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

Mourners After The Revel [12.5]

Red lights flashed silent alarm across the UNX-001 Brigand, while a calm voice spoke through every implement from which sound could be heard. “Alert Semyon!” She said, careful not to shout or betray anxiety, while still speaking in a clear voice. Alert Semyon would only be raised verbally three times and then Fatima would go quiet on the audio system.

Everyone on the ship understood what this meant. Sailors hurried to their positions, crossing paths in the halls. Sailors who had been resting in their barracks rushed to their assignments upstairs; sailors eating in the cafeteria or taking a break in the social pod rushed downstairs to the hangar. They checked on the walls, were bearing monitors indicated current information of the threat and ETA until probable active combat.

Upstairs, the sailors assigned as rapid response had their tools handy. They would watch out for any malfunctions or damage and make spot repairs. They would sound the alarm if they thought circuitry or water system functions were threatened by the stresses of the battle. Several of them received a new assignment that had been worked out during training in Kreuzung: clearing out and locking down the social pod and cafeteria and other unnecessary facilities with anti-flood barriers, to prevent a repeat of the scare that resulted when the Antenora breached their sidepod in Goryk, almost destroying the social area.

Downstairs, the main focus of the sailors was in getting the Divers ready.

Batteries were checked twice a day and refilled if necessary, so there was not much charging that needed doing to top the Divers off. All repairs and maintenance had already been completed on the main combat units. Owing to the recovery of Homa’s “DELTA” as well as the stripping-down of one of the reserve Streloks, there was an area of the hangar that was quite messy and in disarray, but the mess was pushed to the far side. Deployment chutes were prepared to be opened into the hangar in case of mobilization. Weapons were loaded and equipment attached to the Divers based on the pilot’s stated desires.

Throughout the ship, people communicated in whispers, sign language and hand signals, or by writing on portables and showing the words to one another. Sailors were trained to walk quickly with soft footfalls and to work with precision and care so as to not bang on metal. This minimized the amount and intensity of identifiable noises that an enemy could potentially pick up prior to combat. It was very little, and the ship was not entirely stealth capable, but it could be very quiet if the distance and conditions were right. Once the cannons were firing, all bets were off, but until then, there was an eerie combination of haste and silence as the alert was sounded, and then executed upon.

Many of the upper pods were soundproofed, however, and the Bridge was no exception.

On the bridge, Captain Korabiskaya arrived and took her seat, followed by Commissar Bashara. At their side, Premier Erika Kairos also arrived along with her bodyguard and attendant Olga Athanasiou, both taking their places. Kalika Loukia had briefly held the bridge while the rest got ready to coordinate another day’s worth of rationalizing the inventories of the Brigand and Rostock and connecting the two ships and their crews– but that work would be put on hold. Fatima al-Suhar stood from her station, ready to give her report. She pointed at the main screen, where the simulated silhouette of a Republic “in-line-2” class Frigate appeared along with those of Imbrian Cutters and Frigates, as well as an old, very large and bulbous shaped cruiser, two generations old, a Serclaes-class.

“Captain! Our situation is as follows–”

One more time, the door to the bridge opened.

Scurrying inside and trying to appear as if they had not interrupted–

Murati Nakara, in the company of an unfamiliar face.

A young lady that had the same uniform as the rest but making her first appearance on the bridge. Cheerful-looking, her pretty face unbothered even as the red alarm lights cast an eerie color over her– the brown-haired Loup with the ponytail and makeup elicited a few curious glances. Murati wanted to say nothing upon entering the bridge, but practically everyone was looking at her directly, even Fatima, who was also waiting to speak.

“Sorry to interrupt– I was kept– taking care of something. Um. This is my new adjutant.”

Stumbling over her words, Murati at first gestured toward the woman beside her.

Almost immediately she underwent every conceivable human emotion in an instant.

What would anyone think if Aatto talked some nonsense? She nearly interrupted herself–

“My name is Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather. I will give everything to support your cause.”

She spoke politely and vowed her head and held her portable computer to her chest.

Wearing a demure and innocent smile.

Murati stared at her for a moment. She could not believe what she had heard.

And everyone else’s gazes shifted between Murati and Aatto with confusion.

“Okay, thank you, Aatto.” Commissar Bashara said, clearing her throat. “Fatima.”

Standing next to the sonar station, Fatima al-Suhar’s ears and tail stood on end.

“Oh! Yes. My deepest apologies. I was simply being polite. So, the situation–”

Ten minutes ago, Fatima first detected distant noises in the water that to her golden ears registered as explosions from middle caliber ship ordnance. Soon after the predictive computer parsed the same sounds as ordnance, and in addition, detected a wide-area active sonar pulse. Per protocol, Fatima responded to being picked up by active sonar with a return pulse scan from the Brigand, and the Rostock responded similarly.

They discovered the combatants several kilometers away in the northwestern direction. There was a Republic “in-line-2” class Frigate, so called for its two rows of guns in fixed positions integrated into the ship’s bow– chasing it was an Imperial Marder-class Frigate, a fairly ubiquitous class that everyone on the bridge was familiar with.

Complicating the situation, the Marder, having acquired a Republic Frigate and begun to chase, also reported the discovery to other nearby Imperial ships. Converging on the republicans were three additional Frigates from the North-Northwest as well as an old Serclaes-class Cruiser from the North. All of these ships were assumed with reason to have belonged to the Rhinea patrol fleet. If these patrol ships received the retrofit that other Volkisch Frigates did, then this entire force could be said to include 20-30 Divers in addition to the ships themselves, as each ship likely carried 4-8 Divers. Though she did not know the reaction her command would have to these discoveries, Fatima called for Alert Semyon just in case– they had been detected by sonar, so they had to be prepared.

“That was a quick and sound judgment Fatima. We commend you.” Ulyana said.

Fatima’s ears wiggled slightly and she smiled.

“Now we have to decide how to respond.” Aaliyah added.

“Right now, we have some cover for our actions, I believe,” Erika said, pointing at the screen, “As far as they know, what they have on sensors is a dumpy-looking hauler, no offense,” she smiled and waited a second as if to allow anyone to take offense if they would, but finding nobody disagreeing with her on the Brigand’s comeliness, she continued, “and an Imperial Ritter-class. Much of the time we have found that low level patrols will ignore the Rostock’s movements because they assume Ritter cruisers are led by big shots who they couldn’t hold accountable for anything if they tried. So we end up slipping by without effort.”

“In that case, all of those forces will converge on the Republicans.” Ulyana said.

“They won’t be able to survive it.” Murati said. “They will absolutely be overwhelmed.”

“Zachikova, get a graph of all enemy positions on the main screen.” Ulyana said.

“Yes ma’am.”

On the electronic warfare station, Zachikova got to work. Arabella peeked over the top of her desk curiously, having been sitting beside it the whole time. After a few seconds of typing, the predictor displayed for everyone in the room the surrounding area.

To think they were so close to Aachen’s hydrospace– but this situation was even closer. Murati took a few steps from the entrance to look more closely at the main screen. There were no landmarks to speak of. Any battle would take place in open ocean. So everything came down to the state of the combatant’s equipment, their tactics and formation, and whether they could gain any advantage in the information space. In terms of pure hardware on all sides, the Brigand and Rostock could be put at a disadvantage.

There was something of a plan forming in her mind, but she did not have enough data–

“Would it not be prudent to avoid this battle entirely?” Aaliyah asked.

Murati turned around and stared at her. Aaliyah seemed to notice but ignore her gaze.

“I’m positive if we decided to intervene, we could also still get away.” Erika said.

“Right, but– the Republicans in this area have all carried themselves awfully and they did not even want to join the United Front to begin with. They have caused us major inconveniences, they wasted significant manpower, and for what? Very nearly destroying a station full of innocent people. We could just leave them to their fate and speed on to Aachen.”

“That’s a bit cold.” Ulyana said. She smiled a bit nervously at Aaliyah’s words.

“But not unwarranted.” Aaliyah said. “Our intervention could cost us lives and equipment.”

“You are right.” Ulyana said. “Our most practical response is just leaving this be.”

“I will defer to your counsel in this matter.” Erika said, crossing her arms.

“They’re our allies! You’re going to hand out a death sentence to this one frigate crew?”

Murati raised her voice near to a shout, her hands curled up into fists.

Ulyana stared at her a bit in disbelief; Aaliyah rolled her eyes; Erika smiled suddenly.

“It’s true that the command of the Republic fleet in this area supported a heinous atrocity for very little strategic gain. It’s the truth that they went out on their own, foolishly. They could have never held Kreuzung. It was more likely they would destroy the core than successfully occupy it.” Murati said. “I am not denying that. But it’s horribly disproportionate to abandon these soldiers to die for that, when we could rescue and recruit them!”

“Then moralizing aside, our personnel could die carrying out this rescue.” Aaliyah said.

“That’s always a risk! It’s a risk of anything we do! That in itself is not an argument!”

“Now who is being cold toward other’s lives, Lieutenant?” Aaliyah spat back.

Having that statement turned on her gave Murati a brief pause to consider her words.

Her chest felt like it constricted and prevented her from making an angry response.

Was she being callous toward her comrades lives–?

Her head fogged from the sudden anxiety.

No– of course she was not– she was just trying to get them to see sense–

There was a loud clapping of two hands from the side of the bridge.

“Enough!” Erika said.

Firmly but not unkindly.

A sound that prompted Murati to take a deep breath and right herself.

Erika seemed more amused than aggravated about the argument. “Murati is correct. For the insurgent any action taken is done at the risk of their lives. If we wanted to preserve our equipment and lives we would bury them in a hole and do nothing, but that does not advance our objectives. So then the question is, how do we turn the cost and benefit of this situation to our advantage. In this, Aaliyah is not wrong to say, we have no idea what we are dealing with when we deal with the Republic here. We could be fighting for nothing and thus dying for nothing. So it is not so easy as to rush in and save the day at any cost either.”

For a brief moment, the room was silent– until one still-unfamiliar voice sounded.

“In that case, we just need to come up with a battle plan that will lower our risk.”

Stepping out from near the door and joining Murati’s side was Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather.

Murati looked almost surprised to have her support despite her supposed adjutant status.

“I strongly believe we can succeed if we entrust our strategy to my master!” Aatto said.

She gestured toward Murati as if framing her with her hands, smiling brightly.

Murati felt like her heart dropped lower into her chest.

Eyebrows furrowed and raised all across the bridge in confusion.

Ulyana stared at Aatto, speechless; Erika suppressed laughter; Aaliyah looked livid.

“What did she say? What did she call you? Is this your instruction, Murati?!”

“I– It really isn’t– she’s just–” Murati tugged on her own collar with growing anxiety.

“Now, now,” Ulyana spoke up suddenly, “it’s my turn to say not to indulge in silliness.”

She patted Aaliyah’s shoulders as if gently trying to prevent her jumping over the divider.

“Ms. Jarvi-Stormyweather is not wrong either!” Erika said. “I’ve read the files; this is Murati’s specialty, is it not? Her tactical plans have turned around some bad situations before! I do think having the Republicans in our debt might be advantageous in the future– and besides, the destruction of five patrol ships, including a Cruiser, can only be helpful to us.”

“I am not being silly.” Aaliyah said. She sat back in her chair. “I just want to clarify.”

“Don’t worry. We all understand you, Commissar.” Erika said, amused.

“It is my job to provide perspective. I am not mad and I am not being silly.” She said again.

“Yes, that’s very true. Thank you Commissar.” Ulyana said, also amused.

“Okay, okay, the first matter is concluded. We are intervening.” Olga said, sighing audibly.

Murati breathed a sigh of relief herself. She then made eye contact with Aatto.

Putting on such a furious gaze that she almost sent a psychic wave out to her.

Aatto seemed to notice and looked bashful for the very first time since they met.

You will ask permission to speak!! Murati shouted in her mind.

It was very rare that she spoke like this with anyone, so she was not sure it worked–

Yes, master!! A million apologies! No, a billion! I will accept any punishment!

Thankfully it seemed Aatto really did have some modicum of psionic experience.

Where she got it from and how far it extended was a question for another time.

For now, it was good enough that she did actually support Murati when it mattered.

As objectionable as some of her language and habits were– maybe she could actually help.

“Since we are intervening, we need a plan and we need it soon.” Erika said. “Tarrying too long will be effectively the same as abandoning this ship– they are taking fire as we speak.”

Murati knew this quite well. She turned back to the main screen.

At the moment, her thinking was that this reminded her of the Battle of Thassal.

That Republic frigate could hold out against that single Marder, if not in the long term then at least for the moment. In this scenario the real problem was the reinforcements. They were divided up and trying to converge on one target to overwhelm it. Murati was trying to think of a way to keep them from coming together and thereby disrupt their operation. She could not assume that each element of the patrol was moving closely and with coordination the way that the enemy fleet groups were in Thassal, however. Depending on the speed of each different element, the timing to defeat them in detail might be too tight.

One solution could be splitting their own forces. Should she recommend the Rostock engage the Marders while the Brigand commits to the rescue? That would depend on whether the enemy Marders were modified to carry more Divers, like she knew other Volkisch units had been. It was possible if they sent the Rostock alone it could be overwhelmed by that many Divers. The same might happen if the Brigand went alone. The more she thought about it, dividing their own forces was out of the question. She grunted. What was the answer?

“Aatto.” Murati said. “Is the Serclaes-class roughly as fast or faster than the Marders?”

Aatto smiled. “As a matter of fact master, it is actually slower than a Marder.”

“Really?” Murati asked. “Tell me more about it. I know it didn’t see front-line service.”

Behind them Aaliyah seemed to want to ask why Murati kept being called “master”–

Ulyana continued to work to calm her down, however–

“It’s true, the Serclaes class never saw service in the Grand Fleets.” Aatto said. “Because the class is heavily overburdened compared to thrust and while well-armed and armored, it was considered a crippled design due to its lack of speed. After all, a fleet is only as fast as its slowest element, and it is unacceptable for a Cruiser to be that slow. It was used in Imperial propaganda to emphasize its size and armament and was dubbed a ‘Heavy Cruiser’ but that was all it was, propaganda. Few were built and only used for interior defense.”

“Then out of this group, the Serclaes will surely arrive last.” Murati said.

“Significantly so, I predict.” Aatto replied.

A small smile crept across Murati’s features. Newly energized she turned left.

“Zachikova, can I get a more accurate depiction of the distance between the Marders?”

“I’ll try to get the computer to rerun it with greater fidelity. No promises.” Zachikova said.

On the main screen, the Marders were zoomed in on. A different became apparent.

In the broader picture of the scenario, the Marders looked like they were grouped together.

Upon zooming in on them, however, they were not arrayed in a standard arrow-head.

Two were coming in a line together and were not observing a shooting formation.

And the third was two kilometers behind the rest and moving as if to flank, not join them.

Murati pointed at the screen as if her finger would stab the frigates out of existence.

“I’ve got you!” Murati said excitedly. Her smile turned into a bloodthirsty grin.

Aatto wagged her tail and joined Murati in smiling– hers more admiring than violent.

“Captain, Commissar, Premier, I have a plan. But once we deploy, we have to be quick.”

Murati turned around to look her superiors in the eye. Determination swelling in her chest.

Even Aaliyah was not looking so skeptical as before. Ulyana looked a bit relieved.

“Go on, Murati. I’m ready to see your sorcery in action.” Erika replied.

For a moment, Murati was surprised to see it referred to as sorcery– but she liked it too.

At no time was she as conceited as when she figured out a problem like this.

“First, we need to converge all forces on the Republic In-Line-2 and rescue it. Then–”

Murati laid out her thoughts before anyone.

Though she felt her observations were not so revolutionary– people were impressed.

“Remind me to doubt you a bit less next time, Murati.” Ulyana said, as the plan unveiled.


Orders from the bridge relayed down to hangar engineering, and to the Rostock as well.

The Brigand and its new sister ship changed course, veering north-east together.

On the Brigand’s hangar, the pilots of the 114th rushed to their machines and suited up in black, thermal-padded pilot bodysuits. Murati Nakara ordered a quick huddle and advised on the overarching plan. For the pilots, it was not anything too complicated.

At first, the overall goal for everyone was to eliminate all targets and secure the Republic frigate from enemy fire. Then they would have to switch strategies. Dominika Rybolovskaya and Sameera al-Shahouh Raisanen-Morningsun, with their Strelkannon and Cossack, would be tasked with guarding the fleet from ordnance and Diver attacks. Khadija, Shalikova, Valya and Murati would intercept the incoming enemies and look for openings.

“We can’t be too reckless, but speed is of the essence. Unless we can break through each enemy in turn, it is possible that we may be outnumbered and encircled.” Murati said. “Rostock and the Brigand outgun the enemy ships significantly, so our focus needs to be the enemy Divers. If we allow the enemy Divers to act freely then we will be defeated.”

Around Murati, her fellow pilots nodded their heads in acknowledgment.

“Any questions?” Murati asked. She intended this to be about the plan, but–

“Yes. Who is that?” Khadija, smiling mischievously, pointed over Murati’s shoulder.

Behind Murati, a set of tall, brown-furred dog-like ears wiggled; a very fluffy tail wagged.

“That is my new adjutant, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather.” Murati said, as if it was enough.

“Huh?! Isn’t that the woman who was threatening you in Kreuzung? Isn’t she a fascist?”

At Murati’s side, Tigris spoke up, her jumpsuit stained with accidentally spilled lubricants.

“She defected– we’re working on it– she’s– she’s a reform fascist.” Murati said nervously.

“What? What does that even mean? Are you okay, Murati?” Shalikova said, confused.

“I am not a fascist anymore. I am for the supreme power of the proletariat.” Aatto said.

“Do you mean the national proletariat?” Khadija said, suppressing laughter.

“The proletariat is the proletariat. It’s all the same isn’t it?” Aatto said, shrugging.

“She’s a reform fascist.” Murati said. “Stop asking me about my adjutant and move out!”

With a few laughs and stares, the pilots left Murati’s side and headed to the machines.

Tigris stayed behind for a moment. She pointed a wrench in her hands at the Agni.

“I’ve got some fancy ideas I haven’t gotten around to, but for now, it can hold a gun.”

“Thank you, that’s all the capability I really needed.” Murati said.

“I also removed some of the ‘hadal armor kit’ I developed. Since it won’t be going below 3000 meters deep or encountering Leviathans, probably– with the extra weight off, it’ll be faster. I recommend you do not try to play the hero. Hang back, and act as support for now.”

Tigris briefly explained the changes and then left Murati’s side to assist around the hangar.

All of the pilots were taking care of final personal and practical matters before deploying.

“Aatto,”

Murati turned to face her new adjutant. Her heart was a bit heavy.

Certainly she was sympathetic to Aatto or she would not have tolerated being a made to look foolish in front of people to cover up for her. She knew Aatto must have been dealing with trauma. And she was beginning to see first-hand what she hoped to get from Aatto– someone who had lived in the Empire, worked for them, had access to regional knowledge Murati lacked. In the best case, Aatto would not just take over some of Murati’s busywork, but she would help cover up her blind spots or gaps in her strategies. That was the role of an adjutant– like the Commissar and Captain, who had a productive rapport.

However, Aatto had a long way to go in terms of fitting in with the Brigand.

Murati could not help but feel, still to that moment, that this might all be a mistake.

“Yes, master?” Aatto said.

“Ugh.” Murati gave up on dissuading her from saying that. “What do you see in me?”

Aatto seemed to understand Murati wanted a serious answer.

She took a moment to think before speaking.

“I see power, intellect, determination and the will to sunder the petrified Imbrium Ocean.”

“I think you have me wrong. I’m not that big of a deal. I’m not vying for power here.”

“Perhaps not yet. But I see it in you. You want to topple the current order, don’t you?”

She recalled the things Aatto said in her cell. Some of them with great nervousness.

“I want to topple it because it hurts people. Not for my own sake– or because of Destiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me, master. I will assist you in this endeavor regardless.”

“You need to do more than that. You must realize there is a burden to being a defector.”

Murati took Aatto’s digital computer from her hands and showed her the files on it.

“There are books on Union politics. Read them. You’ll take the pledge too.”

Aatto nodded her head. She had a demure smile throughout. It reminded Murati of cafeteria workers. Service personnel had difficult jobs, and smiling was a part of the job. In the Union cafeteria workers were treated well, and they were respected, because they had been entrusted an important task. But it was strenuous labor that they would often perform regardless of how they were feeling. That smile was just a part of preparing and serving food. Murati felt that Aatto’s smile was for her, and so ‘part of the job’. It hid whatever Aatto was feeling inside. That was why she would not stop smiling for anyone on the ship, even after all she had been through. It troubled Murati that she felt this was the case.

But there was nothing she could do about it in that instant.

“I would say, ‘good luck, master’ but I have the utmost confidence in you.” Aatto said.

“And why is that?” Murati asked, meeting her eyes and trying to smile.

“Because I saw the look in your eyes when you realized your strategy. You don’t just want to carry out your duty solemnly for its own sake. You want to destroy this enemy.” Aatto said.

At first it was Murati’s snap reaction to deny to herself that this was the case–

However, it was entirely true.

Murati wanted to punish the imperials and bring justice to them since she was a child.

At Thassal she had gotten her first taste of their blood.

Standing amid Imperial ships exploding, thousands of their people dying, she thought,

All of you deserve this.

So she could not deny what Aatto was saying– but neither would she acknowledge it.

“What kind of plan would you have come up with, Chief Petty Officer?” Murati asked.

Aatto kept her answer succinct– after all, it was almost time to deploy.

“I would have just abandoned the Republicans. But– I like your way much better.”

“Well. Thank you. It’s your first day on the job, so do your best.”

“In service to you, I will never falter, master.”

Murati turned around and left Aatto’s side, heading for the Agni. Her heart remained heavy.

At the foot of the Agni, she found her fiancé Karuniya Maharapratham in her pilot suit. She had been tasked by Murati with overseeing the loading of the HELIOS drones into the shoulder binders on the Agni. Upon Murati’s arrival, she turned to face her, put her hands on her hips, smiled and leaned into Murati’s personal space. She had a strange look on her face.

