.

As with all previous events that transpired– Olga simply grinned to herself.

There was a lot of toil ahead, and she would certainly complain.

But she was excited to be out of that stuffy Kreuzung station and back in the ocean.

In the ocean, where there was a fight, there was the possibility of change.

Victory or death.

Erika’s dream was one step closer to being realized.

And that was all that mattered to her. A world where Erika would not need to work.


At Dr. Kappel’s request, Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya visited her clinic.

Of the many meetings on her schedule this would be the first.

She was grateful for the opportunity to put off the disciplinary meetings with Illya and Valeriya– and Zachikova and Arabella after them. She also had a meeting with Erika, Murati, Euphrates and Tigris to catch up on the events surrounding Arabella, the Omenseers, and “Psionics.” Then she had to finally reprimand Marina. Compared to all of those topics, talking to Homa Baumann, if not any lighter, would at least be easier to approach.

Ulyana walked into the clinic and made note that all of the disciplinary hearing subjects had already been collected from their beds by Akulantova and taken to the meeting place. Aaliyah was likely already there with them. There were a pair of sailors helpfully assisting in putting away the plastic screens that had been installed between each bed. It made the clinic look a lot less occupied. There was one barrier at the end that would not yet be moved.

Behind it was Homa Baumann.

(And Kalika Loukia, seated beside her and in the middle of conversation.)

Ulyana arrived swiftly, interrupting the two and introducing herself.

“Greetings, Homa Baumann. I’m Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya. Let’s have a little chat.”

In her bed, Homa Baumann looked– small.

She was not necessarily a very short girl, and it was not necessarily because Ulyana herself was taller than average. Rather, Ulyana felt that Homa was making herself small, distant. She was nervous and closed off. Whether voluntarily or not, she seemed like she was shrinking back from Ulyana. Compared to when Ulyana had last seen her, when she was brought into the ship, Homa was cleaned up and healthier, her dark hair attaining a lively luster again, her eyes brighter. She was looking even skinnier than she did in Kreuzung, when she greeted Ulyana at the port. But she was eating again, so she would be restored in time.

“Do you recognize me, Homa? We actually met when my ship arrived at Kreuzung.”

Homa briefly glanced at Kalika and then back to Ulyana.

“Yes, I do recognize you.” Homa said. “I remember. The Pandora’s Box– I always knew you guys were shady.” She averted her gaze. “Two days ago– I had just been operated on and I was really freaked out. But I get it– I’ve ended up on a mercenary vessel. Isn’t that right?”

“Close. I suppose you could say that about our present situation.” Ulyana smiled.

Homa narrowed her eyes.

“Are you going to try talking in circles around it too?”

“No. I will tell you everything you want to know. Then you can decide whether to stay with us or part ways. So just ask. I can spare ten or twenty minutes. You can ask me anything.”

For a moment, Homa was warier than she had ever looked.

“What happens if you tell me your secrets and let me go, and I snitch to the Volkisch?”

Kalika sighed openly and put her biological hand over her face in response.

Ulyana smiled, because it was such a farcical proposition, and such a prickly response.

She was not threatened in the slightest.

This outburst came from a place of hurt.

“Nothing will happen to you. At least not by our hand.” Ulyana said. When she spoke her voice was gentle but firm. “You can go directly from our ship to the Gau office at Aachen. Nobody will stop you. You can say what you want to say to them, and certainly we may be inconvenienced by it, but more than likely you will end up being arrested by them and we will just escape and find another way to conduct our business. You have some lurid fantasies if you think I’m going to silence a helpless girl as a threat to our security. We operate just a bit more ethically than that. Besides, you hate the Volkisch too, don’t you?”

That final point was the most important one.

Knowing what Ulyana knew about the situation, made it much easier to sell things softly.

Had Homa been any more ambiguous– she may well have had to cover off the possibility.

But the sad, withdrawn girl in front of her was no threat to anyone right now.

She would not do anything to merit extreme measures.

“What makes you say that?” Homa said bitterly. “There’s a lot of Volkisch Shimii now.”

Homa could not meet her eyes. She had never once looked at Ulyana directly as they spoke.

Poor girl. Her voice was trembling. Her state made Ulyana’s heart quiver with pity.

“You fought them in Kreuzung. You killed them too. You threw yourself right at them.”

At the sound of the word ‘killed’ Homa seemed to flinch and stare down at her own lap.

“Homa. Please. Nobody will hurt you.” Kalika finally interrupted.

She reached out a hand to comfort her– and Homa gently shied away from it.

“It’s not that.” Homa said. Partially through gritted teeth. Her hand clutching her blanket.

“Homa,” Ulyana said, believing it was time to just put everything on the table with finality, “I’m a Captain of the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice’s Navy.” She waited a moment for Homa to draw her eyes wide. “You may have heard of us referred to as rebels or bandits; but we are communist soldiers and we have not come here to plunder or enrich ourselves. We are here to help the people of Eisental to resist the Volkisch Movement.”

“The Union?” Homa said. Her lips quivered. “So you’re not mercenaries. You’re real soldiers.”

Her initial shock seemed to quickly abate, but she still could not lift her eyes from the bed.

“Before either mercenaries or soldiers, we’re all communists.” Ulyana said. She bent over slightly to try to get closer to capturing Homa’s eyes. Homa continued to avoid her gaze. “We don’t want to cause you unneeded suffering, Homa. When we dock at Aachen, no matter what, you will have a chance to leave. But we know that you fought the Volkisch at Kreuzung. If you are opposed to their injustices, then we can be your allies in that regard.”

Homa narrowed her eyes. Her ears folded. She looked more conflicted than before.

“You don’t have to make any decision right now.” Ulyana said. “You don’t even have to decide when we get to Aachen. Take your time and think about it. Staying with us will put you in a lot of danger– but as long as you remain here, we will feed you and take care of you. You’re not the only guest we have. We don’t have infinite capacity but we can certainly help you. We’re not in the habit of abandoning innocent girls to the elements. We will not make you fight either, so you do not have to worry about that. You can still do what you want with yourself. But if you want to leave, you can leave. We’ll do our best to assist you.”

Homa bowed her head. Her hair fell messily over her face, enough to cover her eyes.

“Why?” Homa asked. “I don’t understand why– why would you be like this? Didn’t one of you look at the data from my machine? I was afraid you wanted me to fight. So– why–?”

Ulyana suppressed a laugh.

She must have gotten wind of Murati’s thoughtless intentions.

“I’ll tell Murati Nakara off if she gets too excited. I am not recruiting you Homa.”

“I don’t understand!” Homa cried out. “Why would you be this accommodating? I’m just some nobody! No, even worse– I’m just a big target now! I killed Volkisch back at Kreuzung. I killed dozens– no, hundreds of them! So I’m a murderer and a criminal! They’ll find me and hunt me down and make me pay! Meanwhile I’ll just take up space, eat your food, and you’re even giving me a free surgery. I don’t understand why you would do any of this for me!”

Homa had made her own voice crack several times. She was losing control.

Ulyana tried to reassure her again.

“We are doing this much for you– because it’s right, Homa. Because causing you harm or neglecting you is the senseless, needless option.” Her calm gaze met Homa’s impassioned eyes directly for the very first time in their conversation. “Because I couldn’t live with myself throwing you out of this ship knowing you have no means to sustain yourself. Because what is convenient for me is not what is right or just for the world. That is why, Homa. We can adjust the rations; we can get more medicines; we can move around people so you can have a place to sleep. But we rescued you; we have a responsibility to help you!”

That screaming which had shaken itself out of her chest seemed to leave Homa hollow.

“I– I–” Homa began to weep. “I see. I see. I– I don’t have any more questions. Sorry.”

She turned suddenly in bed, wrapping herself in her blankets, turning her back and sobbing.

Ulyana looked at Kalika, silently requesting her input.

Kalika shook her head and made a waving hand gesture as if to say ‘go, I’ve got this.’

Ulyana nodded back.

She turned her own back on Homa’s bed for now and walked away.

In her years as a Captain she had built up some experience dealing with traumas like this.

And she herself had a complete breakdown too– after the Pravda incident in the Union.

Back then she had completely blamed herself for the accident.

For the sinking of the newest Union dreadnought and the loss of hundreds of lives.

Ulyana knew the sound of those words that Homa spoke against herself.

Blame and self-hatred and confusion. After the Pravda sank, the questions would torment her mind for years. “Why did I live when others lost their lives?” “Where did I go wrong?” “How can I keep living like this?” To silence those voices, Ulyana drank and fucked and retreated from the world. She ignored her friends and shouted and spat at any stranger who tried to drag her back or to give her a way out. Only Nagavanshi succeeded.

She saw so much herself in Homa that it was almost painful to bear witness to it.

Ulyana had grown too, however. She was not still the woman of mere months ago.

For a woman in her mid-30s, the last few months had done the work of years.

Overcoming had been slow– but she forgave herself.

She would not avert her gaze from Homa. She had to meet that girl’s eyes at her level.

She also knew that trying too hard to help could become its own torture for poor Homa.

Instead Ulyana hoped that Homa would slowly accept the everyday kindness of living on the ship and come to a decision for herself. Exposed to the frequent and unexceptional kindness that everyone on the Brigand would receive in their time of need. She hoped that given the right opportunities to fight her own helplessness, Homa would take them and it would build her spirits back up, so that she felt like she had found her own power and purpose again.

That was what the Brigand and its mission, had done for Ulyana herself.

Ulyana had learned to forgive herself for the Pravda.

All she wanted for Homa, was that she could forgive herself for her own tragedy.

At least Kalika had put herself at Homa’s dispensation. Having a friend would help.

There was not much Ulyana could do. She walked out of the clinic feeling ambivalent.

Walking slowly through the hall to have a moment’s peace to decompress.

Before all of the exhausting meetings about to come.

