Mourners After The Revel [12.8]

“Descending through Upper Scattering Layer. Depth 550 meters. Depth 575 meters–”

“Reducing velocity. Thrust development capped at sixty percent due to battle damage.”

“No sign of upper level scanning from below, neither acoustic nor radiation-based.”

“No sign of Republic mines or drones, nor any leftover Grand Western Fleet ordnance.”

“Depth 600. We will soon descend into Southern Ayre, on the border with Rhinea.”

As the drones reported on the situation, the main screen showed a diagram of the water table with the four main depths that mattered to humans. Between the surface of the water and the corruption that lay beyond, and the 500-550 meter depth mark, was the Photic Zone, where the sun’s light could still penetrate the water– that is, if the rays could actually penetrate the befouled atmosphere first. From around 550 to 700 was the Upper Scattering Layer, where the most significant quantities of fish and marine life congregated. There was so much activity in this region and it was so consistent that sonar and LADAR imaging would capture it as a sort of continuous wall that received a name. Then, there was the Aphotic zone, from the end of the Scattering Layer to a depth of about 3000 meters.

This was the new home of the human species.

In certain places, called the Great Reaches, humans could live at lower depths– but the average human lived around 1000 meters below the sea, and a significant amount lived much deeper. War and intrigue; love and hope; these things moved from their birthplaces in the surface of the planet Aer, to this particular depth of its oceans. Below 3000 meters was the Hadal zone, or in the parlance of the ocean’s humans, the Abyssal zones. Utterly lightless, these depths were usually encountered only within deep wounds gouged in Aer’s crust, called Gorges or Abysses, named after the first foolhardy soul to have found them and likely died in them. To civilization writ large there was nothing there worth going so deep. But to various individuals and even some organizations, these depths held such value that it was worth the risk of never being heard from again, and dying a horrific death.

To those who truly knew, deeper than the trenches, there was a fifth depth–

Agartha.

But– that was not the concern of Norn von Fueller on this day.

As the Antenora breached the cloud of fish and squid and krill and other creatures, it descended into the world of humanity, where human problems awaited.

Soon, at about 800 meters depth, the ship ceased its descent. It was just over the bottom of a vast, sandy slope that led north into the heart of the Great Ayre Reach. Their destination was to the south, even deeper down the slope to the rocky, dark terrain of Eisental– but for now, they remained, sailing above the sand. Eerie waves sifted tiny particulate clouds from dunes below, the earth colored blue by the water’s consumption of the light.

Suspended in the murk above the dunes, the sleek, sword-shaped Cruiser glided through.

“Connect to the Myrkr relay and loiter. Keep an eye out for any patrols.” Norn said.

“Yes, milord.”

“Why are we loitering? Can I download some magazines?” Adelheid asked.

“Not now. Wait until we’re about to leave again. I have some calls to make.” Norn said.

Adelheid pouted, but Norn left her behind on the bridge without another word.

She made her way to a meeting room with a video monitor and some privacy.

Every room had a bearing monitor on the wall, a small LCD that displayed information, the same in every room, about the current situation. In battle it might have profiles of enemy ships, their positions and any damage incurred by the vessel. At rest, it would have current headings and any relevant ETAs for the ship’s current journey.

At that moment, the bearing monitor in Norn’s meeting room showed her when they would be in range of the Myrkr relay. This was one of the few data relays laid in the Great Ayre Reach and its surroundings. Officially managed by Aachen, it could also be used to transmit to the “illegal settlement” Trelleborg in the southern Ayre trench.

Even in the current state of war, Rhinea and the Palatine had not cut these cables yet. An Empire-wide cable data network that was accessible wirelessly via the relays, was, in 979, still a relatively young piece of infrastructure in the grand scheme of things. It was one of Konstantin’s few innovations that actually bore fruit and changed the lives of his citizens for the better. Its usefulness for business and military matters alike meant that it had to continue to exist, even if in a stagnant state, as the Empire itself began to die.

So Norn could show up to her digital rendezvous with a certain Frederich Urning.

Once the Antenora was in range of the Myrkr relay, the communications drone in the bridge put out an encrypted call to the Naval HQ for the Grand Western Fleet. Using the high command’s cypher code it would indicate to the operator that this was a very high ranking officer seeking to communicate with another very high ranking officer. They would discreetly connect Norn through to the correct commander and record none of it. Within moments, that meeting room on the Antenora connected to the Naval HQ in Klagenfurt.

Across the wires, through the digital encryption, she first heard one word. “Norn.”

By way of greeting this was the only thing Admiral Frederich Urning said at first.

He appeared on the screen with a blurred backdrop, only his face and body were visible.

For someone close to Konstantin’s age (and not grown out of a vat) Frederich looked half his years. There was an onset of wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, advanced, but not widespread; his hair still had streaks of its original black color, brushed long down his back, alternating with grey; his skin was still uniformly fair. High cheekbones and deep-set eyes gave him an intense countenance. His only facial hair was a bit of grey cultivated on his chin.

While Konstantin withered, Frederich remained mountainous. Strong shoulders, broad-backed, with a wide chest and midsection and lean, muscled limbs. All now covered under silk finery, ever the nobleman-general. But through his eyes Norn could still see the killer in him. She could sense his vindictive feelings. She knew the only reason why he would have asked to speak with her alone. But she was not going to let him have his answers so easily.

“Frederich, how lovely to see you. How are you getting on? Need another loan?”

Frederich remained stoic to the provocations. “I am on the crossroads of a major decision and I wanted to seek your counsel. There are questions I have which only you can speak to.”

“You look surprisingly more sober than last I saw you.” Norn said, continuing to needle.

“Norn, you know me. Anger is the medicine that does me the most good.” He replied.

“Indeed, they call it the Vekan temperament, no?”

He had no response to that. He never confirmed nor denied that part of his heritage.

Nevertheless Norn continued to tease him about it in perpetuity for that very reason.

“Let’s get the point. Norn, were you involved in the death of Konstantin?” Frederich asked.

His voice was calm, his words direct; but she could detect a hint of that anger of his.

“Yes.” Norn said. She had no reason to lie; no fear of him nor of any consequences.

“Qualify that.” Frederich said. “Erich was part of it too, wasn’t he?”

There was no reason for Norn to lie, but neither would she give everything up to a fool.

Frederich knew her– and because he knew, he knew what to ask her that she would respect.

Had he forgotten, she would have just let him stay half-informed. But he still knew her.

“Indeed. Throw in Leda too– you never could fill the woman-shaped hole in his heart.”

That did bother him. She could tell by the vaguest twitch in his left temple.

In his aura, and in his overall expression, the anger was cleverly hidden.

Both of them knew each other too well. They were both Konstantin’s close companions.

“I do not care about your reasons. But you know what I must do now.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what you will do, except that it will be tedious, like you are.”

Frederich, who had wanted to bend the knee to Konstantin as a lover more than anything.

Right-hand man pledging as a right-hand, never turned away–

Konstantin did love him, but not as he wanted to be loved.

Even when it became sexual between them.

“I received information implicating you and the Prince in the death of the Emperor. But as a comrade-in-arms, and because you are Konstantin’s dearest sister, I wanted to confirm for myself what Code Weiss found.” Frederich said. For the first time in the conversation his expression subtly darkened, his brows furrowing slightly. His tone rose, just a hint. “Norn, I knew when I called that I would see your mocking grin. I knew you would be without sympathy. You only understand violence. It is all you propagate. You ask what I will do?”

Frederich lifted his hand so it appeared on the screen. He showed Norn his bare palm.

Then in his other hand; he held a dagger to the first. Cutting across the palm to draw blood.

“A blood feud on you Norn. I will hunt you like the animal you are. I will bleed you dry.”

“I’m so scared.” Norn mocked. “Go on. I’m practically quivering to hear the rest of this.”

“With blood, there is certitude.” Frederich replied. “I know what I will do; I know what I will do to you when I get my hands on you. But I don’t have even the faintest idea about whether you will speed here to try to defend Erich. Or whether you will inform him of my intention to murder you. Will you warn him what intentions I might have for him, as I require his power to satisfy the requirements of my hunt? How do you truly feel about the boy, sister?”

“Ah– I’m not in the mood to snitch. You all have your fun over there.” Norn said calmly.

“I see. Give me one final piece of tactical advice then, oathsworn sister– do I send Code Weiss after Erich, or after you? It won’t alter the final result of my intentions.” Frederich asked.

Norn shrugged. “If you send Code Weiss here I’ll send her back to you in gift wrapped pieces. Send her after Erich– well, I do not care what happens. At any rate, you have no idea who you are fucking with, Frederich.” She was starting to become just a bit annoyed at this man’s confidence in insulting her and hurling threats. “There are nowhere near enough fools in the Palatine for you to gather up and throw at me, that will stop me tearing your head off. I am not a Jager; there is no one of them, not even the whole Korps, that walks in step with me.”

“I very much know who I am ‘fucking with’, Norn.” Frederich said. “I will not underestimate you. I will make every preparation, and if you see me again, you will know it is the last time you draw breath. Should I fail, I will make sure I first drive the wedge between you and Erich. Then, should you see him again, it will be his blade that cleaves you. I will win, regardless.”

“Fascinating.” Norn laughed. “Do what you will then. But remember, if you’re coming to meet me, don’t come alone. And don’t just bring Weiss. You’ll need the entire Western Fleet.”

Frederich shut his eyes to Norn’s boasting. The connection to him cut out shortly thereafter.

Her heart remained unmoved by this display. Except, perhaps to feel a bit of pity for him.

Ultimately this would be Erich’s problem– to use any of the Palatine’s resources against her, Frederich would have to convince Erich to go after Norn, or get Erich out of the way and take over using Code Weiss. Then, even assuming the best possible scenario where the revenge killings and chaos in the political class and military remains perfectly contained, Frederich would have to cross into Eisental and fight the Volkisch Movement to even get near Norn. She could easily go to ground in Rhinea. If Erich, who was talented, and greatly respected, and young, with inherited authority, had not yet launched an invasion of Rhinea–

–then Frederich’s chances could not be any poorer.

In the grand scheme of things this was low on the list of things that concerned Norn.

Nevertheless, it was strangely gratifying to see that man again, and she wished him luck.

Maybe, if he succeeded– there would be some sort of justice in it.

For a man to kill for romantic love, in the stories of the Imbrium, was more righteous–

than for a woman to kill for justice or family– or for a son to kill for ambition.

“I’ll be expecting you then, Frederich. I hope you still fight like old times.” Norn sighed.


The Antenora continued to loiter around Myrkr relay for several days.

Anchored to the relay structure and hovering over the calm, sandy slopes of southern Ayre, it presented a more stable platform for the completion of certain crucial repairs. Anything that they could do themselves now was worth doing. Norn did not fully trust the Stockheim Shipbuilder’s Guild. Much of it was composed of trade unionists and leftists, who did not trust her either; however her specific hosts were the rightists among the Guild, made up of imperial loyalists and pseudofascists with private holdings in Stockheim infrastructure, who only joined the Guild as necessary obeisance to carry out their own business unmolested.

While they played nice with the rest of the Guild as a kind of honor among thieves, they had a more venal impetus toward their work and customers than the unionists. They would be looking to use her for their own profit; she would be doing the same just as much.

Leftists could sometimes be comradely, but among rightists, it was always a den of snakes.

To prevent them from wringing every last pfennig out of her, she opted to have her own crew fix as much as they could in the relative calm of Southern Ayre. Due to the fact that Ayre was a constant battlefield for the Imperials and Republicans, subject to unpredictable skirmishing even between the apocalyptic all-out battles that took place in it; Ayre, for all its beauty, was largely off limits to most traffic. It was infrequently patrolled by flesh and blood humans. Instead drones and mine fields held sentinel over much of the Great Ayre Reach and its surroundings. Murmurs of such things kept people out– there was too much risk.

Excepting the trench, where there was always a buzz of illicit activity around Trelleborg.

This meant the Antenora was likely to avoid both Volkisch and Palatine forces there.

If she ran into anybody, they were likely a Trelleborg traveler minding their own business.

Scavengers in the great fields of ruined ships, recently watered; smugglers bridging local black markets in Rhinea and the Palatine; gang bosses looking to profit off them all, jockeying for position within Trelleborg and the right to set the rules of trade. Between all of them, people who had no place to go, outlaws, mercs, victims of Imbria’s unjust laws, people who fell through gaps, human traffickers and the trafficked, information brokers and brave or foolhardy merchants for whom the den of iniquity was just one more spot on the map to hawk goods. Trelleborg was its own nation crammed into ships jammed between rock.

All this life, skirting the beautiful, calm and sunlit waters of the Reach itself, that bore witness to the unending historical hatred the Republic of Alayze held for the Imbrian Empire.

When she looked outside, Norn saw none of that romanticism in front of her eyes.

Only sand, and the blunt spire-like structure of the relay with its massive laser receptors.

She left the bridge in the hands of her adjutant and made her way to the lower deck.

In the hangar, Selene was still dressed in power armor, without a battery pack.

All manner of obscenities had been spoken in that hangar over the past day.

In the background of Selene screaming, cursing, insulting anyone close to her–

Norn spotted her most reliable standby pilot, Yurii Annecy Samoylovych-Darkestdays.

Arms crossed, not looking at Selene but clearly amused by her predicament.

Selene was incredibly strong, but Yurii was a soldier. She took and executed orders well.

Having picked her up as a defector from the Empire of Veka, Norn had initially questioned how useful she would come to be, but the more that was thrown their way, the more she appreciated that in spite of her hedonistic behavior, Yurii did every job she was told to do. A consummate professional hid behind that devilish playboy smile.

Smiling similarly, Norn approached her.

“Yurii, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but as you can see, I’ve been rather busy.”

“I’m at your service always, milord. I have no qualms to being on standby.”

Yurii, still smiling, put a fist to her chest and bowed on her feet.

Shimii never bowed to another, it was against their religion to bow because only God was superior to a human; Southern Loup, however, often bowed to the waist while remaining standing. Unless it was required of them to get on the ground, such as in the presence of the Emperor, it was against their culture to put their heads to the floor. Of course, depending on the circumstances, anybody of any religion could be forced to beg.

Norn understood that Yurii was truly a loup’s Loup: raised within the culture.

“Do you envision yourself remaining in my service for long, Yurii?” Norn asked.

Yurii raised herself back up.

She continued to smile, that confident little grin, a predator’s grin.

There was a lot backing that confidence up.

Yurii was a strikingly beautiful girl, youthful, athletic, well-figured, with a wild character both to her soul and flesh. Dark olive skin and earthy green eyes, her black hair falling down her shoulders and back in wild waves, stiff dark fur on her tall wolf’s ears and her long, slender tail. She had an agile body, with lean, flexible muscles, more visible in the pilot’s bodysuit she wore than in the white and purple men’s suit that she had arrived wearing.

“For as long as you’ll have me, or until I go down with this ship.” Yurii said.

“I’m curious to know your reasoning for this. Do you think you will profit here?”

“A pragmatic soldier would prefer to work for someone who is strong and connected, than for someone weaker and less influential. There is more danger, perhaps, but more resources to tackle that danger. For me, personally, I have always wanted to serve a great lord and enjoy killing, women, riches– and I have a deep respect for the way you carry yourself.”

“I am glad to have made a positive impression.” Norn said, smiling with amusement.

There was nothing facetious about the way Yurii spoke.

She was not heaping idle praise.

“I admit I was a keen liar, but around you, everyone is stripped of such pretenses. It’s not just that you are powerful. You command respect because you will not tolerate disrespect.” Yurii continued. “I have always wanted to command respect and demand my own dignity.”

Norn nodded.

“You have potential, Yurii. You are strong, dutiful and sharp; and despite your pretensions, as a liar, a snark, and as a womanizer, you are also finally demonstrating some humility. That’s good. I knew you before; or well, I knew of you. I worked with your grandfather. He worried about you, but I believe you have turned out well enough as an adult.”

She had a small laugh at her own description of Yurii, and Yurii laughed with her.

Yurii turned out well, despite her vices. Vices were beside the point for Norn after all.

“I was aware of your involvement with my grandfather. I am thankful for your praise.”

“I accepted your defection on its own merits, of course. Not for your grandfather.”

“Of course. I would never want nor expect someone like you to be swayed by noble blood.”

“You do have a storied lineage, Yurii.”

Yurii’s grin very slightly softened. “We had an illustrious past.” She said.

Emphasis, past– but it did not need to remain that way.

Norn looked her in the eyes.

Though she spoke of completely esoteric subjects, she was serious in every word she said. “Your ancestor Samoylovych-Daybringer, was a great champion of the Nocht Loyalists who took refuge in Veka after the Fueller coup. He was a legendary warrior said to have had the knack known as Volshebstvo, granted to him by a fairy. Your grandfather, the High Inquisitor Samoylovych-Deepestshore– I can confirm he also exhibited these abilities. I want to know, Yurii, whether you were taught such things, and who taught them to you, if it is so.”

“My family never recovered its martial glory after the Fueller Reformation, milord. I have no such great powers. As you said; my grandfather worried about me. As he grew older, and deferred his retirement more and more, he distanced himself. He did not train me.”

“Truly? He was always such a family man. I thought you would have been his pride.”

Though Yurii had other family, she inherited many titles as her elders and siblings perished.

Her grandfather should have had no one else to carry on his legacy.

Norn thought Yurii sounded just a bit more bitter than before as she explained her situation.

“I was born under a bad star. Everyone could see it. The birth book assigned me the spiritual name Darkestdays– and I just grew up a bad kid. A violent kid; I loved fighting and making trouble since I was very young. Many would say, I am still a thoroughly wicked person. I think that my grandfather feared how far I might go to seek glory in bloodshed. To worsen matters, I inherited a male position as a woman, which is traditional but inauspicious.”

Norn nodded along as Yurii spoke. That certainly made sense, but made no difference.

“I am not your grandfather– I do not fear you becoming more violent nor more influential. I will grant and teach you Volshebstvo. Yurii, I believe you have the potential to be the second coming of Samoylovych-Daybringer. You are steady and ambitious. Hungry. Passionate. All good things when it comes to mastering the power your ancestors wielded half in ignorance. Once you awaken, I could confidently leave any matter in your hands. Right now, more than ever, I need someone I can trust to cut through men as Daybringer could.”

For once, Yurii’s façade of confident mockery seemed to melt into genuine surprise.

“Milord– As always I am at your service.” She said, as if not knowing how to respond.

“Good. I knew you would not deny me. I am curious to know one more thing.”

“Anything, milord.” Yurii said. She was clearly still trying to hide her emotions.

“Were I to be killed, what would you go on to do?” Norn asked.

Yurii crossed her arms. She averted her gaze for a moment, and then smiled back at Norn.

“Well, first, I would annihilate the bastard responsible. I’d try to make sure Adelheid and Selene and Hunter III are okay; any of your crew would be welcome to follow me. Then– perhaps I would return home and see if there is any opportunity left in Veka. I’m sure somebody must be plotting against that trumped-up horse breeder calling herself the Empress. I am sure I could maneuver myself into an influential position.” Yurii said.

Norn smiled. She was quite pleased with that response.

There was not a hint of a lie in what Yurii said. Good– Norn liked honest people.

“I will induct you soon. We will need privacy. You will be vulnerable for the duration.”

“I have heard tales of the grand visions that accompanied the fairy’s blessing.”

“I’m the fairy here, so your vision will be horrific. But you’ve come to expect that, right?”

Yurii blinked. “I see. Well, I am open-minded toward anything that grants me power.”

Norn turned her sight back toward the center of the hangar.

After a few more minutes of tantrums, Selene was once again quietly in concentration.

She finally managed to lift one foot, and set it down hard a few centimeters ahead.

Her power armor boot stamping on the metal with a loud thud.

“Atta girl!” Norn shouted. “Keep it up! You’ll have walked a meter in no time!”

“Fuck you! I hope your heart stops! I hate you so much!” Selene shouted back.

She could not turn her head completely to face Norn but still stuck out her tongue at her.

“Milord, I usually make a point to stay out of things.” Yurii said, also watching Selene. “But the abilities Selene possesses to link up with her machine, that’s also Volshebtsvo, isn’t it? So what she is doing now is a form of training to improve her power, isn’t she?”

“Right. You’ll have to do this too sometime.”

“I see.”

“Power stagnates without challenge. You know by now what kind of place this is.”

Norn reached out and patted Yurii on the shoulder.

Yurii’s ears bent slightly at the tips as she watched Selene struggle from then on.

Despite this, she never turned her eyes away, nor did she stop smiling.


When she came to, the skinny girl caught a sweet and sharp scent that wetted her nostrils.

Her vision was a little bit hazy. Her mouth tasted like blood.

It was good– there was almost a sense of euphoria. She was calm, her breathing steady.

There was a bit of weight over her body. She had to make an effort to lift her arm.

Blankets. Several layers of blankets stacked over her body.

Her nude, pale body, which would have been completely exposed without the blankets.

Sweat trickling down her neck and back, over her breasts. Her tail dangling off the other end of the bed. Between her legs, she felt hyper-aware of her dick, slightly moist, vaguely twitching. Flaccid. Her hips wanted to shake when she thought of it, and she stiffened a little. When she saw it she felt momentarily confused as to what had happened–

then it all seemed to hit her all at once.

biting down on a woman’s shoulder,

smelling her hair,

tasting her skin, her tongue, her heat,

the heft of her body, breast against breast,

feeling her from inside,

until she lost the sense of herself to the sense of her

For a moment she was stunned at the idea that she had sex with a Hominin.

Even more that she had enjoyed it.

That thinking about it made her want to get hard again.

Hunter III pulled the blankets back up over herself and looked to her right.

In the bedroom, the only source of light was a monitor brought up on the wall near a desk.

There sat Livia, fiddling with her injector in one hand, and scrolling through a document.

Her golden hair disheveled, wet, trailing down her back. Dressed in only her white coat.

Slightly falling off her fair shoulders.

Long legs bare, playfully balancing one heeled shoe on the tips of her toes.

Hunter III thought Livia must have heard her shuffling under the blankets.

But she did not turn around to acknowledge her. Was she working?

After– all of that–? How did she feel about it?

Perhaps the most complicated feelings that had ever crossed Hunter III’s brain came to her in that instant. She did not know to feel about anything. Was it special, what they had done? Was it unique? Why did she want it to be? Or was it just simple consumption–

like eating good meat?

Some part of her felt like she was in danger. Fight or flight.

It was the most proximate feeling to the mix of thrill and anxiety now swelling in her chest.

However, she was also happy– sated– contented–?

Like she had eaten something tasty. That sense of the fulfillment of her vices.

She felt like she could lay in Livia’s bed forever.

Her life, often a blur of hunger and urgency and mania– was suddenly slow and peaceful.

But there was too much on her mind for her to stay silent.

“Hey– Doctor– are you there?”

From the Desk, Livia turned around. Legs shut, but breasts completely exposed.

She really was wearing nothing but her white coat.

Her makeup was a bit smeared. She smiled like Hunter III had never seen her smile.

“Had a nice nap, little Hunter?” Livia asked. “Did you dream of being a fish?”

“No, no dreams.” Hunter III said.

“I’ll have to write that down. How do you feel?” Livia asked.

“I feel really weird.” Hunter III said.

For a moment Hunter III felt an intense and sudden sense of anxiety about Livia’s words.

“Were– were you just toyin’ with me? Like a test?” Hunter III asked dejectedly.

“Oh no, I greatly enjoyed myself. It was an experiment, but not a frivolous one.”

“Not like the kind when you stick me with stuff?”

“Absolutely not.” Livia said. “I hope I gave you as good a time as I received.”

“I felt real good.” Hunter III said. She smiled back, bearing her teeth.

Livia laughed. “I will write that down as well then.”

“Okay?”

“How would you feel about another round? I can make more time for you.”

Hunter III’s eyes drew open and she felt a tightening sensation between her legs.

“Eh– No– I think I oughta be watchin’ out for Leviathans.”

“So you can’t do that during sex? I’ll write that down.”

“Are you sure you didn’t do this just to write down stuff about me.” Hunter III mumbled.

“My priorities were pleasure first. Yours and mine.” Livia said gently.

“But you’re still writin’ stuff down.”

“I am always writing stuff down, little Hunter. But I did not sleep with you just for that.”

“Okay. I guess– that makes me feel some kinda way.”

“A better way?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad. I really don’t want you to feel like I used you. I think we both stood to gain.”

“I guess so, huh?”

Hunter III laid back in bed, sighing, swinging her tail.

They had done this, so, would things change? Were they like Norn and Adelheid now?

This was an aspect of humanity she only really understood in relation to examples.

She had observed Hominin, spied on them, watched their cultural products.

So she was not entirely alien to these concepts, but she still did not understand them well.

Her feelings were so much more complicated than she could explain.

“So– do ya want me to do anythin’ now?” She asked.

“Just be yourself. Continue to serve in your capacities.” Livia said.

“That’s it? You’re really not gonna ask me anythin’ more?”

“Yes. I do not want to interfere with your life, and Norn would be displeased if I asked for your exclusivity or loyalty.” Livia raised a finger to her lips, wearing a coquettish grin. “Of course, if you could devote time and visit my clinic more often, I would be ecstatic at the prospect. I am– intrigued with you. I would love to– understand you better.”

She hesitated a few times.

Hunter III could see in her aura that Livia’s feelings were complicated as well.

She did not push her to say anything. She didn’t even know what she’d want to hear.

That they loved each other, or whatever? Hunter III hardly understood what that meant.

She did know that she would look forward to fucking her again. She enjoyed it.

Livia tasted good. Her skin, her sweat, her blood– suddenly, Hunter III felt anxious again.

“Hey, uh– you don’t seem like you have a good sense of like, keepin’ alive. I feel like oughta say. Someday, if I get too outta hand– I could end up eatin’ more than y’bargained for. I could bite down, and keep bitin’, and not stop until I’ve bitten through everythin’. I would feel really bad if that happened– I don’t wanna eat any of Norn’s friends! I really don’t wanna. But if we keep doing this it could happen! I can’t say that it never won’t, do you get it?!”

She was so distressed. Her head was full of conflicting emotions.

Who cares if one hominin went missing?! What kind of omenseer would bother?

Who cares– she was so delicious, even! Maybe Livia was more delicious than anyone!

And yet, in that moment, this was also bound up in a grave and painful feeling.

In any context– not being able to see Livia again would really hurt her.

Livia had given her meat, and taken an interest in her, and said nice things–

(They had explored each other’s flesh as never before– more intimate than eating–)

–there was no replacing her, she was not just any hominin anymore.

It would hurt Hunter III if she ate her, and she was gone and would never come back.

(It would hurt Hunter III if Livia could discard her as easily as Hunter III could kill her.)

“I’m not completely helpless. Nor suicidal.” Livia said. “But I’ll keep it in mind and take appropriate precautions, for both of our sakes. I admit, being eaten by you would be such a fascinating biological experience in its own right– but I know it would distress you.”

“You’re so weird.” Hunter III said, averting her gaze. Feeling embarrassed.

“Do you want to know why I became a doctor, Hunter III?” Livia asked, grinning again.

“It’s because you’re kinda crazy.” Hunter III said meekly.

Livia laughed. She crossed one bare leg over the other.

“Because the human body fascinates me.” She hugged her arms around herself. “I want to feel the thrill of biology, to touch the source of being alive. Taking care of patients ended up being something of its own reward, sometimes– but I purely, selfishly wanted the chance to influence my own body and those of others in every possible, available way. To study every surgery, to learn every drug, to know every chemical, to observe every protein.”

Her slender fingers slid along the exterior of the injector she was fidgeting with.

Hunter III thought that this woman sounded insane.

However, she had to admit also, she was fascinated by her too.

Yurii might have wanted to eat her, but Livia wanted to be eaten. That was appealing.

“So you did all this because you like injectin’ yourself for fun huh?” Hunter III said.

“An efficient way to put it.” Livia said, spinning the injector in her fingers.

“Well. I like you so I’m glad you’re here, I guess.” Hunter III said. Averting her eyes again.

“I like you quite a bit as well, little Hunter.” Livia said. She smiled. Hunter III felt calm.

Casually and calmly, Livia then turned around to her computer, nonchalantly back to work.

Hunter III simply watched her silently from the bed.

Contentedly demanding nothing.


“I’m back in the same meeting room. Spin up the line to Trelleborg.”

“Yes, milord.”

From the bridge, the Antenora reconnected to the relay and contacted Trelleborg.

Trelleborg continued to be connected to the laser relay network because it technically used a relay set up by the defunct Imperial Petroleum Company. It was one of the earliest cable relays, running between Rhinea, Palatine and the Great Ayre Trench. With the entry of Bosporus, Veka and Sverland into the Empire, the supply of petroleum increased to such a degree it bloated the reserves, and therefore, the price of petroleum collapsed so deeply that even the poor could drink some with every meal– if they had peculiar tastes.

The Imperial Patroleum Company abandoned its now meager extraction operations in Ayre and the Palatine, and the earliest Trelleborg outlaws converted much of their infrastructure– including taking over data communications themselves for clandestine purposes.

After the Fueller Reformation, when the network was revamped and wireless capabilities were added, the Trelleborgeans added laser and acoustic capacities to their own relay. It could not be reached automatically by Imperial computers, but with knowledge of Trelleborg’s data address there was nothing to stop communication with them.

They were never blocked, and the cables were working as they always had. Much like other illicit operations in the Empire, they were unacknowledged and unthought of, and this was enough. Those who wanted to make use of Trelleborg still could. That was that.

So long as they were discrete, anyone with wealth and connections could play with fire.

This time, rather than connecting to the Naval HQ operators at Klagenfurt, the Antenora connected to an automated system ran on the Trelleborg mainframe whose only function was to receive the appropriate data address and connect the requester to it. There was no human element. If you knew the address, you could input it and reach someone. If you did not, and you guessed wrong, you were kicked out for some amount of real time. The Antenora knew exactly who it was trying to reach, so it was soon connected.

“So I’m allowed to watch this one? How gracious of you.”

“Quiet.”

Norn was accompanied in the private meeting room by Adelheid.

She was annoyed at being left out of other business, so Norn mollified her for once.

On the screen, a metal wall came into view first. Bare, nothing in it.

However, Norn could see the blurring edges near the bottom and center of the image. There was something being censored so that there was only the bare wall visible. There was no sound for a few moments– then, suddenly, the screen flashed, and there was an inversion of white and black. Adelheid nearly jumped, frightened by the sudden shift.

A pencil-scrawled smiley face appeared.

“How did you get your hands on this address? State your business!”

As a distorted voice came through the screen, the childishly-drawn smiley face flapped its scrawled lips in turn with the voice. Mentally, Norn overlayed the familiar voice she remembered of this character, over that which was being broadcast.

Before Norn could speak up, the voice resumed with greater intensity.

“Don’t even think about trying anything– I can easily take advantage of the direct connection to fuck with you in ways you can’t even imagine! I’ll lock you out of everything!”

“I don’t doubt it, Amur.” Norn said. “But I would find some way to go wring your neck for it.”

When the distorted voice next sounded, it took on a more emphatic tone.

“Huh?! Cocytus?! Cocytus is that you?”

“Indeed– but henceforth, call me Norn, or our business is concluded.”

“Oh! Indeed! Indeed– for one so great as you–! I– W-w-wait one moment please.”

Audio and video both briefly cut, but the connection remained stable on both ends.

“Hmph. Are all people from Trelleborg this far up their own crevices?”

Adelheid stared at the screen with an aggrieved expression, arms crossed.

“It was a cheap scare, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Norn replied.

Narrowed eyes and a turned cheek. Adelheid refused to look at the screen again.

Her cheeks soon glowed with the light of the LCD as the picture resumed.

Now they were clearly looking at someone’s office.

There was a desk, a big chair with leather backing and barely any of that bare metal wall from before. Most importantly, there was now someone occupying the desk. Gloved hands briefly steepled in front of her face before laying on the desktop to unveil grinning lips. A fair and girlish and pretty face– belonging to the excommunicated Sunlight Foundation Immortal once known as Amur, and apparently still going by that codename.

Amur seemed to be doing well for herself, judging by her clothing. A gold-trimmed purple sportcoat buttoned over what appeared to be a ruffled silk shirt, hugging her thin frame close; gold cufflinks, dark wine-colored gloves; resting lightly atop her head was a purple kepi military cap with a golden badge in front depicting what seemed to be a waveform graph. Out from under her kepi, a wavy bob of silky, light blueish hair fell neatly to just over her small shoulders, with swept, sleek bangs over her forehead. Her eyes were clearly cybernetic, blue with subtle but visible rings of millions of photoreceptors.

Norn could also see the vague impression of her antennae, which were very thin, neon-blue and semi-circular, jutting out of where her ears would have been. Only the vaguest impression of their existence was perceptible beneath her hair, but Norn had known her when these antennae were larger and more obvious and far less aesthetically pleasing. Given the upgrade, Norn surmised Amur had access to a laboratory. Or was still friends with people on the bleeding edge of cybernetic research– but very few people other than herself would be doing such advanced research into new gear for Hartz syndrome victims.

“Greetings, Co– ahem, Norn! Norn the Praetorian! Of course, I knew this already. You quite liked that story of the fate-spinning Norn that Ganges told you– so when I heard that an Imperial operative by the name of Norn was making waves, I knew it had to be you. I’m glad that you were able to escape Yangtze’s clutches. And ecstatic that we can do business!”

An enormous sunshine-y smile appeared on her face, and she raised V-signs in both hands.

“I am also glad Yangtze did not keep me sedated and preserved in a jar forever.” Norn said.

“Of course, what an unreasonable and evil woman. Did you know that vile Yangtze IX tried to contact me to repair our relationship? Hah! I told her where to stick it! Never again!” Amur said. She put on an expression of exaggerated and fake pity and sympathy, pouting almost as childishly as Adelheid. When she spoke again, she talked so fast. Her nasally voice and conceited tone were just as annoying as Norn remembered them. “You know Norn, I would have absolutely resisted such actions being taken against you, but I did not know until Yangtze VIII was dead and the Alamos facility imploded. By that point I had been kicked out by Yangtze too, that bitch! She accused me of running away when we fought Mehmed, like I didn’t do my best?! Like it mattered against that monster?! At any rate Norn–”

“Amur, I don’t care.” Norn said. “You are on my shitlist just the same as the rest.”

Amur’s eyes drew wide and she froze with an index finger in the air, mid-sentence.

“Huh?! So you did mean it when you talked about my wringing my neck–?”

She looked suddenly frightened as if Norn was in the room and able to wring her neck.

“Amur, I am here because I want to put you, specifically, off my shitlist.” Norn said.

Amur just suddenly put her hands back down, crossed her arms, and looked smug again.

“You do?! I mean– of course you do. You always had a fantastic eye for a talent and such a good head on your shoulders, Norn! Yangtze and Euphrates and all those fuddy-duddies were just holding you back! Keeping you down! You were always destined for bigger and better–”

Adelheid narrowed her eyes. “How do you stand this woman always lying to you?”

“I make an exception because clearly something is wrong with her.” Norn replied.

Amur continued talking and gesticulating without acknowledging the interruption.

“–as always, dear Norn, you may consider the door to my humble shoppe open–”

Norn sighed. “Fantastic. Shut up now and listen to me.” Amur stopped in her tracks, and began staring nervously at the screen. Norn continued. “I am headed into Rhinea to refit my vessel. I need a few things from you. Primarily, I want to purchase your services as a crew member. I will need electronic support in Aachen. I am limited in what information I can gather, and I am walking into a pit full of vipers with very little intelligence. I cannot rely on the Fueller family or the military anymore, and I burnt my bridge to the Inquisition. It has to be you. You can work from Trelleborg if you can’t make it to Aachen. I’ll go pick you up later. Secondly– What’s with the gesticulation? Are you not able to deliver, Amur?”

“No, no, no!” Amur said. She had been waving her hands defensively. “Not at all, dearest Norn! I would be thrilled to work for you and of course I have the capability you need and more! A genius such as myself would be running digital laps around anyone in the City of Currents!” She put on a little smile again and gestured to herself with her hand. “It’s just, my services are generally paid through a flexible package deal, sliding scale, based on the task, and you know, my costs and fees and deductibles and hazard insurance and such–”

“I’ll pay you in Palladium reserve bars. Guaranteed pure by Fueller treasurers. Doesn’t that sound more appealing than bullshit Imperial marks? I bet your buddies in Trelleborg would love it. And, I’ll throw in something you’ll find even more valuable.” Norn said.

Amur’s eyes lit up at the word ‘Palladium’ and her mouth opened slightly for the rest.

Adelheid glanced at Norn with a skeptical expression on her face.

Norn pulled out a portable she had laid on the desk in the meeting room beforehand.

Switching it on, a wireframe model of a Diver and its various parts appeared.

For a moment Adelheid looked a bit scandalized, but quickly hid her expression.

“Yangtze has a fascinating new toy.” Norn said. “I will give you all the data I have on what she calls the Jagdkaiser type I, including field testing and maintenance data, machine logs, and any blueprint and stitcher data Yangtze offered to support operations. You can keep the data, but I want you to analyze everything, and create a machine on this basis. I know of your interest in prosthetics– you have just enough materials science pedigree for this, don’t you? I’m sure your renowned genius can fill in the rest of the blanks– what do you say?”

Amur’s eyes drew bigger and wider with each additional clause.

She blinked, seemingly realizing her mouth was hanging open.

Quite suddenly, she smiled and shut her eyes and put her hands behind her back.

Leaning forward, sticking out her skinny chest.

“Consider yourself the new employer of a renowned genius, indeed! Indeed! It can only be Amur, the trickster goddess of cyberspace!” She said. Pausing for a laugh that made her voice sound even more nasal for a moment. “I will make sail for Aachen posthaste– until I get there, I will work remotely in whatever capacity you need. Digital intelligence? Electronic warfare? Signals? I can do it all!” For a moment there was a bit of a glow underneath her hair– she had increased the power to her antennae as a demonstration. “Norn, I am so looking forward to our partnership. I haven’t been this excited to work in decades!”

“I knew you would come around.” Norn said. Grinning to herself.

Amur had an– excitable– personality, but she was potentially incredibly useful.

Especially her connection to Trelleborg. Having access to a Host was valuable.

Norn might need a place to run to in the future, if nothing went well.

“In fact, let our partnership bear fruit right away.” Amur said. A conspiratorial gaze and a mysterious grin appeared on her face. She closed in on the screen as if whispering. “Norn, I have connections in the Sunlight Foundation still. There’s been juicy drama recently– the rest of the Immortals are quarreling! Even Yangtze and Euphrates are not getting on–”

“I was aware of this.” Norn said, interrupting. “I appreciate you telling me all the same.”

“Oh! I must give you something to prove my worthiness though, on my own honor.” Amur said. “Did you know then, that Hudson has apparently relocated to Rhinea? Several cargo ships from Theseus Applied Cybernetics, her front company, left Bosporus and the Palatine for Rhinea with significant loads. At the same time as the Volkisch Movement in Eisental is debuting a Shimii brigade under the influence of the Nasser family– don’t you think it’s a big coincidence? Could Hudson be a Shimii nationalist, perhaps? A crypto-nasserite?”

“Now that is something I did not know. Something juicy, too– let’s keep an eye on it.”

“Aye, aye! Captain!” Amur made a mock salute. “Say, may I ask a– clarifying question?”

“Of course. No need to be so stuffy– aren’t we old war buddies?” Norn replied.

Amur looked briefly uncomfortable. She tapped two index fingers together.

“It is about that actually– am I off your ‘shitlist’ as you say, now?” Amur asked sheepishly.

Norn smiled. “Completely. I would not think of touching a hair on your head– that is to say, I will not seek vengeance for past slights. You know how things work of course– if you make poor decisions on this job, your neck will quickly become imperiled again. So rest easy, knowing you will render excellent service and not piss me off so monumentally. Right?”

Continuing to twiddle the same two index fingers, Amur averted her gaze, smiling.

“Of course. I would not dare think of it. I will be a real MVP on your team!”

“That’s the spirit. Start making preparations. I’ll give you bearing data periodically.”

Amur turned back to the screen. She smiled, again– but it was a different kind of smile.

Gentler and much less conceited.

“Norn, I wanted to say– business and profits aside– it is actually nice seeing ‘Cocytus’ again. I– I am truly sorry for what happened. I know– It’s been decades.” Her voice sounded pained. “This must seem like a joke to you, but I think, all of us held you in high esteem.”

Anyone else, Norn would have just cut off and told to fuck themselves. How dare they?!

Euphrates, Ganges, Yangtze, any of them, the pathetic ringleaders of that horrific circus.

However, seeing Amur break her pretense gave Norn just a bit more patience.

She would not give an answer to it. There was no answer to it. It was too painful to touch.

Because Norn recalled the joy she felt in the presence of the Immortal’s “esteem.”

And it was a void in her heart that nothing would ever fill.

Like family she wouldn’t have again. They destroyed it; she destroyed it. It was gone now.

“Let’s talk business later, Amur. I have preparations to make. Good luck; and be cautious.”

Amur nodded solemnly in acknowledgment. Norn shut off the monitor. Her hand lingered.

“I think she turned sincere at the end, Norn.” Adelheid said. A bit of unearned melancholy.

Normally Norn would have told Adelheid to mind her own god damned business–

“I know. But it doesn’t matter. Let’s check up on Selene again and get this boat moving.”

–but her heart had softened a bit, and the only defense against more was to keep moving.


The Antenora soon resumed its journey from Southern Ayre, skirting the Aachen Massif and the Ayre slope down to almost 2800 meters deep in the Northern Eisental plain and hooking west-bound to the other side of the mountains, heading for the station itself.

Along the way the floodlights and cameras caught glimpses of the eerie, alien and desolate landscape of the deep plains. Long stretches of barren, rocky ground or mounds of sand. Life gathered around the dunes, where marine snow collected on solid ground for detritivores to consume; around hydrothermal vents where tube worms fed on minerals surging out of the earth in great billowing gas jets; around red coral born of agglomerated katov mass, eerie tumors on the cracked skin of the planet; and it teemed on the corpses of large animals, like whales and collossal squids, edible to masses of worms, abyssal crabs, and small, bony, blind fish. All of that life, hiding until the death of something made them alive anew.

Through small gatherings of abyssal fish; crabs flitting across the sand; undersea clouds of drifting jellyfish passing through the empty water like their own storm, their very life the thunders; and the glowing circles of beautiful death represented by massive siphonophores, colony organisms lashing out at the little lives around them with neurotoxin-filled stingers. It was so difficult for humans to see such things, for the dark depths of the ocean battled their comparatively weak electric lights to the bitter end. Viewed only through the cameras, the world seemed to empty. But with all of a ship’s sensors, it was possible, at times, and across the spans of days and weeks of sailing, to connect many lives together and see the Ocean still not dead. Perhaps impossible on a station, where lives were stationary.

Out on a ship, however, the instruments awaiting death caught these glimpses of life.

“Siphonophore– 30 meters long– attaching the picture– ahh! A lovely little addition!”

Using pictures from the ship’s navigation cameras, Petra Chorniy-Sunnysea filled a digital scrapbook page with an image of the siphonophore they passed by and her thoughts on it. It was very long, and it was shiny, and it looked blue, when it was lit up by the Antenora’s spotlights. She thought its enormous size and colors were impressive. She had filled the pages with pictures, observations and little lessons she picked up. Her portable computer, with her diary and scrapbook, were Petra’s only valuable possession aside from her weapons and armor, which her lord, Yurii Samoylovych, had taught her to hold dear.

Petra eagerly catalogued the many animals the Antenora went past, as well as the sights.

In her heart, and in her pages, there was a journey through a world teeming with life.

Some people thought her behavior was childish and hypocritical for a murderous knight.

However, Petra had an enthusiasm for all things. She was alive and she loved living.

Her heart was simple and untroubled. She did her tasks with a clear head and good humor.

Petra did not think that her relationship toward death precluded her interest in life.

Whalefalls begot new life; assassinations and assaults created new political possibilities.

Some things died so others could live. Her master lived; her enemies would die.

There were many wicked people in the world; Petra thought Yurii was a very virtuous lady.

Yurii loved life; Petra loved life too. So aligned, master and servant remained in harmony.

Petra killed to live; for her master to live; and so they could enjoy the beautiful world.


“Alright, we’re commencing the briefing. Everybody sit down and shut up.”

Next to the Antenora’s bridge there was a specific meeting room used for debrief and for strategic planning with large gatherings. There was a monitor at the end of the room that could be divided into eight discrete cells with different videos, and desk-chairs in six rows of four. Normally there was a podium but Norn had moved it to the side. In attendance were Norn’s trusted officers, including Adelheid, a tired-looking Selene in a pilot’s bodysuit, a very bored-looking Hunter III, and the working regulars like Livia, Yurii, and Petra.

Neretva had also been summoned, along with three drone managers, one representing the security team, a second representing the sailors and a third representing the bridge. They would relay the information to the rest of the drones and create work schedules.

“I’ll begin by stating that while our objective for the foreseeable future will not be combat, there may well be outbreaks of violence so we need to be prepared.” Norn said. “Part of avoiding combat is knowing where we stand, who to distrust, and having plans laid down.”

She gestured toward one of the divisions on the main monitor.

Then, a logo with a scrawled smiling face wearing a kepi cap appeared on every cell.

“We will be receiving electronic warfare, intelligence gathering and signals support from Amur. She will deliver the rest of the briefing on Aachen. Take it away.” Norn said.

She stepped away from the center cells of the divided monitor so Amur could claim them.

Her real face briefly appeared, greeted everyone, and then a diagram of Aachen appeared.

Including its sub-structures, like the interiors of the Aachen Massif, Stockheim, and so on.

In the audience, Neretva was suddenly scandalized and stood up with a nervous expression.

“Milord, that woman is an excommunicated member of the Sunlight Foundation.” She said.

“So?” Norn asked. “That’s my problem, not yours. Sit back down.”

Neretva’s voice trembled. “But– what if she steals data? You don’t know what she’s–”

“You continue to involve yourself in matters above your station at your own peril.”

At Norn’s warning, Neretva froze up. Selene reached up and pulled her down by her shirt.

Successfully getting Neretva to sit, her hands on her lap and her eyes down at the floor.

Amur’s face appeared on one of the monitor’s next to the diagrams, smiling cheerfully.

“Milord, that Neretva is one of Hudson’s direct apprentices. She might be a liability.”

“No she won’t.” Selene spoke up suddenly. “She’s too much of a wimp to do anything.”

Norn found that assertion a bit more defensive than she would like– but she ignored it.

“I am the only one here who needs to be worried about personnel decisions. I will not hear a word more of this from any of you. Continue with the briefing, now.” Norn said sharply.

“Absolutely, milord! I was merely serving my advisory capacity! Your wisdom and charisma are, as always, deeply impressive and worthy of your grand legend.” Amur averted her gaze as soon as Norn threw her a sharp glance for her flattery. She then cleared her throat and finally commence with the actual meat of the briefing. “At any rate– welcome, ladies and gentleladies, to Aachen Station. Our present objective is to dock at Stockheim and begin the Antenora’s refit. We will also resupply the Antenora, and secure the continuing cooperation of Fueller family loyalists within Aachen to ensure a smooth journey onward.”

Amur extended a hand to her left, where one of the monitors displayed the Stockheim port.

“We will be staying with the Stockheim Shipbuilder’s Guild, under the auspices of a private ship repair and luxury ship design company, Quicksilver Cruising Limited. These guys have a pretty dodgy history within Aachen, but they pay off the Shipbuilder’s Guild for the badge, so they look legit to the untrained eye. Somehow they finagled an exclusive contract for luxury craft to the Matternich family, who are aligned with the Fueller family– so in essence, they are our allies once removed. They have been accused of supporting organized crime, but that’s common for port companies. Nevertheless, we should not rely on them for anything more than discretion and exterior retrofit work. Limit contact with Quicksilver Limited and its employees as much as possible. I’ll keep an eye on them too.”

With another wave of her hands, as if performing a magic trick, Amur dispersed the wireframe diagram of Stockheim and brought up one of the main tower. Its interior was made up of ringed walkways encircling different multi-story atrium spaces each of which hosted something different, like central hanging gardens and sculptures.

Superimposed on the main tower was a logo of a knight’s helmet with two wings growing out of it, one black and one silver and gold, all surrounded by flourishes of cloth.

“Security in Aachen is provided under contract by Rhineametalle’s exclusive subsidiary and military contractor, the Uhlankorp. Specifically,” an orgchart briefly appeared, but Amur quickly selected one particular part and zoomed in on it without heed for the rest, “by the Third Regiment of the Uhlankorp, which operates as a service called On-Site Security Outcomes or OSSO. None of the Uhlankorp has ever seen battle, but the OSSO are especially just trumped up Patrol with the least restrictive recruiting policies. That being said, it would be annoying to get in trouble with them, so just do your best to keep things above board. However– Norn, it does appear someone actually got to them before us.”

Once more, the screen shifted, now showing a picture of Aachen’s surroundings.

Several dozen kilometers south of Aachen, Amur pointed out a circular area.

Itself encompassing a few kilometers of empty wilderness.

“OSSO kept it on the DL, but a ship full of body armor and heavy weapons sent from Stralsund to Aachen went missing recently and they have no idea what happened.” Amur said. “Rhineametalle wanted to stock up OSSO as a precaution owing to recent events in the region. They saw what befell a certain group of thugs called the KPSD in Kreuzung when things got out of control over there. It would be embarrassing if a certified regiment of the Uhlankorp failed to protect their station from a terror attack, right? So who took the guns then? Well, I can come up with a quick list of likely suspects for you–”

Three more organizations’ names appeared over the diagram of the main tower.

“The Nationale Volksarmee, Reichsbanner Schwarzrot, and Eisern Front. Three leftist terror groups now rumored to be joining forces– with Aachen as the negotiating table.”

All three of the organization flags melded into a red, black and yellow flag, labeled,

Eisental United Front.

“We’ll be walking into a fairly volatile situation in Aachen! All we want to do is resupply and refit, but it looks like we’ve been assigned a hell of a place to do it!” Amur said, sounding quite amused. “Eisental’s political situation is tense enough as it is. The liberal government in Aachen is on the cusp of being replaced by a Volkisch Gau, and who knows what they’ll be scheming. Now the United Front will be sniffing around too, sizing each other and the Uhlankorp up while they work out this rumored alliance. And who knows whether their members will be able to maintain basic discipline? There could well be an unforeseen incident. And that shipment of missing Uhlankorp guns might just be the dynamite waiting to be lit up and thrown. On top of all that, there’s the Mycenae Military Commission in Stralsund, and then the Shimii post-jihad groups simmering in the background–!”

“Yes, it’s a very fertile ground for trouble.” Norn said, interrupting Amur’s excitable rant. “Which is why everyone needs to be on guard and on their best behavior. I want daily activity reports from anyone who left the port, and before you leave, you’ll be submitting a shore leave request. Unless I personally go with you, nobody leaves Stockheim without submitting a strict timetable. If you are even a second later than written, I will make you regret it.”

Norn cast eyes around the room but most prominently cast them at Selene.

“Huh?” Selene responded near immediately. “What are you looking at me for?”

“You will control your volatile moods in the station. Are we clear?” Norn said.

“Of course we are!” Selene said. “I’m not fucking insane I have tact, you know!”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll be expecting those forms soon if you want to go goof off.”

Selene turned her cheek with a pout. Adelheid patted her on the shoulder.

Norn then turned to Hunter III, who had been mostly staring at her own hands or at Livia.

“Hunter III. You will also be under strict scrutiny. I will have work for you, but it must be conducted exactingly.” She said. Hunter III pointed at herself as if she was confused about who was being yelled at. “There’s no other numbered little cannibal here is there? I will be using you for what you were allegedly made for– infiltration, asset retrieval, maybe even assassination. When I give you a target, you will meet it, without deviation. Are clear?”

Technicwise y’all aren’t the same thing as me, so it’s not cannibalism.” Hunter III said.

“Are we clear?” Norn asked again. This was her final but foremost concern.

Hunter III grumbled in response, crossing her arms and hiding her face with her hood.

“I know how to follow orders! I’m not dumb! Just tell me what the heck to do!” She said.

“If necessary I can always apply certain drugs to make her compliant.” Livia suddenly said.

Hunter III nearly jumped with surprised. Norn looked at Livia briefly then grinned.


Weeks removed from Goryk’s Gorge, the slightly less damaged Antenora finally docked in the Stockheim port in the row of berths that was administered by Quicksilver Limited.

The Antenora’s first day at port was taxing– a flurry of calls, payments, accommodations for the ship. Veiled threats leveled at Quicksilver orderlies to mind sensitive information when dealing with Fueller family property; reservations made with various people and venues; gathering the permits they needed through the liberal government or the grey market.

Owing to this chaos, everything that needed to be done in Aachen was briefly deferred.

In a rare turn, Adelheid was almost as busy as Norn, having been the one to take inventory and so now assisting in victualing and resupply by contacting various wholesalers and brokerages in Aachen. There were a few notable shortages plaguing Aachen, such as fresh spicy peppers and coffee beans, and so Adelheid ended up chasing as many tails throughout the day as Norn had to and put in a very remarkable effort. She was ordered to rest and relax the following morning and stayed in Norn’s own room after a night spent de-stressing.

On the second day, a drone informed Norn that an ‘enemy vessel’ had docked beside them.

“Clear the target paint, it’s nonsense. What vessel could it be?” Norn said.

“The computer has identified it as the Pandora’s Box at a 68% confidence.”

“What? Let me see.”

On the bridge, Norn watched the cameras pan over to the neighboring berth.

Her smile then stretched slowly from ear to ear–

–at the sight of that very slightly refined but still quite unseemly olive-colored hauler.

“I’ll be stepping outside for a moment. Tell Adelheid I’m greeting some old friends.”

“Yes, milord.”

Alone, Norn left the ship through the boarding chute connected to the station berth.

She found herself in a tube-like hallway of steel and glass, elevators connecting it to lower floors, conveyors connecting deeper into the actual port infrastructure of Stockheim. One continuous hall, sparse in decoration, connected every ship in this particular level. Norn’s berth and every vertical row beneath and above it was owned by Quicksilver but right next door there was a berth owned by a league of leftist trade unionists instead.

And in that berth, they had a clandestine guest, the same as she was.

When she exited out onto the hallway, she turned quickly to the bulkhead for her neighbor.

Both ships had pointed their cameras at each other, so they both likely flashed warnings.

Norn waited with amused expectation, hoping to see a certain conceited blond captain–

And found herself more surprised and amused when the bulkhead door finally opened.

Not Ulyana Korabiskaya, not Euphrates, not Elena– nobody she expected aboard.

Instead, a Katarran woman and an equally Katarran companion walked out onto the hall.

From their differing modes of dress, Norn could derive the hierarchy quite quickly. To her the woman with the long red coat and matching military cap, with the button down shirt, pencil skirt and tights– she gave off the energy of someone almost a Katarran warlord. Her dark blue hair falling down her back, heeled shoes, the sword at her hip, and the quiet confidence with which she carried herself, the beauty and grace evident in her every movement.

She was someone who was groomed for command.

Meanwhile the pale-haired girl in the hoodie and pants was just some punk she hired.

“Is that ship under new management?” Norn asked, grinning all the while.

Her appraising red eyes met the wayward, mismatched eyes of the Katarran leader.

“Norn the Praetorian is carrying out ship inspections far from home, it seems.”

The woman responded. They walked to within a few meters of each other.

Close to the bulkhead leading to the Pandora’s Box.

“You know me, of course– but may I have the pleasure of an introduction?” Norn asked.

“My name is Erika. I am an independent security contractor.” Erika said. “This is my ship.”

Erika– she felt like someone familiar. Norn almost had the connection made.

“You were sold a strange bill of goods, lady.” She said. “I’ve had trouble with that ship.”

“Have you any trouble with it today? Consider its business to be my own business.”

“I am merely curious. I hope those bastard cutthroats are still doing alright.” Norn said.

Erika smiled. “All of them are whole and hale, and rendering excellent service.”

“Now I know who you remind me of.” Norn said. “Ever since I saw you, I was thinking.”

“Indeed?” Erika said.

Norn gestured toward Erika’s coat with an even more self-satisfied expression.

“You’re the mercenary who fulfilled that suicidal contract put on Admiral Model’s head. Mismatched eyes, blue hair, horns, and running around Rhinea.” Norn said. Erika blinked her eyes and drew them a bit wider, for just an instant– recognizing that she had been correctly identified, not just as a Katarran or a mercenary, but for that specific deed. Norn saw her hand come to settle on her hip just over the pommel of her sword, but remain there.

“Have you come to settle the grudges of the defunct Rhinean navy, Lord Praetorian? Or have you only come to settle your own?” Erika said. To her credit, her determination held firm.

Norn could not see a shred of fear or hesitation in her aura. She was standing her ground.

And yet, she was also not making any overt aggression. She had a very cool head.

“Neither.” Norn said. “Model would have been an enemy now, so you did me a favor. And you gave Rhineametalle a black eye in the process too, from what I’ve heard. I’m surprised that you are able to continue operating in Rhinea after such brazen deeds. I respect it.”

“I am able to continue operating precisely because of my brazen deeds. Mercenaries who take no risks may not die, but they are unable to live. By risking my life for something I may lose my life, but my convictions earn me comrades and benefactors.” Erika said. “Killing Model made me more allies than enemies. I would hope to count you in neither group.”

Norn grinned at her after her little story. “Truly? You don’t desire to court my favor?”

Erika’s expression remained perfectly dispassionate and neutral.

“If you’ve a job, I will evaluate it like any other, and if accepted, I will carry it out.”

“Ah, so you’re not above working for me.”

“No, but I am above coming into your debt, and seeking to put you in mine.”

“How honest. I am fond of honest people.”

“I am simply keeping cautious of the fire which I recognize now burns in front of me.”

“Well, enough flattery.” Norn said. “I feel I’ve taken the measure of you, Erika Kairos.”

Erika reached out a hand to offer Norn a shake.