In that moment, Murati feared for the worst.

“Soooo, I heard a weird woman is following you around and calling you ‘master’ now.”

All of Murati’s fears cascaded over her shoulders until she thought she would fall.

“Who told you that? It’s nothing. She’s– she’s just a little– odd in the head.” Murati said.

Karuniya continued to grin and stare at Murati. Chest out, hands on her hips, smug.

“Nothing untoward is happening! Why are you looking at me like that?” Murati whined.

“Oh nothing~– to be honest, I’m glad you made a friend. Maybe you can be besties.”

“Karuniya, I have friends.” Murati said suddenly. “I have no problems making friends.”

“None of the officers count. And I don’t count either– I’m your wife~” Karuniya teased.

“It’s not fair that you don’t count– okay, fine, let’s just drop it. We need to get moving.”

Similar scenes seemed to play out at some of the other gantries in the hangar.

At the foot of the Cheka, Sonya Shalikova held hands with Maryam Karahailos.

“Sonya, I believe in you! Score super awesome kills and become a Diver Ace!”

Shalikova blinked. “Maryam– that’s a bit macabre– it isn’t a game you know–”

“Oh, but I heard that for every kill you get to put a notch on your Diver, and at five–”

“That’s not untrue, some people do that– but it’s kinda weird when you just say it.”

Between the open cockpits of the Strelkannon and Cossack, their two pilots met.

The taller Sameera looking down at Dominika, who put on an aggrieved expression.

“I’m warning you to reign in your gallivanting attitude this time.”

“I will control myself if you promise me a reward when we get back.”

“Sameera–! You–!”

Meanwhile–

In front of the Strelok One~bis, a tall and pensive blond woman stood with her head bowed. Compared to the Shimii she was speaking to there was a visibly humorous contrast of their size difference and the level of deference of one to the other. Sieglinde von Castille was nearly bowing to Khadija al-Shajara, who looked none too amused by the body language and nervous stuttering. She waited for a moment for Sieglinde to struggle with speaking.

“Khadija, I– I’m here because– I just wanted to– for you–”

“Oh come on, hold your head up! Speak clearly! This is pathetic!”

Khadija reached out and with one index finger forced Sieglinde’s chin up.

Sieglinde looked briefly stunned by this level of physical approach.

For an instant she seemed to flinch as if she was expecting to be struck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that really what you wanted to say to me?”

“No.” Sieglinde sighed. “I wanted to wish you good fortune. On the sortie.”

Khadija put on a smug little smile, her tail waving behind me.

“Unlike you, dear, I don’t need good fortune. It’s all skill in this cockpit.”

With a teasing little wave, Khadija hopped onto the ramp and ducked into the open Strelok.

Sieglinde stood watching as the cockpit closed as if in disbelief of Khadija’s response.

And rushed out of the way when the gantries released the trundling mechas.


“UND-114-D ‘Cossack’! Sameera al-Shahouh, deploying!”

Mother’s surname again. Perhaps it just felt right for Eisental.

Under the feet of Sameera’s modified Strelok, the deployment chute piped in water and piped out any air until the chute equalized to the outside and then opened its hatch, releasing the machine into the ocean beneath the Brigand. Because the Brigand was moving at speed, Sameera had to immediately hit the pedals in her cockpit in order to begin generating thrust and avoid being left behind by the ship. Once she got to speed, she could keep up with the ship easily. Her feet on the pedals, her hands on the sticks, fingers ready to flick switches and press buttons installed by the stick housing or on the stick itself.

Sameera quickly checked her cameras.

She had a multi-sectioned screen in front of her that was technically split into 16 regions that could have different pictures. Most of the time, she split the picture only three ways. One main forward camera occupying half the real estate but directly in the center of the monitor; a rear camera on the left quarter; and a variable camera on the right quarter of the screen that she flipped between an upward and a downward camera, sometimes compulsively.

Below her camera monitors her communications equipment was installed. This box parsed communications data and piped it to her headset and monitor. Presently neither the Brigand nor a fellow pilot was in direct communication so the picture contained only her camera feeds. By default, communication was wireless data brought by laser, the most efficient means of data transmission underwater. Acoustic data transfer was the first fallback, because laser was incredibly range dependent, while acoustic wave decoding was less so. Imperial communicators, and old Union communicators, had a second fallback to radio, but radio equipment was not installed anymore on the latest Union designs as it was nearly useless underwater. They saved a bit of weight omitting traditional wi-fi and radio.

At the moment, there was nobody on the screen, and the communicator was silent.

That state of affairs would not last much longer, however.

From an adjacent chute, Dominika’s Strelkannon dropped out soon after.

Her machine was designed for heavy fire support.

For this mission, however, the heavier shoulders of the Strelkannon had been equipped with two pods each housing a double-barreled 20 mm ‘gas gun’, the same sort that ships equipped. With this equipment her role was ostensibly to fire light caliber munitions at dizzying rates hoping to intersect enemy munitions. Sameera, meanwhile, had to make sure she got to fulfill that role by killing anything that got too close to her.

Sameera quite fancied such a protective role.

She had set her sights on making Dominika her woman, after all.

“Dominika, how’s the water?” Sameera asked cheerfully.

“Dark like always.” Dominika replied, her disinterested voice coming out of the earphones.

At that moment Dominika’s expressionless face appeared on a corner of the screen.

“Unquestionably it is dark– but I don’t feel like it is ‘dark as always.’”

It was her first time out in it, and Sameera felt that the water in Eisental was much darker.

Fighting against Leviathans in Lyser, or against the imperialists in Serrano, there were still blues and greens to be seen in the water. Faint, but nevertheless apparent. In Eisental, an additional thousand meters down from those locations, her spotlights parted nothing but pitch black water. Not even with strained eyes could she see any green or blue.

“Sameera, I’m going to conserve ammo as much as I can. Can I count on you?”

“Got it. Don’t worry about a thing. They won’t get through me.”

“Also– I’m serious when I say this. Don’t run off like when we were escaping Serrano.”

“I won’t. I have someone who needs me now. I don’t need to impress anyone but her.”

For once, Dominika did not respond to that with sarcasm or a sour remark.

Soon after, the entire squadron formed up under the Brigand.

To the right of the communicator there was an LCD with sensor output. For most Divers the only capability of this device by itself was to display directional sound acquisition, and this was nearly useless in combat. However, in the presence of a ship, the Diver could sync with its higher-fidelity sensor data and acquire a sonar picture and even LADAR topography.

Once the 114th had formed up, this screen began to display a map with marked targets.

Updating in real time as the ship and the squadron approached their objective.

And even marking distant boxes on the camera feeds using overlays.

On the monitor corner, Dominika disappeared.

There was a priority shared feed to all pilots from the squad leader’s mecha, the Agni.

Karuniya Maharapratham in a pilot suit smiled and waved.

“Operator Maharapratham here! How is everyone? We will begin scattering the HELIOS drones shortly. Scanning and network propagation will follow after. It’ll take some time, but please wait warmly and look forward to all the data goodness coming soon!”

“Karuniya…”

Distantly in Karuniya’s audio, Murati could be heard saying something.

Sameera laughed to herself for a bit.

Between her comrades’ speech, she could hear distant sounds of ordnance.

Low volume booming that seemed to wash over her.

As they neared, the sound was accompanied by vibrations that stirred her machine.

On the map, the object marked “VIP” and the object marked “TARGET 1” approached.

“It’s time, disperse!” Murati ordered. “You know your roles! Begin the operation!”

“Yes ma’am!”

On Murati’s command, the Divers of the 114th launched out from under the Brigand, breaking up into loose sections of two units in mutually supporting range. Sameera led the way for Dominika, the Cossack and Strelkannon grouped closely together as they charged out into the black, empty expanse in front of them. There was neither seafloor beneath them nor sky above them and the Brigand grew distant in the marine fog.

Soon they knew of its existence only in the tracking data.

Similarly both VIP and enemy vessels were nothing but overlay elements and map blips.

Until they came into view.

First as brief flashes of ordnance in the water. Stronger vibrations accompanying each.

Then in the middle of the void of water appeared a long, rectangular silhouette.

Lines of gas gun fire burst from its midsection and aft, intercepting torpedoes and middle caliber rounds hurtling toward it every minute. Specks of light going off by the dozens followed by much larger explosions from the intercepted ordnance. The ship was fighting for its life, enduring explosive fire every minute. Though she could not yet see the Marder-class chasing after the frigate, she could track it, based on positional data which her computer would update in real time using logic given by the Brigand during the sync. In this way, she knew where her enemy was relative to the ship that they were trying to rescue.

“Captain Korabiskaya has made contact with the Republic ship.” Murati said to her pilots.

Regardless, they would have to be careful of its gas gun fire.

Having confirmed the position of the VIP ship, the 114th veered eastward away from it.

Moving towards the enemy instead.

“Avoid enemy ordnance, but intercept if you have a shot.” Murati said.

“I’ve got a hundred shots a minute, Lieutenant.” Dominika replied.

“Use them judiciously.” Murati instructed.

Dominika acknowledged, moving her Diver closer to Sameera but farther behind her.

“Acknowledged. I’ll take the lead.” Sameera said.

On her diver’s arm, she revved up the engine on her diamond spear in preparation.

Rotation was good and smooth. No motion lag– it had good heft when she moved the arm.

She grinned to herself, leaning forward just a little and flooring her pedals for more thrust.

Minutes after contact with the VIP, a second silhouette began to emerge from the dark.

Along with six figures disturbing the water, as they broke away from the “Marder” frigate.

Their first enemy had shown itself and the battle was joined.


Republic “In-Line-2” class Frigates resembled the Union Soyuz class in overall silhouette, but in the sum total could not have been more different. Integrated main guns on the bow meant that the Republic frigate had very stable shooting and twice as many barrels as the Union vessel, but could only bring its main guns to bear on targets it was directly facing.

This design was born out of the Republic’s obsession with breaking out from Ratha Flow and through the defenses at the Great Ayre Reach, reasoning that there was little opportunity to maneuver in that type of warfare and not caring what would happen in a prolonged campaign in Imbria. Everything else seemed designed to paper over this.

Beveled surfaces on the bow and aft gave a rounded and aesthetically pleasing appearance to the ship, unlike the boxy, completely rectangular Soyuz. Because of the guns in the prow it had a flat face that was not efficient in water-breaking. Integrated hydrojets in an armored stern gave the ship’s thrusters greater resilience, unlike the Imbrian-style exposed hydrojets that only had a flared skirt around them, but this also added weight. Despite the supposed higher efficiency of the Republic hydrojets, the added armor made the craft only slightly faster than a Marder or Soyuz. While viewed from the side the ship appeared to be a single rectangular block, the design actually possessed two broad sections. There was a very slight taper near the midsection to a thinner rear. It was there that the rear fins attached. They had a different design from Imbrian fins, slightly diagonal and strangely adjustable.

In total, this meant the In-Line-2 could never completely outrun a “Marder” or “Soyuz.” Whenever a Republic ship turned, it lost maneuver efficiency compared to Imbrian designs. On the maneuver this meant that despite higher top speed, the nimbler Imbrian frigates would catch up. All they had to do was keep shooting to force the Republic ship to snake.

Thankfully, the Republic ship in this particular chase had outside assistance.

As the 114th moved to engage the “Marder” chasing after it, the UNX-001 Brigand and the Volksarmee Rostock moved to cover it. The Brigand moved parallel to the Republic frigate while the Rostock sailed past and moved to engage the chasing Volkisch Marder-class along with the 114th Diver Squadron. Diver gunfire would soon begin trading.

Captain Korabiskaya sent an acoustic message to the Republic frigate along with the shared Union-Republic diplomatic cipher attached. This would inform the ship computer on the Republic side that it was allied traffic being received. Even if the Republic ship wanted to do anything drastic out of paranoia, it had to turn around to face and fire at them, so neither the Rostock’s Captain Daphne nor Ulyana on the Brigand felt threatened.

“Captain, the Republic ship answered.” Semyonova said, her fingers slowly brushing some of her blond hair behind her ears as she spoke. “They are identifying themselves as the ‘R.N.S. John Brown’ and the Captain is requesting a laser transmission to speak with you.”

“Right. Is HELIOS up? Can Daphne join the video meeting?” Ulyana asked.

“HELIOS coverage is at 43% but there are drones we can bounce to.” Zachikova replied.

“Semyonova, Zachikova, hail the John Brown and Rostock and connect us.” Ulyana said.

On the main screen, the picture displaying the LADAR topography and the sonar-based live target tracking was shrunk and pushed to one side. Still visible as needed but subordinate to an incoming laser call taking up most of the screen. In a picture-in-picture, there was a small square with Daphne, who was muted because she was soon to engage the enemy directly– but the larger picture unveiled the captain of the John Brown. Ulyana had not known what to expect, as she had met few Cogitans in her life and knew little about their demographics.

She was still somewhat surprised to see a woman around her age.

“Greetings, Captain Korabiskaya. I can’t thank you enough for your assistance. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Eithnen Ní Faoláin — in the Republic database this is rendered as Ethna Whelan to simplify. I, technically, am the Captain of this fighting vessel.”

She had given two slightly different pronounciations.

Ulyana was not sure her Volgian accent could handle either of them well.

The John Brown’s bridge was notably more cramped than the Brigand’s as there were several heads of hair visible around on the bottom edge of her main camera picture. Eithnen was a fair skinned and good-looking woman, the middle of her face full of freckles, her cheekbones high and slim, with brown eyes and a slightly long nose. Her hair was long and voluminous and shockingly red, so bright that any individual darker strand seemed to stand out, of which there were few. Parted more to one side with longer bangs on that side as well. She was dressed in a button-down shirt that was partially unbuttoned over sweat-slick skin, along with a blue military coat worn loosely, paired with a skirt and tights. There was a hat hanging on a guard-rail off to her side. Eithnen’s bridge seemed to be tight and concentric, with herself in a small central enclosure without much legroom and surrounded by her officers on a ring slightly below her. The door seemed to be directly behind her.

Certainly such a design was efficient, but Ulyana could not imagine fighting like that.

“Our nations stand united, and so do we, Captain.” Ulyana said. “What is your current status? More enemies are on the way from the north. We have a plan to attack each approaching enemy group to rescue your ship; but your support would maximize our success.”

“My crew is exhausted, Captain, but we have been exhausted for days. We will continue fighting to the best of our ability. To do otherwise would mean lying down to die.” Eithnen replied. Her expression did not change as she relayed her situation. She had a look of almost amused resignation in the face of this danger– bitterness, too. “We lack in almost every human need except ammunition for the ship’s guns. No medicine, eating a meal a day, and with nary the supplies to do more than keep the ship afloat if a bit leaky.”

“Those are desperate conditions. Should we prepare an evacuation?” Ulyana said.

“No, the ship can endure a bit more yet. I appreciate your concern.” Eithnen said.

“Then once the waters are calm again, we can at least make sure you can get to Aachen.”

“I do not relish returning there– but you are right, there is no other choice long-term.”

“It is admirable that you have maintained control of things in such a situation, Captain.”

“We have a new lease on life Captain– we can almost see the light at the end. While at first I and my crew consigned ourselves to death, we disabled the trap that was set to detonate our ship in case of our escape from our Republic Navy captors. Therefore I would greatly enjoy living at least a little bit longer– and in that, we do require your assistance.”

Ulyana narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What happened to all of you?”

Eithnen’s eyes drifted away from the screen, as if she was looking at her crew below.

She sat back in the little seat cushioning she was given in her tight bridge.

One hand running through her hair.

“Captain Korabiskaya, I hope you can be sympathetic even knowing this– but the John Brown is a penal ship. We are the 808th Penal Battalion.” Eithnen said. She spoke quickly as if she did not want Ulyana to have time to react before hearing her whole story. “We are all former prisoners and in fact former prisoners slated for execution. However, none of us here are violent offenders or sexual exploiters! All of us are victims of social and economic discrimination! That we are trapped here is a horrific injustice, Captain!”

“Captain Faoláin,” Ulyana smiled while troubling the pronunciation she had heard from Eithnen, “Regardless of your circumstances I would not just abandon you to be killed by the Volkisch Movement, having taken painful efforts to reach out to you. I have seen first-hand that the Republic can be quite unjust despite its promotion of ‘liberty.’”

Eithnen bowed her head to Ulyana, her hands clapped together in a gesture of submission.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Captain. If I am the last Republic officer alive here that can be held to account for the Core Separation at Kreuzung then I will submit to any punishment. I understand I have participated in heinous actions and that my own survival is not an excuse. I only want the rest of the hundred innocent souls on this ship to be safe.”

“There is no justice in punishing you in place of those who coerced you.” Ulyana said.

“I agree with the distinguished Captain Korabiskaya as well.” Daphne said suddenly, her first shared opinion in the discussion. “Forgive my interruption, I am Daphne Triantafallos of the Katarran communist ship ‘Rostock.’ I will be leaving the call now– battle will soon be joined!”

Daphne looked strangely cheerful to be on a collision course with an enemy ship.

Her face disappeared from the picture in picture, and the square disappeared with her.

“Communist Katarran mercenaries?” Eithnen asked.

“Communist Katarran comrades. Much more reliable.” Ulyana said with a smile.

“I see. Captain, allow us to join your attack. We don’t want to sit helplessly.” Eithnen said.

“We’ll take every gun we can get. Do you have any Divers?” Ulyana asked.

Eithnen shook her head. “We were not trusted to serve as more than interdiction support.”

“So human shields essentially.” Ulyana said. “The Republic– I’ll hold my tongue for now.”

“Hah! Insult that rubbish country all you want. I’ll gladly join you there too.” Eithnen said.

Ulyana found herself full of compassion for the plight of that lone frigate. Judging by Eithnen’s expressions and hesitations, her story felt genuine. Increasingly she felt such a distaste for the Union’s ‘greatest ally’– but for now she had to settle the immediate account.


One by one the missile hatches atop the forward deck of the Marder-class sprang open.

Trails of bubbles floated up from each bay as its Sturmvolker diver launched, six in all.

These modified Volkers lost their round chassis for a body plan closer to a Strelok.

Looking more like the intimidating footsoldiers they were meant to be, armed with 20 mm Diver caliber submachine guns, the Sturmvolkers dispersed from the side of the Marder they were meant to be guarding, charging into an expected melee. None of them stayed together in units. In every direction a lone Sturmvolker went, hunting after the blips on their synced sonars. One particular unit shot straight up over the battlefield before pulling into a steep dive, employing gravity and its superior position to attempt to meet its enemy with an advantage in maneuver. It moved with great confidence as if it would surely score a kill.

In the middle of its dive, it crossed the path of Sameera’s Cossack as she darted forward.

Stopping, turning, raising its submachine gun to open fire believing it had taken her back.

And meeting a spinning drill that instantly bored through the thin chassis of its SMG.

Through arms that shredded to pieces–

Into the hull directly through the cockpit seams in the chest armor.

Water pressure doing bloody work.

Perforated, the Sturmvolker imploded suddenly.

Bursting pieces deflecting off the drill.

Nothing but a cloud of red foam and formless metal shreds gently falling down the water.

Sameera retracted her blood-flecked drill and accelerated away from the debris.

“Finally got to debut this Diamond Spear. Simple, yet delightfully brutal.”

Anyone in a mecha she was ordered to kill was no longer a person in Sameera’s mind.

Like Leviathans in Lyser, they were just things to be hunted.

For a moment, she had thought, “would it be more taxing to kill humans than Leviathans?”

Then, in battle with those humans it never crossed her mind. She had her orders.

On the hunt for humans doomed to the wrong side of her attentions.

Because there were as many enemies as the attacking mecha of the 114th, the battle was not immediately intense. Pops of confused gunfire from the Marder’s gas guns sounded the loudest and punctuated the chases transpiring around its hydrospace, but these fusilades were ineffective. The dispersed Sturmvolkers swam in directionless arcs, briefly firing their SMGs at the flitting shadows of the Union mecha darting all around them but failing to make contact with their targets. Shalikova and Khadija took to the chase, and went after a Sturmvolker each as soon as they saw one. Murati and her Agni hung back. Valya drew away one of the Sturmvolker from the reach of supporting units. Sameera scored first blood.

“HELIOS will be up momentarily!” Karuniya replied. “Zachikova, you can start!”

Sameera spotted Zachikova’s vaguely cetacean-shaped drone go swimming past.

Dragging behind it a crate on a hook that it was taking to the east.

“Moving to block the laser relay.” Zachikova informed the team.

“Sameera, Dominika, can you tie up the Marder’s guns?” Murati asked.

Sameera waited a second for Dominika to speak up first.

“Acknowledged!”

So she could then say: “I’ll do you one better than tying them up, Lieutenant!”

Though the battle had begun far enough from the Marder to only vaguely see its outline in the distance, the ship was only a hundred or so meters away– and closing. Flashes from its 20 mm defensive gas guns shone brighter and faster but began to dim anew. Owing to the 114th attacking, the Marder ceased to shoot at the John Brown and turned northward, away from the Rostock. Sameera wondered if they knew the Rostock was an enemy.

“Dominika, can you follow me as close as possible?” Sameera said.

“The gas gun pods aren’t as heavy as the cannons, I can keep up.” Dominika replied.

“Awesome. This is how we used to do it to bigger Leviathans in Lyser. Floor that pedal!”

Sameera began the attack run approaching the Marder-class from the starboard side. Gun pods on the Marder were divided into four bow, two aft, four keel and two each port and starboard. Hurtling toward the ship on final approach, Sameera was acquired by two of the bow guns and one of the starboard guns, turning and opening a flurry of gunfire. She approached high and threw herself into a diving turn to break through.

A dozen shells detonated in a long trail sweeping over her.

Flashing light briefly overcame her cameras.

Booming noises; tinnitus in her ears.

Heavy vibrations transferred into her cockpit, rattling over her back and under her fingers.

Explosion after explosion, bursting in the surroundings, blossoming fiery bubbles–

“Dominika!” She cried out.

“Still here! Focus!” She was relieved to hear a response.