“Homa Baumann is the least of my problems.” Ulyana said to herself.

Still– that meeting had been nowhere near as simple as she had hoped it would be.

People could hurt so badly– in every piece of them, the cruel Imbrium could put a scratch.

Just like the Brigand itself, sailing immaculate before being patched up over and over.

All Ulyana could do was keep patching, to keep the water out.

Several doors down the hall, her next problem awaited in a nondescript meeting room.

There was a table, some chairs, the blue walls, nothing exceptional or different.

Akulantova at the door; Aaliyah waiting on the other end of the room, alone.

And between them, Illya Rostova, her arms crossed; and Valeriya Peterburg, avoiding eyes.

Perhaps one of her most dangerous set of problems.

“Have they been behaving?” Ulyana asked upon walking in.

“They know better than to piss me off worse than they already have.” Akulantova replied.

Her voice was gruffer than usual. She was more unreservedly blunt to these two.

Neither Illya nor Valeriya made a sound despite being mentioned so roughly.

Ulyana walked around them and took a seat next to Aaliyah.

“Are we ready to begin, Captain?” She asked.

“We have to be.” Ulyana said. She meet Aaliyah’s eyes– her Commissar looked wary too.

Together, the two of them faced Illya and Valeriya on the other side of the table.

“Let’s cut the bullshit.” Ulyana said immediately. Aaliyah’s ears stood on end. “You two don’t respect me or Chief Akulantova. You are probably laughing to yourselves because Akulantova values human lives and I was just an ordinary ship Captain. You probably don’t respect Aaliyah because she’s ‘just’ a Commissar too. Am I wrong? You believe your special forces clique are the center of the universe don’t you? That you are all above the law?”

“Captain–!” Aaliyah gasped with surprise.

Ulyana did not draw her eyes away from Illya.

Even Akulantova had her eyes drawn wide at the Captain’s aggression.

Illya raised her eyes from the table, her icy gaze meeting Ulyana’s passion.

“Dead wrong.” Illya said. “I believe no such things, Captain.”

“Then I misread you. I sincerely apologize. Let us put it behind us.”

Ulyana reached out a hand to shake. Illya looked at it and quizzically returned the gesture.

Neither of the two made any sort of show of their hand shaking.

Just an ordinary firm shake. As if nobody had shouted.

When their hands retracted, Ulyana crossed her arms. She let out a breath.

“Tell me why you and Valeriya left the ship without authorization, in full combat gear.”

Illya shut her eyes. “To rescue Zachikova.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Do you think I would have forbid her rescue?” Ulyana said.

“I worried you might put the mission ahead of a single crew member.” Illya replied.

“And you wouldn’t?”

“I don’t leave people behind if I can help it.”

“People, writ large– or people, as in just your former squadron?”

“We would have done the same. For you.”

Valeriya finally spoke up in the middle of them. She was covering her mouth with her hand and would not make eye contact with anyone. Both of them were dressed in the Treasure Box uniforms, and Valeriya was not given her tactical mask back to wear. So she was covering her face and speaking from behind her fingers. While Illya’s body language was firm and determined, Valeriya looked shaken and unable to hold her gaze on anything.

Despite this, she spoke up when she needed to.

Ulyana sighed. These two weren’t necessarily ill intentioned– just difficult.

Difficult girls whose history Ulyana was not allowed to know.

For the first time Ulyana felt that it would be difficult to make friends here.

She had to be the boss, rather than the inspirational figure or the ship dad.

“You misjudged me as well, Illya Rostova. In that situation, I would not have abandoned Zachikova. Our mission has paramount importance, of course– but I need my crew to complete my mission. I need Zachikova, you, and Valeriya. More than that– I am responsible for you. It would take the most dire circumstances for me to abandon you.”

For the first time, Valeriya briefly glanced at Ulyana directly.

“It’s my responsibility– what we did.” Illya said, raising her voice as if hoping to center all attention on herself. Meeting Ulyana’s eyes while reaching out a hand and gripping Valeriya’s shoulder to comfort her. “When I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I own up to it. You’re partially right, Ulyana Korabiskaya. I do not know you as a Captain. So I would rather break a few plates, and be yelled at, and learn my lesson, than lose my chance. So I went out and brought back Zachikova. Because she was a comrade– and friend. So I just broke the plates.”

“Does this mean henceforth you will correct your behavior?” Aaliyah asked.

“Yes.” Illya said. “Next time this happens, I’ll follow protocol and trust you.”

“We’ve been pretty speedy decision-makers when it has mattered. We could have avoided a lot of trouble.” Ulyana said. “Anyway. Let me be clear about where we stand. You are all valuable members of my crew. I have decided to punish you, and the punishment has been decided too. But I will expect both of you to continue doing your jobs, and to perform with excellence. I expect you to follow orders. You want those guns out of their lockers, you request it from the Chief. You have a situation, you report it to me or to the Commissar– or hell, even Murati! We just can’t afford to be completely in the dark. You had that scuffle with Ahwalia, and now this. You will learn to cooperate with others properly. That is the only thing you are missing. You must recognize that you are part of my team. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.” Illya said. “I intended no disrespect. I am not trying to subvert command.”

“Good. And while you intended no disrespect, you disrespected me nonetheless.”

“I apologize, Captain. I will do whatever it takes to rectify the situation.”

“Just do your job. Do it right. Look at Klara and Lian for examples.”

Illya seemed to bristle ever so slightly at that suggestion, but said nothing more.

Maybe she was a good girl after all.

Ulyana turned to Valeriya and spoke to her directly.

In that instant Illya looked more alarmed for a moment.

“You care about Illya quite deeply. But don’t just do whatever she tells you. I want you to be able to exercise your own judgment and rein her in if you must. Are we clear?”

Valeriya nodded her head quietly. It was difficult to be firm with her.

“Good. You two have demonstrated a lot of skill– I will be needing you. So shape up!”

The Captain turned her attention back to Illya and smiled.

“Now, let bygones be bygones, agree to do better next time– and accept your punishment.”

From a corner of the Akulantova, who also had a grin on her face, picked up a box.

She dropped the box in the middle of the table between Illya and Ulyana and chuckled.

“You are all cordially invited to café Last Resort Rations. Three meals a day, two weeks.”

Ulyana opened the plastic box to unveil several compressed bricks of food vacuum packed in transparent wrappers. Each of them had a sticker with the packing date, fall-off date and the name of the item. She held up one which was a muddy dark color and had specks of green within it. It was evident through the packaging that the brick was dense and crumbly.

“Look! Soy sauce cabbage congee! Amazing!” Ulyana said, putting on a sadistic smile.

Aaliyah picked one up and showed it off with the exact same expression as Ulyana.

“And here we have red rice with beans and peppers. Scrumptious.” Aaliyah said.

“But we’re not monsters here. You’ll also have water from your rooms, and one of these.”

Ulyana produced from the ration box a tiny two-piece alcohol stove, a pack of fuel tablets for the portable stove and a little steel cup. An entire portable mess kit for survival use.

“You can bite straight into the food bar, or you can dissolve the contents into a little stew.”

“Three a day.” Aaliyah added. “We will be checking in on you to make sure you eat them. If you even as much as look at Minardo’s cooking we have some creative ideas to make this worse, so it’s best to steel yourselves for it now. While you eat, think about what you’ve done and the social contract for being on this ship. I don’t care how classified or not the two of you are; you’re under the Captain’s command and my supervision. End of story.”

Enjoying herself far too much, Ulyana pulled out a third bar and waved it gleefully.

“Straight out of our old homeland: buckwheat with mushrooms and algae!”

Aaliyah followed her, producing a fourth block. “Homestyle tofu rice with green onion.”

“I get it, I get it.” Illya said. “We’ll eat out of the box and be good girls from now on.”

Valeriya nodded her head alongside Illya.

Even she looked a bit more amused than before at the nature of the punishment.

“Did you think we were going to vent you of an airlock?” Ulyana asked.

“No, more like shoot me in front of the crew as an example.” Illya said.

“We’re not putting that entirely off the table on a repeat offense.” Aaliyah replied.

Now it was Ulyana’s turn to look momentarily shocked at her Commissar’s aggression.

Off to the side of the table, Akulantova made a face and averted her eyes.

Illya and Valeriya looked completely unphased by the comment.

“Well– I suppose that is most of what needed to be said on this topic.” Ulyana said trying to fill in the sudden silence, and wanting to move on to her next meeting. “Illya and Valeriya; we will be monitoring you more closely from now on. I want us to have a better relationship. My style of leadership is that I want to trust that everyone working for me is an adult with an ethical compass who can do their job correctly and communicate well. I am grateful that you were able to bring Zachikova and Arabella back safely. But you have shaken my trust in you — needlessly — and it will need to be rebuilt. But I want to believe in you two.”

Illya nodded her head. “Acknowledged. I will endeavor toward excellence, Captain.”

“See that you do.” Ulyana said. “Is there anything more you want to tell me?”

“Actually, there is, Captain. There is something you can do for me.”

Ulyana awaited for Illya to explain– instead she got up from her chair.

Akulantova stiffened up– Aaliyah was about to shout for her to sit until dismissed–

But everyone quieted when Illya kneeled beside Valeriya, taking her hand.

“Valeriya Peterburg, will you marry me?”

In that moment, Valeriya’s eyes drew wider open than Ulyana had ever seen them.

She was rendered perhaps more speechless than usual.

“I want to take care of you forever. I never want to leave your side.” Illya continued. “So much has happened to you for following me all of this time. For every one of my horrid decisions, you have supported me. At my every lowest point, you have been forced to watch me struggle to stand. Whenever I falter, you are forced to save me. When we were in the middle of a firefight again, I trusted you with my life, but I was– I was so deeply afraid for yours. I can’t pretend like this will make up for everything, but it’s a real commitment I can make to you right now. I want to spend the rest of my life treating you like a queen, Valeriya.”