“No flattery. You are known to be a woman of great pragmatism, with an agenda of your own. I think neither of us need to stand in each other’s way. In this time of chaos we don’t need to fight hard to accrue new enemies. So we should not make them casually.”

Norn took her hand and gave it a firm shake.

“How is Elena von Fueller? What if I wanted her back?” Norn asked in a hushed tone.

For a moment she saw Erika’s aura shift. She wondered how this woman would respond.

“She is a civilian free to do as she wishes. And I will protect that freedom.” Erika said.

She meant every word she said. There was no lie from those lightly red-painted lips.

“I am glad to hear that. That foolish little girl is luckier than she appreciates.”

Norn let go of Erika’s hand and turned around with a dismissive air, showing her back.

Of course, Erika would do nothing with that opportunity, nor take offense.

There was not another word for her as Norn casually returned to her ship.

For the Pandora’s Box to be under Katarran management made no ordinary sense.

Erika Kairos must have had something to do with the leftists in Aachen.

And she had augmented her strength with the Union-backed troops in the Pandora’s Box.

Things in Aachen were about to get very interesting. Look at what the currents swept up!

“Pandora’s Box– I don’t know whether you are cursed or blessed anymore.” She laughed.


As soon as Norn disappeared from her sight, Erika’s solid purple aura turned a deep green.

Wafting up from her shoulders as if no longer anchored to her body. Broken, suddenly.

Her breathing grew more labored, and she felt discomfort in her tightened chest.

“You did really well, Erika.” Olga said. “I was surprised at how cool you kept during that.”

“I used Saint’s Skin to smooth over my emotions for a while. I was terrified.” Erika said.

Her voice was chattering. Repressed fears began to pour out of her mind.

Norn the Praetorian– even just her presence seemed to stir the world around her.

All of the legends of her brutal power swirled in Erika’s mind.

When she laid on the pressure, even subtly, it was so difficult to retain one’s peace of mind.

Had she been trying, or had ill intentions, who knows what could have happened?

Maybe Erika and Olga could have matched her if their meeting came to blows.

Maybe. None of them would have walked out of it unscathed.

Thankfully, she suspected Norn would not have picked such a pointless fight.

“I am glad I took the initiative on this.” Erika sighed. “I feared Ulyana saying something out of hand, or worse, actually exposing someone like Elena to Norn. Now that we have satisfied her curiosity, I think she will carry on with her own business. She is powerful enough that she could have had any opportunity she wants to attack us– I don’t believe she is interested.”

“I’ll have people patrol here to keep an eye out nevertheless.” Olga said. She sighed. “We just touched down and we already have to have security at the port. We’ll never have peace huh?”

“We’re not in the business of peace, I’m afraid.” Erika said. “It’ll only get harder for us.”

Both of them cast eyes at the conveyor that would take them deeper into Aachen proper.

They had finally arrived, where the currents of their own war had taken them.

Past and present converged on the City of Currents; and may well decide their future.

Inside that shell of metal and humanity, the United Front would begin its ordeal.

Eisental United Front Status

Nationale Volksarmee (Provisional)

Reichsbanner Schwarzrot (Provisional)

Eisern Front (Unknown)


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.7]

This chapter contains graphic sexual content and themes of suicidal ideation.

In the year 974 After Descent, the center of hegemony in the Imbrium Ocean still lay within the edifice of Heitzing. The cradle of the Imbrian Empire, raised from the vast trench that would come to be known as the Abyss of Nocht, named after its conqueror. In the southeastern border of the Palatine, Heitzing stood on a dusty circle of earth surrounded by jagged rock, like a thousand wounds sliced upon crust abruptly stitched closed.

These structures formed something of a shallow crater.

A subtle but visible demarcation around the heart of the Empire.

Legend had it that Heitzing was raised from the abyss and closed the dark trench from whence it came shut upon rising. Setting all of the legends aside, it remained an absolutely formidable fortress in a material sense. Automated cannons and missile launchers dotted its surroundings. Four underground sub-stations with attached seaports were constructed in the spire’s surroundings, housing a dedicated fleet of 125 ships, mainly composed of fast Frigates. Each barracks had several underground hangars, and together they contained almost 500 Divers and 10000 troops. Patrols went round the clock. There were enough stockpiled rations, munitions and fuel to withstand several months of siege.

Just a few kilometers east from Heitzing lay the border to the Bosporus Duchy. Just a few kilometers north was the Volgian abyssal plain that led to the formidable Northern Ice Wall. Just a few kilometers south was the Khaybar mountain. In antiquity, these directions each contained enemies. The old Bosporan Republics, the ancient Shimii caliphate, the Volgian Principality; Heitzing was a salient into all these territories. Despite this, it remained an imposing barrier that had never been conquered, single-handedly protecting the eastern flank. Heitzing was the sword cleaved into the Imbrium by the first Emperor.

Its region came to be known as the Black Crater, nearly 3000 meters deep.

So long as Heitzing remained, the Imbrium Empire was invincible, immortal.

Or so the ascendant Imbrians thought, once upon a time.

One kilometer tall, the spire was smooth and purely black but speckled with indentations where its ancient plates had been joined, giving off blue and red light mixed purple from millions of LEDs, humming with a purpose older than the Descent of humanity. Within the middle of the structure was a dedicated port, and at the top, the royal palace had been carved out of the hab block that once occupied the upper levels. At the base, and below, there was self-sufficient farming and manufacturing for the inhabitants. Industrial stitcher machines below ground built the first Nocht emperor his first imperial warships, commencing his ancient conquest of the Palatine, and beyond.

No more– the lower part of the complex was finally ordered sealed. Once upon a time, the Fueller family were the dynastic engineers tasked with the maintenance and furtherance of this machinery. Now, the last remnants of this family, that was near annihilated in its rebellion against the Nocht dynasty, would put an end to Heitzing.

By decree of Konstantin von Fueller, the one man who had defeated the structure and begun the end of an era. History regarded his ascendance as a passing of the fortress from one hand to another, as if to deny Heitzing the sting of defeat. Nevertheless, Konstantin had claimed the fortress, made it his home, took on the title of Imbrium Emperor, and now, his word was law absolute. And his word was that the mysterious depths of the fortress had to be forever shut. Architects and engineers were called forth by the crown, discreetly, to put together a permanent solution to the tower’s depths. To inflict a wound of finality onto the Black Crater that would render its ancient secrets permanently gone.

In response to this, Norn Tauscherer arrived at Heitzing one autumn morning.

Her hand held at her side, closed into a shaking fist. Her teeth grit together.

Her ship approached the center of the structure. A black panel slid open to accept her ship into a berth. Once closed behind her, there was no telling where the ship had gone, or whether any berth lay within that part of Heitzing’s space. Subsumed into the black steel it was as if the ship became part of Heitzing. She stepped off the ship, left the port, and rode a secret elevator for what felt like an eternity to the top of the tower.

All the while, fuming to herself.

Her face reflected back at her in the silver-plated interior.

Blond hair tied back into a ponytail with the slightest bit of an arch to it. Red eyes staring back at her themselves reflecting her own reflection, dark mirrors of a wrathful infinity; her fair skin colored over by a blue and green half-cape and a grey Imperial Navy uniform. Her slim build hid the immense power contained in every muscle fiber of her body, much more than that of the Imbrians she pretended to be part of. Few people called Norn beautiful, but she knew that she was. In everything she did there was beauty, and in the implements that she used there was beauty too. In her rage; in her calm; even in her despair.

Nevertheless, she was wearing makeup on that day. Something of a rare sight for her.

There was only one man in the world for whom Norn observed formality.

To have been casual with him would have only caused him to erode his own power further.

Her dress, her artifice of nobility, was to remind him of his position.

When the elevator opened, it did so on a lobby that was not Norn’s destination.

Quickly, she ordered the elevator to close and inserted a physical key into a physical slot.

Finally, the elevator went up an additional floor, and there, it opened into a suite.

Inside, everything was lacquered wood. Real wood, preserved with a shiny finish. Norn stepped out onto a lobby with a wooden floor, past an adjacent living room with silk-upholstered couches and a real clay and brick hearth seated on a steel plate and separated by a glass shield. Above, an intricate chandelier model of the sol system, within which Aer was one lonely little blue planet. Several lights forever lost to humanity shone with it.

On the walls, experimental artwork. Emperor Nocht had a taste in portraiture and traditional subjects; Emperor von Fueller had donated all the old work to museums and digital collections and instead decorated with modern art, abstracts and semi-abstracts, dada and expressionism and texture-art and programmatic mechanical artworks. Norn had no opinion of the chaos of shapes and colors that surrounded her as she traversed the space.

Except, that everything clashing, the wood and the glass and the post-modernism–

Probably reflected on the man who cocooned himself within.

“Emperor von Fueller, eternal be your reign. Norn Tauscherer brings counsel.”

Stepping into his bedroom, Norn dropped to one knee and looked at the ground.

Pulling a beret off her head and holding it to her chest.

“Oh Norn, no, you do not need to! Sister, dear sister! Please stand and look at me!”

He touched her shoulder, and so beckoned, Norn stood, and she did look him in the eyes.

Still unused to seeing nothing of the man that she had fought for, for so long already.

Norn still looked as she always had, while Konstantin looked like a corpse walking. She wanted to see the blond clean-shaven boy of her past but she saw instead a wizened figure, cheeks sinking, copious grey hair down his back, a sleek but dense beard. His shoulders, his limbs, had all grown skinny. His hands were the only place he had remained strong, because he made use of his fingers still. He was dressed in coveralls and an ornate coat without any shoes. He had been working. All around his bedroom, copious amounts of mechanical trinkets paraded about, flying, climbing poles, spinning on the ground. Mechanical knights on clockwork horses charging at nothing, origami birds made of thin steel sheets, functioning quadrotors assembled piece by piece. An entire clock in the middle of being put together piece by little piece, meticulously engineered, blueprints on the bed.

“Do you like it?” Konstantin asked. He gestured toward the clock with a smile on his face, ear to ear, so proud, so excited. “Nobody makes these anymore. Isn’t it a shame? I found the schematics and I wanted to make one. The Fueller library, we have all kinds of these things. Blueprints for old machines that have no purpose anymore. I wanted to make one so badly– it caught me one day, the itch. Like a haunting from the past. So I had all the pieces made very exactingly but I did not want it stitched together. Do you like it?”

“It’s stately.” Norn said. “But did you have to make it run? Isn’t the structure nice enough?”

“No, no, no.” Konstantin said. “Things– things are their function. Beauty– it’s function. A clock that doesn’t run– it’s a waste isn’t it? It can do nothing but be stared at. Robbed of itself. I wanted to make something that ran. That had a purpose for being.”

He had trouble speaking. His condition was clearly deteriorating since she last saw him.

Norn thought grimly, he might die before Erich ever gets his hands on him.

If Erich were so inclined of course–

“Konstantin, I am here because you are robbing Heitzing of its purpose, as you say.”

Konstantin’s eyes narrowed. “Heitzing is an abomination. I am fixing it, once and for all.”

Norn grunted. “Are you willing to tell me what is down there now?”

“No. Never you mind that. I have made my final judgment.” Konstantin said.

She could tell he wanted to turn around and go back to his toys.

He was half-stood up on the edge of the room and hall, half-staring away from Norn.

“Norn, we have to think about– we have to think about the future. Not just my children, but everyone’s children. Nobody should live with this thing held over their heads. All of these awful legends and superstitions, but also, the– the physical thing itself. I want to move the capital to Schwerin Isle, seal up Heitzing, blow it up for good. End it all. I trust Erich, but I will never trust Erich’s children, or his children’s children, I will not be here to see them, I can’t evaluate what they’ll do. Or heaven forbid those Republic pigs. No. I have to fix it.”

Norn breathed in and out trying to calm her nerves and frustration.

“Right now, Heitzing is one of the few things keeping you in power, so-called Emperor.”

“Power? Bah! If that is so, then I abdicate with it. I’ll go with it, and it will go with me.”

“Konstantin, there’s no climbing down this mountain except the way you climbed up.”

“Then let them depose me, but they will do it after this hellmaw is finally buried.”

Norn’s face was slowly overcome by a grim expression.

She found herself speaking more candidly than she wanted to. Her emotions swelling.

“Konstantin, if you gave me the order, I would exterminate the lords and ministers. I would kill every plotter and annihilate all of their families down to the last crying baby in a cradle. I would put an end to everything you could not. I would protect you. I can protect you.”

Konstantin’s distracted expression was suddenly overcome with horror.

He had a face as grim as that which Norn herself was making at him.

Rushing back to Norn’s side he grabbed hold of her shoulders.

Kissing her on both cheeks in a way she found repellent– because he was so different now.

“Norn! Norn, my dearest friend, my oathsworn sister– no, absolutely not! It has to end, Norn!” He started to weep. His tears fell on her like droplets of blood from open wounds. “No more killing for me, Norn. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this. I didn’t understand what I was asking you to do. I am so sorry. All of the evil I made you commit! I didn’t understand the consequences back then. Please. Don’t go after Sedlitz or Veka or anyone else. Promise me that you will not. It has to end. This is why I have to fix it.”

He was hysterical. “Fixing” Heitzing– by destroying the ancient machines in its bowels?

Even the children of Nocht had lost so much knowledge of what Heitzing could do. Even the old Fuellers long before the era of Konstantin could only slowly lose their grasp on what it contained. Today the true capabilities of the tower remained a mystery, along with its true origins. It was insane to speak of destroying the tower, and the functions they did understand, as a transformative change that would make the Empire freer.

Were he to take this tack to its logical extreme he would not be able to live in this suite making little toys all day– he would cut off his own lifelines, the Imbrium Empire would collapse and all the sharks chipping away at his power bit by bit would finally smell blood and throw themselves in teeth-first. But he seemed to not make that connection. That if he did not take action now, there would soon not be an Imbrian Empire for him to hide behind while he lived in luxury and ignored the reality of the outside world he fretted about.

It was Norn who had to go out there every day and deal with the consequences.

Not him– he was insulated from everything. He judged everything from a fleeting safety.

But for a moment, in that outburst of emotion– he sounded like himself.

So Norn, disarmed, could say nothing to him. Could no longer dissuade him from it.

He wanted to declaw Heitzing, he would do it. He wanted to move the capital, so be it.

When he had conviction behind him he could do such things.

And he so often lacked any conviction that to see it caused Norn a dreadful feeling.

She would have to leave this room and set forward those machinations and watch.

Watch him rot away; watch the Empire fall apart; watch the vultures rise from under him.

All were worse than he was; and far, far worse than he had been, when she knew him.

“Norn, Syrmia is an old woman, and Erich is strong– but please take care of Elena.”

Had he really said that? Back then? 974 was not so long ago for her head to be so muddled.

“Take care of her. She’s just like her mother. Her mother– rest her soul–”

Konstantin’s weeping features distorted like the paintings on the living room walls.

For a brief instant he looked more deformed, hideous, broken and rotting than ever before.

His face etched itself into Norn’s bright red eyes as if laser-burnt into her–

Her eyes snapped open.

Cold sweat running down her, sticking to the wine-red blanket.

Steel, all around her.

Not the fine wood construction of the suite. She was in a wine-red metal room with dim yellow lights. Mirrored surfaces on every third panel reflected her half of her face, parts of her bed, and her sleeping partner, back to her. She was on a plush bed with soft silky sheets. Clothes had been thrown and came to lay all around the room in different locations.

Norn had been dreaming of old days. She was nowhere near Heitzing now.

It was actually 979 A.D. Five years later.

Konstantin was dead and the Imbrium Empire was near-totally dissolved.

She sat up on the bed in her private bedroom on her flagship, the Antenora.

Her back stung. Distinct, short lacerations– a woman’s nails.

Reaching behind herself, over her shoulders, she touched open wounds.

Throwing a sudden contemptuous glance at the beautiful, fair, utterly naked back of the red-haired woman sound asleep beside her. Her expression quickly dissolved into fondness. Norn had given far harder than she had gotten and Adelheid was practically fucked to sleep, and so there she lay, discarded where she had been used. Circular bite marks, red sucking marks, blood-flecked bruises, on her shoulders, neck, down her back. A ring of bright red visible on her left breast. Soaked with sweat down her back, and soaked between the legs.

Her face was serene. Her breathing steady. A smile on her red-smeared lips.

Norn could not help but smile and sigh fondly at the sight.

When she moved to get up, stretching out made the claw marks hurt even worse.

Looking around the room, still a bit hazy in the eyes.

Despite the damage that the Pandora’s Box had inflicted on the upper tier of the ship, Norn’s room managed to survive as it was sealed shut at the time. Once the upper tier damages were patched up enough, and all the spilled anti-flooding gel and freezing agents in the halls were chipped away, Norn had use of the room again. She re-inaugurated it by inviting Adelheid to sleep with her. Adelheid’s own room was still being prepared.

And Adelheid belonged to her– she could tell her where to sleep without pretext.

Tossing her hair, pulling off the band holding it in a ponytail, Norn ambled to her shower.

Turning the water on cold and standing under it, head down, hands on the wall.

Cold water running down her back and over the scratches Adelheid left on it.

It stung. She grinned. Everything was so complicated, but pain, at least, was simple.

She recalled her dream. Konstantin had really been haunting her lately. Was it her just desserts? He was already Emperor when she met him, but her exploits gave him confidence to be more than Emperor of parts of the Palatine and Rhinea. Without her intervention could he have reached the heights that he achieved? She cleared his way by defeating Mehmed, then became part of his retinue, his loyal bannerman who could defeat anyone in battle. Stronger than Samoylovych-Daybringer or Arvokas the Kinslayer or any Shimii Hero; a match for any Katarran Warlord, Bayatar, or the Hanwan Konoe Shidan; killer of an Immortal.

Norn had helped crown Konstantin the new hegemon of the Imbrium. When a certain traitor insinuated that the chaos in the Imbrium was her fault Norn had answered in the affirmative– but it went deeper than any singular scheme. Norn was just a brick in the Imbrium’s foundation, but she was a miraculous brick laid at a critical time.

Now Konstantin was dead. Erich had killed him, Norn had killed him, Leda had killed him; the Empire itself killed him. His magnificent power had ultimately taken everything he loved from him. It had withered his bones and stripped his hair of color. It bored a hole in his soul, and through that void he let slip even the modicum of empathy he had for his distant subjects. The evil shape of the Imbrian Empire was as much his direct doing as the result of his neglect. He could have chosen for the Fueller Reformation to do anything— and choosing nothing over the years and years of his rule, made him responsible for the conspiracies, the pogroms, the continuation of slavery, the nascent tumor of the Volkisch.

It all started when, instead of killing him instantly, Norn wanted to see hope in him instead.

That stupid woman who had hardly made any decisions in her life; she made the worst.

“Those same judgments I levy on him apply to me, don’t they? I’m the villain here.”

Teeth chattering as she spoke to herself under the torrent of biting cold.

Little punishment for the evil she had tacitly supported, by her inaction, by her support.

Norn was responsible for the pogroms, slavery, the Volkisch, and now, the dissolution.

She laughed at how horrid everything had turned out.

No matter what, she was a Katarran.

Those cursed; those condemned. Never to know peace. It was their fate, wasn’t it?

So what would she do now? There was no making amends for any of it. It was too much.

Was all she could do ride the storm of blood to the end and make good on her old promise?

Kill everyone who had used, lied to and betrayed her– and her dear brother Konstantin?

Not the shell he had become– but the man he once was and could have remained–

Behind her, the door slid open. Norn did not turn to look, she knew who it was.

“Oh! Goodness! It’s so cold– let me warm you up, dearest master.”

A fair and slender hand extended past Norn’s chest to the controls on the wall.

Another cupped one of Norn’s breasts, squeezing. Then the first went to her waist.

As the water became warmer, a sizeable pair of breasts pressed against her back.

Red hair fell over her shoulders. A kiss was laid on her cheek.

“I’m being a good girl today.” Adelheid whispered.

“Are you?” Norn asked, laughing. She was not surprised at this intrusion.

Adelheid pulled her in tighter from behind, embracing her even more closely.

Skin to skin at all points without even a film of water between.

“You really set me straight. I can barely walk. I will certainly not court your wrath now.”

Her voice took on a sultry tone as she spoke of what was done to her.

Norn felt the words in her ears and stiffened between the legs.

“Who gave you permission to come in here?” Norn said gently.

“I can be good.” Adelheid whispered.

Norn her felt her breathing rise sharply, suddenly.

“You can be? We’ll just have to see.”

Norn reached back and took Adelheid’s wrist.

Roughly.

Pulling it down from her waist.

“Do I have to do everything myself? Or can you be good?” She said.

“I can be good.” Her words submissive, distant, almost dream-like.

Adelheid’s hand, guided halfway, completed the journey herself.

Cupping Norn’s cock until her fingers dexterously wound around the erect shaft.

Stroking, warm water between silken skin and warming, rigid flesh.

Norn shuddered. Laughed. “Maybe you can be good. Show me. You can do it.”

Fingers sliding up and down Norn’s cock, thumb pausing over the head and pressing.

Turning the thumbprint over the surface of Norn’s tip, roughly, before sliding back down.

She grit her teeth. It was exquisite but she would not admit any praise so easily.

Without request or instruction, Adelheid found the rhythm that made Norn’s hips shudder.

No smart words left her lips, however. She was being good; she was really a good girl.

Quiet, compliant, and excellently-behaved– for how long only she knew.

In this moment, however, it was long enough. Norn groaned and buckled slightly.

Lost in the rushing shower water, small feed of Norn’s orgasm preceded a strong shudder.

“Good girl. You really earned it.” Norn said, breathing heavy.

Hips still shaking gently, her spent dick still twitching in Adelheid’s fingers.

“Can a good girl get a reward?” Adelheid asked.

Without word, Norn turned around, meeting Adelheid’s bright eyes.

Taking in her beauty, the soft, pleading expression on her eyes, the little pout on her lips.

Norn briefly arranged the bright red hair away from Adelheid’s features.

Her hands then took Adelheid’s hips and pushed her to the rear wall of the shower.

Lifting her, so she could lock her legs to Norn’s waist. Pinned against the false tile.

Just holding her like this was almost enough to get Norn hard again.

Savoring the weight of physical control. Adelheid was hers without any actual binding.

Intoxicated with lust, it was Norn’s turn to push close to Adelheid.

Roughly, suddenly.

Kissing her deep. Tongue pushing far into her mouth.

Tasting residual bitterness of liquor. Smeared wax and pigment from her makeup.

Breaking the kiss. Adelheid lifted her head as her neck was lavished with Norn’s attention.

Her chest tightening, breasts rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Her back arching.

Lower body shuddering and pushing against Norn.

Toes curling, eyes shut, teeth clenched.

“Norn– I love you–” Adelheid said through shuddering gasps.

Norn made a brief noise as if to quiet her, lifting her just enough more to suck in her breast.

Beneath the rising warm mist, Norn’s fingers traced her lover’s cunt, up and down.

Adelheid’s hands tightened against whatever of Norn she could hold in the throes.

Her rhythm was slower than Adelheid’s hands had been. She was working her up to it.

“I– I love you so much–” Adelheid whimpered.

Sharp intake of breath each time Norn ever so briefly brushed her clit.

“You make me feel like my time is moving.” Norn admitted between hungry kisses.

Whether Adelheid understood the significance as Norn’s fingers entered her–

It did not matter; it was all the admission of their love that was needed.

“You make me feel alive again.” Norn whispered as she took her in closer and harder.

Close enough to feel each orgasm as if through a shared body, and lose all individual fears.


“You’re a lucky one, little miss! Full recovery, and a clean bill of health.”

“This wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you hadn’t stuck me with weird drugs!”

“Me? You can’t blame me for that. Doses were administered at your command.”

“Alright, yeah, it’s my fault, I’m the moron who fucked everything up! Fine! Whatever!”

“Miss, I think you ought to just celebrate. How about some codeine for the road?”

Across from the enthusiastic doctor, a young woman averted her gaze.

Her beautiful face passively making an indignant scowl. She ran her fingers through her long and fluffy purple hair, wishing that she never had to make any recovery in the first place. A pair of semi-translucent rabbit-like ears with dimly lit vascular lines that curved out from the top of her head twitched as a sign of her growing irritation. She felt like an idiot. It really had all been her fault– and she had to sit around doing nothing for days because of it.

Stewing in the fact that she had lost control of her emotions and nearly got herself killed.

In her desperate attempt to kill that enemy pilot, Sonya Shalikova–

(Whose visage seemed burned into her mind despite never having seen her–)

–she had overdosed on Psynadium and lost her wits completely.

Then that creepy pervert Lichtenberg had ordered her to attack while her guard was down.

In Selene’s mind, in that moment, she swore she had heard Norn give the order to fire.

It was only after the fact that she realized she had been used and made a fool of.

Goryk’s Gorge was still a horrid and fresh memory for Selene.

Now she was in no mood to be friendly or compliant with anyone.

“Keep your drugs to yourself. Can I go now? Can I be out and about again?”

On the chair next to the bed, the risible excuse for a “doctor” of the Antenora, Livia Van Der Meer, smiled brightly at her. She raised a clipboard and showed it as if it mattered to her.

“It’s got Norn’s signature and everything. Selene Anahid, free to go out and about.”

Selene sighed deeply, stood up off the medbay bed and left the room in a huff.

Dressed in a wide-neck, ribbed brown sweater that exposed her shoulders and a pair of tight blue pants, Selene wished she had anywhere to go to show herself off. She had dressed for where she wanted to be– anywhere more interesting than these sterile metal halls. At least they were headed for a station soon. Maybe she could have a little adventure in Aachen. In the meantime all she could wish for was for the ship to get attacked so she could deploy and take out days’ worth of her repressed anger on something alive by making it dead.

Though it was rather unlikely that they would be attacked in photic zone, 500 meters deep.

Hunter III would see to it that the Leviathans would not bother them.

So Selene had nothing to do. Or nothing she wanted to do. She was at loose ends.

Selene walked down to the hangar, the speed of her steps suddenly renewed. She hardly looked at her surroundings, now well-traveled. She hardly felt about them as she crossed them. The Antenora was a ship– and Selene had little opinion on them. Tight metal halls, stately compared to smaller vessels but nothing warm, nothing that felt like a home to her. It was familiar, but from what she knew and what culture she had picked up from external sources, it was not comfortable.

She had grown up in the sterile halls of deep abyss Sunlight Foundation laboratories, where all color was trapped in the laboratories of the immortals Euphrates and Tigris. So she was used to being surrounded by metal walls with a low ceiling and close boundaries. Not wanting to become a scientist like her caretakers, and longing for the outside world, she would eventually be given over to the Sovereign Yangtze who needed bodies for hardware testing, and then seconded to Norn, learning to pilot Divers and fight battles, and stepping into the military world that fascinated her as a child.

Her current gig as the Jadgkaiser’s test pilot helped satisfy her desire to know what else was out in the world. Charmed by stories of soldiers fighting for ambition and power, she had done everything she could to go out to sea. Now she had discovered what was out there– and her enthusiasm dimmed. It had been undeniably fun to use the Jagdkaiser to crush those who stood in Norn’s way. She had never cared about them, never thought twice about killing them and she still did not. To go out to sea, one accepted the possibility of being crushed by the immense pressure. To guarantee safety, one simply had to stay home.

They left home; they accepted the consequences.

But she had not realized how close that knife of judgment was to her own vulnerable throat.

Sonya Shalikova– was she a real soldier in a way Selene was not?

Or even, could not be?

She shook her head.

So much intrusive, annoying philosophy bouncing around in her skull.

It was boredom, she told herself. She had been so disengaged she was becoming insane.

Perhaps she should report to Norn, but she did not feel like being obedient.

Truthfully she felt a bit lonely but she would not let herself admit to that.

Instead, she wanted to goof off or pick on someone. To find another person to bother.

With Potomac gone, however, she struggled to think of who she could harass for fun.

Yurii Samoylovych was way too scary. She might actually get out of hand with Selene.

Petra Chorniiy was too dense and compliant. She wouldn’t even respond to mockery.

Hunter III was too stupid. There was no challenge; it got boring very quickly.

She could get the zombies to do push-ups or form a human pyramid but it was too easy.

From what she had seen, Adelheid liked being bullied, which was just kind of gross.

Norn was Norn. She gave back as good as she got and bothering her had consequences.

“Oh wait. There’s that new mechanic girl.” Selene’s lips warped into an impish grin.

Her steps regained their confident character as she stepped into the elevator.

Down in the hangar, much of the mess that Selene remembered before her medical recovery had been cleaned up. The remains of her old Jagdkaiser were gone. The machines once belonging to von Castille and Lichtenberg were also gone. There were three gantries set up in a tidy fashion. Yuri’s Jagd model Diver and Petra’s Volker beside it; and the second version of the Jagdkaiser. Selene looked up as she approached it, looking it over.

Her companion through whatever was next.

Her previous Jagdkaiser had been defined by its shoulders, heavy-set, bearing the mounts for the Options and the thick support attachment necessary for its wicked cannon-arm. Selene had to admit the second version had refined much of the first. Yangtze, with whatever small amount of data she had extracted from Selene’s struggles, had whittled down many unnecessary things– it was as if the new version of the demon had been hatched from cracking the old one like an egg. Slimmer shoulders and limbs and a cockpit with more aggressive angles to its armor. It’s horned head had been ever so slightly-slimmed down. Selene almost thought of gendering this thing female in her head now.

Slightly widened hips attached to a semi-circle magnetic strip in the rear that now hosted four smaller Options, rather than the big shoulder-mounted type. A smaller backpack with only two traditional jets was supported by four separate, all-inclusive wake-jet pods on the rear shoulder and hips. From what Selene understood, these thrusters took advantage of the fact that the water in the Imbrium Ocean was bizarrely agarthoconductive due to all the agarthic salt now found in it. Therefore they needed no moving parts to generate thrust, just some intricate engineering to accelerate agartho-ionized water through it.

Perhaps it would move even faster if the water was more contaminated.

A macabre fact.

However, the agarthic weapon embedded into the machine’s arm was nearly unchanged.

Save for one fact. It had been moved to shoot from the wrist, and a normal hand was added.

With the removal of the embedded claw in the other arm, Selene could choose a loadout. She could wield rifles and swords instead of the inadequate built-in weapons.

That might give her a better chance– she almost pondered a “rematch” with Shalikova.

In reality such a thing was highly unlikely to happen.

Selene tried not to think of it further.

Across the hangar from the Jagdkaiser, there was a woman standing in front of a stitcher.

Grinning to herself, Selene quietly made her way over.

When they first met, this individual had stupidly blurted out her real name instead of her code name– Dunja Kalajdžić rather than “Neretva.” She had not endeared herself back then but Selene was in a mood to reevaluate. She had to admit the mechanic was a little bit of a looker. She was just a bit shorter, enough that Selene would use it against her. With her coveralls pulled half-off, exposing the ribbed tanktop she wore beneath, Neretva had slim, lean shoulders and arms with a bit of definition. Her tits were alright, and she had a bit of belly. Her face was okay, slightly round, slightly pretty– wavy brown hair tied into a little nerdy tail, nerdy little glasses on a nerdy little nose. A bit of freckling, big eyes, thin lips. Her Shimii ears were rounded off and fluffy, and her tail was short and bushy.

Poring over a ferri-stitcher blueprint on a portable while preparing the machine to print.

“Oh ho, what do we have here? Do you have permission to print little kitty?”

Selene loomed over her target, bending slightly, putting her chest to Neretva’s back.

Her grinning face was partially reflected in the touchscreen of the ferristitcher.

Along with Neretva’s eyes, drawing wide, and the flushing of her cheeks.

“Oh! Miss Anahid! How– how nice to see you have recovered!”

Neretva turned around quickly, raising her hands up in defense.

Selene had not backed away even a centimeter from the meek mechanic.

“It was inevitable. I am built of stern stuff, you know. So what are you doing here?”

“I’m– It’s nothing untoward– I have permission from Lord von Fueller–”

Selene’s eyes narrowed and her grin widened. Neretva could not meet her eyes.

“Then why are you so nervous? Obviously it’s because you’re hiding something.”

“Look, see, these are blueprints for Jadgkaiser parts!” Neretva showed Selene her portable.

There were Stitcher print files for various bits and bobs like specific Jagdkaiser bolts and hydraulics and plates. Selene could not recognize them as coming specifically from the Jagdkaiser but they were labeled as such. Neretva was just loading the templates into the ferristitcher in order to have them available for when she needed to stich up some parts in the future, Selene supposed. Regardless, what she was actually doing did not matter.

“I’ll let you off the hook this one time.” Selene said. “But you have to grant me one wish.”

“One wish?” Neretva asked, quavering slightly.

“Uh huh. I’ll never trust you ever again unless you pass my ultimate test of loyalty.”

Neretva still could not make eye contact. Even the insides of her ears were turning red.

“Um– ma’am– miss– is this really–”

“I know a little magic spell to get your compliance– Dunja Kalajdžić.” Selene whispered.

Rivers were not supposed to use their real names on Sunlight Foundation business.

For their protection, and the security of the Foundation too.

Only the Immortals could be glib about their real names, but they hardly used them, and they were all so old, that even they hardly ever spoke them. For Rivers, regardless of how ridiculous their code names sounded, they were required to use them or risk expulsion and perhaps even the deletion of their memories by Yangtze for breaking their covenant.

Having fumbled and given out her real name, Neretva looked mortified.

“Please don’t use that name.” Neretva whispered back. “I’ll do whatever you say!”

“Good, very good. I like a compliant girl– but you know what I like even better?”

“I– I don’t know–”

“I like for my subordinates to look up at me like a goddess. From far, far below my station.”

It seemed to dawn upon Neretva at that point that she was being toyed with.

However, all this inspired not determination but a look of helplessness on her face.

That simply motivated Selene to continue bothering her even more. It was so funny!

She was such a pathetic wimp! Who even let this loser into the Sunlight Foundation!

“Don’t worry. It will be merciful. I won’t make you do anything too weird.”

“What do I need to do?” Neretva sighed.

“Well, of course, I don’t look monumental enough from this height. You have to get down.”

Selene pointed at the ground and shook one of her feet.

Her casual open-toed heels would come in handy for this particular situation.

Neretva raised her shaking hands, interposing them defensively in front of Selene.

Selene noticed the clear indentations in her fingers and wrist. Her hands were cybernetic.

“That’s supposed to be ‘not weird’?! You said it wouldn’t be weird?!” Neretva whimpered.

Selene turned her cheek and shrugged and pretended to start walking away.

“I guess I’ll call you ‘Dunja’ from now on. I’ll dox you and find out everything about you.”

“No– but– I don’t– please, I don’t have any secrets–”

“Kowtow and kiss my feet and it’ll all go out of my head like it never happened.”

Neretva’s head was set to spinning, Selene could tell. She grinned viciously.

She had her wrapped around her finger. She felt like an actual goddess in that moment.

It was both funny and a bit titillating. She made the perfect choice for whom to bother.

“It’s not all bad you know. If you become my worshiper I’ll bestow you with blessings.”

Selene closed in again on Neretva, reaching and caressing a few locks of her hair.

Neretva suddenly laid her portable on one of the resting arms of the ferristitcher.

She shut her eyes, bent one knee, and then the other, lowered her head–

Oh my god! She’s such a little wimp!! I wish I could take a picture!!! Ahahahahaha–!!!!

Spread her lips, closed them, and sucked one of Selene’s toes–

WHAT THE HELL–!!!!!!!!

Selene drew back so suddenly she nearly fell on her arse on the hangar floor.

Neretva quietly stood back up, face fiercely red, with a look of nervous resignation.

“Will you trust this useless worshipper and have mercy, miss Selene?” Neretva mumbled.

There was definitely shame in her voice but that expression–! It did not look ashamed–!

“W-why, you– you are absolute trash– you gas-sucking vent worm!” Selene grumbled.

“Oh, you’re not tying them up now. I didn’t know they could emote– that’s really neat.”

Something caught the mechanic’s attention and seemed to distract her from everything.

Neretva pointed a heavily shaking finger and nervously flicked one of Selene’s antennae.

Selene noticed her antennae were twisting up in frustration as she stood and yelled.

Upon contact with Neretva’s quivering digit the antennae started quaking uncontrollably.

Immediately Selene grabbed both of her ‘rabbit ears’ and pulled them down to stop them.

“Don’t touch me! What is your problem? Don’t you have common sense?!” She shouted.

“I’m– I’m just resigning myself.” Neretva said, clearly nervous. “As your worshipper.”

Despite shaking and sweating and being unable to hold eye contact– she was so brazen!

Selene wanted to admonish her further but she realized how childish she must have looked.

Having her own foul play turned against her and looking like a mess– that too was pathetic!

She calmed herself down and tried to play along with the outcome of their little game.

“Hmph! Well. Clearly you know your place under the sole of my foot. I will graciously accept you as my lackey from now on. But you must obey me to the letter! No– improvisations!”

“Y-yes, m-m-mistress.” Neretva stammered, smiling very slightly.

That ‘mistress’ entered Selene’s gut like a knife– and pulled down to her groin.

She averted her own gaze. “Get back to work. I’ll just inspect and make sure.”

Without a word, the quivering Neretva returned to what she had been doing.

Among the two of them it was tough to say whose face was redder.

Selene looked at Neretva’s back as she worked, loading the files into the stitcher. She had the stitcher arms move and make up a framework of a Diver part in order to test that the outside joins were being handled correctly. It was boring– Selene had no idea why the machine had to be calibrated and could not just perfectly replicate the print files. Neretva seemed to know what she was doing, and Selene’s eyes drifted.

Down her back, following the tanktop until it cut off at her lower midsection.

It was there that Selene noticed, just above Neretva’s tail and buttocks–

Oops, my finger slipped~

She ran her hands down a bit metal she saw peeking out from Neretva’s cover-all pants.

Neretva shuddered slightly and reached back her hand over the piece.

“Please don’t poke at that, miss Selene.” Neretva said, her voice quivering a little again.

“What is it? Are you a weird cyborg like Hudson is? You apprenticed under her right?”

“I’m not a ‘weird cyborg’ no– but master Hudson did help me by installing these for me.”

Neretva left her portable on a stitcher arm and once again turned to Selene.

She knelt down and for a moment Selene thought she might attack her toes again–

–instead Neretva pulled up her pants sleeve enough to show Selene a bit of her leg.

Attached to her flesh and maybe even to the bone was a thin exoskeletal metal part.

Selene had seen this category of enhancement before in the media and in stories.

Sometimes workers would receive augmentations such as these. To let them lift heavier loads or to be able to work as hard once they grew older and weaker. Compared to how advanced internal cybernetics had gotten, allowing people who could afford it to get muscle replacements and even internal hydraulic boosters, exoskeletal work prosthesis like Neretva’s were quite simple. Selene wondered why a cybernetics freak like Hudson would perform such simple work. Did Neretva not want to follow in her footsteps?

“I have a condition– I have to work harder to move my legs.” Neretva said in a low voice.

“Oh! Is that so? And the exo’s hydraulics help get your legs going?”

“Indeed. It’s really helped my quality of life a lot. I can’t thank master Hudson enough.”

Selene momentarily felt a bit rotten to have been picking on a girl with a condition.

She disabused herself of that notion pretty quickly– she didn’t want to dwell on it.

If it had been her she wouldn’t have wanted anyone’s weak pity like that.

“Miss Selene, you were raised by masters Euphrates and Tigris, is that correct?”

“Uh huh. ‘Raised’ is giving them too much credit though. Those two hags just made sure I hadn’t died and periodically gave me stuff to read and watch and whatever. Tigris was always busy with some stupid invention and any time Euphrates caught sight of me she would just give me an annoying lecture. Both of them annoyed me so much growing up.”

“That sounds about right.” Neretva smiled. “I was raised by master Hudson.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re like her daughter or something.”

“Do you count yourself Euphrates and Tigris’ daughter?”

“What? No? Of course not? Fuck no? Not in a million years?”

Neretva laughed a little bit. “I wish I was as energetic as you.” Her voice trembled again.

Selene gave her hair a haughty toss, feeling self-satisfied to have received praised.

“How come I didn’t see you around?” She asked.

“Because– I wasn’t around– I suppose?” Neretva was getting stuck on her words again.

“Uh huh. I guess I didn’t see Hudson around much either.” Selene said.

“And I never saw masters Euphrates and Tigris much.” Neretva said. “Especially recently.”

“You’ll have to specify what ‘recent’ means.” Selene said, grinning. “With Euphrates and Tigris, ‘recent’ is like 200 years ago. It’s a word that doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“I’m not Immortal.” Neretva said bashfully. “So I guess I mean, in the past year?”

“They’ve been busy. Plus they all hate each other now, so you’ll never see them again.”

“I really hope that isn’t the case.” Neretva said nervously. “I admired them all a lot.”

“What’s there to admire? They’re a bunch of insane hags all stuck in their own ways.”

Neretva looked upset for once. “Those ‘hags’ are doing more for humanity than anyone.”

“What’s with that tone? Am I getting under your skin? Want to go under the heel again?”

Selene leaned forward into the confrontation. Neretva just sighed and turned around.

Trembling again. Selene only briefly saw something in her. A tiny flash of red aura.

“Fine. Keep up the good work, Neretva. I’ll be watching.” Selene said sharply.

Turning on her heel and putting her back to the mechanic without a further word.

There was a sharp pain in the center of her forehead. Not from psionics or anything–

Just frustration and a bolt of self-loathing that were fogging her mind up.

Ugh, that wasn’t fun at all. What am I fucking doing? Why didn’t I just talk to her normally?

It was all so childish but– wasn’t it at least supposed to be funny? It was funny, right?

If she could not even convince herself of that then what the hell was she doing?

At that moment she felt so low she just wanted to hide in her room and never leave it.

Maybe she should have just taken the codeine from that insane pusher upstairs.

“I’ll come out when Norn needs me. To hell with all of this, I’m done. I’m done!”

It was being cooped up in here that was driving her insane. It was the noise and the people and how irritating everything was to her. It was lack of sleep. It was a knock to the head. It was bad food and being bored. It was her genes being too superior yet not at all.

As many excuses as she could come up with stacked together to make sense of things.

Selene felt lonely and lost and purposeless and like it was impossible not to feel that way.

And that was the last thing she would ever admit.

So she slunk off to her room and sulked for as long as she could get away with.

Eventually someone would need her again and she would have a reason to exist again.


“Hah hah! Helm-hominin, 50 disagrees to the farboard! 60 disagrees! Fire all big ones!”

In the Captain’s chair sat a short and somewhat skinny woman, girlish in features, quite pale, the only color on her a blue stripe in her hair. Dressed in a big black hood, a smooth, rubbery-looking tail swinging behind her. She pointed dramatically at the screen. It was known that she could barely read and thus barely understand the Imbrian scrawls all over the map in front of her but it did not matter. Because she could barely tell if anyone was listening either, and therefore they all had orders not to. However, she looked like she was amused.

“Captain Hunter III! The ancient navigator scourin’ the world for meat and shinies!”

“I’m curious, what is more important, my dear Hunter III: meat or shinies?”

“Huh? What kinda question is that? Meat of course! But imagine eatin’ a load of meat while also bein’ all covered in the best shinies. You’d be like a king or somethin’! King Hunter III! That’s what she said it’d be like anyways– it was never like that for poor ol’ Hunter III–!”

Hunter III started moping in an exaggerated fashion until she seemed to realize–

She turned sharply in her chair to find Norn standing next to her with a grin.

Dressed in a long-sleeved red and yellow shirt with a deeply plunging neckline, flattering her humble cleavage, and a pair of pants; along with the Fueller family coat, blue and green with an abstract etching of an old semiconductor die, trailing veins of color and gold. Her blond hair done up in a simple ponytail, her imperious, beautiful face contorted into a sneer.

“I think you’ve eaten too much. It’s made you far too chipper.” Norn said, amused.

“This’s how Hunter III is s’posed to be!” Hunter III shouted. “I was dyin’ t’death before!”

“You had a delicious cut of steer not that long ago.”

“So? Do you hominin ever just eat somethin’ tasty once and then stop forever?”

Grumbling complaints, Hunter III vacated the Captain’s chair.

She sat against the rear wall of the bridge with her arms crossed, hood pulled up, sulking.

“You’d be happier if you learned to enjoy the jerky and sausages you eat every day.”

As always following behind Norn was the adjutant, Adelheid van Mueller.

Black sheep of the number two aristocratic family in the Empire, the Muellers, staunchest supporters of the Fueller family. Once upon a time they were critical to providing food supplies for the Fueller war effort against the Nocht loyalists, and by that opportunity propelled themselves to the heights of the new Fueller-led aristocracy.

Adelheid had absolutely no trace of a farm girl in her appearance, however.

Even while dressed in military garb she gave off an air of a high society fashionista, beautiful and exactingly confident and a bit aloof, as if only that which interested her could be allowed to exist around her. Her very red hair falling over her shoulders, her fair skin and youthful features, the tiny amount of faint freckles near her nose, and her piercing eyes, lent her an intense but girlish beauty that was the platonic ideal of a noble lady. On her body, the tight, flattering gray uniform coat and skirt, along with the covering bodysuit that she wore, long sleeved and high-necked– all of it looked as if it had color, owing to her radiance.

One could not look too long, however– this princess was the property of a jealous dragon.

With a self-assured little smile on her red lips, she took her seat beside Norn on the bridge.

“Situation report.” Norn asked. “Where are we now, and how far are we to Aachen?”

On command the drones that worked on the bridge began their reports.

Norn went over what had transpired in her own mind too.

The Antenora had a rocky start to its nominal mission, assigned a few months ago by the crown Prince Erich von Fueller as the Empire underwent its collapse. They were meant to have been collecting test and R&D data for a next generation Diver known as the Jagdkaiser, the mass production of which would give instant superiority to the Fueller faction.

For this reason, Norn left the Palatine on her flagship, taking it first into the Photic zone. Selene proved quite adequate in slaughtering Leviathans and avoiding the Agarthic weather in the Jagdkaiser, so the testing returned to the aphotic zone, where Norn was met with a lot of unexpected business in Sverland. Avoiding a trap by a traitorous officer in the Serrano region; meeting up with a dear subordinate near Goryk’s Gorge and assisting her in attempting to recover Elena von Fueller, thought dead in the Vogelheim disaster.

Norn had refused to fight personally during this second skirmish, not wanting Gertrude to receive too much of a reward for her pathetic begging; but even despite this she had to admit that the Antenora had met something of its match in the mysterious Pandora’s Box, a mercenary ship that had taken in Elena von Fueller. Despite Gertrude Lichtenberg’s protestations, Norn let them escape to their own fortunes, and cast out her old student, having graduated ignominiously as one of Norn’s many repeated failures to cultivate a young conqueror’s ambitions. Now, Gertrude was possibly dead in the deep abyss, or possibly awakening to her true potential, who knew; Norn and her remaining troops meanwhile headed for Aachen, a city at the crossroads between Rhinea and the Palatine heartland, separated only by the Great Ayre Reach just beyond the Aachen Massif.

They had collected and sent enough data that Yangtze had already refined the Jagdkaiser into a second version for them to test. Mass production was nowhere near possible, as the Options representing the machine’s most practical offensive potential were not able to be ferristitched just yet. Another part, the most radical part of the machine’s arsenal, could also not be mass produced yet– the exotic cannon arm containing a taboo agarthic weapon. Judging by the number of cartridges given to Norn in her last supply rendezvous, Yangtze wanted much more data on this weapon specifically in future rounds of testing.

Norn, meanwhile, wanted to rip Yangtze open and strangle her with her own intestines.

For the moment, what was she actually, officially doing was a resupply and retrofit mission.

The Antenora had been banged up, and Aachen was a place where it could receive attention that was prompt, reliable and inconspicuous. There was a faction of the Shipbuilders Guild in Aachen who supported the Fuellers, rather than the liberal trade unionists, the constellation of leftists, or the fascist breakaway government of the Volkisch Movement. With their support, the Antenora could park in Stockheim and receive everything that it needed, while Norn took a break. Adelheid was somewhat excited– Aachen was a city, and she had been out at sea for so long. She also had friends in Aachen, and Norn had friends too.

They could catch up, make some social calls.

However, what the Antenora was officially doing did not matter much to Norn.

It was just a smokescreen as she thought seriously about what she was doing anymore.

Defeat at the hands of the Pandora’s Box, and the tragic condition of Gertrude Lichtenberg, had provoked in Norn something she was unused to– serious personal introspection.

Those stupid dreams featuring her old oathsworn brother, whom she had betrayed–

That did not help matters either. Not that she felt much actual guilt over it.

What she felt was worse than guilt– more complicated and less difficult to describe.

Sitting in the chair, wearing the coat of the Fueller family, as its nominal head.

His coat– that she both helped him attain, helped him turn into a symbol of power–

–and watched him squander the splendor of its colors, before she stole them from him.

Norn was starting to feel a weight of responsibility– and the long trail of her own actions.

Even if she, personally, was an invincible body that could hardly be challenged.

Her world and the things she held dear were deeply vulnerable.

To enemies; to herself.

To their own flawed selves–

Her uncharacteristically brooding thoughts inspired curiosity in her adjutant and lover.

“Norn? Was the sitrep too boring? Would you like a massage?” Adelheid asked sweetly.

“No, I’m fine. Later.” Norn said. “I’m just thinking about what we will do at Aachen.”

It was not like Norn to lie, but she had no qualms about withholding information.

Especially where it concerned her emotional self.

“Don’t worry– as your adjutant, I will make sure your social calendar is well stocked.”

Adelheid winked at Norn and laid her hand over the back of Norn’s own hand.

Her fingernails scratched gently up and down over skin. Like a mildly rambunctious cat.

“I’ll leave it up to you then. You said you had a friend there, right?” Norn asked.

“Yes, an old classmate from Luxembourg School for Girls. Do you follow pop music?”

“I would not even know where to start following it, Adelheid.”

“I should have realized.” Adelheid shrugged. “That’s your old and unfashionable charm.”

Norn grunted. “You’re already done being ‘good’ even by your own warped definition?”

“Anyway– she’s made a tidy career as a singer.” Adelheid smiled, ignoring her. “Number one hits, magazine covers and even TV shows, all the glitz and glamour denied to me. Not that you would know. Not only that, she is getting married, unlike me, to the son of a bigshot family in Aachen that basically own the place. Maybe if we catch up at Aachen she might make me her bridesmaid, and I can experience second-hand what I will never have.”

Norn felt like every couple of words a knife was being thrown directly at her chest.

“You’ll experience first-hand the back of my hand if you keep throwing jabs at me.”

Adelheid put on an expression of utterly false and mocking contrition.

As if the slap had been delivered and she mischievously enjoyed it while feigning shame.

“Adelheid, I have a question for you. Use your brain for this one. I’m serious.”

“Oh, we’re done playing so soon? Boo. How boring.”

“Adelheid.”

“What is it?” Adelheid said, putting on a disinterested expression.

“Give me your honest assessment,” Norn began, “about the state of the civil war.”

Though she hardly ever showed it, Adelheid was actually a competent adjutant.

“Oh, it really is serious time, huh? You know, I have been thinking about it too.”

“Don’t you think it’s too quiet? It’s been months since the Emperor passed.” Norn asked.

Adelheid nodded her head.

“Indeed. Only Rhinea has made a big move to subsume another state; the Royal Alliance set up in their geographic neighborhood so they had no choice but to come to blows. So far none of the other competitors have started any outright shooting wars. There’s even still some inter-duchy commerce happening with all of the sides overlooking it.”

“Why do you think that is? Use your foreign policy brain. I need real analysis here.”

“You don’t have to tell me what brain to use, I’m not a bimbo like you think I am.” Adelheid said, now her turn to be aggrieved at the insults. She recollected herself and put out her hypothesis in a serious and even tone of voice. “If I had to hazard a guess– I think that the internal situations of the states are all worse than we think. Even the Union made a modest move with their invasion of Serrano, but from the news we gathered while leaving, it seems they haven’t capitalized further, even though the Volkisch are a mess right now. The Prince is being cautious even though his military forces are the qualitative best; and Veka, with a similarly strong military, is trying to focus on diplomacy instead. I think that politically they are too shaky for all-out war. They might risk creating opportunities for internal rivals.”

“That’s an interesting assessment. I think you’re right.” Norn said. “Honestly I don’t know what’s going on in Erich’s head– I advised him that he needed to attack Bosporus and Buren quickly to absorb their resources. But I’m not there with him. I’ve never been part of the Grand Western Fleet. I have no insight into its internal culture. He might be struggling to clean the ranks. There was a lot of corruption in the Navy. Maybe even in his fleet.”

“To think you’re being so distant with your nephew, who is now practically your son–”

“When you’re helping raise a child, you must give them room to resolve their own issues.”

“Right. I thought you’d say something like that.” Adelheid said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not done picking your brain.” Norn said. “You know more about the duchies than I.”

Adelheid shrugged. “I had to study foreign policy when I was the Mueller heiress.”

“How do you think these ‘internal problems’ might manifest in the competitor states?”

Adelheid brought her fingers as if to count them. “Let me see. I think– Buren’s nationalist revolution will need to be sure the old loyalist elements are fully suppressed; Veka has a strong and young officer cadre full of ambition that might need to be contained; Solcea is a theocracy, which has never been tried in the Imbrium, so I don’t know if they have the bureaucratic experience needed to keep the trams running; the anarchists in Bosporus are a mess because anarchist ‘government’ simply can’t work; Volgia can’t hide behind the ice wall forever, and the ice queen has the greatest variety of grudging subjects under her wing; The Palatine is less resource-rich than it used to be and all the social climbers in the aristocracy were located there before the split. I don’t know anything much about the Union, but I suspect they have the same problems everyone else does with ambitious officers, social climbers in government, ethnic grudges, economic constraints, and so on.”

As for Rhinea, they had already seen the problems in action. Same with the Royal Alliance.

It was a very apt assessment, befitting a woman who wished to serve the Praetorian.

Such a strange situation, where the Antenora’s skirmish with the Pandora’s Box might still merit a mention in the annals of history– because there were so few other battles in the dissolution of the Imbrian Empire that were worth mentioning so far.

It was impossible for there to be peace and unity among the fractured states, each was too ambitious to ever accept any of the others. But so far, most of them avoided immediately attacking and seizing their neighbors. While there might be skirmishing that Norn simply did not know about, if there were more all-out wars, she would have known.

Especially if those wars were being personally ordered by Erich von Fueller himself.

“It does feel like we’re, somehow, still in the calm before the storm.” Norn said.

“I don’t know whether anything will happen.” Adelheid said. “But something might.”

Norn sighed. Oh, to what depths Konstantin’s project of peace and order had fallen.

“At least Elena might be safe now– I suppose I fulfilled that promise.” She mumbled.

“What was that? Are you done quizzing me on things you ought to know now?”

Adelheid put on a fox-like grin again. Norn shot her a sharp look that made her shudder.

“Distributing some of my thinking is the role of my adjutant. And she does it well.”

Norn smiled. Adelheid looked surprised to have received praise while being a bitch.

It shut down her ability to respond with a snide remark and led her to sit quietly contented.

“Boring hominin junk! Who cares! Kill each other already and let Hunter III feast!”

From behind them, their little navigator heckled, clicked her tongue and slapped her tail.

“You’re always welcome to try to eat me, Hunter III. But you know what’s good for you.”

Hunter III quieted for a moment at Norn’s response. Her little brain must have been ticking.

“Eh– y’all bony and gross anyway. Easier to sit here and earn good meat.” She mumbled.


Selene laid on her bed, her back partially to the wall, propped up on a pillow.

Kicking her bare feet every so often as she read a magazine on a portable.

Swiping through pages full of fashion tips for young women; step by step guides to wearing some complicated outfits that required body glue or tape to pull off; makeup tutorials; reviews of the latest accessories and lingerie from the top brands. Gossip columns and celebrity talk and upcoming concerts from hot bands. It was typical for a Rhinean magazine, there were a lot of blonds even skinnier than Selene and with much flatter asses with super high cheekbones and little button noses– but she never expected to see a vat-grown intersex thing like herself in a magazine anyway. Still she read the magazine, and she thought about going on a shopping spree in Aachen, getting all the new pigments and buying up a dozen hypermodern vinyl tops and synthesilk pants and tiny lacy panties to feel sexy.

“Maybe I can bribe that buffoon Hunter III with some meat to carry all my stuff.”

Selene put the portable to her chest and laid on her side, thinking about things.

Like the girlhood she was only really getting to experience now– in a warped way.

Adelheid’s glitzy pop girlie magazines were an object of aspiration Selene would have never admitted to if she was asked. But even the clothes she was wearing presently, with her exposed shoulders and tight pants, had come out of a book like that. Selene imagined herself sometimes as a celebrity. What if she had been born with a namesake and family in the Imbrian Empire? She could have been anyone. She could have been a big name. And she dreamed that all of the eyes of the world could focus on her– she had the beauty for it, and she was incisive, quick-witted, and she was good at reading people thanks to psionics.

Even outside the impossible fantasies, however, fashion had a certain allure.

She rarely dressed up, but she wondered why she did not do it more–

it made her feel–

Human.

“Whatever. I’m actually the superior being, it’s all of them who are wrong.”

Right?

Selene idly reached out her hand to the drawer under her bed.

Producing again the cylinder of katov mass she kept hidden from everyone.

Popping it open, she induced it to become a caterpillar that crawled along her arm.

Red and shiny like slick living wax. Moving with electrically-induced purpose.

Mindless, soulless, lifeless, an imitation of life–

like herself–?

Selene shut her eyes and grit her teeth, the intrusive thought striking her like lightning.

Then she nearly jumped when there was a physical knock on the door.

“Selene. Are you decent? Get yourself up and come out here.”

Norn’s voice, undeniably.

Nearly spilled the red matter and nearly dropping her canister.

Quickly, she disassembled the red creature born of her whim and hid the canister again.

She stood up from the bed, put on her synthestitched heels and made her way to the door.

Opening it and finding herself immediately face to face with Norn, crossing her arms.

“What is it? You said I didn’t have to be alert during this trip.” Selene grumbled.

“That’s a really cute sweater. Are you proud of your shoulders?” Norn said.