Shrapnel bounced off her armor, pockmarked it, she could feel each impact–

Nevertheless she broke through the interdiction fire with minimal damage.

Sameera and Dominika swept across the broad side of the ship, too close to be fired on.

Close enough that the forward camera view was like a looming horizon of metal.

Within seconds the skirt of armor around the hydrojets came into view.

“Near the aft; up and on the deck!”

“Got it!”

The Streloks climbed suddenly, swept gracefully over the aft armor skirt.

Turned sharply, banking in a half-moon arc–

and began to cross the length of the deck, passing the conning fin,

completely under the firing arcs of the gas guns.

“Now cause some havoc!”

Taking the neck of the ship, its Divers too distracted to come to its rescue.

Sameera reared up her drill as she charged, and landed on the deck with a thrown punch.

Thrusting her diamond spear through a gas gun pod and gouging its magazine from inside.

Meanwhile Dominika planted herself in the middle of the three remaining deck guns.

From the Strelkannon’s shoulders, quick, controlled bursts of gunfire hammered the pods.

Perforating the housing and detonating each gun into a bubble of gas and debris.

“Rostock, the deck guns are out!” Sameera called out.

The Rostock’s Katarran operator picked up the message immediately.

“Got it! Torpedo incoming!”

Having created an opening, Sameera and Dominika thrust up with all of their power.

Within seconds the enormous sword-shape of the Rostock penetrated the shadows.

Filling the hole in the Marder’s defenses with fire.

Sameera noticed the brief flash of the explosion on her underside camera.

Faster than she could see in the darkness, the torpedo hurtled toward the starboard side of the Marder’s deck detonated just short of a direct hit, but it was enough. Enormous shearing forces caused by the detonation, expanding and contracting as the air bubble “stuck” to the ship’s side. Such was its fury that it tore a gash separating parts of the deck from the starboard plate. Water rushed in. Atop the ship, the main gun turret was paralyzed.

Though the watertight interior was not penetrated, the Marder listed.

Tilting just enough to expose the upper deck directly to the Rostock’s 150 mm guns.

From behind and under Sameera the guns thundered.

Twin massive flashes lit up the deck of the Rostock for a brief instant.

Lancing across the water splitting the sea, the munitions put two massive holes in the deck.

Penetrations too violent and too near for the anti-flooding measures to prevent.

In moments the Marder began to unravel beneath Sameera, bulging apart with successive compartment implosions until it was split open like a ration box. Everything transpired with devasting speed. Debris and blood, foaming clouds of shredded humans and ripped steel and crushed objects, lines of ripped-up cabling. From the top of the disemboweled hulk that was once a ship teeming with life, everything that had constituted its strength now bled out into a homogenous cloud. Its remains slowly descended to the sea floor.

For a moment Sameera floated amid that macabre geyser with a neutral expression.

Another hundred or so human souls cast into the water never again to return.

“No– it isn’t as hard as killing a Leviathan.” She said to herself.

Too low for the communicator to pick up and transmit.

When she took a Leviathan’s neck and drove her weapons into it, wrung its life out herself.

She had to see the face of a dead creature before her and meet its lightless eyes.

Something she saw moving with vigor and purpose just seconds ago, became extinguished.

With humans, in their ships and Divers– there was too much metal between all of them.

That was quite lucky. She wouldn’t be much use to anyone if she could not kill people.

“Sameera, are you alright? Don’t just suddenly go silent on me!”

Through the communicator, Dominika’s voice. Her lag-distorted face on the screen.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been through much worse.” She said, smiling at the screen.

Once again engaging her controls, Sameera’s Cossack rejoined Dominika’s Strelkannon.

Diving back down to where the sinking Marder once was, and now the Rostock settled.

“Marder down! No danger of agarthic detonation!” the Katarran operator called out.

Murati’s voice sounded next.

Sameera realized the fidelity of her sensor package had now improved. HELIOS’ high-bandwidth information network was established and she could see the surroundings much more clearly both on her map and even on her cameras due to the predictive overlays. It was as if there was actually some light and air down here in the depths of the Imbrium.

“All enemies down. Good work! But it’s only the first phase of the operation.” Murati said.

“Distress signals from the Marder to the relay were successfully intercepted by the net.”

Zachikova’s voice. In the distance Sameera could see an unfolded, massive sail-like object.

An X-shaped rigging between which there were enormous sectioned aluminum nets.

The Marder had been slain, and due to the laser-blocking net, its communications with the nearby laser relays were blocked, preventing its allies from knowing the details of its final fate. Nevertheless, despite the flawless execution of the first phase, the enemy, to whom the plan was unknown, continued making their own adjustments to alter the situation.


“W-what’s going on? Is there fighting? They’re fighting the Volkisch?”

At first Homa could hardly believe any of this was happening.

Soon she felt that the truth was washing over her like ice-cold water.

She was going to die.

From her hospital bed, Homa watched the bearing monitors on the wall. Hands shaking, teeth chattering. She felt suddenly cold because of how much she was sweating, and her chest quaked with the rushing of her heart. She felt that if she took her eyes off the monitors that would be the moment where her life suddenly ended. On every wall there was an update on the battle– the enemy ships, cycling topographic maps.

Along with a message, also cycled every so often–

Steel yourself and keep fighting! These monitors were meant for the sailor’s edification.

This propagandistic affirmation did nothing for Homa, however.

In her mind, this felt like the same hopeless folly she had engaged in back at Kreuzung.

The steel colossus of the Volkisch, immense and immovable, was coming for them.

Homa was not safe. She felt this in every centimeter of her skin.

She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to–

“Homa! I’m so sorry, I was setting up the aid stations. Are you okay?”

“I’m– of course– I’m not–”

Homa struggled to breathe and speak. Alarmed, Dr. Kappel rushed to her side.

Dr. Kappel held her by the shoulder and laid a hand on her forehead.

“Your temperature feels normal. I thought you might be having a rejection symptom–”

“How can it be normal?!” Homa cried out.

For an instant the doctor looked surprised by her shouting. She was not angered, however.

“I’ll get you a serotonin inhibitor– it’ll help you calm down.” Dr. Kappel said gently.

“How are you so calm?!” Homa shouted. “They’re going to kill us all!”

Dr. Kappel sat beside Homa’s bed, still smiling gently.

She reached out and carefully held Homa’s hands in her own.

“I understand your fear. But I’ve seen them do miraculous things before.” Dr. Kappel said.

Homa’s eyes filled with tears. She could not stop shaking. She looked down at her hands.

“Is– Is Kalika out there too? Where– where is she–?” Homa stammered heavily.

“Kalika is not fighting. She is helping in the hangar. She’ll be fine. I’m here for you.”

Dr. Kappel stayed at Homa’s side in the infirmary. Stroking her hands and comforting her.


“HELIOS is at full propagation! Please enjoy the scenery and thank your gracious host!”

Karuniya Maharapratham’s cheerful voice rang throughout the Brigand’s bridge.

On the main screen the prediction overlay on the camera feeds became clearer and slightly brighter. They could almost see the seafloor and the undersea mounts in the distance became outlined as if in fog. It was impressive, but even a miracle technology like HELIOS could not perfectly part the sea in such a dark and deep place as Eisental. It was comparatively far less rich in visual quality than it was in Goryk, when they first used it. They would not be able to navigate exclusively by sight even with the HELIOS network.

However, they were not using it for the visual overlay effects.

High-fidelity real time positional tracking and seamless laser communication with all of the pilots and ships in the fleet was the actual boon– and that was still working quite well, even over 2000 meters deep. On the Brigand’s bridge, the faces of their six pilots appeared on the main screen. Everyone had come out unscathed after the last sortie, but this was only the halfway mark. After a quick evaluation of the battlefield, the 114th returned to the Brigand as the Rostock and John Brown also formed back up around it. In an arrowhead formation, they headed for the next set of Marder-class. They had about twenty minutes before the next sortie, so the divers stayed in their deployment chutes.

Sailors passed charging cables and additional ammunition to them.

There was light damage on the Cossack and Valya’s Strelok that was assessed to not to be compromising for the machines. Shalikova and Khadija had each scored two enemy kills and received light shrapnel damage from close-range SMG munition bursts, while Sameera had taken out one enemy diver and Valya another. Murati’s Agni was the least worn and torn of the divers, as she had done no combat maneuvering and only focused on giving orders and covering for the HELIOS drones. While Ulyana ribbed Murati on her passivity in the last sortie, Tigris actually spoke up to agree with her decision to stay back.

“I’m recommending the Agni not engage in intense combat if possible.” She said.

“So when is Murati going to be required to do any work again?” Ulyana teased.

“Why is everyone suddenly acting like I’m lazy? This isn’t funny!” Murati shouted.

“She can go crazy once I’ve finished up the ‘Tigris Pack 1’ for the Agni.” Tigris said.

“Very well, I can accept that for now.” Ulyana replied.

“Why are you ignoring me now?!” Murati cried out, to a few laughs from the pilots.

On the video feed, they could see Karuniya’s hand reaching down to squeeze her shoulder.

Beside Ulyana, Aaliyah shook her head with a sigh, and turned to Zachikova.

“Can we get an updated picture of the incoming frigates? Has their course altered at all?”

Zachikova nodded her head and did as she was told, prompting the main screen to update.

In place of the pilots, the tracking map with predicted movements of the enemy returned.

Showing the two Frigates still in a line as they approached– and the third now closing in.

“It appears that their formation is tightening relative to what was calculated before.” Zachikova said. “We will meet them all together. No more than a minute apart.”

For a moment, Murati seemed to freeze up.

There was an unexpected change in the enemy’s composition.

And it was the most dangerous group too– those Marders and all their Divers.

Regardless, if Murati was afraid she was not showing it.

“We will adapt then.” Murati spoke up. “Captain, are we willing to use our missiles?”

“They’re difficult to replenish so I hoped to save them for a worse situation.” Ulyana said.

“Well, this situation is worsening. I think this a good idea from the Lieutenant.” Aaliyah said, gesturing to the main screen, where Murati’s face once was. “With the Rostock also shooting, we could drop sixteen missiles right into the core of their formation and cause a lot of chaos if not an outright rout. Patrolmen might not retain cohesion after that.”

“I’d gladly spend some missiles to seize the day. The Rostock will assist.” Erika said.

“Very well. We’ll prepare the missiles to fire.” Ulyana said. “But what about the timing?”

“Good point. Fatima, have we detected any more active sonar?” Murati asked.

“No, not since they sent us into alarm.” Fatima said. “They’re likely going quiet now.”

“Zachikova blocked the final communications from the other Marder. Jamming started before the Rostock attacked the Marder. It’s likely the enemy is missing some critical details about that battle.” Murati said. “They will know there was fighting and they will know something of our composition depending on what the Marder reported. But do they all know that the Rostock was also their enemy? We could use the situation against them by constructing a false narrative to have them take up a predictable formation.”

“How can we manipulate them in this situation? They’ll be on alert.” Aaliyah asked.

“Does the Rostock still have its original Imperial communications equipment, Premier?”

Erika smiled. “I think I see what you’re getting at Murati. Yes, we do have it.”

Zachikova altered the main screen picture so Murati’s face could be seen over the map.

“You said that regional patrol crews assume the Rostock is an imperial vessel with a higher command authorization than themselves. That means they are not aware of each specific ship in the inventory and they are not doing due dilligence and demanding authentication.” Murati said. “Zachikova could use the Rostock to send an Imperial-encrypted acoustic communication to the Marders informing them to predeploy their divers in a boxed defensive position. We will pretend we are chasing the Rostock toward them.”

“Clever.” Erika said. “I quite like the idea. Let’s contact Daphne to set things up quickly.”

“Zachikova, do you think you can do it? And do it quickly?” Murati asked.

Zachikova stared at the picture of Murati in her cockpit with clear irritation.

“Who do you think I am? This is technically really easy to do. But will they believe it?”

“Is it underestimating the enemy’s intelligence if we all agree they’re not too bright?”

Murati smiled confidently on the screen. Zachikova sighed once more and got to work.

The Rostock pulled out ahead, deliberately being missed by a small amount of gunfire.


Alerted to enemy activity but not exactly what kind, three Marder-class did their best to pull tightly together before making their final approach to the expected battlefield. Hatches opened on all three, their missile bays releasing sixteen Sturmvolker divers divided into sections of four, each occupying a cardinal direction as to guard their intended ships.

As far as the patrol knew their mission had changed. From capturing a Republic vessel that had somehow penetrated Eisental’s defenses, to stopping a large-scale enemy operation that was even threatening a Ritter-class Cruiser responding to the nearby battle. Since their local heavy support, a Serclaes, was lagging behind as usual, the brunt of the response was their responsibility. They were just patrol– they would not question orders.

Approaching to within a kilometer range was the Ritter-class that had sent the orders.

Trailing behind it as expected were a pair of enemy vessels launching ineffective attacks.

Aside from the Imperial cipher the ship had attached no relevant authentication.

Nevertheless, the patrol crews could come up with their own excuses for that.

When a brand new Cruiser like that gave an order they simply complied for their own sake.

The Marders in their defensive box sailed confidently. With a Ritter, they had the numbers.

Then, within 750 meters, the Marders spotted a series of successive flashes.

From behind the Ritter– and from the Ritter’s own missile bays.

Over a dozen lines cut across the water. Supercavitating missiles had been launched.

Both Imperial Taurus class missiles and Union Biryuza class hurtled toward the flotilla.

At this range the Marders had roughly 7 seconds to respond to being fired upon by missiles.

In that time gas guns could engage and fire a few rounds in haphazard directions.

Divers could be issued and execute single-word orders.

It was not enough.

“INCOMING!” was all that went out across the patrol flotilla.

Explosions blossomed violent gas bubbles across the top of flotilla’s hydrospace.

Gas gunners and divers struck some of the missiles, but even those intercepted munitions traveled too close to the fleet. Such turbulent detonations inflicted shockwaves that shook the frigates and sent Divers flying out of place. Cavitation bubbles formed by the explosion expanded and collapsed, pulsating violently. The walls of these bubbles “stuck” to steel when expanding and inflicted shearing force on the same metal when collapsing. Unlucky Divers caught in their wake imploded, torn open; ships within the radius of the explosion had armor and gun turrets and sensor bundles torn off their hulls and cast out into the sea.

Each missile warhead caused an explosion large enough to engulf two divers.

Tightly packed and not expecting such an attack, the flotilla quaked from the blasts.

No direct hits were scored, but significant damage was inflicted to turrets, fins, towers.

In an instant, combat capability had dropped from near-overwhelming to nil.

A predictable formation and a well-chosen attack made the difference.

Ephemeral flames and streams of bubbles and clouds of hot vaporized water spread a fog throughout the formation that the flotilla’s ships and divers struggled to escape. Once certain that they had survived, the individual ships lost cohesion, realizing it was a trap, and began to flee outside of mutually supporting range. In the confusion their divers floated helplessly, gathering their wits and tentatively fleeing in random directions.

Little did they know that while focused on the death raining down from above,

their keels had been taken.

Beneath the enemy flotilla, several divers shot up and attacked from the sea floor.

Khadija al-Shajara was at the head of the group and rushed at heedless speeds, her targeting computer putting a yellow box around a nearby Sturmvolker that had been spotted on her path. She reared back one of her swords as she climbed, sweeping up and just over the Sturmvolker suddenly. Twisting her Strelok’s body, engaging the jet on her diamond blade and cleaving diagonally through the center armor around the cockpit.

Saw-teeth chewed-metal disintegrating in front of her as her target imploded.

“One more for me, little Shali-Shali~!” Khadija said sweetly.

“It’s not a contest! Focus up!” Shalikova shouted back.

One blade in each hand; Khadija engaged both saws and rushed to the next target.

She was unaware of how many enemies had survived, she was not looking at her sensors.

Her mind had a honed instinct for moving quickly and attacking without hesitation.

Above them, there was a Frigate trying to climb away–

From the distance, a thundering cannonade. Three blasts perforated the side of the ship.

The Rostock, Brigand and John Brown were bringing firepower to bear on the flotilla.

Thanks to HELIOS, they did not have to worry much about hitting their own divers.

Metal rained down from heavens. Khadija navigated the debris of the dead and dying ships.

Pieces of the ships deflected off her armor as she charged.

Snaking toward a Sturmvolker overwhelmed by the chaos.

Within the rain of blood and iron it sprayed its SMG haphazardly.

She could almost hear the pilot screaming and shaking within the cascade of death.

Bursts of ineffective gunfire grazed her shoulderplates and hurtled past her hip armor.

Not once did she slow down; not once did she lose confidence in her approach.

Khadija crashed into the enemy with her swords in front of her and tore across.

Ripping two massive gashes in the metal, severing an arm, engulfed in skin-color foam.

Barely recognizing a kill before engaging her vernier thrusters and kicking off the carcass.

Her computer had already identified the next enemy within the storm.

She reveled in it.

“Looks like I’ll be the one carving a notch on my cockpit today, Shali-Shali~!”

By the time Serclaes-class Cruiser arrived, it was to the scene of a slaughter.

Heavy and roughly spearpoint-shaped, the Serclaes bristled with 76 mm guns on its angled surfaces, as well as a single 150 mm gun turret with one barrel designed for precision fire. It would avail itself of none of these accoutrements. Arriving blind, having received only a few panicked transmissions from the Marder-group and nothing more, and now unable itself to reach the nearby laser relay to communicate with the rest of the patrol, it saw an enormous field of mutilated debris spread out before it– and two enemy Cruisers banking away.

Drawn to the enemy it could see, the Serclaes moved to bring its guns to bear on them.

Unaware of a third enemy, the original target of the chase, that had been laid in wait.

Coming in quickly from the opposite flank just as the Serclaes committed to turn.

Four resounding blasts from the 100 mm guns on the John Brown impacted the Serclaes.

Tightly grouped, the shots punched deep into the armor in quick succession causing the ship’s interiors to disgorge from the wounds like a bag turned inside-out. Water violently filled the ship and disgorged each compartment in turn. Once the remains of the ship began to list, it seemed a beast wounded, red frothing humanity and steel innards copiously bleeding from the perforations as its body gracefully arced toward the sea floor.

Demonstrating the inflexible but brutal firepower that characterized the “In-Line-2” class.

“They called us cowards. But here we are.” Captain Eithnen Ní Faoláin solemnly declared.

Not even a murmur got out about this engagement. The Serclaes died quietly.

In the distance, an aluminum sail folded back into its rigging and ceased blocking the relay.

Within the cockpits of several divers, pilots broke out into laughter, tears, or sighs.

Inside each ship, the officers and sailors stood briefly speechless at the circumstances.

Before breaking out into celebration.

Five ships, twenty-four divers, over 500 enemy lives. No casualties of their own.

Mere minutes decided whom would pay the balance with their dead.

An advantage that would have seemed overwhelming swung from one side to another.

Quick decisions; lucky guesses; irreparable mistakes, parceled out between combatants.

Incomparable levels of experience played a part; but so did the plan and its execution.

So did quick thinking and the determination to do battle in the first place.

For the Volksarmee it was an unlikely victory against the type of enemies they would have once run away from. Fighting the patrol in open water– it signaled a change in the era.

“All of you really have me believing in miracles here.” Erika Kairos said. “Good work.”

In each pilot’s cockpits and throughout the Brigand and Rostock, her voice broadcast.

Even after all they had been through, it proved that their survival had not just been a fluke.

Somehow, almost before they even knew it, they fought and won the Battle of Haaren Hills.

Opening the way to Aachen, testing their cooperation, rescuing a stray Republic ship–

And catching the attention of several different forces, once word of the event spread.


“We’re recovering the Agni! Get the crane here! C’mon, don’t leave our hero waiting!”

Chief Galina Lebedova shouted amicably at the surrounding sailors in the hangar.

Everyone had a smile on their face as they got the mobile crane over to the deployment chute and hooked the chain to Agni, pulling it up and onto the floor of the hangar. When the cockpit door opened, Murati stepped out into a wave of hands, patting her back, shaking her shoulder, clapping. They called her a hero and a genius. They saluted and cheered.

Ulyana had credited her with the battle plan.

Murati wilted under all the attention. She barely knew how to take a step forward.

So many people were smiling and laughing that she could not help but laugh awkwardly.

And she had some experience speaking in front of people, so it was not stage fright.

Rather, the sheer size of the group in the hangar led her to realize–

how many lives were at stake

in her conceited decisions,

recalling the Comissar chastised her

was all of this what she put at stake–?

“Hey, hey, don’t crowd us like this, I have a migraine! We need to rest!”

Karuniya stepped down from the rear seat of the Agni, gently pushing Murati forward.

Murati silently thanked Karuniya for being there with her.

Urged by Karuniya, Murati stepped off the cockpit ramp.

All of the sailors made way for them to go through to the elevator. Partway through they started clapping. Murati did not know why but the clapping bothered her a lot in that moment. It sounded much louder in her ears than it should and it rattled through her chest. Booming, thundering, vibrations transferring from metal through to her– no not from metal she was out of the metal. It couldn’t have been so loud as to move through the floor. She could barely meet the eyes of the sailors– they became an indistinct mass around her. Did Karuniya see all of this? Murati thought that she might stumble and fall–

“Please allow the Lieutenant through! She must attend her post-combat checkup!”

At the entrance to the elevator the crowd cleared away from a shouting Aatto.

She helped Karuniya to usher Murati through the elevator door.

Once the doors shut, all of the sounds shut out with them.

It was like a pair of hands had clapped in Murati’s ears and awakened her from a dream.

“Murati, are you okay?” Karuniya asked. “You look so pale– and you’re shaking!”

“I’m fine.” Murati said. “Really. I haven’t eaten today, I must be hungry.”

“Jeez. I should have had you eat a survival bar or something.” Karuniya said.

Karuniya turned from Murati to the Loup woman who had entered the elevator with them.

“You must be Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather! It’s our first time meeting isn’t it?”

“I believe so! I was only officially elevated to this role this morning.”

Aatto reached out a hand across Murati’s chest to shake with Karuniya on the other side.

Karuniya shook her hand with a strangely cheerful expression.

“I’m Murati’s wife, Karuniya Maharapratham. Pleased to meet you.”