Aaliyah and Ulyana stared in mute surprise. They glanced at each other helplessly.

Valeriya lifted her hand from over her mouth– she was smiling, a little bit.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” She whimpered, her voice lower than ever.

Her eyes glinted with a hint of tears. But she was smiling, happier than ever.

From her kneeling position, Illya turned to face the others.

“As soon as possible I want this to be completely official. The Commissar is a communist party official, so she can notarize; and the Captain and Akulantova are our two witnesses. We have cohabitated for years. I want to marry her. You don’t have to put me on any lists for bigger rooms or whatever the fuck– just fill out the form for us. Please.”

Illya sounded far more serious than she had been during the entire conversation before.

This meant even more to her than her life, Ulyana thought.

These two– they really were very difficult women. But very tender too.

Aaliyah sighed. “I’ll add your paperwork to my unending list of things that need doing.”

“Thank you, Commissar, Captain, Chief.” Illya said. “Truly. Thank you for everything.”

“You two are always the biggest pain in my ass.” Akulantova said. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations.” Ulyana said, helpless to add anything more substantial.

“Congratulations.” Aaliyah added in a monotone voice.

All of the reluctance in the world had taken residence in her. She was nearly shaking.

Regardless, there was a confession and everyone accepted it.

Illya and Valeriya stood up, and Valeriya threw her arms around Illya without hesitation.

In return, Illya kissed her with her own unreserved passion, the audience be damned.

Neither of them stretched out the scene any further. After the kiss, they were dismissed.

Illya took the box of rations and carried it, beside an uncharacteristically smiley Valeriya.

Akulantova watched them go with a critical expression, jaw twitching with irritation.

And so concluded that piece of business.

“Well,” Ulyana said, “Never knew this whole mess would end in a wedding. Fun, huh?”

Aaliyah stared sidelong at Ulyana, frowning, her arms crossed, seated back on her chair.

“Personally, I must express disapproval. But administratively, I will comply.” She said.

Ulyana laid a hand on her shoulder with a smile. “That’s our charming Commissar.”

“Hmph.” Aaliyah’s ears folded, but she did not shake Ulyana’s hand off her shoulder.


Another meeting room door opened in the wake of the Captain and Commissar.

Seated across the table from Arabella and Zachikova this time. Both of them out of their hospital beds and back in uniform. Arabella had been retrieved with some truly grisly wounds, and had recovered exceptionally. However, ever since she was brought aboard she had refused to take on any color in her skin or hair. A pale girl with completely white hair and pale eyes, even the once flush and vascular tips of her horns were stark white.

Meanwhile Zachikova was still quite herself, but she was nursing a serious injury to her leg and sat on a wheelchair during the meeting. For once she had an emotion on her face.

She looked nervous.

As soon as Ulyana and Aaliyah took their seats across the table, Arabella bowed her head.

She bowed so low that her hair covered her face. Aaliyah sighed.

They heard her sob but could not see her tears.

“I apologize for the danger I brought upon all of you. I am so deeply sorry.” Arabella said.

Zachikova remained quiet, her hands on her lap with the fingers curled into fists.

“We are still almost completely in the dark about what this danger was,” Aaliyah said, “and about your role in it,” she then turned to face Zachikova, “and why you snuck out to go after her without telling anybody. More than punishing anyone, we need to understand the circumstances. We can leave some things to a report, but I want a motive.”

Zachikova raised her eyes from the table and met Aaliyah and Ulyana’s gazes.

“She went missing and I had a feeling she was in danger. So I went after her.” She said.

“When a crew member goes missing, Braya Zachikova, we form a rescue party, and then we know where everyone is, what they are doing, and we can coordinate them. When we work together we have a much higher chance of bringing everyone back safely!”

“I had an emotional response.” Zachikova said. Averting her eyes.

“It’s not that I can’t sympathize with that. We are all emotional on this ship.” Ulyana said, entering the discussion. “But when another crew member’s life is on the line, we need to temper our emotions with rationality. We can’t act on pure impulse. There is always enough time to make sure the crew knows what you are doing and can back you up. Zachikova, the way you decided to do this could have jeopardized your life, that of Arabella, and Illya and Valeriya, who also went after you in secret. You could have all died without us ever knowing where you were, or what had happened to you. Akulantova had to run out to find you! You should thank her for your lives. We can’t allow this to repeat ever again.”

Zachikova paused to think for a moment.

But even she seemed frustrated with her own response when next she spoke.

“I understand perfectly well. It’s not like me– but Arabella isn’t like anyone else to me.”

“It was my fault.” Arabella interrupted. “Please do not chastise Braya.”

“I must chastise her.” Ulyana said. “Because she knows better than to have done this.”

“I know– but what I mean is, I called out to her in a panic. I called out to her to save me.”

“You’re talking about psionics, aren’t you?” Ulyana said.

Betraying a sudden weariness.

Arabella nodded her head. Aaliyah narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Zachikova heard my psionic screaming. That’s the reason she came after me.” Arabella said.

“You don’t have to make excuses for me. I made my own decision.” Zachikova said.

“Let her talk.” Ulyana said. “Arabella. Why did you run away in the first place?”

Arabella looked utterly defeated as she spoke.

They could barely see her face and she was weeping.

“When you came back from your meetings with the United Front groups, I caught the scent on you– the scent of some awful people of my own kind. They are known as Enforcers of the Syzygy. They are brutal and they disdain hominins. I was terrified that they were plotting to trick you and kill everyone here. I felt that I needed to go after them– that only I could do it– in order to protect Braya and all of you. I prepared for a few days by gathering my old memories and then I escaped to go after them. Perhaps it was also the hunger– pushing me into conflict with them. But ultimately, I did what I did. It was reckless and useless. I did enormous damage to my mind and body, and betrayed your trust, for nothing.”

“Have we really just not engendered any trust in you all?” Ulyana said sternly.

Somehow, she felt more saddened that nobody reported to her when they were in need.

Perhaps because that was something easier to grasp than the rest.

“You caught the scent of your kind on us?” Aaliyah asked. “So we met with Omenseers?”

Arabella nodded her head.

“So these Enforcers you mentioned– we can rule out Erika and her troops, or Arabella would have made her scene on the ship rather than vacated it. We can also rule out the demsocs, since Gloria was not physically present but Orlan is on the ship and getting along–” Ulyana felt her heart beat faster. She recalled the strange behavior of the anarchists, utterly false in their ideology and confessing that they believed some bizarre theories.

“It was Zozia and Ksenia then.” She finally said. The Imbrium was cruel indeed.

“I might be able to describe their hominin likenesses for you.” Arabella said.

“So you were not successful in eliminating them.” Aaliyah said.

“I’m afraid not.” Arabella said. “They almost killed me. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Then we’ll be running into them again at Aachen.” Ulyana said gravely.

Aaliyah’s tail stood up straight. “We need more info– how do we even respond to this?”

“Arabella, are you okay with telling us all of this? You don’t have to do this.”

Zachikova spoke up in defense of Arabella. Aaliyah shot her a furious look.

Ulyana laid her hand on Aaliyah’s shoulder and shook her head to stop her going further.

“Zachikova. Arabella saved our lives back at Goryk. We deferred prying into her affairs back then. But now we need more information. We are not doing this out of convenience– if we want to protect her from her enemies, who clearly meant her harm, then she has to work with us. She can’t keep going around behind our backs anymore. Do you understand?”

In response, Zachikova quieted and averted her gaze. Arabella held her hand briefly.

“It’s okay, Braya.” Arabella said. She put on a brave face.

Facing an Ulyana trying her damnedest to smile, and Aaliyah’s fiercely skeptical eyes.

Arabella began to speak, and she told Ulyana and Aaliyah something new.

“My name is Arabella– it is what I was originally called. Arbitrator I– that was something my sister made up. Her name was Caderis– now Arbitrator II.” Arabella began. Then her tone grew impassioned, and the things she said made both Aaliyah and Ulyana stare fixedly. “My sister and I were created as weapons. Biological weapons. By people up there.” She pointed at the ceiling. She clearly meant the surface. Ulyana and Aaliyah followed where her finger pointed with wide-eyed confusion. “They used DNA from the original Omenseers to make us. We were meant to be extremely adaptable weapons that could be used to control the hominins. Hominins were more scared than ever, and fighting each other, and the world was in a truly horrid shape. When I was born, the sky was already purple. ‘Biomechanoids’– as they called us– did not need fuel or munitions, and we could repair ourselves– and we derived our fighting energy from the most abundant resource left in the world. Expendable, infinitely replaceable hominins. We could kill them, eat them, and then kill more.”

Ulyana could hardly believe what she was hearing. She did not know how she could reply.

Or at least, that was her snap reaction.

After a few moments she realized the world had been overturned and made a farce in front of her eyes so many times already. She could believe almost anything after she overcame her initial shock. Then again– judging by Homa’s reaction, to her, communism was as incomprehensible as the idea of talking to a surface world bioweapon. So perhaps musing on the weirdness of the particulars here was nothing but good old human emotion.

Aaliyah did not raise her voice to interrupt either.

She had her arms crossed, she had her eyes to the table. Mulling over as Arabella spoke.

Hearing no interruptions, Arabella caught her breath, continued– but quickly deteriorated.