“Uh huh, my shoulders are flawless, my face is angelic, my dick is sublime.” Selene joked.

“Who taught you to be this crude? Euphrates was never like this.” Norn sighed.

“What do you want already?” Selene said, leaning impatiently between the hall and door.

Norn leaned closer to her with a vicious little grin on her face.

“I thought you were just being a little shit for no reason, but it looks like you really forgot. I told you as soon as you recovered that I would put you through hell. It’s time for your training. Luckily for you, it’ll be hell for your brain, not your shoulders or your dick.”

Selene’s eyes drew wide.

She had completely forgotten that Norn had promised to train her.

Suddenly her heart was soaring.

Norn was going to train her? She would learn psionics from a powerful Apostle?

Her head filled with an all-consuming delusion.

Selene told herself, if she could ace the training in the first day without Norn’s help–

–she would prove her great power and intrinsic superiority.

How difficult could it be? Selene was already well versed in using psionics.

“Sorry Norn! I forgot! But I’ll be right down!” She said.

“You’ll be down right now. You don’t need to change clothes.” Norn said.

She gestured for Selene to follow her down the hall.

Without a word, Selene trailed obediently, down the hall with the officer’s quarters.

Norn stopped near the end of the hall and gestured for a side door.

Inside, was a meeting room that had been repurposed as storage for unused gym equipment. When the gym was damaged during the Goryk excursion, flood mitigation prevented the total destruction of the pod– some things survived and were stored. In addition, there were some leftover gym supplies that had lived in a corner here.

Dumbbells and disassembled machines and piles of rubber exercise mats.

In the center of the room, one mat and one piece of equipment had been laid out.

“I didn’t know I was going to get messy. I’d rather not in my nice sexy sweater.”

“You won’t be lifting weights the traditional way, so don’t worry.”

Norn’s eyes looked over Selene briefly and settled on her loose antennae.

“You’re not pinning down your rabbit ears anymore?” She asked, smiling.

“Yeah what about it? And don’t call them rabbit ears.” Selene said, turning her cheek.

Her rainbow-veined ‘rabbit ears’ stood up straight with a slight irritated twitch.

“I just think it’s nice. They are a unique charm point for you.” Norn said.

Selene made a face. “Gross. I’m gonna hack them off with a rescue axe now.”

“Tch. Colicky child. There’s no winning with you is there?”

Though Selene took umbrage to being called a child, she did not push her luck.

Norn gestured toward the equipment laid out in the middle of the mess.

There was a round base holding up a vertical metal weight bar. Circular weights were stacked on the pole near the base, each with a hole in the center. There were four such weights, each five kilograms. More weights were laid next to the pole, ready to be dropped on top of the rest. Selene stared at the pole and the weights, suppressing an urge to kick it over.

“Use kinesis to lift those weights.” Norn said. “If you send them flying, that’s a demerit. If you knock over the pole, that’s a demerit. If you hit me with anything– even worse. For each demerit on your psionic fitness journey, you owe me 20 physical push-ups on the mat.”

Selene shuddered. She stared at the weights, mildly annoyed at the test and consequences.

What kind of stupid training was this? Did Norn think she could flex her brain?

Bored, Selene lifted a hand and waved at the weights.

Near effortlessly, with nary a thought, the weights lifted from the base to the tip of the pole.

Just enough not to have the holes in the weights actually clear the pole.

She then let the weights drop back to the base with a loud clang.

With an emotionless expression on her face she turned back to Norn for feedback.

“Of course you can do that.” Norn said. “Don’t get too smug yet.”

Norn went around the pole, picked up more weights and dropped them on.

“Again.”

Thirty kilograms.

Selene lifted them up as easily as before. She did not even move her hand. Psionics was the power of the mind and human emotions. It was not strictly necessary to move any part of one’s body to perform psionics; however, Selene found that pointing at the object to be moved, or making a gesture at it, or even shouting at it, helped the power along.

In this case, however, she did not even need to make a noise or do anything.

Responding to the continuing lack of challenge, Norn dropped in even more round weights.

Sixty kilograms. Double what was on the pole before.

“Again.” Norn said.

Selene felt the slightest bit of intimidation.

Not because she could not lift them. Rather, she wanted to show off.

Thirty kilograms was like a throwing a kid around. Sixty was like a whole supermodel.

She could lift it, but she could not lift it effortlessly and she wanted it to be effortless!

At first she tried to lift the weights without any gestures or noises like she wanted.

However, she immediately felt the slightest pang of irritation in the back of her head.

That seed of doubt made them heavier– she had to correct herself.

Teeth clenched, she stretched out her hand and beckoned the weights with it.

Perhaps, if the thought, ‘these weights may be too heavy to lift easily’, had never entered into her brain, she would have been able to lift them easily. Psionics was tricky in that way, Selene knew this– the slightest frustration could suddenly associate a simple task with difficulty, and thus make it more difficult in the process. A self-fulfilling cognitive prophecy. Utmost confidence and belief equated to a perfect expression of power, and any sewing of doubt could conversely snowball into a spiraling loss of control over her mind.

“What’s the matter? Is that it? Sixty kilograms and you’re raring to kiss the mat?”

Selene centered herself, and ignored Norn.

As before the weights rose up to the top of the pole.

Then Selene let them drop and they hit the base with an even louder clanging.

She looked to Norn for feedback–

Norn suddenly tipped over the pole. The weights at the base slid off and into the wall.

From the mess of reserve gym equipment, Norn produced a different set of weights.

Effortlessly carrying the stack in her hands. These were each heavier than before.

Instead of five kilograms per weight, each disc was now twenty kilograms.

And Norn five four of them into the barbell. A hundred kilograms.

That was just a barbell or two under Potomac’s weight. A large or plush human adult.

“Again.” Norn said calmly, still watching inexpressibly from the sidelines.

Selene looked at the barbells with a growing apprehension.

Then– she had a very silly idea that could potentially work to skip the whole business.

Clapping her hands together close to her chest, shutting her eyes and concentrating.

Straining to hear– that impossible voice of aetheric power that rang in certain individuals.

Saint’s Skin: Anoint!

From Selene’s body, waves of blue aura washed gently over the surroundings.

According to Euphrates, Saint’s Skin could not directly pierce the aura of another person, but it could influence the ambient aura in order to alter properties or concepts found in the environment and objects. Blue aura represented peace and calm and rest, but it could also represent lightness, and ease. With a strong enough will behind it, with enough concentration, and with enough desire, it could make a person move faster or feel lighter on their feet. In that moment, Selene concentrated strongly on the idea of a sheet of the thinnest paper or plastic, spilled from atop a stack and floating in the air, not quick to land, so light that it caressed even the air with its gentle, near weightless form.

She recalled Euphrates’ desk, littered in papers, sheets of plastic, micro-LCDs–

Blown as if on a strong wind, flying this way and that, their gentle swaying–

Then she opened her eyes, and instantly lifted the weights, now as insubstantial as paper–

“Nice try. But that’s cheating. King’s Gaze.”

Norn’s voice sounded as if it came from all directions at once.

In the blink of an eye the colors shifted as if the room had never been bathed in blue.

Waves of green anxiety and disquiet overcame Selene in an instant.

Suddenly the weights were even heavier than 100 kg, even heavier than 200 kg.

They were an impossible boulder by lifted up an endless mountain by a despairing wretch.

When they dropped back down Selene thought the clang would split her brain in half.

She knelt holding her head, gritting her teeth, nearly weeping. Overwhelmed with pain.

How unfair of Norn! To so thoughtlessly display her power to Selene that way!

Selene almost wanted to throw something at her– but that would have been trouble.

“Don’t look at me with such resentment. I am glad you have this sort of power but it is besides the point.” Norn said. “It was very clever of you to try to alter the conception of the weights themselves in order to lift them more easily but I am looking for something else. I want to see you crash into a wall stubbornly. I want to push you to your limits. You’ve only just begun to experience what it is like to fail, to be defeated, to experience falling short. Euphrates coddled you too much. You need to learn to deal with pain.”

Norn lifted another 20 kg from the mat, gesturing with her hand for it to drop on the rest.

“Psionics is not limited by imagination. It is limited by pain. Lift the weights again.”

Selene, wordlessly angry, her entire body shaking, lifted herself up from the ground.

Breathing in deep, she focused on the pile of weights again.

One hundred and twenty kilograms, now heavier than Potomac or any human Selene knew.

With both hands out, she bent her knees, pushed out her back and then rose suddenly.

That motion, of lifting with her legs, gave her the boost in confidence she needed.

Her mind evoked a brief rushing of great power over the weights.

All of the metal discs lifted from the base to the tip for a second and then fell again.

Selene resumed a comfortable posture, sighing and breathing heavily.

“Fantastic. See? When you shut up and stop complaining you can set your mind to things.”

Norn then easily dropped another disc of weight onto the pile. “Again.”

“So the point of this is to hurt me?!” Selene said, unable to contain the anger in her voice.

“No, the point of this is for you to work through the pain.” Norn said calmly.

“What the hell is that for? What does that do for me? Will I get stronger?” Selene said.

Norn turned from the bar and weights and stepped closer–

Selene flinched, thinking Norn might beat her like she beat Gertrude Lichtenberg–

But Norn instead laid a hand on her bare shoulder and squeezed gently.

“You will gain something that you currently lack.” Norn said.

Selene averted her gaze. “You think that cryptic shit works on me?”

“Then I’ll be blunt. You’ll learn what it is like to live; and I hope you will want to live.”

“How the hell do I learn that from lifting weights until my brain melts down.”

Selene hated that she actually understood Norn’s intentions.

All of the times she had been challenged and even hurt on the Antenora were new to Selene.

She had never known struggle. So it was easy to throw a tantrum when anything was hard.

“You are too sheltered. This is the real world. For the entire rest of the human race, Selene, they are beaten down to the floor, have their cry about the pain they are wracked with, and are then faced with however many more days, weeks, years, of more suffering ahead of them. But they continue walking forward because every new day presents them with an opportunity. It is that determination to live which you lack, and the pilot of that Union mecha must possess in spades. She struggled; compared to her, you know nothing.”

Selene met Norn’s eyes, her own filling with tears. Norn had a strangely soft expression.

“My greatest fear for you, Selene, is that you will actually give up. Completely. Someday.”

Norn lifted her hand and brought it back down, giving Selene a few soft pats on her skin.

In that moment, Selene could not deny that she had considered throwing her life away.

At Goryk’s Gorge, if it would have killed Sonya Shalikova, she would have given her life.

To have killed all of the enemies and completed her mission, at the cost of everything.

That was the fate of a soldier was it not? To die, to cease existing; now a shadow of glory.

Shining in memory and blasted apart in the physical world. Soldiers did not survive battles.

Because the thought of living with the ignominy, the pain, of failure– was too much.

Here she was– living, still, knowing that she was not perfect, nor destined for perfection.

Having achieved no glory and awarded no commemorations. Perhaps she should have died.

Living with failure, living after defeat– it felt so hollow, that maybe she did want to die.

Born without a past, struggling in the present, no hope of a future–

“Take a moment to breathe, center yourself, and then give that bar everything you have.”

Norn stepped away from Selene and resumed her cold watch over the bar and its weights.

“Your new target is one hundred and forty kilograms. Again.” She said.

Selene stared glumly at the bar and its ever-increasing number of weights.

Sighing, she gestured with her hands towards it.

There was a brief slashing pain in her head, like the barest contact of a blade on her brains.

For a moment, the weights stirred, but they barely lifted.

Fresh tears drew from Selene’s eyes. Even her arms had started feeling a bit sore.

Psychosomatic– her body was not immune to the ravages of her mind–

“You can do this Selene.” Norn said. “Think about what you want; your next step.”

Was this truly how Sonya Shalikova must have felt?

Had she lost herself and felt beaten down by hopelessness– and still continued on?

Pushing herself past her limits with everything she had, refusing to give up?

Selene recalled suddenly– during their skirmish at Goryk’s Gorge–

When that saw blade was just about to stop, failing to penetrate the Jagdkaiser’s armor–

I want to save you. Had she truly heard that voice? Followed by something impossible?

Words that had brought about her defeat, and Shalikova’s miracle, her hope for a new day.

Breathing deep, Selene restored her posture. Arms tight and close, chest straight.

Poring over Norn’s words like water over rock. Eroding into her stream of consciousness.

Out in the world, if ordinary people living their lives had to feel this pain every day–

And if every day just heaped even more pain on them as they struggled forward–

Then any given instant of pain, any second– was nothing compared to those lifetimes.

Divided, taken apart, each of those setbacks was fleeting in the fullness of a life lived.

Drops of water in a vast ocean that continued to move in its currents even in a dying Aer.

Like these weights– together 140 kg but apart each 20 kg that a single human could lift.

Selene amid the current and part of it; buoyed by the inertia of a still-living humanity.

And that current of her mental strength washed over the weights and lifted them up.

Holding them so the highest weight up was just about to rise over the pole.

Not falling, not stirring, lifted them as if effortlessly, without raising even a finger.

There she held them, for five seconds, ten, twenty, forty, as Norn watched silently.

Even as the pain of her exertions began to build in Selene’s mind, she held firm.

All of those instants were droplets of water in the vast ocean, in the rushing current.

They were nothing. By merely waiting, each moment was gone, and there was another.

Her hands started shaking. Blood began to trickle out of her nose. Her eye twitched.

“That’s enough.” Norn said. “You seem to understand something now. Congratulations.”

Selene eased up.

At once, the weights smashed onto the base one after another in a series of loud clangs.

Her lungs struggled for breath. Her throat was raw. She smelled and tasted iron.

Running her hand over her lips, and seeing her red fingers dripping with blood.

She put on a haughty grin even as her whole body ached and her knees shook.

“That was nothing to me.” She said. “You underestimate me constantly. I’m perfect.”

Norn grinned back at Selene’s renewed arrogance.

Before casually dropping another 20 kg weight on the bar with another loud clang.

Selene’s eyes drew wide. Incredulous. Hardly in control of her expression, nearly laughing.

“Clean up. I’ll bring you food and a drink. Then we go again.” Norn said, almost cheerful.


“Hey, big beak– how do the currents feel out there, huh?”

Hunter III’s mind reached out into the waters around the ship.

Below the Antenora, a Leviathan had been warded off by Hunter III, but it continued to follow the Antenora for some time. It was about the size of the smaller ships the Hominin used– Norn would have called it a ‘Cutter’. A cylindrical body with four hydrojets led, trailed by several dangling arms that surrounded an enormous vibro-cavitating beak.

Two remora-like Leviathan “drones” attached to its main body and provided support fire from the needle launchers on their own backs. Hunter III realized that it was not out of malice that the big beak had followed them, but a burgeoning curiosity about the world– a spark of something that, if it survived, might create a miracle for it.

A miracle that was denied to Hunter III– stolen from her. Stolen, to then be given, as a gift of beautiful, powerful chains that warped her completely. Her circumstances made her curious about the creature. She began to reach out to it psionically, probing it.

Waiting for a response. Soon she received it.

It is a soft current. It is a difficult current. It cries. Its sings. It is hungry. It is satiated.

Hunter III understood implicitly the response she had been given by the creature.

Just sitting in the back of the Antenora’s bridge, she could hold something of a dialog.

Neither of them were truly saying words as the Imbrians understood them, but they could communicate emotions even through the metal armor separating the interior of the ship from the Leviathan’s water. Because of this Hunter III could not have spoken what the Leviathan said to anyone else but she could feel the texture of what it meant to communicate. Its burgeoning realization that the world was complex.

Perhaps even an understanding of the voice far, far in the back of its own head.

“Keep away from ships, big guy. Ya don’t wanna die right? Y’still got growin’ to do.”

There was no response. But she could feel that the Leviathan began to drift farther back.

Hunter III grinned to herself a bit. Sentience was coming for it, as it nearly came to her.

When she ate hominins she was a bit more lucid for a time. As if the emotions that had made them up had become hers. She was still hungry; she was still energetic; her driving needs were the same. Inside her though, a metaphorical vacuum tube received a shot of electricity. Maybe, for Leviathans, eating each other, growing bigger, eating more, maybe it made them lucid too. Slowly, struggle after struggle, the sentience grew inside them.

Hunter III felt a certain uncharacteristic melancholy. She understood her position too well.

This Leviathan, if it survived all of the ravages of the sea, might eventually shed its form and become an Omenseer. If it achieved psionics, and then, came to understand itself, it could do this. Some Leviathans found psionics and only used this to hurl rocks. But a few, used it to learn about the world and ask questions– they found themselves buried in all that meat and burst out. Then they could lead their own lives. They might befriend some hominin, go on adventures, take them to the sunlit seas, get shinies and eat meat and become part of the great story of all hominins in the cold, cruel ocean. Stories that were sometimes remembered but oft forgotten– but stories a monster, an animal, could not have.

Hunter III could not imagine at all what that would have been like for her.

Everything that was her own, grew like a twisted plant from the seedling that the Autarch had injected into her body. Despite this, it was wrong. The Autarch was not fond of her own handiwork. She must have had no idea that Hunter III would be quite disinterested in spying on hominins, quite disinterested in stealing their things and watching them carefully and ingratiating herself within their structures– she was only interested in eating them. When a Leviathan became an Omenseer, how did they choose who to be? When the Autarch got her hands on Hunter III, why was she born only to be reprimanded and scorned?

Maybe the crying, singing voice that the big beak heard was like the Autarch’s own.

Out of control; unable to decide for herself who she was, much less who Hunter III was.

Leviathans might have been like that too. Maybe they could not choose their own selves.

Perhaps no matter what, Hunter III could have only been born to be a scorned slave.

“Autarch– Hunter III– Hunter III never wanted to make ya angry and upset.”

Hunter III had no idea whether the Autarch was listening or whether she would care.

“If I was gonna be your lackey, I wish ya had made me a better one.” She said.

She started to grin to herself. How dumb; as if her little sadness mattered to a God.

That was why Hunter III could only be herself.

Because she was abandoned by everything.

All she could do was eat and be merry until she received her next inevitable throttling.

It could have all been so simple, if she was either an animal or a whole human.

Instead this middle ground was full of horrid feelings she wished not to have.

That Leviathan out there did not know how good it had it– someday it would have this same sad sack conversation with itself. It would think– “out there, I could have had all the meat that I wanted, and I wouldn’t even know that it tasted bad, and I would have been so happy.” Soon its brain would be strong enough to wrap around to this question and drive itself insane with it. There would be no going back to the simple days after that.

Hunter III sighed deeply.

Maybe she would be happier if Norn fed her some damn meat!

Norn–

I’ll free you from her. She had said. Haunting words. Joyous words. More dualities.

Foolish and ignorant words from a hominin who truly must have meant them.

A Hominin as confusing as the crying, singing, current that the big beak so aptly described.

“What would that even feel like? Hunter III ain’t anythin’ without the Autarch.”

Hunter III was getting fed up with her runaway mind.

She could not keep moping about.

She decided there was only one solution: to go beg the cafeteria people for meat.

With a big piece of meat in her hands and her belly, her head would go completely empty.

She got up from the floor. There was nobody on the bridge, but it did not matter. Norn’s crew were all perfectly obedient and did everything really efficiently so when they were just cruising in empty waters nobody needed to be told anything. She would know if there were more Leviathans around and she could tell them off from anywhere on the ship. Probably enough of them had scarpered by now that the rest collectively understood not to mess with the Antenora. Younger and weaker ones might even sense her from afar and stay way.

Unbothered, she left the bridge, bare feet on cold metal, ambling happily down the hall.

Adelheid never understood the appeal of actual, real meat. Sausages had no texture and jerky was so tough and dry. It was not living to eat such things every day! Hunter III wanted real meat, with juices that leaked and fibers that tore between her teeth. Having recently tasted tender hominins, full of blood and muscle, it was that which Hunter III had on the mind– but she behaved. She knew hominin meals were unrealistic– she was neither completely dumb nor utterly lost in her own hedonism as to crave hominin every day.

That was special occasion sort of food.

Instead, Hunter III’s day to day craving was pork or steer.

Large animals, full of savory fat, fibrous muscles and delicous fluids.

Because these animals were bred to be eaten, they often tasted better than hominin too. Hominins had a penchant for not taking care of themselves, they were always stressed out, they drank disgusting stuff that made them dizzy and stuck around in their organs too long, they smoked weird herbs, and they ate dry food and were constantly dehydrated.

Because of this the average hominin, while a unique delicacy, were not in and of themselves a very tasty sensorial experience. Hominin were special because of the ritual of things.

And because if she did not eat them she would go crazy.

She needed Hominins, perhaps like Hominins needed their herbs and liquor.

Sometimes, she could appreciate a fish too– especially a fatty salmon.

A taste of nostalgia.

Her mind quickly filled with images of fresh-cut pieces from a slaughtered animal.

These pushed out any sort of introspection or sophisticated thinking from her cranium.

She deluded herself into thinking she would acquire such a meal, hurrying to the galley.

Past all the tables, to the kitchen desk and the automated serving machines.

“Listen, kitchen hominins! I’m here on business! Come on out, one of ya!”

She waved her hands and jumped up and down. Finally, a woman’s face peeked out.

“You can serve yourself from the machines, they are fully stocked.” She said.

“No, this ain’t about that.” Hunter III leaned in a bit. “Look, I know y’all are hidin’ the good meat back there, and Norn ain’t lettin’ you feed it to poor little Hunter III like all of ya want to do. But I’ve been preparin’. I got a bribe. Hominin love bribes right? I’ve got one for you.”

From the pocket of her long, hooded coat, Hunter III produced a little blue box.

When she opened it, inside, there was a ring with an enormous diamond.

“One of the hominin that I ate back at the pepper place had this with ’em. Isn’t it big? Isn’t it shiny? It’s one of the biggest shinies anyone has ever seen. You can have this shiny, and then, you’ll give Hunter III a big, juicy piece of meat. She’s not even askin’ for all of the meat! Just one big piece! This is the best deal ever– and it is only a deal for you!”

Hunter III laid the diamond-studded wedding ring in its box on the counter.

The eyes of the servant-hominin looked down at the box, and then back at Hunter III.

She took the box into the shadows behind the counter.

“We’re confiscating this and informing Lord von Fueller. Please eat from the machines.”

Then a pair of steel shutters enclosed the serving personnel.

Hunter III stood speechless.

“HEY! That ain’t how it works! Ya can’t just take the bribe and not give me anythin’!”

Hunter III jumped up and down, struck her fists on the steel shutters and the counter.

Wailing and gnashing her teeth and kicking the wall–

“Oh dear? Has the little Hunter finally lost her mind, perhaps?”

Behind her, someone stepped up and held her by the shoulders, squeezing them.

“Huh? Oh– it’s you.”

A hominin, taller than Hunter III, and unlike the drones, with a glint in her eyes and a smile on her face. A familiar face, pretty and a bit funny. She wore a lot of makeup, had a lot of brightly blond hair, and wore her clothes a bit looser than everyone else. Hunter III could see her bra. Livia Van Der Meer, the ship doctor– Hunter III had thought about biting her a few times, sometimes out of hunger, sometimes out of fleshier feelings than that. She was the person who maybe got the most out of hand with Hunter III out of anyone on the ship.

However, she could also be– interesting. Like Norn, but in a very different way.

So despite sometimes being irritating, Hunter III was always initially welcoming of her.

“I see you’re having trouble acquiring meat again.” Livia said.

She lowered her head a little to Hunter III’s eye level. Hunter III met her eyes, unmoved.

“Yeah– the serving hominins took my bribe but didn’t get me any meat!”

“Oh dear! Whatever shall you do?”

“I know! Isn’t that against everything hominin stand for?”

“Indeed. Contracts, like medical consent, must be absolutely ironclad.”

Hunter III blinked. She was mentioning the medical thing again.

A lot of the time that preceded her injecting Hunter III and writing a bunch of notes.

“Little Hunter– what if I got you some meat?” Livia said, smiling cheerfully.

With her hands behind her back, and her large chest close to Hunter III’s own.

Hunter III returned her gaze appraisingly, stroking her own chin.

“Meat, you say? Hmm. Keep talkin’.” She said, her tail swishing behind her back.

“You weren’t the only one who got her hands on some goodies in Serrano.” Livia said. “I managed to snag a few things myself, to save for a rainy day. As a doctor I have all kinds of storage capabilities. I would be happy to share my loot with you. Norn would never have to hear about it either. She’s busy with Selene at the moment, and Adelheid is taking inventory. It’s the perfect opportunity to be a little naughty, don’t you think?”

“What’s the catch?” Hunter III asked.

Livia smiled. “No catch. I’m simply quite bored, and you’re the most interesting one here.”

“Huh. I dunno that I believe that doc. No one just gives out free meat around here.”

“Call it a date– what do you say? You’ll get to eat. I’ll get to chat. It’ll be nice.”

“A date, huh?”

Hunter III felt conflicted. She understood what ‘dates’ were quite well.

Those were the special times when hominin bit and smacked and fucked each other.

Not to procreate but for fun. They just liked doing this, like Hunter III enjoyed eating.

She had seen hominin doing these kinds of things.

She had thought about them before too.

It was in this sort of way that she had come to think Livia was interesting.

So she knew Livia’s objective may well have been this, especially if she was bored.

She also did not believe Livia would actually give her any meat.

Though it would have been a pleasant surprise. Hunter III was growing skeptical.

However– Hunter III also thought, maybe she could see herself enjoying the whole thing.

“Alright. Ya got yourself a deal– but y’better not be lyin’!” Hunter III cried out.

Livia smiled placidly. “Of course not, of course not. Never.”

Heels clacking on the floor the entire way, Livia led Hunter III out to her clinic.

It was not every far down the way from the galley.

There was a separate medbay with enough beds care for a few dozen people at a time if needed, but Livia’s office and clinic was a smaller space, and doubled as her bedroom. She had a desk, a few cabinets with medicines she kept on hand, her favorite injector that had marked her neck a few times; a small bed and gurney; a few testing instruments and other such medical machines; and the door to the backroom where she slept.

Everything smelled like plastic and chemicals.

As Hunter III crossed the threshold, the door closed behind her but did not lock.

So she could leave if she wanted to. She was not trapped with Livia– but she stayed.

Livia ambled toward the bedroom, and knelt down next to her bed.

Tongues of cool gas escaped from a compartment.

With a gloved hand she withdrew–

“You weren’t lyin’! It’s really meat! You’re my savior Livia!”

“You’re calling me by name? Interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

In her fingers, Livia returned with a frozen cut of steak and a grin on her face.

She put it on a metal sample plate, and put that plate on a frame over a burner on her desk.

“This is inefficient, but it will cook eventually.” Livia said. “Please, sit down and rest.”

Hunter III obediently pulled up a plastic chair and sat close, watching the meat cook.

Livia sat on another chair and sat next to Hunter III.

Taking her medicine injector from atop the desk, pulling back some of her hair.

Sticking herself in the neck, in a spot that had a three-pronged bruise like the injector.

“Ah, now we can relax and enjoy. Well– you can enjoy. Once it’s less frozen.”

She flipped the steak over on the plate. Slowly thawing, softening, cooking at high heat.

It wouldn’t cook evenly, but Hunter III loved meat no matter what.

Frozen meat was not particularly enjoyable however, so she appreciated Livia’s effort.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Hunter III’s tail smacked against the ground over and over and over in anticipation.

“Is it a correct assumption that you grow a tail to store your extra biomass?” Livia asked.

“Oh, uh huh.” Hunter III said cheerfully. “It’s a special trick that helps in a pinch.”

“Clever indeed. Did someone teach you that? About your powers?” Livia asked.

“Um, not really, I just kinda knew it?”

“Hereditary memories perhaps? Or maybe even– DNA-based data encoding?”

“I dunno. Both of those sound good to me?”

Hunter III was essentially just trying to please Livia by saying literally anything.

Livia seemed pleased, so everything was working accordingly.

Once more, she turned over the steak.

“What good fortune to have found this while robbing the substation supplies.” Livia said.

“Yeah! You’re so smart Livia! You’re smart and pretty and you are so good at robbin’!”

“All too true. You know, to meet you– it was worth it losing my medical license.”

Her words were starting to slur just a little bit. Hunter III did not pay it any mind.

“Uh huh! Norn is sooooo lucky to have such a fancy and good doctor!” Hunter III said.

Livia turned over the steak one more time.

Then, with the scalpels she had been using to move the steak around on the sample plate, she cut a piece. Juices were flowing. Hunter III’s eyes drew wide. She could smell it, even through the chemically smell of the room and the alcohol fire. Her jaw hung open, her nostrils wetted, her mouth grew slick with saliva. Her face went hotter.

“That is so nice of you to say. Open up. I will feed you by hand.” Livia said.

Hunter III obediently awaited the piece of steak, tongue nearly out of her mouth.

Livia took the piece of meat, pierced on a scalpel, and fed it gingerly to her date.

Instantly– the taste, the chew. Juices, fibers, the resistance of real red meat.

Her cheeks contracted from the savory taste. She shut her eyes and lavished in it.

Hunter III practically shook with pleasure. For a moment she felt like a king.

“You’re so interesting, little Hunter.” Livia said. “Beautiful, alien, unbound.”

Her hand reached for her own collar, which was already opened and unbuttoned.

“Lacking our inhibitions; master of your biology. On the cusp of nature and civilization.”

Livia cut another slice of meat; immediately Hunter III positioned herself to receive it.

It was so luxurious– Hunter III had always just bitten into bigger pieces of meat. Cut across the grain by Livia’s deft scalpel hand; still warm from the hot metal plate; it was amazing. Hunter III believed meat needed nothing, no cooking, no seasoning–

but maybe Livia’s hand helped the taste.

Each piece was slowly, deliberately enjoyed. Livia cut a smaller piece, pierced it.

Hunter III closed her eyes and leaned forward, her mind soaring with bliss.

Then she felt Livia’s hand take her hood by the neck. Pull her forward, suddenly, forcefully.

Her eyes drew wide as Livia drew her into a kiss, feeding her the meat mouth to mouth.

Their tongues entwined, the meat partially chewed– tasting the wax in Livia’s lipstick.

Livia briefly pulled back. “I wish I could taste humanity like you, little Hunter.”

Her tongue and lips parted but still connected to Hunter III’s by spittle and meat juices.

With a sudden surge of strange passion, the Omenseer pushed forward and kissed her back.

Wanting to taste Livia’s lips and tongue as much as the meat.


In the middle of the hangar, while the crew went about their tasks around her, Selene was completely clad in power armor and standing across a series of ruler marks that Norn had projected onto the floor. The girl had been equipped with the chestplate, arms and legs of an Imbrian power armor, its battery installed on her lower back. Everything sans helmet. She looked quite disgruntled, but Norn rarely saw a contented face from her anyway.

Norn had a very specific reason for setting all of this up. She walked up to Selene.

“Alright Selene, your task will be to step forward with your back straight.” She said.

“Is this a joke?” Selene said. “How does walking around in power armor help me–?”

Before Selene could complete her sentence, Norn pulled the battery out of the armor.

Selene stared at it, suddenly incredulous.

Various LED lights on the armor’s limbs and chest suddenly went dark.

“Norn– I can’t move!” She shouted. Her arms were at her sides, her legs standing.

However, judging by her head and neck, she was struggling, trying to pull her weight.

“I’m well aware.” Norn said. “Without the energy pack, the locomotion assistance on the power armor will not work. A Katarran or a strong Loup could still move, but I know you cannot. You’ll just be wearing an enormous suit of hydraulics and electric muscles and other complicated and pretty heavy gear. All of it dead weight. And your task remains– to move forward. Each fall is a demerit; every step you can take a new horizon for you.”

“How the hell am I supposed to move even one step like this?” Selene shouted.

“You just demonstrated you can lift almost 200 kg.” Norn said. She then shrugged with a grin on her face. “Put some of that prodigious genetic brainpower to good use.”

“Norn!” Selene shouted, gritting her teeth and shaking and whining ever more irascibly.

“I’ll give you a tip. Use kinesis on your arms and legs. Move with your entire body and focus on moving your entire body, not just one body part at a time. Develop a rhythm.”

Selene looked to have tired herself out with fruitless struggle, panting with her head down.

Norn was about to mock her again, when a drone stepped up to her from the sidelines.

“Milord, the bridge has decrypted an Extreme Low Frequency message for you.” He said.

“From whom?” Norn asked. Nobody should have been sending her ELF messages.

“The text purports its sender as Admiral of the Fleet Frederich Urning.” Said the drone.

“Huh? Truly. Well, hand it over– we can set up a video call once we’re at depth again.”

Norn absentmindedly took the printed ELF message, less interested in the content than the sender. He had gone behind Erich’s back to contact her, using clandestine means like the ELF. Konstantin’s biggest fan– she wondered, truly wondered. Was he up to something?

Her mind was afire, her curiosity piqued.

What was happening in the Palatine? How was Urning getting on after his idol’s death?


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.6]

Slender fingers twined around the handle of the porcelain cup.

Warm water poured over flowers and herbs and a bit of rough raw agave.

Mixed vigorously with a steel stirring stick. Dried with a flick, put away in a drawer.

Next to the loaded pistol. Precise tools for specific problems.

She lifted the cup to her lips and absentmindedly sipped of it. A touch of agave gave the tea sweetness and a bit of unctuousness. Otherwise the taste was very mellow and grassy. She had prepared the cup purely because she wanted a warm drink. There was no caffeine, because she did not permit herself to drink caffeine. Caffeine was not healthy.

However, this made it difficult to work deep into the night as she was.

She continued to work even as her eyes grew heavier.

Not out of a sense of the value of this labor; out of obsession with the result.

And a touch of paranoia.

Next to the cup was a portable on which she was writing with a digital pen.

With her fingers, she could swipe up and down between digital workspaces.

Taking notes over them in digital ink. It helped her process the information.

On one workspace, there was a series of dossiers with detailed personal data.

Swiping left, she saw numerous faces scroll past.

On the other workspace there was a spreadsheet of locations and offices in Eisental.

Swiping left on that workspace showed her the vastness of her new realm.

These assignments were a monumental task and she would delegate them to nobody.

Everyone for whom she had a dossier was qualified to serve.

However, not everyone could be completely trusted to be loyal to her designs.

“The National Socialist Labor Unions.” She mumbled to herself as she looked over a file.

Some of the dossiers were not people she was appointing, but people she was investigating.

So far, there was little resistance from labor leaders in the core strategic industries to the prospect of joining the state-sponsored labor unions. Because the previous liberal governments had done so much to support strike-breaking and extortionary labor practices, and tacitly approved the firing of union workers and the hiring of scab labor, especially in the strategic sectors– the very idea of the government reaching out to labor at all was viewed as a ground-breaking positive step in pro-labor sentiment. Labor organizers in high-grade steel, plastics, primary and middle manufacturing of plates, missile engineering, and semiconductors, had all approached her about the N.S.L.U scheme with interest.

However, she could not take them all at their word so easily.

Therefore, she had the Sicherheitsdienst investigate several of these labor leaders.

That only added to the amount of information she had to personally sift through.

Her self-appointed task tonight was to get through the highest government positions first.

Sleep could come later. There was always time to do nothing.

It was the window to act that Destiny constantly tightened in its white-hot grip.

She had to at least be sure the Gauleiters were all people that she trusted.

Aachen’s Gau office was staffed much more quickly due to circumstances–

Everywhere else, Reichskommissar Violet Lehner wanted to be more dilligent.

In the middle of going through the potential appointments for Stralsund, which were tricky owing to the presence of the Mycenae Military Commission in the area– Violet’s thought process was interrupted by the door into the office opening and the sound of boots.

Rather than the grandiose main office once occupied by station governor Werner, Violet was working in a small meeting room in the eastern wing of the government building. Only a few people knew where she was and could interrupt her. Nasser would have been praying at this hour, and was instructed to go to sleep without her– so it must have been–

Esteemed Reichskommissar, seeing as how you’re working late, may I report now?”

Magdalena van Treckow. A few associations immediately came to mind.

Semi-disowned twin sister of Hedwig von Treckow of the Treckow clan.

Aristocrats with a military tradition; one of the few families with recent achievements.

Once upon a time, such things mattered among aristocrats–

now, this Treckow was just a Standartenführer.

“I am always happy to host you. Would you prefer to sit or stand?” Violet asked.

“May I move as the mood strikes, your grace?”

“Very well. Continue.”

In response, the officer performed a stage bow that made something in her leg creak.

Her body bore all manner of evidence of her already brutal career.

Magdalena was very similar to her twin sister– a tall and stately woman, beautiful, gallant, lean and long-limbed, like many in her once-noble house. She had dark hair down to the shoulders and cut a handsome silhouette in uniform. Then the similarities ended.

While the Treckow family were known for their stoicism, Magdalena’s resting face was a conceited grin on glossy black lips. She had streaks of white hair, perhaps prematurely aged by her experiences in life. She bore a complex scar across her neck that looked as if she had survived a deep slitting of her throat from jaw to collarbone. Exposed owing to her style of wearing her shirts and coats quite undone near the top. One arm and one foot missing; the foot replaced by a blade in her boot that Magdalena liked to show off at times; the arm by a multi-digit replacement limb that was more in line with what Violet had seen before.

On her sleeves, she had the armbands for the Zabaniyah and the Esoteric Order, along with an armband bearing a black box with a white hooked cross inside. It was a curious object to some, as nobody else in the organization wore it. This was because it was old– the armband signified the former Aktionsgruppe IV, a fake transport flotilla that Violet used to manage in order to smuggle goods to fund and supply Zabaniyah auxiliaries, thus hiding the fact that her personal forces were larger than they seemed. Violet no longer had to hide her ambitions or the size of her total forces in Eisental. Still, Magdelana kept wearing the band.

“As you requested, I’ve been on alert. However, despite the candor of his words during your little meeting, we have no signs of incoming reprisals of any kind from Adam Lehner. His attention appears to be fully directed south. He is losing his window to act on us.”

“He is aggravated with me but he cannot afford more enemies.” Violet said.

“Not only can he not afford them– according to my information, both his physical and his political capital would fray at the seams against any attempt to bring us into line.” Magdalena said. “I have credible evidence of growing support for us within important parts of Lehner’s coalition. Rhineametalle is of course obvious– but in the political classes, several of the Gauleiters in the Rhinean heartland expressed willingness to collaborate and made public statements congratulating you on ending the strikes in Kreuzung. No sanctions from corporations; no attempts by the main command of the fleet to subordinate our forces, or even to call for inspections in Eisental; we appear to be silently tolerated. Your father has been put in check.”

As she spoke, the woman wandered side to side in front of the desk.

She would flourish her arms, make exaggerated expressions.

“I appreciate your vigilance, Magdalena. But don’t call him my father. It annoys me.”

“Duly noted, your grace. To have caused you to frown would cause me to wilt.”

Violet ignored her flattery and put down her digital pen.

She closed and opened her fists.

Everything was going her way but she could not help but feel unsettled.

“I do hate that we are at the level of divining intent from public statements.” She said.

Her intelligence inside Thurin, and in the office of the Fuhrer, had to be improved.

She wanted to know the instant that clown in the high seat blinked.

Magdalena did not look too concerned. Her wanderings brought her over the desk.

“Once we have formal contact with more of the Rhinean Gau, we won’t have to guess. It is only a matter of time, Reichskommissar. You must relax!” Magdalena leaned much closer to Violet’s face, meeting her eyes with a viper’s smile. “Everyone can already see your ascendancy. Adam Lehner is squandering his moment, he is too much of a fool– he has influence and connections, but you, Reichskommissar, have all the brains. You have done in weeks more than he has in months. It is an unequal contest you are certain to win.”

Magdalena licked her own lips after speaking.

She leaned in so close that Violet could smell the tobacco smoke from her lips.

Any further and she might have stolen a kiss.

Violet said nothing. And so the flattery continued.

“Not only that, but you are a true revolutionary. Aside from the Esoteric Order, the Libertarians and the Neotribalists are already seeing that unlike the so-called Fuhrer, you will not betray the revolution of the Volksgemeinschaft to the wealthy and the intellectuals. You are looking out for the national worker and the soldier, lifting them up! Only you have the rhetoric and organizational skill to sway all of the rightist groups to your side.”

Violet turned her cheek, offended by the reek of the tobacco.

Magdalena reared back just a little bit.

“The Libertarians and Neotribalists are unreliable bellwethers.” Violet said calmly.

Her biggest weakness outside the Esoteric Order was that she was a degenerate queer.

Within the Order, such things were secondary as long as the correct obeisances were spoken.

They cared about the mythology of nationhood and supremacy much more than the details.

Outside of the Esoterics it was much more of a minefield.

Violet was almost certain that she was mixed race, and this was only successfully hidden because it would have made the elder Lehner appear less photogenic to the extreme right-wing organizations. So on her papers, Violet was any ordinary Imbrian. They could see it, however. The Libertarians, the Blud Bund, the Neotribals, the Traditional Fatherhood Front. They could see it. It was part of the reason she focused on Nation and Service over racial polemics. Violet had to be careful to continue playing with the fire of the Volkisch fringe.

Whether or not Magdalena caught or understood the subtleties did not matter though.

Whatever Violet was now, it would all be obliterated by what she would become.

Her plan was to attain power such that her own identity could be anything and not matter.

She would simply become the sword of the inexorable Destiny of the Imbrian Nation.

All the fools who had childish ideologies failed to understand the true driver of change.

Violet had applied herself dilligently, exploited opportunities in business and law, built up her wealth, made corporate connections– because she understood the nexus of power.

Capital could buy strength; and power was crystallized through the execution of force.

She would not rely on the purely ideological support of troglodytes like the Neotribalists.

Fools like the Libertarians could take their multi-point social plans and swallow them.

Violet had already seen her own future. With Eisental in her hands, she would acquire legitimacy through stability. Crushing the dissidents, rewarding the collaborators, and exercising effective management of capital. She would fix the problems that plagued the buffoon in Thurin. And then she would build her spearhead. With the applause of the common folk, she would recruit and equip the best troops, build ships, and march.

And the Shimii would be the core of her new order, the phalanx of her Destiny.

A fierce warrior race with discipline, humility, scholarship, and a long history of grievances to fulfill. Properly prepared with Eisental’s bounty, her Zabaniyah would align all of the disparate elements of the Volkisch– by force. They would never fully accept her, but they would bow before her sheer strength. She would make them. That was ultimately the glue binding the Volkisch Movement. Adam Lehner took over power formally, he got the votes– but he executed that power to legitimize arbitrary violence, and in the terror was his real strength. Idiotic niche ideological groups only followed him because of this violence.

Rightists would cower and fall in line; leftist dissidents would be exterminated.

Soon their opinion on Violet’s lifestyle would not matter.

Endsieg was close at hand.

Violet was a slave to this future. She would not exist without that vision.

For now, however, she had to play within the rules of the game so she could break them.

“Has Imani set sail for Aachen yet, Magdalena?” Violet asked, returning to business.

Her subordinate was not so keen to step away from the desk, however.

With the way she bent, exposing so much through undone buttons– quite lascivious.

And that gaze– it almost gave Violet pause from the hunger in it.

Exuding the aura of a predator.

Sizing Violet up as if for an attack.

Treckow, business? Now? Get a hold of yourself. I am not joking.”

Violet snapped her fingers. Magdalena grunted a bit.

Looking offput by the response.

“Hadžić just got out; it will be a while yet before the fireworks start.” She said. Her eyes wandered as if the subject bored her, but she continued to hover in the personal space of her Reichskommissar. “Sawyer’s militia was slow to muster. Apparently the main command of the militia in Bremen sent her a very large gaggle of underage soldiers as reinforcements.”

“Fine by me,” Violet replied, “I was hoping the casualties would fall as much on the militia as possible. Wiping out a generation of Blud Bund morons in the process is a bonus.”

Magdalena smiled and began to rub the fingers on one hand over the surface desk.

“The Uhlankorp’s involvement is being discussed as well. Rhineametalle is agreeing to supply everything en route. I am not sure Hadžić will sort it all out, this feels a bit messy.”

“Hadžić will indeed work it all out. She’s one of Nasser’s inner circle.” Violet said.

“And that’s all it takes for you? So easily impressed by wagging tails?” Magdalena said.

Violet fixed her eyes on Magdalena, again meeting the woman’s own cryptic gaze.

There was an ardor in that expression that Violet continually met with apathy.

“It’s too late for you to bring that sort of agenda into this. You know how I am.” She said.

“Oh, Reichskommissar, that is not it at all. Race aside– I’m simply wary of their commitment. They are unproven. I am skeptical; because I have killed a lot more for this movement.”

“I’m not skeptical and only my opinion matters. So be at ease. Shimii have done dirty work for the Lehner family for years now. I trust Nasser more than anyone.” Violet said.

“More than me? I’m hurt. I’ve done so much for you, your grace.” Magdalena whimpered.

“I’ve done quite a bit for you too. Enough that you still owe me more than I owe you.”

“How cold. You reject me so easily. If you wanted, I would protect you from anything. I would relieve you of every burden and give you any comfort you wanted. We are all alone here, nobody would have to know. As the supreme leader, you could easily have me.”

“If you are done reporting, you are dismissed.” Violet said.

Magdalena leaned even closer over the desk.

Falling over it like a misbehaving cat.

“Violet– In Bosporus I was a wild animal– it was you who gave me back a human soul.”

Suddenly, Magdalena laid her hand like a claw on Violet’s own.

Her fingers pinched Violet across three knuckles. There was an instant of pain.

Violet jerked her own hand back.

This prompted Magdalena to burst out laughing.

“Very funny, Treckow.” Violet said. “Whether or not you are sincere, you are dismissed.”

Not angry, there was no point in it; just mildly annoyed at this amorousness.

She returned to her work, expecting Magdalena to see herself out.

“I am just playing my role. This play needs a chaste heroine,” Magdalena gestured to Violet, “a courtly, heroic romance,” she gestured toward the walls, at no one in particular (Nasser), “but also a devilish rake, whose temptation might steal away a tender heart.”

Finally Magdalena gestured to herself, laying a hand on her chest and bowing slightly.

Violet finally looked up from her work again with a sudden smile.

“Treckow, you don’t understand the genre. I am not a chaste heroine– I am a Valkyrie descended to make humanity pay for its sins with blood and iron. So who are you?”

For a moment, Magdalena simply smiled. Looking entirely too satisfied with herself.

With a final, silent bow, she took her leave from the stage. Casting one last look at Violet.

Violet almost heard the applause following in her wake, before returning quietly to work.


On the upper story of the John Brown’s interior pods, the hall was wide enough for two (somewhat short, somewhat thin) people to walk abreast. Ulyana and Eithnen were almost scraping the ceiling with their heads. While the wall plates were bare metal, the floor and roof were green. There were removable panels with obvious bolts everywhere. Flanked by doors on either side, the hallway was shorter than the Brigand’s upper hallway by half.

Eithnen and Tahira led them down those crowded halls and ducked into a small room.

Ulyana and Aaliyah followed.

There was no empty space in the room that they entered.

There was a table in the center and two long booth seats made up the walls. There was a monitor on the wall opposing the door they entered through. When closed, that door formed the final wall of the room in its near totality. So they had all the amenities to hold a productive meeting, with the table itself serving as a digital pad for writing or displaying graphs and documents. But they had to do it without room to stand.

“One more is joining us. He’ll be here shortly.” Tahira said.

“Will he fit?” Ulyana asked, smiling to show she was not serious.

Eithnen grinned in response. “Beats standing out in the hall.”

“Good point– I can see why you laid the sick men in the hangar.”

“I had to! Our infirmary is like a god-damn morgue. Only room enough to die in.”

“Are all Republic frigates this tight?” Aaliyah asked.

“I’ve never served in anything smaller than a Cruiser until now.” Eithnen said.

“To be clear, the layout of the John Brown is not in itself designed as a punitive measure.” Tahira said from Eithnen’s side. “This is indeed the layout that is standard to all In-Line-2 class Frigates as designed by StanDy Innovations– it is a deliberate design. There are many advantages to it– it’s easier to run maintenance as all systems are tidy and accessible. It’s also cheaper to manufacture. But our doctrine relies on a fleet support system.”

“Like having access to a fleet hospital ship.” Eithnen said.

“In the Union it would be seen as inhumane to not have a stocked infirmary.” Ulyana said.

“Wish I’d been born on your side of the planet.” Eithnen said, smiling a bit.

At that moment the door slid open again.

Eithnen waved at the entrant while Tahira sidled up closer to Eithnen to give him room.

Owing to his height, he had to slouch. He was taller than Ulyana or Eithnen certainly, and fit too, with strong arms and a wide back. His skin was dark brown, and his black hair was tied into a multitude of long braids which themselves were collected into a ponytail with a fluffy yellow hair scrunchie. His uniform consisted of a blue jacket worn over a white shirt and long pants. He was probably older than Ulyana– more signs of aging on his face.

From the moment he sat down, he had a big smile on his face.

“Burke Zepp. G.I.A.– or, well, ex-G.I.A. I guess. Pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

He reached across the table and gave a firm handshake to both Ulyana and Aaliyah.

“Pleased to meet you as well.” Ulyana said. “I’m Ulyana Korabiskaya.”

“Aaliyah Bashara.” Said the Commissar.

Ulyana noticed her infrequent glancing at Tahira. Aaliyah was wary.

“So, everyone’s here.” Eithnen said. “Let’s talk, Ulyana. I’m sure you have questions.”

“How in-depth are you ready to go, Aaliyah?” Ulyana asked.

At her side Aaliyah looked surprised by the question. “I trust your judgment, Captain.”

“In that case, I’m curious to know how you came to be in this predicament, Eithnen. I would also like to know what your status is with regard to the Republic. It will not change any of my judgments as to how we could cooperate, it will just help guide my interactions with Republic personnel– for example, if the G.I.A. could re-arrest you, I need to know.”

Tahira seemed to want to interrupt, but Eithnen noticed and prevented her from doing so.

“It’s fine Tahira. None of us are bound by the regulations anymore. We abandoned that.” Eithnen said. Tahira still looked quietly offput by the notion, but Eithnen continued speaking, meeting Ulyana’s eyes. “I’ll give you the short version Captain. Everyone here has their own story of how they were confined here. At the root of it all is that we were all convicted of felonies in our respective home regions in Alayze. If you’re a felon in Alayze, you basically have no rights even if you serve your sentence. Can’t vote; undesirable for jobs; and it’s tough to even get a bed to sleep in. In that situation, there’s only one thing you can really do: if you ‘volunteer’ to a penal unit you can get your record cleaned. That’s why we are here.”

“That is why most of us are here.” Burke said, interrupting. “Do they know about Kitty?”

Eithnen nodded. “They’re pretty well-informed. And they saw her handiwork first-hand.”

Burke nodded back. He turned to Ulyana with a conflicted expression.

“I was a G.I.A. agent in perfectly good standing, but my mission failed. I laid low for years, moving in the underworld, cautious not to attract the attention of the Imbrians– until I heard about Kitty’s operation. I was all ready to go back to fighting for my country like a fucking clown– and then for all my trouble as soon as I met Kitty she immediately cast suspicion on me as a traitor and saboteur and had me trapped here. Unfortunately for her, the bombs they strap to the reactors on these penal ships aren’t a match for my skills. So I helped Eithnen and her crew get something of their freedom back in Kreuzung.”

“Those are the nobler stories. I– I was– just was one of the jailers.” Tahira said suddenly.

Ulyana and Aaliyah both stared at her. Eithnen shook her head and sighed.

“She’s being dramatic. She has helped us immensely, we wouldn’t be alive without her.”

“Regardless– up until recently, I fully participated in their incarceration.” Tahira said.

“Tahira, stop it.” Eithnen said. “I trust you; don’t give them the wrong impression.”

“That does not change the facts of what happened Eithnen, or who I am.” Tahira said. She turned a pensive expression on their communist guests and paused for a moment before speaking. “Captain Korabiskaya, you want to know our probable standing with the Republic? Most people on this ship are criminals. I am a traitor, having aided and abetted their escape. Should the Republic catch up to us, they will take the ship, which is the valuable asset– and exterminate the rest of us. Shot and thrown out to sea like trash. We represent dissent among worthless people who should only be able to fall in line for our masters.”

“Tahira was a Republic intelligence agent before.” Burke said. “Like me, she’s better aware than most people here how the Republic operates. She’s also being way too hard on herself.”

“She is.” Eithnen said, holding a hand on Tahira’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

Tahira reached up her own hand to touch the Captain’s. She nearly broke into tears.

Ulyana had assumed a few things about the condition of the ship as they spoke.

She noticed Eithnen was fair-skinned, but most of the crew were darker-skinned like Tahira.

Imbrian racism was more complicated than that– they could hate fair-skinned Eloim and Volgians quite dearly– but this was still a signifier that Ulyana well understood. Tahira must have been someone who made it within Republic intelligence despite her ethnicity.

How unbelievably cruel to make her the boot on the necks of her kin.

Ulyana could not imagine what she was feeling.

“Ulyana Korabiskaya, this ship is still sailing, but its crew is not alive. We have no future.”

Tahira pulled down her glasses and wept into her glove.

“Tahira–”

Eithnen spoke up to try to stop her adjutant from further breaking down.

Ulyana spoke first, however.

“Tahira, this is not the Republic of Alayze. It is time you stopped thinking like it is. You are in the Imbrium Ocean, and we are officers with the Labor Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice. Right now, you are speaking as if the Republic can do anything about your situation– but the Republic’s presence in this ocean has been utterly destroyed and furthermore, I would argue the Union would not want the Republic to have a strong say in what is done militarily this deep in the Imbrium. So it’s not up to Alayze to dictate your fate any longer.”

“Are you offering to give us shelter? That is unrealistic, Ulyana Korabiskaya. You are allied with the Republic. Your country will have to comply with their laws.” Tahira said.

“Not necessarily. In the future, the Union and Republic may well go to war.” Aaliyah said.

Just as Tahira had spoken suddenly, and surprised the room; now Aaliyah did the same.

“Aaliyah!” Ulyana said, more amused and surprised than she was angry or annoyed.

“It’s the obvious truth.” Aaliyah said. “Right now, we are talking as if the Union is a state with sovereignty on par with the Republic, so let us examine that scenario in detail. Should the Imbrian Civil War end in a position where the Union’s continued existence means anything at all, the Republic will demand the Union open itself to the Republic’s economic sphere, which we’ll resist. Furthermore, say that in theory the Union ultimately declares itself to be the successor state of the Imbrian Empire, and guarantees the territorial integrity of the Imbrium– then the Republic might even seek war reparations for hundreds of years of battles with the Imbrian Empire. The Republic is a capitalist state. Its ideology, just as much as that of the Imbrian Empire, assists in the extraction of wealth, nothing more than that. Eventually they will desire to have an extractive relationship to us as well.”

Ulyana did not want to enter into the topic of total war with the Cogitum ocean.

However, the topic had been opened, like the Pandora’s Box that she had come out of.

She sighed deeply and could not stop herself from putting a hand over her face.

Eithnen looked somewhat amused at the behavior of her guests.

“That’s uh, pretty grim, to consider.” Burke said. “Though, not wrong, I suppose.”

Tahira wiped her tears and readjusted her glasses.

Eithnen continued to squeeze her shoulder.

“So, Aaliyah Bashara– what you are suggesting is that, since you believe Solstice will go to war with Alayze, and that this is an inevitability, you will give us asylum as defectors to the Union. In return, we can assist in your future conflict with the Republic.”

“No ‘in the future’ is necessary. I was never going to demand that you submit to military service in perpetuity. However, you can join us in our current battle, right now.”

“Absolutely!” Ulyana interjected, finally recovering. “Help us fight the Volkisch!”

Her sudden enthusiasm seemed to bring a smile to the face of her Commissar.

Burke crossed his arms and smiled a little too. Eithnen put on a warm grin.

“Tahira might have reservations; but I have no problem saying: to hell with Alayze!”

“Then our soldiers will never see their homeland again.” Tahira said.

“From what you said, they have no future there any way.” Aaliyah replied.

“I would not have put it so bluntly– but there is truth to it.” Ulyana said.

“I understand Tahira’s concerns.” Burke said. “For some of the crew here, they did truly believe there was a chance of getting their records cleaned and seeing their families again. Even now, they might not understand that the law is rigged against them because they love their home. They might not take kindly to being told we’re all joining the commies.”

“Then that’s my responsibility as their Captain to give them all the information and the choice to leave or stay. However much of a bad joke that might sound to some of them.” Eithnen said. “I’ve let everyone else speak up, so now it’s my turn. In my eyes, the Republic betrayed me and all of the people on this ship. None of this should have happened. In a just world, none of us would be on this ship. We were abandoned! I blame that squarely on the Republic of Alayze. I am on this ship at all, because I dared to speak out against this very policy. They court martialed me on spurious grounds and then made me responsible for the lives of this crew. Ulyana– when a Captain of a penal ship refuses to serve, she goes back to jail, but the crew are almost always people with long sentences or a stay of execution. They would have been buried and never given another chance– that is why I am here now.”

Ulyana was unsurprised but only by the degree of malice the Republic employed.

It was the specifics of the malice that continued to shock her.

Not even Nagavanshi would do something like this. It was so cruel for so little gain.

“Ulyana, I want asylum to the Union.” Eithnen said. “And I will take it upon myself to talk to the crew. If enough of them want to leave, would you agree to give them the ship and let them go? They don’t stand a chance– but I can’t keep coercing them to follow me even if I think my decision is the correct one. They’ve been fighting under duress for too long.”

“I agree.” Ulyana said, near immediately.

Aaliyah glanced at her but said nothing to the contrary.

Ultimately, Aaliyah would defer to whatever decision Ulyana made.

However, from her expression– it didn’t seem like she disagreed much with Ulyana.

“We should inform Premier Erika Kairos about this.” Aaliyah said.

“I will. I think she will agree with my decision.” Ulyana said. “Eithnen is right– ethically, I refuse to press gang the people of this ship. From a practical perspective, it would be disruptive to drag them along unwilling. So I will leave it to the officers here,” she gestured toward the other side of the table, “to organize your crew, and make your decisions. However it goes, we will do our best to see you off with food and medicine.”