She emphasized the word. Was she angry? Aatto had no reaction to this.

Between the two of them Murati felt like she had been trapped in a cage.

Everything was happening across the length of her like she had been made an object.

A firm hand shake. Smiling faces. An almost mock-saccharine atmosphere.

Aatto’s fingers then slipped from Karuniya’s grasp, to hold her hand by the tips instead.

She leaned forward in front of Murati and kissed Karuniya’s hand.

Karuniya went red. Murati drew her eyes wide.

“The Queen herself!” Aatto said. “I can already see it– a worthy partner to a king!”

Murati almost wanted to scream at her–

But the two of them were chirping too much for her to get a sound in edgewise.

“Oh my! She’s such a charmer!” Karuniya laughed.

Now it was Aatto’s turn to smile in a strangely cheerful fashion.

“I studied the roster. A formidable scholar is a perfect match for a consummate soldier.”

“Oh ho~! Murati, I already like her. You’ve got a keeper here.”

“I am flattered you think so. I simply wish to support unique talents in this world.”

“Thank you Aatto. My hubby can be difficult, so please be patient with her.”

“Of course, of course–”

“I’m the one who is being monumentally patient here.” Murati spoke up, fists tightening.

Aatto and Karuniya both giggled at the same time and in a frighteningly similar fashion.

Murati wondered if she might break their camaraderie by reminding Karuniya that Aatto had been a non-commissioned officer of the Volkisch Movement, but she decided against it. She did not want to hurt Aatto’s feelings when she could just be the bigger woman and endure her wife joking as she always did. It might even do Karuniya some good, Murati thought, if she made a friend. For as much as Karuniya joked about this, the same rules of friendship that she used to say Murati was friendless applied just as much to her.

At least the two of them were not fighting.

Karuniya could have easily decided to be offended by Aatto rather than amused.

After the door opened to the upper tier, it revealed Erika Kairos standing in the hall.

Murati saluted to her. Erika waved for her to put her hand down.

“Ah, Murati. May I accompany you for a moment? I wanted to talk.” Erika said.

“Of course.” Murati said. She turned to look at Karuniya and Aatto.

Karuniya waved her fingers as if to tell Murati to go on ahead, staying with Aatto.

Erika started down the hall with Murati following at her side.

“How are you feeling? Triumphant?” Erika asked.

“Not really. A little shaky I guess.” Murati said. “I haven’t eaten today.”

She was beginning to suspect it was more than food and maybe her nerves were shot.

But she did not want to admit that nor seek support for it.

Preferably, it really was just hunger affecting her.

“Does it feel surreal, to come out the other end of a successful plan?” Erika asked.

“A little bit. I don’t know whether to feel like we clawed out a victory, or won too handily.”

“When a battle starts, there are no even odds between the combatants. Nothing is fair and nobody is keeping score. There is just, always someone who will triumph, and someone who will die. You know– I felt that you are someone who would not appreciate being called a ‘genius’, so I called you something whimsical on the bridge, a ‘sorcerer.’”

“Even that feels unearned.” Murati said. “I’m not special for just making observations.”

“Perhaps not, but you are the one who spoke up. You had the courage of conviction.” Erika said. She smiled a bit more than she was before. Shutting her eyes and grinning with satisfaction. “Murati, what I find special about you is not how much you know about military matters– it’s what’s in here.” Erika reached out and suddenly tapped her fingers just above Murati’s breasts. “Before you chastised us, we were going to leave those people on the John Brown to die. I was leaning that way too. It was your words that saved their lives. It was your determination to abhor injustice even if looking the other way was the easier path.”

Murati had honestly never given her ‘attitude’ such as it was, that elevated sort of merit.

In her mind, what mattered was all the time she spent thinking about war, studying history, trying to determine correct understandings. Her heart, was just that of a communist, she thought. Anyone could have made that judgment; anyone with her knowledge could have made that plan. Everyone in the world should have had her convictions.

“I’m of the opinion you could use a bit more malice.” Erika said. “But I also just like you.”

Erika met her eyes with such a fond and gentle gaze.

Murati felt a bit embarrassed suddenly.

She felt like she needed to justify herself better to someone like Erika.

“I wouldn’t have made the suggestions I did, if I did not believe we could win.”

“And when the situation changed? You know– we could have run away at many points!”

“I still believed we could rout them. And I believed it was the best action long-term.”

“Keep believing wholeheartedly. Speak when you must, and then argue with whoever you need to, including myself. If needed, I’ll put my foot down as the malice that you lack.”

Erika reached her hand out again and patted Murati on the back.

Murati smiled at her and felt her head clearing just a bit more than before.

Her heart just a little bit less heavy than it had been. She felt just a bit less burdened.

She was not singularly responsible for everyone’s lives, not today, and not ever.

They had not done all of this just because Murati said so, but because they believed her.

Someday, if she was wrong, if they thought she was wrong–

There were many people with their own judgments around her who would guide her.

Murati was stubborn, she knew she would argue her own way no matter what.

But everyone was responsible together. Erika was right.

She needed to have confidence.

Sometimes the most callous thing toward life was to stand by saying nothing.

“I appreciate it, Premier. But I am not afraid to deploy the little malice I have.”

“Then I won’t underestimate you again. How do you feel now?”

“Better.” Murati said. “Could you tell I was troubled?”

For an instant, Erika flashed the red rings around her eyes that indicated psionics.

Then she crossed her arms over her breasts, shut her eyes, and looked a bit smug.

“You could say it was a mix of my own judgment as a leader; and a little diagnostic.”

“I see. Nevertheless– thank you, Premier.”

“My pleasure. Ask me someday to tell you the story of how I stole the Rostock.”

“Was it a plan comparable to what we pulled off today?”

“It was so much better. Intrigue, death-defying risk, with Katarran soul. Pure noir.”

“I thought noir stories are supposed to have bad endings?”

Erika remained quiet to that question but continued smiling to herself.

Eventually she ducked into another meeting room and bid Murati goodbye for the moment.

Murati thought that perhaps the story of the Rostock did have a bad ending.

And that there could be ‘bad endings’ where Erika still lived to tell that story anyway.

Whatever else she intended to communicate, Murati was simply glad for the reassurances. When she arrived at the infirmary some of the cheer she lost the past few days had returned.


After the sinking of the patrol fleet’s Serclaes-class Cruiser, the Brigand, Rostock and John Brown quickly fled the scene of the battle. Though each fleet had been prevented from transmitting to the relay during battle and therefore to the rest of the patrol, it must have already been common knowledge that the flotilla was moving to engage a Republic ship in the first place. If that specific operation took too long and suddenly went out of contact, then more of the patrol would immediately be sent to the area to investigate.

Ulyana gave the order to depart as close to combat speed as possible without raising further suspicion from any arriving patrol fleet vessels. An object moving too fast underwater would stick out too much– commercial vessels and off-duty military ships all traveled at restricted speeds either due to hardware, legal or doctrinal limitations. The Volksarmee had to get to Aachen as soon as they could, but without raising too much dust in the process.

“According to Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather, the patrol fleet in Eisental was stripped pretty bare so most their newer ships could be assigned to the Volkisch navy and their war in the south. However, we must retain a sense of urgency. Even a dozen Cutters can be a problem. Furthermore, we have to assume that Violet Lehner’s forces will be moving north to secure personal control over the region. They will likely be far more formidable.”

That was Erika’s assumption but Ulyana supported it, having watched video of her speech.

Violet Lehner’s “Zabaniyah” would be their eventual biggest problem.

For the moment, however, the state of the John Brown was the immediate concern.

To that end, Ulyana contacted Eithnen Ní Faoláin.

In the hangar, the Brigand’s shuttle was prepared.

Over the past week they had gotten some good practice with shuttling people and supplies while on the move between the Brigand and Rostock. This time the shuttle would be loaded with a large crate of tightly packed dehydrated ration bricks, making up a week’s worth of meals for 150 people eating three bricks a day. Part of the Brigand’s survival stash– but it would last the John Brown a bit, and provide needed calories efficiently.

Along with the crates, Ulyana Korabiskaya and Aaliyah Bashara would hitch a ride.

The Brigand’s shuttle was a wide, semi-cylindrical craft. It exited the ship via a moonpool that essentially acted as a much bigger deployment chute near the back of the hangar. Its cargo bay could hold one Strelok lying on its back, but was most useful in ferrying people and cargo crates to and from ships and stations without docking. Just like the Brigand, the shuttle had undergone an upgrade too. Its cargo bay and crew pod pressurized separately, so it was possible to actually dump out a Strelok somewhere as a neat trick.

Ulyana had no idea when they would make use of that, but Murati had suggested it.

So she would defer to that wunderkind’s judgment on such matters.

Aaliyah and Ulyana boarded the crew pod, containing the pilot and co-pilot’s seats and compartments where they could store emergency equipment and personal effects for their own use, and behind them, one long seat that could hold six passengers. Additional passengers could ride with the cargo. The seats were slightly stiff but comfortable enough for a quick shuttle trip. With just the two of them, the ride was not too cramped.

For this trip, their pilot and co-pilot would be Zhu Lian and Klara Van Der Smidse.

The two young stars of the Brigand’s security team, frequently seen patrolling together.

Over their security team armored bodysuits they wore work coveralls with grey hats.

Both of them had tied up their hair into buns. Klara was all smiles and amused with herself.

Zhu Lian retained a professional demeanor, while occasionally cracking a grin at Klara.

“The Captain should not visit another ship without an escort.” Lian said as they stepped in.

“I understand, but,” Aaliyah spread her jacket to reveal her revolver on a holster.

“Chief Akulantova insists.” Lian said, opening a compartment to reveal a submachine gun.

Klara showed that there was a grenade launcher under her chair in addition.

“I don’t think we’ll need any of these things, actually! Please calm down!” Ulyana said.

Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse engaged the electric power of the shuttle and locked down the compartments. Much like every other vessel, the shuttle was completely windowless. Cameras were used for navigation instead, and like a Diver, the shuttle could sync to the Brigand’s sensors as long as it was within laser or acoustic data range, receiving sonar and LADAR updates from it to navigate more accurately. For the passengers, a “window” was projected on the walls at their sides. Pilot and co-pilot had a multi-section display that could be divided among the shuttle’s cameras. Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse were not dedicated pilots, but every marine trained enough to be a capable shuttle pilot.

Below them, the moonpool filled, and the shuttle descended.

Once the hatch above them was closed, the hatch below opened to let them into the sea.

Hydrojets propelled the shuttle, quick enough to keep up with the ships in the fleet.

Their journey would only take a few minutes, but Ulyana still laid back against her seat.

She had not been on a small craft for a very long time.

Looking out the projected window and at the ocean next to her. On the bridge, the main screen picture made the ocean look so much smaller and easier to understand. While the view she had in the shuttle was no more authentic than that which she had on the bridge, it still felt closer, and the water outside felt darker and more vast. At the head of a ship, there were so many people and so much equipment working to give Ulyana a sense of what was out in the water with them. She never had to contemplate it herself for an instant.

In this shuttle, there was only her eyes and the unvarnished feed of a camera.

And the endless, teeming darkness of the Imbrium yearning to swallow her whole.

It unsettled her, momentarily. It made her feel weaker than she otherwise thought she was.

None of their pretensions mattered to the crushing, overwhelming fury of that water.

“What do you see out there, Captain?” Aaliyah asked.

“A lot of nothing.” Ulyana replied, covering up her brief bout of introspection.

“Truly? You looked like you would say something poignant about it.” Aaliyah smiled.

Ulyana looked amused. “Our pilots go out there all the time; none have come back poets.”

Aaliyah had a friendly laugh at the remark, sitting back along with the Captain.

Maneuvering with ease through the waters disturbed by the passing of the ships, the shuttle approached the underside of the John Brown. A hatch opened and a cable anchor helped guide the shuttle up into the ship. The hatch under them closed, and the top hatch opened. Three cranes lifted the shuttle from the water and the hangar hatch closed beneath them, setting the shuttle back down. Zhu Lian and Klara checked to make sure the atmospheric pressures inside the Brigand and John Brown matched, which they did– then shut off the motor and opened the side doors, putting down a step-ladder using a crank.

“You two will unload the cargo.” Ulyana said.

Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse both stared at her.

“Unload the cargo and stay here. We’re not going to have any trouble, I assure you.”

However, regardless of what Akulantova said to do, the Captain’s orders were absolute.

So they remained behind, watching like a pair of predatory birds while unhooking the crate.

Outside, Ulyana and Aaliyah stepped out onto a comparably very small hangar.

For whatever reason, everything was painted some shade of an odd and unwelcoming set of greens. Compared to the Brigand’s hangar it was narrow and the ceiling was low, which Ulyana expected, but the degree to which it was both of these things still took her by surprise. It was tighter than a Soyuz’s insides. There was only barely enough space for the shuttle in the back. The John Brown perhaps had the space for a Diver or two on the other half of the hangar, but there was only a single deployment chute, and no gantries. There was no workshop. The John Brown did not have stitcher machines of any kind.

If they kept any equipment here, it would be tough to maintain it.

Perhaps owing to the lack of space there were very few sailors in the hangar. All of them wore blue jumpsuits, and they were sitting and lying, overturned in various corners. Blankets and pillows had been given to them, as if the hangar had been converted into an infirmary. Someone who looked like they might be a nurse was tending to them, but had no supplies on hand. Several men looked only partially conscious. Simple hunger was not the only cause of this. Ulyana recalled that Eithnen told her they were without medicine also.

These sailors were ill, and going without treatment.

“You can see plainly our situation here, Captain. Thank you again for your support.”

An elevator opened near the shuttle bay and Eithnen Ní Faoláin stepped out to greet them.

She was accompanied by a shorter, comely woman with a thinner figure, properly wearing the blue Republic military skirt uniform that Eithnen wore only loosely. She had very dark skin, and black hair that was tied back into a braided tail. A pair of sleek glasses perched on her nose. Atop her head, she had a beret. Because the uniform was blue it reminded Ulyana of the cadets of the Union’s Academy in Mt. Raja. However, she recognized her uniform from her diplomat training. Eithnen’s companion must have been part of Republic military intelligence as an attaché. Not every ship in the Republic navy had an officer like that.

“Let me introduce you to my indispensable adjutant, Tahira Agyie.” Eithnen said.

“Pleased to meet you. On behalf of the crew, thank you, Ulyana Korabiskaya, and you as well, Commissar Bashara. We could scarcely hope for any relief. We were prepared to die.”

Tahira shook hands with Ulyana and then Aaliyah in turn. Hers was a quick, efficient shake.

She wore at all times a measured expression on her pretty face, betraying no emotion.

Ulyana did not judge her for this. It was not easy to smile in their circumstances.

Eithnen on the other hand was very affable, so it was an interesting contrast.

“We come bearing some gifts. Enough food for the journey.” Ulyana said.

She gestured to the back of the shuttle, where Zhu Lian and Van Der Smidse were working on getting the ramp down using cranks to conserve battery. Once the ramp was down they hooked the heavy crate to a winch and gently slid it down to the ramp and onto the floor of the hangar, before unhooking the crate and leaving it. While they were doing this, the Captain, Commissar and their counterparts continued their conversation off to the side.

“We can shuttle in medicine next.” Aaliyah said, glancing at the lethargic sailors.

“I can’t thank you enough. Some of these men, we have known about their deteriorating conditions for weeks now. Some have chronic illnesses, others just picked things up in Aachen. Most got worn down over time from lack of food, but kept working to keep us afloat.” Eithnen said. “Before the fleet was dashed to pieces in Kreuzung, our ‘commanders’ treated us like dirt. We were afforded nothing and kept locked up inside this ship.”

“That is horrific.” Ulyana said. “We’ll do what we can to assist your crew.”

“Thank you again, Captain.” Eithnen said. “Let us move to a meeting room in order to talk more comfortably. They’re also pretty cramped, but at least we can sit down there.”

“Of course. We can discuss the situation in-depth.” Ulyana said.

“This way.” Tahira gestured to the elevator.

Before leaving, Aaliyah turned around and shouted for Klara and Lian.

“You two put on some masks, get the first-aid kits and help out where you can!” She said.

Aaliyah pointed at the shuttle and then at the medical staff looking over the sick men.

Klara and Lian, sitting on the crate, looked helpless for a moment before moving to comply.

They were not medical staff, but Union marines received basic aid training too.

At least it gave them a different context for interacting with foreign sailors than suspicion.

“You’re all frankly amazing to me. I haven’t died and gone above, have I?” Eithnen said.

“We’re communists, it’d be a sad sight if we just sat around while people suffered.” Aaliyah said. “Trust us that you’re quite alive; we just have a different spirit than the Republic.”

Tahira stared at Ulyana and Aaliyah wordlessly for a moment before averting her gaze.

Eithnen put on a big, cheerful grin. “Well then! God bless the commie spirit!”


Aboard the Brigand, the door to the medbay slid open and closed quickly.

Hurried clacking steps from a pair of heels.

“Homa, are you okay? We’re out of danger now. I’m sorry I couldn’t support you.”

“It’s whatever.”

Homa recognized the horns and ponytail first, at the edge of her vision.

Kalika had come to visit.

Homa was lying sideways in bed, clutching her blankets as Kalika took a seat beside her. Even though she had her prosthetics installed, she was under observation until she had a few days’ worth of therapy. Her gait was still clumsy, though she was making progress.

More than that, she did not want to leave the infirmary during the commotion–

Because her heart had been gripped by an ice cold fear.

A shameful, chilling, awful fear.

Even now, lucid and medicated, she felt like she had been dowsed in ice water.

“Thanks to the crew, we were able to pull through.” Kalika said. “You’re safe now.”

Homa grumbled. She was ashamed. Ashamed of how frightened she had gotten.

“Did you go out and fight?” Homa asked, her lips trembling.

“All I fought were a few leaking pipes near the infirmary and the cafeteria. And some of the anti-flooding shutters.” Kalika said. “I was just doing this and that, trying to help out.”

“Why did they go pick a fight with the Volkisch?” Homa asked. “It’s just crazy.”

“They were rescuing some poor folks.” Kalika said. “It’s just the way they operate.”

“It’s useless– trying to be big dumb fucking heroes like that– they’ll just get killed–!”

Kalika did not respond. Homa snatched a look at her face. She was just silently smiling.

For some reason Kalika never judged Homa, never called her an asshole or a coward.

Sometimes it infuriated her. She wished someone would just slap her across the face.

Someone should just tell her already that she was worthless and lower than dirt.

They should just leave her crippled husk behind! Just launch her into the sea!

There it went again– she was crying. Crying and blubbering and shaking.

It was all she could do. Unlike Kalika, she could do nothing. She was utterly broken.

“Kalika,” Homa whimpered, “Can you– can you get me that necklace– on the table–”

Kalika nodded her head. She picked up Homa’s necklace from the bedside table.

Kneeling close to Homa’s bed, she put the necklace in her fingers directly.

“Rest up Homa. When you’re feeling up to it, we’ll resume your therapy.”

Homa did not respond to that. Once she had her necklace she hid under the blankets.

She clutched the necklace tight against her chest with her biological hand, crying openly.

Wishing she could hear the stupid little voice calling her ‘brave’ and ‘courageous’ again.


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.4]

Through the Osmium shutters, a hair’s-width of purple rays still bled through.

Dim purple sliced the shadows of the upper wall of the reactor engineering pod– leaving the steel thankfully intact. Just a hint of purple touched down upon the tea table set down incongruously below the raised reactor structure in the back of the pod.

Enclosed within enormous osmium and titanium structures flanking the main reactor were steam generators, circuits, converters, backup batteries, and turbines, that captured and converted and stored and transmitted as much energy that reactor had to give as possible. The heat of the agarthic reaction, the motion of the core array suspended in water, the erratic flashes of agarthic radiation that were characteristic of the lower grade agarthicite used in ship cores compared to station cores. All of it was the life-giving gift the sovereign mineral gave to its After Descent subjects. None of it could be wasted.

God lifted and encased upon its throne of carefully alloyed minerals.

At the back of every ship, this was the face that He showed to his subjects.

And within this temple, a few officers infrequently held tea parties.

Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya and Commissar Aaliyah Bashara were both in attendance, on the opposite end of the table. Between the table and the reactor there was a protective shield of lead and osmium for the occupants. Aside from thin, stray rays of agarthic light, the only illumination was a wax candle that had a musky, mineral-like scent. Compared to an electric torch, this knickknack was a waste of resources– but the woman who requested it received any such thing she wanted. She had a supply of such charms for the journey.

“Thank you for once again indulging me, Captain, Commissar.”

“Of course. Compared to everything else, this is an oasis of calm.”

“Strange, isn’t it? I have to consider the end of my life every second of every day that I reside here, but even so, every day is so peaceful. I could not ask for a better place to spend my final days. Even when the ship is shaking, and battle raging– I just have to tend to the temperatures and monitor output. If the worst happens– I’ll be painlessly erased.”

“Ah– no need to be gloomy, Chief! I’m sure you’ll have many long years ahead!”

“Oh, don’t worry. It has no bearing on my mood. I’m simply being realistic.”

Across from the ship’s leadership cadre was the least often seen of its officers.

Chief Core Engineer, and Hero of Socialist Labor, Iessenia Kurchatova.

Iessenia was a few years older than Ulyana but her actual age was not too evident. She was a pale and petite woman, pretty and vibrant, with girlish features and very long hair that had been dyed green to cover the drain of their color over time. Long locks fell over her shoulders, reached down her back, and she had fluffy bangs swept to either side. She wore a touch of lipstick, a bit of eyeshadow– but a lot of blush, coloring the middle of her face. She wore the Treasure Box button-down shirt and tie with a black mini-skirt and tights, with a white coat over it. On her wrists were steel cuffs attached to collapsible mobility aids that, in their resting position, stretched partway down the length of her arm.

More noticeable than these basic facts of her appearance were the vestiges of her vocation.