“I wish I could tell you more– about my self or Caderis or the original ancient peoples. I wasn’t lying when I said it takes me some time to remember my memories. I’m sorry. It’s because I’m not a real person– I believe you are all real people, and I’m a fake person. Back then– the hominins came up with the idea that there were ‘Genuine Human Beings’ who had to survive. But I’m not one of those– because Genuine Human Beings have a normal brain, and they have a soul too and God loves them. I’m a ‘Biomechanoid’– I’m only conscious because of a DNA computer inside me. Not because I’m a person. And–” Arabella grew more distraught as she spoke. Zachikova started to look at her with clear distress. But she also did not interrupt. She seemed as shocked as everyone else. Arabella looked like she had to make a physical effort to control her stuttering and complete her sentences again. “I know it must sound dumb, and I’m really sorry! But I broke the computer! I wanted to get all of the data blocks out of it and read them again but I was careless and now I can’t remember half the things I should know anymore. Back then– I put them all away, because I was scared of everything and I wanted to run away! But then when I wanted to be brave all of the blocks are broken and I cannot read them now! I’m really sorry! Now I’m useless to everyone!”

“Arabella, please calm down!” Ulyana said. She reached out and held both of Arabella’s hands in her own, giving her knuckles a gentle squeeze with her thumbs. “It may be cold comfort to you– you have experienced things we can’t possibly imagine– but I believe you are a human being! Humanity is more than just your biology. You’re human to me– I care about you.”

Hands smashed down on the table from beside Arabella.

“And it doesn’t matter if she isn’t a human being!” Zachikova said suddenly. Angrier and more emotional than she ever had been. She stole one of Arabella’s hands from Ulyana and held it herself. Arabella turned to look at her, Zachikova with her cybernetic eyes that still wept, her brain implants and her antennae-like ears. “Humans aren’t the only things worthy of existing in the world and having their lives respected! I know– I know what it is like to not feel human. Arabella, you don’t have to be ‘a person’– you’re important to me! To hell with the computer too! You’re more than the data some bastards left behind! I don’t care about it!”

“Braya–” Arabella’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry– I broke it– I’m–”

“I told you before. I need you. You’re not useless– never say that again. Never.”

Zachikova squeezed her hand.

Arabella shut her eyes and smiled. She took in a deep breath.

“Thank you. I won’t say it again Braya. I won’t say it again. I’m so sorry.”

Both of them wept and held each other’s hands and fixed their gazes.

Intertwining fingers, tearful smiles.

Ulyana could have almost cried herself.

Zachikova had changed a good bit since the Brigand had set out too.

She had found the person who, in the entire ocean, brought out her warmest feelings.

“Arabella, we’re not here to torture an innocent girl for information.” Aaliyah said, piercing the silence that had befallen the room as the lovers comforted each other. Ulyana could see that it was taking her some effort to hold her own passions in the midst of all of this emotion. “I can understand that with the trauma and injury you’ve suffered, which would have killed any ordinary person, you are unable to recall what has– apparently– been an incredibly long life’s worth of complicated information. I’m not going to insist on wringing your memories out of your mind. The Captain is correct– before we are military officers, we are communists. For now, try not to stress out over your lost memories.”

Arabella looked from Zachikova over to Aaliyah and wiped her tears.

Her eyes shut–

and in an instant, her skin flushed, turning a light brown with a slight pinkness.

Color surged across her skin like a time-lapse of a flower blooming. Her hair became dark purple-blue, shrunk to back-length, with somewhat disorderly bangs. When she reopened her eyes they had become blue and purple as well. Her horns glowed with thin purple veins. She gave off a very different kind of presence. No longer slouching and defeated.

As her lover had found her warmest feelings; Arabella found her colors again.

Zachikova stared speechless at the rapid transformation, still holding Arabella’s hand.

Arabella squeezed that hand with a fond expression on her face.

She suddenly looked much more like herself.

“Thank you, Commissar, Captain. I’ve been a lot of trouble, but– I won’t run away again. I promise. Even if my brain is more scrambled than ever, I know what is important.” Arabella said. Her tone started wistful but slowly became firmer again. “You are all so incredibly kind to me. I feel ashamed of what has happened. I will take responsibility for myself. I want to protect Braya. I want to protect her friends too. I will do whatever you say, Captain.”

“Arabella– you don’t have to–” Zachikova began to speak, but Ulyana interrupted.

“You’re not going to reject her determination, are you? She’s trying to move forward.”

Ulyana smiled. Zachikova narrowed her eyes and grunted but then quieted.

She averted her gaze but then found herself looking at Arabella, who was also smiling.

Zachikova seemed trapped between the two of them and bodily relented.

“Fine. I’ll be there every moment, anyway, so I needn’t worry.”

“You really are getting emotional huh?” Aaliyah interjected teasingly.

“We’re not treating her like equipment.” Ulyana said. Also teasing the self-described ‘robot’.

“Captain, you know how I feel about that already, so please just drop it.” Zachikova said.

“Alright, alright.” Ulyana said, smiling.

Aaliyah crossed her arms and stared at the table, shaking her head.

“I was already planning on doing so, but we need to have Maharapratham look at her.”

“Maharapratham?” Arabella said. “That’s the mushroom lady right?”

“She would be so upset at you calling her the mushroom lady.” Ulyana said, amused.

“She’s our resident scientist and lab technician.” Aaliyah said sternly. “She was supposedly a wunderkind at the academy– even has two degrees supposedly. Recent events got me thinking that with Arabella’s cooperation and consent, Maharapratham might be able to learn more about Arabella’s kind through lab tests. I think it is worth trying.”

Ulyana stared at Zachikova expecting an overprotective comment in response.

But Arabella also turned to Zachikova after hearing Aaliyah’s suggestion, smiling brightly.

The attention of the two women caused Zachikova to wither, silently disgruntled.

“Braya, would you be okay with your mate becoming a science experiment again?”

Arabella smiled again in the silly way she once used to address the world around her.

As if to remind everyone that this purple-haired, darker-skinned version was still herself.

“Do what you want.” Zachikova grunted. “But I want to be included in the project too.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll inform Maharapratham. It’ll have to be later– I’ll have to catch her up on all of this.” Aaliyah said, gesturing around herself. “In the mean, Zachikova, you will assist in gathering Arabella’s testimony. Compile all intelligence about the Kreuzung Omenseers into a detailed report. That way when we get to Aachen we can more easily disseminate information to the Volksarmee about the fake anarchists to keep everyone safe.”

“Sounds good. Just one more agenda item on the unending pile.” Ulyana sighed.

“Don’t forget we’re also punishing them.” Aaliyah said. “Go on and punish them, Captain.”

“Punishing us?” Zachikova said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh that’s right! I almost forgot. You’re going to eat nasty food for a week.” Ulyana said.

Ulyana got up from the meeting room table, ready to show the pair a packaged ration–

“Whatever. I don’t care. I’m not even sure if Arabella can taste food normally anyway.”

Zachikova deflated the performance before Ulyana could even put down the ration box.

“I’ll eat anything for Braya! No matter how gross! She was going to eat a man for me!”

Arabella called out in solidarity. Zachikova flinched and stared daggers at her in turn.

Out of surprise and consternation, Ulyana dropped the ration box on the table with a thud.

“Wait! She was going to do what?! Back up! Say that again?!” Aaliyah shouted.

Ulyana felt her poor pitiable heart start banging up a storm again inside of her chest.

“Let’s– Let’s just leave that– for the official report Zachikova will be writing for us.”

“No–” Aaliyah said, her voice sounding distant and distraught. “I need to know now.”

“I’d– I’d really rather not today. I’d really rather just read about it later.” Ulyana said.

Aaliyah and Ulyana gave each other the most haunted gazes they had ever shared.

“It better be in the report.” Aaliyah said, staring at Zachikova. “It better be in the report.”

“God damn it.” Zachikova grit her teeth. “I didn’t eat anyone. I was trying to feed her.”

Realizing too late what she had just said, Zachikova suddenly shrank further in her chair.

Arabella was all smiles, as if the atmosphere in the room had not become a thunder cloud.

“It better in the report.” Aaliyah said again, dangerously. “I’ll be– displeased– if it isn’t.”

Ulyana, similarly shaken by what she had heard insinuated, supported the Commissar.

“You better write an entire novel explaining what happened in grotesque detail.” She said.

“I’ll type everything up. I’m really sorry.” Zachikova said. “You’ll know everything.”

“Two weeks eating the bricks.” Aaliyah said suddenly, raising her fingers in a V-shape. “Don’t even think about going near the cafeteria. Or I’ll make you wish you were a cannibal.”

“Yes ma’am.” Zachikova said. She had never sounded so compliant as she did right then.

In Ulyana’s eyes everything was a surreal blur and in her ears words rang distant.

Zachikova and Arabella were ultimately ushered out of the meeting room by Akulantova.

While Ulyana and Aaliyah stayed, staring at the metal table surface and middle distance.

“Well. I guess– actually, is there even something in the regulations about–?”

“Please, Ulyana. Just. Please.” Aaliyah put her head down on the table.

Ulyana reached to stroke her ears gently.

They stayed together for fifteen minutes, sighing, before the next meeting.


Euphrates waved with a sunny smile as if she had not a care in the world.

“So compared to the rest of your day, how easy do you think this one will be?”

“Don’t even joke about it. If I wasn’t the Captain I’d call in sick tomorrow.”

Ulyana and Aaliyah wearily sat down in an even smaller room than before with even more people than ever. It was their most familiar meeting room yet. Because it was the room they worked out of the most, during their stay in Kreuzung. While the two of them looked quite worse for wear, the rest of the participants seemed quite fresh. Euphrates in her spiffy sportcoat, her shoulder length messy blue hair having just barely met one more comb than usual; Tigris in brown overalls and a long-sleeved white shirt, her red hair tied into a long ponytail, without a drop of grease on her; Erika Kairos, sharp as ever, her coat and business attire pristine and her smoke-blue hair silky and shiny; her companion Olga, her feet up on the desk, wearing a black hoodie and long, tough pants, her white hair collected into a ponytail framed by her horns; and Murati Nakara in a uniform worn perfectly, shoulder-length hair disorderly, having grown out a bit since the start of their journey.