Ulyana and Eithnen shook hands on it, both wearing a very similarly jovial smile.

“Captain, I want to apologize to you.”

Tahira spoke up again and extended her hand toward Ulyana as well.

“I misjudged all of you. I thought communists would be more severe to us.”

“Honestly, what do they teach all of you intelligence people about us?”

Ulyana smiled and shook Tahira’s hand, accepting her apology.

“Thank you so much, Captain.” Tahira said. “I– all of us really care about the people here.”

“We’ve been through a lot together.” Burke said. “This is the first ray of light we’ve seen.”

“We’re happy to help.” Ulyana said. “Say, Burke– do you know a ‘Marina McKennedy’?”

Aaliyah glanced suddenly at Ulyana and then averted her gaze entirely.

Burke shook his head. “Never heard that one. I assume she’s G.I.A.?”

“Yes. She’s on our ship– it’s a long story, but she might like to meet you.” Ulyana said.

“Long story huh? Well, now I’m real curious.” Burke said.

“We’ll have more chances to talk. Long stories are perhaps best left to text.” Aaliyah said.

“Yes, we will get everything squared away here as soon as possible.” Tahira said. “After that we can formally sit down and develop our communications if we decide to join your group. No use starting that process right away if we might not get crew consensus in place.”

“Quite sensible. Well, I am hoping we get a chance to work with you all.”

Aaliyah reached out a hand and shook with Tahira.

Neither gave the other any further suspicious looks.

Ulyana felt satisfied with the result.


“Fuckin’ commies.”

Marina swore at the walls of her cell, knowing it could have been much worse.

Knowing she was in the wrong but still wanting to resist.

That had been entire life in a nutshell, she thought. Being wrong; struggling uselessly.

“At least Elena is doing okay, I hope. I didn’t get to teach her much.”

The Union’s solitary confinement cells had a bit of gradient to their level of torment. Depending on the settings that the jailers allowed the prisoner to access, it could be made more or less stressful. It seemed the commies did not have the heart to torture Marina psychologically for weeks, so the cell bed was out and the cushioning was adjusted to actually be comfortable to sleep on. There was a small device on the wall that played a selection of Union songs– most of them annoyed Marina and at first she thought this was one of the punishment rather than comfort settings. Every song had some kind of risible commie seasoning to it. “Love like proletarians,” “the rhythm of the factory floor,” “the collective farm worker’s song,” Marina was quickly sick of it. She did find a few songs that did not have lyrics and manually put these on repeat every so often for stimulation.

Befitting its function, the cell was very small. There was room for her body on the bed, and a bit more room next to it where she could walk up and down along the bed. It made the rooms on the ship feel like luxurious suites in a Stralsund pleasure hotel. While the lights were dim by default her jailers had engaged the cell-mode that allowed Marina to select the color. This was an exercise in doing their work for them and driving herself insane– she could make the interior of the cell a dim purple, a dim green, a dim blue or have it cycle through the rainbow. She would not bother with those settings for too long.

Three meals a day were guaranteed to Marina. Each of them was some kind of reconstituted mush. Buckwheat and oatmeal porridge with apples; potato salad that was more like a vinegary mashed potato; hummus with dried tomatoes, mercifully served with a fresh soft biscuit. Out of everything the biscuit was the most healing thing– Marina had really come to enjoy Minardo’s fresh cooking despite the commie vegetarian food ethos.

A particular source of amusement for Marina was the tool she was given to eat with. All of the commies normally ate using sporks. But Marina was handed a disposable, very thin plastic scoop thing that looked like a tiny coaster. When she asked about the utensil, the Yu girl (as Marina mentally nicknamed Zhu Lian) told her it was an Absolute Safety Utensil. Marina could not cut herself with it, fashion it into a weapon, or even use it to take her own life, since it was easily swallowable by an adult. She could only eat with it.

“Kinda overkill isn’t it? I’m not trying to break out or resist or anything.” Marina said.

“We’re just following protocol.” Zhu Lian said.

Her meals came in through a slot and the plastic safety tray went out through the same slot.

So went her first day of solitary confinement.

Marina had been locked up in the Escatulum for over a decade.

She could handle this much.

Probably the commies also knew this. They just had to do something.

She did not blame them, so she complied with her punishment as much as possible.

Even if she tried anything, those two psychos Ulyana kept around would easily kill her.

Just as Marina was thinking about them, time had passed, and she requested a shower–

And at her door, appeared the autistic blond psycho with the mask, in a security bodysuit.

Along with a full-size AK-pattern assault rifle over her chest, on a shoulder sling.

Marina raised her hands. “Whoa! What the hell are you doing with that?”

Valeriya Peterburg looked down at her rifle as if it was nothing interesting.

“It’s protocol for high security prisoners.”

“Protocol?! It’s protocol that you’ll dome me if I request a shower?!” Marina shouted.

“Lower your voice.” Valeriya said.

It was impossible to gauge emotion from her voice.

She lifted the rifle to show Marina that it had a bright blue colored magazine and barrel.

Indicating that it was a rubber pellet rifle– a less lethal option.

Marina was still incensed.

“Why did they send you? I formally request the Yu girl or the Gallian girl to help me.”

“I am unsure of who you mean.”

Valeriya was nearly whispering and it drove Marina up the wall.

“The other security girls! Don’t act like you don’t know!” She shouted.

Valeriya narrowed her eyes slightly.

“I am required to perform routine security tasks now. I will take you to your shower.”

“I won’t be part of your sensitivity training! I want to talk to the Captain!”

Marina was well aware that this dead-eyed freak and that Illya were both loose cannons.

She wanted nothing to do with either of them. They were dangerous!

Valeriya audibly sighed and stepped back from the door to the cell.

Laying a hand on the underbarrel and trigger guard as prelude to a shooting stance.

“Please follow my instructions or I will have to use force to secure compliance.”

“God damn it! Fine! I will be filing a complaint!”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Valeriya walked Marina to the showers, and waited at the door while Marina doused herself in cold water and grumbled, shooting her venomous looks every so often. She had been secretly hoping she might meet Minardo or Kappel in the showers, but there were only two other occupants: a loud waifish blond girl with a purple dye job and a brown-haired mixed chick with a huge dick arguing about something incomprehensible with her.

Annoyed, Marina showered, got dressed and got out of there as fast as she could.

“I appreciate your cooperation.” Valeriya said on the walk back.

“Fuck you.” Marina replied.

Valeriya silently returned her to her cell, locked her in there and left just the same.

Marina pounded her fist on the wall in a fit of anger.

She immediately regretted doing so.

Then she sat on the bed, holding her hand, and listening to the Union anthem instrumental.

Until some indeterminate amount of time later, there was a knock on the door.

Because the food slot opened, Marina thought it was just meal time.

She sat on the bed waiting. She then saw an eye peeking in through the slot.

“Marina, it’s me, Ulyana. Is it okay to open the door?”

“You’re the boss. You open it whenever you want.” Marina said, surprised to see her.

“Alright. Sorry about Valeriya– Anyway. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

That was unexpected. Wary, Marina said nothing as she stood from her bed.

When the door opened, Ulyana was accompanied by a tall, dark-skinned man.

Someone she had not seen in decades– but across that time she still knew him instantly.

“Burke?!” Marina shouted with surprise. One of her first G.I.A. field agent partners!

“Wait– that voice? Blake McClinton? Is that really you?” Burke responded.

Marina started smiling and the tears just came out without warning.

“It’s Marina McKennedy now. But yeah.” She said. She sniffled. She couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god! Man– I mean, girl! Holy shit!” Burke was just as taken aback.

Burke and Marina both stepped forward and embraced tightly, laughing together.

“Holy shit! I thought you were gone off the face of Aer!” Burke said.

Running his hands through Marina’s hair and squeezing her closer.

He was tearing up as much as he was laughing. Marina had the same uncontrollable joy.

She pushed herself into him with all her might. Her heart was soaring.

“I thought I was too! Look at you! You look so hard, but you’re still a big softie!”

“That was my charm! You know I can’t afford to lose it! But oh my god! You’re alive!”

They were practically jumping in place. Burke! He was alive! Marina wept profusely.

“Wow! I had no idea you two knew each other closely.” Ulyana said, laughing with them.

“This guy right here was one of the best! One of the fucking best!” Marina shouted.

“Aww come on, I don’t deserve that! God damn though– I’ll accept it!” Burke replied.

Aaliyah stepped in from outside the room, staring at the scene with the tiniest smile.

“Marina, we rescued a Republic ship from the Patrol.” Aaliyah said, into the happy cacophony of Burke and Marina’s reunion. She was barely listening at first, but gradually she and Burke stopped laughing and cheering and let Aaliyah continue speaking. “Since you two are good friends, this might go more smoothly– we are offering to transfer you to Burke’s ship.”

“That’s right.” Burke said. “After you were gone,” he paused for a second, “Marina,” and smiled at getting the name right, “I got caught up in all kinds of mess trying to survive out there. I ended up back on a Republic ship and got caught up in Kitty’s insane plan– similar to you, I hear. It’s a frigate, the ‘John Brown.’ Penal ship actually– but we’re free of that now. We could use your help, Marina. We have a good Captain over there, but she’s seen way less of the Imbrium than us. We need more people to get the crew in order.”

Marina averted her gaze. She stepped back from Burke’s arms. She was conflicted.

She did not know the whole story, but if Burke and this crew were trapped by Kitty–

That was also something Marina was partially responsible for.

After all, she had supported Kitty in doing all of this.

She never even considered that Kitty might be dragging penal ships into this fight too.

All she thought about was rushing to help a fellow G.I.A. agent, despite her lack of merits.

“Burke, I don’t know what they’ve told you.” Marina said. “But it wasn’t the same for me as it was for you. I decided to get wrapped up in Kitty’s plan. I did that, I made that choice myself, nobody coerced me. I helped her to find mercenaries, to get gear, and to refine her plan of attack– that Core Separation would not have happened without me. Or it might have happened, and then Kitty and the entry team would’ve been killed quickly. I don’t know– it’s useless to imagine worlds where I’m not culpable. I was an accomplice to Kitty.”

“Hey, Marina, it’s– I get it– I get it,” Burke said, “G.I.A business is always murky.”

Marina could not meet his eyes again. “Burke, I appreciate it, but this is more than that.”

“Marina, this is a way you can make up for becoming embroiled with Kitty.” Ulyana said.

“We’ve turned over several relevant files to Captain Eithnen Ní Faoláin of the ‘John Brown’ concerning this matter.” Aaliyah said. “And we informed her briefly of what we know of your involvement so she could make her own decision. She was not against taking you on regardless. We’ll amend your sentence here in return for your involvement with the John Brown. They are understaffed, and they lack the real world experience that you have.”

Marina looked at the Captain, Commissar and at Burke. She felt strangely conflicted.

She was never going to be a communist nor agree with their worldviews completely.

Despite how much she hated the Republic for what it did to her, that hate within Marina was a hate for political ideology broadly. Anyone who was proselytizing for any cause made Marina wary. Hell– in her head there was not that much of a difference between the Volkisch Movement and the Union itself except for who was the target of the rhetoric and the resulting violence. Whether or not she was wrong, Marina had fallen into an apolitical centrism she did not want to make any effort to disabuse herself of. Rhetoric was too meaningless for her, she had no hope that any political theory would lead to peace.

Liberty; National Awakening; the Revolution of the Proletariat. It was all the same to her.

Pablum. Excuses for conflicts and power grabs. Liquidating some people, elevating others.

Nevertheless, Marina had come to develop a respect for the commies as people.

Out of everyone she had met, they seemed to actually give a damn about other people.

That core of ethicality, particularly expressed by Ulyana Korabiskaya, gave her some hope.

Whatever she thought of communism, the crew of the Brigand were good folks.

She knew she had burned a bridge with them– and knowing that hurt.

Had she not been so dismissive and truculent she could have befriended them.

There was another way to have done everything she had done– but she fucked it all up.

Nevertheless, they were still here now, offering her more than a bullet to the head.

Staying on the Brigand and ‘serving her sentence’ wouldn’t repair that between them.

However, she was also conflicted about going on a Republic ship too.

As much as she claimed to disdain the ‘commies,’ she did not miss her people much.

No matter what, it would not be easy to leave behind this dumb little ship full of dreams.

“Could I visit Elena every once in a while?” Marina asked suddenly.

“Elena can visit you, Marina.” Ulyana said. “She’s her own person, you know?”

Marina grinned and crossed her arms.

She ran the fingers of one hand through her hair.

Thinking.

“Heh. Right. Ah– whatever. Sure. Send me over there. I’ll straighten them out.” She said.

“Maybe they’ll straighten you out instead. I would strongly prefer that.” Aaliyah said.

Both she and the Captain were smiling in such a surprisingly friendly fashion.

“Welcome aboard, miss. We’re glad to have you. It’ll be like old times, huh?”

Burke extended a hand and he and Marina had a big shake.

Then they knocked elbows together, both grinning.

For Marina, who never believed she would get a second chance let alone a third or fourth, this was an unexpected but happy outcome. She wanted to try to make the best of it; maybe she could do everything over and do it right now on the John Brown. If Burke and his crew also saw something in these people too, then maybe it wasn’t her delusion.

Maybe the commies were actually alright.


After the battle, the first several hours were tense.

It was entirely possible that they could be detected again and pursued.

However, the response from the patrol fleet was surprisingly sluggish and noncommittal.

Once Fatima began to detect the use of active sonar pulse scanning from the enemy, it was far enough away that they could easily disguise themselves as ordinary ocean-going traffic. By forming the John Brown up between the Brigand and Rostock, and towing a camouflage sail to distort the detection picture of the John Brown, they could pretend to be a Cruiser and her support vessels and the patrol fleet was none the wiser– they never picked up the trail and the Volksarmee’s journey to Aachen therefore resumed in earnest.

They were only one day out, so the crew began to think about what they would do there.

Some of the sailors admitted they were sad to only have been sailing for a week. They preferred the rhythms of everyday work at sea and did not want to be stationary.

Most of them were excited about going to another station, however, particularly one that was not so strict as Kreuzung. Brigand sailors had heard stories about Aachen from the Volksarmee sailors on the Rostock. It was a city that had both a rich history and tradition but also had become a hub of modern and idealistic dreams. As far as they knew, Aachen had no enforced racial segregation within the station, so the Shimii, Bosporan and Katarran crew could go out and eat, enjoy the sights and be merry– within the means of their limited stipends. After the Kreuzung adventure, the Brigand was not as rich in its supplies of Imperial Marks as it once was– and Erika Kairos did not have infinite pockets.

Nevertheless, it was the next leg of an adventure that had already proven quite eventful.

“Proven quite eventful,” they could say– because the dangers had been surmounted.

There was still a chance for tragedy, in the back of everyone’s minds.

And one girl who had often been preoccupied with tragedy was Sonya Shalikova.

However, even she was starting to think about what she would do in Aachen.

She started to think she should ask Murati out for drinks or something like that.

That’s how adult coworkers socialized, right? They could go to a bar or a restaurant.

Shalikova felt that she had been silly to avoid Murati. She wanted to get more familiar.

Illya scolded her about building a confident rapport– she needed to overcome that anxiety.

Her plans depended on what the Captain needed them to do in Aachen, of course.

But if they had some free time– maybe she could get Murati alone and have a chat.

Thinking idly this way, Shalikova took the elevator back up to the upper tier. She had been in the hangar, helping to put the simulators back up. They had been uninstalled during the retrofit and they left putting them up for last. After the ship left Kreuzung, they were extremely busy integrating with the Volksarmee, running the protocol and inventory rationalizations, and in addition, the hangar was messy with additional Divers and parts.

With everything cleaned up and sorted out after the last battle, the sailors wanted to reinstall the simulators again as a token of their appreciation for the pilots. Valya and Shalikova assisted in getting the default scenarios and features set up again.

Now she was returning to her room– where there was a curious lack of cuttlefish.

“That’s weird. Maryam usually waits right here, or follows me around.”

She had not seen Maryam in a while– but she felt immediately silly about her fear.

“Oh come on. Maryam isn’t attached to me by a chain, she can go anywhere she wants.”

Wasn’t this a good sign too? Maryam could not become too dependent on Shalikova.

At any point, Shalikova could die out at sea. Maryam had to be resilient and find her own place on the Brigand in case that happened. Whatever she was doing, in her head Shalikova now completely endorsed it. Some part of her feared that Maryam was bothering people, because she heard a story about her badgering the sandwich cart guy a few times during battles– but bothering other people was all part of a healthy social life wasn’t it?

People naturally created friction right?

“Why am I so focused on this? Who cares. Maryam sleeps here. She’ll be back.”

This must have been part of being someone’s girlfriend– missing her when she’s gone.

Rationalizing away her silly fears by talking to herself at the door to her room.

And then accepting that she will return– that was what love was, wasn’t it?

“I need to lie down. I’m starting to annoy myself now. I must be more tired than I thought.”

Shalikova shook her head and walked into the room, the door shutting behind her.

Taking off her jacket and unbuttoning her shirt, she laid down on her bed.

Immediately grabbing and hugging her bear, Comrade Fuzzy, close to her chest.

She tried to empty her head, and in the course of this, she finally fell asleep.

Dreaming of nothing but raging and swirling colors of an incomprehensible nature.

For an amount of time indeterminate to her Shalikova slept, until a ‘wah!’ sound woke her.

Slowly, she opened her eyes to her gaze meeting a certain cuttlefish woman’s own.

Green W-shape pupils close to her own. A big, delighted smile.

Shalikova raised her hand blearily and poked Maryam in her nose.

“What are you doing so close? I almost jumped.”

“You just look so cute when you’re sleepy Sonya! And you didn’t jump!”

“I almost did.”

“But you didn’t– that means you’re more comfy with me now!”

Shalikova grunted and pushed herself up to a sitting position.

She hugged Comrade Fuzzy tighter.

“I guess that’s true.” Shalikova smiled, just a bit, at Maryam. “What have you been up to?”

Maryam crossed hear arms, stood up straighter and wore a smug little grin.

“Sonya, I’m very important and high in demand you know. I’m a real cuttleformant–”

“You were telling the captain what you knew about Eisental. Okay. Makes sense.”

Shalikova stared inexpressively and Maryam briefly lost her haughty façade.

“Um, I mean– yeah– but I had lots of juicy info on the Katarran hot spots here!”

“I’m glad. So what’s around here anyway?”

Maryam sat down on the bed across from Shalikova’s with a disinterested expression.

“Not a lot around here precisely, actually, but there’s Trelleborg farther north. It’s like a station made out of a bunch of ships docked together.” Maryam spread her arms wide in a gesture attempting to convey the size of Trelleborg. “To get into Trelleborg, you have to get in good with a ‘Host’ who has a bigger ship connected directly to the primary tower, the Trelleborg Bazaar. Every other ship is connected to a Host’s ship. The Hosts were there first– they’re the big movers and shakers there. The Bazaar is strictly business– nobody is allowed to control it completely. There’s strict hours of business and everyone agrees to be out of the Trelleborg Bazaar and back onto a docked ship by ‘night time’.”

“Wow, that’s pretty wild. I’m sure people violate that decree a hell of a lot don’t they?”

“Yep, they call it honor among thieves. People get sent into the Bazaar at night to lay bugs or traps or try to sabotage competitors. But if you get caught, your gang must disavow you.”

“How do you get caught if nobody’s supposed to be there? Who would be watching?”

Maryam smiled. Her head fins flapped. “The underworld has a lot of complexities, Sonya.”

Shalikova grinned. “You’re making stuff up aren’t you? You fibbed yourself into a corner.”

“Hmph! Hmph!! I do know! I’ve been there you know! It was a leg on my big journey!”

Maryam puffed her cheeks up and went red, prompting Shalikova to stop teasing her.

“Alright, of course,” Shalikova laughed, mollifying her girlfriend. “Hey, Maryam, there’s a few days still to Aachen and we’ve gone down to stable alert again– is there anything you would like to do? I don’t really have any work; might not even have any work when we get there.”

“Sonya! I do!” Maryam turned purple and her skin became brighter and shinier. “I want to watch more films! I was fascinated by the one the crew put on a few days ago! I want you to show me your favorite films! Or television! We didn’t really have any of that where I was growing up! I want to know all about the pictures that Sonya really likes!”

“Not even TV? I would have thought they would at least play some propaganda stuff.”

“Screens were primarily a military tool for Athena. Maybe there were some pictures and I never got to see any– I was pretty busy with the maps and junk, you know?”

“I see.”

Shalikova thought about what her favorite movies and shows were.

Her face turned a little red. Surely she could not actually say what she was thinking.

“Sonya, you’re going all blushy and bashful! Now I’m super curious!”

Maryam leaned forward with a mischievous expression.

Shalikova leaned back against the wall.

“You know I wasn’t a big movie watcher. There’s really nothing–”

“Sonya, no fibbing from you either! You have to tell me or I will keep bugging you.”

Making good on her threat, Maryam went as far as to sit beside Shalikova and poke at her.

Rubbing her soft purple cheeks against Shalikova’s face like a needy cat.

“You have to promise not to make fun of me. You have to swear on your very soul.”

Shalikova was being completely serious when she said this.

“Of course, Sonya! If it’s important to you, I will stop teasing. I promise.”

Sighing, Shalikova brought up a computer window on the opposite wall.

Side by side in bed, she and Maryam navigated through the ship’s media library. There were many search parameters that could be employed to narrow down the films and television available for the crew. Shalikova sorted by “Union State-funded,” and then “Commissariat of Education,” then “Political Programs” (propaganda) and finally, chose–

–“Children’s Media.”

Within this category there were only a few libraries.

Maryam’s eyes lit up as Shalikova selected the library for “Comrade Company.”

“It’s a kid’s show.” Shalikova said, hiding behind Comrade Fuzzy. “It’s a kid’s show about these little animals who learn stuff about the Union. You have to promise you won’t laugh or I will never show it to you. If you laugh at me I’m going to throw stuff at you. I’m serious.”

Shalikova’s voice was practically trembling. She felt incredibly pathetic.

“No, Sonya! It’s wonderful! Please show it to me!” Maryam said.

Sighing, Shalikova played a random episode for Maryam.

Comrade Company was an eclectic mix of presentation styles– depending on the segment the Comrades could be puppets, or they could be cartoons, or they could be stop motion clay or foil papercrafts, usually in real life settings. There were three comrades– a cat, a dog, and a bird. They always went to different places in the Union and they always had a “friend” from the specific place who helped them to understand it better. When they visited the farms in Lyser, they had a hydroponics engineer with them; when they visited the Sevastopol shipyard there was a Chief Mechanic; when they visited the Academy there was a teacher.

They would sing songs, or play educational games or get quizzed on things that they learned– in such cases they would turn to the audience to ask them for assistance.

Each comrade had their own personality. Comrade Growly, the cat, was always a bit of a skeptic and know-it-all but learned valuable lessons in trusting others and being curious; Comrade Barky, the dog, had an enormous imagination and often learned about how real things differed from their exaggerated expectations; Comrade Chirpy, the bird, was usually goofing off, and learned that the work being done by the episode’s designated Friend was very important, and learned to respect the hard work they did for the country.

At the end of each episode the Comrades would be seen with a Commissar who checked up on them and made sure everything was okay and that they were happy with their adventure. Unlike the Friends who rotated in and out, the Commissar was something like the adult in their lives who was in the background taking care of them so they could have fun and learn things. They always wore an embellished Ashura uniform. A distant but loving figure, much like the parents of a lot of Union children would be. Or a facsimile of a parent, since many Union children grew up without them and did not know such a relationship.

Shalikova was one such child who had grown up without any parents.

She had her sister Zasha, and her friends Illya and Valeriya too, but they were usually busy.

In the Union, the state spent the most time with children.

Through teachers; through caretakers, pediatricians; and through storytelling.

For her and her old roommate Klob, the Comrades were invaluable friends every day.

They showed Shalikova the world and taught her to grow up to be respectful and dutiful.

“Wow! Sonya! What an amazingly cute show!” Maryam started clapping cheerfully.

Shalikova was lucky that Maryam was a bit of a kid inside still.

So she could appreciate the show even after all she had been through.

Meanwhile, Shalikova had to avert her gaze a few times as they watched the episode.

Not as much anymore because she was embarrassed to love something so cutesy.

Rather, watching something so care-free and childish hurt her adult heart a bit.

She found herself with tears in her eyes and hugging her bear ever tighter.

After all she had done with her life– was this ridiculous?

Was it a big joke for a soldier to love this cute, silly harmless thing?

“Sonya, why are you crying? I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have been so bossy!” Maryam said.

“It’s not you.” Shalikova said. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“Oh no, is the show bringing up bad childhood memories?”

“My childhood was fine.” Shalikova said. “It’s my adulthood that kind of sucks.”

“I understand.” Maryam said. “But Sonya, as an adult, you have a lot of freedoms to do things that kids don’t. One of those freedoms is you can always choose to keep feeling like a kid. It’s okay to watch cute shows and have a stuffed bear– nobody can tell you different!”

Maryam only half-understood the pain Shalikova felt at that moment.

However, the solidarity was enough to patch up Shalikova’s broken heart just a bit more.

Enough that she could stop crying, at least.

And think a bit more clearly again.

Just like Zasha– as an adult, Shalikova had chosen to fight. She had chosen it.

So some other kids could get to grow up with her favorite cartoon.

Maybe someday she could sit down and truly enjoy it again.

“Thank you, Maryam. Do you want to see any more?” Shalikova asked.

“Not if it’s going to make you cry.” Maryam said. “I don’t want you to feel bad.”

She was so gentle– Shalikova felt like she might cry again, but because of Maryam’s love.

“No, I’ll be fine. If you want, you can even tease me for it.”

“Never! Sonya liking cute things is something I deeply respect!”

Maryam looked down at Comrade Fuzzy for a moment and then back at the screen.

“You noticed?” Shalikova said. She held up Comrade Fuzzy and offered it to Maryam.

Surprised, Maryam gently picked up Comrade Fuzzy and hugged it as Shalikova had been.

“Comrade Fuzzy was my ‘Comrade’.” Shalikova said. “I learned to sew to make him.”

“That’s so cool, Sonya.” Maryam said. “What is he like? Did you give him a story?”

“I think he’s a grumpy guts like me, and he learns to lighten up.” Shalikova said.

“I want to make my own Comrade! Can you teach me sometime, Sonya?” Maryam asked.

“Of course. I don’t know when we’ll get sewing supplies, but I’m happy to teach you.”

Maryam’s smile was like the sun that Shalikova would otherwise never see.

She raised her arms and threw them around Maryam, pulling her in close.

Perhaps they made an odd pair, and the circumstances of their romance were tenuous.

But Shalikova loved her so much. She truly loved every second of her presence.

Without Maryam, Shalikova felt that perhaps, her life would have ended in Goryk.

Selene Anahid would have crushed her, because she had not learned how to live.

Maryam helped her to see the value in her own life. She had been through so much hardship and abandoned everything she once knew– but she continued to smile and laugh.

Shalikova wanted to live, just like her.

Not as a martyr making up for her own existence– but as a person who wanted to exist.

A person who could live and be happy.

Even when it hurt.

“Maryam, if something were to happen to me– take care of Comrade Fuzzy.”

She had been wanting to say something different– but that was what came out of her lips.

Maryam seemed to get the message even in code.

Returning Shalikova’s embrace as tightly as it had been given.

“Of course, Sonya. But I know you’re much more resilient than you think.”

“Thank you Maryam. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Shalikova started weeping into Maryam’s shoulder.

While Maryam continued to smile and shower her in her kind and gentle affection.


“There we go. You’re so much more stable now!”

Homa held Kalika’s hands tightly as they walked together up and down the medbay.

Without fanfare, after a few rounds, Kalika softened her hold on Homa’s hands.

“I will let go until the wall, okay? But I’m still here, and I can still support you.”

Homa watched Kalika’s fingers slowly let go of her hands.

She did not fall and tumble forward; nor did Kalika disappear from her sight instantly.

For several paces, Homa walked unassisted.

Her gait was not the most collected and elegant, but she was stable and steady.

At the far end of the medbay, Kalika gave Homa room to walk to the wall.

Homa walked past, put her hand on the wall, and turned herself around on her own power.

She started walking by herself back to Kalika’s side.

“Are you feeling okay? No soreness in your legs? Feet don’t feel slippery?”

“I’m doing okay.”

“Want to take my hands again?”

Homa shook her head.

“Let me see if I can get to the other end.” She said.

Kalika nodded her acknowledgment and let her walk past.

Watching cautiously, shadowing Homa as she tried to walk to the opposite wall.

Step by careful step, still dealing with the slight difference in weight of her new limb.

With the wall coming closer and closer in sight, Homa felt her heart rise.

She stretched out her arm to touch the opposing wall–

and inadvertently crossed one foot with the other.

Before she could fall, a pair of hands took hold of her and kept her up.

“You’re doing amazing, Homa!” Kalika cheered, ignoring the fall.

Homa did not grumble or get depressed at the fall.

She sighed to herself and felt a little embarrassed but she recognized her own progress.

A week ago she thought she might never move under her own power again.

Now she was so close to walking by herself. Dr. Kappel and Kalika had been right.

Making progress with walking buoyed her heart, even though she still had a lot to think about. All the things she had been through felt easier to stomach if at the end of it she could still walk and feed herself and regain some kind of power over her own life.

She could eat with utensils in both hands now, or hold a drink while she had a spork in the other; when she went to shower, she could walk along with Kalika, balancing herself on the wall or holding Kalika’s hand if she got too unbalanced; and she had gotten to know a bit more of the ship. Kalika took her to the cafeteria and the social space.

Now as she sat on the edge of her bed in the medbay, everything felt closer to a resolution.

Or at least, to the next step in her journey.

Nobody forced her to do anything; but Homa felt a mounting pressure to make a choice.

A pressure she exerted upon herself. Wary of her caretakers; unsure of her future.

“Kalika, you’re a mercenary, right?” Homa asked.

“Oh? What’s this about?” Kalika looked amused. “Well. It’s more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s more complicated’? Are they paying you or not?”

Kalika laughed a bit. “Theoretically. Perhaps I’m more of a consultant on retainer.”

Homa frowned. “Don’t be coy with me! Is someone paying you to take care of me?”

“I feel like you’ve concocted ten different ways to ask this by now.” Kalika said. “Technically I am supposed to be paid for everything I am doing. But if I asked Erika for every pfennig she would become insolvent. Having a self-sufficient crew who looks out for each other is its own reward. As for you, I already told you a million times, I am just being nice to you.”

“I’m sorry you’re so fed up of me asking questions. Maybe I’ll stop.” Homa grumbled.

“What if I said you’ve really helped me work on my patience? Would you accept that?”

Kalika smiled. Homa averted her gaze, not appreciating the humor one bit.

“Are you afraid that if they stop paying me I’ll just ditch you immediately?” Kalika asked.

Homa continued looking the other way and did not answer her immediately.

“Haven’t I earned a little bit more trust than that?” Kalika asked again.

“Kalika, I don’t know anything about you other than you’re nice to me for no reason.”

“But I already told you my reasons so many times.”

“Okay?”

“It’s because you’re so cute, you know?”

“Stop it. I’m being serious.”

“Alright. Let’s talk about me then. Are you curious about the mercenary life?”

Kalika moved from the wall to take a seat right beside Homa on the bed.

Homa’s small tail stood on end and her ears lifted with surprise.

She mustered the willpower not to meet Kalika’s eyes.

“Maybe I am. I don’t know what’s going to become of me with all of you scoundrels.”

“Weighing your options?”

“Maybe I am!”

“Then I can be your career counselor for the mercenary life. How about it?”

No answer from Homa.

“If you’re curious about being a Volkisch informant, I can find a counselor for that too.”

Homa snapped right around to lock eyes with Kalika in a sudden outburst.

“Kalika! I was just mad that day– I didn’t actually mean that, come on!”

Kalika poked Homa’s nose with a long index finger of her biological hand.

“Ugh! Don’t treat me like a little kid! You’re just pissing me off!”

“I’m just substantiating my claim– I’m helping you because you’re so cute.”

“Kalika!”

THIS WOMAN–!

Perhaps knowing she was pushing her luck, Kalika allowed Homa to stew a few minutes. Homa was annoyed, but she was also experiencing a conflicting emotion. She wanted to actually believe Kalika’s teasing because she truly did not want Kalika to abandon her as soon as she job was done and Homa was able to be independent again.

Homa felt that it was stupid to feel so attached to Kalika, whom she did not know and who was assisting her on a condition of pity for her health. In the dire situation she found herself in, where she was on a fighting ship that was antagonizing the governing faction in Rhinea, Homa had to think carefully about whether to leave or stay aboard. However, even knowing this rationally, she still wanted to stay with Kalika. She was– curious– about her.

She also knew all of her fantasies would be difficult to fulfill.

Could she even keep up with Kalika at all? If she stayed, wouldn’t they still be separated?

Homa was useless in a fight and only barely an adult.

Kalika was a dashing mercenary.

She was older, more experienced, and lived for danger.

Their worlds had briefly collided– but staying on the ship did not guarantee anything.

However, leaving the ship meant leaving her behind for good.

Never seeing her again. Foreclosing on the possibility.

Not only Kalika either. Dr. Kappel, to whom she owed so much for her care.

Captain Korabiskaya too, who had taken her aboard without reservation.

And the pilots who saved her after Nasser had parried her childish retaliation so easily.

When she thought about it, she owed the entire crew so much.

Even if she had selfish reasons to stay; she also had accepted too many people’s kindness.

Homa did not believe in free things and charity– she felt pressured to repay them.

“I’m leaning toward staying aboard.” Homa said suddenly.

“Oh! I’m happy to hear that. I was worried you wouldn’t be safe by yourself.”

“I can take care of myself– I’ve always lived alone. I just want to repay all of you.”

“I understand. Look, it’s not that I don’t have faith in you. I want you to know that.” Kalika said. She looked at the wall and seemed to turn suddenly wistful. “But it’s so difficult to be turned out without a home. Especially in a tumultuous era like this. I kept thinking: could you have found a job to sustain yourself? Could you have formed a new support system so you wouldn’t be lonely and could turn to someone for help if you were hurt or exploited? Being ripped from everything you knew is terrifying. I know what that is like. But the people on this ship are good-natured. Having this community might be good for you.”

Kalika reached out and rubbed Homa’s shoulder.

“Community, huh?” Homa said, in a low voice meant mostly for herself.

“Something you can lose; but also something that spurs you to protect it.”

She sounded melancholy. Homa recalled that Kalika felt kinship with Homa’s struggles.

That she had fought for something with all her strength and lost it.

Kalika told her in the shower, when she was vulnerable. She had not forgotten it.

“Kalika, can you tell me more about yourself? How did you end up here?” Homa asked.

“I did say I would talk about myself.” Kalika said.

Then she dropped back onto the same bed as Homa, lying with her hands behind her head.

Crossing one leg over the other knee. Homa tried not to gaze in an untoward fashion.

After a few moments, Homa decided to just lay down next to Kalika too.

“You know how Katarrans come into the world, Homa? Most Katarrans are actually infertile.” Kalika began. Homa vaguely knew about this but stayed silent and let Kalika speak. “We are grown in artificial wombs. Katarran sperm and eggs are often incapable of conceiving even when collected and manipulated under the strictest conditions– but there is a technique that introduces outside material from a fertile animal, and uses chemicals to create a life in the vat. That’s how Katarrans come to be, overwhelmingly. I was no different.”

Gazing up at the ceiling as if to a place very far away.

“Kalika Loukia– was made in an Embryo Farm in Northeastern Katarre, territory of the Pythian Black Legion. Most Katarran warlord states barely have structure. They consist of armies that commandeer a region for their own benefit. Pythia was exactly that. A bunch of might-makes-right nihilists who declare their extortionism to be survival of the fittest playing out. They believe the world is drawing closer to an apocalyptic conflict between all nations and peoples, and that they must amass strength to win this battle.”

“That sounds horrifying.” Homa said. “How did you escape from there?”

“Like a lot of Katarrans in the border with the Imbrium: I was part of a raiding ship and it got knocked out in the Imbrium. I was lucky to be captured by Bureni nationalist insurgents.”

“I don’t know that I’d call sinking and being caught lucky.” Homa said.

Kalika laughed. “If I had been caught by the Imperial Navy, I would have been killed or jailed, Homa. But the Bureni insurgents were just defending one of their hideouts– they knew that Katarran youth had a hard time and did not blame the survivors for the incursion. They killed our officers and set us free. Some of the other crew joined the Bureni nationalists even. I trained there for a time, but I went my own way after that– that’s how I started my career. In the Imbrium you hear all kinds of stories abouts Katarrans who make their own way in the underworld. Amassing riches, building their own crew, and forging their legend. Even among the outcasts in Buren I could not escape the allure of the Katarran fantasy.”

She turned her head aside to try to meet Homa’s eyes, but Homa was staring at the ceiling.

When she realized it, Homa tried to suppress her embarrassment and turned to look at her.

Meeting her eyes and trying not to feel nervous as her glossy red lips moved.

“Can you predict how that went, Homa?” Kalika said.

“I assume it went fine, since you’re here?” Homa said.

“Well, I am alive, but did I forge a legend? The reality is that mercenaries don’t become legendary, Homa. A legend is just a tall tale– Katarrans just get used and abused. Whether we exploit each other, or get used by the Imbrians, it makes no difference. A mercenary doesn’t actually work for herself. She is just a vagrant with a story she tells to herself. She is a slave whose chains are invisible. We are inexorably outlawed from decent society. From town to town, job to job, all that changes is how bad the racism gets, and how developed the parallel structures of the underworld are. I learned that the hard way.”

“Kreuzung was particularly racist.” Homa said. “I barely ever saw Katarrans around.”

“Right. In Kreuzung, I could dare to walk around the same streets as Imbrians, getting dirty looks– but if a cop saw me they might ask for an ID I don’t have and can’t get, so I have to be careful. Businesses will reject my patronage arbitrarily. Sometimes a place will take my money, sometimes it won’t. I could never get a legitimate room, and I could only work a job under the table, without legal protections. If I do not relish being an undocumented migrant worker my only alternative is the underworld, in the darkest corners of a station that have not seen civil use in forever. Down there if we learn the ropes nobody will teach us, we can smuggle goods, play the black market, push drugs, or kill people. Maybe you can open a shop or a bar for other bastards to enjoy, if you can pay protection money and get goods. Most Katarrans will just die– never taught how to live, and then exploited and killed.”

A grim story, but one that made sense to Homa, once it was laid out in detail.

Homa figured that Kalika must have somehow learned how to survive in the underworld.

All the specifics she did not go into– were the things she had to do to live.

She wondered how many Katarrans fled to the Imbrium only to find this kind of life there.

And then to die without being known by anyone, or missed by anyone.

“Again, I was pretty lucky– before I could get into too much shit, I was rescued again.”

Lying on their sides on the bed, facing each other– Homa could barely meet Kalika’s eyes.

She was too embarrassed to see her smile. Kalika was just– too pretty–

“My path crossed that of a Shimii legend– Radu the Marzban.” Kalika said.

Homa tried to hide the surprise that came over her upon hearing that name.

Her heart skipped a beat. All manner of emotions began to flutter in her chest and gut.

Homa in that moment was so afraid she might have to talk about her own connection.

Had Kalika seen it in her? She did not change her expression nor how she told the story.

“I became part of a Shimii village for years. It was a Mahdist group, actually, at the bottom of one of the towers of Holstein.” Kalika continued. “I learned to do all kinds of things there– things other than killing. I also got to refine my craft as a fighter too– I picked things up here and there from every place. There are too many stories to tell from there. How do you sum it up? That place– it’s where I learned what a community was. People taking care of each other. Grocers who saw you were hungry would give you a snack. You could go to the Masjid and learn to read. They had so much hospitality even for unruly Katarran teenagers.”

Kalika shut her eyes and sighed. Her expression darkened.

“Eventually, though– well, I think you’ve heard my insinuations about it already.”

“That community was destroyed, wasn’t it? And you couldn’t save it.”

Homa said it bluntly, but she was repeating what Kalika had said in the shower.

Kalika did not look offended by it.

“That’s right.” She said. “You understand– that is why I relate to you a lot.”

Homa felt a sudden swell of shame and embarrassment and she wanted to say–

“I am not like you. You fought for something real– I was just being stupid and naive.”

But she remained quiet. She did not want to sound so pathetic in front of Kalika.

And it was Kalika’s story to tell– if she thought it sounded like Homa’s, so be it.

“Anyway, I used what I learned and became a real mercenary in Rhinea. I knew the rules and I told myself I knew how the world worked. For a while, I had no hope in anything anymore. I’d take any job, no matter how bad. I developed a reputation for being particularly professional, because I had no pretensions anymore. I was fully immersed in the life. It was a dark time for me. To this day– it still feels weird that I’m alive, after all of that. I can still feel that hopelessness and listlessness. That kind of thing will keep haunting you, I’m afraid.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. You’ve been really kind to me.” Homa said.

“You’ve been seeing a particularly nice side of me.” Kalika winked. “I can be kinda awful. I know that my crew thinks I am cynical and faithless and pretentious. I probably am.”

Kalika turned on the bed again, lying on her back once more and staring at the ceiling.

She reached her mechanical hand up and flexed her fingers, blocking out the ceiling LEDs.

“I ended up here– because I took on a contract to kill a foolish merc named Erika Kairos.”

Homa blinked. She was confused. That was the big boss everyone here worked for.

“So perhaps they have reason to be wary. But– I’m here because despite all the things I stopped believing in, I started believing that woman.” Kalika added, laughing a bit.

She then outstretched a hand and laid it on Homa’s ears, stroking them suddenly.

“Now that you know– I hope you’ll excuse my rougher edges if you see them.”

Even before hearing all that– Homa could have never stayed mad at Kalika too long.

Now that she knew though, her heart positively fluttered with admiration for her.

To have survived so much, gotten stronger and continued smiling.

Could Homa do something like that? How alike were the two of them really?

As she lay beside her in that bed, staring up at the ceiling together.

Homa wondered. Whether she could follow her.


“It’s so disgraceful how you will come all the way here to be able to drink.”

There was a voice coming from behind her that she did not want to acknowledge.

So Khadija simply lifted the can of corn beer to her lips and took a deep drink from it.

“It’s not illegal here, that’s why I came here to drink. It’s not grape wine, so who cares?”

“Yes, the selective readings of fringe scholars are very convenient to you, I know.”

“What’s one mortal man’s reading of scripture over another’s worth?”

“You become such a philosopher exclusively when it’s time to justify your vices.”

Khadija looked over her shoulder. It was impossible not to identify her accuser already.

There was a blond woman behind her, with a stern expression, and a very bushy tail.

Younger than her. Less makeup. Fluffy ears. Still pretty, in an annoying fashion.

And all the pretentious little ornaments on her uniform. Her stupid little beret.

Milana Omarova, the vozhd of the Shimii troops in the Union.

She had followed Khadija all the way from New Karach to a neighboring sub-station some thirty kilometers away, Sarai sub-station. A dock for patrol frigates, housing a search and rescue team and a few repair facilities, responsible for supporting the endurance of patrol missions on the southern border. It also had an officer’s lounge that was stocked with beer and every so often a cute younger officer would show up for her to wink at and tease.

Owing to the vozhd’s reign of moral terror in New Karach, alcohol was banned there.

However, Sarai was secular, run by nice communist Volgians who liked to drink.

Thankfully for Khadija’s vibe as the friendly, mature beauty of Sarai, the station was usually somewhat empty and so while she was sitting down at the lounge, there was nobody to see her get scolded by Milana Omarova. It was just her, the machine that spat out beer cans, and four baby-blue walls and a couple of tables. She had been hoping some sweetie would come in from a patrol frigate but instead, it was her “younger sister” Milana being a nag.

An utter waste!

“I don’t want to argue with you. What do you want?” Khadija said.

At that point, Milana sat down next to her.

Khadija did not meet her eyes. She continued drinking.

“You’re wasting your life here, elder sister, when our kin need you.” Milana said.

“I’m doing perfectly fine. I recently won a big battle even– what did you do then, hmm?”

“I did as I was ordered. You didn’t waste a second going back to drink, rather than see me.”

“Oh I wonder why that is. I wonder why I tarried in receiving my weekly scolding.”

Milana narrowed her eyes. “Come to New Karach and train my troops. I need you there.”

Khadija burst out laughing. She almost spat out her beer at her idiot sister’s face.

“Are you insane? I’d rather fight battles of Thassal for a year. No! Fuck no!”

Milana put on a more serious expression– a differently serious expression.

Even nearly drunk, Khadija could see the shift in her eyes and lips.

“Nagavanshi is summoning you back to Thassal, to send you to the Imbrium.” Milana said.

“Indeed. A glorious mission isn’t it? I’m a very important person.” Khadija said.

“You’re a big-headed person.” Milana said. “Say no. I’ll protect you. Khadija, it’s suicide.”

“Again, you must be out of your damn mind. I’d truly rather die than work for you.”

“Khadija, you’re clearly at a dead end in life and trying to destroy yourself. I can see it.”

Khadija put down the can of beer. Her chest constricted. The tips of her fingers tensed.

“You’re getting far too free with your criticisms, little sister. You should know your place.”

To Khadija she was just a bitchy little sister– she was not the vozhd of shit to her.

Despite this, Milana did not act offended at the discourtesy, like she did to her underlings.

“I’m not wrong.” Milana said. “It was a stroke of luck for you that you were even near Thassal to be deployed to our first battle in decades. Otherwise, you would have kept drinking and debasing yourself in whatever hole, doing nothing with yourself. I can’t accept that.”

“I repeat. I don’t care what you think. But I am not tolerating your disrespect any longer.”

“Come back with me.” Milana insisted. “Train our people to survive like you did! Don’t just let Nagavanshi throw you out like garbage! And don’t treat yourself like garbage either!”

Khadija practically pounced on Milana right there and then.

Both falling from their chairs, Khadija on top of Milana, squeezing the collar of her clothes.

Before she could even think of striking, however, she felt the air go out of her.

Milana struck her in the stomach, and got out from under her in a quick, fluid motion.

Now suddenly, Khadija had her face to the ground and Milana on top of her back.

There was no arm twist, no knee to her neck, no kicks– just as quickly, Milana let her go. Stepping back from her quickly, in case she retaliated, as their father trained them. Except Khadija did not keep fighting. She remained on the floor, out of breath and utterly ashamed.

“Do whatever you want.” Milana said. “On father’s birthday, I’ll visit him for you too.”

Her voice sounded so mournful. Stupid girl; if only she understood Khadija at all.

Maybe then they wouldn’t stubbornly hate each other so much despite everything–

Suddenly, the walls of the lounge stretched and warped– Milana’s voice reverberated–

Khadija opened her eyes. Light became as if particulate matter viewed through the thin film of tears that had formed between her eyelids as she slept. She wiped her eyes vigorously, casting troubled glances across her space. She was not back in the Union. She was on the Brigand. She had just been taking a nap. Her emotions were turbulent as she rose. Khadija was fed up with the past. And of all the things to remember– but she had already proven wrong Milana’s disdainful appraisal. Her story was still being written.

She was living her own way. Her life was not wasted.

Whether Milana respected that or not was her own prerogative.

Nothing to do with Khadija.

Just as she began to look around the dim room, everything lit up a sudden blue.

On the door, a picture of a soft-faced, tall woman with a lot of long, blond hair appeared.

She was requesting entry into the room, and the blue computer window was rather bright.

“Khadija, are you decent? Can I come in?” asked Sieglinde Castille.

Khadija averted her gaze. “We’re not children, just come in.”

Sieglinde walked inside, briefly looked at Khadija’s bed and quickly looked away.

Lounging in a tanktop and briefs, Khadija smiled wryly at the eros she had provoked.

“Another productive day of being a sailor?” Khadija asked.

Two meters away, Sieglinde zipped down a gray jumpsuit she had been wearing.

She pulled it off her wide shoulders and laid it on her bed.

“I’m just pushing things and picking things up. Their job is so complex, I had no idea what they go through.” Sieglinde said. She sat down on her bed, facing Khadija. For the first time since she walked in Khadija could see the smile on her face. “I don’t have any of the skills they do, but I’m glad I can do anything to help. Have you ever thought about it, Khadija? All the while, a hundred sailors are doing so much for all of us, and we barely interact with them.”

“No, I’ve never concerned myself with it. They have their role to play and I have mine.” Khadija said. “Some of them will work in the navy for years, rack up a ton of promotions, and end up running a whole supply depot or managing a shipyard team or doing all kinds of things that are more stimulating than this. And some of them do just want to fix leaks for a while, leave the army, and go do something else with the skills they picked up. They’ll work on a nice station, show up for labor union meetings, all that. None of them are just going to do manual labor on this ship forever. They’ll be fine– as for me, I have a different set of expectations. I can rest up here because I’ll be going out to die someday.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Sieglinde said. “How did you get this wise?”

“I’m not wise.” Khadija grumbled. “I’ve just been around a while.”

“I haven’t been around as long as you, but I still feel like just a stupid kid at 36.”

“Your problem is you’re a brooding wreck with zero confidence in yourself.”

“I can’t deny that. But it’s hard not to second-guess myself. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Quit navelgazing already. It’s so fucking boring.”

“Fine.” Sieglinde sighed.

“Do you want to become a sailor?” Khadija asked.

Sieglinde paused for a moment. “I don’t see a future for myself in that.”

“Well, what do you see in your future? Anything?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Tell me.”

“I will keep it to myself for now.”

“I see. Thinking about becoming a Reform National Socialist?”

“What is that supposed to mean? Don’t even joke about that.” Sieglinde said seriously.

Khadija cracked a little grin, laid back with her hands behind her head.

“The Imbrian Empire was corrupt and oppressive, of that there is no doubt.” Sieglinde said, speaking over the silence that Khadija had left. “But the Volkisch Movement have no pretense that they even want to institute a rule of law. All they want is the power to kill with impunity. I’ve see first-hand what that unholy mob wants to do to the Imbrium.”

“I appreciate your candor, but you’re looking at a victim of slavery.” Khadija said. Sieglinde’s eyes drew wide and she went quiet. She looked immediately ashamed of herself. Khadija turned in bed, shifting her body to look at Sieglinde directly. “It was not any part of the Volkisch Movement who rounded up hundreds of thousands of Shimii to put to hard labor in the colonies. Scores of us died before we had an opportunity to rebel. Those of us who survived did so watching the sick and old fall around us. That was before the time of these Lehners that run Rhinea now. Perhaps they picked this up from somewhere?”

“I’m sorry.” Sieglinde said.

“Ugh. Stop that. I don’t want you to be sorry.”

Khadija turned around her again, this time putting her back and her tail to Sieglinde.

There was a long and awkward silence between them.

Such was its length, Khadija thought she would fall asleep again waiting.

“Khadija, I’ll tell you something about myself if you’ll allow me to ask you a question.”

“Finally you’re done moping? Sure. Whatever. Tell me about the Volkisch and you.”

“Alright.” Sieglinde said. “Six years ago, a student movement broke out in Bosporus duchy over censored works. However, a loose-cannon High Inquisitor, Brauchitsch ended up escalating the conflict. It soon spread across three stations, and outside of just students.”

“That sounds about right for Bosporus.” Khadija said, laughing a little again.

Sieglinde continued. “Brauchitsch thought he could just beat everyone into submission. For all her faults even Lichtenberg was not such a meathead as he was. He fanned the flames of the violence and then retreated like a coward, giving poor direction to the police who just continued fighting like fools. It started turning into a full-on revolt very quickly. Protestors fashioned improvised weapons and shields to defend themselves. There was bleeding and bruises and a few vehicles got torched but nobody had been killed– yet.”

Khadija turned back around, to see Sieglinde’s sullen face. She looked– haunted.

“But then– there was a sudden turn in the street violence. Within the riot, a group of the Volkisch’s militia had begun to go after activists. They were armed with military weapons and were organizing raids on places where activists took shelter. Even Brauchitsch did not sanction assassinations to deal with the mess. But the Volkisch were. They went after Južni and Eloim groups first, and then went after Vekans, and then the anarchist-leaning groups. For them the breakdown in order was an opportunity to kill undesirables.”

“Obviously I agree with you that the fascists are bastards.” Khadija said. “But have you considered how convenient that situation must have been for the police? The Volkisch volunteered to suppress the activists. Tell me– did the authorities do anything?”

“There were arrests.” Sieglinde said. “But you’re right– certainly not enough.”

“Arrests in that scenario are totally meaningless, the murders already had their effect.”

“You’re right.” Sieglinde said, a note of helplessness in her voice.

“Don’t just yield that I’m right like that–” Khadija sighed. “What was your involvement?”

“There was a change in tactics. The Inquisition was drawn back and relegated to investigative duties. Norn the Praetorian took command of a Rapid Response Force and then set up heavily armed checkpoints all over the affected stations to separate the groups and ‘choke out’ the rioting. I don’t think it worked– I just think by that point the rioters didn’t have a second wind. Anyway. I was part of the forces involved. One of the checkpoints under my management responded to a Volkisch-led massacre. This was one of the few raids of theirs fully documented, responded to in progress, and yielding arrests.”

“So you had to see them in action.” Khadija said. “You got to hate them that way.”

“Yes.” Sieglinde said. “I was a fool. I didn’t realize the actual nerve-center of Volkisch activity was Rhinea until years after. I was blind-sided that the Volkisch won the elections here. But we never went after them when we could. So they got to infest this entire place.”

“From my perspective every Imbrian has a bit of that fascism in them.” Khadija said.

Sieglinde averted her gaze with a pained expression.

“You’re not actually an Imbrian right?” Khadija said. “So I’m not talking about you.”

“I mean, I guess– but I was raised like an Imbrian. Not Campos, Eloim or Južni or Volgian. And I did plenty of evil. So I really can’t dispute about myself what you claimed about them.”

“Stop it. Look– I’m sorry about painting you with such a broad brush.” Khadija said.

Sieglinde did not respond.

Khadija immediately lost the little patience that had allowed her to apologize.

“Do I have to assuage your fucking feelings about everything? All the time?”

“No.” Sieglinde’s voice trembled a little. “I’ll ask a question. Are you really a communist?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Khadija said, arranging locks of hair away from her face.

“I’m just a bit confused. You’re a Shimii, but you drink and you don’t pray–”

“Are you my younger sister all of a sudden? C’mon I pray sometimes!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to understand you better. I’d just never met a Shimii communist. I thought Shimii communities were bound primarily on a shared religion. And I thought communists hated religion and would not tolerate such things.”

“Hah! Shimii in the Imbrium barely share a religion at all.”

“If it’s a touchy subject, I can–”

“Oh shut up. Have some spine for once. Stop needling me and then retreating.”

Sieglinde frowned and seemed to finally lose her temper. “Fine then. Khadija, where do you come from? Who even are you? I want to know on what grounds do you always judge me!”

Almost as soon as she raised her voice Sieglinde seemed to look horrified with herself.

Hearing the shouting almost in her chest was a strangely satisfying feeling for Khadija.

She smiled, utterly unoffended by this display. “That’s better. Sure. I’ll tell you.”

Leaving Sieglinde briefly perplexed as to her expression, Khadija sat up in her bed. She pulled her blankets around herself, such that her face, framed by her hair, and her unbrushed ears, were all that stuck out of the little mound of blankets. Getting comfortable.

She laid back against the wall and thought about where to start.

Or really, how to abbreviate her life enough for this fraught conversation.

“I was born in the Imbrium, just after Mehmed’s Jihad. During the Jihad, several prominent Shimii families supported Mehmed. He had accumulated enormous wealth and had prestige as an effective fighter against the Imbrians. Mahdists sided with Mehmed in far greater numbers than Rashidun. We wanted to believe he could free us all. My family, the Al-Shajara family, were prominent in Shimii ethnic politics, and staunchly backed Mehmed. After he was assassinated, the Jihad was over– his lieutenants and supporters scattered. During this time, many Mahdist clans were targeted for reprisals, as punishment for the Jihad. The Nasser family led many such reprisals; to mutual destruction. They lost elders and children, and we lost them too. Eye for an eye. It was then that the Mahdists were truly driven out– first out of Rhinea and soon out of everywhere in the Imbrium. The Imbrians came up with a much more effective solution for us than the Nasser family declaring blood feuds.”

Khadija looked over Sieglinde’s face to find her brief flicker of fury had sputtered out.

She listened quietly to what Khadija had to say and had no interjections.

“I survived a bit longer in the Imbrium though. I wasn’t old enough to understand a damn thing when my family sent me away. I was taken in by the Omarov family in Bosporus, at first. They did not become involved with Mehmed directly, but they had connections to the Mahdist families both through religion and through clandestine business. Even after the first punitive enslavements of Mahdists, the Omarov family stayed bold. The Omarovs back then were smugglers and mercenaries and just generally mafiosi. But if the Imbrians fucked with us, we fucked with them right back. My adoptive father, Mogliv Omarov was viewed one of the last heroes of the Shimii for this. Back then, if you resisted the Imbrians or committed reprisals on them, you would make a legend for yourself. We all wanted to cheer for every Imbrian we might see dead. We really thought that was making a difference.”

“Eventually, though, Mogliv Omarov started getting ideas.” Khadija continued. “He was not much of a theory reader, but he made some odd acquaintances and had some odd conversations. Daksha Kansal; Elias Ahwalia; Bhavani Jayasankar; these people started coming and going in the underworld for more than money. They were planning something big– and they all failed. Mogliv Omarov failed with them. I and everyone I knew, we were all enslaved and sent to the colonies if we were not killed. But the funny thing is– the Imbrians enslaved all the weird people, like the Bosporans and Shimii. They executed Imbrian communists– those were the people they saw as dangerous. Someone like me was a commodity, not a threat. Without an Imbrian to lead me, I could not have been dangerous to the regime right? But they were dead wrong, about everything. So here I am now. To answer your question: yes, I am a communist. I read the books my father did not, and just like him, I came to agree with their view of how the world could be better. But I will always be my father’s inferior, because he did not have to read a damn thing to have that hope.”

Khadija took in a deep breath. It almost felt good to have been able to say all of that.