In several places in her body there were hexagonal burns, colored purple-black like bruises. There was a stretch of these burns across the upper left corner of her face, having claimed one eye which was replaced with a cybernetic implant. Her eyelid and eyebrow were reconstructed such that when she smiled and shut her eyes it looked pretty natural. Bits of less severe patches of burns could be seen on her neck and creeping over her right breast, slightly visible due to a few undone buttons. In the dim illumination in which Iessenia kept the room, there was a dim purple glow from the sinews on her neck and arms.

Ulyana knew this was owed to the level of agarthic salts in her bloodstream.

On her remaining biological eye, the color had been slightly altered as well. Purple was creeping in from the lower right quadrant of the eye. Close inspection revealed that the purple was actually made up of tiny hexagons, as if the visible pixelation on a low quality video monitor. Iessenia disclosed to Dr. Kappel that her circulatory system was largely colonized by Agarthicite in its microscopic “salt” form. Eventually enough agarthic salt inside her would react, causing an annihilation that would maim her internally.

It was likely that she would die from this– and not painlessly as she hoped.

Thankfully, that did not seem to bother the smiling woman who offered the Captain tea.

Unlike all the coffee-drinkers in the ship, she had this special dispensation as well.

Much like her scented soy-wax candles.

All for the comfort of the Union’s Agarthicite genius, awaiting her untimely demise.

Iessenia, like most core engineers, was the sacrifice at the altar of God.

For the sake of Humanity– so anything could be spared for her happiness and comfort.

“Today’s tea is my favorite. Masala chai. Black tea with sweetened milk and spices.”

Iessenia stared at her teacup quietly for almost a minute before taking an indulgent sip.

Ulyana lifted her cup to her own lips. Sweet and creamy and with a complex flavor from the aromatic spices. It was the richest cup of tea Ulyana had ever tasted. Like almost everyone on the ship she had a strict coffee habit to keep herself going during the long hours– but she could appreciate the delicate craft of preparing a nice cup of tea.

Minardo was a quiet genius with tea.

At Ulyana’s side, Aaliyah took a delicate sip.

For a moment, her stony demeanor melted, her ears folding, smiling with pleasure.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? I try to limit myself to one good cup of tea a day– I don’t want to be greedy, you know?” Iessenia said. “Minardo always makes an exactingly beautiful cup.”

“It is pretty good.” Aaliyah said, as if downplaying her earlier reaction.

Behind them, there was a sudden racket from sliding metal.

Double locks on the door into the pod automatically undid themselves to allow access.

Another young woman, also rarely seen among the ship’s population, joined the tea party.

Dressed in the treasure box uniform with a pair of black pants, she was younger than Ulyana and Iessenia and maybe even younger than Aaliyah too. Characterized by short dark hair that was a little bit curly, and light brown skin and a serious face that made small movements in its expression. Her figure was slightly fuller than Iessenia’s but not by much. Her body had not yet incurred any agarthic damage common to her chosen vocation. She was in as good health and spirits, or better, than the typical crew member.

In her hands she had a tray of snacks from Minardo.

Biscuits with a mayonnaise spread flecked with finely chopped pickles; and simple doughnuts filled with an equally simple jelly and cream. There were not a lot of provisions on the ship for fancy cafe desserts, but something could always be baked, and with sweeteners, preserved fruit and powdered milk a lot could be done. The new arrival set the tray in the middle of the table and took seat beside Iessenia with a small smile.

“Thank you for fetching the snacks, Petty Officer.” Ulyana said.

“It’s no trouble at all,” replied the young woman in a quiet and serious voice.

She was once Iessenia’s intern and student. Now closest companion on the voyage.

Petty Officer and Assistant Core Engineer, Nina Srivastavi.

“I’m thankful to you for helping our Hero of Socialist Labor over here.” Ulyana teased.

Aaliyah’s ears twitched slightly as if she picked up something in her tone of voice.

“It’s truly nothing major.” Nina said.

“She has been utterly indispensable to me.” Iessenia added, laying a hand over Nina’s own.

Aaliyah’s eyes darted down to the hands. She sipped her tea as if in lieu of speaking.

Ulyana noticed Aaliyah’s growing concern and steered things back around to business.

“We had a concern we wanted to share with you, Iessenia.” Ulyana said.

“Not about my social life I hope?” Iessenia smiled.

Aaliyah averted her gaze, still sipping tea.

Ulyana laughed it off without a direct response. “It’s about the shield we installed.”

“Oh yes!” Iessenia said. She raised her hand and gestured behind her as if waving to the reactor. “Clever little piece of tech! I am glad we got it to work in the end. I was aware that the ship had channeled paneling installed during its construction– such things have been theoretically possible for a very long time, but a bit useless in a fleet context, so it was not seriously pursued except by the Ahwalia administration. Ahwalia’s people wanted to have a very small, very high tech and elite navy– Jayasankar promoted a doctrine closer to that of the Imbrian Empire. Lots of ships, lots of fleets, lots of shortcuts. In a contest between dozens of ships, a shield on one or two just doesn’t matter to the end result.”

“In our context, it could be incredibly useful.” Ulyana said. “If it could work.”

“Indeed! It sucked a lot of power at Kreuzung, even threatened to blow a few circuits!”

“Initially we believed it was because we were running it out of the water.” Aaliyah said, finally entering the conversation. “But looking back at the maintenance logs, it seems like even with proper cooling we might not be able to sustain the shield for long. What do you think?”

“As far as the reactor is concerned, we certainly have enough capacity for it.” Iessenia said.

“Our problem is the ancillary parts, I think. I recall there being issues there.” Nina said.

Iessennia raised her index finger to her lips. She took a moment to think about it.

“I think the issue is with the converters. Reactor behaviors have to be converted to usable energy. We need to look at the steam capture, heat transfer and electric transformers. That is the bottleneck– the reactor’s effective power is as high as the converters can actually introduce to the rest of the system. So the converters– and then perhaps higher-tolerance cabling from converters to boards. That should enhance energy transmission.”

“Thank you both.” Ulyana said. “It’s a start– I can float the idea by Euphrates and Tigris.”

“My pleasure.” Iessenia said. “Say, can you arrange a meeting between us?”

“You and Euphrates and Tigris?” Ulyana asked.

“Yes! We have only met on brief business during the refit– I’d love to sit down with them as a social occasion and pick their brains. There are not many people in the world who are aware of systems like agarthicite shields– these are high-end theoretical pseudophysics with very little practical use or development. I want to know what else they worked on. I want to talk about stuff that only comes out of dreaming big, like Project Red Star.”

“We’ll see what we can do.” Aaliyah said. Her tone was a little bit more brusque.

Iessenia spoke more fondly about the scientific developments of the Ahwalia regime than anyone else on the ship. Project Red Star was like a bad joke to the Jayasankar regime– Iessenia had been right there in the middle of it, however. Given heaps of resources to “dream big” despite practicality and giving her all to advance science. None of the rank and file on the ship knew enough to begrudge her participation with Ahwalia’s biggest policy failure– but Ulyana thought it might have been the reason Nagavanshi consigned her to this dangerous journey, rather than keeping her working in the labs in Solstice.

“They’re busy, but I’m sure we can arrange something.” Ulyana said.

Her voice was gentler as if trying to smooth out what Aaliyah had roughened.

Iessenia did not look like she minded at all. She continued smiling.

“Thank you, Captain. If you have any other questions, I am at your full dispensation.”

She took another delicate drink of her tea. Her hands slowly began shaking.

“Ma’am, I think it’s time for your Neurotin.” Nina said.

“Oh, true. Can you be a dear and fetch it please?” Iessenia asked, putting down her cup.

Nodding, Nina stood from the table.

She crossed a door on the side of the room, entering a small shielded living space in which she and Iessenia slept and cleaned up and stored their things. She searched for the medicine.

Back at the table, however, the tea party simply continued.

“Silly hands.” Iessenia said, ever smiling. “But that’s just part of doing what you love.”

Perhaps in reactor engineering, the mood was always a tea party.

For those fighting aboard ships in this fallen era, perhaps life had to be like a party.


“Homa? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Hovering over Homa’s eyes was a hand, with only the middle and index fingers raised. On each finger, the nails had pink and blue colors beautifully patterned. To acknowledge the owner of that hand, Homa slowly raised her own hand with two fingers up, the “peace sign.” Only, she found that the arm which she had raised, and the fingers which were at its end, were completely black and had a sheen to them. She stared at the fingers, flexing them in front of confused eyes. She had not known what to expect– they were just limbs.

Each digit was visibly articulated, as if exposed bone. She could see the jointed metal bones turn as she flexed. Her fingers were slightly thicker than she was used to, but only slightly. They had tips that seemed soft, like plastic padding, but– Homa could not feel that they were soft. There were some sensations that terminated at her shoulder. Though she was moving something, there was a missing bit of feedback from her new limbs.

“I– I can’t feel it–” Homa mumbled. Talking mainly to herself, as if alone in the room.

“I’m sorry Homa, for military prosthetics, we do not carry nerve stimulators. We had to make some concessions between comfort and utility. It is certainly possible to reinstall the prosthetics with stimulators in the future, once the– current troubles– are in the past and we have the benefit of safety and better supplies. But these prosthetics are very durable and responsive. You will be able to live independently again in no time, I assure you.”

Through a mind fog, Homa vaguely recognized the voice of Dr. Kappel.

She followed the fingers that were adorned with pretty nails, up the arm, and to the face, with its blue makeup and multi-shade blue hair. Dr. Kappel smiled at her, and wrapped her fingers around Homa’s prosthetic hand. Homa could not feel the touch. Right in front of her eyes, she could see contact between skin and the prosthetic, but it lacked the warmth she expected to feel. This made the gesture just a little bit frustrating to receive.

Nevertheless, Dr. Kappel smiled brightly at the result.

“Good. Looks like the basics are in order. All the kinetics parts are working, the plastic sleeves are flush. Don’t make dramatic movements yet. Between the anesthesia and getting used to the neural interface, your arm may not exhibit the fine control you are used to– yet. I can assure you with time, your standard of living will be exactly as it was.”

“Except for the beef pot– I’m afraid we can’t do anything about that for now.”

“Ms. Loukia– please.”

Homa weakly turned her head and saw Kalika sitting on a chair beside the operating table.

She smiled a little.

Kalika smiled back, and playfully waved the fingers of her prosthetic hand.

Rather than the medbay, the operation had taken place in Dr. Kappel’s office, on a table that was set between the door out of the office and the door into the medicine vault. The table was pulled out of the floor and folded out, and would be folded and pushed into the floor when Homa left it. Anesthesia had been administered in the medbay, so Homa was only then getting her first look at the new surroundings. Her head was swimming.

“If it helps, I do not use nerve stimulators.” Kalika said. “I’ve become accustomed to swinging an unfeeling arm. It allows you to push it to its limits. Makes a handy shield too.”

“It will be a little more troublesome to have a leg that you cannot completely feel under you.” Dr. Kappel said. “But only a little. Most of the focus of our physical therapy will be to get you walking, Homa. With confidence and a good balance. We can begin soon. For now, rest as long as you need. You’re almost at the finish line, so no sense in rushing.”

Homa nodded her head. Despite the anesthesia wearing off, she was extremely tired.

There was a small part of her that was a bit sad and a bit bitter.

She had hoped that the surgery would dramatically change how she had been feeling the past few days. That she would wake up on the operating table like nothing bad had happened to her. Feeling whole again– not just functionally but in spirit. There was a part of her that felt that an arm was not simply a tool for grasping, but that she had been afflicted with a condition in which she lacked possession of an arm. She lacked a completeness of self. With that arm many things had been torn from her. Her future, the people she knew, her home. That arm had a spirit– it was touch, it was warmth, it was a sense of tenderness that flowed from her heart, through her veins, into the flesh. That arm was the things it had done just as much as it was the things that it did. That arm was an interlocking part of the puzzle of Homa Baumann’s life. With the prosthetic this was simply just not so.

Perhaps she would feel differently once she was off the table and active again.

But she could not help but to feel disappointed with the result.

Functionally, she could have the things which an arm did returned to her.

However, she still felt anxious at the idea that she would never be whole in her parts again.

Those anxieties festered into self-criticism of her own ungratefulness to the communists.

That ungratefulness, however, finally led her to think–

I never asked to be rescued. I could have been left for dead.

What do I have to be grateful for?

It was so presumptuous of them– my life should have just been over.

I have nothing– no home– no reason to live–

–not even all of my own body.

How am I supposed to live like this? How do any of you live with all of this?!

In the throes of a growing distress, she started to fall asleep once again.

Before she could find the energy to shout or be frustrated she dozed off completely.

Her head, fogged by bewilderment and confusion and pain, emptied completely.

Flexing in her sleep the fingers of the metal thing that had taken the place of her.


“Illya, I’m coming in.”

Shalikova stood in front of the door to Illya’s room for a moment, enough that she should have been acknowledged. When she heard nothing and realized the door was completely unlocked she delivered her intention and walked right through the door. Inside, Illya was surprisingly missing. There was only Valeriya, in a corner of the room, standing near a pull-out desk surface on the far wall. If Valeriya was there, Illya must have been fine.

“Oh, sorry for barging in, Valeriya. I just wanted to see whether you two were okay.”

Valeriya nodded her head silently.

There were a few curious details about the scene that drew Shalikova’s attention. Valeriya was dressed in an atypical fashion– she had a pair of underwear shorts and a flimsy little tanktop but her thin and fair figure was mostly covered up by what looked like a synthestitched plastic apron. On the apron there was a design of a teddy bear with a chef’s hat. It reminded Shalikova of one of her rejected designs for Comrade Fuzzy. Valeriya’s long, blond hair was tied up into a ponytail, and she had thick plastic gloves.

Hanging from her neck, and sitting atop her breasts, was her tactical mask.

She did not look in a hurry to wear it, even though Shalikova had walked in on her.

On the desk in front of her, a small metal frame had been set up. A recyclable canister of alcohol fuel had been set beneath the frame. To Shalikova’s surprise this canister produced a clean flame that was heating up a small metal cup-pot with something bubbling in it.

Shalikova dimly recalled these items.

Her Diver had a survival kit with food and a petroleum-derived ethylene fuel burner just like this. It was mainly a placebo– Shalikova could not imagine a scenario in which she would need to heat up food to survive inside her diver, where she was not already doomed.

“What are you up to? Is that a last resort ration?” Shalikova asked.

Valeriya nodded her head.

“You are cooking a last resort ration?” Shalikova asked again.

“I am a wife now.” Valeriya mumbled. “So I am cooking.”

Shalikova stared. “Not sure I understand. You’re a wife now?”

Valeriya nodded her head.

It began to dawn on Shalikova what that must have meant.

“Wait. You’re serious? Did Illya– did she really–?”

Valeriya nodded her head again.

Shalikova whistled with surprise and a bit of sudden cheer.

“Wow. I thought you would just shack up forever. Congratulations!”

Valeriya smiled.

A small smile, but for her, it was brighter than the sun.

Even a reserved girl like Shalikova could not help but feel a swell of joy for Valeriya.

For all the time that she had known her, Valeriya had been Illya’s shadow. As teenagers they were always together, and even when Zasha was around, it was clear who Valeriya had a crush on. They went to school together; they went into the Academy together; they went to war together. Even in the special forces, as far as Shalikova knew, they were inseparable. And now, on the Brigand’s historic mission, Valeriya continued to follow Illya without pause. Shalikova knew that Illya reciprocated Valeriya’s feelings romantically, but she also had a low estimation of Illya’s ability to commit– she figured Illya would have sex with Valeriya all her life without even saying the word ‘girlfriend’ to her much less ‘wife.’

In Shalikova’s mind, Valeriya deserved this marriage proposal.

“It’s vinaigrette with beans.” Valeriya said suddenly.

She pointed at the cup-pot, beginning to come to a boil over the alcohol-burning element. Normally in the Union ‘vinaigrette’ referred to a salad of chopped boiled root vegetables pressed together and dressed with vinegar and fat. Usually beets, carrots, potato, onion, and to add protein, red or white beans. Normally all the vegetables used would be pickled, or canned in salted water. Valeriya was cooking from a last resort block, so all the items were vacuum-pressed and dehydrated. She had brought water to a boil, to create essentially a mushy last resort vegetable stew. Judging by the flecks of fat in the water and the smell of vinegar, the vegetables were dressed before dehydration and compression.

Valeriya looked a little proud of herself as she stared at the bubbling little pot.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your meal.” Shalikova said. “Will there be a ceremony?”

“Not now.” Valeriya whispered. “We’re being punished.”

“Oh! Right– I had wanted to ask what happened at the disciplinary hearing.”

Valeriya pointed at the cup. As if to silently say that was the punishment.

“I see. Well– I don’t know whether to say ‘you got off light’ or to wish you luck enduring the torture.” Shalikova said, crossing her arms. “I guess it can’t be that bad when cooked.”

Using a steel spork, Valeriya mixed the stew up as it cooked.

Shalikova realized then that throughout all this talk, Valeriya had never raised her mask.

“You can pull your mask up if you want to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I want to talk to you.” Valeriya said. Her voice was still quite whispery.

“I see– just don’t push yourself just to be nice to me.”

Valeriya quietly nodded her head again.

Quickly stirring the little stew, breaking up pieces. She looked dedicated to the work.

“Sonya– how do you feel about Illya? Do you still admire her?” Valeriya asked.

Without meeting eyes, she asked the question, still stirring the stew.

And what a question it was– it caught Shalikova by surprise.

What kind of answer did she have to that? What DID she feel about Illya?

Shalikova stuck her hands in her pants pockets.

“That’s– I mean, I’m not a kid anymore, you know? So it’s kinda complicated now.” She took a moment to consider the question. For Valeriya, she tried to be honest. Sometimes Shalikova was quick to be difficult to Illya, but she tried to be kinder to Valeriya. “I don’t idolize her or anything– but like, I got on hormones because she did. I wanted to be a cool soldier like her and Zasha. Illya always encouraged me, even against Zasha’s wishes. So like– Illya is family to me. I care about whether she’s okay or not. I ask her for advice. But we’re both soldiers now and I am an officer too. I can’t ‘look up to her’ anymore like a kid does.”

“She would want you to respect her more than admire her.” Valeriya said suddenly.

Still not looking her way, just messing with her stew.

This was perhaps the most words Valeriya and Shalikova had exchanged in years.

“I guess that’s what I do. I am trying to take her seriously when she says I need to stick up for myself and make my own arguments. That’s something I’m trying to do with her too.”

“That’s good. Thank you for answering.”

“Alright?”

“I love Illya– more than anything in the world. And she cares about you.”

“So in the transitive property of doing the exact same stuff as Illya, you care about me too.”

“Yes.”

“C’mon– don’t just say ‘yes’ to that– I was teasing you–”

Shalikova felt instantly ashamed at her own mean-spirited humor.

Valeriya simply smiled and worked on the stew.

Behind them the door opened once more.

Illya walked in through the door, absentminded.

She had begun partially unzipping her security uniform bodysuit. She must have been working. She zipped it back up when she noticed Shalikova was in the room. Valeriya removed the cup-shaped pot from the spent alcohol burner and laid it down on a separate pull-out desk surface as if to set the table for dinner. She then waved at Illya.

“Sonya, what a pleasant surprise. Came to see whether I was still alive?” Illya asked.

She cracked a grin that Shalikova did not return.

“Uh huh. Looks like you’re good though, so I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Not staying for lunch?” Illya’s continuing sarcasm. Shalikova did not play along.

“Maryam is waiting for me.” Shalikova said. “But– Illya, you better treat her right.”

Illya stared at Shalikova. “Hey, where do you get off on telling me that?”

She was not mad– she looked more amused by the rebuke than anything.

No one knew better than Illya herself all that had happened with her and Valeriya.

“Sonya.” Valeriya mumbled, shaking her head gently.

“Nah, it’s okay. She cares about you.” Illya said. “Trust me, we’ll be fine.”

Shalikova sighed but she had essentially said what she had come in to say.

“Maybe I’ll have a bite, just out of curiosity.” She said.

From the floor, Valeriya pulled up a pair of metal seats around the pull-out desk. There was nowhere for Shalikova to sit, but she did not intend to stay long. Illya sat across from Valeriya, each with their own metal spork, and the reheated and boiled vinaigrette mush between them. Valeriya took a sporkful of the stuff, which was tinged red from the beets, and blew on it– then she gestured for Shalikova to taste it from that spork.

In order to satisfy her curiosity, Shalikova leaned in.

“It’s just like when you were a little beet yourself.” Illya said.

Shalikova felt immediately more embarrassed about it, but still ate from Valeriya’s spork.

She did not know what she expected from it. It was a bit– challenging.

There was some flavor. A bit of tang from the vinegar, some savory notes from MSG.

Owing to all the root vegetables, it was very starchy, and a little bit sweet.

However, the foremost characteristic of the meal was its lack of texture. It was impossible to discern an individual bit of carrot or beet despite the sizeable bite that Valeriya had gathered. All of its elements had become homogeneous mush. Even baby food was more of an eating experience. It was not so bad as to make her spit it out, but anyone with even the slightest sensitivity to the mouthfeel of their food might have felt disgusted by it.

With an untroubled expression on her face, Illya began to eat.

Valeriya retracted her spork and waited with a smile as if for Shalikova’s response.

What did she want her to say? She cooked a last resort ration, so her cooking was gross.

Still– it was impossible to be mean to Valeriya. Even about this culinary misfortune.

“Um. It was lovely. Thank you. You’ll– you’ll make a fine wife, ‘Riya.” Shalikova said.

Valeriya nodded quietly, looking pleased with herself. Just like Illya, she began to eat.

Neither of them looked troubled by the meal. They ate almost mindlessly.

For a moment Shalikova just stared at them. What a husband and wife they would make.

In the back of her mind she wondered whether Maryam knew how to cook anything.


“Aww, I hate to see those bright little cheeks of yours frowning. What’s on your mind?”

“Ugh. I’m feeling worried. There’s nothing I can do– Marina really stepped in it this time.”

“Oh dear. I would characterize what she did as much more than just step in it.”

“Agh, sorry– I don’t mean to reduce what she did, she really sucks– I’m just– blegh.”