“Wait, who has the bridge right now?” Aaliyah asked.

“Kalika is up there, don’t worry.” Erika said. “Homa Baumann is sleeping.”

She added the last detail with a little grin.

“She’s really taken to that kid huh? I didn’t know she could be so nice.” Olga replied.

“She can be a bit tetchy about politics, but she’s not heartless.” Erika said.

Once everyone was gathered and seated, Ulyana and Aaliyah took a moment to compose themselves before diving into the meeting’s topics. Since Ulyana felt she would leave any meeting with Arabella having more questions in mind than answers in her pocket, she had requested that Euphrates and Tigris meet with her directly afterward for a session to discuss the session. Euphrates was amenable to more discussion surrounding the Omenseers and suggested they also review what Murati had learned about psionics so far.

“We now convene the second ‘Meeting to Discuss Weird Stuff.’” Ulyana said.

“Take it seriously.” Aaliyah sighed.

“How should we begin?” Euphrates asked. “Anything on your mind, Captain?”

There was so much on her mind it was hard to narrow it down. “By any chance, are you familiar with DNA-based computers?” Ulyana asked. “We just got done talking to Arabella and she claims her consciousness is in the form of a computer inside her that is now broken, so her amnesia won’t recover. I’m inclined to believe her– if she meant us harm, she would have caused her ruckus inside of the ship rather than sneaking out. But does that mean every ‘Omenseer’ is also some kind of flesh computer? Can her ‘data’ be recovered?”

“Tigris, any ideas?” Euphrates said suddenly, smiling at her companion.

Tigris had her arms crossed and her head down and looked surprised to be addressed.

“Why the hell are you asking me? I work with machines not with meat.”

Euphrates shrugged comically. “There you are, Captain. I’m afraid it’s beyond us.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know anything! Idiot! You agreed to this meeting!”

Erika raised her hand as if in a classroom.

Ulyana was surprised to see her interject. Having access to the Brigand’s classified operational data for a few days already, Erika knew at least as much about Omenseers and psionics as they did. She had been included in the meeting on a purely informational capacity– their political leader should just be aware of these ‘classified’ subjects. There was no expectation she would have information of her own to share about the situation.

Instead the Premier smiled mischeviously once she was given the room.

“I am here to make an important disclosure– which is why I brought Olga.” Erika said.

“I’m an Omenseer.” Olga said suddenly, crossing her arms and averting her gaze.

Everyone else in the room turned reflexively to stare at Erika and Olga.

“What? You’re not going to be nervous around me now, are you?” Olga grumbled.

“She won’t bite.” Erika said, calm and affable.

“C’mon, don’t put it like that.” Olga replied, further annoyed.

“Well, it looks like my work here is done.” Euphrates replied, shrugging again.

“No it’s not! You’re going to talk if they ask you something, you clown!” Tigris shouted.

“Time out!” Aaliyah said, forming a ‘T’ with her hands. “We need to speak in turn!”

“Premier,” Ulyana started, still grasping for what to say, “How did–?”

“Much as with you and Arabella, my dear Olga stumbled into my life a mystery. Over time I slowly unraveled a few parts.” Erika replied, remaining calm and amused despite the attention. “But I have never needed to know more than what she wishes to tell me. I have never demanded any more. She has never intentionally hurt me. I trust her more than I trust any other person in the world. So I will request that you do not try to force any information from her– or from Arabella either. Regardless, she and I are at your disposal.”

“It’s about time to tell the bits I know.” Olga said. She sighed again. “Look, Arabella is not incorrect in what she told you. She might not be able to recover some of her memories again. Omenseers’ heads work differently than those of ordinary people. Think of it like having two sets of memories: there’s your everyday stuff, and there’s more tucked away somewhere. You kind of know it’s there, but ‘thinking’ about it is more complicated. I think that is what Arabella is talking about with ‘DNA computer’. In my head, I know it is called STEM.”

“Okay. So, are you going to tell me that yours is broken too?” Aaliyah asked.

Olga put her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “Yeah. I am. Mine is incredibly fucked up by this point. See– the STEM stuff is in our bodies, right? I don’t know whether it’s DNA or what it is exactly. It’s inside this body, the data is stored in my flesh or organs somewhere, but it is different. Then– Well, Omenseers can shape our bodies into different forms. It’s called ‘biokinesis’. Doing that, we can recover from injury faster, or grow weapons. Look.”

She raised one hand out of her pocket and waved it in front of everyone.

Ulyana stared at her raised index and middle finger, which Olga pressed together.

Until they joined to become one combined digit that was sharper than before.

Then in the next instant, with seemingly great ease, she split the fingers apart again.

Perhaps a more dramatic version than what Arabella commonly did to her own body.

“Now think about the data that is stored in my body. I do not know where it actually is. I do not know how this STEM or whatever inside me works, I just know I have it and that if I think in a certain way I can try to access it. But it’s in this body that is constantly changing, getting fucked up, getting patched up– of course after a while the data has to be scrambled up some. So if I tried to access my STEM it would be like an insane dream.”

“Well. It’s a bit surreal to watch it in action, but it makes sense.” Ulyana said.

“I guess it does.” Aaliyah said, putting a hand on her forehead as if nursing an ache.

“Olga, how did you come to be an Omenseer? I still don’t understand that.” Murati asked.

“Before, Arabella told us she was a thousand-year old member of a ‘culture’ but now she is saying she was a surface-era biological weapon that was made from the DNA of– I assume– a member of that ancient culture. I am having a tough time squaring it.” Ulyana said.

“Huh?” Murati nearly shouted. “A bio-weapon? That’s– that’s incredible if it’s true!”

Her eyes had lit up like twin jewels with the excitement of discovering an ancient weapon.

Ulyana was torn between thinking it was cute and thinking it would be annoying.

“Don’t get too excited.” Olga replied. “I don’t know anything about that. It’s definitely not how I ended up here. But who knows– maybe Arabella is just special and different.”

“Don’t bother Arabella, Murati– or Homa Baumann, either.” Ulyana said.

“Wait– why Homa Baumann?” Murati looked suddenly helpless.

“Be quiet, Murati. It’s not your turn.” Aaliyah said, raising her voice.

Murati turned a downcast expression at her corner of the table.

Erika covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Olga, can you tell them your story? I’d love to hear it too.” She said.

Olga met Erika’s eyes. Her stern expression melted in one softer and more relaxed.

When they looked at each other it was as if they were alone in the room.

Ulyana thought this was an opportunity for Erika too, not just the Brigand’s crew.

And that Olga was not resentful to have that opportunity.

“Damn it, you already know the important bits Erika. You’ll just be bored.” Olga ran her fingers through her hair and chuckled. “But fine. Whatever. Believe me if you want or not. But I was actually a Leviathan before. Weirdly, I remember what I looked like– I was thick and kind of blunt, all tail but with a horned head. That’s where these are from.” Olga poked at her horns. “Most of my life is a huge blur to me, but sometimes, I see it in my dreams– the ocean, being huge again. I feel like if my STEM worked it would have those memories.”

Not exactly coffee-table conversation, but everyone around the table kept quiet.

Ulyana looked at Aaliyah and found her screwing her face up and folding her ears.

Whenever she was met with something wild like this, she would physically resist it.

She was quiet, however. Quiet, and listening, and with eyes inquisitive.

Even if her face looked like she had just tasted soap.

“Omenseers now, are Leviathans that became human. Over time Leviathans just get more intelligent I guess. Honestly I barely remember when I changed, and what happened afterwards. I see it in my dreams and I want to believe it was true– that one day, I got sick of fighting for my life every single day like an animal. I discovered that I could be something less violent and less rapacious and I took the chance. But I don’t really know.”

“Being an Omenseer seems like a pretty psychedelic sort of experience.” Euphrates said.

“C’mon, I’m baring my soul here. If you think it’s useless I can just shut up.” Olga said.

“I think it’s lovely.” Erika said.

“I agree, and I can relate.” Euphrates said. “To knowing something only in dreams.”

“Well, maybe you ought to tell the room yours.” Olga said. “Anyway– one day, all my bulk was just gone, and I was like this. Floating in the ocean. Somehow I was not crushed by the water or eaten by a monster– but I was visited by something truly demonic. Arbitrator II.”

“The Autarch of the Syzygy.” Euphrates said.

“You’ve mentioned it before.” Ulyana said. “You and Tigris have history with this being.”

“We killed her. A long, long time ago.” Euphrates said. “The Sunlight Foundation briefly became interested in abyssal exploration, and to make a long story short, we came into contact with the Syzygy and it tempered our ambitions quite harshly. Arbitrator II confronted us personally as we began to dive more frequently and deeper, and we were forced to attack her. I can hardly claim that we succeeded. We never went that deep again.”

“So we’re dealing with an immortal cult leader here?” Ulyana asked, sighing.

“Olga,” Aaliyah said, “Are all Leviathans human, then? Can they all become like you?”

Ulyana felt her chest tighten– she had not put together this suggestion herself.

Certainly it matched everything they had learned so far.

After Goryk, Euphrates had referred to Omenseers as ‘humanoid Leviathans.’ Arabella had been a Leviathan once. Olga confirmed this was not necessarily anything special– there was, in front of them all, a second person who had once been a Leviathan. With this information, it was reasonable to believe that every Leviathan had the potential to become a person. And therefore, that perhaps all Leviathans were already humans, to some degree.

And, if Arabella was to be believed, that meant Leviathans were anthropogenic.

Perhaps they were made with that ‘original Omenseer’ DNA too.

Perhaps they were all bio-weapons.

Perhaps they were all humans.

To think then– that they had spent all this time killing them– no, it did not really matter.

Ulyana was a soldier. She had been killing humans already, in less complicated ways.

Whatever happened– there was simply no reasoning with a giant, dangerous animal.

Olga shrugged at the question that had shaken Ulyana so much.