Perhaps, she herself had been needing to recontextualize all of that, for her own mind.

“So that’s who I am, Sieglinde Castille. I am a Shimii communist. No, I do not follow Shimii religious doctrine to the letter. I’ve already said it before that if God pulls me down to hell for not having prayed enough after everything I’ve been through then I will accept my lot. But until then, I’ll live my life the way I want. Does that satisfy you?”

There was a creaking from the opposite bed. Its occupant had stood suddenly.

Sieglinde bowed her head deeply in response to Khadija’s story.

Tears from her eyes falling copiously onto the cold metal floor.

She did not say those hated words, ‘I’m sorry,’ that Khadija did not want to hear.

But her whole body was saying such things without her voice.

Khadija lacked the conviction to try to move her from it again.

This time she simply, quietly, accepted the apology from the once-Red Baron.

Even though Shimii did not tolerate bowing– this time, she would just let it pass.

Even though– she had some tears in her own eyes after recalling that heavy past.


On the night before their arrival at Aachen, just as Ulyana felt like she might doze off–

There arrived a message. Picked up over ultra-low frequency– a message from the Union.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it!” Semyonova said cheerfully.

She and Fatima cooperated to compile such messages and deliver them to the Captain. An enormous underground facility created these messages by sending data through shockwaves in Aer’s crust that could be picked up thousands of kilometers away. Only ships with specialized equipment could even detect that such messages were being sent. And to any ship other than the Brigand, it was impossible to make sense of them, since the messages were encrypted for software only the specific recipient would possess.

“Captain, it appears this message is intended for you and the Commissar’s eyes only.”

Semyonova folded a stone-paper printout with the message and handed it to Ulyana.

After being printed, all traces of the message were deleted automatically by the computer.

A top-secret message– it was already stressing Ulyana and she had not even read it.

“Commissar, let’s retreat to our quarters. It’s late. We can read the message in privacy.”

“Good idea. I’m reaching my limit.” Aaliyah said, stretching out her arms and tail.

“I can handle the change in shift.” Erika said, waving goodbye. “Have a good rest.”

Ulyana and Aaliyah took their leave from the bridge.

In Ulyana’s hand that piece of stone-paper folded up felt like it would take her arm down.

She felt its weight all the way down the hall. She was silent.

As if she had to concentrate on carrying it.

Nagavanshi had not messaged them in so long. Last time, it was a VIP mission.

One that led to all manner of difficulties, and resulted in an inconclusive reward.

(Except perhaps to a certain Sonya Shalikova.)

But it was not bitterness toward potential meddling that bothered Ulyana then.

Rather– the fact that this message was for her eyes and the Commissar’s only.

When Nagavanshi had something to conceal, it was never good.

“Captain, you’re looking terribly nervous.” Aaliyah said.

“You can tell?”

“Anyone can. Please relax. Whatever this is, we’ll deal with it together.”

Aaliyah reached out and squeezed the hand carrying the paper message.

With that touch, it felt like Aaliyah was single-handedly helping her lift a mountain.

Once they arrived at their room, they huddled in the center between bed and desk.

Ulyana spread open the folded paper and read the message:

REMEMBER THE YOUNG AND SIMPLE MAIDEN

LET THEM HEAR HOW SHE NOW SINGS

–SWAN, IGNORE MISSIVES WITHOUT LOVE

–BEWARE THE HERON AND HAWK

“What does this mean? Are you supposed to be the swan?” Aaliyah asked.

Ulyana was briefly speechless reading the message.

It had been so long–

“It’s full of old codes between Nagavanshi and I.” Ulyana hesitated to explain, but she needed Aaliyah to understand more than she needed to uphold the privacy between herself and Nagavanshi. “When Nagavanshi wants to send something only to me, she sends lyrics from a folk song, and refers to them as ‘missives with love’. That’s how I know it is from her and that it is not someone else. We also refer to people as birds– I’m the swan.”

Aaliyah blinked with confusion. “Then who are the Heron and Hawk?”

“Heron is Admiral Andreeva Vlasovskaya, of the 26th Fleet.”

“I can’t believe this. So there is some conspiracy within the 26th again?”

“And the Hawk is Admiral Geranium Zvereva of the 18th Fleet.”

Aaliyah raised a hand to her forehead like she had a sudden headache.

“What is this supposed to mean? How could these people contact us?”

Ulyana sighed. “I don’t know. I think Nagavanshi wants me to be aware that there is some kind of plot. I don’t think it’s something she thinks she’ll gain anything from. We’re not going to be turning around– I think she just wants me to be aware as a friend, perhaps.”

“Thinking about how the time has passed, it’s almost Bhavani Jayasankar’s reappraisal by the Council.” Aaliyah said. “Could it be the Ahwalians are going to try something then?”

Ulyana felt if she heard any more of this speculation she would explode.

“There’s nothing we can do about it but lose sleep over it.” Ulyana said. “Damn it.”

She crumpled the note in her hands, feeling helpless.

“You’re right.” Aaliyah said. “What we can do is continue our mission. That’s it.”

Ulyana sighed. “That always seems to be our only answer to any problem.”

Aaliyah reached out again and held Ulyana’s hands. She met her eyes.

“You’re not alone, Ulyana. We can deal with this together as it unfolds.” She said.

Hard as it was to breathe calmly in the face of what she could be facing–

Well, if more unexpected blows fell upon her, at least Aaliyah was on her side.

All they could do was keep fighting the war they were given, in the now.

And pray that the situation at home would not escalate.


“Final approach!” Helmsman Kamarik called out. “Take in the beautiful scenery!”

“E.T.A. 30 minutes at reduced speed! Contacting the Stockheide tower!” Semyonova said.

“We’re finally here, huh.” Ulyana said, laying back on her chair and deflating.

“It’ll only get more complicated from now on Captain.” Aaliyah reminded her.

In the distance, the station complex of Aachen finally came into view.

After over a week of travel, the Brigand had finally arrived at its next fated destination. Accompanied as before by the Rostock; and the John Brown, its crew unanimous in joining the Volksarmee against the Volkisch. In Aachen, the fleet would take part in the final deliberations of the United Front, and plot the shape of their anti-fascist campaign.

Within the fleet, there was excitement and trepidation in equal measure.

Aachen was much humbler in size than the massive Kreuzung and its enormous towers, and it had a simpler layout. However, that did not make its architecture any less striking. Aachen had a central tower with an interesting design– a central spire abutted by two supporting wings that enveloped the main tower at different heights. This made the central spire appear as if an art piece, the middle of a curling wave of metal. In addition to the central complex, there was also the Stockheide seaport, a squat and very wide tower attached to the main spire by trams. It was situated in the near southwest of the central complex. On the opposite side of Aachen was a habitation tower also connected by tram tubes.

All of this architecture was framed by the enormous underwater mount against which the Aachen complex was set. In the distant past the mountain was mined for precious minerals, and there was still some mining that transpired within, though dwarfed in volume by the richer veins of Rhein-Sieg-Kries in the central southwest. This access to precious minerals, including some rare metals and even agarthicite, made the Aachen Massif a source of early wealth for the Imbrian Empire’s historical development. It also led to the development of Aachen’s shipbuilding tradition and in turn, to the growth in influence of the Stockheide Shipbuilder’s Guild, a strong labor union within the shipyard and drydocks.

“Gloria and I have contacts in Stockheide.” Erika said, waving a hand toward the main screen on the Brigand’s bridge. “We can dock the Rostock and have its presence concealed by the Guild. The John Brown is not a problem– the Republic fleet docked in there for weeks before they rejected Gloria’s offer to join a United Front. However, the Rostock will not be able to take part in any commercial dealings or pick up any supplies, because it will have to dock in a Guild workspace and stay there in hiding. So we will depend on all of you to run some errands for us. Hopefully that will not be much of an issue. I am sorry to trouble you.”

“Of course it won’t be a problem.” Ulyana said. “We pledged to follow your orders.”

“You can leave the restocking to us– we’ll need funds, however.” Aaliyah added.

“Funds I can help with.” Erika said, smiling. “I’ll also see if Gloria might assist as well.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Olga added, crossing her arms and lowering her head.

“It’s fine nevertheless. I amassed quite a tidy sum through the years.” Erika said.

Ulyana and Aaliyah smiled and sat back, watching the final approach.

Traffic to Aachen was sparser than the traffic at Kreuzung.

There were less ships coming and going from the shipyard. However, these ships were usually larger supply ships that resembled the Brigand outwardly. There was also a beautiful luxury cruise ship that began departing the main seaport and moved close to the Brigand on its exit from Stockheide. And for a moment, Semyonova and Fatima had a twinkle in their eyes as they vocally fantasized about going on a pleasure cruise together.

Moving closer to the Stockheide tower, the delineations between the hundreds of berths on the outer hull of the tower became visible. The Brigand and its flotilla coordinated with Stockheide tower to descend into the Guild’s berths on the eastern side of the seaport complex. Enormous steel doors opened to allow each ship in the fleet into a Berth just large enough for a Cruiser. The Brigand and Rostock were next to each other and the John Brown was situated one tier below. All of them could access the Guild facilities.

Docking clamps held the Brigand anchored to the berth and lifted it aloft as the water drained. A boarding chute attached the ship to the port. Past the outer steel doors and frameworks, the interior walls were made of thick glass, allowing the crew to look through the cameras and see long lines of ships to either side and even below. It was an interesting visual effect. All of the seaport facilities were deeper inside the complex– it was all berths across the exterior. So the Brigand would largely be resting within its berth while the crew took care of business with the Guild while on foot inside of the complex.

“Alright. We’ve got a lot to do.” Ulyana said. “Let’s convene a planning meeting–”

On the main screen, the predictor computer suddenly started flashing a yellow box.

That was usually painted over targets that could pose a threat, based on prediction data.

“What’s the computer’s problem?” Ulyana asked. “Did it spot some Imperial ship classes?”

Zachikova shook her head. “I reprogrammed it after the false positives on the Rostock.”

“So then what is it seeing? Pull up the camera feeds and let it complete the target paint.”

On the main screen, the camera picture of the seaport wall disappeared.

Instead, the yellow target was being painted by one of the starboard-side cameras.

On a Ritter-class– but it was triggering because this Ritter-class had been seen before.

It was not a false positive– it was a known enemy.

Ulyana blinked as the target designation appeared. “Wait– oh no. No fucking way.”

Aaliyah lifted her hands to her face and kicked her feet on her seat.

“Hmm. This might complicate things. I’ll disembark first, Captain.” Erika said.

“I’ll disembark with.” Olga said, with a deep, troubled sigh.

Everyone on the bridge watched the screen with dumbstruck horror.

Their neighboring berth was occupied by a ship known by the computer and the crew.

Long and ‘sword-shaped’, the Ritter-class Antenora— flagship of Norn the Praetorian.

Unbeknownst to either until the very last moment, their paths had crossed once again.


Previous ~ Next

Bandits Amid The Festival [11.12]

While the festival’s most passionate attractions played out within the habitats of the station, Kreuzung’s interstice was not untouched by the music; in that venue, the melody and drumbeat had its own unique pace. When the core separation’s began to spread through Kreuzung, a number of humble maintenance personnel and disgruntled security staff were cast into complete darkness within the station’s numerous maintenance shafts, floodbreaks, and internal cargo elevators and conveyors. Those dark crevices became their venue.

As in the habitats, some of the principal revelers were the men and women (though mainly men) of the Kreuzung Public Security Department. Kreuzung’s police began as a private security force slowly replacing the retainers of the nobility in guarding the ports and villas, primarily in the payroll of the noveau rich. Legitimated by liberalization brought on by the purses of the capitalists, it became a formality to renew their contract, and they were renamed– they were organized as a Department of the Kreuzung government.

More than mercenaries, they became the law, as the station’s inhabitats suffered it.

The K.P.S.D had a lot riding on the proper conclusion of the festivities.

Despite the fervent denials from the corporations in charge of Kreuzung’s utilities and core power, it was immediately clear to the K.P.S.D. that foul play was involved in the core separation and its ensuing festival of carnage. When the government issued a station lock-down, the K.P.S.D was already rushing to enforce one. Not in Kreuzung’s main seaport, where millions of marks worth of lucrative business relations and K.P.S.D. racketeering could be jeopardized: instead, the effort was concentrated on securing the interstice and the private ports. Part of the hope was that from the lockdown areas, they could find ways to get around the hostage situation within the core shaft.

In Kreuzung’s largest tunnels, the K.P.S.D had room to deploy some of their heavier equipment, budgeted for but hardly ever used outside of drills. Several checkpoints were established, where mobile barricades mounted on armored trucks blocked access and served as platforms for grenade launchers and heavy machine guns. Shoulder-fired explosive missiles were stocked in piles behind each barricade. Each checkpoint had at least a platoon’s worth of men, and all of them felt quite proud in their riot armor and heavy weapons.

For some of the men, this presented a chance to show-up the Volkisch’s forces in Kreuzung, particularly the Sicherheitsdienst, Landwehr militia and the advance forces of the Stabswache, all of which rivaled the K.P.S.D. in recent months. Not necessarily to protect their patrons in the A-block government; but to continue to enjoy the privileges of being Kreuzung’s premier security force. Turning out in force, in excessive force, would show the fancy-uniformed fascists in their little offices and barracks who ruled Kreuzung’s streets, who pocketed Kreuzung’s cash; they were not going to allow a repeat of the election night skirmishes.

It would show Kreuzung itself– you need the K.P.S.D.

You need to pass new and bigger K.P.S.D. budgets. You need to raise K.P.S.D. recruitment, and relax K.P.S.D. regulations, raise a K.P.S.D. fleet. You need to tolerate K.P.S.D. rackets. The Volkisch Movement might do the job for free, but they won’t do it right. They let the core separation happen; and after saving the station, it would be the moment where the K.P.S.D. advertised themselves as an utterly essential product. They would be the ones taking away the strongbox at the end of the festival, and divvying up the donated coins alone.

“Oh! So that is what the hominins are doing. Tristitia understands now.”

Hundreds of slim, pale tentacles exited from as many orifices on an armor-wearing corpse, dropping the ragged mass of mutilated flesh into onto the wet floor of a maintenance shaft. Before it even hit the ground, a soft, jelly-like body began to glide over the shallow water and around the tunnels with a speed and adroitness alien to its messy body plan, as if floating in an invisible ocean. Its surface brimmed with color like a living oil slick.

Her mission continued.

Armed with information, though not necessarily understanding.

“Tristitia will just use these hominin! The hominin will stop the heretic for Tristitia.”


“Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather. Rottenführer in the Sicherheitsdienst.

“Murati Nakara. I’m a cargo operations manager for Treasure Box Transports.”

She could let this woman know her name. She was not intending to let her walk away.

Whether or not Aatto knew her name was the least of her potential problems.

For the Brigand to escape, it was necessary to disable her and her men.

And do it quickly.

Murati felt the chill of cold sweat tracing a line down her back, and between her breasts.

In the midst of the Core Separation, Alcor’s module reminded her of when she used to live in Thassal. Her housing block’s power would be knocked out by faulty power conduits or junction boxes every so often. It was cold, the lights would be blinking, and it made her mindful of her breathing, as if it was actually possible to ration breath and thus breathe for longer. She was in the same situation– cold, sweaty, minding her breathing with an annoyingly deliberate mental effort. She was quite far from Thassal station, however.

Standing in front of what purported to be the station authority in Kreuzung.

But they were not coming to save her or assist her. Far from it.

She had to think about the situation carefully.

Opposite Murati stood Aatto Jarvi Stormyweather, a member of the Volkisch’s national intelligence service, the Sicherheitsdienst or Security Service. Her rank, Rottenführer, was roughly equivalent to the Union’s ‘Chief Petty Officer.’ This rank sat below that of an officer, but for a sailor, and in this case, for a technical expert or support servicewoman, this was a high rank, the next step being a commission. Murati had some awareness that within the Sicherheitsdienst this rank fulfilled important analytical work with security clearances.

It also clearly entailed some field command, with Aatto at the head of a squadron.

Murati tried to get a read on her opponent, in the moments of their mutual introductions. Aatto was– she looked like– an exceedingly lovely-looking woman. Murati had cultivated an anti-materialist and naïve idea (she began berating herself mentally)– that the fascists would all be foul of countenance as they were of heart, enormous pig-like men and warped-looking women like cartoon characters. She felt embarassed– Aatto had a perfectly comely face, her bangs were very neat, her hair was lustrous and wavy, and she wore a discrete and tasteful amount of makeup. Her eyes and expression were terribly conceited. She looked awfully amused with herself, as if going through life with an air of casual dismissal.

Her distasteful uniform was undoubtedly clean, and worn with fastidious tidiness.

She carried no sidearm. She must not have expected any resistance tonight.

Already, Murati was thinking to herself. There might be a way out of this confrontation.

Formed of both ethereal things, like Aatto’s appearance; and her concrete position.

She just needed the space to create an opportunity.

“Rottenführer, is it standard procedure to point guns at legitimate businesspersons?”

Murati asked. She thought it was a good tack to take.

Behind her, Tigris remained quiet.

Aatto responded to the inquiry calmly.

Peering briefly at Tigris and then at Murati again.

Her way of enunciating was clear and confident without pauses or slips of the tongue.

“There was an order to shelter in place, as well as orders not to leave the station.”

“I apologize for what must seem like a disorderly scene, Rottenführer, but I am afraid that we are on a tight schedule. We are completing maintenance on our ship. We have a contract and are part of a tight operation– any further delay will be catastrophic to our company.”

“Be that as it may, this much activity during a shelter-in-place is impermissible.”

“Can an exception be made? We will lose our contract if we are not ready in time.”

“That is none of my concern. I was sent here to inspect, and I found an irregularity.”

Aatto did not look to be in a hurry to push Murati aside. She continued talking to her.

“Rottenführer, I must object. There is a dearth of information about what is happening.”

Murati nodded her head toward the walls.

With how erratic and garbled the screens were, none of the warnings displayed correctly.

She did not want to risk gesturing with her arms too aggressively.

In fact it took all her willpower to speak without gesticulating.

Her eyes shifted their focus subtly between Aatto and the troops at her sides.

Thankfully, they did not seem to have itchy trigger fingers. They were all self-composed.

As Aatto spoke, they had their weapons trained, but they did not appear to be tense or shaky. None made threatening gestures, all kept neutral expressions on their faces during the discussion. Perhaps Murati could trust them to hold their peace for a bit, and not immediately shoot at her without being given orders. She could take advantage of that.

“We had no idea there was a shelter in place or any concrete orders and furthermore, we have always had a schedule to meet and were always planning to work tonight. There must be someone who can authorize us to continue working, knowing our circumstances.”

Aatto’s quite fluffy tail, which had been swaying gently, began to stand on end.

“I humored you for long enough, Murati Nakara. On the authority of the National Socialist Gauleiter of Kreuzung station, you will both, stop all of the work at this site, and, submit yourself to inspection. Failure to comply in this, an emergency situation, will result in far harsher punishment. Let us not complicate the proceedings any further.”

Murati found Aatto’s response to be very strangely worded and measured.

The Volkisch Movement had unquestioned power in this situation. They had utter political control over the former Duchy of Rhinea, and with it, they had the control over this particular station as well. They had weapons trained and a cornered opponent. It did not seem above them to arrest or kill Murati. They could get away with it. It was, like Aatto kept saying, an emergency situation. But despite being pushed, Aatto simply continued to request compliance and assert herself under the law. A curious legal display from a fascist.

For Murati, this was the first time she had ever met a fascist official face to face.

Murati knew fascism academically. Right-wing anti-monarchism and nationalist reform theories had existed for decades, even before the Empire’s loss of its southern colonies. From what Murati learned about the Volkisch, the loss to the “slaves and bandits” only intensified the growth of the national socialist ideology, into one which excoriated the Imperial system for its weakness and inefficiency. In its Rhinean expression, the Empire was, at the same time, decaying from outdated institutions and laws, while also being crippled by the promotion of weak untermenschen over vital ubermenschen who could renew it.

And yet, Aatto should have been one such untermenschen despised by this system.

As a Loup, she was a part of the perverse old order that failed to put Imbrians first.

But here she was, speaking of Gauleiters and the legalistic strata of Volkisch rule.

Murati, whose mind wanted to analyze things thoroughly, found this all quite perplexing.

Perhaps there was more to these nationalists– it would need to be investigated.

However, the contradiction also told her much-needed information about her situation.

Aatto was hesitant to order violence, but the men were professionally ready to deliver it.

She developed a good read on Aatto and no longer needed to look her in the eye.

Instead, her attention focused past the Rottenführer, on the men and their deadly weapons.

Without holding her gaze, Murati reached out a hand to Aatto, offering a shake.

“I am deeply, deeply sorry. I will make sure everyone cooperates, Rottenführer.”

Her eyes were on the men, whose faces briefly registered Murati’s hand moving.

Fingers tightened on pistols, and the submachine gunner tested the weight of his firearm.

Nobody shot at her, not out of response to that. They held firm to Aatto’s command.

“Very well. I am glad you saw sense. I will make note of your compliance in my report.”

She reached out her hand, delicate fingers entwining with Murati’s more rugged digits.

Murati gave Aatto a firm shake, testing the pressure on her fingers on Aatto’s soft hand.

At first she must have just seemed like the kind of idiot who puts effort into a handshake.

Until she suddenly jerked Aatto toward her by that same hand and arm–

And simultaneously pushed on the armed men with hands which only she could see.

While her eyes were off Aatto she had tried to acquire a mental picture of the surroundings. Of the men and their positions, they ways each held their weapon, the weapons they were holding, whether or not they wore a hat or the markings on their uniforms. Like a predictive imager that used input to generate a view of reality, Murati concentrated on seeing the image in her mind, of moving in that space, acting upon that reality– and in turn, acting simultaneously on the physical. In her mind, all of the targets were locked on.

All of her focus and desire, all of the weight of what she wanted to bring into being, she poured into the power. There was no controlling it; Murati had not learned to control the degree of force that resulted from her telekinesis. In that instant, when she quit holding herself back and pushed out the vector she had prepared, it was an utterly blunt instrument. A massive wedge of kinetic force that emanated from hopefully just behind Aatto and expanded outward from there. That was as much of a vector as Murati was able to create, despite Tigris and Euphrates’ instruction and her attempts to train further.

Murati’s eyes blinked red and turned hot enough to vaporize her tears.

For an instant she feared her eyeballs would liquify. All of the world swam.

In her mind, she had pulled the trigger.

Soon as it was released, Aatto’s coat billowed up, and she nearly fell into Murati’s chest.

While her men were blown back as if a piston had smashed them all in the chest.

Guns went flying from hands that bent and shattered . Air rushed out of the space, storming so loud that it almost masked the crunching of bone as force impacted bodies. Limbs twisted in unnatural directions and deformed. Eyes went up into heads, gazes snuffed out. Spittle mixed with blood burst out of the mouths and noses of the men. Murati saw their auras shift dramatically one after another before the corpses had even hit the ground.

It was not the first time she had killed someone.

It was not even the first time she had seen a person die in front of her, without the barrier of a diver between herself and the reality of what she had done to them. However, it was the first time that, with her new sight and the new dimension of the world, she witnesses the final moments of a life ended in violence. That primordial scream as their soul exploded from their bodies, a wave of black and white overtaking the familiar colors for an instant before the aether dulled and drifted from the body, lingering only in the surroundings.

Her head immediately erupted with the sheer agony of what she had done.

Murati felt like a razor blade had traced a deep line down the center of her skull.

Knees nearly buckling, feet shifting unsteadily, she almost fell forward.

Involuntarily, she screamed, into the back of Aatto’s coat.

But she still had the presence to seize hold of her captive.

Hooking one arm around the Rottenführer’s neck, pulling her into a choke.

Lifting, with a heavily shaking hand, her pistol to the fascist’s temple.

Breathing heavily into Aatto’s ear. In front of the eerily stricken bodies of her men.


Aatto Jarvi Stormyweather felt her mind empty with shock.

It all happened in mere seconds.

When Murati Nakara pulled on her arm with such vehemence she thought that it would be ripped from its socket. While behind her back, an immensity of power crushed her subordinates from the outside-in like dolls being smashed into walls. Something she only realized when she saw the preponderance of color around Murati as she exercised her power– and when Murati turned her around and seized her neck. Aatto’s body felt light and helpless against that power, so much so that all thought of resistance faded immediately. When she felt Murati’s head against her shoulder– she understood nothing of the situation, as if all of the signifiers of the world had lost their rooted contexts before her.

So she stood motionless, struggling to breathe from the forceful pressure around her neck.

Her hands raised reflexively to Murati’s elbow but could not even tug.

And the collection of limbs and torsos which had become of her men lost all concreteness.

She felt the cold barrel of Murati’s pistol press against her head and froze up.

While the woman’s warm breathing tickled the nape of her neck.

“Tell me–” Murati struggled to recover her breath. “What is really happening? Tell me–”

Her grip lessened, allowing Aatto to breath and speak, but still controlling her movement.

Aatto was barely all there in her own head when she responded. “Core separation–”

“It’s not– it’s not maintenance, is it? It’s not– It’s something out of– out of your control.”

Her voice slowly regained its forcefulness. Aatto felt sweat travel down her own forehead.

“Cogitans.” She said. “Cogitans took over the core. To take down the station’s defenses.”

There was silence for a second. Aatto felt Murati’s breathing slowly steady itself.

“A severe but interesting strategy.” Murati mumbled, reflexively, as if only to herself.

Those words went through Aatto’s brain with as much force as the still-chambered bullet.

In that instant, Aatto’s body shook with a mixture of thrill and terror she had never felt before. Her tail wagged, her ears folded, and her breathing became labored. Murati’s strength upon her neck, upon her body, felt ever heavier and more oppressive. Aatto felt like mere debris inexorably swallowed and crushed by the gravity of a mightily shining star.

Murati’s light and power, of which she could comprehend only a fraction, seemed then to destroy all former possibilities and rearrange the future before Aatto’s eyes. No one in the Volkisch or from the Liberals, neither the highest admirals nor the bloodiest lieutenants, had ever instilled in her as much fear and admiration as this out of place woman had.

This was a woman who could shatter the taboos– who could challenge Destiny

“You’re coming with me. Don’t try to resist. I won’t hesitate to shoot.” Murati threatened.

Aatto smiled, and tears filled her eyes. To everyone else she must have seemed insane.

But she was thrilled, inspired. She was Murati’s captive; and she wouldn’t escape.

My king, her spiraling mind clamored, I have found my king.


At first, the prospects of escape seemed daunting.

Slowly, the project began to come together nevertheless.

After the incident with the Volkisch, Tigris gave Murati an earful but quickly reassembled her team and got back to work. Nobody had the time to dwell on anything that happened. Murati had taken the strangely compliant Aatto to the brig as a captive, and the bodies of her men were taken to be disposed of in the ocean– uniforms, gear and identifications were collected and stored. Murati was committed to sickbay against her wishes, having been found to be demonstrably unsteady on her feet and bleeding from her nose.

There was a brief chaos as the bridge tried to confirm exactly what had happened.

And headaches grew into pounding migraines very quickly when they learned.

“This is a nightmare.” Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya remarked.

“At the very least, Murati acted quickly. She has bought us time to take further action.” Commissar Aaliyah Bashara replied. “I’ll post Zhu and Van Der Smidse outside in case of further intrusions. We’ll just have to prepare to fight our way out of here if necessary.”

Ulyana grunted, aggravated. She rubbed her fingers on her forehead.

“We’re quickly running out of competent people to post outside with guns.” She grumbled.

“About that, Captain!”

Semyonova turned around from her station, and waved a hand toward the main screen.

One of the cameras, paired with a floodlight, shone on an approaching group.

“Semyonova, send the doctor and some sailors out with stretchers!” Ulyana shouted.

From the direction of C-block, Evgenya Akulantova and Syracuse Chernova had recovered their stragglers and returned. Illya Rostova and Valeriya Peterburg, along with Braya Zachikova and the ‘guest navigator’ Arabella or Arbitrator I. Ulyana, who was unaware of exactly why they went missing in the first place, was shocked speechless at the sight of them. Everyone but Syracuse was wounded with even the rugged Akulantova suffering blows and looking quite worse for wear. Illya, Valeriya, Braya and Arabella were covered in blood and grime and dirty wounds and they carried the smell of smoke and lead with them.

All were quite mum upon being brought aboard, and as much as she wanted to scream in their faces, Ulyana did not have the time to waste doing so. Everyone but Akulantova and Syracuse ended up committed to sickbay, and formally detained and disarmed.

“Captain, we should prioritize their care for now. I will take responsibility.” Syracuse said.

“Alright. I just don’t have time to grill them– please write up a report.” Ulyana sighed.

“I will endeavor to ask what animal mauled all of them.” Dr. Kappel sighed as well.

Ulyana turned to Akulantova. Her hands heavily bruised, her forehead patched bloody.

“I am overjoyed to see everyone returned safely. Thank you, Chief. I will be needing all of this properly reported.” Ulyana said. Her voice then turned gentle. “Evgenya, we could use you in action– Lian and Klara are stretched thin right now. But if your condition does not permit it–”

In response, Akulantova simply adjusted her cap and smiled brightly at the Captain.

“Captain, I returned as quickly as I could precisely because I am still on duty.” She said.

From the side of the sickbeds, Syracuse rolled her eyes and turned her back.

It was agreed for Akulantova to resume her position, and Ulyana returned to the bridge.

Now that the entire crew was present and accounted for, they could leave whenever ready.

All eyes were now focused squarely on the task of moving the Brigand out of the station.

Down in the hangar, a dozen sailors rolled out an enormous power cable through one of the deployment chutes. Normally this particular cable was connected to a power distributor that served the battery charging apparatus on the Diver gantries. It had a direct, high-power line to the Brigand’s agarthic reactor. Taken outside the ship, the cable was stretched out to attach to a quickly-rigged power supply for use by Alcor’s mobile berth, while Tigris and two dozen other sailors worked on the motor that would ultimately draw upon that power.

Euphrates was dispatched from the bridge to check on the progress of the work.

Tigris immediately became distracted by her appearance.

“What’s with that face?” Tigris called out.

Euphrates smiled. “I am just admiring your work, and how attractively sweaty you look.”

“You ought to quit gawking and get sweaty too!” Tigris said.

“I would only slow you down.” Euphrates said, turning her cheek with a little grin.

“You’re useless!”

While the red-haired woman bickered with her blue-haired counterpart, the work continued.

Tigris’ plan involved ‘borrowing’ a pair of electric hydroturbines from Alcor’s warehouse and modifying them along with attaching rudimentary shafts to the track gears on Alcor’s mobile berth. Normally, this berth was just a trailer unit and needed either a winch cable, a crane or a truck to pull it. With power provided by the Brigand’s own core through the hangar cable, it would work as a self-propelled prime mover on its own massive caterpillar tracks, hopefully providing enough torque for the Brigand to slide down the dead conveyor belts.

Then they could take the ship to a floodgate and escape out into the ocean, leaving the tractor behind. Tigris was sure there would be no issue in moving the Brigand to begin with– longevity was the actual question. The system of welded rods attaching the turbine to the drive gear would be workmanlike at best, and the cooling solution for the improvised motor could not be trusted to work for long. None of the most important parts of this system were ever intended to run in completely dry and hot conditions like those inside Kreuzung.

Owing to the time pressure, and the many hands, the standard of quality would dip further.

There were dozens of sailors on hand working tirelessly on every part of this messy project.

Tigris rejoined them as soon as she had shouted Euphrates’ ear off.

To no one’s surprise, she was working as hard as anyone else.

Drenched in sweat, her red ponytail coming undone, taking a few bruises.

Everyone was pushing their limits.

However, the work was coming together quickly before their eyes.

It wouldn’t be long.

“Did you by any chance contact Alcor about using their parts?” Euphrates asked suddenly.

Tigris peered at her from around the enormous home-made engine box.

“What? No? Why would I?”

And so, the next interruption presented itself soon enough.

Euphrates and Tigris grimaced together when they saw a party approach from Alcor’s HQ.

“Captain, I believe your presence will be required.” Euphrates said, tapping an earpiece.

One dark-blond woman approached the ship, while several men waited farther away from it.

Their primary visitor was Amelia Winn, their favorite executive from Alcor Steelworks.

Even at this hour and in this situation, she was well-attired and perfectly manicured.

Ulyana Korabiskaya left the bridge to meet her.

The most she did to hide her dishevelment was to wear her teal jacket and put on a tie, her blond hair still quite tossed about compared to Amelia’s, and without any makeup. They met off to the side of the ship on the Alcor blacktop while in the background of their conversation, the sailors and the two ladies from Solarflare continued working, and even farther down the road, Amelia’s companions looked at the whole scene with confusion.

Standing half a meter from each other, under the surreal light show of the confused sky.

“Miss Winn, I take it you’re here because–”

“No, I’m not here to investigate, Korabiskaya.” Amelia said, smiling at her. “I promised to uphold your confidentiality, right? It would be for the best that we don’t discuss what has happened in detail.” She glanced over at the ship. “It does seem that I may soon be losing some equipment– but that’s alright. I will be reimbursed healthily, when this blows over.”

“Well– I appreciate it.” Ulyana was a bit surprised. “I didn’t know what to expect.”

“I am only here to insure our continued cooperation. You’ve become something of my golden goose, Captain. Thanks to all of you, I’m set to be leaping ahead in my career. Your money was a very good deal– but I never expected you had such lucrative connections.”

“I see. I am happy it was mutually beneficial.”

Euphrates must have actually struck that deal she was talking about with Amelia.

Whatever the details were was none of Ulyana’s business. At least it was convenient now.

“So, may I ask then, since it seems your affairs are in order– why are we speaking?”

Amelia’s eyes looked to her sides briefly. She put on a bubbly little look.

“For appearances’ sake, we should leave on bad terms. You robbed me, threatened me, and in my fear of reprisal, I failed to report to the Volkisch. It will buy you some time and allow me to claim victimhood. I am here in person just so you can rough me up a bit.” She said. “However, I can’t help with the K.P.S.D. They have set up a roadblock in the tunnels.”

Ulyana silently approached Amelia and grabbed hold of the collar of her coat and shirt.

Amelia raised her hands up as if to surrender to this aggression.

“I appreciate the gesture.” Ulyana said softly, while shaking Amelia roughly.

“It’s just business.” Amelia said, shutting her eyes and gritting her teeth as Ulyana throttled her with such force that her head shook. When Ulyana paused in her abuse, Amelia recovered her breath and continued briefly. “I hope that we will see each other again. For a nepo-baby like myself, having adventurous clients is exciting. Especially ones with good grip.”

Ulyana couldn’t help but crack a grin. Such an absolutely ridiculous situation.

“We’ll be back someday. Amelia, brace yourself now.”

After her warning, Ulyana threw Amelia to the floor with all her strength.

It was quite convincing– Ulyana felt a little catharsis beating up the bubbly executive.

She could not say that they didn’t get a good value out of Amelia.

But the two of them wouldn’t be bosom friends. Ulyana wanted nothing to do with her.

“Klara!” Ulyana called out. She made a hand gesture, toward the road to Alcor’s HQ.

From under the ship, Klara Van Der Smidse of the security team rushed out to meet them.

She went down to one knee and unfolded the stock on her 40mm grenade launcher.

Aiming for the road where Amelia Winn’s other lackeys had been waiting.

Amelia struggled to get up, her footing troubled in a way which was not all empty drama.

With one final look back at them, and one final shove from Ulyana, she limped away.

Even with everything agreed to between them, the scene was quite tense.

Amelia’s party looked very aggravated when she arrived in pain back at their side.

They chatted animatedly for a few minutes, everyone throwing frequent glares at Ulyana.

However, Amelia finally managed to convince her subordinates to retreat to Alcor’s HQ.

Watching them go, Ulyana heaved a sigh. Her chest was pounding from the stress.

She recalled how safe she had felt about their arrangement with Alcor just hours ago.

But she had no choice.

“Good work.” She patted Klara Van Der Smidse on the shoulder.

“Um. Thanks Captain. Are we sure about letting them go?” Klara asked.

Ulyana smiled. “Yes, it was all theater. Just keep your eyes on the road for now.”

For the remainder of the work on the Brigand, she remained outside, standing off to the edge of the workers, her weary countenance visible only intermittently under the chaotic lights. While the work continued, she was briefly lost in her own thoughts.


“Moment of truth time! Everyone cross your fingers!”

In the Brigand’s hangar, Tigris stood on the edge of a deployment chute, surrounded by sailors. She had in her hands a portable computer with a long, long cable connecting it to the wall and another long, long cable that had been duct-taped to the power supply snaking out from under the ship. Despite all of her previous bluster, she was visibly shaking when she took up the portable. At her side, Euphrates tried to get a look at the software.

On its screen was a simple user interface that was clearly drawn by hand.

“What happened to all your confidence?” Euphrates asked.

Tigris grumbled. “It’s not about the motor. It’s stage fright. If it fails, I’ll look ridiculous.”

“But it won’t fail, right? You said it had a 99.99% chance of successfully starting.”

“Please shut up. Just shut up. I’m going to push the button.”

Tigris flicked her finger across the screen.

There was no immediately discernible effect that the crew inside the ship could detect. The electric turbine motor simply was not so noisy, even with the rushed craftsmanship. Any vibrations were very minimal as well. Nobody seemed affected by the ‘pressing of the button’ in the slightest. However, Tigris started to smile, and she held the tablet up and pointed its screen at a camera on the wall nearby, while pointing at it happily.

From inside the bridge, the officers of the Brigand could see that, on the very simple and hand drawn interface of Tigris’ hastily-written control program, there were various signs that the motor was running and ready to move. With the camera still focused on her, Tigris held her finger on an arrow, and it was then that the Brigand began to lightly stir– because it was now moving. She moved it just enough for everyone to realize it was possible.

Ulyana and Aaliyah sat back in their chairs together, holding their hands to their faces.

“There’s no going back. At least the tractor works.” Ulyana said.

“If I were religious, I’d start praying for that motor to endure.” Aaliyah groaned.

“Ha, ha, ha! Gaze upon its majesty! I call it the ‘Tigris Mover’ I!” Tigris shouted.

She was celebrating in the hangar. Nobody was communicating directly to her.

But she knew they could see her little cheering and dancing and shouting in the cameras.

“Get her off the main screen.” Ulyana said. “Semyonova, focus the central prow forward camera, but keep all other cameras in the periphery using picture-in-pictures. Be ready to swap to them when needed. And get Tigris to turn over control of the prime mover.”

“Captain, to which station should we send the program? The Helm?” Semyonova asked.

Kamarik protested. “Captain, I’ve danced with a few ships, but I don’t know tractor tango!”

“Captain, please send the program to Electronic Warfare.”

Hearing that voice, Ulyana turned to the doorway, but that was not where it came from.

“I am at my station, Captain. Braya Zachikova is reporting for duty.”

There was a scratchy, mechanical-sounding corruption because the voice was coming from the low fidelity speakers on Zachikova’s station, and not from a human mouth. But there was no denying that it was Zachikova’s voice. When Ulyana stood from her chair to inspect the once vacant Electronic Warfare station, she found a cutesy little face resembling that of Braya Zachikova, drawn like a pixelated animation on the station’s LCD. She possessed a triangular, unfriendly-looking little mouth, lines for eyes, a simple oval head, her antennae, as well as Zachikova’s bangs and spiral ponytail rendered enough to be identifiable.

“You’re supposed to be detained in sickbay.” Ulyana said sternly.

“My body remains detained, Captain. But I can still work remotely.” Zachikova said.

“You’re testing my patience.”

She felt a little ridiculous talking to the screen. It was different than a video call.

Somehow, she felt like Zachikova was in her presence, even though she was not.

It was perhaps a psychological effect from knowing how Zachikova’s implants worked.

Zachikova’s little face on the screen shut her eyes in comical contrition.

“Captain, I know that I caused us problems. But I do take my work seriously, and as a professional I do not want to be a failure point in the system. I request to be allowed to make up for my previous disruptions to the mission by resuming my duties as fully as possible.”

Ulyana crossed her arms.

“Ensign Braya Zachikova. We can discuss the matter of your escapades later– my real concern is for your health! You are badly wounded! Is the Doctor even aware of what you are doing right now? Or does she think you are asleep? It could affect your condition!”

It didn’t matter whether or not she snuck out of the ship. That could be settled long-term.

What Ulyana actually feared the most was Zachikova dying because of this!

On the monitor, the little face put on a softer expression. As if reacting emotionally.

“I– I appreciate your concern for my health. But my brain can handle this much.”

“Can your body?” Ulyana asked pointedly. Zachikova’s little face nodded energetically.

“Yes. It can! Please, Captain. It will contribute to our success if I am allowed to assist.”

“Ugh. I can’t believe this. Fine. At this point, I can use all the help I can get.” Ulyana said.

Semyonova, watching wide-eyed the drama unfolding near her, handed control over ‘Tigris Mover I’ to Zachikova’s station. Much of the bridge crew had their eyes on the empty chair where Zachikova once sat, all with confusion and unease. Minutes after the transfer, there was movement registering on the main screen. The ship pulled back out of the Alcor blacktop, and then began to trundle toward the elevator platform under its own power.

A collective sigh of relief ensued.

Alexandra and Fernanda slumped over in their chairs. Kamarik clapped his hands gently on the side of his station as if congratulating the Brigand on her newfound powers of locomotion. Semyonova and Fatima continued to stare at the little Zachikova face on the Electronic Warfare station adjacent to their own. They exchanged brief glances, shrugged and returned to their work as if Zachikova was actually there with them.

Ulyana sat back down, gripping the armrests on her chair like she wanted to dig into them.

At her side, Aaliyah reached out and patted her on the shoulder and back in support.

That simple touch was enough to partially heal what felt like hours of stress.

“Captain, I appreciate how you treat your officers. You clearly care strongly about them.”

On Ulyana’s other side in the restructured upper bridge, Premier Erika Kairos now had her own chair, along with a smaller pull-out seat that Olga Athanisou could occupy at her side. The two of them had remained mostly quiet during the proceedings. The Premier had requested to be off to the side near a wall, so as to not take up the Captain’s spot in the middle of the upper bridge. She had been observing with minimal input.

“We can contact the Rostock once we’re in the water, and it can assist us.” Erika said.

Ulyana felt like responding to Erika’s cheerful confidence– but she held her tongue.

Slowly but surely the Brigand completely left its little lot in the Alcor work area and stationed itself atop the platform into the station interstice and the ship elevator. With Zachikova in control, they had instant access to full diagnostics of the ‘Tigris Mover I’, including its power draw and the speed at which they were moving. Rudimentary sensors in the improvised engine helped them in monitoring heat, cooling, and other vital statistics, though the fidelity of this data was dubious. The motion of the ‘Tigris Mover I’ was surprisingly controllable. Zachikova seemed to have no problem guiding it.

“Captain, I’ve accessed the elevator controls via a short-distance connection. We will begin descent into the interstice.” Zachikova said. “It will be several minutes before we are able to move again, and very dark. Semyonova, Al-Suhar and I will remain vigilant.”

“Good. Keep us posted. And take a– breather, if you can find the time.” Ulyana said.

Within moments, the Brigand shook as the enormous elevator platform slowly lowered them down into the cavernous maw of the station’s depths. It was even darker within the elevator and tunnels now than it was in the Alcor module, utterly lightless rather than intermittently lit by the alarm LEDs. But it gave the bridge crew a decent respite while the elevator brought them slowly down several levels of the station. They could chat again a bit.

“Zachi– did you ascend to a state of pure energy, surpassing the material form of life?!”

Semyonova seemed to have been working up the courage to ask this question to the station.

On the LCD of the Electronic Warfare desk, mini-Zachikova put on a disgusted expression.

“You’re ridiculous. Please add some nonfiction to your media diet for once in your life.”

On the opposite side of the bridge, Fernanda and Alex quietly chirped in their ways.

“–this is exactly like stage 10 of ‘After The Fall: Kannonkaiser’ in Kaiser difficulty.”

“–our situation uncannily reflects the remarkable climax of ‘The Adjutant’s Last Will’.”

Ulyana tried to tune everything out and leaned back on her chair, letting herself breathe.

Until she felt a gentle tug on her coat, which could only have come from one person.

“Captain, unfortunately, the two us can’t simply take a nap at this time. We need to plan.”

Ulyana opened one eye again to meet her Commissar’s determined but gentle gaze.

“I know. We have one more problem ahead. Can I at least take five before we discuss it?”

Aaliyah then gave her a stern glare. There was no rejecting whatever that gaze desired.

As the Brigand descended, there was one final obstacle between themselves and the water. Amelia had mentioned that the K.P.S.D. was setting up roadblocks in the tunnels. Nobody on the Brigand was aware of the extent of the defenses nor their exact location, but they could make an educated guess based on the station layout: at the bottom of the elevator shaft, there was one long and wide stretch of conveyor belt that lead into a second transfer elevator and to a floodgate. Defending the length of it with man-portable weapons and mobile or stationary barricades was possible, and it made sense as the site of a checkpoint.

“Our grand operation upon the vessel has left the nature of its forward complement largely unperturbed. We are possessed of two 76 mm guns each in their own individualized turrets, and the main turret boasting two barrels of 150 mm guns, the ship’s pride,” advised Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa in her capacity as gunnery officer. “These weapons work synergistically with the frigid depths of the sea– the heavy casemates proof them against water and ward the components. Cooling succor is meant to come from the sea herself.”

Erika blinked. She whispered to the Captain. “Does she always talk like that?”

“Uh huh.” Ulyana said dryly.

“So I take it the guns will immediately overheat when fired.” Aaliyah replied.

“Fate may will otherwise. However, my keen foresight tells me so.”

“What about the gas guns?” Ulyana asked.

Fernanda shrugged. Those guns were not controlled by her particular station much of the time. Rather, the non-commissioned officers in the lowest tier of the bridge controlled the gas guns, a series of small caliber double-barreled autocannons meant to stop missiles, torpedoes and ward off the approach of Divers into close range with the ship.

Owing to their responsibilities, gas gunners were crucial but unremarked upon. They had their own area, and a manager who looked after them. Aside from the Captain, nobody was supposed to talk to them or bother them during operations– it was simply too important that they remained entirely focused on interdicting munitions to protect the ship.

“Perhaps owing to their diminutive caliber they may prove capable of sustaining fire.”

“I’ve seen Imbrian style mobile barricades, Captain.” Erika said. “They may be able to withstand enough 20 mm fire for the gas guns to overheat trying to clear them.”

Ulyana also knew they could not just run over the barricades with their tracks.

Any unsuppressed enemies at close range could easily damage the Tigris Mover I.

They would be crushed and killed in the attempt and the barricades could still be toppled over after all was said and done. But it might also leave the Brigand stuck in the tunnels without backup. They had to use their limited ability to fire, with care. And there was not even any point in asking Alexandra about the torpedoes, which were equipped with hydrojets or propellers and would go nowhere in dry combat. Similarly, their new ballistic missiles installed in the middle of the upper deck had no room to crest and fly indoors.

“We’ll just have to see what’s down there and how things develop moment to moment.”

“Worse comes to worse Captain, Kalika, Olga and I are no strangers to close combat.”

Erika spoke up in reassurance, but the Captain immediately shook her head and denied it.

“We’re not going to risk your life like that, Premier. We’ll handle this.”

Ulyana turned partially to face the communications station.

“Semyonova, raise alert Semyon. We need every crew member available at a moment’s notice. Have Klara and Lian suit up in our powered-armor, and release explosive munitions for their grenade launchers to them. They will be on standby. Have Evgenya prepare submachine guns for twelve sailors, led by Galina– but do not release those arms quite yet. We just want to be ready. Finally, prepare the Cheka and the High-Mobility Strelok.”

“Yes ma’am. Should I contact Shalikova and al-Shajara as well?” Semyonova asked.

“Tell them to be ready– we just want to have options open.” Ulyana said.

Inside the Brigand’s halls, the silent, gently red alarm lights of alert state “Semyon” got the sailors moving again after their short break from the intense work they had undertaken outside and throughout the ship. None of them had the full picture of what was transpiring, with the Bridge being the main actor in this battle– but they did not need to know.

A small task force had dressed up in osmium mesh hazard suits and opened the core containment area in order to drag in wheeled tanks and pumps just in case they had to dump more coolant into the core to maintain stable temperatures. Several others were monitoring electrical systems. In the hangar, a dozen engineers got the Divers checked and ready. Akulantova brought wheeled weapon rack out to the hangar, but kept it locked.

“In a minute, the tunnel will be visible in the forward cameras, Captain.” Zachikova said.

“Thank you, Ensign.” Ulyana said. She took a deep breath.

In front of her eyes, the black chasm that was the elevator wall in front of them finally broke to slowly reveal the long tunnel ahead of them. The conveyor was close to seventy meters wide and tall to fit ships of their size, but no larger than it had to be. In the darkness brought on by the core separation, LED lights on the walls and ceilings flashed on and off in frantic sequences across the tunnel, but there were a few steady sources of illumination.

Floodlights, strategically placed by the K.P.S.D forces.

Before them lay a K.P.S.D. defensive line. One mobile barricade mounted on an armored vehicle barred the way some hundred meters ahead. Behind it there were assemblages of infantry in riot gear, and a few nests of deployable bullet-proof shields affixed to the ground on heavy bases. At the far back, Ulyana could almost see the floodgate, barred by one final barricade. Their objective was to get close enough to the floodgate to force it open, and activate the anti-flooding gates behind themselves. Then they could sail away.

“Captain– the K.P.S.D. is requesting communication– and ordering us to desist.”

Semyonova’s voice carried the nervous tension of the moment.

Ulyana tried to smile a little.

Here they went again– into the fray once more.

After the ignorant peace of the shore, the chaos of the sea invited them forward.

“Forget it!” Ulyana called out. “Zachikova, forward! Fernanda, ready guns!”

“Aye!”

All of the upper bridge crew called out simultaneously, even those not ordered specifically.

They knew they were all entering battle now.

“Gas gunners, forward barrage! Try to suppress the infantry behind the barricades!”

“Aye!”

All of the gas gunners in the lower tier got to work.

Trundling forward on the caterpillar tracks of the ‘Tigris Mover I’, the Brigand began its sluggish but inexorable advance toward the first K.P.S.D. barricade. To the men on the opposing end of the conveyor it must have seemed like a gigantic piston was slowly moving to crush them against the walls. Small bursts from the Brigand’s six forward 20 mm ‘gas gun’ turrets peppered the barricade and its surroundings, red and green tracer trails slicing long lines into the dark distance, ending in blasts of fire and smoke leaving black spots on the barricade armor. Minor damage, no penetrations. Those shots which sailed over the barricade crashed between the enemy groups. Infantrymen dispersed closer to each barricade for protection while assembling arms with which to counterattack.

In moments, the first flashes of return fire began to appear from the enemy formation.

Shoulder-launched missiles from the barricade smashed into the prow of the Brigand.

While the cameras shook lightly with each hit, the bridge crew felt no vibrations.

“God damn it! We just repaired this thing!” Ulyana lamented.

“Missile impacts are not causing damage, Captain!” Kamarik said. “She’s a tough one!”

“They are shoulder-fired 60 mm missiles, Captain. Useless against ships.” Erika added.

“I’m afraid an actual threat is assembling, however.” Zachikova said.

On the main screen, the miniature, pixelated Zachikova from the station appeared and pointed at a location behind the barricade, which the predictive imager then highlighted as well. Several men were setting up a tripod mount and had affixed a large tube on top. Two other men were gathering much larger rockets than the shoulder-fired ones–

–munitions to be fed into a gun.

That is a 152 mm Panzerfaust-IV turret.” Erika said, in a much graver tone of voice.

“Gas gunners! Hold fire! Concentrate on interdiction!” Ulyana called out.

Within seconds, a bright orange flash and exhaust heralded the incoming missile.

“Captain! Guns red! Guns red!” came a cry from bellow, the manager of the gas gunners.

Overheating warnings.

“Brace for major impact!” Ulyana cried out.

Then, on the main screen a few more red tracers suddenly soared out of an overheated gun.

An enormous explosion boomed directly in front of them.

All of the smoke from it crossed their cameras as the Brigand trundled forward.

As yet unscathed–

“One of the guns managed to fire! Thank everything!” the manager called out.

Ulyana knew the gas gunners would not get much more time to celebrate.

“Fernanda, aim a 76 mm and vaporize that thing!” She called out.

“Captain, I have an idea!” Erika interrupted suddenly. “Aim low at the barricade vehicle!”

Fern snapped her head to face the Captain and Premier.

There was not even a second more for Ulyana to think, but–

If the gas guns had already overheated, the 76 mm would overheat from firing one shot.

They only had two of those they could use– if Erika was wrong that was–

“Fern, listen to Erika! Now!”

Ulyana had to trust it. They had pledged themselves to her.

But if she was wrong–

“Firing 76 mm high-explosive!”

Fernanda called out and in the next instant, the green tracer sailed out over the tunnel.

The K.P.S.D. gunners had already extracted one enormous munition and loaded the next.

This Panzerfaust-IV could seriously wound them, its armament was Cruiser-caliber.

Ulyana was not a praying sort, but in the instant that 76 mm shot went out.

She truly thought she wanted to pray. In a snap decision, she had trusted Erika.

Was it the right call–?

Before she could doubt any more, the 76 mm munition struck low at the mobile barricade.

An immediate high-explosive detonation ensued–

fire and pressure spread under the lip between barricade and floor–

and the force of it flipped the vehicle right off its wheels and onto its side.

Overturned with such shocking force that tore metal pieces from it to scatter in the air. Men standing on the barricade were thrown bodily, and men behind it fled as hot metal and flying glass spread out several meters in every direction. Munitions that had been piled behind the barricade received the blow as well and went flying haphazardly, undetonated but streaking through the air like blunt projectiles and connecting with the fleeing men.

In that instant of chaos, the crew on the Panzerfaust-IV escaped from its vicinity, leaving the tube loaded and running for their lives to the nearest shield. The abandoned and exposed weapon became a priority target, and as soon as the gas guns could fire even a single bullet each, Ulyana ordered the gunners to fire on its position. Bursts of 20 mm gunfire crashed around the gun and sent the tube rolling off its mount, snapping its bracing legs.

“We’ll be going over the barricade in about a minute.” Zachikova said.

Ulyana let out her breath. She turned to her side and laid a hand over one of Erika’s own.

“Thank you, Premier. I’m glad I trusted your judgment.” Ulyana said.

On her other side, Aaliyah also nodded her head as if to support Ulyana’s praise of Erika.

Erika smiled bashfully as if she did not know how to take the gesture.

Before she could speak, there was a heavy metallic thud echoing across the tunnel.

“Captain, there’s an enemy!” Aaliyah cried out suddenly.

“Zachikova, stop all movement!”

Ahead of them, one of the side walls of the tunnel suddenly opened up a panel.

And stomping out from it, walked a giant metal impression of a person.

Two arms, two legs, 7 meters tall, a rotund body with a helmet-like head armed with numerous cameras. In its articulated metal hands, it held a 37 mm automatic rifle. Over one of its shoulders, a rocket-launching tube had been affixed. Several remaining infantrymen rallied to it as a base of fire, instantly reassured of the possibility of their success.

This was a Volker-class Diver, sometimes referred to as a ‘mecha’ or ‘mechanoid’.

An armored vehicle intended to fight ships in the Ocean; and able to fight them on land.

Mere seconds after jumping out from the side of the tunnel, it turned its assault rifle on the Brigand’s bow and opened fire, each bullet hurtling out of the barrel with a heavy crack. A Diver’s assault rifle was comparable to a heavy auto-cannon, twice the power of the gas guns, and firing explosive shells. A burst of 37 mm ammunition crashed into the Brigand’s prow, and there was enough force there that they felt the vibrations in the bridge.

Ancillary effects of the explosions, shrapnel and explosive shockwaves, damaged an ancillary forward camera and cut a wound into one of the over-heated gas guns, completely disabling it. As quickly as that first burst of three rounds had come, there was suddenly a second set of flashes, and even more shaking followed as the bullets exploded on the Brigand’s bow.

They could not afford to keep taking such fire for long.

“Semoynova, tell the sailors to pipe in the coolant! Zachikova! Bring the shield up! Now!”

Ulyana called out; Semyonova signaled the sailors; Zachikova flicked a digital switch.

There was suddenly a purple sheen over the cameras.

Extending over the front of the prow like a transparent, impossibly thin blanket.

The Volker fired a third burst from its automatic rifle.

Its shells exploded just off the hull.

Harmlessly.

Detonating as if in the air, and the force dispersing easily away from the ship.

“Shield is operational. It won’t last for very long in this condition.” Zachikova said.

Tigris’ bluster had not been empty. This gift from Solarflare LLC was impressive.

Much like the one they saw equipped on the Antenora, an Agarthic repulsion shield.

Perhaps the most rare and valuable piece of kit that had gone into their refit project.

But it was not perfect–

“Captain, the core is getting upset.” Kamarik warned. “She’s not used to being hammered this hard running dry, even with the coolant. We better think of something else and quickly.”

There was no visible effect of core strain within the ship at first, but the figures did not lie.

Unlike Kreuzung’s core separation, their lights were not flickering randomly, and all their stations worked fine. However, Ulyana could see in the diagnostics passed to her screen from the helm that the core temperature was climbing. Slowly but surely. Cores could remain indefinitely in equilibrium provided there was water and the systems around the core were stable themselves. Once the heat and pressure started to climb, the core could spiral out of their control very suddenly. It simply was not designed to operate this way.

It was untenable. Ulyana’s heart and lungs pounded. Her skin brimmed with anxiety.

Just one measly Volker would have been nothing to them in vastness of the Ocean.

On land, in this situation, it was suddenly an obstacle that could stop them in their tracks.

“One 76 mm shot might not take down that Volker.” Aaliyah said.

One 76 mm shot was all they had, Ulyana could not afford to waste the main guns–

“Captain, I have an idea!”

This time, it was a dramatically less likely source of tactical advice than Erika.

Alexandra Geninov in the torpedo and missile station.