“My, oh my. A lot of undignified noises coming out of the princess today~”

“I’m not a princess! Proletarians have the freedom to make noises.”

“Anyway, is it even your problem whatever happens to Marina? You’re your own person.”

“I mean– I don’t want her to be hurt. She was my mom’s– uhh– bestie.”

“You don’t say?”

On the Brigand’s cafeteria, a young woman laid over a table, making faces.

She was seated close to the front serving counter, with her head and arms on top of the table. Sometimes her arms would hang, while at others she would hide her head in them. She was easily identifiable to the crew by now: long purple hair, unblemished and heavenly-soft looking skin, a girlish and simple prettiness to her face. Were it not for the partial elfin ears which she had — and the perhaps exotic color of her hair, which was natural — it would have been easy to call her the perfect picture of the Imbrian woman.

Teasing that young elf woman was the ship’s cook, Logia Minardo.

Seated on the opposite side of the same table, taking a break. She pulled off her cap and set it down on the table, loosening up her sweat-slick, wavy black hair. Minardo was a formidable lady, with a big chest and wide hips and thick legs, lean muscled arms and shoulders. Atop that shapely figure was a soft face with a bright smile, eyes like jewels, red lips and gentle eyeshadow. Elena had begun to think, maybe she appraised older women differently from younger women. Maybe, just maybe, she had something of a thing for them– but even besides that, Minardo could only have been seen as staggeringly beautiful.

She must have been seen as such by anyone else too.

Thinking about that, Elena averted her gaze.

“Should I not be at this table? I can let you sulk if that’s what you want.” Minardo said.

Gentle, with just a bit of her ordinary teasing tone of voice.

“No, it’s fine. I should stop. There’s nothing I can do.” Elena mumbled. “Even if I could do anything I think Marina deserves to be punished. She’s been so– awful.”

They were talking around it, but Marina’s participation in the Core Separation Crisis was a deed of such disgusting callousness toward innocent lives that it was hard to quantify it. The Captain and Commissar had spoken briefly with Elena about it and seemed more concerned with the breaches of trust, or at least that was what they told her– but maybe that was just processing the horror that lay in the moral dimension of the transgression. Marina nearly abetted the deaths of potentially thousands. Millions? Elena hardly knew the scale.

In her own mind, it was such a crime she could only sulk about it.

She could not possibly process the actual scale of what had happened.

It was simply too big, and she, too small in its shadow.

“Cheer up, she’s just locked up. She’ll be out again.” Minardo said. “You know– I put in a word with the Captain, alongside Dr. Kappel, that I hope Marina will not be mistreated beyond what is necessary to instill discipline. She is a– troubled person– and I sympathize.”

Elena looked up at Minardo’s hesitating tone voice. She narrowed her eyes a bit.

“You’re friends with Marina too? I’ve never seen you together.” She said.

It sounded more accusatory than she wanted it to– but she did not take back the words.

Minardo looked more amused by this response than anything before.

She smiled and laughed and laid her head on her hands while staring down at Elena.

“You’re not her shadow! She can move when you aren’t around.” She said.

Knowing the kind of woman Marina was Elena could imagine she made passes at Minardo.

Something about that annoyed her but she did not interrogate this feeling any further.

Elena remained collapsed against the table and hardly moved except to turn her head away.

“Well– whatever then. I’ll stop worrying.” Elena said.

“Why are you so pouty all of a sudden?” Minardo asked, poking Elena’s cheek.

“Oh, looks like someone is a bit jealous?”

From seemingly out of nowhere, a second attractive older woman swooped in.

Elena let out a groan as Khadija Al-Shajara sat on her side of the table.

“Can you two go easy on me?” Elena moaned. She was practically surrounded.

“I just showed up, and already my character is under question?!” Khadija said.

Her wine-colored lips turned in a little grin; winking a heavily wine-purple shadowed eye.

“She knows what you are.” Minardo said. “Don’t worry Elena, I’ll protect you.”

“Uggghhhh.” Elena put her arms around her head.

Khadija made a cutesy shrug.

Those two played together far, far too well, Elena thought.

“I’m just here to have some lunch. I don’t know what anyone is talking about.”

“Ah, but where’s your new lady friend, Khadija?” Minardo teased.

Khadija averted her gaze with a suddenly sour expression.

“We’re not friends. She’s helping move crates around for the inventory and shuttling.”

Minardo laughed. “She is such a big lady. Glad to see she’s helping out around here.”

“Checking her out?” Khadija accused.

“What? No. But there’s no way to look at her without thinking she is big.”

“Well. You ought to help too. Those guns of yours could use some action again.”

Khadija reached over Elena to poke Minardo’s bicep.

“I do plenty.” Minardo replied. Like Khadija was finally getting under her skin.

“You both are doing plenty right now.” Elena mumbled childishly.

“Elena, did you know? Minardo was an absolute combat monster once upon a time.”

Khadija looked pleased with herself at how annoyed Minardo was getting with her.

“What was it they called you?” She acted dumb for a moment, letting the question hang.

“That was a long time ago.” Minardo grumbled, as if to signal Khadija to drop it.

“You’re not proud of it? Elena, our esteemed cook once earned the title of ‘The Human Stronghold’. Can I tell the story?” Khadija stared at Minardo with her tail swishing merrily behind her. Elena slowly sat up and looked at the two of them with a dull expression. Minardo sighed and shrugged and waved as if to say ‘fuck it, just go’. Khadija took exactly that meaning from it. “Elena, Minardo was part of a landing party in the revolution– all by herself, she held a narrow passage into the Sevastopol port structure, keeping a way open for close to an hour. She killed 26 imperials, turning back their assaults and protecting our beachhead in the port. Then she joined the arriving assault sappers and charged deeper into Sevastopol, and killed 26 more imperials in close quarters.” Khadija punctuated the numbers in her speech each time. “Those station battles were absolutely brutal. It was necessary for us to get foot-holds inside stations to evict the current, disagreeable occupants. And the defender always has the advantage inside of a station’s confines.”

Elena blinked, staring at Minardo for a moment before catching herself.

In turn, Minardo grunted and sighed and looked a bit helpless for just a moment.

“Those Imperials were pansies. It wasn’t much more to say you killed 26 or 52 than to kill two or four, when it came to close quarters battle.” She finally said, grudgingly acknowledging Khadija and her story. “By the time of the revolution I had already been doing like ten years of hard labor. The slave colonies were like a vacation for imperial nepo babies. I was slaughtering stupid kids, not even the guys who clapped the chains.”

“Well, they all deserved to die, and I’m glad they’re burning in hell.”

“Khadija.”

“But yes, it’s that brutal energy now kneading bread and stirring soup.” Khadija said.

“From an old friend to another, please drop it already, kitty-cat.” Minardo said.

“Of course, I’ll win the round graciously.” Khadija replied, winking and pawing.

Elena looked between the two of them with an appraising expression.

She was impressed by Minardo’s strength–

but seeing that it bothered her, she buried her reaction.

She did not want to hurt her feelings.

“Are you actually friends or do you hate each other? I can’t tell.” Elena mumbled.

Minardo and Khadija both looked at her pouting and snickered to themselves.

“Khadija is like this with almost anyone who gives her an opportunity. It’s fine.”

“Minardo needs my labor in the kitchen far too much to ever be rid of me.”

Elena stared at them with the same narrow-eyed look she once gave Minardo.

Minardo reached out and pinched Elena’s cheek suddenly.

“Are you jealous?” Minardo said. “Elena, we’re not romantic at all. You’re so silly!”

“I’m not jealous. I do not care!” Elena whined, pulling Minardo’s hand off.

“Minardo is not my type. You, on the other hand, have a chance, little Elena.”

Khadija winked again, leaning closer, chest on the table.

Elena averted her gaze again.

“Why do I keep trying to come here to relax, when you two don’t let me live in peace.”

“It’s because the practiced teasing of a mature woman wipes away all troubles.”

Elena suddenly broke out into a laugh. She could not stifle it that time.

Khadija was completely right– Elena felt much less troubled than when she first sat down.

Though she would not admit as such with the two of them waiting for a reaction.

She appreciated what they were both trying to do and felt– cared for.

There were other troubles she had in mind that she just could not tell Khadija and Minardo about. Things they would not understand. But coming here and getting fussed over did instill the feeling that these two women cared about her well-being in their own way. They wanted to see her smile and laugh, they wanted her to feel special and receive some attention. Attention that she took for granted when it was easy to come by– Bethany would not have approved of her being so needy and bratty, but it was nice to have that freedom.

“So– what’s for lunch today?” Elena asked. She raised herself back to a proper sit.

“Oh, good idea! You’ll love this, I’m certain. We’ve got gazpacho, eggplant fries, and a little sandwich with pulled soy, brown sauce and tomato pickle.” Minardo said proudly.

“Sounds delicious.” Elena said. She smiled at her companions as brightly as she once did.

For just a little bit she would allow herself to luxuriate in Minardo and Khadija’s attention.

Maybe having someone to fuss over was something those two appreciated as well.


“Braya.”

“Hmm? What’s up?”

“Do you think I should be nervous about my check-up with Ms. Maharapratham?”

“No.”

“What do you know about her? Can you tell me more?”

Braya Zachikova briefly put down her computer and looked over her shoulder.

Their shared accommodation was completely dark except for the light from the portable computer, and a bit of bioluminescence produced by strands interspersed in her partner’s blue hair. Behind her, Arabella smiled, her hands hovering just around Zachikova’s waist, squeezing and loosening in turns. They were sitting together on one bed, as they often did since meeting, Arabella’s back to the wall and Zachikova’s back to her.

Zachikova leaned back against Arabella, her head resting on Arabella’s breasts.

Arabella raised one of her hands and toyed with the end of Zachikova’s spiral ponytail.

“Back when you were a Leviathan, in order to keep you safe, I had to partner up with Karuniya Maharapratham and make you a subject of study.” Zachikova said. It was almost surreal to think back to that time, just weeks ago, when she knew nothing. “During the work we did tracking you and studying video of you– I thought that Maharapratham seemed very compassionate towards you. She cares about animals. I’ve seen how other sickos in the Union think about Leviathans, like it’s free target practice until they fuck up and get eaten. She really cared, and she wanted to prevent unneeded harm. You’ll be fine.”

“I see, so you entrust me to her. I feel relieved then.” Arabella said, smiling.

“You make it sound way too dramatic. She’s just going to take your blood or whatever.”

“Braya, do you think any differently about me now? After all that’s happened?”

“Yeah. You’ve ruined me for life and I can’t get away from you.”

“Hmm? I’m sorry– I’m just nervous is all.”

“I’m joking.” Zachikova sighed.

She tried to think of how to word what she wanted to say.

Even as she spoke, it felt like it did not convey the fullness of what she felt about Arabella. She still tried with every new word and did not relent even as she let her passions slip. “I don’t think any differently about you. If anything I feel closer to you than ever. I’m also someone whose head got fucked with– not as maliciously as with you, but I’m still not normal. Like– I’m just a nobody. Before the surgeries, and going into the Academy and then the spec ops, I was just some orphan of slave parents who died. I was nothing. When I think back, I’m still kinda nothing– I didn’t have friends, I didn’t fuck around with other girls in my school or win a video game championship or whatever. I can remember all the nothing I did but when you think about it, I effectively have no fucking memories anyway.”

“I see. In that sense– I guess our situations are more similar than I realized.”

“Memories don’t make you Arabella to me. You’re Arabella right now.”

Zachikova reached down and intertwined her fingers with Arabella’s own.

Arabella started to wiggle happily behind her back.

“Braya! Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” She said.

“It’s fine. I know you’re scared and that a lot of horrific shit has happened to you. But I’ll help you– and there’s good people on this ship too. I think it’s insane how much you’re taking on your shoulders. It’s not your responsibility, to make up for your sister, or the fucks who created you, or anyone else– but I’m still here for you anyway. Whatever you want to do, I support it. God knows it’s not like I have my own ambitions anyway.”

“We’ll find you an ambition while we search for my memories too.”

Arabella leaned down on Zachikova’s shoulder, rubbing her cheeks against it.

She was so warm.

A few weeks ago Zachikova might have pushed back.

Now, she was still a little annoyed– but she wanted to feel Arabella through her skin.

Until she felt a bit of a sting–

“Hey.”

Arabella nibbled on her childishly.

“If you need blood, just say it. Don’t just bite me out of nowhere.”

“Oh, I’m fine for blood. I ate a lot of human meat back there–”

“Don’t remind me–”

“–I’m biting you out of love Braya.” Arabella’s voice turned suddenly coquettish.

“That can wait until after hours. I’m working right now.”

Zachikova picked her computer up and stared down at the screen while Arabella’s head remained firmly on her shoulder. She felt another little nip from her lover, a deep nuzzle, and even the warm slickness of her tongue sliding over Zachikova’s neck, her fingers prodding her belly. She did not allow it to distract her. She was setting up a digital co-working space for the Nationale Volksarmee and Brigand to communicate together– essentially a glorified self-hosted BBS. It was a simple program. Much of the code was “in-strata” from similar programs and the predictor computer generated a decent user interface for it after a few proddings for it to do so. But she had to put it all together in a day or two, while her leg still hurt, and then also make sure it was not horrifically insecure or buggy.

On the Brigand, anyone who wanted to talk to someone could go and find them and talk to them in person. And in a fleet context, the only thing that mattered was following orders and the battle plan. Inventory comparisons only mattered to the logistics officers in the fleet command. One ship was not shuttling junk to another ship unannounced. Two ships did not randomly send engineers to each other to share ferristitcher blueprints or coordinate dangerous underway repairs. Fleet coordination was just totally different.

But the Volksarmee and Brigand were not two Union ships in a Union fleet with a grand battleplan drafted by a dozen Rear Admirals and a Fleet HQ with responsibility for all logistics. There was no huge staff to plan things. They had to exchange a lot of information between two ships on almost impromptu basis. Their work was like an ongoing conversation between new friends, and it needed a place to happen. Engineers did not have standard protocols for cooperating with each other, and there could be miscommunications. When the Captain approached Zachikova for a solution, she felt that a BBS was a more permanent and simple avenue than staging hundreds of video calls between the ships.

Such a piece of software was not in demand in the fleets, and was only used by civilians.

Sailors could use it to goof off; it could also engender bad information management habits.

Nevertheless for the specific use case of the Volksarmee and Brigand, it made sense to her.

It would likely be okay since the first version was deliberately extremely boring.

Nobody would be sharing nude pictures or lewd audio logs ZaChat.

It could not do so.

Or so she hoped. Computer programming in Zachikova’s era was a bit…odd.

Still, ZaChat was a predictable and simple thing.

Eventually she would upgrade it– but by then there would be better access controls too.

Her work was nearly complete.

She had released the beta version of ZaChat to a control group of officers and engineers. She monitored usage closely. Making sure every message was encrypted in transit between the ships, that chat logs were being retained on both the Brigand and the Rostock, and that data and access credentials were not coming or going anywhere they should not. So far everything seemed to go smoothly, for a thing Zachikova simply threw together.

“What are you working on?” Arabella asked, staring over Zachikova’s shoulder.

“It’s a program for people to message each other across ships.” Zachikova said.

“Can’t they reach each other and talk on the computer screens?” Arabella said.

“We want to keep Semyonova from going insane with hundreds of inter-ship calls.”

“Oh, true. You’re so considerate Braya. What are they saying on the program now?”

Zachikova looked at the board.

So far, the top posters were Erika Kairos and Murati Nakara, by orders of magnitude.

Largely talking to each other. Zachikova sighed audibly.

Utterly hopeless dorks talking about history and music in their own little thread.

In a few other threads on ZaChat, Katarran engineers from the Rostock were thankfully having productive discussion with Brigand crew like Chief Galina Lebedova and her nibling Valya Lebedova. They were hashing out work and equipment transfer schedules that worked for both crews as well as discussing events candidly in open chat threads. The atmosphere seemed jovial and there was actual verifiable progress being made.

Judging by that alone, Zachikova felt she could declare ZaChat a success.

Soon she could talk to the Captain about opening it up to more users.

Hopefully the sailors would not be too rambunctious–

It dawned upon Zachikova at that point she may have to moderate ZaChat–

She shut her computer off after a wave of stress.

“Arabella.” Zachikova said, sighing. “I’m taking a break. Bite as much as you want.”

Behind her there was a contented little noise.

Arabella drew her closer, pressing their bodies tight.

Once Zachikova felt the teeth start to dig,

and Arabella’s hands snaking down her belly, under her pants, between her legs,

she felt far more relaxed– until the first tight, warm contraction shook her skin.


“Ahh! That’s the end of the day for me– well. Until the fucking night shift anyway.”

“Indeed, gamer– do not so easily forfeit the call that beckon us to the dance of shadows.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.”

It was late in the afternoon and the weapons officers on the Brigand’s bridge were taking their leave for the “day.” They would be back in six hours to attend the “night shift” that was their main assignment during noncombat duty. Until then they had unstructured time to do with as they pleased. Alexandra Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa were meant to use some of this time to catch up on sleep so they could be ready when needed.

However, Alexandra, at least had other plans for today.

She kept them to herself– for now.

“So I got to the part where Ythyria starts looking at the prince– I thought this story was supposed to be lesbian? Like what’s going on there.” Alex asked Fernanda.

“Gamer, oh Gamer– how easily you lose faith upon any confrontation with intricacy! As with any endeavor, tribulation and torment enrich the quintessence of experience!”

Fernanda laughed openly while Alex stared at her as they walked down the halls.

Alexandra Geninov, self-described “sexy biracial chick,” with her light brown skin and messy brown hair tied back in a messy bun; Fernanda Santapena De La Rosa, with her fairer skin and straight blond hair with purple streaks. Blue and brown mismatched eyes alongside bright pink-red irises, the work of lenses; tall and short;  pants uniform and skirt uniform. Their animated chatter filled the halls, Alex’s deeper voice and Fernanda’s nasally tone.

Despite their contrasts, they seemed to always arrive anywhere as a set of two.

Arriving at their shared room, they dropped onto their individual beds and sighed audibly.

“Hey, Fernanda. Before nodding off, can I show you something?” Alex said.

“Is it about video games?” Fernanda said, briefly dropping her pretentious diction.

“Yes. But– before you stop me. It’s a kind of video game you would like.”

“I’ve told you already, that I have played games before– it’s not like I hate them.”

Two sentences without any thee’s or thou’s? A rare undressed Fernanda indeed.

“Okay, then you won’t object will you? For me? Just this once.” Alex said.

“I’m well aware it won’t be ‘just this once’– but sure. I have nothing to do.”

Fernanda sat up in bed. Smiling and laughing, Alex crouched next to her own bed.

From the set of drawers under the frame, Alex pulled out something wrapped in plastic.

She ripped apart the taped-up plastic wrap and unveiled a little beige plastic box.

“What? How did you get a Dendy?” Fernanda asked, staring incredulously at it.

Alex grinned, rubbing a finger over the slightly rough textured plastic on the case.

For now she would not comment on Fernanda being able to spot a Dendy instantly.

“A Dendy II, actually. One of our new allies uncovered this for me.” Alex said.

One of the Volksarmee officers, Chloe Kouri, loved video games and she apparently had something of a knack for infiltrating even crowded Imbrian places and going mostly unnoticed. After discovering this one morning in the Brigand’s cafeteria, Alex got the scheme in mind to see if Chloe could return to the street market and search for a video game console. Through sheer luck the console in question happened to be a Dendy II–

even Chloe did not realize it as she picked it up and brought it back.

Alex did not tell this story out loud– not wanting to try Fernanda’s patience.

It was enough to say that her scheming had paid off, in the familiar beige box in her hands.

Fernanda blinked. “So there was a Dendy in Kreuzung? And you bought it?”

“I also got a few classic Union storytelling games that run on it.” Alex said.

“I am a bit speechless. What the hell was a Dendy doing in Kreuzung?”

“I’m sure there are Imbrian enthusiasts curious about Union gaming.”

“But how would they get access to it? The Union does not have trade with Imbria.”

“Smuggling or something? Who cares– let’s play!”

Alex pulled out a serial cable that was rolled up in a little shelf in the back of the Dendy and found a serial port on the wall to plug it into. She flicked the switch, and in moments, the wall monitor created a window near the pull-out desk in the back of the room. Alex stuck one of the game cards into a slot on the side of the box and pressed a button to lock it. From the front of the Dendy, Alex pulled out two little controllers, with a cross-shaped directional pad and three buttons. She handed one to Fernanda and kept the first one herself.

At first the screen appeared completely black, and then appeared a block-font DENDY logo.

Then, a message from the Union Commissariat of Entertainment stressing that eyes strain, repetitive strain on the hands, headaches, and addiction might result from playing video games too much. The player had to tab through many screens of guidance and informational health material required by the Commissariat of Entertainment specifically for video games. Once this was done, another Commissariat of Entertainment screen urged the player to set an amount of session time, after which the Dendy would automatically save the game progress to battery memory and shut down. Alex set the session time for four hours, which was as long as the Commissariat would allow a single session to stretch.

“We are not playing this for four hours.” Fernanda warned.

“I knooooow.” Alex said. “Relax.”

Fernanda stared at her, sighed and picked up her controller.

They sat on the pull-out chairs near the pull-out desk and watched the screen.

Watching the little crab dig down and down as the game was prepared.

It was the kind of screen that, to a citizen of the sea, screamed– video games!

Perhaps incongruous– perhaps deeply mysterious.

Displayed on the screen, was a true miracle of underwater entertainment, recently arisen.

Each pixel in itself represented the combined efforts of hundreds of years of computing.

Of course, Alex knew all about how video gaming came about.

In order to truly understand “Dendy”, as Alex did–

one had to first understand the “Strata Crab” seen digging so industriously on screen.

Overwhelmingly, small devices in the Imbrium civilizations were thin clients, deferring some or even all of their computing to a vastly powerful supercomputer in their range, either part of a station mainframe or a ship supercomputer. These larger computers were referred to as “Predictive Computers.” True to their name, their primary design function was to assist in underwater navigation, identification and communication through analyzing data and “predicting” environments, trajectories and other partially known conditions with a degree of accuracy. Predictive computers were designed to take many sources of information, acoustic, visual, thermal, electric, and allow ships and stations to see and speak underwater– two things that were far more troubled by the deep than on the surface.