“Yeah? I think so. I don’t know. I can only speak for myself.” She said simply.

“Olga, the Autarch found you– she did not make you into an Omenseer?” Euphrates asked.

“Right. Sometimes she just finds strays, like me. But I’ve also seen what she can do. She has troops go out looking for Leviathans with psionic potential. We captured them, and she would use psionics on them and have them shed their forms. That’s her preferred method of recruitment. I changed myself– but I do not know how many of us leave our leviathan forms naturally or how we are different from the ones Arbitrator II makes. Except for one detail. For the ones she changes she can brainwash. She could not brainwash me.”

Euphrates looked for the first time truly captivated by what Olga was saying.

“So she seeks out potential in Leviathans and baptizes them– interesting.”

Her jokey demeanor had faded slightly. But she did not follow up that statement.

“What does the Autarch want? What is this ‘Syzygy’ doing all of this for?” Aaliyah asked.

“I mean, like anyone, she wants control over people.” Olga said. “She wants control over humans. It makes sense when you think about it. Now, don’t freak out at this next bit, it’s annoying if you do– Omenseers feed on people. You guys knew that right? Arabella had to have had at least human blood or she would go crazy.” Olga scanned the room and saw Ulyana, Aaliyah and Murati making faces. She threw her hands up in frustration.

“I’ve been feeding Olga my blood. That’s one of the things we do in private.” Erika said.

“Premier– we did not need the clarification that you do more than that in private.”

Leave it to Aaliyah to be more offended at the insinuation of sex than the cannibalism.

“Quit gawking!” Olga said. “I’m really good at controlling myself and I have Erika. You don’t need to be fucking scared, okay? Anyway– you can put two and two together here right? If the Autarch can build up her army, she could basically start her own human farm and never have a worry in the world again. She needs to rule over the humans to eat them more easily. I’m not just painting a picture with the farm stuff either– she literally can capture humans and grow a kind of crop from them. Her own sick little garden in the abyss.”

“That’s– that’s actually– a lot more dangerous than we imagined.” Ulyana mumbled.

She could hardly even imagine it in full– she supposed ‘biokinesis’ was responsible.

Responsible– for turning a human into a sick little garden.

Aaliyah heaved a weary sigh. “Yes, that is disturbing, but I am not impressed with Omenseers yet. For example, if Akulantova is to be believed, she nearly punched one of those Syzygy fighters to death, and a small and well-trained spec ops squadron can fight it out with them and kill a good half-dozen. They are not yet ‘Imbrium-conquering’ level threats.”

“The rabble is not– the officer ones are a lot scarier, but there are not enough Enforcers to just overthrow humanity overnight. That’s why they are trying to sneak around and join a faction here, I guess.” Olga said. “I know the Enforcers are searching for something. But as a whole Syzygy are biding their time. Gathering intelligence, forces, and useful idiots. Just like you, I suppose– you’re in a little race with them for the Imbrium. Who will win?”

Olga leaned back and grinned to herself as if amused by the mental image.

“Obviously I intend to win that race.” Erika said. “And you will be at my side.”

“Of course. Between us, I’d love to rip out the Autarch’s throat myself.” Olga said.

“For a taste of your own kind?” Erika teased.

“Hey– shut up. I mean for justice or whatever.” Olga said, turning slightly redder.

“Somehow I doubt ripping her throat out will do much justice.” Euphrates said.

She sounded much more wistful than normal– but it was not followed up on.

“Then I suppose we can only do what we came here to do.”

Ulyana sat up straight and stretched her arms, feeling a bit sore from sitting tensely while she listened to all of this bizarre knowledge being shared. She tried to relax her muscles and to still her heart. There was only solution to this– they were just as prepared for the Syzygy right now as they were for the Volkisch. They did not know the total strength of their forces, they did not know their logistics, they had not found their bases or political supporters or the locations of their officers, and so they had no plan of attack. They could not allow themselves to be mystified by the more esoteric side of this situation.

They had to gather more intelligence and be prepared for a fight.

It was an uphill road, but the Volkisch controlled the government and the Syzygy did not.

Within the framework of the Imbrium, the Volkisch Movement was currently immortal.

To the layperson, they were just as mystical as this Autarch.

Just as powerful, indefatigable. Just as disturbing and cruel.

Nevertheless, the Brigand plotted to fight the Volkisch. It was an essential inevitability.

That was their mission. They had taken it up, knowing it was that difficult.

Nagavanshi pushed them hard. She was a damnably persistent recruiter.

But she had known that every single member of the crew would take up the challenge.

All of them were here because the impossible called to them, and they dared stare it down.

“At Aachen, next time I see Zozia, I’ll punch her right square in her jaw and see how her makeup holds up to it. I’ll scuff that well-to-do fuckboy coat she always wears.” Ulyana said.

“I know what you’re capable of– so I truly hope you are joking.” Aaliyah said.

“Sometimes I want to be the manly sort of Captain who pops off.” Ulyana said.

“Not that I mind popping off, but let us be delicate at Aachen, specifically.” Erika said.

“Of course, Premier. I would only pop off with your permission.” Ulyana said.

Her ridiculous declaration seemed to clear in the tension in the room just a little bit.

“Are you all satisfied or do you have more questions?” Olga asked, sounding annoyed.

“Is it too personal to ask how you and the Premier met?” Aaliyah said.

“It won’t elucidate anything about the Syzygy. That part is simple– the Autarch never had control over me because I was not an Omenseer that she made. So at one point, I got sick of being ‘Hunter I’ and I saw an opportunity to escape. I just ended up in Katarre after a lot of struggle that is pointless to recount. The rest is irrelevant. Hell– some part of me thinks the Autarch put no effort into stopping me either. She is not threatened by deserters.”

“Alright. Then–” Aaliyah turned to Erika. “Premier, are you psionically capable?”

Erika smiled. “Yes. I was going to disclose it when you were done with Olga.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Aaliyah said. “I was mainly wondering for your own safety.”

“I am not in Olga’s thrall.” Erika said. “If that is what concerned you.”

“I could not control this insane woman even if I tried with all my strength.” Olga said.

“Apologies. I rest my case.” Aaliyah said. “Anything more can be the subject of a report.”

“I am not offended. It is your job to consider every possible dangerous angle.” Erika said. “I quite like that about you, Commissar. To be clear, I knew much of what Olga had said– she said certain things to me, and now disclosed others to you. I wanted to be part of this meeting not just to play a perfunctory political role, but as a resource. Ultimately, however, Olga does not have encyclopedic knowledge that can answer existential questions about her origins and nature; anything she knows about the Syzygy’s tactics, I am sure she would willingly disclose in a report or some other official dissemination.”

“Right. I’m fine with that.” Olga said. “But there’s not much to say. There is regimentation like in a normal army. I was a ‘Hunter’ so my role was to move from the deep abyss up to the human world and carry out reconnaissance and retrieval missions. I hardly did much– I was not trusted, since the Autarch did not personally turn me. I joined her because I was lost and had nothing, and she and her Enforcer cronies were there to shelter me. Once I was grown a bit more into my new form and had my own thoughts, I wanted to escape. I do not know much about the other types of Omenseer beyond the surface level.”

“Do you have any ideas as to what Omenseer bases survive to this day?” Euphrates asked.

“Good point. You said they live in the deep abyss– so there was a Syzygy base at Goryk?”

Ulyana asked, recalling the rising of that enormous leviathan at Goryk, Dagon.

Arabella had told them back then that it was a Syzygy battleship.

They had not taken it seriously enough in the moment. Now it made much more sense.

“When I was part of Syzygy, I operated out of northwestern Veka.” Olga said.

“That is kind of close to the farthest Goryk aperture. Maybe they are linked.” Ulyana said.

“We’re just guessing. Nobody has an accurate abyssal topography.” Aaliyah replied.

“Not even among present company, I’m afraid.” Euphrates said.

“We wanted to try to do it someday– the Agni was partially for that.” Tigris added.

Breaking a long silence in which she had mainly crossed her arms and harrumphed a bit.

“Alright. Well. A lot of exciting reports going into the drafts today.” Ulyana said.

“We wanted to ask Murati how she was doing with psionics.” Aaliyah reminded her.

Murati, who had been mainly making faces quietly in her seat, suddenly revived.

Like a flower that had been splashed with water, she stood up straighter and more alert.

“Ma’am–”

Murati addressed the Captain but then paused without speaking further for a moment.

“Um– I guess I don’t actually have much to report. I’m still evaluating things.”

“Are you feeling hale and whole?” Erika asked in a sweet voice.

“I suppose so.” Murati replied. Clearly confused at Erika’s sunny, impromptu check-up.

“You’ve seen her handiwork recently, Captain.” Euphrates said. “She’s a fast learner.”

Euphrates looked pleased with herself. Probably as much genuinely as teasing Murati.

Ulyana knew that this ‘handiwork’, however, involved turning a Volkisch guard squadron into a mess of shattered bones and crushed organs on Alcor’s blacktop. This was something that a grenade could accomplish with much more control– and it was easier to teach anyone to throw such a grenade. While it had been undoubtedly helpful, Ulyana remained wary of psionic powers. She wondered how much use they actually could be.

Murati averted her eyes. “I have a little trouble controlling my own strength.”

“I will preempt the obvious question that the Captain and Commissar must be preoccupied with,” Tigris spoke up suddenly, “and say that no, I do not think the rest of the crew should be taught about psionics yet. Not until we figure out what’s going on with Murati.”

“There is nothing going on with me.” Murati said. “I just need more practice.”

“At any rate, we can’t consistently teach anyone else right now.” Tigris said.

“Murati, what about Shalikova?” Ulyana asked. “How is she doing?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that.” Euphrates interrupted. “Maryam will support her.”

Murati raised her index finger and then put it back down immediately.