She raised her hand like she was in a classroom. There was a nervous smile on her face.

“Captain, hand me the controls to the two forward jet anchors!”

Ulyana narrowed her eyes.

Alex smiled. “Come on, Fern knows what I’m putting down! We can do this!”

Fernanda narrowed her eyes and glared at Alex in a similar expression to the Captain.

“Let them try it, Captain.” Erika suddenly said. “We don’t have any better ideas!”

Ulyana turned to face Aaliyah, who nodded her assent as well.

All throughout, the Volker had continued firing at the shield as if not comprehending why its gunfire was suddenly ineffective. It put round after round into the bow none of which left an impression. On the main screen, there appeared numerous explosions deflected by the purple shield, leaving smoke dancing right in front of the cameras. There was a pause, possibly to reload its gun, but the Volker instead withdrew the rocket from its shoulder.

“Geninov has jet anchor control! Gunnery be ready to support her!” Ulyana shouted.

“Aye!”

“Shield down! Now!”

Slowly the cameras lost the purple sheen that had once covered them.

“Firing jet anchors!” Alex shouted.

Two jet-propelled titanium claw anchors shot out of the Brigand’s bow on long lines.

Like metal fists they pounded the Volker one after the other on its rotund torso, and the machine toppled backward, unsteady without the ocean to support it and unable to maneuver quickly without the ability to run water through its hydrojets. Fallen on its back, the machine struggled to right itself, its weapons cast to the floor of the tunnel and causing even more disarray among the infantrymen that had been rallying to its position.

“Fern, now! Right in the underside!” Alex called out.

“I– I see! Indeed!”

The Brigand’s remaining 76 mm gun immediately overheated as it fired, but this did not stop the high explosive munition from soaring out of the barrel and striking deep between the legs the Volker. Perforating its less armored underside, the shell entered the cockpit and exploded with such force that the hull door burst open, spewing smoke and fire and metal and the unseen remains of the pilot. Permanently ending the threat of the diver.

“Zachikova, forward! Take us all the way now!” Ulyana shouted.

The Tigris Mover I began to turn its tracks once more–

“Captain! Stop, please!”

–and instantly paused once more at the behest of an officer.

In the sonar and sensors section, Fatima Al-Suhar looked suddenly ill at ease.

She turned to the Captain’s chair with tears in her eyes and her hands shaking.

Her ears folded, and her tail stood on end. Her honey-brown skin going white.

“Captain, something is wrong. They are getting back up– and I hear an odd noise–”

“Captain! Main screen! Something weird is happening!”

Ulyana barely had a moment to listen to Fatima’s concern before Alex started shouting.

Feeling torn in a dozen directions Ulyana glanced at the main screen.

Her eyes then remained fixed on that bizarre scene, which sent a chill through her body.

“It can’t be. What– what the fuck?”

“Gun status–” Aaliyah said, shocked herself at the sight, “Gas gun– status– now–”

All the bridge officers were held captive by the horror unfolding before them.

Throughout the brief but chaotic span in which the Brigand had clashed with the K.P.S.D., which could not have been more than ten or twenty minutes all told– scores of men had died. If there were a hundred men before them it would not have surprised Ulyana for eighty to have died and twenty to have fled by the end. Between the gas gunners’ frequent barrages, firing bullets large enough to blow a man’s torso open at a rate of ten per second; the overturning of the barricade which crushed and lacerated many more men; the overturning and explosion of the Diver which had become a base of support and thus killed all of the men who had been using it as a shield. There was a preponderance of death.

Resistance should have been crushed, not just in spirit, but actually, concretely crushed.

Physically hewn apart with violence. Splattered visibly all over the tunnel.

Now, right in front of them, several of those hewn bodies and splatters resumed fighting.

Men in all kinds of heinous conditions were standing back up.

Those corpses which had been in the best condition, stiffly forced themselves to a stand, and in horrid twitching motions they made their way slowly to their discarded equipment and picked it up. Bodies without arms and legs twitched useless on the ground; bodies with legs but not arms still stood; and arms without legs crawled on the floor. Bodies without heads still moved; one such body made it all the way to a discarded rocket tube.

It lifted the weapon to its head-bereft shoulder, pointed at the bow of the Brigand, and fired.

That missile sailed just under the bow and crashed into one of the struts holding the ship.

Even just a 60 mm– so aimed, it caused the worst shaking the crew had felt yet.

On the side of the main screen, Tigris and Euphrates appeared suddenly.

They were calling in from the hangar using their officer clearances.

“Captain, what the hell was that! Don’t let them shoot the mover!” Tigris cried out.

“I– I wish– I could answer, what the hell it is–”

Tigris and Euphrates looked confused. They could not see the main screen.

Ulyana tried to control her breathing. Most of her officers were shocked numb.

“Status of guns!” Ulyana called out suddenly.

Fernanda looked even more pale than normal. She looked over her screen.

“M-Main guns ready. Auxiliaries overheated. G-gas guns, um– well– some are ready.”

Their gunner had never spoken so succinctly nor with such fear in her voice.

“Fire gas guns. Fire! Now!” Ulyana called out.

On the main screen, the remaining gas guns fired in disorganized bursts at walking corpses.

Arms, legs, heads, torsos; blasts from 20 mm rounds shredded ever more ambulant meat.

And yet– within moments, the gore-strewn things simply started moving again.

Right in front of all their eyes, the most complete corpses started moving very specifically.

They had begun to reassemble the knocked-about Panzerfaust-IV.

Lifting the tube upward.

Several ruined bodies raising up the mount.

Crawling things dragging munitions over.

They had a goal– they retained the singular purpose of stopping the Brigand.

Ulyana had to struggle to keep from having too strong a reaction to this horror.

Everyone was relying on her to be strong, and to give out orders.

No matter what.

Her life had been replete with violence. Ravenous leviathan attacks, relentless and mighty ships of war, hundreds of lives snuffed out in a second, brutal killings in stations. Massive barrages of cannon fire and gargantuan salvoes of missiles that when detonated were so bright they left their flashes scarred into her eyes for seconds. So many horrid things were so rote and expected that she could no longer have much reaction to them.

These men had gone to pieces before her eyes.

There was no thought spared to that. Men died. But for them to return from the dead?

That was new– that was pure, absolute and utter madness.

It couldn’t be real– and yet–

No, it does not matter, it does not matter–

It was her duty to get her crew out alive! She would not allow another Pravda tragedy.

Ulyana turned to Aaliyah. Her commissar turned to her.

They shared the fear in their eyes. But– they also shared a small, glowing determination.

On the edge of the main screen Euphrates and Tigris exchanged worried glances.

“Captain, is something wrong? Captain, Commissar, talk to me.” Euphrates said seriously.

“Ugh, I’m coming up there!” Tigris shouted. “You can’t keep us in the dark like this!”

“No!” Ulyana shouted back. “Stay right there! Start– start disconnecting the mover.”

Tigris’ eyes opened wide. “Say what? But we’re not–”

“Just do it. Tigris, don’t argue with me. Cut the mover, unclamp us, and seal us shut!”

There was only one choice to escape from this nightmare.

“Yes, Captain.” Tigris said.

On the picture-in-picture, Tigris and Euphrates both left the cameras.

Semyonova, shaken, briefly changed the main screen to show the hangar view.

Tigris and Euphrates had gotten the sailors to assist them in pulling the plug.

“Docking clamps have separated.” Semyonova said after, her voice toneless and rote.

At her side, Fatima had her head down on her station and was shaking, gripped in terror.

Kamarik was praying on the helm. Erika and Olga both had grim expressions.

Everyone was horribly shaken by what they had seen. They could not believe their eyes.

“Order on bridge! The Captain is speaking!” Aaliyah shouted.

Presaging the Captain’s speech.

Ulyana took in a deep breath.

They needed her– no matter what the situation.

“Comrades! We must act now in order to escape! We’re not going to die in this tunnel! I will not allow my precious crew to fall here! Raise your heads for me, one more time!”

She shouted at the top of her lungs, and stood up from her chair for added effect.

With a pointed index finger on the main screen, that Semyonova quickly switched back.

From the hangar view, to the surreal scene playing out in the darkness before them.

“Gunnery, open fire with main guns on the far wall of the tunnel!” Ulyana commanded.

Fernanda blinked for a moment as if in disbelief that she was being addressed.

“Y-Yes Captain!” She shouted. “We’re shooting the floodgate?”

Aaliyah then spoke up again in place of the Captain.

“We’re in the lower levels– the flooding will be contained by interior pressure.” She said.

Shooting at a station and deliberately causing flooding was a taboo–

but they were had to open that floodgate to escape anyway– and it was life or death–

–and there was no guarantee their guns could break open a thick floodgate.

But they had no other choice. Everyone accepted that flimsy reasoning immediately.

Ulyana was so grateful for Aaliyah’s support just then.

And she wasn’t the only one–

“Comrades! I believe in the Captain wholeheartedly!” Erika called out.

She stood as well, and also held a hand out to the main screen.

“Let us see a brilliant barrage, gunnery section! Show me how you’ve come this far!”

With the Premier’s sudden enthusiasm backing the Captain’s dramatic flair, there was no one on the crew still focused primarily on the main screen. Having no choice in the matter and seemingly with little remaining willpower with which to object, Fernanda quietly worked at her station. On the main screen, a small graph appeared with a real-time calculation of the main gun’s firing arc and the predicted effect on the target– it would strike the far wall–

and then–

–the computer had no idea, because it was not supposed to compute such a thing,

“Main guns, open fire!” Erika and Ulyana said at once.

Directly followed by a resounding bellow that thundered through the station interstice.

Two enormous flashes lit up the bridge through the main screen picture.

In the blink of an eye, two 150 mm shells crossed the tunnel and crashed into the far wall.

Smoke blew across the tunnel from the blasts. The bridge held their collective breaths.

“Only cracks! No penetration!” Fatima cried out, putting her head down again.

Then her ears perked up. In the midst of her despair, her golden ears recognized it first.

On the main screen, the predictive imager focused on the sound as well–

water.

First a trickle, and then the flood.

Unequal water pressures between the ravenous Imbrium and the station interior tore at the wounds left on the floodgate. Through every minute crevice, the ocean wound its way, tearing and pushing and crawling heedless like the horde of corpses before them.

Within the seconds a storm of seething ocean and swirling metal tore into the tunnel.

Ripping apart the K.P.S.D. blockade–

and with it the hidden 8th Enforcer of the Syzygy–

washing over the Brigand, sealed tight and ready to sail past the carnage.


“I can’t believe how happy I feel seeing the fucking Imbrium again!”

Through a cloud of foam, debris and corpses that were finally silenced–

The UNX-001 Brigand engaged its newly-upgraded hydrojets, pushed water through its updated turbines for the very first time, and with some repairable damage to its bow, finally escaped from the inside of Kreuzung’s core station. In so doing, it returned to the Imbrium Ocean, embarking upon the next leg of its journey. Its officers practically fell over their stations in their collective relief, many of them openly weeping, all of them shaking.

Ulyana dropped back into her chair.

Aaliyah let out a long sigh and leaned fully onto her.

“Semyonova, we’re almost out of it.” Ulyana said. “Deploy the Cheka and Strelok I~bis.”

“Yes, Captain.” Semyonova said weakly.

She pushed her back up to a seated position, waving her hands in front of her face to fan herself, her face quite red, while simultaneously calling the hangar. At her side, Fatima al-Suhar also forced herself back up. Her makeup was running, and she was still weeping gently, but in the Ocean, her station was far more crucial than it could be on land.

“Captain, we’re receiving passive sonar data again. Updating predictions.” She said.

“Thank you.” Ulyana replied. “Fatima, we’ll get you relieved soon, so you can rest.”

Fatima shook her head. She wiped her face on her sleeve.

“Absolutely not, Captain. Forgive my weakness. I’ll be resolute from now.” She said.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. Nobody here will ever call you weak.” Ulyana said.

Fatima nodded her head, smiling for the first time in a while.

She was a sensitive girl, but she was unquestionably an officer.

“Gunnery, Missiles: status report.” Ulyana turned to the opposite side of the bridge.

“Gunnery is still cooked.” Fernanda said.

She sounded too miserable for her own gimmick. Rather than explain, she pushed her station diagnostics to the main screen. There were a few gas guns with damage, and the main gun was hopelessly overheated for now. The forward 76 mm guns were recovering faster.

Beside her, Alex started hugging herself and her teeth were chattering. She was soaked in sweat, and perhaps cold from how little clothing she had worn during the chaos.

“Torpedoes can actually be fired now. Missiles are ready as well.” Alex said.

“We’ll be relying on you then. Let me know if you need to borrow a coat.” Ulyana said.

“I think I’ll take you up on that, Captain.” Alex said, a chill shaking her entire body.

“Predictions updated!” Fatima called out.

On the main screen, the pitch black Imbrium Ocean began to part ever so slightly.

Using a wide variety of sensory data, the predictor computer assembled a picture of what the ocean before them would look like if it was not naturally lightless, coloring and framing in objects and features. That wall of black with hints of green that had taken up their main cameras started to fill with more than the beams of their forward floodlights.

For the first time, the Brigand could see the absolute bedlam outside the station.


“Sonya Shalikova! Cheka, deploying!”

“Khadija al-Shajara! Strelok I~bis, deploying!”

From the deployment chutes located on the bottom of the Brigand, the hangar’s engineers released two of the ship’s own Diver suits into the water. Sonya Shalikova gripped her two control sticks, her face lit only by her monitors and panels. She engaged her Diver’s hydrojets when she was released from the deployment chute. She could already feel the chaos that was unfolding in the waters around Kreuzung. Ship-caliber ordnance detonated twenty a minute overhead and the vibrations traveled all the way to the tower’s midsection, to be felt by Shalikova as she accompanied the Brigand on its ascent up the station tower.

Despite going into danger, Shalikova felt a sense of relief to be in the cockpit again.

Without the Cheka, or another Diver, she had no control over her own destiny.

Until now, the bridge crew had been handling crisis after crisis, and Shalikova was not even fully aware of what had happened, nor had she been able to participate. She had been in her room or in the hangar while the ship shook up and alert lights flashed, waiting to be deployed. Unable to protect her comrades– unable to protect Maryam.

Out in the water, she had power, agency– she could fight.

“Shalikova, how is the communication?”

There were several LCD screens on the Cheka for her dive cameras as well as video from the communications equipment. On the dedicated communication screen, there was a familiar round-faced blond woman whose current dishevelment did little damage to her bright, pretty face: Natalia Semyonova, the chief signals officer on the Brigand’s bridge.

Shalikova practically had to avert her eyes from that shining smile on her screen.

“It’s fine.” Shalikova said. “We’ll see how the picture holds up when we’re up there.”

Semyonova nodded her head with a solemn expression.

“Based on our current predictions, there are between five and eight ships trading fire overhead. There could be more. Please be on the lookout for ordnance, particularly toward the bow.” Semyonova said. “We’ve lost half the forward gas guns, so our interdiction barrage will be weak. Our objective is to escape, so don’t pursue any enemies too far.”

“Got it.” Shalikova said. “I’m sick of this place– I’ll make sure we get out.”

“We all believe in you!” Semyonova said.

“By the way, before you go. How is Mur– the Lieutenant?”

Shalikova averted her gaze, embarassed to be asking.

Semyonova smiled even wider.

“She just needs some rest. She will be up and about in no time.” She said.

“Oh– good– thank you.”

There was a blink on the LCD, and Semyonova disappeared.

Taking her place: a sly and attractive face, wine-colored makeup and silky blond hair.

A pair of fluffy ears twitched lightly upon meeting Shalikova’s eyes.

“Shali, how’s it feel to be back in the armor after a long vacation? Excited?”

Khadija Al-Shajara winked. Shalikova had no expression to return.

“Is our intrepid leader’s absence troubling you? Does someone have a crush?”

“Can you defer teasing me until after we’ve escaped?” Shalikova groaned.

Khadija suspected about Maryam already, so she was just being an asshole.

But it did cause Shalikova to crack the tiniest smile as they worked.

The Brigand began to ascend the water table. They had emerged from just below the center of the tower. A few hundred meters above them, there was a pitched battle, and there were signs of battle around the station as well. Murati Nakara had extracted from the Rottenführer Jarvi-Stormyweather that Cogitans were behind the core separation. The bridge of the Brigand had also detected the remains of Republic S.E.A.L. suits and small Republic vessels close to the station baseplate– likely from further failed incursions trying to relieve the Core hijackers. Shalikova, and the rest of the officers, could only conclude that the Republic had somehow infiltrated a force into Rhinea to fight the Volkisch.

As much as Shalikova had some sympathy for their erstwhile allies in this war–

“We can’t do something like this. We can’t win like this.” She mumbled to herself.

Something like a Core Separation would only make the people of Kreuzung hate them.

Shalikova was not as politically-minded or strategic as Murati or the Captain.

However, in her mind, threatening to destroy the habitations of Kreuzung’s people would only give power to the Volkisch. How would they be any different from the fascists if they punished ordinary people like that? It was the exact opposite of the promise communism had for the people of the Union. But what exactly did the people of the Alayze Republic even believe in? Shalikova did not know, and there was no way she would be able to puzzle it out in the cockpit of the Cheka. But she felt her heart hurt at the events that had transpired.

When she allowed herself to see the colors, to feel the aether around Kreuzung–

She saw so much black, so much red, so much green– anger, fear, and resignation to death.

The dark waters of the Imbrium around the station were tinged bright with those colors.

Inside that tower, the people of Kreuzung had been exposed to the greatest of horrors.

Their entire world was threatened. Their entire lives, threatened with the Ocean’s violence.

That could not possibly be how they liberated them. It was– it was just– wrong–

“Can’t let it consume me. Focus up, Sonya Shalikova.” She said to herself.

Hardening her heart and shutting her senses and empathy off to Kreuzung.

Dispelling the colors before her eyes and focusing herself on piloting the Diver.

The Cheka rose alongside the ship on the starboard deck, while Khadija’s Strelok held the port closer to the lower hull. The Cheka had been equipped with a standard 37 mm assault rifle and a pair of grenades, along with a Diver-sized diamond sabre attached to her magnetic strip in the back. Khadija had been equipped with exactly the same weapons.

Shalikova flipped reflexively through her weapons on the armament display, toggling through it with flicks of her index finger on one of the paddle-buttons attached to her left stick. On her monitors, there was nothing to see ahead but the empty, pitch-black ocean, an endless expanse of nothing even where her diver lights shone upon it.

All her light revealed was the biological debris of the marine fog billowing around her.

Marine fog, displaced water in the Brigand’s wake and sheer nothingness.

Shalikova could see only the barest impression of the tower wall on her side camera.

Along with her dive computer’s depth gauge, it was the shape of that long shadow which, when finally overtaken and left behind, let Shalikova know to brace herself. It indicated she had arrived at the battlefield that had formed over the station. There was no surprise to it– immediately as she climbed, she could feel the thundering of ordnance growing closer, and could even see the distant flashes of explosions on her cameras, with her own eyes.

Semyonova appeared on the screen– her face distorting slightly every second.

Up here, in a battlefield, the water was distorted by gunfire, and the vibrations affected their communications. Even the audio was a little troubled. But they could still communicate.

“Shalikova, I’m establishing a live connection with predictions of the battlespace.”

On Shalikova’s screens, the predictive output from the Brigand’s much more powerful sensors and computers overlayed directly on the otherwise near-empty ocean.

Impressions of quite massive ships, trading gunfire in circling battle lines.

There were three Republic combatants remaining, two of them Cruisers or maybe even dreadnoughts and one an escort, and two Volkisch ships of similar sizes. The Republic ships were coming close, but the Volkisch ships, firing from cautious ranges, were still hundreds and hundreds of meters away. Shalikova liked their chances of escaping now.

An audio communication played in Shalikova’s ear through her headpiece.

“With the way the Volkisch are circling, we’ll be safest with the Cogitans between us.”

That had been the Captain’s voice. Likely speaking to her, Khadija, and the bridge.

“Copy.” Shalikova said.

She easily followed the Brigand as it began to turn and accelerate.

Then, quite suddenly, one of her cameras was filled with dozens of short-lived flashes.

Rapid and powerful explosions blossomed across the hull of the largest Republic ship.

The prediction Shalikova received from the Brigand updated to reflect the slow sinking of the vessel. As well as to display the suspected culprit. To Shalikova’s surprise, a single Diver was marked on her screen with a red warning indicator of an incoming enemy. A hundred meters away, floating still over its destructive work, and closing in as the Brigand approached it. Shalikova’s mind immediately brought her back to Goryk’s Gorge in the boundary between the Nectaris and Imbrium Oceans, one month ago.

An image of the demonic mecha she fought back then appeared in her mind unbidden.

It gave pause to her confidence–

and prompted her to unleash the psionic power in her sight.

In front of her the lightless foaming water, the dancing marine fog, the digital outlines–

All of it lit up in the deepest, most seething and dark aura Shalikova had ever felt.

Within which there were sudden sparks of a much smaller, much weaker red–

Clashes! That enemy Diver was in combat!

“Shalikova!”

Khadija’s face reappeared on her communicator, her eyes steeled on the threat ahead.

“Someone from the Republic ship must have survived! I’m moving to rescue them!”

For a moment, Shalikova’s heart sank and her breath arrested.

Khadija did not know– she could not have known– she was not psionic–

“I’ll move ahead!” Shalikova shouted suddenly. “You cover me!”

“What? Shalikova?!”

Shalikova pressed her pedals down as far as they would go and leaned forward.

Unleashing all the power she could and minimizing the Cheka’s surface against the water in front of her. Just like Khadija had taught her to move. With the Cheka’s inherent advantage in thrust and mass distribution, as well as a proper forward stance, Shalikova practically rocketed ahead into the water, outpacing Khadija’s Strelok, overtaking her and drawing closer to the enemy before she could. Shalikova heard and felt hundreds of rounds of ammunition rhythmically exploding ahead, and in seconds could see the two combatants, exposed by the ocean like an unfolding curtain on a brutal theater play–

In time for the green and black Diver to slice across the red and white one.

A halberd cutting phantasmal across the sea of the soul–

For an instant, Shalikova felt the agony of the stricken Republic pilot–

The Cheka lifted its assault rifle and opened fire as it approached the enemy.

Her opponent thrust away from the gunfire and the slowly sinking victim.

Shalikova neared at high speed, interposed herself between the two combatants.

Firing a second, closer burst while moving– but then entering a sudden twist,

that halted her momentum entirely–

Three rounds of 37 mm ammunition soared past the opponent’s hip as it easily leaped aside the first and second attacks, but it was caught off-guard by the suddenness with which Shalikova stopped moving entirely. She must have looked to all the world like she was just going to sweep past the enemy. Instead, she completely stopped inside the enemy’s guard, and at less than 10 meters distance with a surprised target, renewed fire.

Striking the enemy Diver square in the center of its substantial hull, explosions followed which blossomed red in the water dispersing high-pressure vapor bubbles.

Leaving behind– at most, pitted marks, and causing appreciably little damage.

Suddenly, Shalikova saw those inky black trails of aura amass behind the enemy Diver.

And then surge toward her like tentacles, hurtling toward her hull with pointed violence.

Shalikova could feel an oppressive pressure like an enormous hand squeezing her chest.

Bow your head in surrender to the King’s Gaze.

There was a voice in her head that resounded as if spoken by a hundred mouths at once.

Shalikova’s hands shook– and she gripped her controls tighter to compensate.

Undeterred, the Cheka fired a second burst into the enemy machine.

Rounds struck the upper torso and shoulder, putting a hole through a control fin but leaving only cosmetic damage otherwise. However, the opponent must have been surprised by Shalikova’s resolve– that had definitely been an attempted psionic attack, but Shalikova had managed to resist it somehow. Her heart quivered, her hands shook, but her gaze remained firmly on her cameras and she had not even blinked in a minute.

The aggressive, heavily armored Diver was temporarily shocked.

Who– How–? Why can’t I see your aura?

Shalikova thought to respond to the psionic inquiry, but she lost the opportunity.

From behind both of them, six tracers struck the monster in the hip armor and back.

Bubbles and foam erupted over the right side of the Diver’s body in the ensuing blasts.

A piece of a control fin flung off– and a chunk of hip armor was left deformed.

Nevertheless, the machine endured, nearly unharmed once again.

“Shalikova! Don’t just stand there! Protect the survivor, the ship will cover us!”

Khadija’s Strelok charged up from behind the enemy mecha, leaping out of the marine fog.

Closing in rapidly, the Brigand’s gas guns began to pepper the surroundings shortly after.

Amid the deepening barrage, the green-and-black Diver lost its zeal for the confrontation. Along with its remarkable armor it demonstrated impressive thrust and maneuverability as it escaped. Accelerating quickly, it thrust up and then away from the Union divers and the incoming Brigand, disappearing into the marine fog and avoiding attempts to pin it down.

Shalikova watched it retreat into the lightless fathoms with a deepening worry in her heart.

That had been a Volkisch craft. It had come out of a Volkisch ship to fight the Republic.

Which meant the Volkisch movement had a powerful psionic pilot working for them.

One maybe even more malevolent and much less reasonable than Selene had been.

Judging by the sheer brutal power contained in that aura.

An oppressive, choking power. The power of a King.

And it was unleashed on command against Shalikova.

Full confidence, no hesitation.

“She used the King’s Gaze.” Shalikova mumbled, remembering Maryam’s words.

“Hey! Help me with this Diver! The pilot might still be alive– I don’t see much damage!”

Shalikova shook her head.

Khadija and the Brigand needed her. They had almost escaped.

Shutting her eyes, she put the impression of that Diver, and of Selene’s Jagdkaiser, out of her mind. There was nothing she could do about either of them. Instead, she assisted Khadija in using their Jet Anchors to draw up the sinking Republic diver into the Brigand.

The Republic ships had been routed, and the Volkisch was closing in–

the Brigands could do no more for Kreuzung but to make good on their escape.


Inside the Kreuzung interstice, the floodwaters had blown through every open passage they could find, filling the conveyor tunnel and partially filling the elevator shaft, and several of the ancillary tunnels. Once the Core Separation was reversed, flood mitigation began to work once more, shutting several passages and draining them to reverse the damage.

All of this water being pushed out left several of the ancillary tunnels scattered with debris from the fighting that had taken place in the conveyor tunnel. Flotsam, washed quite far.

On the floor of one such tunnel, a body that had been drifting aimlessly in the flood now lay beached on cold metal ground. Coming to lie gently on her back as the water drained away.

Her shoulder-length black hair was completely soaked in saltwater.

There was half a halo of a bloody-looking substance suspended over her lolling head.

Deep wounds checkerboarded her otherwise perfectly pale skin.

Her arms and legs were missing, snapped off or cut apart at different angles by the pressure-strewn shrapnel that had swept through the tunnels. Much of her former body, a gelatinous-seeming mass with hundreds of tentacles, had been pulverized and ripped apart and splattered across the walls of the tunnels. What remained was a mutilated human torso.

Around her in the drained tunnels there were all manner of gory remains.

Taking a breather, she tested how much strength the remains of her body had left.

She managed to force herself to a sit.

And to then to drop forward onto her belly and breasts.

Crawling on stumps of limbs caked bloody.

Patiently, without expression or frustration.

Syzygy Enforcer VIII Tristitia. Having failed and allowed the heretic to escape.

She made her way to the torso of a K.P.S.D. trooper.

Gunfire from the heretics as well as the violence of the flood had left the hominin torso spread wide open and unfolded like a red and brown flower of organs and muscle and shattered bones. Tristia crawled until she could tuck her head into the mass. She took a bite of shredded, saltwater-logged meat still stuck to ribs, and tore into the chewy brined heart. She supped on coagulated blood in swollen sinews. None of these things reached what was left of her stomach inside her– all of it broke down immediately into material with which to repair the horrific damage her own body had sustained. Slowly, she closed her wounds, staved off organ failure, and began to mend her bones and limbs.

Her thoughts returned to her as she ate and healed.

“Tristitia thought she understood, but Tristitia was wrong?” She said to herself.

She laid no blame on anyone.

Not on Avaritia’s hands-off command, nor Accedia’s useless guidance or even the heretic who had taken shelter with Hominin and caused this to happen. She could not even blame the useless K.P.S.D. hominins who seemed so confident in themselves that even Tristitia, who absorbed and assisted their plan, believed in them and in their possible success.

Instead, what she felt was a boundless curiosity, and a million questions. Why, why, why? What, what, what? She scrutinized every detail of every moment to try to understand what was desired of her next. She would rotate these events in her mind– but the project would bear no fruit. Only more questions would arise out of the questions pondered.

Tristitia was a being of questions without possible answers. That was true despair.

At least she was still alive.

Her leviform destroyed– but her search for purpose continued.


The UNX-001 Brigand ascended from the Kreuzung crater.

They departed at full speed, leaving behind the site of the festival.

Until nothing could be seen of the place. The Brigand now sailed for Aachen.

Resuming its journey into the vast and dark expanse of the Imbrium Ocean.

Soon, there was only the ship, and nothing in the cameras but featureless water all around.

Ulyana Korabiskaya collapsed into her chair.

She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. At her side, Aaliyah Bashara looked equally worse for wear, her pajamas clinging to her. Both of them leaned into each other.

Sweaty and exhausted.

Another scrape; another too-close escape.

Pounding hearts transferred stress across each other’s bodies as they touched.

“I think it’s safe to come down from combat alert now.” Erika said, temporarily taking over command from her thoroughly exhausted upper bridge. “Give it twenty or thirty more minutes at max speed and I think we can send everyone away to rest as well. They have more than earned it. Olga and I will volunteer to hold the ‘night shift’.” She smiled reassuringly.

Ulyana could hardly believe the stamina on this woman.

“Semyonova,” continued the bubbly Premier, “Status of the survivor we rescued?”

“Ma’am, the survivor is now undergoing surgery.” Semyonova said.

“I see. Well, let us all pray for her good fortune.” Erika said.

Rather than a Republic soldier, they found a Shimii in the cockpit of the Diver they rescued.

A poor girl younger even than Shalikova– and hacked in a few pieces.

How her body was mutilated was the least of the inexplicable things they had seen.

“It should go without saying,” Olga spoke up then, “the mess back there– it’s classified.”

“We’ll decide later how to communicate those events to the sailors, she means.” Erika said.

Nobody on the bridge had any desire to argue about that.

They were all completely drained.

Certainly, Ulyana wanted to the forget their ‘night of the living dead’ as soon as possible.

With space to think, she told herself, it was probably all a result of psionics.

Psionics– good lord.

She had so many insane reports she would have to endure soon!

“Everyone!” Erika clapped her hands. Tired faces turned from their stations to see her. “Please do not let today linger on your hearts, except as the triumph that it was for all of us! You were absolutely gallant! You may not feel that way, but I have nothing but praise for all of you. We were caught by surprise, time was against us, and we had to think on our feet– you all put together a miracle before my very eyes. Now it is my turn to say: it will be my pleasure to work with all of you. Victory is possible! Believe in victory!”

Everyone was far too knocked about to clap or to take much pleasure in Erika’s speech.

However, the tiniest smiles crept onto the faces of the bridge crew.

Once more, against mounting odds, they lived to return to the Ocean and fight another day.


Around Kreuzung, the festival’s dying embers served as semaphore to new arrivals.

A dozen ships first to gather up the remnants.

Then, a hundred more arrived to overturn the venue.

And soon, there would be another hundred, to clear the land.

With the end of the festival, the grounds would be prepared for a grand opera instead.

Thundering voices sing in turns each proclaiming their vision of Eisental’s Destiny.

The ensuing performance would be titled, Der Nationale Volkskrieg.


Previous ~ Next

Bandits Amid the Festival [11.10]

Recall the First Memory…

Her body felt like it was spiraling without end down a blue and green tunnel. Lights from ‘outside’ shone in the same patterns around her, impossible to make sense of. She could not move and had only the faintest impression that her eyes were ‘seeing’ or receiving any stimuli. What she was most aware of was the inexplicable and inexact and yet inextricable conditions of a living being– aware of ‘breath’, aware of ‘body’, aware of ‘space.’

Sometimes, she was made aware of ‘pain’ and through pain, aware of her frailty.

Over time she arrived at additional awareness; and was forced to experience even more. She realized she was cold or hot, and that her surroundings were fluid, and that there were structures keeping her in a specific position, and that if those structures wanted to they could position her differently, changing the lights in front of her eyes. Lights which must have been coming from a place farther than herself, a place beyond her own.

This suspension was indefinite and without beginning– but it did reach an end.

At a time and place impossible to situate, all of the fluid drained from around her.

Her body dropped onto cold, hard ground, her limbs impossible to move under her weight.

And she saw the lights, the eyes, the walls, for what they were, without understanding.

Glassy eyes watching

hands thundering together in a chorus

beneath the symbol and purple glow, in worship,

it had begun–

STEMLINK EXCEPTION OCCURRED UNRECOVERABLE BLOCK

FREE STEMCHAIN ASSOCIATION PROCESS EXECUTING

LINKING TO KNOWN CONTEMPORARY BLOCK–

Recall the Second Memory…

“Hold your hand out to me, like this– very good Arabella!”

In front of her eyes there was the smiling face of a young woman.

“Now, can you say my name? It’s Margery, mɑːdʒəri, Balyaeva

She had raised her hand, palm forward, and spread her fingers.

Arabella had mimicked her. Palm to palm, fingers to fingers.

“Margery.” She said, slowly, mimicking the pronunciation.

Margery was warm and bright.

Everything around Arabella was cold and colorless. Every wall was grey and the floors were white and the lights were white as well. But the lights around Margery were bright, and her brown hair was rich, and her eyes were shiny. She always smiled around her too.

“Very good! You’re learning well!”

Arabella’s body was almost as big as Margery’s, but she couldn’t understand a lot of what Margery told her, not initially. Gradually, however, her mind and its capabilities expanded. She repeated the things Margery told her, and mimicked Margery’s actions, but she slowly started to understand them more. If she did what she was told, she was a good girl– action and consequence. Then from there, she began to understand the nuances. Margery wanted her to be able to speak the words she was told because she wanted her to learn to say things herself– so Arabella made sounds and not just the ones Margery taught her.

Those sounds, over time, became Arabella’s own words.

Words had meaning, and together, they allowed the two to communicate.

“Very good!” was positive. It meant Margery approved of her and was happy.

“Margery Balyaeva,” was a name, it was given to Margery to make her unique and special.

“You’re learning well!” was positive. Arabella was doing what Margery wanted her to.

Then as Arabella’s words continued expanding, Margery said even more things.

“Have you seen the Colonel lately?” Margery wanted to know about the Others.

“How do you feel today?” Margery wanted to know if the Others had hurt Arabella.

“I’m sorry.” Margery wanted her to know she wasn’t bad like the Others.

“I’ll talk to them.” Margery couldn’t stop the Others from being bad to Arabella.

“Caderis…”

Arabella’s sister–

whom the others were bad to the most–

“I’ll keep them away–”

she couldn’t

so

they kept hurting

but why–

INCOMPLETE BLOCK IN DNA SEQUENCE

FREE STEMCHAIN ASSOCIATION PROCESS EXECUTING

REFORMING BLOCK SEQUENCE–

Recall the Third Memory…

Arabella was seated on a bench in a very small room.

There was a glass window across from her and she understood that there were humans, the Others, who were hiding behind it. She understood that Margery was the only human, in this room, who was allowed to be on their side of the glass. There were other rooms, where the rules were very different. In this room, Margery spoke with them while the Others watched behind the glass. They could see her, but she could not see them.

In this room, Arabella sat next to her sister Caderis.

Arabella was named because ‘AB’ and Caderis was named because ‘CD’.

Arabella was One and Caderis was Two.

Margery had told her that one time.

Arabella had not told that to Caderis though.

Unlike Arabella, Caderis was bothered when she tried learning things.

So Arabella did not try to teach her things even though Caderis got in trouble for it.

In fact on that day Caderis had a bruise because the Others had hit her for not learning.

Arabella had not been hit. She did not have a bruise.

Caderis and her were different in other ways too.

Both of them were very pale with red and white hair, and Margery had told them that they were both ‘girls’, like Margery. They had bodies that were similar to her, in height, the length of their arms and legs, the way their chest was. But both of them were very pale while Margery was more ‘pink’. Margery had eyes that were white with a color, and Arabella and Caderis both had eyes that were black with a color. Arabella had small horns on her forehead that parted her hair. Caderis had one bigger horn on the side of her head because the Others had broken her other horn one day. Caderis’ hair was also much more red too.

Both of them had long white dresses with long sleeves. Sometimes they would have no clothes and it would be even colder than usual. But most of the time they had the white dresses. When they got bloody or dirty they would throw one out and get another.

Margery did not have one of those dresses. She always wore a white coat instead.

Arabella liked to remind herself of those details.

If she ever forgot– it would be awful not just for her but for Caderis too.

Arabella had to continue to be good at her words for Caderis’ sake.

Margery addressed the window.

“Their language development and critical thinking is now at about the level of an older child. They are compliant with experiments and their resource needs are generally stable. Physical development is stable; no issues stemming from the use of exotic aDNA. Both have demonstrated the ability to accelerate and manipulate the growth of their cells, but both have agreed with me to maintain stable forms– we don’t know what it might do to their implanted STEM systems if they underwent dramatic biological changes. Because of their increasing mental and emotional abilities, I have a request for the commission.”

“What is your request?” the window asked back.

Upon hearing the Others reply from the glass, Caderis briefly shook beside Arabella.

Arabella sidled closer to her, trying to comfort her with her body heat.

“I need to be able to vet the personnel who will handle Arabella and particularly Caderis. We have had frequent turnover at the base, leading to the use of untrained lower rank personnel unsuitable to care for the subjects; as well as incidents with higher ranking officers who do not understand the complex needs of the subjects nor the unique psychological characteristics of the subjects. It is counter to our mission and progress to allow unsuitable personnel to– influence, the subjects, negatively.”

Margery had wanted to say a word like ‘abuse’. Arabella read this from her colors.

“We’re unable to grant that request, Dr. Balyaeva. We understand that this is not a clean environment– but we are only able to support the scientific endeavor of the mission because of its potential application to military development. Success here would create a revolution in autonomous biomechanics. We know you are referencing incidents with Colonel Greim and Subject Two– these are unfortunate, but the Colonel’s participation is necessary.”

Arabella felt Caderis shake when ‘Colonel Greim’ was said.

In front of the two pale, shaking girls, Margery closed her fists at her sides.

“I cannot guarantee continuing positive results in these tainted conditions.” She said.

“Your results have been very acceptable, Dr. Balyaeva. We are very pleased. Continue to work as you have, and the commission will notify you when we deem it ready to begin the next phase of the mission. We are almost prepared to test the subjects in their capacity as control operatives. We suggest you begin to prepare them for this eventuality.”

When the Others fell silent, the glass window darkened to signify their departure.

Immediately, Caderis bowed her head.

“They’re going to keep hurting me.” She mumbled.

Arabella was surprised.

She hadn’t gotten the same understanding from what the Others had said.

“No, Caderis, Margery is doing a good job. So everything will be okay, right?”

Arabella turned to Margery with a hopeful smile.

But Margery had her head bowed low, with her fists still closed.

She approached Caderis and kneeled down in front of her.

“I’m so sorry.”

and– the walls began to shake– to break down–

Caderis became shrouded in fog–

Margery said more– but she couldn’t–

see,

UNABLE TO VERIFY BLOCK VALIDITY

FREE BLOCK RECONSTRUCTION FAILED TO FILL NEXT NEAREST LINKS

STEMLINK SAFE-FAILING TO NEXT BLOCK IN SEQUENCE

Recall– the fIfTh■? Memory–?

Caderis’ eyes glinted from inside the pitch-black lockup cell.

Arabella’s eyes wanted to fill in the space where her grinning mouth would be.

She could tell Caderis was happy and pleased and it scared her a little bit.

“Will things be okay?” Arabella asked Margery.

Margery and Arabella were outside the cell. Margery had some red on her coat.

But her colors were strangely peaceful.

“They won’t send Caderis away.” She reassured Arabella. “She’s special and important now.” Arabella’s eyes widened. She just wasn’t understanding the explanation very well.

“She hurt the Colonel. Does that make her special and important?” Arabella asked.

“Yes. It makes her much more special and important than before.” Margery said.

There was a grim tone to her voice. Her colors were peaceful– but her voice was sad.

Maybe Margery was glad the Colonel would not be hitting Caderis anymore.

But Arabella thought, she wasn’t happy with how Caderis became special and important.

She did not look like she had when Arabella wrote her homework really well.

That was a good job worth a big smile and gold stars.

“I am the most special and important!” Caderis declared from inside the lockup.

“Will I ever see her again outside the box?” Arabella asked.

Margery nodded. “She’s just in the box for a little while.”

Arabella nodded back.

“But– Arabella, things are going to change a little for her.” Margery said.

She explained how but– her voice was getting distant again– her colors–

STEM– EXITING TO META LAYER–

BLOCK HEURISTIC DECOHERED– FREE REPAIR ENGAGED–

56% OF STEMCHAIN DNA COMPROMISED– BLOCK INTEGRITY DECAYING DUE TO FREE BLOCK ASSOCIATION AND DECRYPTION ALGORITHMS ON CHEMICAL STRUCTURE–

RECOMMENDED TO RETURN BAD BLOCKS TO COLD STORAGE–

RETURN CHAIN TO LAST KNOWN GOOD BLOCK SPACE AND EXIT STEM–?

No.

I must see the rest.

No matter how it hurts and no matter what it does.

DIRECT DNA EDITING IN FREE BLOCK ASSOCIATION AND DECRYPTION IS DIRECTLY COMPROMISING CELL HEALTH, CHEMICAL STRUCTURE AND DNA COHERENCE. ACCESS TO KNOWN BAD BLOCKS IS NOT ADVISED. PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE TO CONTINUE.

I am– I am not a hominin.

This body will recover.

Continue to deploy free association and decryption algorithms.

STEMCHAIN REBOOTING TO NEXT KNOWN BLOCK–

HEARTH LABS IS NOT LIABLE FOR ANY SIDE EFFECTS THAT MAY ARISE.

The– ■■■■■■■ Mem– ry–

Arabella was in the lockup too now. It was used for punishment and to scare them.

Sometimes they were there for days without light.

Sometimes they were there for days and there was an open little window at back so they would be buffeted by cold rain and scared by the purple lightning. Sometimes they wouldn’t be fed, but it didn’t matter, because the food was bad and it was not very filling and often, Arabella just ate because it was a good thing to do that was acknowledged.

It was a ‘good job’ to eat.

They had locked Arabella up too because she had been bad too.

Less bad than Caderis, but still bad.

But there was one day at the lockup that was the most different day Arabella experienced.

Because Margery visited them at the lockup now. She called out her presence.

They could only see her from inside through a small slot at the level of their eyes.

Arabella was glad that Margery had come to visit.

“Margery, Caderis is being scary.” Arabella said.

At her side, Caderis had begun to scratch horrible things on the floor every day. Her fingers were bloody because the lockup was made of metal and it was hard to scratch. Despite this, she scratched and scratched. Arabella could barely read it. She said it was her plan. She said she would be Two and Arabella would be One but it was different. It was different than how Margery or the Others said it. The way she said it scared Arabella.

It implied things, horrible, violent things.

But Arabella said nothing because she did not want to hurt Caderis any further.

So she thought Margery would stop her, but–

“It’s fine, Arabella.” Margery said.

Arabella saw Margery’s hand through the slot. She had something in it.

A moment later, the door to the lockup opened completely.

Caderis looked up from the floor in shock, as light entered her side of the room.

On one hand Margery had the key, but on the other– she had a black, L-shaped thing.

Arabella knew it was the object all of the ‘Officers’ carried that made them powerful.

“Caderis,” Margery called out.

Caderis’ eyes darted from Margery’s hands to Margery’s face.

Arabella stood stock still on the bench, staring between Caderis and Margery.

“Caderis, I will leave the door open. I have left many doors open for you.” Margery said.

“Margery, that is against the rules, isn’t it?” Arabella asked.

“Please be quiet, Arabella.” Margery said, frowning.

Despite being acknowledged by Margery, Caderis remained quiet. Her fingers shaking.

Margery bent down to the floor, where Caderis was.

She reached out a hand and stroked Caderis’ cheek. Caderis drew back, grimacing.

“I’m sorry. I will deal with– the Others. You can leave and take Arabella with you.”

Caderis’ eyes narrowed. She stopped fearing Margery. But her colors turned redder.

“I don’t forgive you.” Caderis said. “I don’t forgive you. I’ll never forgive you.”

Margery’s eyes looked back. Almost– hollow. “I know. Please take care.”

“Arabella, we’re leaving. We’re leaving.” Caderis said, snapping her head to her side.

She reached out a hand to grab hold of Arabella’s own. She pulled her softly, at first.

Despite everything, Arabella remained seated on the bench with her hands on her lap.

She knew this was against the rules, and it was wrong and it wasn’t a ‘good job’.

They would get in the worst trouble that they had ever gotten in their lives.

And Margery would get in trouble too.

Arabella didn’t even know what they did to Margery when she got in trouble. It must have been even worse than what they did to Arabella and Caderis because Margery was always following the rules and always doing her very best. She would not have worked so much and been so strict if she wasn’t going to be in even worse trouble.

“Arabella!” Caderis shouted. “She’s letting us go! We can go! We can go outside!”

Margery got up from where she had crouched.

That hollow-eyed, inexpressive face laid on Arabella.

Arabella looked up at that expression seeking acknowledgment.

“Arabella,” Margery said, “Listen to your sister or I will hate you. I will dislike you a lot.”

It was hard to believe what she was hearing. The words rumbled through her heart.

She knew what ‘hate’ was, she could not have ever remained ignorant of such a thing.

Now that she heard that word, she knew what was wrong with Margery.

It was hate, in her too.

That was the black color that suffused her and drove out all her brightness.

And it was the red specks that stained her shoes.

And the grip on the dark thing in her hand.

“Arabella, I know I did a bad thing. Sometimes you have to do bad things.” She said.

“Arabella, Margery is letting us leave. Please listen to Margery.” Caderis said.

There was nothing she could do or say. Everything was so wrong that it hurt.

“Okay.” Arabella said. Without facing anyone. She was feeling that hollowness too.

Darkness crept and grew around her as it had enveloped Caderis and Margery before.

She did not understand how she could live life now or what would happen next.

But she didn’t resist Caderis’ hand taking her and leading her out of the lockup.

And no matter how much she wracked this memory, and turned it, and warped it.

It was impossible to see what face Margery had made as they left her forever.

Recall– ■■■■ —Plase

Caderis and Arabella descended a long staircase and arrived at an absolutely massive room the likes of which they had never seen before. For a moment, Arabella was fooled into thinking they must have gone outside even though there was a roof. Even the biggest test areas that Arabella and Caderis ran around in were smaller than this place. They arrived at fenced catwalks overlooking an enormous pool of water, with yellow and red signs that Arabella could just barely read and understand, indicating potential dangers.

Danger of drowning, electrocution, falling, and– violence.

Suspended in the middle of this room, there was an enormous creature.

Upon first sighting its long, silvery-white segmented body, Arabella wanted to call it a ‘thing’ because it resembled some of the things from around the base. They had met things like this before in experiments but none this big and intricate. Long and sleek like a submarine, shiny like metal, with smaller golden legs under its bulky body that looked like knives and folded wings on its back with two long attached structures like ‘rockets’ or ‘engines’; but it also resembled a ‘snake’ or a ‘serpent’ or a ‘dragon’ from stories Margery read to them. She could see that its body was gently stirring, like the chest of a person who was breathing air.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Arabella was surprised to see Caderis run up to the fence and deliberately shouting at it.

“Wake up! You can understand me, right? Please wake up!”

Around Caderis’ hands, the colors collected for a moment before flying away.

There was a soft thumping noise as they collided with the creature’s back.

In the next instant, the enormous metal claws restraining the creature groaned loudly.

As it lifted its head from below the fence until one of its enormous red eyes appeared.

Like a fleshy mirror encompassing both of the diminutive girls in its sight.

Something like a yellow circle in the middle of its red eye inverted as if fixating on them.

Arabella had seen that shape before too– it was a ‘crosshairs.’

“You’re awake! You’re awake!” Caderis looked overjoyed. Waving her hands and jumping up and down in front of the enormous implacable eye. “I’m going to let you go! I’ll open the locks and open the door and you’ll leave! Do you remember? I told you I would do it!”

Over the eye, a grey film rose up, half-blinking flesh.

Then Arabella heard a deep voice speaking without words.

I remember. Thank you.

“Yes!” Caderis said. “Yes. Of course. You don’t belong here. Please go very quickly!”           

In front of them, the eye half-shut. The creature’s restrained wings and legs shuddered.

Will you be able to leave too?

Caderis’ frantic smiling face seemed to slowly settle in recognition.

“We’re going to try. We will find a way.” She said.

“We can swim alongside.” Arabella interjected.

The water under me is colder and darker and harsher than the water you know.

“We– We can find our own way. But it’s important you go.” Caderis said. “They are hurting you too right? They were hurting you like they hurt us? But they won’t hurt anyone anymore. Margery let us out. Margery is against them and we are against them. I promise you.”

Caderis leaned over the fence reached out her pale hand to touch the creature’s sleek hide.

At the touch, the creature’s eye shut. Arabella wanted to think that maybe it was happy.

But its words were some of the coldest she had heard in her little life yet.

I will end them all. I will end all of them and they will never come back. Then I will make a safe place. Please wait for me. Please keep yourselves safe until I come back to protect you.

Arabella was shocked to hear something so violent and felt, for a brief moment, regret.

Caderis, however was delighted. She clapped her hands. She did not hesitate.

“Yes! Thank you! It’s a promise then! I’ll break these– and then you can leave.”

She looked up at the claws holding the massive being inside the room.

All of the colors gathered around her, more intensely than ever.

And they gathered around the claws, and the claws creaked like they never had before.

They pulled apart, pieces of them flying and striking so hard they put holes in the fences.

Each claw, one by one, releasing the creature’s head, its legs, its wings.

Until it fell into the water with a tremendous splash.

Arabella feebly shielded herself with her hands, while Caderis laughed riotously.

Her next target was the massive door at the far back of the room.

Before she could strike the doors open, however, a golden leg slowly rose from the water.

With its flat and blunt side, it returned Caderis’ affectionate touch, rubbing on her flank.

After it retreated, Caderis made her colors bright again and forced them on the door.

There was a great tearing of metal. Klaxons and red lights sounded too-late warnings.

As soon as even a sliver of the door had opened the water outside did the rest.

A massive roaring wave pounded the doors aside and quickly filled the rest of the room.

Caderis continued laughing with delight as she and Arabella were submerged.

And in the red alarm light-tinged darkness they invited into the room–

Arabella saw the absolutely massive, serpentine, winged and many-legged creature they had released. Diving away into the inscrutable eternity that awaited them outside these metal walls. There was rumbling in the water, explosions, shockwaves, and an ears-splitting roar. As soon as it was released it had begun to fulfill its wicked promise on the humans nearby.

Under the purple-flecked skies, it would wreak horrors unimaginable.

But–

ThtMe–ry$#%$■–

w@not–■■■■■

Hers–

DNA INCOHERENCE BEGINNING TO COMPROMISE METALAYER.

Override. Resume block association.

SAFETY LOCKS EXECUTING– ALL BAD BLOCKS AND STEMLINKS–

OVERRIDE. CODE —■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

FAILURE STATE. REBOOTING METALAYER.

METALAYER INTEGRITY COULD NOT BE FULLY RECOVERED.

SAFETY LOCKS EXECUTING–

NO.

RESUME INTERFACE EMULATION FOR FREE BLOCK ASSOCIATION.

OVERRIDE ACCEPTED. FORCE EXECUTING NEXT NEAREST BLOCK LINK–

    

Recall– ■■■■■–

–■■■call– ■■■

■■Recall– ■■■■

R■■all– ■■–■■■

all– ■■–■■■Re

Re–■■Erer■■–

■■■–call■■■–Er

call–■■all■■■■

———————-

■■■■■■■■■■■■

⬡⬡⬡⬡⬡⬡⬡⬡⬡

Real■-

At the foot of the great tree and between its enormous roots, the figure knelt in prayer.

Their body covered in rags of animals. Their hair was long, and they were shaking.

There, the figure laid a gift for the elder. A sacrifice of fruit and meat from their forage.

Neatly arranged within a circle of stones. After bowing their head, they looked up.

Up as far as their eyes could possibly travel, and still not seeing the canopy.

In the presence of the silver elders, they felt a great warmth and happiness.

Whenever the breeze blew between their trunks it carried their audible sentiments.

Thank you. We love you dearly. We hope you will thrive. Our everything is yours too.

Upon hearing that soft voice in this cruel world, the figure felt immense emotion.

But they were not allowed to shed tears at the foot of the tree for very long.

“How dare you? You will leave this place, whole or in pieces! Voiceless insect!”

All of those words appeared in the mind of the figure instantly.

There was the barest flash of pale skin, dark eyes and black, hot claws upon them–

–the figure immediately fled, lucky that the Tree People caught only their rags this time.

Recall,

The gentle face of a smiling woman looking upon a massive graph of helixes.

Sequences of aDNA from the Great Tiankeng Sinkhole.

I didn’t know the responsibility I took on. All I wanted was to learn about you.

Human DNA helixes intertwine with the ADNA. Do they match?

I learned too late that my work is not in a separate world from the one outside the lab.

A warm and sad smile. Tears down her eyes. A shaking hand covers the helixes.

I’m sorry for bringing you into this twisted existence.

All of the graphs around her fill with the same inscrutable multi-six-sided symbols.

And I will never make up for it.

EXCORIUM HUMANITAS.

But this isn’t what I wanted to recall–

Aer Federation Vivit Aeternum.

This isn’t– this isn’t–

Protegat In Aeternum Ille Imago Dei.

This won’t help me– I need– the information that will help me–

The dead stay dead. The world is of the living and for the living.

Live in the living world.

And leave behind the dead one.

“Here we are; you asked for this, so you can’t complain about it now.”

Arbitrator I smiled girlishly with her hands behind her back.

“Braya, wherever you want to take me, I know it will be special!”

She had wanted to go out on a date with Braya; everyone else was planning dates.

Her gloomy computer girl did not take her to a sweet shop or a restaurant, however. Instead, she offered to take her on a ‘picnic’ to someplace ‘special.’ That was how they ended up sneaking through an access panel in one of the walls of the Alcor Steelworks module and descending into a dark and somewhat tight but very tall room, accessible by ladder. Surrounded on all sides by rows and rows of fiber optic and steel cables, switchboxes, hundreds of glowing diagnostic LEDs and other mechanics for the tower.

At the bottom of the maintenance shaft, the two of them sat down on the cold metal floor, with barely enough room to stretch their legs fully. Arbitrator I had to tuck the tail she had been growing around her side. Braya unzipped a small bag she had brought that had their picnic items inside it. A thermos full of hot broth with two cups, two small hard plastic bottles filled with cold water, two individual sachets of ration energy drink powder, and a pair of sandwiches. Hard brown bread, mayonnaise, tomato pickle, canned cheese, put together, warmed up and wrapped in foil. They were still warm to touch.

Such food did not satiate Arbitrator I’s inner beast, but it still provided calories.

Arbitrator I would not turn down hominin food when offered.

Especially not when her Braya had gone through the effort to make them herself.

“Here.” Braya gave her the sandwich and her own cup and bottle of water. “Empty the powder into the water and shake it up.” She instructed. She filled Arbitrator I’s cup with broth, and then set about mixing her own energy drink. Arbitrator I ripped her sachet and got a whiff of a sweet scent. Mixed in and shaken up it made the water a deep purple color.

“Oh lucky you. The purple flavor tastes nothing like grapes, but it’s comforting.”

Braya shook her own bottle and found the water turning a bright orange yellow.

“Well, could’ve been worse. Could’ve been the green flavor.” Braya said.

“Would you like to trade, Braya? Every flavor is just a flavor to me.” Arbitrator I said.

“No, you keep it. Just tell me how the sandwiches are.”

Arbitrator I smiled. She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite.

Savory, gooey cheese, sweet and tangy pickle, with the fatty mayo to keep it in balance.

And the earthy, nutty flavor of the hard brown bread, plus the additional texture.

Hominin could always make some decent food. It was one of their many virtues.

If only she could subsist solely upon it, without her– unique– concerns.

“This is quite pleasurable to consume.” Arbitrator I said.

Braya cracked a grin.

“I didn’t think food tasted like anything to you. You usually just vacuum it down.”

“I can taste your food, but I don’t usually have any reason to take pleasure in eating it.”

“Really? A reason, huh? So you are taking pleasure in eating now?”

“Of course! Braya made these sandwiches, so I am savoring every scrap.”

“You’re so weird.”

Braya laughed. She scanned Arbitrator I’s face briefly before looking up the shaft.

“I’m not being weird! I love you Braya. You make me happy.” Arbitrator I said.

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” Braya grinned.

“I truly mean it!”

Braya laughed again. She sat with her legs tucked up to her skinny trunk.

“I can accept that you do love me. I mean, fuck, we’ve had sex. You drink my blood to live. I guess you do love me– but it’s still difficult to come to grips with the whole thing.” Zachikova said. “I never thought I could love anyone, or anyone could love me. So it’s still weird.”

“I love you a lot. In fact, we are soulmates! Your soul called out to me.” Arbitrator I said.

She put on a proud expression upon saying that.

Soulmates? That probably sounded even weirder than before.

But it had come from the heart.

“Was that when I first saw you in the water?” Braya asked.

Arbitrator I nodded her head. She too started looking up at the ceiling, like Braya.

“Your soul feels so similar to my own.” She said. “I felt that you could understand me.”

“You even got that through the shell of the drone?” Braya asked.

“Yes. Your self was inside it! You had such beautiful and resplendent colors.”

Arbitrator I turned to Braya and leaned into her side.

“Now it’s your turn to tell me how special I am to you.” She said.

“C’mon. Do I let anyone else drink my blood? Don’t be so needy.” Braya whined.