Predictive Computers performed these functions as part of their advanced and highly stable Base Code. This Base Code ran flawlessly in less than seconds and performed incredible computational feats in its specialized functions. Beyond prediction, the Base Code was imbued with a few other useful features. It could store information in databases, accept human language requests for data or analysis, decode acoustic text messages, and compare any number of like things with each other– byproducts of its function to guide humans on their underwater odyssey. However, there was one problem that the Imbrium civilization and, presumably, every other underwater post-surface society stumbled into. They did not understand how the Base Code worked. It was something of a black box.

Presumably, the Base Code had been worked out as a highly advanced form of machine learning, at some point. Predictors were often updated with new data for ordnance and vessels so they could properly identify them. But what the computer did behind the scenes with the data was a mystery– this design remained largely inscrutable to Imbrians.

It was impossible for a human to read the Base Code because there was far too much of it and none of it was legible in Low Imbrian or even High Imbrian– it was inherited from the surface world and went into widespread reproduction after the Age of Strife with the founding of the Nocht Dynasty. Even the scientists and engineers that had survived the Age of Strife had no idea how to actually read Base Code– seemingly, everyone just accepted the Base Code as an immutable part of computing that was inherited from the past.

Much like Agarthicite reactors, the form of the thing could be replicated, but it was not fully understood. Rather it was painstakingly observed to deduce workable interactions.

Base Code was simply copied onto new computers from old ones, making new predictive computers that all had the same functions. Base Code limitations and uses became readily apparent upon observation. It was possible, at times, to get a predictive computer to spit out a breakdown of a base code function through direct querying, but the predictive computer’s own understanding of base code functions was found to be utterly false.

Direct querying became a technical process of its own. Predictive Computers could be asked in various ways to attempt to do things outside of their known stated functions. Results would vary widely. Predictive Computers processed human language querying in bizarre ways, only answering consistently to known functions of the Base Code. A bad query would simply return false information or pretend to be doing something while doing absolutely nothing. This led to the widespread belief in the unreliability and inaccuracy of predictive computing. However, one miraculous function that was discovered was the ability to run subordinate instructions. This allowed the “Base Code” to be expanded through grueling trial and error with the foundations of civilian computing, “Strata Code.” Strata Code was, as its name suggested, piled atop Base Code in a variety of troubled ways.

When Braya Zachikova coded, or Alex Geninov played video games, or Homa Baumann read books on a portable computer, they were interacting primarily with features of Strata Code– these were the Programs most legible and understood to them, built on top of “Strata Functions” that were discovered to work through the expansion function of Base Code. Code that was not itself Base Code but was understood by the Predictor Computer. Knowledge of working Strata had been uncovered throughout the run of the A.D. years.

Therefore one arrived at the venerable “Strata Crab.”

There was a popular illustration of how computers worked in the Imbrium, known as the “Strata Crab.” The Crab was a program that wanted to do something, and its intended functionality was a tasty worm hiding somewhere beneath the sand. However many layers of sand, and the trajectory of the crab, illustrated the layered execution of Strata Code. There were several layers of cruft the Crab had to dig through to find its meal. A Program hit all of the working strata code in the right succession– dug through the layers correctly– to ultimately execute correctly. Of course, this was a simplification that also obscured the fact that a program, or crab, could also itself dump more sand on top– new Strata Code.

Or that most modern Strata Code was executed by flavors of “Silt Code” written in different, simpler programming languages developed over time that varied quite widely.

And so, on screens everywhere, the crab could be seen to dig, loading complex programs.

For those still following along with the history, the worm was in sight– video games.

One of the things Base Code could do was generate graphics. One of the things it did poorly was generate new graphics on command, rather than synthesizing environment graphics from natural sources. Strata Code was eventually invented to provide a graphical display layer for more things than just dataset text or predictive imaging graphics from sonar or LADAR data. However, this code ran devastatingly poorly at first. In addition it was difficult to eke out more performance from supercomputer hardware without impacting its ability to perform Base Code. Owing to a variety of economic, political and social reasons, the Imbrium did not put any of its engineering prowess behind the development of accessible computing or code execution for a very long time. But ultimately, enterprising generations of Imbrium engineers embarked on the creation of ancillary hardware, such as the various thin clients, which were in some ways more sophisticated units than the supercomputers– because they assisted in the running of feature-rich Strata Code.

Thus, the stage of history led inexorably to the video game console.

An ancillary piece of hardware specialized in innovative video game code and associated strata functions, to a degree previously thought impossible. Creating new, rich content experiences for civilians. Not simulations of military hardware, nor the realistic machine graphics used by films, but a brand new form of entertainment all its own. Beautiful, state of the art sprite characters easily generated by small devices, which could be moved on command by the players using various inputs. This allowed the setting of challenges for the player to overcome, the creation of stories for the player to experience and highly stylized characters some might have even considered more beautiful than life.

And it all began, with the hopelessly inscrutable Base Code, and the humble Strata Crab.

As for the Dendy itself– it was a somewhat sloppily reverse-engineered form of an Imbrian video game device that Alex Geninov played as a teenager in the Union during the Ahwalia years, where civilian entertainment products had a boom. That it ended up back in the Imbrium ocean where Imbrian video game enthusiasts became fascinated with this strange foreign device and its games, perhaps said something profound about society.

Or perhaps about Katarran smuggling predilections.

“I already have a headache.” Fernanda groaned.

“Huh? We haven’t even gotten to the title screen.” Alex said.

“I feel like just turning this thing on is radiating tedium.” Fernanda replied.

“I don’t get you. Just hush, you’ll love it when it actually starts.” Alex said.

On the screen, several progress bars appeared, and a graphic of a little crab digging.

Building pixel stores– compiling silt codes– pre-organizing post-routines–

Finally the title screen appeared: “The Solstice War.”

There was a young woman in a military uniform, looking through the glass of a digital porthole at a sphere of annihilation going off in the distance from a destroyed imperial ship. Everything was rendered in gorgeous 12-bit color 2D graphics. Sophisticated and stylized designs lent a certain beauty and attractiveness to the characters and made excellent aesthetic use of the color restrictions. Such was its style that gamers throughout the Union had fallen in love with the brooding, handsome, and charmingly autistic protagonist of the game, whose default name “Madiha” was used to represent her in various fanfictions and fanarts, erotic fancomics and even in small tribute fangames continuing her story.

Alex renamed the character upon starting a new game, to, of course, “Alex.”

“Why am I even here, gamer?” Fernanda grumbled.

“You haven’t played this one? I thought I’d get you to admit you had.”

“I have only read the erotic comics and fanfictions of it.”

“There’s a second player. You can name her after yourself.”

Alex pressed one of the buttons to move to the next screen.

Fernanda turned a bit red. She must have known what this entailed.

That second player had the default name “Parinita”– “Madiha’s” love interest.

Nevertheless, she did as she was instructed, renaming her to “Færn.”

Alex stared at the odd spelling. “Wait– is that like your–”

“Just get on with the game.” Fernanda warned.

At first blush, “The Solstice War” seemed like any standard “dungeon” game.

There was a protagonist and a supporting party member, they had parameters that determined the success and failure of certain challenges, they had items to collect. Maps of locations were presented to the player with “nodes” to which they could travel– these would then expand into “screens” of the dungeon that players could interact with in greater detail. There were battles, talking to NPCs, and puzzles to solve, either with logic, collected tools, or keys or other knickknacks uncovered along the way. Both Player 1 and Player 2 were asked to make decisions and could even separate, splitting the screen in half.

But “the Solstice War” was not known as a “dungeon” game, but a “storytelling” game.

Many challenges could be skipped with a careful eye to the character’s personalities and predilections. Charisma was the most powerful parameter, and a keen understanding of the magic spells, called “tactics” due to the game’s militaristic flavor, could enable the player to sidestep many difficulties. There were hundreds of thousands of lines of text to enrich the story and characters. Developing the love story between Player 1 and Player 2 was one of the game’s joys. Players 1 and 2 were sometimes asked to talk about each other.

Combat was there for those who desired it, but it was not strictly necessary.

This was all quite unlike “dungeon” games, known for their violence and treasure.

A collaborative storytelling experience about a romantic story.

Even across just the first hour of the game, Fernanda seemed to arrive at a burgeoning understanding of what made it special and unique among video games. Alex, who had played the game before, led Fernanda down a path that was richer in stories. She was gripped from the first scene, where “Alex” executed the corrupt military commander who had been verbally abusing “Færn” and blaming her for the many inefficiencies of the outpost. Just as “Færn” was stricken at first sight by the melancholy beauty of “Alex”, Fernanda herself realized they were written as tragic lovers and her face began to light up.

In the next scenes, the two navigated an attack by an Imperial force that outgunned and outnumbered the characters’ and the outpost’s forces. But through their bond, and timely decision-making, as well as “Alex” uncovering her hidden powers, they turned back the tide and bought the Union precious time. There would be more tribulations to come.

So began a story of war, conspiracy, betrayal, and sapphic love.

“Gamer. I hardly knew you had it in you, to appreciate culture like this.”

Alex grinned. “So what do you think of video games, huh? They’re an artform aren’t they?”

Fernanda grumbled. “Hmph! I never said I hated all video games! Don’t act so smug.”

It was not all rosy– some systems and solutions were a bit inscrutable.

Dialog was sometimes very convoluted. Fernanda loved this, Alex not so much.

And the audio was not great– especially on an old, well-traveled Dendy like this.

Room computers and wall-windows were not the best interfaces either.

Without a dedicated “gaming monitor” the fullest beauty of the graphics was lost.

However, by the second hour, the two were practically leaning against each other.

Unaware of their proximity due to how engrossed they had become in their roles.

Talking like one was Madiha and the other Parinita, working through the various challenges– and Alex pretending not to know the solutions, gleefully roleplaying along and letting Fernanda take the lead on what objects to interact with, who to talk to, what conversation strategies to use, what fights to pick and how to succeed. Though they would eventually have to go to sleep to get ready for their shift, Alex felt quite elated.

By the time they shut off the Dendy, Fernanda had Alex promise they would play again.


“Ah! I haven’t had such a good workout in forever! It’s nice to be back to the routine!”

“Hm. I guess it’s nice when the gym is kind of empty too. Though– it could be emptier.”

“Hey. You wound me. I spotted for you and everything.”

“Yeah you were a great help, and you had an amazing vantage point on my tits I bet.”

“Again, your sarcasm wounds me. Ascribing such impure motives.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I don’t actually care anyway. Take a gander as long as you like.”

Aside from the two figures in conversation, the Brigand’s gym was completely empty.

Just past the social area of the Brigand, also nearly empty at peak working hours, was the gym, a vital part of the operation. Everyone got a chance to use it if they liked, and everyone was encouraged to. Physical activity was important to keep a healthy body and mind on the ship and to pass the time healthily. To that end there was something for everyone. Running machines, staircase machines, and stationary bikes were popular. There were of course weights of all sizes, and racks for climbing and pull-ups; punching bags, a small sparring arena with a padded floor; and even a ten meter long range with adjustable targets for archery or air-guns. A dispenser for electrolyte-rich bottled drinks in two different flavors, stationed near the door, reminded everyone to keep hydrated as they worked.

Standing near the exercise machines, pilots Sameera Al-Shahouh Raisanen-Morningsun and Dominika Rybolovskaya stretched their arms and legs on top of padded plastic mats. They had just gotten done with their daily workouts. Not all pilots took exercise as seriously as they did, so they were often seen together at the gym even when it was nearly empty otherwise. This happened enough Sameera had begun to notice Dominika’s preferences– she was drawn to the archery range, the stair climb and the weights. Sameera in turn loved to push the exercise bike hard, and then she took out a lot of steam on the punching bag. She thought that perhaps Dominika was just more meticulous than her.

Lately, she thought a lot of things about Dominika.

Under the glow of the yellow sunlamps and the white LEDs, Dominika’s pink skin glistened with sweat as she stood to full height from stretching her legs. She went still for a moment, catching her breath, staring down at the floor in her shorts and sports bra. So lightly dressed, more of the chromatophores on her body were exposed, small bumps on her skin that glowed gently. They ran down her chest, on her hips, her back. Interspersed within her long red and brown hair were black-striped, fleshy strands dimly glowing.

And her eyes– bright pink with a blue limbal ring. Absolutely captivating.

They met, Sameera’s admiring gaze and Dominika’s narrow-eyed look of disdain.

Rather than scold her, Dominika sighed and turned around.

“You’re catching a shower too, aren’t you? Come on.” Dominika said.

Sameera was quite sweaty herself. Even the fur on her ears and tail was moist.

She smiled and followed behind Dominika.

To their shared surprise, the Brigand’s shower room was also pretty empty.

Dominika quickly threw off her sports bra and pulled down her shorts. She started walking toward the showers without acknowledging Sameera. Behind her, Sameera disrobed a bit slower. Dominika was so thin and lean and her figure almost nymph-like that she could not help but watch as she left her side. That she was a head taller than Dominika was a fact that buzzed around in her brain infrequently, and always ended up somewhere else.

After a truly laborious removal of her own sports bra and shorts, Sameera followed her to the showers. She sat next to her, set the temperature and dispersion of the showerhead, and relaxed as cool water crashed over her head. Two backs to the wall, smiling with relief as the sweat washed off them. Sameera undid her ponytail, and her long, wild brown hair fell over the sides of her and down her back. Her tail splashed on the water. There were no sounds but the running water and no smell but the shampoo and soap dispensers.

“Nika.”

“Sameera.”

Sameera laughed. “I heard there’s some kind of social function going on tonight.”

“You want to take me out on a date.” Dominika said. She shrugged. “We’re just on the ship it’s not like it’s anything special. So whatever– I’ll go with you. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Sameera wagged her tail excitedly.

“What’s with you?” Dominika asked with evident, narrow-eyed disdain and skepticism.

“What are you asking?” Sameera replied, acting dumb.

“I mean–” Dominika reached behind herself and switched the water from falling in a mostly uniform stream to widely dispersed pattern. “I had fun on our date in Kreuzung, but if you think I’ve fallen in love with you or something– I’m not so easily impressed. You can’t just act like it’s a given I’m letting you have me. You’re not so charming that you can just–”

“Oh? You want to be pursued more aggressively then?”

Sameera practically sprang. Cornering Dominika under her showerhead.

One arm on the wall, another on the floor, their faces centimeters from each other.

Eye to eye, nearly nose to nose. Dominika lying back against the wall. Sameera atop.

Locked eyes, a bigger body, a hunger in her eyes and mischief on her face.

Sameera inched forward and took Dominika’s lips into a kiss.

Tasting her briefly, feeling her out, tentative but energetic–

At no point did Dominika struggled or kick her off.

Encouraged, Sameera slipped her tongue past Dominika’s teeth.

Raising a hand to hold Dominika’s cheek, closing her eyes, kissing her with ardor.

She had demonstrated her intent.

Approached, played, savored– and stepped back.

Smiling with the width of a finger between herself and Dominika.

“Was that more impressive?” Sameera asked.

Dominika averted her gaze, keeping a neutral expression.

“Only– a little– playboy.” She said, struggling to catch her breathe.

Never had such critical words made Sameera so contented.

She winked and got off of Dominika and sat next to her again, laughing.

“At least I know the right direction to take!” Sameera laughed.

Dominika grunted, but smiled just a little.

As much as Sameera liked when Dominika played hard to get, reciprocity was far sweeter.

In the shower, Sameera’s hand laid over Dominika’s hand and was not refused.


Having sailed for months by now, the Brigand’s crew was used to the rhythm of daily activity and they had gained some confidence in their response times should an alarm sound. Union ships valued a balance of readiness and morale. Because the crew had been through so much recently, Captain Korabiskaya had the idea to stage a screening of a film so everyone could get together, relax and have some communal fun for a few hours after work.

She left the decision of what film to show–

To First Officer Murati Nakara. Whose eyes drew quite wide upon hearing the news.

“I– this is– this is a bit sudden.” Murati said.

“Just look at the ship library and see what interests you, Murati!” Ulyana said cheerfully.

“You need to get used to making command decisions again.” Aaliyah said bluntly.

Murati blinked. “I’ve– I’ve been making decisions– I’ve been working hard–”

Even she knew this was not exactly the case. Certainly, Murati had not been doing nothing this whole time. She had been in important meetings. She had delegated a few tasks to her own subordinates. She had gone over Diver combat data working with Valya, and wrangled Aatto– but she had also been writing her book an awful lot handn’t she?

And mostly posting a lot on ZaChat the past day–

Neither of her superiors would have it– Murati had a command decision delegated to her.

“Just pick something, Murati. We’ll show it tonight. It’ll be fine, pick anything.”

“No, Captain! Murati, don’t just pick anything. Pick something that will improve morale.”

Two pats on the back was all she got after that. Murati was left to make the decision.

A few minutes later, she had made her way further to the back of the ship.

Walking stiffly and with a clearly troubled expression.

Crossing the door into her wife’s laboratory.

“Hubby! You’ve come to visit! I haven’t seen you in days!”

Karuniya Maharapratham called out in a sweet voice and clapped her hands together.

“You see me every day.” Murati mumbled this so as to be just barely audible.

“So what has dragged you away from your book, to see your boring old ball and chain?”

“Karu– please– I’m not that bad to you am I–?”

Eventually Karuniya stopped teasing Murati and invited her to a desk around the back of the tree. They sat together and Murati confided her predicament to her wife. It was not necessarily that Murati did not know any films. She had seen films, played video games– she had experienced entertainment. However, none of those things were her first choice for distractions. She was much more of a reader. What movies did sailors enjoy?

Weren’t they rowdy and rambunctious? She had always been cloistered among officers.

“I’m so glad you confided in me, Murati.” Karuniya said. “Your salvation is here.”

She raised an index finger pointedly and winked at Murati.

“Are you a film fan Karu? I really had no idea. We always went to restaurants or concerts.”

Karuniya crossed her arms, and smiled with great confidence.

“I am not an expert. But I can make trivial decisions without thinking about them so much.”

Murati raised a hand over her face. “Karu– Come on– This is serious here–”

“I don’t understand why you are soooo anxious, Murati.” Karuniya said, giggling.

“This is a command decision Karuniya! Captain Korabiskaya and Commissar Aaliyah must be wondering if I can handle the burdens of a commissioned officer and judging whether I can be promoted. I let my guard down and kept working on my book and testing Zachikova’s program, and now this. This can’t be something trivial– they are testing me.”

Karuniya stared at her for a moment, laid a hand over her mouth and stifled a laugh.

“Murati, you really are so cute. I’m so glad I have you wrapped around my finger.”

In turn, her hubby met her eyes with a helpless expression.

That was what it took for her to realize she was being just a bit ridiculous.

“I’m glad you think so, though I object to this characterization.” Murati said, sighing.

Karuniya reached out and squeezed Murati’s hand for comfort.

“I’ll look at the media library with you, and we will pick a movie together.”

“I’ve only got a few hours to pick something. It’s going on tonight. It’s just so sudden.”

“It’ll be fun! Just don’t take it so seriously. Between the two of us, we’ll find something.”

Silently, Murati thanked Karuniya so much for deflating all the tension in her chest.

Taking up a chair next to Murati, Karuniya brought a portable computer for both to use. She accessed the Brigand’s onboard media library, which served the books, music, comics, art collections, programs and films that were approved by the Union Navy. With a few taps of Karu’s slender fingers, she brought up the library of films. There were hundreds of films to choose from. A few independent or classic Imbrian films with “appropriate ideological content” were canonized as part of the Union’s “film history.” But the Union also had a film culture that had produced a few hundred films in the nation’s twenty year existence. There was movie-making going on even during the Revolution.

As soon as there had been a Union, there had also been Union film-making.

Everything from comedies to dramas, romances, morality plays, action stories, and propaganda pieces. They could sort the media library based on a lot of criteria, like the year and the genre, but they looked through everything just to see what was on offer. Karuniya arrived at a good suggestion as they scrolled through. She figured that sailors would appreciate a good comedy. Everyone could use a laugh, and even the cheapest jokes could draw one out, but not all people had a taste for romantic films or dramas.

“That is a very good point. Narrows it down, but it’s still so much.” Murati said.

Karuniya tipped her head closer to Murati, leaning into her while showing her the films.

“Oh, look at this one. A comedy about a ne’er-do-well father-in-law ending up being cared for by his son and the son’s newlywed bride. Sounds like universally-beloved shenanigans!”

“I don’t know that I want to sit and think about these particular themes for an entire night.”

“Huh? But your taste shouldn’t matter– well, look here! There’s a raunchy sex comedy!”

“The Commissar would absolutely object to this! I don’t even know how that got in there.”

“It’s there because we’re all adults who fuck, Murati. Jeez– okay, how about this?”

“A comedy about an Imperial falling into a coma and waking up in the Union during the early years of the Jayasankar regime, experiencing culture shock–? I don’t know. I think we have enough culture shock right now. We want them to take their minds off things right?”

“How is it you’re being this sensitive? They’re sailors–! Oh! Look at this one!”

Karuniya pointed her finger at a movie called “Supply Ship Groza.”

Physical comedy taking place in an inter-station supply ship. It seemed light-hearted.

“Karu, I think this might be the one!” Murati smiled.

Suddenly, she put an arm around Karuniya, pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thank you! This is perfect. I’ll send this to Semyonova. She’ll help set up the projection.”

Karuniya rubbed up against Murati with a placid little smile.

“You’re welcome. But I require a reward for my services.” She said mischievously.

“Oh?”

“First, you’re going to take me to the movie tonight.”

Then, Karuniya raised a hand to Murati’s cheek and drew her in for a deeper kiss.

It was a quick embrace– but her tongue crossed Murati’s lips in its span.

When Karuniya drew back she looked Murati in the eyes.

“Second, you’re going to do more than kiss me after the movie.”

That coquettish grin on her face said it all.

Murati felt the tensions of mere minutes ago wholly leave her body.