“Maryam?” Ulyana said. “Is Maryam psionic too?”

Aaliyah’s ears perked up again.

“Who else is psionic around here?” Aaliyah cried out. “This is out of hand.”

“I’ll tell you what– I’ll write a report on everyone’s psionic potential on the ship.”

Euphrates smiled congenially despite the tension she had reignited in the room.

Aaliyah and Ulyana dropped back into their seats.

“Thank you, Euphrates.”

“Fine. Fine. Just fine.”

They were both clearly stressed to their limits by this conversation–

Until a firm voice spoke up from beside them and excised the disquiet.

“Captain, in situations like this, we must center rationality and ethicality in our response.” Erika said. Her tone was still gentle but she sounded much more declarative. This was the ‘Premier’ speaking now, Ulyana thought. Erika pointed a finger up and circled it as if to encompass the room. “You have used this rubric a few times in these conversations before– we have reasoned that the ‘guests’ aboard this vessel, like Arabella, or Maryam, have had ample chances to sabotage it, subvert your control, alert your enemies, or otherwise cause grave inconvenience. None of this has happened. There is no reason to believe that some kind of secret plot is brewing. I believe we should formalize that logic and establish a standard that a crew member in otherwise good standing, who is found to possess psionics, is not ipso facto a threat to the mission. In this way we can avoid circular debates about the loyalty of particular individuals, and in turn, avoid wasting time and resources.”

“You’re right. We shouldn’t keep stressing out about this.” Ulyana replied.

“Premier, that is a reasonable standard.” Aaliyah said. “While I am continuously surprised at how much esoteric information and concepts keep getting wrapped up in our humble guerilla mission, it is unproductive to become paranoid. However, I must insist on a different standard for Omenseers and psionic users other than our current roster. Any future psionics users that we meet, we must be wary of and more wary than normal.”

“I don’t disagree.” Erika said. “But also, I think we already have wonderful standards and procedures by which we gauge our trust in strangers. We must also have a view toward the utility of dealing with the Omenseers, including Syzygy, and psionics users like our friends Euphrates and Tigris. We must keep our goal in focus. In Eisental, the law is not written by this Autarch– we must seize every opportunity to inflict defeat on the Volkisch.”

“Duly noted.” Aaliyah said. She did not sound completely satisfied.

But she would follow orders. Both Ulyana and Aaliyah had thrown in their lot with Erika.

And Erika thankfully seemed to keep a clear head even in these bizarre situations.

“Anything further should be part of classified reports. We cannot trust that we will retain verbal information indefinitely and we all have other jobs that need doing.” Erika said. “Package every report and everyone in this room will commit to read them, request any further deliberation, and then rationalize a final version. Then we will be on the same page vis a vis Omenseers and psionics in the future. Does everyone agree?”

There was a hearty nodding of heads and a few salutes in the room. As always with some answers and ever more questions, the second ‘Meeting to Discuss Weird Stuff’ thus concluded. Ulyana tried not to let the sensationalism get the best of her.

Truly, however, the Imbrium Ocean was deeper than she had ever thought possible.


Erika and Olga left the meeting room and made their way back to the bridge. Despite all of the shouting and turmoil throughout the discussion, Erika was, in her heart, quite pleased with the events. She walked with a light step and was even humming a tune. Ulyana and Aaliyah had one more visit that day and would not join them, leaving the bridge to the Volksarmee officers for now; and even Murati had someone she needed to talk to.

Everyone was working hard.

“Erika, did that go how you wanted?” Olga asked.

“Nothing ever does, because my imagination is too extravagant.” Erika said. “But I have full confidence in our alliance. They have been thrust headlong into events of incredible magnitude, but retain their heart and spirit. They are like us. That satisfies me.”

“I can write up more in the report, I guess. It just feels kinda pointless.” Olga replied.

“If you don’t think it’s important to say something, I trust you completely.” Erika said.

“I know you do.” Olga said. She put her hands in her hoodie pockets, grunting. “Part of me just feels guilty I’m not wracking my brains to tell them every little thing, and I do wish I could access my STEM better, but like– they’re fighting a war, and what Omenseers eat or how my Nest used to look or whatever, that does not really help them out. My dreams about living under a big silver tree. All of that just feels pointless to say.”

“Dreams are important! But you’re right, they’re not militarily actionable.” Erika replied.

Some secrets hardly mattered to anyone; some secrets changed the world.

It was impossible to tell which was which to women with as many secrets as them.

Whenever Erika told anyone even an inkling of the secrets that she shouldered–

She expected bedlam to follow. Despite this, her load was now lightened.

Ulyana Korabiskaya and Aaliyah Bashara had already seen impossible sights, after all.

More so than psionics, the dream of liberation felt impossible until it was achieved.

Maybe in the future she would tell them about her own DNA.

“Olga, do you know ‘The Union Officer’s Pledge’?” Erika asked.

“No?” Olga replied, narrowing her eyes.

Erika put a hand to her chest and shut her eyes while reciting.

“I am an officer of the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice. My rank is proof of the faith placed on me. I accept the responsibility of living up to my title, with honor; to serve the Union, with distinction; to acquire correct understandings, with humility; and thus to lead the downtrodden masses by example. I agree to live and die a worker, without a name.”

“That’s intense.” Olga said. “Do they all have to say that?”

“They all did– I found it in the ship’s files. It’s part of the commission process.”

Erika looked ahead.

She imagined everyone, from Murati Nakara to Ulyana Korabiskaya to Alex Geninov reciting this pledge. How did they feel? Did they know the power of their words?

All around her, she was surrounded by the people of the Union, just walking this hall.

That pledge was everything she wanted to be.

An impossible dream for a girl in the gutters killing to survive every day.

And yet, she saw it!

In their humble, everyday demeanor that they themselves never questioned.

In their minds, perhaps they did not think themselves communists, nor anything special. All of them took this pledge for their families or homeland. But to even be a communist, to accept it, to say it out loud, required immense bravery. All of the world told them they were insane, dangerous, even evil– but they fought on for those taboo ideals.

It was electric.

Her Rostock in formation with this ship full of quiet, impossible dreams.

She felt a bit embarrassed, but she wanted the Volksarmee to take the pledge too.

Without realizing it at first, Erika put on her sunniest smile yet.

“Psionics and Omensight both pale in comparison to the sheer power contained here.”

Olga smiled. “I am not sure that I agree with any of that, but I’m glad you’re happy.”

She was happy– she could see her dream in this place.

Arriving on the bridge, Kalika stood from the captain’s chair and greeted them.

“It’s been uneventful. The Rostock is alongside; operating normally.” She said.

“Glad to hear it. Olga and I can relieve you.” Erika said.

Kalika’s brow furrowed and she put her hands on her hips.

Erika could foretell the scolding.

“It’s not necessary.” Kalika said. “You’re the one who could use some rest, Premier.”

“Nonsense,” Erika replied. “I’m feeling spry and the coffee here is fantastic.”

“Olga, please tell her that she works too hard.” Kalika said.

Olga shrugged. “You can tell her all you want; when it comes to work, she won’t listen.”

Kalika shook her head and relented. “Alright, if you insist. I can go find something to do.”

Erika and Olga stepped aside and allowed a reluctant Kalika to leave the bridge.

“Order on bridge!” Olga called out. Imitating the Commissar; she was grinning in fact.

“We don’t need to be stuffy. At ease everyone!” Erika called out right after.

While the Brigand made its way through unoccupied territory, there was hardly anything for the bridge crew to do moment to moment. Over on Erika’s left, Natalia Semyonova had a deck of cards and was perhaps practicing some kind of divination or magic trick; Fatima al-Suhar read a book on a portable, still wearing the sonar station’s earbuds; Braya Zachikova was still only present as a cute miniature on the main screen. On her right, she saw that Alex Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa were discussing something about ‘shipping’ that Erika came to think was not logistics-related; and Abdulalim Kamarik looked over the ship’s autopilot every so often while listening to music on a communication headset. Or so Erika assumed from his casual body language. They all heard and acknowledged Olga’s declaration before returning to their hobbies. A rather homey atmosphere.

“Olga, I think they’ve earned a bit of peace, don’t you?” Erika said.

Olga shrugged. “Until we run into a patrol or something.”

Erika took seat in the captain’s chair, while Olga occupied the Commissar’s beside her.

“Semyonova,” Erika said, “could you message the Rostock and put Daphne on my screen?”

“Of course! Captain Triantafallos assured me she was at your disposal at all times.”

Semyonova cheerfully swiped her finger on the screen of her station to wake up the display.

Within moments, Erika had Daphne on the computer affixed to the captain’s chair.

“Premier!” Daphne saluted the screen. “I am elated beyond measure to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you too Daphne. How has the crew been?” Erika asked.

Daphne seemed quite pleased with herself as she answered. “Our cadres remain well supplied, amply motivated, and operationally efficient. Our consumption is controlled and we have not had any encounters. Magdeburg and Gera are presently lying low around Rhein-Sieg-Kries, awaiting orders. We can collect them on the way to Aachen if you desire, just say the word. Enemy activity remains low. Patrols are clustered around the Ayre border– their last order from Thurin was likely to guard against Palatine troops. We noticed the patrol fleet are avoiding Stralsund and the edge of Khaybar, so the east is open.”

“Unfortunately, that’s because of the Mycenae Military Commission. They simply do not want to cause a confrontation.” Erika replied. “So the east is still not open to us. Thank you for the report nevertheless, Daphne. I wanted to ask if you had collected any broadcasts from Kreuzung in the past few days. Some newly arrived tenants are likely to be our main concern going forward. The Brigand has been disconnected for a while.”