“Braya, I want to know, why did you feel so curious about my leviform?”

She could see Braya tense up. Perhaps caught by surprise, she averted her gaze.

“I always identified with machines and engineering more than people. People being scared of Leviathans and violent toward them just made me curious to study one, I guess.”

On the antennae that took the place of her ears, the LEDs began to blink faster.

“I mean, you were just– you were a remarkable sight! Your body plan was amazing, you maneuvered so easily– I thought of you as ‘the Dancer’ because of how unique your movement was. I had never seen a Leviathan that graceful and curious. I just thought you were– really cool. I had never seen beauty like that in this world. Happy now?”

With every word she spoke Braya seemed to go redder in the face.

Arbitrator I laughed. “How is my body plan now? Is it still amazing?”

“Hey. You know what I mean.” Braya grunted.

Satisfied, Arbitrator I beamed bright and let herself lean against the devices behind her.

“I am flattered. I could return to that form for you if you would like?”

“What the hell? No? Look– I’m not good at this sappy stuff. But I’m not mad that you’re here or anything or if I would have sent you away. It’s actually– it’s kind of nice to have someone around when I’m reading logs or adjusting some stupid packet filtering program or whatever. I’ve always been alone or with a bunch of boneheads. You’re– special. And I keep harping on this, but you should be pretty fucking satisfied you get to drink my blood.”

“I am satisfied!” Arbitrator I replied. “I am thrilled to have come this far alongside you.”

“Fantastic, does that mean you’ve given up on ‘breeding’ me now?” Braya said.

“One step at a time.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Still, despite saying that, Braya looked quite amused by the whole thing.

“Braya.”

Arbitrator I’s hand grasped Braya’s own, and they looked into each other’s eyes.

“If there is anything you want to know about me now. I’m willing to answer.”

She said this with all the seriousness in the world, after being so frequently teasing in tone.

She had dug up the information about herself now– if Braya wanted to know anything–

No matter how painful or strange, Arbitrator I would tell her.

Braya held her gaze for a moment. Her little smile from before never fading from her face.

“Let me do my best Murati impression. ‘Will you give your all in defense of communism’?”

Arbitrator I blinked several times in rapid succession.

“I mean it Braya. I know– I haven’t been forthcoming about my history, and my gifts–”

“You can write all of that in a report later.” Braya said suddenly. She shook her head and looked at the ceiling again, leaning back and relaxing. They held a deep silence for minutes before she spoke again. “To me you’re Arabella, the friendly leviathan who miraculously became my lover. You’ve been at my side when I’ve coded some truly inane scripts for my tech illiterate crew; given me the deepest, reddest love bites of my life; you’re always being weird and annoying and I– I guess I love you. I trust you– I don’t need your RAP sheet.”

Arbitrator I was speechless. For a moment, she did not know how to feel about this.

Her eyes, involuntarily, started tearing up. She thought Braya would demand everything.

It had never once crossed her mind that despite the world of information she withheld–

–she had given Braya enough to actually be loved and trusted back. To be seen as a person.

“Thank you, Braya.” Arbitrator I said. “I– I ill deserve your kindness. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say shit like that– Hey, come on, don’t cry. It’s really fine. It’s not a big deal.”

It was a big deal, and while Braya struggled to comfort her, Arbitrator I had a cry about it.


Kreuzung core station’s B-block was the second most open, spacious and luxurious area of the tower, right after A-block, and situated directly below it. B-block resembled a diorama of surface era concrete streets with two-story townhouses dominating its upscale residential area, outside of which there were market streets with restaurants and amenities in brightly neon-lit strip buildings that appeared like a mirage brought about by a trance.

Overhead, there was a blue sky complete with simulated clouds that could project a day-night cycle good enough for its residents to live by without complaints. However, the residents could not have been said to trend toward being imaginative sorts. Their conception of a sky was far different from that of the dreams of the baseplate residents. B-block’s residents were the well-to-do ownership and managerial class of the many businesses in the lower blocks, as well as the middle management and executive class of those few enterprises headquartered in the orbit of the government center in the middle of A-block.

Rents were high, but there was the space to display wealth and enjoy it.

There were a sparse few electric cars on the streets and roads, real plants growing in plots along the sidewalks without bubbles or other tending devices. They had parks where they could walk with their children sans any ‘riff-raff’ who could concern them. There was a K-12 school for the residents so their children could only ever have the most proper friends. The KPSD had a platoon of fifty men devoted solely to patrolling the residential sector and its surroundings, answering the residents with politeness and deference, and handling any misplaced individuals with the brutality their trespass deserved.

B-Block was the height of the dream of upward mobility in Kreuzung.

To soar higher than B-block, and live in the manses of A-block, required more than work or skill could ever grant. Therefore the residents of B-block, who so well knew their place, kept the status quo and who so readily policed those below them, never looked at their sky with longing. They looked around themselves with pride and paid no heed to the idea of the world farther overhead. Even in a Rhinea that had supposedly abolished the aristocracy through National Socialism and uplifted the National Proletariat and the Imbrian Master Race; there was no point acknowledging that the sky of B-block was nothing but the bottom of A-block, because only the barons and countesses of the world could reside there.

But to the infiltrators, this connection was absolutely crucial and convenient.

By reaching the sky of B-block, they could move silently between the two enclaves.

In the middle of the simulated sky, there was actually a small building on the very roof.

Surrounded by a myriad of colors, waving and turning and bleeding into each other. That was what the beautiful simulation looked like from inside its focal point. In this maintenance suite, the illusion of the sky was projected downward. It was out of sight and out of mind for the majority of the population, controlled remotely and only accessed when something broke or needed physical adjustment. To the infiltrators, it was a broad and comfortable space sparsely littered with tools where nobody could bother them–

–and nobody could hear the screams and sobbing of their victims.

“Wizard III please quiet that one already, it doesn’t need to be alive for entrails divination.”

In the middle of the mostly empty metal room, surrounded by junction boxes, LED lights, the open windows with their intense swirling color, and scattered tools– was a bound hominin.

Around the sobbing, thrashing, lamenting body, was Avaritia’s band of Omenseers.

Avaritia sat on top of a crate of spare parts, legs spread, leaning back and yawning.

In the far corners of the room, there were a few Vanguard units standing guard.

They watched Wizard III with varying expressions, disinterest, aversion, excitement.

Wizard III approached the hominin and with a disgruntled look on her face, as if she had been assigned an annoying chore, seized the person by the head and bent it at a horrid angle. Neck broken, the body’s head was seated back in an unsteady fashion on its shoulders. Wizard III stood at attention beside the body, her hands behind her back, her chin up, chest forward. She saluted, looking ever the soldier in her uniform and beret.

“Fantastic.” Avaritia replied. “But not very romantic at all.”

Behind Avaritia, as if being guarded, Gula sat against a rear corner of the room.

Her mouth was opened about as far as a normal person’s mouth could be, and she looked alarmingly like she was choking. However, through her gently painted slips, one could spy the bloodless blue-pale skin of a human limb, in the process of being swallowed whole. Sometimes the digits would even twitch. Gurgling and gagging noises, high pitched and sultry soft as every other sound that came out of Gula, accompanied the act.

She turned her head briefly, shortly after Avaritia said the word ‘romantic’.

Giving the impression that she would have supported Avaritia if she could speak.

“Ma’am. I am simply not a very– ‘romantic’, sort of entity.” Wizard III said.

“You’re a product of your environment. You simply don’t have much culture.” Avaritia said. “But you can reverse this! You prowl the realms of the hominin. Their only worthwhile contribution to the world is culture. Though they ruin the romance of the world with their inane materialistic pursuits, they are still worthwhile examples of dress and speech. You’ve seen a few Hominin now. Did any of them attract you? You could emulate them.”

Wizard III grimaced. “Ma’am, all of them died in pretty ignominious ways. I am not very interested in mimicking them. Maybe I should look for a Hominin to observe another time.”

“There’ll be opportunities I suppose.” Avaritia said with a note of disappointment.

“Not all of us are meant for greatness, my love. Our intellect is a burden.” Gula said.

Avaritia looked over her shoulder with a smile. Gula stood up and dusted herself off.

Behind herself, a long tail had begun to grow. Storing the biomass she had consumed.

“For someone like Wizard III, she merely wishes to uphold her duty.” Gula added.

“That’s– That’s correct ma’am.” Wizard III said, frowning. “I am doing what I must.”

Staid, stoic and servile, with her own eyes darting nervously, withering under the gaze of her betters. Wizard III had once been little more than a beast, and after being uplifted by the Autarch, she had done no more than what was required of her to ‘restore their people.’

Combat leadership, infiltration plans, the growing of tools, she had a lot of knowledge.

Culture, though– not so much.

Unlike the Hunters, she was neither well exposed to Hominin nor curious about them.

No one had taught her culture or asked for culture from her. It wasn’t required for her role.

Except now– her new masters. The Enforcers who were more ‘cultured’ than anyone else.

Avaritia scoffed.

“It is true, my love, but it need not be that way. Our mission must include the development of our people as cultured beings. There is no triumph in restoring our civilization and reclaiming the world from the rapacious Hominin, if we all just end up as soulless automata!”

“Indeed, my love.” Gula said, clapping her small hands. “You are true as always, and your heart abounds with passion that sets me alight! Wizard III, I will bestow upon you a boon so that you may understand true romance! You have my permission to make use of Vanguard IX in whichever way you desire once you learn of the depths of passion from this!”

In the back of the room, Vanguard IX raised her head, suddenly alert.

She had been staring with excitement at the dead body as if it was a novel thing.

Seemingly the mention of her name was all it took to excite her even further.

“Um. Yes. Ma’am.” Wizard III said, grimacing as Gula approached her.

Gula’s dress partially unfolded like wings or flower petals as soon as she reached under it to retrieve the desired object from some unknown pocket within. They returned to their prior, diaphanous texture and light shape soon after, and in Gula’s hands, there was a Hominin pocket device containing digitally readable texts. Wizard III looked at its screen.

One book was up-front and featured. From what Wizard III gathered, it was a lengthy one.

Grand Guignol, ‘a collection of human sins.’ On the cover was a dripping, maimed body.

“We shall see if Wizard III comes to appreciate it.” Avaritia said, grinning.

Gula grinned along with her, exposing her rows of sharp, vibrating teeth.

“Of course, I will cherish your instruction.” Wizard III said. Withering under the attention.

She looked over her shoulder at her partner in the endeavor, Vanguard IX, who looked absolutely smitten with the idea of being used for cultural enrichment.

It all seemed like so much trouble for poor Wizard III, but thankfully, her bullying came to an end shortly thereafter. She took up her usual post in the back of the room with the vanguards, and the appointed hour came for the entrail divination.

Now the eyes of her superiors were off her and laid on the dead body instead.

Gula clapped her hands together and drew in a deep breath.

Around her, the colors of her aura intensified, blending and bleaching slowly until they became pure white, and spread to cover the body. Blending with the remains of the hominin’s aura that had started to slowly change and began to peel off the body.

Saint’s Skin: Vestment.

Within the Enforcers, Gula was particularly renowned for her control of her aura.

Her mastery and wit in its use led her to be ranked third among her peers.

As her aura suffused the dead body, Avaritia approached it from the front.

Fingers on one of her hands melded together into a black, hot, vibrating blade.

Lining herself up with the body, and she made a chopping motion across the front of it.

Splitting open its neck, torso, belly and groin.

Fluids sprayed from the cut and spilled on the floor around them in a triangle shape.

Curiously, however, the indescribably mangled viscera stayed in place despite its exposure.

White shimmering light began to spread over the gaping wound.

Omensight: Entrail Divination.

It had taken some time to find the right Hominin.

Steps could only be retraced if they were previously taken. But the places a Hominin had been to never truly left them, unless they made a concerted effort to wipe the slate clean. This Hominin yearned for what they had once seen– perhaps they had even perished with the cathedral spires in their mind, with the sound of the church bells.

Now, the trail of this Hominin’s life would help bridge the gap to their comrades.

“Gula, Superbia should be in the Eastern Imbrium. North of the place now called Veka.”

Avaritia gave her orders, and Gula complied with a smile.

“Indeed, my prince. I can see her. She will appear in the entrails shortly.”

In the next moment, the body jerked suddenly, and rose up and completely off its own feet.

Its skin and tissue split further, the wound that split it horizontally filling with light.

Until it acted as a makeshift screen, which, with Superbia’s consent, worked both ways.

Superbia would have felt the mental outreach and acceded to it naturally.

Slowly, she began to appear, her form black and white, the picture like a fogged mirror.

“Avaritia, and Gula too I presume. How may I assist? I was busy, you know?”

While they couldn’t see her surroundings, they were well acquainted with the woman on the screen. Greeted by a calm face with a hint of a smile, easily holding Avaritia’s gaze with dark slit pupils. Conceited, above-it-all. She wore the body of a long-limbed, slender, elegant and well-endowed woman. Hair cut to the level of the neck and swept over one eye, two small horns rising from just in front of her ears. Like Avaritia, she had a taste for hominin fashion, dressed in an off-shoulder black jacket over a white shirt, tight pants and long, heeled black boots. She wore several accessories. Her ears pierced multiple times; her split tongue pierced twice; various studs and chains and rings adorning her jacket, gloves and boots.

Enforcer IV: The Pride. Known to them by the ancient name of her sin, Superbia.

“Since you are so busy, I will keep it short.” Avaritia said. Her tone of voice was much drier when speaking to Superbia. None of the affection she had for Gula, nor even the teasing tone she took with Wizard III. “I have infiltrated a political faction in the Imbrium. I need more troops. I am not sure how many mature bioforms you have access to, but I require one additional large ship and at least two hundred troops. You will procure them.”

Superbia crooked one slim, manicured brow. “What do you have to gain from this?”

“So you’re not too busy to talk then?” Avaritia grinned.

“I’m just curious. You don’t have to say anything.” Superbia shrugged.

“Eisental is a battleground between the hominin. Here I can see beautiful and terrible new sides of the hominin and I can explore the depths of their wild emotions. I can watch them closely for the moment when their auras burn or deteriorate or grow aberrant.”

“I see.” Superbia said. “And do you think you can draw out the elders this way?”

“It is the only way I know to find the coordinates, unless you have any better ideas?”

“Fair enough. You two are the most metaphysically gifted of us. I’ll defer to you.”

“Great. Glad to see you coming to understand the pecking order. So, about my troops?”

Superbia shrugged again, but this time smiling in a self-assured way.

“I cannot spare anything. I’m in the middle of an operation, and you vastly overestimate our logistical ability at this point. You don’t know what it’s like to lead this army of blind idiots.” Superbia acted very put upon, speaking in a grave and offended tone. “I am only fortunate that the hominin here as a culture have been lobotomized of all psionic potential.”

Avaritia grunted. “Stop venting at me. What does that mean for me, concretely?”

“You will have to make do with the troops and supplies you have, for now.”

“The entire point of this division of labor was for you to create a base to supply me as I moved about the Imbrium.” Avaritia scolded Superbia. “If you can’t figure out how to do that, why don’t you and I trade places? I’ll herd the hominin around and you can put your precious neck on the line to secure our objectives. Maybe that will prove more effective?”

“Now, now, now,” Superbia sighed, “It is taking longer than I envisioned, but once everything is secured, it will be my first and utmost priority, beyond seeing the Autarch is fed and homed, that you and Gula get the troops and support you need. Good enough for you?”

“I will accept it for now, but not forever. How is the Autarch?” Avaritia said.

“Going through a spell.” Superbia said. “It’s been useful, but unpredictable.”

Avaritia’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean? What are her colors right now?”

“Yellow is burning; Blue is aberrant; the rest are deteriorated.” Superbia said dismissively.

“She’s in a liminal state. And you aren’t alarmed?”

What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Superbia. Keep her safe. Or I will go to the ends of Aer to devour you.” Avaritia grunted.

This threat shook across the room, with Wizard III and the Vanguards averting their gazes.

Superbia shrugged. “Vanagloria attends to the Autarch at all hours. Look, you can’t blame me for this. Our Autarch is as whimsical as she is powerful, but she largely retains her faculties.”

Avaritia was not satisfied, but Superbia was right that they could do nothing about it.

Their Autarch, whose gifts of aether were the strongest of all, could resonate with the wild and massive emotions of the Imbrium’s hominin. In the Agartha, among only her hidden subjects, recovering from her last death, she was never exposed to such things. There was no predicting how far this phenomenon would go or how it might affect her surroundings.

“Blame lies with the Hominins, ultimately. So exploit them for all you can.” Avaritia said.

This was the most diplomatic way of capping off her displeasure with Superbia.

Superbia responded with a curt little bow.

“They shall be spent efficiently. I will see to that. Focus on your affairs. I promise you I will build a wonderful kingdom for our goddess, and I shall manage it expertly.”

In the next instant, the light vanished, and the hominin body fell to the ground.

Bereft of power it was just a mound of viscera and skin.

Superbia had cut off the connection. Avaritia gritted her teeth.

“We have to proceed with what we’ve got.” Avaritia said. “And hope the Autarch does not cause too much chaos. I expected a far more romantic outcome– ah, well.” Avaritia placed a hand on her forehead. Behind her, Gula massaged her back to comfort her. Upon noticing the touch, Avaritia smiled. “Ahh! My love, what would I do without you?”

“Relax, my love. I do not doubt our abilities and those of our subjects.” Gula said.

Wizard III spoke up. “Exalted, if I could offer a suggestion?”

Avaritia met her eyes with a grin that unsettled Wizard III. “Go ahead, of course.

“Yes ma’am.” Wizard III shut her eyes. “Accedia and Tristitia can be brought into line to support us. They have been doing nothing but accumulating biomass and raving like lunatics. By force of your will, Exalted, command them to carry out rational objectives. We should–”

At that moment, Avaritia smiled and looked about to praise Wizard III for her decisiveness.

Until the door to the room suddenly burst open, and brought forth a great disarray–


–one thrust was all it took to topple the door off its hinges into the room itself.

Dust seemed to fly off every surface where it had collected as the impact of the door traveled across the floor and up the walls. From within the thin cloud, a figure walked calmly into the room, garbed in a long robe. Her silky hair, part red and part white, trailed down her back and over her shoulders, parted in the middle of her forehead by her thin, fleshy horns. A pale, beautiful face with yellow over black eyes cast a calm, stern expression into the room.

“Autarch?” Wizard III gibbered, from the floor beside the fallen door.

“No, Wizard III. Please be quiet if you are so easily fooled.” Avaritia grunted.

Arbitrator I glanced briefly at Wizard III, causing her to crawl back on the floor in terror.

She then turned to face the true villains in the room.

The dust receded to reveal a corridor where a dozen Syzygy troops had fallen into a stupor, hugging themselves, cradling their own heads, or knocked unconscious. In their ill fitting uniforms with their rifles cast about. Even the weapons were skittering and writhing in confusion. They looked like quite a pathetic lot. But Arbitrator I had not expected much from them. Very few of the unfortunate troops had any worthy command over their abilities.

In front of her, however, Avaritia and Gula positively glowed with an enormity of power.

Their auras bore the suggestion that they were indescribable monstrosities in human guise.

Extending far around them like the shadow once cast upon hominin by their evil forms.

“I’m quite surprised. The prodigal daughter returns?” Avaritia said mockingly.

Arbitrator I felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Her vision began to swim, and she felt the urge inside her, an urge that she hated.

She wanted to devour Avaritia.

Avaritia had to be stopped, had to be killed, for justice to be served–

Not like this–

No, not because of this evil curse that had been forced upon her.

She had to fight that instinct!

She was a rational person with a sense of justice. She was not some braying animal.

“Are you going to say anything or just stare at me?” Avaritia said mockingly.

Arbitrator I grit her teeth.

How unjust it was, that the vilest character of them all was the most in control of herself.

“She has gone too long without flesh.” Gula said. “She wants to devour us, darling.”

“I have come to cast you two into the sea for good.” Arbitrator I said.

Arbitrator I briefly shut her eyes and called to the power inside her.

From her arms, a pair of long, black, hardened and vibrating blades began to emerge. Parting her pale skin as if it was a fluid membrane through which they were being given birth. Once the blades were fully constituted and had separated from her arms, they hung on a pair of umbilical cords attached to her shoulders that resonated with biological power, extending as if from additional limbs and moving freely. Her original arms were left thinner and weaker.

Gula’s eyes flashed with recognition of danger, but Avaritia extended an arm to block her.

“The Autarch’s mercy was wasted on you. Throwing your life away for those overpopulated insects.” Avaritia grinned. “I won’t let you live if you challenge me. I will actually devour you and put an end to you, and the Autarch isn’t here to intercede for you. But if you disappear from my face this instant and stop crushing Vanguard L I might look the other way.”

From under the door, a wan little groan bubbled out.

“Mercy, you say? What she inflicted on me was mercy?” Arbitrator I said.

There was no turning back now from the destiny she had given herself.

Deep within her very cells, there was no denying the memories and what they meant.

“My mercy is by far the greater.” Arbitrator I grinned back. “And it will save the Hominin.”

Her eyes glimmered, purple hexagons glowing around the irises.

“You will either serve me and the cause of peace; or it is you who will be devoured.”

It was a bluff– her STEM was too corrupted and stressed now to be useful like this–

However– if she could seed the doubt in their minds–

No such luck.

Avaritia’s eyes glowed with the exact same hexagonal mark in response.

Making the gesture much less effective.

Arbitrator I tried to hide her surprise. She should have realized Avaritia was also–

“You won’t control me or Gula, however much you try.” Avaritia interrupted.

“Darling, please allow me to take care of this intruder in your place.” Gula said.

Her voice trembled. Her hands shook. She had been sufficiently rattled by the display.

“Don’t be scared for me, my love.” Avaritia said firmly. Behind her, Gula shook, and held onto her coat. “Must I prove myself worthy of being your protector again? A gentleman can’t have her lady worrying about her– it’s simply not romantic for a princess to be so troubled.”

“My prince– I– I simply can’t bear–”

“Enough theater.”

Arbitrator I had one small chance, and it was a chance because of Gula’s condition.

Fear, anxiety, unbridled rage; loss of control was a weakness in a mind’s psionic defense.

Gula was the weak link and without her support, Avaritia could be overpowered.

From the outset, Arbitrator I had no plan of attack, only her self-imposed crusade.

Syzygy’s Enforcers had to be her prey. Nobody else could protect the hominin from them.

She knew the truth now. She was a superior being to them. It was all locked in her body.

Memories locked up in the corrupted blocks of data within the DNA storage of her STEM, an ancient biomechanical computing system. Accessed out of fear for the safety of her hominin love, it represented the responsibilities she had shirked for too long. She was a weapon, created by sages from a bygone era. She was the first of her kind, biological power incarnate. These foul simulacra concocted by her misled sister existed beneath her.

So it was her responsibility, as soon as she caught whiff of their schemes, to crush them.

King’s Gaze.”

Tendrils of enormous power extended from the colors of Arbitrator I’s aura.

Like gargantuan hands they rose and fell with a thunderous clap upon the Enforcers.

Smashing upon them and inundating the room in a many-colored explosion that resembled the waves of illusory colored lights blending outside the windows of the maintenance room. Gusts of force erupted that sent flying every untethered object. The Syzygy troops smashed into walls, tools and supplies flew free from every crate and then rained down upon the floor in a drumbeat of chaos, junction boxes and circuit panels blew open and disgorged metal.

All of the LED lights in the room shut off, blinked on.

Seconds passed and the wake of the blast was still traveling.

Arbitrator I watched the chaos unfold, savored victory for an instant–

until she heard a crack, a drip, a chewing sound,

and stepped back in time to avoid the swing of five vibrating sword-sharp claws.

Avaritia pounced, surging forward, eyes afire, hands made bloody and sharp and hard, transformed into gold knives. Speechless at the near-spotless condition of her enemy, Arbitrator I met the attack with her biokinetic weapons. She threw her shoulder into Avaritia’s reach, swinging her tethered bio-swords in tandem with it. A brutal sweep dispersing the air around it like the flight of a bullet, such was its strength.

With a sound like a single, massive pound on a drum, her swords suddenly deflected.

Two concussive blasts having materialized in the air between Avaritia and the blades.

Stunned by the rapidity of the counter, and how easily Avaritia moved forward from it–

Arbitrator I threw herself back from her enemy, putting two body-lengths between.

Barely avoiding those knife-like claws again. Taunting her, Avaritia spread open her lips.

Upon her tongue, was a pulpy, chewed up grey membrane.

Avaritia proceeded to swallow its remains and smile dangerously.

“Barbaric.” Arbitrator I hissed. It was the fruit from a Garden of Marrow.

“Hominin are better put to use this way, than how they are carrying on now.” Avaritia said.

In the next blink of her eyes, Avaritia’s legs were consumed in gold-and-white carapace.

Thin and long with multiple strong joints, so she could easily and quickly coil back,

launch forward,

and meet Arbitrator I in her own space in an almost instant.

Arbitrator I’s eyes shone as two buzzing claws thrust within a hair’s width of her face.

A dozen telekinetic blasts pummeled Avaritia from every direction.

Her claws scratched Arbitrator I’s cheek instead of mutilating her nose and eyes.

Evading, Arbitrator I leaped aside, her muscular tail stabilizing and assisting her speed.

Not a single hair on Avaritia’s head was out of place.

But the hand she attacked with was crushed, the carapace covered in bloody cracks.

Behind her, with time to examine her surroundings again, Arbitrator I noticed Gula was only shaken up. Her aura was strong. Wizard III had begun to stand from where she had been thrown to, and the other vanguards inside the room, many injured, also stood.

None of them reached for any weapons nor moved to assist.

Arbitrator I collected her breath and tried to steel herself to fight.

But there was a doubt whispering in the depths of her mind.

Was she not stronger than Avaritia and Gula? Had the truth not been in her DNA?

Why were they able to match her? Had something happened in her absence?

Would she– never see Braya again–?

Avaritia gave her no more time to collect herself.

Once more she threw herself to Arbitrator I with savage abandon, crosshair eyes shining.

Her broken hand swung like a club, while her good hand was swift and sharp as a blade, unrelentingly raining blows in dexterous sequences. Colliding in the air with Arbitrator I’s bio-swords, sparks flew as the edges met and the flats pounded. Swing after brutal swing blocked, parried, returned; thundering telekinetic thrusts matched perfectly; roaring discharges of aura failing to penetrate each other’s wavering defenses.

Arbitrator I could almost see the aether-trail of Avaritia’s blows coming before they could be launched, but the Enforcer’s mental defenses were too sturdy to penetrate completely.

With just a bit of luck, she would have been able to find an opportunity in the middle of the barrage. She weighed her options quickly while turning aside another grazing blow– she could try to create space psionically– try to throw herself into a dangerous grapple with Avaritia for a chance– attempt to feint and see if she was faster in reflexes–

Then– in her mind’s eye, an overhand blow–

But Avaritia’s arms were swinging from below the shoulder–

In a split second, Arbitrator I realized that her psychic sense of Avaritia’s attack had finally overtaken the actual physical movement. She suddenly knew exactly what Avaritia would do seconds away. Deflecting a sudden thrust, Arbitrator I anticipated an overhand chop–

and stepped into the Enforcer’s guard.

Blocking the overhead with one blade, and Avaritia’s claw arm with the second.

While her free arms grew their own black claws and sank into Avaritia’s ribcage.

Closed,

ripped into,

and tore out,

Disgorging viscera and bile as her fingers crushed Avaritia’s lungs and ribs,

Viciously digging out handfuls of chunks of soft, dead,

cold,

meat that

should have been warm,

alive,

bones old shattered, skin once sheared,

dry, crumbly sinew caked in,

coagulation,

Arbitrator I’s eyes drew wide with recognition.

In the air in front of her hung the eviscerated remains of an unknown Hominin.

And behind her was the wildly grinning face of the real, untouched, Avaritia.

“When– when did I–” Arbitrator I felt the world turn over.

Her mind raced, the dispelled illusion coinciding with an explosion of pain.

Her blade cords ripped out of her shoulders, and her back nearly broken with a kick.

Limbs turned to jelly, her smashed spine struggling to reconstitute through biokinesis.

Arbitrator I fell face first onto metal with such force all the air went out of her.

Mind blank, head swimming in agony, blood disgorging from fresh wounds.

Avaritia cast aside the eviscerated blades and planted her boot on Arbitrator I’s tail.

Before Arbitrator I could yell or react, she was picked up like a doll from the floor.

And bitten where her neck met the shoulder, tearing out sinew, splitting her collarbone.

Bite after brutal bite ripping into her body– she was being devoured.

Involuntary screaming ripped itself out of her throat, her eyes went glassy.

From the depths of her mind, sounded a primal warning as Avaritia’s jaws shredded her flesh.

Instinct took over her body, the driving need to escape a predator, to save her life.

In her fear and in the fog of her fading vision Arbitrator I her eyes fell upon the windows.

Using all of the power that remained in her mind and body, she launched herself.

Avaritia was thrown back by the force, and in the next instant the window shattered.

Out from a cage of metal, and into an open expanse without a foothold.

Arbitrator I’s body fell through the false colors that made up the B-block’s sky.

Her robes fluttered in the wind, her hair whipped about her, and yet she felt heavy.

She felt the sheer of weight of her foolishness, so heavy it might have accelerated the fall.

“Braya– I’m so sorry– I couldn’t do it alone–”

Before her eyes, the world warped and bent between times and locations.

Kreuzung’s false sky; the purple clouds above Porto Platino in Atlantea;

inside the hull of the Brigand; cavorting about the depths of the oceans without a care;

holding Braya’s hand and wanting so badly to make amends, to be able to live with her;

and beneath an enormous tree of squirming flesh, holding her sister’s hands instead;

I am doing all this for you! I did it to save you! And you want me to FORGIVE THEM?

Caderis– her eyes flashing with hatred and betrayal–

“I’m sorry–”

Hex shaped scars upon her fading vision, the corruption of the data in her sundered flesh.

As her thoughts became muddled, a weak plea. “Braya– please– I want to see you–”


“Avaritia!”

Gula screamed and rushed to her lover’s side.

Avaritia had no time to feel triumphant after Arbitrator I’s escape.

She doubled over, disgorging blood and acid from her mouth.

Holding her trunk, her chest and stomach pounding and heaving with the contractions that were forcing more and more of her destroyed insides out of her body. First blood, then chunks of pulverized meat, all ejecting as her body purged and self-repaired. Her vision swam, dozens of tiny hexagonal rips and digits that she hardly ever had cause to see. Her biomechanical makeup was letting her know the extent of the damage in error codes she never had opportunity to learn but knew instinctively nonetheless.

Damn it– that creature still had this much strength– even without partaking of flesh–!

Even having eaten a Hominin recently–

Avaritia just barely had the biomass and aether to overpower the Autarch’s traitorous kin.

She remained, doubled over, fists and head to the floor, gasping for breath.

Her lover’s comforting arms the only kindness as her body struggled to reconstitute itself.

Avaritia’s voice croaked and wheezed, but she managed to string together a sentence.

“I was too boastful. But it was romantic. Wasn’t it, my love?”

Gula embraced her tightly. “It was absolutely dashing, my prince.”

They had to act quickly now. There was an opportunity to correct this mistake.

“Wizard III.”

Upon hearing her name spoken, the Omenseer stiffened up.

“Wizard III.” Avaritia said between gasping breaths. “Form a squadron. Go after her.”

“Acknowledged! Is my objective to confirm her death?” Wizard III asked, saluting, tense.

Avaritia struggled to respond while regaining her breath. “She’ll be alive. Crawling somewhere safe– to repair. Kill her. Devour her– if you must. She’s in awful condition. I have irreparably– damaged her. Because of the bites. She will be diminished. She can’t escape.”

“What if she alerts the hominin? She will have fallen into their habitat.” Gula asked.

Avaritia grinned. “Kill them too. Kill whoever you must. Wizard III. I’ll deal with the rest.”

“It shall be done, exalted flesh!” Wizard III shouted, as if priming herself for the task.

Nothing was going according to plan, and nothing accorded with their grand vision.

However, Avaritia found herself feeling exhilarated and almost without complaint.

After all, for “Arabella” to return so suddenly– it was a terribly romantic turn of events.


And thus, to the unfolding tragedy–

Zachikova threw herself out from behind cover and into the middle of a tunnel partially fileld with water and much more filled with heavily armed KPSD tactical troops. Her fingers rapped the trigger, struggling to achieve some semblance of control over her shots as she fell. She had the element of surprise, but if the men did not all die in one stroke she was completely exposed, and her rescue mission to the depths of B-block would end immediately.

In mid-jump she unleashed her salvo–

Three round bursts of depleted agarthicite in 7.62×39 mm Krasnov.

Bullets sailed between herself and the remaining enemies.

One man poised to retaliate took two shots into the groin and hip and collapsed.

A second man squeezed a few rounds that sailed over Zachikova’s flank.

Her shoulder hit the shallow water and the metal beneath hard.

She adjusted her aim quickly, fired another burst–

–past the shoulder of a man poised to instantly retaliate against her.

There was nowhere to crawl to, nowhere to roll to, nowhere to back out to.

There was no time to shoot again. She was suspended an instant before death.

She was so close to the hole into the alcove where Arabella had crawled to–

No! I don’t want to lose her!

Staring down the barrel of the remaining man as his finger began to close on the trigger.

“Fucking kill her–!”

A dozen lights of overwhelming color and an accompanying cacophony.

Zachikova would have shut her eyes to her own end had she any time to react.

Instead she looked the man in the eyes as his intentions culminated–

In that self-same instant of the trigger-pull, dozens of green and red tracers pummeled him.

His weapon dropped from shock-flailing fingers, his mouth hung.

Blood and shreds of armor and wisps of smoke and vapor blew from his falling body.

Dead in the same instant in which he had meant to kill her. All of it in less than a second.

To Zachikova, it felt like the world had turned on that instant. She couldn’t believe it.

“Kill confirmed.”

“Good kills, good kills.”

Familiar voices. Zachikova turned over her shoulder from the ground.

An inexpressive young woman walked past, long-limbed and skinny with long blond hair, wearing a nanomail bodysuit covered in strategically placed ballistic plates. She stopped over each of the KPSD men and put a round in their neck and head precisely, without even blinking as she made sure they were dead. “Kill confirmed.” She said, after each.

Her voice devoid of emotion.

Her weapon of choice was an AK-72, full length assault rifle.

And then, standing over Zachikova and reaching an arm down to help her stand.

Zachikova took her hand, and looked up at the taller woman to meet her eyes.

A young woman with silvery hair and eyes shining with the gold digits and colored outline of a cybernetic enhancement, quite visible in the dimness of the tunnel. Uniformed and armed exactly like her partner, with a slightly burlier appearance in her shoulders and limbs.

She smiled.

Valeriya Peterburg and Illya Rostova, Union B.E.A.S.T. special forces.

“How–?” Zachikova had barely begun her breathless question before Illya interrupted.

“There was an AKS missing from the rack.” Illya said. “You’re the only one of us that had any affection for the short length AK. So we knew you went somewhere. As for how we found you, we have a precaution from Nagavanshi in case you decided to do anything silly.”

At Illya’s prompting, Valeriya first covered her mouth with a tactical mask, and then pulled from a pouch a little device with a blinking light and numbers running on a tiny screen. It was the size of a vapor-cigar– it must have been a tracker. When it was out of Valeriya’s pouch, Zachikova could feel a tiny tingling in one ear, in sync with the blinking of the light.

Zachikova had no time to feel embittered about that– in fact, she was thankful.

Before Illya could ask her any questions, she dropped her rifle and whipped around.

Running to the open grate in the wall and sliding into the alcove behind it.

Inside, lit only by a flashlight attached to Zachikova’s tactical visor, was Arabella.

She averted her eyes upon being seen, perhaps ashamed.

She didn’t reach out to Zachikova.

Arabella was a mess. Her robes were brown and black with caked blood, one of her horns was broken and bloody, she was covered in bruises. Propped up against the wall, eyes glassy, all of her vitality and energy completely spent. All of the red and white hair covering one of her shoulders was particularly caked in blood and this prompted an alarmed Zachikova to bend beside her and pull the hair away. Her heart raced at the wound she found.

Flesh ripped to the muscle, to the exposed bone.

There was so much blood.

She had never seen anything so savage in her life.

And Zachikova had been witness to a lot of savagery in her time.

A sudden sense of helplessness came over her, hands on that horrifying injury.

“Arabella? Arabella? Talk to me.” Zachikova said.

Arabella lifted her head slightly. Her eyes struggled to meet Zachikova’s.

She could not help but notice they were black on yellow again. Like when they met.

Between then and now she had been wearing green on white eyes.

“Braya. I’m happy to see you. I’m sorry.” Arabella said weakly.

“Why did you go alone?” Zachikova asked. “I could have helped you!”

“I’m sorry.”

There was no use getting angry about Arabella leaving in the first place.

Zachikova did not know everything there was to know about her. Arabella was still hiding anything to do with her species, the mysterious ‘omenseers’– but Zachikova did not care about that. What she was most upset about was that, if Arabella had something she needed to do, that was this dangerous, why did she not ask for Zachikova’s help?

Why did she go out alone and–

–get herself killed.

“You’ll be okay, right? You can change your body. You can close this wound right?”

“I’m sorry Braya. I’m very tired.”

“Tired how? Arabella– tired how? This isn’t a problem for you right?”

Her eyes began to tear up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. God damn it stop saying that.”

Zachikova ripped open one of the pouches she had brought and took a cloth from it.

She pressed it on Arabella’s wound. Immediately it soaked through entirely with blood.

“This might hurt, okay?”

“Braya. Please.”

Zachikova pressed the cloth on the wound. It was doing nothing. It only covered a bit of it.

Illya and Valeriya never carried any medical supplies– that was always her beat.

She had brought cloths, tourniquets. Coagulant gel spray– but the size of the wound–

Arabella tugged weakly on Zachikova’s shirt.

Her lips curled into a little smile as their eyes met again.

“Braya. I love you very much. I’m happy to see you again.”

“No, no, no, no– NO! Don’t make that face! Holy shit don’t make that face!”

“I love you, Braya.”

“You’re teasing me.” Zachikova grimaced. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“You– You can’t– you can’t–”

Zachikova reached into another pocket and pulled out the coagulant gel.

She tore the cloth from the wound and saw the depth and enormity of it again.

It felt like Arabella had almost had her chest cleaved in half through the shoulder.

That was how red and how bloody and how broken and how bad it looked.

Her fingers shook on the switch atop the bottle of coagulant gel.

They shook hard enough that she dropped the bottle.

Those hands which had been holding her useless medical supplies–

One grabbed hold of Arabella’s own hand, still warm. Its grip was so weak.

Another gingerly took Arabella’s good shoulder.

“I never cared about anything!” Zachikova whimpered. “Until you! You swept into my life and changed everything! Ever since I saw you that night! I didn’t even know I could give a shit about a stray animal let alone a human being! Let alone the most annoying and loud and kind and beautiful woman– I love you so much Arabella! Don’t leave me! Please!”

“Braya.”

Arabella began to cry as well.

“Will you forgive me?” She asked.

“No! No! We aren’t fucking doing this. We aren’t–”

Zachikova’s eyes drew wide. Her heart began to pound and her skin brimmed with horror.

Her mind wildly racing for anything that could stop this from happening–

She pulled away from Arabella and threw herself to the entrance of the shaft.

Pulling in one of the dead men from outside.

From her belt, she withdrew her diamond knife, pressed the button to run the motor.

Arabella behind her flinched as Zachikova drove her saw-knife into one of the corpses.

Peeling off armor and nanomail and sawing out a square of flesh rapidly losing warmth.

With eyes afire, and feeling like she had gone completely insane, Zachikova returned to Arabella’s side. Arabella own tired eyes had enough life in them for surprise. She averted her gaze slightly, as if ashamed to stare at the piece of meat cut so viciously.

Zachikova showed her the chunk of meat.

“You needed my blood right? But what you really needed was this, wasn’t it?”

“Braya, please stop.” Arabella whimpered.

“No. You have to eat it.” Zachikova grunted.

She was lucky Illya and Valeriya didn’t have the personality types to care about this.

They would report it to the captain, certainly. They would ask questions.

But for a peer in the dark world of the special forces, they had no judgment to bring.

Zachikova briefly peered back and saw their legs near the vent. No responses.

She turned back to Arabella who was still resisting.

“I’ll chew it up.” Zachikova said suddenly. “I’ll chew it up and put it in your mouth.”

“Braya, I don’t want to eat hominins. I swore– I swore I wouldn’t–”

“Swearing doesn’t matter if you die!” Zachikova shouted in her face. Panicking, her shaking hand splashing blood from the chunk of meat on her palm. “Is anyone out there going to be inspired by your fucking principled martyrdom? You told me, when you first drank my blood, that you wanted to make peace between whatever the hell you are, and humans! Nobody is going to do that for you if you die! I can’t do that! I can’t do it alone! I need you!”

“Braya.” Arabella whimpered, sobbing.

“I need you. I won’t let you die.”

Zachikova lifted the chunk of meat to her own mouth.

She really was going to chew a chunk of some disgusting slob’s chest.

Her whole body trembled with fear and disgust.

She just had to masticate without tasting and spit it into Arabella’s mouth, that was it.

Stop smelling, don’t taste anything, don’t look at it, just do it.

Eyes shut–

mouth open wide–

and then up and down the jaw–

“Braya, stop. Stop. Don’t do it. I’ll eat it. You can’t.”

Zachikova stopped just late enough to still get a bit of sickening iron taste in her mouth.

Her stomach kicked inside of her belly, but she kept from puking when she heard Arabella.

She offered the meat of the KPSD soldier to Arabella again.

Who opened her mouth and allowed Zachikova to stuff the chunk between her lips.

Arabella chewed, weeping fresh tears throughout.

Her hands rose slowly and held the item steady. Then they pulled it from Zachikova’s grasp.

Zachikova saw the movement of Arabella’s hands, when she seized the meat from her.

Her heart soared– she seemed more energetic. Was she recovering?

Rushing back to the corpse, Zachikova sawed out additional pieces of the body.

When she brought them to Arabella, they were snatched quickly from her hands as well.

The Omenseer tucked into the raw filets of the dead soldier like a beast.

Something about it just fascinated Zachikova. She found herself smiling with relief.

An insane relief born of a demented and horrifying situation. Something in her had twisted.

By the time all of the pieces of meat were devoured, Arabella’s wounds had begun healing.

When Zachikova shone her flashlight on the wound, it looked nowhere near as deep.

Her racing heart and pounding lungs could finally rest. Zachikova nearly fell over.

“You’re right. Braya.” Arabella mumbled. “I have to live. To take responsibility.”

“Good. Yeah.” Zachikova said. “You can’t do anything while dead. And– I’ll help you.”

Feeling her own energy leaving her, Zachikova sat beside Arabella for a moment.

“I– I’m sorry. I got a little bit. Crazy. Back there.” Zachikova mumbled.

All of the events of the past few minutes bowled her over like a tidal wave.

Her throat was raw from all the shouting. And she still tasted a bit of blood.

Just one more insane thing she would have to tell the doctor.

Arabella quietly leaned into Zachikova’s shoulder. Gripping her shirt with a bloody hand.

After a few moments of quiet, she heard Illya’s voice from outside the alcove.

“I’m glad we won’t be needing a body bag.” She said. “We’re leaving in five.”

“Thanks for giving me some time to rest, at least.” Zachikova said.

There was nothing in the network to indicate the KSPD had been alerted to anything.

Zachikova had isolated all the men they had killed from the broader network.

With network access, they could find ways to sneak back to Alcor Steelworks.

This was just going to end up being an unfortunate but short episode of insubordination.

Two minutes into her five minute reprieve, however, Zachikova saw dim red lights go on.

Outside, in the tunnel proper, those lights were flashing even brighter.

“Zachikova!” Illya cried. “What the hell is going on? What are these alarms?”

Bolting upright, Zachikova concentrated on the network and quickly found the cause–

She sat speechless for a moment as the alert blared in her own mind as it blared those lights.

WARNING: CORE SEPARATION.


Eerie red alarm lights dominated the sky at Alcor Steelworks, its guests awakening to crisis.

In the security team room aboard the UNX-001 Brigand, the armory racks had been left exposed and unlocked. A carbine and two assault rifles were missing along with a variety of swappable armored plates, nanomail, and tactical gear. It was normal for the two miscreants favored by Nagavanshi to have their rifles on them– but the rest constituted a problem.

Security Chief Evgenya Akulantova ran her fingers over an assault rifle with a grim look on her face. Those two were a menace, but Zachikova too? Something had gone very wrong.

She pressed the button beside the armory racks to have them fold back into the wall.

Her hands rose to her head and combed back through her hair, retying her ponytail to make it tighter and tidier. She then set her blue and black Union security cap over her scalp, making sure it was firm and correctly positioned. From the corner of the wall near the rack, she picked up a ballistic shield, and from a nearby table, collected her trusty truncheon.

A deep sigh escaped from her lips. That maidenly face which was set on her big body reflected back to her on the perfectly clean wall encompassing the now-hidden rack. Long white hair and blue-grey skin and dark, tired eyes. A sharp nose and soft cheeks. She grit her teeth in frustration, and caught a rare sight of what it looked like when her smooth and soft facial features became as intimidating as her broad chest and thick limbs. Her chest and limbs, now wrapped in nanomail and ballistic plates much like those which were stolen.

She turned from the wall, and in the middle of the alarms, made her way to the bridge.

In her eyes, a smoldering determination, even as her heart quavered with worry.

She had to inform Captain Korabiskaya, as was proper and necessary.

And then she had to depart to uphold her responsibility.

“I’ll teach those two to respect me– but for that, they have to be back here in one piece.”

Her grip tightened on her truncheon, enough to begin to wear grooves into the handle.

She couldn’t lose a squadron again. Not like this. She wouldn’t allow it.

Even if she had to break her vows and become something she despised.


Previous ~ Next

Bandits Amid The Festival [11.7]

Kreuzung’s Tower Two was an enormous supplemental seaport.

It was one of Kreuzung’s oldest support towers.

Even from the exterior one could tell apart the numerous seams for the closed steel doors to its berths. Originally it had been designed to accommodate a dozen cargo super-haulers that had become the Empire’s workhorse transport ships during the colonization period. Each of these vessels was almost the size of a station tier, so an entire tower was needed to accept them, unload their cargo, repair and maintain them, and send them back on their way.

Gradually, super-haulers began to disappear from the oceans around Kreuzung.

Not only because of the recent turmoil– since the Fueller dynasty took power, the Newtype Tower V station, much smaller and humbler than its predecessors, had become the leading form of architecture in the Imbrium. Any new station was a macro-stitched Newtype Tower V with an adjacent Nautilus II Separated Seaport block attached to the tower by tube trams. Sometimes a few small towers were linked to the seaport block, expanding capacity and creating a station complex. Each of these towers was roughly 2/3 the size of one of Kreuzung’s supporting towers, but depending on the interior configuration, they could squeeze almost as many people in poorer accommodations that were cheaper to maintain.

Huge stations like Kreuzung would never be built again. Perhaps in time only the rich would afford living in them, with all the poor segregated to smaller towers. At any rate: massive ships with the capacity to carry mind-boggling quantities of materials to a remote worksite were largely unneeded. This shift then led most current high-capacity seaports to convert many of their enormous berths to support the docking of multiple smaller vessels, increasing capacity for cheap to achieve greater profit on space they already had. While this came at the expense of the quality of service and safety at those berths, there was no turning back. Tower Two still hosted much of the Kreuzung Complex’s freight processing, but it was now also the most accessible seaport for private yachts and luxury cruise ships, ambulant resorts, and other kinds of pleasure vessels unwilling to deal with security in the Core Station.

On the tower’s northeastern side, a berth opened to allow a simple cylindrical vessel to exit the seaport and begin its journey. It was a workhorse private transport craft about fifty meters long and thirty wide, built for endurance and safety over looks, like a metallic-blue crate with hydrojets leaving streams of bubbles and distorted water in its wake. It climbed out of the Kreuzung crater and maintained a stable course close to the ground, over the rocky, sandy surface of the surrounding seafloor. It navigated away, bound north-west.

On its side, there was a stylized logo, depicted as if long beams and bolts of blue could be seen shining at acute angles across the cursive lettering that read: Raylight Beauty.

“Once we’re out of Kreuzung’s jurisdiction, set up an encrypted line to Aachen.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Use the Gladbach relay, not Kreuzung’s. Monitor the connection closely.”

“Understood.”

Kremina Qote left the crew behind and retired to her VIP quarters in the middle of the ship. Like the ship itself, it was not anything too extravagant. But it was private; she had her own bed, a door she could lock, her own desk, her own monitor to work with. She could be reasonably certain that nobody would interfere with her affairs, and she could shut out the world outside. Nobody would hear her. There were no adjacent accommodations.

She sat down on her bed and looked down at her own shoes.

Her jaw tense. Fist opening and closing.

By all rights, she had completed the mission that she had been given.

She had been sent to Kreuzung to meet with Solarflare LLC, but upon discovering the presence of Nagavanshi’s little guerilla mission, she was instructed to send them to Aachen, to join the United Front against the Volkisch. Redirecting them away from their suicide mission to Buren was necessary and useful, and their mission profile already included helping any resistance movements they found along the way. After all, that originally had been Daksha’s desire which Nagavanshi just twisted out of shape under clauses and subclauses, as she always did. No one could judge Kremina derelict on the basic facts of her mission. Not Gloria; not Daksha herself. Kremina had secured their assistance as instructed.

However, she had failed in her own personal goal.

As soon as she heard of the Brigand, she both feared and coveted their assistance.

She was of two minds approaching them, and she tried her best to navigate it– but–

Kremina did not account for the stubborn desire of the Brigand’s officers to remain free of Daksha’s command at any cost. Then she was completely blindsided by the nature of their alliance with that upstart Erika Kairos. She was not satisfied with simply putting them on course to Aachen. Kremina had wanted to either control them or sideline them politically. After they made their intentions not to join Kansal clear, diverting them to the Rotfront should have been the end of all her problems. But now Kremina was not sure about the rigor of her previous logic anymore. The Rotfrot was perhaps more ascendant than she thought possible. They had managed not just to ally with the Brigand, but to completely annex them.

Ulyana Korabiskaya could introduce new possibilities into the ecosystem at Aachen.

Erika Kairos could become more than a junior partner in the United Front.

Daksha Kansal’s influence could be explicitly upset by the Brigand’s actions.

And in fact– it could even be Ulyana Korabiskaya’s aim to overthrow her entirely.

“Daksha– what are you thinking–?”

When Daksha left the Union in the hands of that insipid idealist Ahwalia and that utilitarian brute Jayasankar, Kremina had followed dutifully because she believed in her. She owed her life and allegiance to Daksha Kansal. Only Daksha Kansal had the correct line– only she had the vision to save these troubled seas from themselves. Leaving the Sunlight Foundation had been the right move. Leaving the Union could have been a smart play as well.

Now though– Kremina was not so sure what Daksha was trying to do anymore.

That doubt, which she was so unfamiliar with, scared her utterly.

It scared her so much, that it made Ulyana Korabiskaya’s words feel like a threat.

A threat to an edifice that should have been impregnable, indestructible.

“Kremina? I’m glad you called. I’ve been worried about you. Gloria’s been saying things.”

At the appropriate time, the crew connected their vessel via laser to the Gladbach relay. Rhinea had the most developed inter-station network in all of the duchies. In addition to direct connection to the relays, there were many relay buoys that could be used to develop stable connections to the inter-station network even while in transit. Therefore, the ship could continue to travel at a relatively breezy speed, while the picture of Daksha Kansal, speaking in real time, hardly ever shifted in quality on Kremina’s screen.

She was beautiful– the most beautiful woman Kremina had ever seen.

Her long brown hair, even as it began gently fading to white; the sharpness of her eyes, even as the crow’s feet began to form in the corners; her easy smile, the warm color of her skin, even as the wrinkles had begun to appear; the figure of an adventurer, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, yet looking professor-like in her mock turtleneck and synthetic jacket. These days she wore bell-bottomed vinyl pants and heeled shoes, perhaps the influence of the fashionista now under her wing. These weren’t visible on the call, but Kremina knew.

Daksha was always visible in her mind, and in her mind she was always perfect.

She was beautiful– but she was also aging. Another thing Kremina did not understand.

Kremina never achieved immortality. She only delayed her own aging by a feeble amount through the use of exotic chemicals she no longer had access to. She was growing old too.

Daksha Kansal did not have to grow old, like her.

Daksha Kansal was one of the Immortals, and yet, she threw it all away too.

“How are you? Gloria is not upset with you, but I’m not happy about what she’s told me.”

Kremina’s eyes snapped out of the dream-like reverie of seeing her old master once more.

“I am not here because I value Luxembourg’s esteem.” Kremina replied. “Look, Daksha, I did what you asked. Nagavanshi’s pawns are now on their course to Aachen. Whatever else– was a product of their choices. All I did was give them information and set up contacts for them.”

Daksha smiled. “You can’t pretend as if that last episode with them didn’t happen.”

“I lost my temper. It’s irrelevant. They were never going to join us anyway.”

“I was never concerned about whether or not they would join us.” Daksha said. “I’m happy if it’s just you and me and then our allies. Now I’m afraid they might have the wrong idea and think that we set out to antagonize them. That might lead to unnecessary friction later.”

“Daksha, they should join you! You should throw your weight around more!”

Kremina was in a mood– so she let slip a little more than she usually would.

“Ah. I think I see what’s going on.” Daksha said. “Kremina–”

She felt like she had been scolded and it embittered her. “I know– I know–”

“Clearly you don’t.” Daksha said. She was not mad. She was giving Kremina a fond look, like long distance lovers catching each other’s gaze. Despite this, her words were firm. “Kremina. I deeply treasure you. This is why you’re the only person who is indispensable to me and the only person I trust to represent me. But this time, you went out of line– it is my fault, for not giving you a clearer vision of my goals. But the fact remains. You cannot conquer the Ocean for Daksha Kansal by yourself, in my stead– I don’t want you to do anything like that.”

Despite the soft delivery, Kremina still felt so stung. She couldn’t understand it!

“Daksha,” she was almost tearing up, “Why– why are you choosing to die?”

Any foolish or vain action on Daksha’s part was excusable if she was immortal.

That she was aging, that her time in the world was limited, made everything more urgent.

Kremina’s conversations with Ulyana Korabiskaya finally laid bare feelings of grief and anxiety that she had been burying for so long. Ulyana dared to say she could challenge Daksha Kansal. Because Daksha was no longer as powerful and invincible as she once was.

That open wound the audacious Captain unknowingly ripped open, now bled profusely.

Onto that room on the UNX Brigand, onto this ship and onto the screen.

“So that’s what this is about then.” Daksha said.

“Of course it is. Nothing makes sense because of that.” Kremina replied.

Daksha smiled again and took the tone of a professor delivering a lecture.

Kremina was left so speechless by the sudden turn in their discussion, she did not interrupt.

“Do you really know about the Immortals, Kremina? You never were allowed to be part of the inner circle, even though you were so devoted to me. You don’t know how each of them found their own immortality. Yangtze, Euphrates, Tigris, Nile, Potomac, Hudson and myself, formerly, Ganges. All of us are esteemed as geniuses who defeated death, but that is entirely empty techno-utopianist rhetoric. You don’t know the truths; I’ll tell you.”

When she spoke of them, Daksha betrayed a certain fondness as if telling old war stories.

“Yangtze cheated death by combining biomechanics with the Pelagis Process, allowing her to grow backup bodies in vats which receive a digitized education in the form of her memories, implanted into the biomechanoid brain of the new body. When I saw the results, as much as I wanted to work with her– seeing a new Yangtze born– it horrified me so much.”

She averted her gaze. “Meanwhile Potomac keeps herself eternally youthful and alive through her discoveries in pluripotent stem cell therapy and surgery. She grows and discards organs as needed. I can’t fault her for it– but it did make me question things. Same with Hudson. Hudson doesn’t purge her body of unwanted organs with new ones; rather, she has replaced her entire body with immortal cybernetics. And yet, she still longs for even more.”

Kremina continued to listen, her heart shaken and reeling with the weight of those words.

“Nile is infected with a cocktail of horrific and rare diseases. She did not choose to be infected with them, but the end result has kept her body alive for over a hundred years and counting; but if they are not controlled, she is a living apocalypse waiting to happen. Being infected with one of the diseases and not all would result in excruciating death, not immortality. She knows this and is ready– to take steps– should it ever be required.”

A dire and clumsily put insinuation.

“As for Euphrates herself,” upon mentioning her, Daksha sighed openly, “Euphrates is the only really Immortal person out of all of us. But she didn’t ask to be that way, Kremina. She was never so power-hungry. She was just born with some kind of condition. People, when she was born, where she grew up– they didn’t understand it. She was a medical guinea pig. It took the collapse of the surface world for her exploitation to end. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen her really vulnerable– I saw it when she baptized me with aether– an insinuation of the things they did to her.” Daksha kept pausing every so often and kept hanging on her words. Kremina knew this was all difficult for her to say. She sat astonished by it.

“Because of what I saw, I never asked her about the surface and I never will. Meanwhile, Tigris, she was a miracle for Euphrates. She imperfectly inherited Euphrates’ disorder through a spinal fluid transfusion. Her regeneration was enough to save her life. It was also the only time I have seen Euphrates so quickly disavow her own ethics. She must have really been madly in love. I thought, back then, we needed Immortality to safeguard our goals.”

Daksha shut her eyes. “So finally, there is me. You’ve extended your life a little bit, Kremina, but never found immortality. You don’t have Potomac or Yangtze’s technology, so all you could do is make yourself a little healthier. I don’t judge you for that– we influenced you after all. I influenced you. I was an Immortal. I found a way to prolong my life.”

Kremina hung on every word, eyes drawn wide, lips shut tightly together.

“Kremina, pay attention to the wages of my sin, and my greatest shame.”

She watched Daksha Kansal raise her hand in front of the screen, palm up.

King’s Chalice.

With trained precision, Kremina reacted, faster than thought.