“As a matter of fact, we did capture a speech by the ‘newly-arrived tenants.’” Daphne said. “Kreuzung’s station broadcaster pushed it through every laser line and every channel carried it. They intended to make a nation-wide statement. In a matter of hours, northern Rhinea has been declared ‘Reichskommissariat Eisental’ and this Violet Lehner is now in charge of the place as its ‘Reichskommissar.’ No response yet from the Thurin Reichsgau.”

“We need to gather as much information as we can on this event. After Aachen we will have to make a pit stop in Trelleborg to see what the underground knows.” Erika said.

“Trelleborg?” Olga said. “The madwoman there wanted to bite you last time.”

Erika looked a little embarassed. “It will be fine Olga– nobody will bite me.”

“Nobody will bite the Premier on our watch, Olga.” Daphne replied, sounding deadly serious. “Premier, about the current tasks. Tomorrow we will begin work on operational integration between the Brigand and Rostock. It will be a tight few days. I am not sure we can complete all the necessary work before we reach Aachen. We have to sync the computers, rationalize supplies, set up recurring channels, appoint cadre liaisons–”

“Don’t worry, Daphne. Aachen is not the deadline.” Erika said. “Whatever you can get done during the journey is appreciated, but it will be an ongoing process to get everyone talking and working together. It will be gradual. I am not expecting it tomorrow.”

“Acknowledged, Premier. Your magnanimity is appreciated. Shall we reconvene later?”

“We should plan to meet. For now send me the video. I am curious about the rhetoric.”

“Of course. I look forward to shaking your hand and saluting in person, Premier!”

Daphne disappeared from the screen. In her place, a transfer bar appeared.

Once it completed, Erika played the video of the broadcast from Kreuzung.

The Rostock had captured the event in-progress.

Partway through an introduction by a state news anchor, who was cut from shortly after the video started. When the camera finally captured its intended subject, it was clear that Violet Lehner was settled into the old office of Kreuzung’s governor. Everyone in Eisental had seen the room used in broadcasts before, by old Werner. Now, rather than reflecting sky or grasses, the projection walls around the stately old desk projected instead red banners each with a central white circle. In one circle was a black sonnenrad, and on the other a diagonal hooked cross. Neither of these symbols were common to the government in Thurin, who preferred to identify with iron eagles, bundled arrows and straight, steel crosses.

Rather, the bannered symbols belonged to the ‘Esoteric Order’.

Within the broader Volkisch Movement, the Esoteric Order was not the most extreme nor the most niche group. Erika was aware of far smaller and far more violent elements. Esoterics were instead characterized by a greater radicalism. Ordinary right-wing elements sought to preserve or harken back to ‘better times’ in the past– to turn back the ‘progress’ of liberalism. The Esoteric Order had a complex transformative rhetoric. They believed in the new– they believed that Fascism was ‘modern’ and that through Fascism, a new mode of being could be discovered. Rather than harken back to the past, they believed the Nation was yet to be attained, that the ‘Volk’ had to struggle to be worthy of it. Their racial destiny was not in the past, but in the future. The Nation could not be moved to suit the fascist ubermensch; the fascist had to become ubermensch to suit the Nation. They did this through personal ritualization, religious mysticism, and bizarre nouveau racialism.

Erika had not been aware that the esoterics had an armed wing, however.

And that this armed wing was now personified by the woman with the long two-tone hair.

Violet Lehner sat behind the desk, in her black uniform, surrounded by esoteric symbols.

A lean, striking and pretty young woman with just a hint of exoticism to her appearance.

Her eyes had the slightest slant; her nose just a bit of hook; her skin tone just slightly deep.

To the most extreme elements of the Volkisch, she might’ve been too racialized in fact.

In the Esoteric Order, however, she was racialized enough.

As if Violet Lehner herself was an example of the all-encompassing Nation.

“Good greetings, citizens of Kreuzung, Stralsund, Rhein-Sieg-Kreis, Aachen, and many such places in the Eisental region– and to those watching from farther afield, perhaps! I appear before you today by way of introduction and to pledge my commitment to you. It is unlikely that many of you have seen or known much of me before recent events. Events that saw me thrust from a position of humble servitude in the backdrop of the Volkisch revolution, to the peak of Kreuzung in search of justice. My name is Violet Lehner. I am the only child of the Fuhrer Adam Lehner. My parentage has been heretofore a secret, albeit an open and unguarded one– I simply wished to forge my own path in life, and that is that.”

“By education, I am a laywer and a businesswoman. In my life, I have been a student, a shareholder, an advisor, a writer and in recent months, formally a military officer. It is with this eclectic character that I view the state of the Nation with anger and sorrow. Since the profligate Konstantin von Fueller saw fit to finally abandon the territories he had grown bored of plundering and toying with, and seek the retribution of the next world, our economies nearly collapsed, and we became surrounded by enemies.”

“We could have allayed the consequences of the Imperial collapse with decisive action, but the liberals and their committees and subcommittees hindered our response until death was at the doorstep. It is only through the brave actions of our National Socialist Navy and the Stabswache that we were able to deal with the saboteurs and meet the enemies; and only because of our swift and innovative Corporations that we forestalled material collapse. I am here following the examples that have been set. Eisental has suffered crisis after crisis, abetted by the remains of the liberals, by the saboteurs, and by the political-academic elites, who led the working men astray, sowed division within the Volk, allowed infiltration by foreign elements, and stifled and strangled our economic prospects.”

“No more will this be tolerated. Today begins a new era for Eisental. I and my forces have already arrested all of the criminal elements who had entrenched at the top of the tower; liquidated the foreign elements who went mad with bloodthirst and rampaged under Adolf Werner’s knowing eyes; and we will soon take all needed measures to restore the dignity of Eisental’s people and resume production of all the needed goods and materials to revitalize the economy, and pump blood back into our Volk and our Nation. We have stricken down the liberal elites and put men and women of sense in charge of everything.”

“Starting today, I have accepted the mandate of Reichskommissar of this territory, the Reichskommissariat Eisental, to oversee the return of order and the restoration of the Volk in this area and advance our shared cause. Eisental is the motherlode and breadbasket of Rhinea. Restoring Eisental to glory is to restore the Nation, which has been grievously wounded; and restoring the Volksgemeinschaft that has been splintered into a million pieces on spurious, ideological bases by the liberals. Starting today, you will recognize you are all Imbrians, and are all blood-siblings of the Nation. All of you are one.”

“Our task is monumental, and the stakes are high. We have everything set against us.” Reichskommissar Lehner raised her voice. That camera focused on the desk zoomed closer to her impassioned expression. Before she had spoken calmly, but she allowed greater fervor to bleed into her voice until it raised. “We are surrounded by charlatans who seek to plunder our wounded nation and erase the Volk! The victor shall always be the judge, and the vanquished the accused: we fight not just to exact justice, but to enshrine our struggle as the world’s truth! Should we fail, they will forever laugh at us for our toil. But we will prevail! Because unlike the liberals we have not turned our backs on the Nation!”

“Ethnicity, class, sex– these identitarian categories are part of an antiquated ideology that prevented us from achieving our shared Destiny. But I know the truth, the secret, that the liberal order wished for us to never seek; we are the one Volksgemeinschaft, one Imbria! Our Nation bleeds and cries out for all of us to save her! So we will unite under black sun and the wolfsangel! National Socialism gives us the path to our revolution! Our Nation calls us to action! We answer as one people, one struggle! All that matters is this: will you work? Will you fight? Will you answer her call? Those who turn their back on the call will be shunned by Destiny! They will be left behind to die with no one to save them! But to those who fight for Destiny’s favor we can say: you have all of the Volk behind you!”

“So come tomorrow, when you clock in to work, when you return to school, or when you pick your gun on patrol, or when you set sail for battle, think of this with seriousness. I am an Imbrian! What can I do to advance the Volk? What can I do for my Nation? Who are those around me that reject the Nation and seek to drive us back into squabble and misery? Who are those around me that will march alongside? All of you are the Nation! Your individual actions and decisions are what will make up the whole of our success! Kill the sniveling liberal in your brain who tells you that you the Nation is not worthy of you! By your actions, make yourself worth the glory of the Nation! Endsieg shall be yours!”

Violet stood up from her desk, and raised her right hand, from the shoulder, straightened.

“In your workplaces, in your places of worship, in your homes; you are one people with one united struggle! You all work toward fulfilling one immutable Destiny! You all work toward one Nation and will seize victory together! Stand proudly, and prove yourself worthy! Today begins your very own National People’s War! SIEG HEIL!”

Around her, the walls with the banners instead displayed several uniformed soldiers.

All of them were Shimii. Black uniforms, decorated in the same symbols on the banners.

And all of them hailed victory behind Violet Lehner with perfect precision.

Curiously, Erika noted, the victory salute was not followed by a salute to the Fuhrer.

As should have been customary: Sieg Heil, Heil Fuhrer. An omission rich in meaning.

“Violet Lehner is staking out for herself.” Erika said. “Her Nation will not include Thurin.”

“She’s a fucking lunatic.” Olga replied, peeking in over Erika’s shoulder.

Erika shut off the video and laid a hand on the screen as if she could make it disappear.

All of this was an opportunity– if they could seize it. If they were up to the task.

But the sight of Shimii soldiers doing the fascist salute was somewhat disquieting.

They were not the only ones fighting for the souls of Eisental’s dispossessed peoples.

Could Violet’s fascist subsumption of the will appeal to the broken masses of Imbria?

How many Shimii, Katarrans, and the Imbrian poor would be taken by this rhetoric?

Led astray by honeyed steel from a false savior, in the hour of their greatest desperation.

In that moment, Erika’s grand dream finally, truly met its nightmarish competing vision.

Past tragedies; present tensions; and the uncertain future all bled in front of her eyes.

Even in the quiet, empty ocean of middle Eisental, it could be felt–

the currents carried, along with Violet’s voice, and the cries of salute,

the brimming violence of the Nationale Volkskrieg.


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