Oracle’s Voice.

Red rings around both their eyes, as Kremina began to see in terms of auras, vectors, and other psionic phenomena in response to Daksha’s invocation. Kremina had never achieved the second and third gifts, but she knew about psionics and knew enough to protect herself as best as she could and dissect attempts to influence her. She could see that Daksha’s palm was not barren as it would be to the eye of an untrained person.

Instead, there was a flame dancing on her palm.

White and black flame that flickered with an eerie warmth.

From multiple directions as if drawn out of the walls, the little flame coalesced in her hand.

It had a soft texture, to Kremina’s eyes, and it gave her an almost nostalgic feeling, as if it was a pitiable little thing that deserved coddling. For Daksha to hold it, she had to focus black and white aura in halves over her own palm. Manipulating these types of aura was a skill that required a lot of emotional control. Black aura was the aura of death, the despair of mortality or the desire to kill, and trying to deliberately channel it could cause the user to lose control or succumb to perverse intentions. Meanwhile, White aura was often associated with the sublime, or the eldritch, or even with pure insanity. It was a sight beyond human that very few could actually experience. Daksha was unequaled when it came to Aetherics.

As Kremina observed the little flame, she also thought that she heard–

–voices, voices that sang of memories, and a glow in which Kremina could see figures,

and Daksha’s skin, illuminated by the ghosts,

lightening, hair brightening, crow’s feet softening, appearing as herself of yesteryear

beautiful, angelic until

her palm closed snuffing out the little life

aging and weakening again before shock-wide eyes–

Kremina teared up, her voice trembled. “Daksha. That is– is that–”

“It’s human life, Kremina. I used Aetherics to steal life from others for myself.”

When Daksha’s psionics dispelled, Kremina watched as the little flame of humanity she had gathered, presumably from people outside the room she was in, from people in the halls, maybe even from Gloria somewhere in the distance– all of it dissipated and began to trail back to where it was taken. Daksha had refused to absorb it into her own aura, and therefore she aged again, and again lost the gift of immortality, those black and white traces of life.

“Do you understand now, Kremina? Do you understand my change of heart, why I had to let go of the Union, of my power? Do you understand why, for my convictions, for the things I want others to believe, it is necessary that I became mortal? That I stop pursuing the same path that Yangtze and Potomac are on? That I age and die? It is important to me, Kremina, to be humble now. To lower my head to others. I became mortal because I must die. Clinging to the world has had perverse effects on my life. I have to let go in order to let others rise up.”

Kremina laid a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes, weeping.

“I know that this is galling to you. I’m sorry that I can’t be all-powerful for you.”

“No, Daksha.”

She stared into the eyes of her mentor, her lover, the colossal figure of all she believed in.

“I’m sorry.” She said. She didn’t try to equivocate it. She didn’t say anything more.

She was sorry. She understood. She had been wrong. She had been completely wrong.

All this time Daksha had carried such a horrendous burden, and Kremina never knew.

“We’ll talk more when you come back.” Daksha said. “I esteem you greatly, Kremina.”

Kremina nodded silently. She felt unbearably foolish and short-sighted.

“I’ll smooth things over with Ulyana Korabiskaya and her crew, and with the Rotfront. Don’t worry about that now. Please think about what I told you and reflect.” Daksha said.

“I will. Thank you. Please take care, Daksha.”

“Of course. I will be here for you.”

Daksha disappeared from Kremina’s screen, leaving a void reflecting Kremina’s face.

She stared into her own darkened eyes, feeling like a storm had swept by her.

Daksha–

More than ever, she needed Kremina’s protection, even if she didn’t realize it.

She needed Kremina to be smarter; to be craftier; and to fight harder than ever before.

Daksha Kansal was mortal and vulnerable. She could never be an Immortal again.

In her finite time in the world, it was her work that had to become immortal.

Kremina had to do everything in her power for Daksha’s revolution to succeed and spread.

For now, that meant that Gloria Luxembourg’s social-democrats had to either control the United Front or be the ultimate survivors of its near-inevitable breakdown.

Those upstarts with the Rotfront and their Jayasankarist allies could not be allowed to derail everything. Daksha would disapprove of this line of thinking, but Kremina was not going to openly act against anybody. Yet. For now she would be well behaved and demure.

She just had to control her temper; bide her time; and await the opportunity to intervene.


“Oh my! Such a fantastic cup of coffee. This is starting to feel like a vacation!”

Erika Kairos raised her plastic mug and cheered. The mug was full of plain, black coffee.

“Might a lovely maiden dream of a sweetener? Perhaps even creamer?” She asked.

“Let’s not get too greedy!” Ulyana Korabiskaya replied, smiling. Erika’s eyes drew wide from behind the steam coming from her mug. “I’m joking! Of course we can get you some.”

Olga took a sip of the coffee herself and nodded her head in approval.

“It’s a sight better than the cheap stuff in our rations. The grounds were not adulterated.”

Aaliyah looked down at her own mug, the coffee having been brewed by a very standard Union Soyuzkofe machine in the cafeteria. Her furry ears twitched slightly, and she took a sip.

“I knew living in the Empire was harsh; but I’m surprised in the ways that manifests.”

Erika smiled. “Well, we have to take what we can get, you know? When it comes to food, we usually have to either steal it, or go to smugglers whose products are usually low quality, or go to cottage industries that don’t have the means to make quality products.”

“Turning over an Imperial cargo ship is practically a holiday feast for us.” Olga added.

Ulyana and Aaliyah laughed gently with Olga and Erika.

On that morning, the meeting room Ulyana and Aaliyah were working out of lately, had instead become a little conference room for their first command meeting with Erika Kairos. They had formally agreed to become part of Erika’s Nationale Volksarmee, and swore to follow her political command as their new Premier. This was something of a shield against other political influences on the crew– but it was not a game to anyone in that room. It was a serious endeavor, and it required the establishment of a solid working relationship in all of its various particulars. They weren’t playing pretend– they wanted Erika to lead them.

Ulyana thought well of Erika and envisioned they would have a good relationship, but nevertheless, they needed to lay out how both sides typically operated. How Erika hoped to rule them; what the capabilities of each side were and how they could work together when combined; and other such things. For her part, Erika was treating the whole thing very casually and breezily. Ulyana imagined it would be so. She had not met all that many Katarran mercenaries, but she felt they must have operated a few steps below military standard in formalities, in order to work at all. But at least she knew Erika took theory very seriously.

As she requested, Erika soon received a little tray with cubes of creamer and sweetener.

These had been powdered and compressed for ease of storage.

She picked up a few of each cube and dropped them into her coffee, stirred, and drank. She smiled from ear to ear, flushing, even her horns looked a little brighter than before.

C’est magnifique!” She said, giggling a bit.

She quietly passed the coffee condiments tray forward. Ulyana and Aaliyah both partook.

Olga smiled and looked at the Premier fondly; but continued to have her coffee black.

“Alright. I greatly value the hospitality. But, back to business!” Erika said cheerfully. “I am planning to transfer my flag from the Rostock to the Brigand. I think that will help smooth out the early stages of our cooperation. Daphne, my captain on the Rostock, is well-respected and settled on that vessel, so I have no worries that she can handle everything there while I am away. I hope I can settle in here, and observe operations first-hand.”

“Understood. I have no objections. That will simplify our operational coordination a lot, actually.” Ulyana said. “I’ll have the lads stitch you a chair while they turn over the Bridge.”

“That would be lovely. Though, worse comes to worse, I can stand.” Erika said.

“Can you provide us information on your fleet and its operations?” Aaliyah asked.

“I could do so verbally, but I did not come prepared for a detailed onboarding.” Erika said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting to gain a new ship. However, as soon as we get out to sea, we can connect to the Rostock and you can sync all of its data over at your convenience.”

“That sounds more efficient. We’ll talk about fleet integration at that point.” Aaliyah said.

“That can also be when you give us some of your data in return.” Olga said.

Aaliyah bristled a little, but Erika quickly dispelled those suddenly risen fears.

“We’re not after any classified information from the Union.” Erika said.

Olga crossed her arms. “We could at least use your stitcher blueprints though. Our lives would be so much easier if we didn’t have to free-stitch small parts to repair our stuff. It’s like rolling dice every time something breaks. You can help our capabilities long term.”

“Aaliyah, I want to be open with them. Do you have any specific qualms?” Ulyana said.

She looked at her Commissar, sitting beside her, compassionately but firmly.

In turn, Aaliyah briefly avoided her gaze. She composed herself quickly.

“Old habits die hard. You’re right, there isn’t really any reason not to share our data.”

“Thank you.” Erika said. “I understand, security backgrounds require caution above all.”

“We appreciate your cooperation, and we will follow all of your data security protocols. Access will be limited; we have all the hardware controls needed to insure that.” Olga said.

Aaliyah nodded her head in acquiescence.

Ulyana was glad everything was going smoothly. Olga and Erika were professionals.

“We don’t want to overturn your existing structure. I believe we can learn a lot from each other and slowly improve our doctrine together.” Erika said. “We should do the bare minimum we need to have cohesion between the existing Volksarmee forces and your own. I want to preserve the chain of command aboard the Brigand as much as possible, but only with myself at the top. I also respect that this is probably a contentious decision for you because of your extended chain of command to the Union. I do not want to imperil your relationship to your home country. So if there’s anything you need from me, please tell me.”

“I’m sure Nagavanshi will understand when she reads my report however many months or years from now after all of this is over.” Ulyana said, with a smile. “If we live that long.”

Erika laughed. “I fully intend to live that long, Captain. But of course, I understand.”

Aaliyah finally smiled a little too. “I’m quite happy with your proposal, Premier.”

“In terms of Volksarmee personnel aboard the Brigand, Olga and I require private lodging.” Erika said. Olga’s eyes popped for a moment. “I will be up front: we are lovers. It has never been a problem, and in fact has been a psychological aid for both of us. If the Brigand has an exceptionally strict rule against fraternizing, it will have to be waived for me.”

“Um, ma’am–” Olga began, but a sharp look from Erika cut her off and silenced her.

“As you can see, I still retain authority over her.” Erika smiled with forced innocence.

Ulyana grinned a little. Aaliyah glanced askance at Ulyana.

“Oh there’s probably tons of sex going on in this ship.” Ulyana said. “I won’t stop you.”

Aaliyah narrowed her eyes. She raised her voice above the room–

“Strictly speaking– to the regulation– ugh, whatever.” She shrugged and gave up instantly.

Olga averted her eyes, a little bit embarrassed.

One more smiling glance from Erika got her to sigh and recompose herself.

“I’m not used to her being so forward about it, especially like this.” Olga admitted. “But like– yes, when we can die at any moment, and we’re crammed in these metal cans. You really can’t expect ship crews not to get each other off a bit, every once in a while.”

“It’s maybe more common among Katarrans than in the broader world.” Erika said.

“We’ll get you a room.” Aaliyah said. “Let’s move the conversation past this please.”

Ulyana noticed the insides of her ears had flushed a very bright red.

She tried not to smile. It would have definitely upset her charmingly uptight Commissar.

Erika was not troubled at all by the atmosphere in the room.

She had an uncanny ability to look cheerful or at least centered in any situation.

Even when Kremina had been berating her openly, she was still smiling just like this.

After Aaliyah’s request, the conversation returned to matters of organization.

“Besides Olga and I, Kalika Loukia will also remain aboard. She has many skills and is someone I know I can depend on to do almost anything. I think she is all the direct support I will need on the ship aside from Olga, and you will benefit from her as well.” Erika said. “There are a few other officers of mine whom I’m used to having at my disposal, but I think they can operate from the Rostock, maybe switching in and out as needed.”

“Alright. Kalika already helped us out quite a bit. We’ll be glad to have her.” Ulyana said.

“I believe next on the agenda we wanted to lay some groundwork on logistics.” Olga said.

“We were planning to restock at Aachen.” Aaliyah said. “Are you not also?”

“I’m afraid we can’t make use of the traditional markets for ship supply.” Erika said. “Victualing and replenishment markets are off-limits. We are forced to make use of smugglers or secondary markets, as I said. We also buy raw materials and stitch needed goods ourselves. But don’t worry about us– we want to know about your supplies.”

Aaliyah and Ulyana exchanged glances, worried.

“Can you tell us more about the situation in Aachen?” Ulyana said.

“We were under the impression it would at least be neutral ground for you.” Aaliyah said.

“Aachen is quite a bit nicer to non-Imbrian persons than Kreuzung.” Erika said. “However, there are still prejudices they must abide by. There are legal prohibitions against the replenishment of ‘cartels’, ‘bandits’ or ‘privateers’. Katarrans are targeted by these laws pseudonymously. And there isn’t a Katarran ship Captain alive who can fight a legal case arguing for her innocence. Aachen follows these laws, and we’re no exception.”

“Wait– they’re following Imperial law?” Ulyana asked, rhetorically. She was baffled by this.

She had thought Aachen was open to rebellion since the United Front was convening there.

“What is Aachen’s relationship to the Volkisch movement right now?” Aaliyah asked.

“Aachen, the city, is just trying to maintain a status quo.” Erika said. “It is governed by liberals and resists the Volkisch only insofar as to maintain the liberal line. Kreuzung itself makes that sort of argument about its own rule of law– it is a purely bureaucratic argument. So you can’t take for granted that Aachen will be completely safe or revolutionary. However, Aachen’s people have a strong organized laborer movement, and it is among them that the United Front’s insurrectionists have found a sanctuary. It is a complex situation.”

“What if we purchased the goods for you? We don’t care about the law.” Aaliyah said.

Erika smiled, this time a lot brighter than before. She seemed touched by the gesture.

“I appreciate your generosity greatly, my comrades. But I must decline. The Rostock is stocked up, and the rest of our fleet is in good order as well. We shouldn’t draw suspicion at Aachen. There will be time for us to teach you the Katarran way of getting goods.” Erika said. “For now, focus on procuring your own needs. After the meeting of the United Front, we may get access to Gloria Luxembourg’s purchasing power which would solve our problems.”

“Acknowledged. I have to say, though, I’m now a bit nervous about Aachen.” Aaliyah said.

“It’s easier to lay low in Aachen than here.” Erika replied. “Right now, all of us are violating the law here in Kreuzung. If we can take measures to protect ourselves in here, by comparison Aachen is a picnic. The United Front is assembling there with confidence.”

“If you say so. I will trust your judgment, Premier.” Aaliyah said.

Ulyana could still see a shadow of her worries on her expression. She knew her too well.

“It’s not on the agenda, but since we’re on a similar subject, I want to ask about you yourself. We were not aware of an ‘Erika Kairos’ prior to our arrival here, though that is for the best overall. Can you give us more details about you?” Ulyana said, as cordially as possible.

“I’m open to it.” Erika said. She drew in a deep breath and straightend her chest. “My name is Erika Kairos, I’m 33 years old, I have heterochromia, my three sizes are 120 cm bust–”

“Premier, you can skip the ‘vital statistics’.” Aaliyah sighed.

“I suppose my request was a bit vague.” Ulyana said, smiling.

Her eyes slightly drifting to the new Premier’s chest and having to be wrung back.

“Oh! Okay. Well– I am a voracious reader! I like philosophy, and science, but I also like to read storybooks, and comics; I like films too! My favorite genre is actually hard-boiled detective mysteries! My favorite food is spanakopita. My likes and dislikes are communism and–”

“Thanks, Premier.” Ulyana said. This was so cute she almost didn’t want her to stop.

“Was that really what you were asking about, Captain?” Aaliyah replied, exasperated.

Erika looked a little bit flustered. “Huh? Is there anything you want to know specifically?”

“I guess I was more concerned with whether you’ve made any enemies?” Ulyana asked.

Olga answered in Erika’s place. “Everyone hates her. She’s an avowed communist.”

She sounded a bit frustrated by the question, as if everyone should have known this.

“Everyone?” Aaliyah asked. Erika looked flustered again.

“Saying everyone is a bit–” Erika began, and almost stuttered–

Olga sighed.

“Katarran mercs don’t like philosophers. They like to pretend they have no beliefs and will do anything for money. So they end up falling into a really conservative outlook and that’s what I mean. Mercenaries know about Erika and the majority of them dislike her for it.”

“They’ll still take my money when it’s on offer.” Erika said. She grumbled a little bit.

“As long as that holds true, I think we can accept the situation for now.” Aaliyah said.

“So no rivals or blood oaths or anything like that?” Ulyana asked, in a jovial tone of voice.

Erika crossed her arms.

“No names you would recognize. Yes, among the mercenaries in Eisental, I’ve crossed a few paths in my life. But nobody that is going to go out of their way to excoriate or attack me. Anyone with that level of animosity has already been killed by their own predilections.”

Ulyana whistled. “Has your vibrosword aided anyone’s predilections in the act?”

“We’ve had some episodes.” Olga laughing a bit. “There’s nothing to worry about there.”

“I can take care of myself and my debts, Captain. And I have.” Erika grinned.

“Fair enough. I understand. Thank you, Premier.” Ulyana said.

Erika nodded her head.

Her eyes wandered a bit– she seemed to quiet and think for a moment.

“How much do you know about the present situation in Eisental?” Erika asked.

“We’ve been keeping up with events as much as we can.” Aaliyah said. “We know there is a worker strike in one of the towers here, which is owned by the Rhineametalle corporation. The Volkisch are afraid of it spreading, so they’re manipulating the markets in Kreuzung to turn people against the strikers by blaming them for price hikes and erratic supply.”

“We thought of helping out the workers here, but when we learned of the United Front, we felt our focus could be best served there.” Ulyana said. “It’s horrible to have to pick and choose who to fight alongside, but we don’t know how the workers here would respond to communist assistance. We know the United Front is like-minded, and they’re also armed.”

“I agree with your choice.” Erika said. “You don’t have to justify it to me.” She settled back into her chair and began to explain the situation in greater detail. She sounded confident and spoke clearly and precisely. “You see, the workers in Tower Nine are trying to toe the line. They are part of the liberal current and they do not want to be seen as too radical. They fear the reprisals that the Volkisch are capable of; but they can’t bear the working conditions that have been imposed on them because of the civil war. They are trying to do something, but they can’t be seen as doing too much to a vulnerable Rhinea, so they went on strike.”

She continued promptly, never losing her pace. “But Rhineametalle has gotten a new hand of cards to play because of this situation. They don’t want the strike to be broken up too quickly. Rhineametalle is facing down the possibility of the Volkisch forcing them to produce more gear and sell it for less money to support the failing war efforts in the south. The Volkisch believe Rhineametalle’s profiteering is sabotaging their war effort. With the strike, Rhineametalle can just watch the Volkisch squirm, and remind them of who needs who. Lehner, their so-called Fuhrer, doesn’t have the ability to crack down on the workers any more than he is, without risking his influence over his own war industry if Rhineametalle reacts adversely to his actions, or the collapse of his front from diverting more troops.”

“So they’re all at a standstill right now.” Ulyana said, after a moment contemplating the Premier’s description. “Something has to give eventually, doesn’t it? The strikers do not have infinite supplies, so they won’t be able to physically hold on to their barricades forever. And with enough time, Lehner will find the troops he needs somewhere; or maybe even an innovative Volkisch commander in Kreuzung will find a weakness or undertake some daring raid that breaks through. It’s unlikely that Rhineametalle will fold to their demands too.”

“You’re right, Captain. There is only one thing that can save them, but it’s ancient history they dare not speak about. They should have prepared a ‘General Strike.’” Erika said. Ulyana nodded solemnly. That phrase meant something for someone who had been young during the mass deportations and enslavement that presaged the Revolution.

“Ironically, it’s the ghost of the ‘General Strike’ panicking the Volkisch now, isn’t it?”

“Right again Captain. It’s one powerful reason for the Volkisch to make soft moves.”

Everyone in that room knew the history. Prior to the Revolution, the most critical moment in the reign of the Fueller dynasty was the attempt, begun by Bosparan and Volgian activists, to stage a ‘General Strike’ across all productive industry in the Empire. Connections across the Empire, established by activists like the Nakaras, Daksha Kansal, Elias Ahwalia and Bhavani Jayasankar, threatened to link together and coordinate devastating work stoppages that would have ground the vulnerable machinery of the Empire to a halt at a critical juncture. Imbrian industry was overstretched in development of the colonial machine, overly dependent on slave labor conditions to make up the massive expenses that had been incurred moving civilization ever southward to the extreme ends of the hemisphere. With the incorporation of Veka being largely seen as a financial failure across the Empire, the Nectaris colonies had to be absolutely successful, ruthlessly efficient, maximally extractive.

But the General Strike never came to pass. Its actors were suppressed, one by one.

Enslavement in the colonies should have been a fate worse than death for them.

However, the failure of the General Strike led to the success of the Revolution.

And thus, ultimately, to the creation of the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice.

Ulyana could almost understand not wanting to casually speak those words, which were so dense with violent history. She believed Erika Kairos was correct in her assessment. The Volkisch must have been terrified of the possibility of the strikes spreading, so they had to play propaganda and not respond too brutally and too soon to the strikers. But the strikers were not planning to spread the strikes; ultimately, the Volkisch would win the standoff.

“There’s more too.” Erika said. “Eisental is a powder keg for other reasons. It’s the most productive region of Rhinea, with most of its mining, and production of primary parts and products for Rhinea’s corporations. It has a significant agricultural belt too. It is primarily a site of extraction. That also means it’s the most proletarian of Rhinea’s provinces. It has the most disenfranchised people, and the most poverty, but it has the smallest Volkisch presence. The Volkisch’s Stabswache political troops have been largely deployed to the interior and south of Rhinea to secure their power over the middle and affluent classes and to purge the intellectual and political liberals. That’s where their immediate priorities lay.”

“Interesting. I was wondering why we didn’t see more Volkisch day to day.” Aaliyah said. “They overestimated the value that the Volkisch’s ideological message would have among the poor in the industrial north. Popular opinion has not swelled massively in their favor.”

“Certainly they have their supporters in the so-called ‘National Proletariat’.” Erika said. “But Rhinea’s last election had a very low voter turnout– and this election was cast as being apocalyptic for burgeoning Rhinean democracy. Most people don’t trust in the government and are just keeping their heads down one way or another. The Volkisch miscalculated the level of local fervor in the north, so Eisental remains in tenuous liberal control.”

“That also means we will absolutely see a Volkisch military response here.” Ulyana said.

They had to be coming, and soon. Eisental wouldn’t remain an idyllic valley for long.

“I predict we will see quickly raised, ill equipped and poorly trained Volkisch militias from the south, at least at first.” Erika said. “I am hopeful we won’t see a Stabswache fleet. That would be the worst case scenario. The Stabswache are elite political troops, you see; but six of those fleets are already heavily committed, and the seventh is far from ready to mobilize.”

“Anything they raise will have to travel here too. We will have time.” Ulyana said.

“Right. And if these militias are anything like patrol fleets we can best them.” Aaliyah said.

“Volkisch militias are even less organized.” Erika said. “I sense an early advantage for us!”

“We shouldn’t toot our own horns too much.” Olga said. “Any enemy is a dangerous one.”

“But we musn’t be too careful either.” Erika said. “We can’t lose the opportunity they’re giving us to muster before their real strength can respond. It’s why the United Front has elected this time to get together and to begin our activities. It may allow us to push Eisental over the edge in a way that will destabilize all of Rhinea, before the big guns see the field.”

Aaliyah nodded her head. She seemed impressed with Erika’s casual ease with big topics.

Ulyana, meanwhile, couldn’t help but compare Olga and Erika to herself and Aaliyah.

They had a similar conversation themselves before ever setting foot in Eisental.

That thought warmed her heart– but she could not linger on those little fantasies too long.

“There is one more thing I need to touch on about Eisental– and myself.” Erika said.

Aaliyah and Ulyana nodded along in acknowledgment, interests piqued.

Erika took in and dispelled a breath. “There are two other factions in Eisental who could become involved. I’m sure you must be aware of Khaybar– a so-called mountain range so tall and winding that it splits the Imbrium. Eisental abuts Khaybar to the east. It is not well known to the public at large, but I have heard stories that there is an ancient Shimii abode within Khaybar. There have been sightings of pirate activity in the area as well. According to the mercenaries here, the pirates learned to employ the heavy Katov mass events in the area to intercept and loot Imperial cargo and convoys. The Fueller dynasty silently buried any official reports about the pirates, while also decreeing Khaybar off-limits to all commercial traffic. They hoped to starve the pirates of loot and bury them; but it didn’t work.”

“Of course it wouldn’t work. If you can cross the pass, it takes you half the time to get to Bosporus or Veka, than going around it.” Ulyana said. “Those pirates may not have as many victims, but they may still see a good business. It’s just too tempting to make that run.”

“Precisely.” Erika said. “Khaybar continues to see unregulated traffic to this day. I believe there are still fighters operating out of that mountain. I would like to reach out to Khaybar, and I think we can start by developing contacts with the Shimii communities in Eisental.”

“How do you figure the two sides are affiliated? Do they have exchange?” Aaliyah asked.

Erika smiled knowingly.

“I can’t say that conclusively, Commissar. But people that the Imbrium Empire has deemed outlaws are not always motivated by greed. This applies to you too, doesn’t it? Think about it: there are no lavish creature comforts the pirates could possibly be cultivating within their grim little mountain hideout– they are there because they are desperate, because the Empire gave them no choice. I have a hunch the ‘pirates’ are probably a Mahdist remnant. It squares with the legends people tell about Khaybar. And Mahdist Shimii are known to have very tight and lasting communal and familial bonds. Isn’t that right, Commissar?”

“I am not a Mahdist. I’m a secular Shimii. But I can see your logic now.” Aaliyah said.

“Was your family Rashidun?” Ulyana asked, suddenly curious.

“My family was secular.” Aaliyah replied sharply. Clearly this was a touchy subject.

Ulyana felt like she was leaning her foot over an industrial grinder and decided to back up.

“I apologize for my assumption.” Erika said, looking worried.

Aaliyah moderated her tone again.

“No offense taken. If I’m following your logic right, you think there must still be some Shimii out here who have contact with the Shimii in Khaybar. And it would be safer to make those contacts through them than trying to barge into Khaybar and causing a scene.”

Erika was clearly relieved to hear that ‘no offense taken.’

“Precisely. It’s nice to work with professionals. I feel afraid sometimes that I’m not being properly understood when I speak, but all of you seem to have no problem with my rhetoric.”

“We’ve had a lot of practice with rhetoric lately.” Aaliyah sighed deeply.

Ulyana smiled nervously. “So, we have Khaybar– what is the remaining faction?”

When the conversation started, Erika had led off by saying there were two factions left.

Erika’s tone turned a little more serious as she acknowledged Ulyana’s question.

“The Mycenae Military Commission.” She said. Her expression darkening.

“Wait, a Katarran warlord faction is operating in Eisental?” Aaliyah asked suddenly.

“I’m afraid so.” Erika said, solemnly. “We have Tagmata sipping tea in Stralsund.”

Ulyana felt, for the first time in the conversation, a sense of alarm.

“How did that happen? This is the first we’re hearing of this.” Ulyana said.

“The Volkisch have stopped publicizing anything about it.” Olga said.

“They were invited six months ago and arrived before the Volkisch takeover.” Erika said. “By blessing of the liberal parliament and as guests of the Rhineametalle corporation.”

“A Katarran warlord is openly purchasing Imperial arms?” Aaliyah said, scandalized.

“It’s Rhineametalle’s newest growth market.” Erika said. “Katarrans in our homeland mainly use either Republican weapons or smuggled Union weapons to fight in the warlord conflicts, but the Empire would be easier to buy from, if they started selling. Since the fall of the Palaiologoi, the Empire feared having anything to do with Katarre. But Rhinea liberalized; the all-mighty mark bill superseded the failing authority of the Fueller dynasty. With the retreat of the Emperor from politics it was only a matter of time before the Imbrians intervened.”

“There is a gargantuan amount of ocean between Mycenae and Rhinea.” Aaliyah said. “You’re telling me that all this time, the Emperor’s authority has been so weak as to allow this?”

Erika smiled. “It’s more like, the economic incentive, and Rhineametalle’s financial pull, was just that strong. Obeying the Emperor makes you zero profit, but looking the other way or assisting Rhineametalle and Myceanae directly, that confers money and favors.”

“But why invite them into Rhinea itself? It makes no sense to me.” Aaliyah asked.

Publicity, Commissar. Rhineametalle gets to show off all their high-end gear in the hands of a foreign client, legitimating their clout as the largest corporate power and a player in the broader world. Mycenae gets legitimacy.” Erika said. “Mycenae gets to be the only warlord power ever formally invited into the Empire, and invited into their trendy, rising financial center to make big money deals for advanced weapons. It makes them out to be the only warlord state that is actually functioning as a state on a national, political scale.”

“How strong is the Mycenae Military Commission here?” Ulyana asked.

“Something like a Union fleet combat group: a few big ships and their escorts.” Erika said.

“Their few big ships are Mycenaean dreadnoughts though.” Olga said with a grim tone.

Ulyana’s heart was rushing a bit.

Aaliyah was doing most of the talking– but even she looked nervous.

The Union was well aware of the status of Katarre.

They didn’t have all the details, but the Republic, who were deeply involved in Katarre, shared a lot of their information as a sign of goodwill. Out of all the Katarran factions, the Mycenae Military Commission was one of the most fearsome. Their regulars, the Tagmata, combined the ferociousness Katarrans were known for with sound military training and even a burgeoning research and development capacity for new weapons, not just war profiteer stock. It was possible that they had even developed a second generation Diver already, to match the Empire’s own R&D pace. Ideologically, they were retrograde nationalists, calling for the revival of the old Katarran kingdom– a message that inspired not faith in any of the flash in the pan warlord states, but in Katarran reunification— a nightmare for the Republic.

Mycenae’s presence was a massive and volatile factor they had to account for now.

“How likely is it that the Tagmata will intervene if we start taking action?” Ulyana asked.

“Completely unknown.” Erika said. “I have very little intelligence on their intentions.”

“We know the Volkisch are committed racists. Diplomacy between them and Mycenae will be complicated.” Aaliyah said. “We might have an opportunity– except, I assume that Mycenae will try to contact the Katarran mercenaries in this region. So they might learn about Erika; and if the mercenaries don’t like Erika’s program, I’m sure the Tagmata like it much less.”

Olga averted her gaze.

Erika breathed out a heavy sigh.

“It does feel like a confrontation with the Tagmata is unavoidable for me.” Erika said.

For once, she looked somber and downcast.

That shift in her cheerfulness made Ulyana want to support her– to protect her feelings.

“Nothing is unavoidable.” Ulyana said. “We’ll be smart and keep our eyes out. We’ll gather intelligence and examine the situation we’re in at each juncture. If we have to fight, we’ll fight; if we have to run, we’ll run; but if there’s a chance, we make peace. That’s all we can do, but Premier, the Brigand will support you. Aaliyah and I will be here to protect you.”

Ulyana extended her hand. Erika reached out her own and gave her a soft, girlish shake.

As a Katarran, she probably had to keep her strength in check for Ulyana’s sake.

“I had high expectations, and they have been thoroughly met.” Erika said. “I can see how the Union won its revolution, if there are more officers as sharp as you in their waters.”

“I’ve come away quite pleased with your character as well, Premier.” Ulyana said.

After they shook, Erika extended her arm again, to Aaliyah, who shook it as well.

“I already said as much, but I am impressed with the Premier’s assessments. I’m sure we’ll have our disagreements in due time, but if having the Tagmata on our backs is the price we pay for your stewardship, I would fight through a thousand Katarrans for it, Erika Kairos.”

“Thank you, Commissar! Those are such high praises. I will endeavor to sustain them.”

Erika looked to be almost glowing under all of the praise she was receiving.

She looked so young; smiling with a shining light of hope and idealism.

Ulyana had been too young and too hurt in the Revolution to pay attention to people’s characters too closely. She had been surrounded by all of the titans of communism in the Imbrium, once upon a time. And she wondered whether Bhavani Jayasankar had once smiled like this. Whether Daksha Kansal had ever looked this young. Before the falling outs, the splits, the backstabbings and blood. She hoped that Erika would be able to continue smiling, with a stout but gentle heart, even as the waters around Eisental turned murkier.

Erika had the right ideas. She had a sober outlook, and she was thinking ahead.

However, that look in her eyes, when she appeared so defeated at the prospect of having to fight the Tagmata, suggested that for all her clandestine maneuvering, she had yet to be tested in the hellish nightmare of outright war. She was daunted by a powerful enemy.

Ulyana would be at her side; she hoped she wouldn’t bear witness to a tragedy.


“Illya, I need you to sign this. It’s nothing bad. Just do it, okay?”

Shalikova laid a piece of synthestitched stone paper and a scratcher on the table.

Illya Rostova looked away from a surveillance monitor with a skeptical look on her face.

She glanced down at the paper, and back up at Shalikova, who stood stiffly opposite her.

“Huh?” Illya turned fully around, looked at the paper and the scratcher with which to write.

Shalikova’s keen indigo eyes wandered, briefly breaking her disinterested façade.

The Surveillance Room was close to the Bridge, and constituted one half of the security room, with its own door. It was also where they kept the locker for the security division’s guns, but Illya and Valeriya hardly ever respected the lockup process. In the middle of the room, a three section desk surrounded two chairs, with a tiny gap allowing the occupants to exit. On each wall faced by a section of the desk, there was a large multi-section monitor with a camera feed. Valeriya and Illya, of course, sat side to side or back to back in the middle of those desks, their faces lit up in blue in the dim room by the monitors.

On Valeriya’s desk section there was a partially stripped AK assault rifle.

Every so often, between watching the monitors, twiddling her fingers, and playing with locks of Illya’s hair, Valeriya would strip or put the rifle back together, expertly reassembling the firing mechanism, affixing the barrel, pushing the receiver cover into place. Union assault rifles used a small amount of pieces to be easier to manufacture, and Valeriya’s hands looked almost mesmerizing in their quick work. She had clearly done this a million times.

When she noticed Shalikova watching, Valeriya lifted her mask over her face and stopped playing with the rifle, or Illya’s hair. She just sat sadly behind Illya with her gaze averted.

Illya, meanwhile, also had her own assault rifle out of the locker and laid on the desk.

“Nope.” Illya said. “I am not signing this for you, sorry kid.”

Shalikova rolled her eyes, grunting.

“C’mon, it took you that long to read it, and you’re saying no?”

Illya turned the paper around for her to see it, pointing at the bar code near the top.

“Form 56A, Request Authority For Shore Leave, Location Approval.” Illya said. “This form has to be signed by your direct superior. I can’t believe you’re still trying to avoid the Lieutenant. I’m not going to lie to cover up for your cowardice. By the way, the Captain will also look at this, so you know, even if I could sign this for you it isn’t a done deal by any means.”

Shalikova felt both mildly embarrassed but still wanted to resist Illya nonetheless.

“I’m an Ensign! You’re a Lieutenant-Commander! You– you outrank Murati!” She cried.

Direct superior.” Valeriya mumbled from behind Illya.

“She’s right. Besides, I’m a Marine and you’re a Pilot, our ranks are different.” Illya said.

Annoyed, Shalikova snatched the form from Illya’s hands and looked it over again herself.

“I’m rated Chief Petty Officer.” Valeriya mumbled. “Illya is a Master Petty Officer.”

“Right. We have ratings in the ship’s chain of command, our Marine ranks don’t matter.”

In the fog of her newfound distress, Shalikova was barely listening.

Form 56whatever–

Shalikova had only filled it because she wanted to take Maryam out on a date.

She had overheard some gossipy sailor girls that people were planning dates to the next nearest blocks in the Tower. This gave Shalikova the idea to try to do the same, and she asked the sailors about the proper procedure for doing so– which entailed stitching out this form or filling it digitally. Almost all of the time the latter was preferable– but Shalikova did not want a paper trail to get to Murati, so she thought of having Illya sign a physical form on the sly. Clearly that had not worked– and her carnival date with Maryam seemed impossible now.

“Quit moping around and go talk to Lieutenant Nakara already.” Illya said.

Behind Illya, Valeriya nodded her head lightly as if to back up what she was saying.

Shalikova shut her eyes and grit her teeth.

She was paralyzed with frustration and indecision.

Maryam deserved to get out of the ship and have a good time.

Shalikova really wanted to do something for her, after everything they had been through.

But– there was just something–

–something in the way of talking to Murati– it felt so difficult–

“Listen, Sonya.” Illya said. “You have to learn to confront your officers if something is wrong and you want it right. You also need to have the courage to get scolded if you are wrong and they are right. But you have to hash it out. What you’re doing right now, I called it cowardly, and I stand by it. You’ll have to talk to this woman, it is unavoidable. So go do it on your terms, or you’re going to get it done to you and you’ll have no control and no leverage.”

Shalikova’s hand closed into a fist. She still felt stubborn about the situation with Murati.

“I know. I know.” She mumbled. A shudder ran its way through her body.

Illya looked at her for a moment, bowed her head and let out a low grunt.

“I’ll go with you. Okay? Stop moping. If Murati gets out of hand I’ll deal with her.”

Valeriya stared at Illya quizzically, playing with her mask as if trying to stay out of this.

Shalikova stood bolt upright. “No, no, no. That’s– that’s the last thing I want.”

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Illya said brusquely. “Do I need to go talk to Murati?”

A disaster, an unmitigated and complete disaster! Shalikova’s eyes couldn’t meet Illya’s!

Oh my GOD I’ve made everything so much worse! So much worse!

She had really done it– she had triggered this insane woman’s motherly instincts.

“It’s really nothing. I just don’t like talking to my boss.” Shalikova said in a shaky voice.

“What is that guilty face you’ve got on?” Illya said. “Sonya, talk to me.”

“You’re projecting! Look, you’re not my mom, you don’t need–”

“I told Zasha I’d look out for you. Did Murati do something to you?” Illya asked.

Shalikova couldn’t help but notice Illya’s fingers seemed to subconsciously play over the sleek, black carbon-fiber body of the AK rifle as she was speaking. Zasha had once likened Illya to a wolf in order to describe her to Shalikova, who had been learning about animals in school and was going to meet Zasha’s dear friends for the first time.

Illya was tall and gallant and very loyal and protective, Zasha said. By then, Illya was already a star student when it came to not just civics and basic sciences, but particularly in combat. Best shooter in her class, best hand to hand fighter. She, Valeriya and Zasha, as young adults, participated in exercises with older people and defeated them. They became Nagavanshi’s own hunting hounds– and Illya led the pack. Shalikova knew this as soon as she saw Illya’s steel eyes and silver hair, the confident little smirk she always had–

–and now, the restrained bloodthirst, the territorial barking, the alertness in her body.

It wasn’t as if Shalikova didn’t love her– but she didn’t love this, this way that she acted–

“Illya, what the hell are you thinking? Stop imagining whatever gross thing you’ve got in your head!” Shalikova shouted back in Illya’s face. “You need to trust me. Zasha is gone! I’m in my twenties, I’m grown! I’m a soldier! You don’t have to threaten anyone on my behalf! If you do anything to Murati for no reason– I’m going to hate you forever!”

Illya suddenly smirked at Shalikova. All of her dark presence washed away instantly.

“Good. Then go have a nice chat with Murati yourself and have fun on your date.”

She poked the monitor next to her on the desk–

her finger covering the head of a woman using a portable computer in the social area.

“I’ll know if you didn’t.” She added. This seemed to amuse her greatly.

Shalikova had been expecting the worst, so to see Illya bring herself back down so easily, perhaps she had misjudged this woman. Maybe it was not only Shalikova who had grown but Illya, too, had matured. Hell– maybe Shalikova was still just a stupid child and Illya was really the only adult in the room. She let out a breath that had been held in her chest for so long she thought it would turn into a stone. In front of her, Illya was completely calm again.

Talking to Murati did not seem so scary after all of this nonsense.

“Fine. Fine! You’re the absolute worst.” Shalikova said.

“Uh huh. If your date gets approved, come to our quarters. I’ve got something for you.”

“Huh? Why don’t you just give it to me–?”

Illya made a ‘shoo’ motion with her hands, dismissing Shalikova without another word.

She returned her attention to the monitors with something of a little sigh.

Behind her, Valeriya started to absentmindedly strip her own AK rifle one more time.

Exasperated with them, Shalikova stormed out of the security room and slammed the door.

“BLYAT! How did Zasha put up with these bitches!” Shalikova grumbled.

It was uncharacteristic of her to swear aloud, so in order to recompose herself she waited in the other half of the security room for a few minutes so nobody would see her so annoyed in public. Thankfully, the security team medic Syracuse had been drawn away from her usual spot near the security team armor lockup. Shalikova could be alone for a few minutes.

Certainly, talking to Murati felt just a little more possible after this fiasco.

Thanks, Illya, Valeriya, Shalikova thought sarcastically.

And perhaps also– a bit sincerely, too.

Shalikova found Murati sitting down in a booth seat on the left-hand wall of the social area by herself, like she had seen in Illya’s monitor. Murati had a portable computer and looked to be flipping through pages on the touchscreen. She was quite engrossed in the activity and did not notice Shalikova approaching. Shalikova scanned her aura– green and blue.

For a few moments, Shalikova stood ghost-like at Murati’s side. She observed that the lieutenant was searching on Kreuzung’s internet for things like ‘breath-taking places for an adult date,’ ‘most romantic destinations to bring your fiancé,’ ‘popular date ideas among young women.’ None of those really felt like they would be effective search terms. For one, she was not even specifying Kreuzung and so the search kept showing her other stations like Bremen and Thuringia and even the Imperial Capital of Heitzing. Her queries were also extremely literally written which Shalikova attributed to the Lieutenant having an–

extremely stupid and literal brain

“Lieutenant, please just search something like ‘Kreuzung date spots’.” Shalikova hissed.

Murati raised her head sharply from the portable computer’s screen.

As soon as her eyes met Shalikova’s a pair of red rings reflexively appeared around her irises.

Shalikova, in turn, also activated her psionics and nearly jumped as well from the shock.

“Oh! Ensign Shalikova! I’m sorry, you startled me!” Murati said.

“It’s fine! It’s fine!” Shalikova cried out. “Just be quiet and shove off to the side.”

For a moment people were staring.

There weren’t that many sailors, because most of them were working, but there were a handful, enough to constitute a scene– and Alex Geninov was at the pinball table with a smirk on her face, which was absolutely mortifying to witness. Thankfully, Murati slid deeper into the booth and allowed Shalikova to sit next to her, mostly out of sight.

Shalikova took in a deep breath. Murati looked completely taken by surprise.

“What the hell happened with your eyes, Lieutenant? How can I trust you now?”

Her tone came out extremely accusatory. So much so that Murati looked startled anew.

This was truly the best that Shalikova could think to say in order to breach the topic.

She thought of Illya’s demeanor on the way to talking to Murati and felt inspired.

Instead of confessing to anything, it was time to act like she was not guilty of anything.

For all she knew, Murati could have been going rogue and nobody else would know!

(Given Murati’s character, such a thing was outright impossible, but she could pretend.)

“Ensign! It’s not what you think!” Murati said. She held her hands up. “Captain Korabiskaya knows about it and trusts me. And I want to say, we both trust you too! I’m not even going to ask where you got the same ability. Really– all I want is to help and support you.”

Shalikova felt that kind of guilt she always felt talking to Murati.

Like she was being a burden to her stupidly earnest and overtly concerned Lieutenant.

“Why are you always like this? I don’t need your support.” Shalikova mumbled.

“It’s fine if you don’t. But you shouldn’t have to navigate all this alone.” Murati said.

“What’s all this? We don’t even have the same vocabulary to talk about this, do we?”

“Um,” Murati said, “Do you call it psionic powers? Or maybe omenseeing?”

“Omenseeing? Are you just making stuff up now? I don’t call it anything like that.”

It would help if she could successfully pretend she had always had psionic abilities.

And that the shock of seeing Murati had been exclusively from seeing another psionic.

Murati blinked.

“I’m sorry– I had no idea you were dealing with something like this. Look, I received this power from– Euphemia and Teresa. But you musn’t tell anyone else. Right now, its existence is on a need-to-know basis, until we can understand it better. I volunteered to be given the power, to see if we could trust Euphemia and Teresa. Once I know more about it, whether it is safe, how difficult it is to learn, how dangerous it is, I’ll debrief the other officers.”

Shalikova almost felt bad about lying to Murati. She really trusted her so fully and easily.

She had thought this conversation would be way worse. In her mind, Murati was yelling.

A version of Murati existed in her head who was so far from reality that it was shameful.

It made her feel guilty. But at least the current situation was not so volatile at all.

“What will you do with me then, Lieutenant?” Shalikova said, meeting Murati’s gaze.

She tried her best to make a pathetic sort of expression, like a cat that got kicked in the ribs.

Though she was very poorly versed in manipulating anyone, Murati was an easy mark.

Her own expression responded to Shalikova’s with an upswell of pity and reassurance.

“Ensign, it’s not just my job to correct your behavior, but also to make sure that you are okay, and that you can meet the demands of the mission.” Murati said. She reached out and patted Shalikova on the shoulder. Shalikova allowed it. “I never wanted to antagonize and drive you away. I apologize for that. I’m still new to commanding and I haven’t risen to the challenges yet, but I’m trying. I know I’ve been misreading you. I want to reassure you; you won’t have to answer to anyone. I’ll take responsibility. I’m not going to force you to do anything. I just want information on psionics– on our powers– to stay as contained as possible.”

Murati, you’re making this painful in such a different way than I thought it would be.

Shalikova would not crack and tell Murati the whole truth.

Not yet.

But her heart was bleeding– she really wanted to confess to her stupid, earnest Lieutenant.

I’m in the wrong here. But at least, for now, it’s a harmless lie, for Maryam’s sake.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Are there any specific conditions I should abide by?”

Murati smiled brightly. Shalikova was taken aback by her sudden and open cheer.

“All I ask Ensign, is that you continue to use all of your abilities in defense of communism.”

Shalikova’s eyes drew wide, and her brain filled with a cyclone of shapeless debris.

Idiot! You corny idiot! Don’t smile saying something so dumb! I hate you so much! UGH!

It took all of the strength in her body to lift up the corners of her lips in response to that.

“Acknowledged.” Shalikova smiled. In her mind’s eye, her smile was demented as Illya’s.

Murati continued to smile back. She looked so bright, so charmed and happy– UGH!

She let out a breath and put her hands over her heart. “I’m so glad we could fix things.”

“Uh huh. Anyway– I have stuff to do. Here, sign this for me and give it to the Captain.”

Shalikova deposited the crumpled-up Form 56A on the table and stormed off.

“Huh? Ensign? What happened to this form? Where are you going so suddenly?”

Leaving Murati behind by herself to uncrumple the paper as best she could and read it.

Murati didn’t have a writing implement but that was her problem to figure out now.

Shalikova’s face and ears were turning as tomato red as Maryam’s became sometimes.


Several hours after their meeting with Erika Kairos, Ulyana and Aaliyah found themselves burning the midnight oil in the exact same meeting room they had been so frequently occupying. They were metaphorically buried in paperwork, even though on the desk there were only two portable computers and a small stack of actual physical stone-paper forms.

“Everyone is asking for shore leave outside the block.” Ulyana said with concern.

“Maybe there is a problem on this ship.” Aaliyah said sharply.

“You know what Nagavanshi once told me about military relationships?”

Aaliyah returned a skeptical gaze. The insides of her ears were flushed again.

Ulyana smiled. She found her Commissar’s uptight attitude to be very cute.

“She told me the story of a Katarran brigade called the ‘Sacred Band’. They were organized in pairs of homosexual lovers. Their sexual and emotional bond was a prize for them, something worth protecting and fighting for. Something more than the glory and profit of the warlord who hired or enslaved them. They were apparently very effective fighters.”

Aaliyah’s eyes narrowed further.

“So you’re telling me we should encourage this behavior because codependency might increase morale. Is that seriously what you are suggesting, Captain?”

“I am not suggesting anything.” Ulyana shrugged with a delighted expression, eager and happy to be teasing her cute Commissar. “I was just telling you a story Nagavanshi told me about these sorts of situations. But think of this, if the now Commissar-General, back then, didn’t really care about enforcing this rule, then why should we go out of our way?”

“For the sake of order? To avoid unnecessary problems down the line?” Aaliyah said.

“Did you know– I’ve always suspected Nagavanshi is Premier Jayasankar’s lover.”

“What?” Aaliyah turned fiercely red. “What do you mean? How do you figure?”

Ulyana continued to smile, and a baffled Aaliyah stared at her and seemed to take the hint.

Aaliyah would have been six or seven years old during the Revolution, but Ulyana had fought alongside all of these characters and was part of their circles for some time. She would have known better than her who Nagavanshi was fucking and what attitude she had towards it. Their potential HR-level problems with sailors in love did not nearly reach the level of a problem that Nagavanshi and Jayasankar’s relationship would constitute if it was true.

But also– Nagavanshi wielded massive power with the full confidence of the Premier.

That type of loyalty perhaps arose– because perhaps she loved her, maybe even physically.

“We’re not rubberstamping these, Ulyana Korabiskaya.” Aaliyah said, pulling out the full name with a venomous tone. “I refuse to approve dozens of potential sexual excursions based on your uncritical ideas. If we’re allowing this, we’re taking full responsibility for every one. We’re going to research every location, every time frame; evaluating each of the people involved, whether we trust their judgment; and approve or reject them case-by-case.”

A grim shadow settled over Ulyana’s once placid smile. “Well– It’s only right, I suppose.”

“Furthermore– I refuse to be anyone’s relationship counselor!” Aaliyah whined.

“I– I was never planning on that. Commissar, they’re adults, they can make decisions–”

“They better be able to! If their love problems interfere with their work, I’ll be quite cross!”

Ulyana stared at the almost childish consternation on display, and she wondered if there was some projection happening. Of course, she said nothing of the sort for fear of taking a hundred steps back in her own love problems with her dear Commissar. She simply kept smiling and promising to support her just as she had loyally supported her throughout.

On that night, they each grabbed a portable computer and set to work.

First they used the cameras on the back of the portables to digitize the paper forms.

Then the real work of going through each of the forms began.

“Look at this, Captain! The nerve of some of these sailors! These two want to go A-block? Imagine the Volkisch staring at two gigantic men holding hands in the middle of the most affluent district in the city! We would be all be crucified! These people have no sense!”

Ulyana could disagree with Aaliyah’s tone but not her intentions.

Looking through the forms, the sailors in particularly had very fanciful ideas of where they could be allowed to roam. Each form had a location, time frame for the leave, as well as guests that the requester would be responsible for. Because the sailors and officers did not know anyone but each other, each requester usually had one other member of the Brigand’s crew as a ‘guest’ on the forms– easily construed as their ‘date.’ Several people wanted to see the gardens at A-block, which were reserved for the affluent families that lived there.

Ulyana would never support the social hierarchy of Kreuzung, but the fact remained she had to abide by it to avoid suspicion and safeguard the mission. All requests to go to A-block were discarded outright, with messages prepared to inform the requesters they would be approved to go to the Alcor campus or Solarflare LLC and nowhere else. These were easiest requests to work through. By far the most complex were the ones that seemed reasonable.

“Alexandra Geninov wants to go to a seasonal street market on C-block.” Ulyana said.

Aaliyah looked up the venue and event online. “Seems reasonable. It’s not that far.”

“Alex is annoying sometimes, but I think she can behave herself in public.” Ulyana said.

“Fernanda Santapena-De-La-Rosa is going to the same place.” Aaliyah said with a sigh.

“So they filed separately, but are going to the same place at the same time?” Ulyana asked.

“Yes. It’s very like them, isn’t it.” Aaliyah said. “Have they matured even a little lately?”

“Well, they’ve been living together for a few weeks without incident.” Ulyana said.

“Alright. We’ll approve them, and hopefully they won’t cause a public disturbance.”

For everyone, the forms required two signatures. First was the direct superior’s signature and then the captain’s signature for final approval. For Bridge crew, Aaliyah acted as direct superior, and the Captain then signed. For sailors, it depended on their section, but so far, it seemed that Lebedova and Cohen had signed everything without really looking at it– or maybe they were as lacking in sense as some of the requests Ulyana was seeing.

Murati was the superior officer for requests from the pilots.

“Murati commented every single form submitted by a pilot.” Aaliyah said, impressed with the work ethic. “It looks like she already took a look at the places her people were requesting. She suspects Khadija just wants to go drink alcohol even though she’s technically not supposed to; and she is afraid Aiden is requesting leave so he can run away somewhere.”

“Murati’s such a treasure.” Ulyana said, looking at the digitized version of the form for Sonya Shalikova’s leave request. It had been heavily crumpled up, but Murati had pressed it flat again. Comments on the form urged the approval of Shalikova’s request as a gesture of good will and reward for ‘coming forward about her problems.’ “I’m going to approve this one.”

About halfway through the endeavor, they began to see more complicated requests.

People with the audacity to request to stay in hotel rooms, and who wanted multi-day time frames with multiple locations involved, who requested additional Imbrian funds than their shore leave stipend for expensive requests, or other such things that warranted even closer and more involved research than previous requests. Aaliyah’s ears folded against her head with exhaustion and Ulyana had begun to yawn with increasing frequency.

Soon Ulyana was seeing double and had to put down her portable.

“We need to take a break, Commissar.” She said.

“No complaints here.” Aaliyah replied with a groan.

“Care for a drink? Alcor gifted me a bottle of liquor on my last visit there.”

“How will that make us any less sleepy?”

“It won’t, but it will be fun. I think we could use a little bit of fun.”

“I’d be lying if I said I disagree. Fine. Bring out the booze.”

Ulyana and Aaliyah exchanged sympathetic gazes, and Ulyana opened a small box that she had set on a chair in a corner of the room. Inside was a bottle of beet-sugar rum, Tuzemak, called Struh in the Imbrium. She had two drinking glasses as well, though both were made of plastic. Setting them down on the table, she poured the clear reddish liquor into the glasses. She pushed one toward Aaliyah, who took it in hand. They tipped their glasses together, cheered for health and the safety of the mission, and downed a shot at the same time.

Aaliyah’s ears wiggled rapidly, and she shut her eyes briefly. It was a strong spirit.

Ulyana was untroubled. She considered herself a champ when it came to liquor.

“I’m still surprised at how sweet it is for liquor.” Aaliyah said.

“Completely trounces the potato stuff doesn’t it? Want another shot?”

“Hmm. Oh– whatever. Sure. Hit me. We’re already breaking all kinds of rules anyway.”

Two more shots; down the hatch. Aaliyah’s tail stood up briefly stiff and straight.

Ulyana sat back down with the bottle on the table.

“It’s so good. Fuck. I’m having another.” She said.

“Hit me too.” Aaliyah said.

Third shot; and there it went. Ulyana and Aaliyah laughed and relaxed on their chairs.

Smiling placidly, the Captain turned her slightly wavering vision on her Commissar.

Aaliyah was such an appealing girl. Her medium skin tone, her shiny dark hair, the natural pinkness and suppleness of her thin lips. Her jewel-like eyes and the elegant curve in the shape of her cat-like ears. Her slender tail, and the slenderness of her body too. Ulyana could not help in that moment but to think of the height gap between them too– she could have bent forward and loomed a little bit– her body would have fit so perfectly nestled with her back to Ulyana in bed– she would have been so warm and soft, such a sweet little morsel–

A sharp sound– a drinking glass striking the table.

“Ulyana, another shot. I want to feel the fire in me.” Aaliyah said suddenly.

Her eyes were looking a bit cloudy, and her cheeks were beginning to redden.

Ulyana, with a little laugh, filled Aaliyah’s glass again, as well as her own.

The Captain downed another shot; her Commissar was slowly sipping hers, however.

“It’s unfair.” Aaliyah mumbled. One of her ears was upright, but the other had folded.

“What’s unfair?” Ulyana said, her voice starting to drawl just a bit.

Without prompting, she refilled the Commissar’s glass, and they both drank again.

Fifth round!

“We have to do all this work, and they can go out to play.” Aaliyah said.

“True, true. They don’t know how much we sacrifice for them.”

“They don’t! We just endure silently, there is no one to take care of us.”

“Right. It’s fucked. Commissar, if it weren’t for you, I would go insane.”

“Indeed, indeed, Captain. We are the only ones for each other.”

“To hell with the sailors!” Ulyana cheered, taking another shot and topping up Aaliyah.

Sixth round!

“To hell with the sailors!” Aaliyah paused, drank. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna deny, deny, deny!”

With each ‘deny’ Aaliyah tapped her glass on the table like a gavel.

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit! That’s that Ashura brutality we all love!” Ulyana cheered.

She refilled their glasses. Aaliyah tucked the shot in quickly this time, shutting her eyes.

They broke out into laughter together, tapping their quickly glasses on the table.

Then, topping up once more–

Seventh round!

“We deserve a vacation too. Captain– I’m– I’m taking you out!” Aaliyah declared.

“That’s dangerous talk soldier! You really ready to ‘take out’ the Captain?” Ulyana said.

Both of them cracked up amid the slurred words.

Eighth round– Ninth Round– Tenth–

floating velvet colors– soft giggling in a gently swaying room– paradise–

“Don’t believe me? I’ll show you– Captain–”

Aaliyah stood suddenly, and made her way around the table–

However, she stumbled over one of the chairs on the table’s side and tripped.

This led her to fall on Ulyana, who had been sitting quite back on her chair. Both of them fell backwards together and ended up entangled on the floor. Ulyana had hit her flank and Aaliyah her gut, but between the shocked gasping for air after falling, they began to giggle airily at one another, embraced. They brought their faces close and rubbed noses together.

Ulyana stroked Aaliyah’s hair.

Even their legs had entwined as they laid on the floor, staring into each other’s eyes intensely with drunken euphoria. Ulyana had been right. Aaliyah was so soft– so warm–

Unfortunately for the two of them, those gazes wavered far too quickly for their intimacy.

And the most that happened was that they fell asleep in each other’s arms on the floor.

Lips just millimeters short of a kiss, sleeping gazes still held tightly together.

Overlooking them on the floor, a metaphorical pile of work on the table still undone.

All of the officers, at least, had had their forms looked through and approved.


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