To be replaced by other, more electric sensations.

“You know I can’t ever say no to that face. I’m all yours, Karu.”


Semyonova announced the movie night on every screen in the Brigand, so everyone was instantly made aware of it. It came as a pleasant surprise with immediate effect. There was a burst of excitement from all corners, slightly deflated when a clarifying announcement was issued that there would not be liquor rations. Still, the mood was electric, with everyone in the halls wondering what movie would be shown and looking forward to it.

Homa Baumann was not planning to go watch the movie.

She had woken up in the afternoon and had her wholly vegetarian dinner and felt off.

From the operating table in Dr. Kappel’s office, she was back in the infirmary.

Waiting.

“Sorry Homa! I got pulled aside to take care of the bridge for a bit!”

Through the door into the infirmary, Kalika Loukia reappeared with a bag in hand.

Homa stared at her with an unfriendly expression.

“Was I gone that long?” Kalika asked.

Homa sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care.” She raised her voice, almost without meaning to.

Kalika smiled. “I hoped the prosthetics would cheer you up a bit– I understand though.”

She unzipped the bag and laid some clothes on the bed where Homa was seated.

There was a sleeveless white button-down shirt, a teal half-length jacket with long sleeves, a pair of pants and a skirt both of which were black, a set of white underwear, a green tie, and a pair of shoes. This was the uniform she had seen most people on the ship wearing. Everything was cheaply synthestitched, and the shoes especially looked a bit formless and unappealing. Homa would have to ask if they could give her work boots back.

“I’m not wearing a tie. Can they synthestitch me some casual clothes?” Homa grumbled.

“No~” Kalika bent down a bit and flicked Homa’s nose gently.

For a moment, that little teasing brush felt almost scandalous. Could she do that?

It was the momentary outrage that gave Homa some perspective on her own behavior.

Still– she was not able to fully control herself. Her tone of voice remained a bit elevated.

“Ugh. I get it– I’m being a brat. I’ll just– I’ll just shut up then!” Homa said.

Kalika remained bent forward in front of Homa and leaned even closer.

Speaking almost nose to nose with Homa’s face. A small smile on her red lips.

“I’ve told you, I understand you’re frustrated. I’m not going to ask you to pretend everything is fine. But I also am not giving carte blanche for you to yell at me all day. Let’s cool it a bit. Take a deep breath.” Kalika looked at Homa expectantly. “Deep breath, Homa.”

With Kalika right in front of her face, she could not refuse.

Homa drew in a deep breath.

Then she let it out.

There was nowhere for it to go so she practically blew right into Kalika’s face.

Kalika did not look bothered by it. She looked more content than before.

“Feel any better?”

“No?”

Her head and chest felt a bit less tight and knotted after she let the air out.

But she did not want Kalika to be right.

So she denied anything changed.

“Alright.” Kalika drew back from Homa and gestured to the clothes. “Pants or skirt?”

“That’s actually a really hard decision for me.” Homa said.

“It’s not a final decision, though. You can always wear one or the other.” Kalika said.

“I don’t know, Kalika. Do I look like I should be wearing a skirt?”

“You would look lovely in a skirt. Take it from a real fashionista.”

Homa’s ears folded against her head. She averted her gaze.

“No offense– I’ll just take the pants for now.”

“None taken. Would you like to dress yourself, or would you like my help?”

“I’ll do it.”

Kalika turned her back to Homa. “I can whip right back whenever you want me to.”

They had already seen each other completely naked before, but Homa appreciated Kalika having discretion nevertheless. If she struggled with dressing herself, Homa did not want someone staring at her and trying to gauge whether to jump in to save her or not. That would have made her furious. It made her a lot less self-conscious about relying on Kalika to assist if she could choose at any time when to cut her out or let her in.

Homa reached the end of her hospital gown.

Her biological fingers, and the fingers of her mechanical hand, closed around the hem.

She pulled it up and off of her body. As natural as breathing.

Nothing odd happened.

So far the prosthetic was responding fine.

Homa grabbed the synthetic brassiere, put her arms through.

Reached behind her back.

Her mechanical fingers dropped the clips a few times. It was a tiny bit frustrating.

Nevertheless, with time, her quite modest breasts were quite modestly covered up.

Similar to the brassier clips, it was a bit of a challenge to button up the shirt. Holding really small things in her hands and manipulating them precisely was strange. Her fingers on the prosthetics would drop and slip over the buttons, and even if she tried to switch the hand she was using, it was tough to hold the fabric around the button-hole open. Her hand was just so much clumsier than she was used to, and she could not feel it, no touch, no smoothness of synthcloth nor the roughness of the hard button.

Just as with the brassiere, however, the shirt was buttoned up in due time.

Homa clenched her jaw and let out a low hiss.

With the shirt on, she put on the panties and the black pants she had been given.

No problems with those. Everything fit fine and the efforts to put them on were simple.

Finally, she slipped the shoes right on. Cheap shoes like these just fit like a thick sock.

“I’m done.” Homa said.

Kalika turned around. She clapped her hands. “Look at this handsome young lady!”

“C’mon.”

“You really were serious about the tie huh? Don’t you want to look really professional?”

“Not interested.”

“Fair enough.” Kalika held out her hands.

Homa looked at them for a moment before raising her own arms and taking them.

Entwining her fingers and Kalika’s own. Kalika gently urged Homa stand.

To get her legs off the bed, Homa turned sideways.

She set her prosthetic leg on the floor first. Shifted her weight on it, tested its strength.

Everything seemed firm but–

For a moment, as she made the effort to stand, she could feel the flesh weighing on metal.

There was an uncomfortably cold sensation because of this.

Alarming as it was at first, Homa choked the feelings down, and made to stand straight.

Kalika held her hands tightly, supporting her.

“Do you want to try taking a step?”

Homa nodded her head. She lifted her prosthetic leg, inched forward, set it down.

Again she felt that cold sensation where the metal met flesh, but it was not as bad as before.

However, as soon as she set her foot down, she felt her weight slide a bit.

Kalika steadied her as she stepped back herself.

She cooed to Homa as they walked. One solid step; one clumsy step; one solid step.

“Good, good. Take it easy, one step at a time.”

“Okay.”

“Everything in the world worth doing can be done one step at a time.”

“I don’t need your amateur therapy during all this.”

“One step at a time, and you’ll be less grouchy in no time.”

Kalika laughed a little. Homa grumbled.

She held that hand tight however, felt Kalika’s own steel fingers with her own flesh.

Mirrored her steps, relied on her guidance, leaned into her when near falling.

For a moment, holding Kalika’s hands and walking step by step, almost with grace–

It almost felt like dancing, which Homa had never really done. But she had read about it.

Seen it in films; fantasized about it, maybe, once or twice. Dancing with someone nice.

Homa was not some hero, she chastised herself.

Kalika was not her storybook princess.

But–

it made it easier, and feel better, to think of the infirmary as a grand ballroom.

Her fingers closed tighter around Kalika’s hand.

She met her eyes more closely than before.

Step, by step.

Their little clumsy storybook dance down the aisle across from the beds.

It made Homa feel a little bit more whole than she was before.

Her steel walls and the plastic smell, took on color, took on a floral scent, took on grandeur.

“See? You’re doing great. Soon you won’t need to hold anyone’s hand.”

A chill ran down Homa’s back that she would not admit.

Because she immediately thought–

“I still want to hold your hand.”

She did not say this out loud. She did not want to admit it. She felt ashamed of it.

Such feelings were useless to hold for someone who only pitied her.

And Homa had already been hurt a few times by allowing herself such vulnerability.

Nevertheless. Nevertheless. Nevertheless.


“Sonya’s taking me out to a movie! I could turn gold with happiness!”

“What ‘taking you out’? It takes minutes to walk down from my room–”

“Sonya’s taking me out~ Sonya’s taking me out~”

Shalikova looked at Maryam bobbing her head happily and simply smiled.

They walked down the hall holding hands, toward the social area.

Game tables, couches and other furniture were moved or folded into the floor. Chairs were set up for the movie watchers; there was not enough space for everyone so a similar arrangement was made in the middle of the hangar so more would get a chance to join a movie-watching party. Dispensers for pickles, bread, broth and watered-down juice were moved from the cafeteria to the social pod and hangar to give everyone easier access to snacks. On the stage a black rectangle appeared on the wall to demonstrate where the film would be displayed from. As Shalikova and Maryam approached and took a seat at the back row of chairs, there were already dozens of people seated and chatting lively.

There was a lot of curiosity, since the film to be shown was kept secret.

“Sonya, I bet you’ve seen so many movies.” Maryam said.

“Not a lot actually.” Shalikova said. “I preferred the arcade when I was bored.”

“Oh right! You did say you were the ‘terror of the tables’!” Maryam said.

“Not so loud.” Shalikova whispered. “But yes I played a lot of table games back when I was in school. Pool, and table hockey and tennis and all that. All the student lounges had a bunch. Solstice had nice arcades too. I liked going around town looking for them. You could wander off in any direction and find lounges and games. Theaters were a bit less prevalent.”

“I haven’t seen very many movies.” Maryam said. “Do you not like them, Sonya?”

She must have noticed Shalikova’s sour expression as she waited for the movie to start.

“No, it’s just– theaters are really crowded. With pool or whatever it was just a few guys.”

And just like a theater, the social pod was now quite crowded.

Shalikova endured it for Maryam’s sake, however.

It was very difficult to infect Shalikova with enthusiasm, but Maryam was so happy that she could not help herself but to crack a little smile. Watching her on the edge of her seat, hands on her lap, staring at the screen with stars in her w-shaped eyes. Bobbing her head with enthusiasm and waiting for the scenes to fill with color. Maryam had been through so much– and she was on this damn ship now going through even more tribulations.

She deserved a moment of excitement and levity.

To be taken care of and made to smile.

Everyone on the ship deserved it, really. These were the moments they worked hard for.

So when the lights dimmed, and the screen lit up with the film and everyone clapped–

Shalikova reached out and squeezed Maryam’s hand in the dark, for her own happiness.


Movie night came and went, with applause, laughs and a brief respite.

“Supply Ship Groza” became a new favorite among the sailors. Around the halls and hangar they could be heard quoting the jokes at each other, and calling each other Mykolas, after the clumsy protagonist. Having a social function was good change of pace. For everyone, they spent some cherished time shoulder to shoulder, but the work, as always, continued. It was a new day, the Brigand and Rostock were ever closer to Aachen.

It was busy again, and might soon get even busier.

Officers led a different life, however.

On that morning, Murati stood outside of the brig.

She was quite happy with last night. But the task in front of her was a daunting one.

Once the door opened– out walked the task. In full Treasure Box Transports uniform.

Bushy brown tail swinging behind her, now coming out of black uniform pants. Her brown hair tied into a very professional ponytail, a garrison cap between her tall ears. Shirt buttoned up completely this time, a brand new jacket in freshly synthestitched teal. Afforded a ration of makeup she had used to doll herself up quite presentably.

An almost comically saccharine smile on her face upon seeing Murati.

“Chief Petty Officer Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather! Reporting for adjutant duties!”

Murati could hardly believe these were words she had to hear.

“How do I look master? It’s such a cute uniform. A very clever disguise.”

“I told you not to call me ‘Master’. How many times do I have to say it?”

“But it befits your great stature and the profound respect I have for you!”

In fact, Aatto had made out like a bandit.

Normally, defectors were viewed as something of a burden to their new country. They probably had a limited amount of intelligence, and limited military utility. Under normal circumstances, unless it was a Katarran mercenary with a crew, a defector was unlikely to be allowed to keep their military rank, or join the host nation’s military. Defectors were usually just a small influx of specific intelligence, and a moral victory for the host.

Because of the Brigand’s unique situation, however, Aatto was getting golden treatment. The Brigand had to be open to defectors as a way to acquire manpower. She had actually been advanced a rank– in the Volkisch, she would now be a Scharführer instead of a Rottenführer. Special assignment adjutants to commissioned officers could not be entry-level Petty Officers. Delegating work to someone with minimal clearance who lacked the rank even to organize the specialists was a waste of everyone’s time, so Aatto had to have a senior non-commission rank. If it worked out with Aatto, raising the Brigand’s practical skeleton crew of officers by one was a significant boon to acquire.

Of course, it might not work out with Aatto. She was a former Volkisch after all.

“We are not going to have a big fight about this. It’s decided. She’s your responsibility, Murati.” The Commissar had said. “I believe you when you say she wants to turn over a new leaf. The Captain and I had this conversation prior– we can’t refuse even Volkisch defectors at this point, and you could use somebody to assist you. But you can consider this a test of your judgment. We are trusting you, not just her; and if she burns us, it’s on you.”

Murati could be putting everyone at risk, and even moreso, her chances for a promotion.

With a sigh, she turned over a portable computer to Aatto.

She then set her shoulders, took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the Loup.

Taking one step into her personal space and standing taller than her counterpart.

“This is yours because it is crucial to your work. It’s disconnected from the network and contains all the data your clearance allows plus some educational products. For now, you will work off this device and if you need anything not on it, you will request it through me. Prove to me that you are reliable and trustworthy and you can get access to the network. Just know and understand this, with great specificity, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather: if you scheme against or betray us, I’ll follow you to the ends of Aer to tear you limb from limb!”

Murati jabbed her finger into Aatto’s chest, frustration clearly spilling out of her.

She had hoped to sound commanding and intimidating, but lost control to her passions.

Her speech had an effect, however.

Aatto’s eyes drew wider, her grin more twisted, smoldering with a bizarre euphoria.

She clutched the portable computer to her chest, her entire body shaking.

“There it is! That grand and dominating power dormant within you–! Such radiance–!”

“I’m being serious!” Murati shouted back at her.

“Of course– of course–” Aatto’s breathing became briefly troubled. “I live only to support you and witness your deeds! I will absolutely, without a doubt, employ every part of this body in most excellent service! Master, what ordeals will you subject me to today?”

Why did she sound so happy to be subjected to ordeals?!

Just as Murati struggled to think of a reprimand Aatto would not somehow enjoy–

There was a voice, low but with an undertone of distress, coming from all directions.

Accompanied by flashing red lights from high on every wall.

It hardly had to be said– before she understood the voice Murati felt she already knew.

“Alert Semyon! Alert Semyon! All personnel shift immediately to duty Semyon!”

Fatima al-Suhar was sounding an alert from the sonar station on the bridge.

One that they had heard a few times already– alert Semyon meant combat stations.

“Master, is this a combat alert?” Aatto asked with vivid excitement in her voice.

There was no time to try to correct her bizarre fascinations.

Once again the currents were sending sharp steel the Brigand’s way.

Murati and the rest of the crew would have to hurry to meet it, for all they held dear.


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.3]

Gefreiter— what is the fate of the Loup? Tell me– what you’ve forsaken.”

In the shadow of the Patriarch, standing raised upon the church stage, a great gold sun disc hanging on the wall at his back– there was a girl in her blue sailor uniform, ears folded, tail held straight and alert. Around them the church was like a suffocating cage of hard-edged shadows cut only by candles and torches on the stage. A red gleam exposed the severe expression of the Patriarch from around his long hair and thick beard.

“Answer me, Gefreiter— what is the fate of the Loup? Do you know better than God?”

She knew the answer she would not speak.

Just as he knew her name and would not use it.

Loup were born into servitude.

Servitude to God, through worship; Servitude to the state, through following of the rightful authorities; Servitude to the Family, and to the Father above all. God, the King, the Father of his House, they were all tiered delineations of the same principal figure of absolute power and respect. Loup valued order, authority, and were born to defend both.

“Salvation is a grueling process.” Said the Patriarch. “It begins, it continues, it never ends, until the Sun finally shines upon you and takes you into the firmament. Salvation requires baptism, its beginning; then it requires supplication and worship, to sustain it. Loup, Gefreiter, are a people of great humility and supplication. Our virtue is to toil in life so we can smile in heaven. But look at you; an apostate under my roof. You wear the uniform of a state you betrayed; given life by a God you swear against; and so you wear the skin of a people you reject! You spit on everything that we are. You humiliated us; humiliated me. ”

“She was my mother.” The Gefreiter finally spoke. “She was your wife!”

Tears formed in her eyes. She cast a helpless, wavering gaze up at the looming Patriarch.

“You were supposed to protect her! You speak of my betrayal; you betrayed her!”

From the stage a swift kick struck the girl in the neck and knocked her on her back.

“Silence! You are truly her child! You hellspawn! I ought to split your skull open!”

“That’s enough Gregor. Or you will meet the same fate to which you consigned your wife.”

White light cut across the center of the red streaked darkness of the church.

Casting the Patriarch into the long shadow of another man much like him, approaching.

Dressed in a black and gold uniform, a tall hat. On his ears and tail, the fur deeply grayed.

At his side was a younger woman in a similar attire, swarthy-skinned and dark-haired.

The two Inquisitors approached the church stage to shield the girl from the Patriarch.

When the girl reached the side of the Gefreiter she made to assist her–

“No, Gertrude. Not yet.” Warned the older man. He turned to face the Patriarch.

“Samoylovych. The southern heretic.” Said the Patriarch, disdain ample in his voice.

“Gregor.” High Inquisitor Samoylovych replied. “I’ve come to reclaim Imbrian property. That’s how you see us, isn’t it? I am appalled with you. I cannot stop the Council of Officers from enabling zealots like you; but Aatto is completely innocent. She was not in league with anyone, nor plotting anything; she is just a scared girl witnessing the destruction of her family. You cannot charge her with capital crime as you see fit. Even in the Host.”

Never once did the Patriarch cede from his position. His tail swayed gently behind him.

He was not rattled by the words of the High Inquisitor. In his eyes there was only zeal.

“I have done nothing in my life out of convenience.” The Patriarch said. “I have only ever done what was required of me by God or country. To have brought a child into the world with a liberal and a blasphemer and traitor, is a shame to me, a shame to my country and a shame to the Church; and I have done my duty in setting it right. I was tested; I stood with God.”

“And what? You will murder your daughter for God? Is that in the Revealed Truths?”

“Salvation is a grueling process.” The Patriarch said. “None of us can escape the Destiny that God sees in the instant of our birth, Samoylovych. That is why we must submit to the church and the Revealed Truth and set aside our hubris. Leniency nurtured vipers in my home. You ask what I will do? I will repent until my death; and remain devoted to the rightful order.”

The Patriarch turned his back on the Inquisitors and disappeared into the back of the church.

High Inquisitor Samoylovych grunted. He stomped his foot on the floor.

Putting a crack in the tiles. He let out a wheezing cough from the exertion.

“Inquisitor Samoylovych,” Gertrude Lichtenberg asked, “what will we do with the girl?”

“We’ll take her, of course. She can still serve in Rhinea or Veka.” Samoylovych sighed.

On the floor, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather looked up at the gold sun on the wall of the church with terror in her face. As if staring at the candle-lit face of God itself, a horrifying God of blood-letting that longed to devour her. That sign of the collective immiseration of the Loup in the pursuit of further submission to the will of the Divine. That Sun and the God it represented and the teachings that were associated with it had destroyed more human lives than anything in the world; they had destroyed all of Aatto’s life as she had lived it and everything she cherished. In an instant, it had blinked, and the force of its shutting eyes ended her long-held stability. Submission to what family? Submission to what state? Submission to what God? She had nothing and was helpless to do anything!

Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather’s life as she had known it ended without warning.

“None of us can escape Destiny.” She mumbled to herself. Weeping profusely.

“He’s wrong.” Samoylovych said. “The power to defy Destiny exists. But those who wield it have turned their backs on the Loup and on the atrocity of the Host. That is the truth.”

Aatto would ponder those words for years. Perhaps far longer than Samolovych intended.


Since they left Kreuzung, the Brigand resumed a feverish level of activity.

In the halls, sailors and technicians and engineers, of which the Brigand had well over a hundred, went from repair jobs to meetings, from the hangar to the cafeteria, from work to bed, having but a lunch and three twenty minute breaks throughout the day with which to decompress. It was busier than it had been during their expeditions in Goryk.

Chief among the reasons for this heightened activity was the depth. In Thassal, Cascabel and Serrano, the average depth of human activity was between 900 to 1500 meters deep. It was in these depths that the Brigand had been built and though it was tested at up to 2500 meters in the Nectaris Continental Rift, it was not ran for weeks and months in such depths. Eisental’s floor was on average 1800 to 2800 meters deep, just narrowly avoiding Hadal or Deep Abyss depths. The Brigand would be at this depth for an indeterminate period.

As such, the Brigand was subject to close to twice as much strain from the depths, since the deeper the water, the greater the pressure on all systems of the ship. There was no fear that the Brigand would suddenly spring a leak and explode completely– if that were the case all of humanity would have gone extinct already. Pressure hulls were very sturdy, and advanced forms of flood mitigation, as well as the presence of sealant gel in the centers of plate structures and between the armor and pressure hulls, meant that strikes from ordnance were actually survivable for the internal modules. It was very rare for a ship to implode from mishandling. It had to be considered as a possibility, but it was still rare.

However, the actual routine problem was with small parts. Particularly, the water system and electrical infrastructure. Water for the hydrojets was sucked in through intakes using powerful turbines and pumps– from there, some water was diverted into internal tanks, the crew water system, and reactor cooling. Then the water would go back out eventually, either directly through the hydrojets or fed out of waste chutes or reactor control pipeline.

Pipes inside the pressure hull were prone to leaks, and because the water system had to work harder and under more stress, it demanded more electricity, stressing the electric systems and possibly stressing the reactor core array as well. Sailors and technicians’ time at these depths was spent monitoring for leaks, actively monitoring power, swapping any electrical and electromechanical parts that were stressed or failing, and most importantly, tightly planning maintenance, replacement and recycling of such crucial parts.

Almost anything on the Brigand could fed into the ferricycler to be turned into mineral mush that would then be fed into stitcher machines to make new usable parts to cycle back in. But at some point, new, unrecycled parts had to be introduced back into the system– there were unavoidable diminishing returns involved in recycling parts continuously.

Other things that broke with some regularity included doors, kitchen appliances, the games in the social area, and most of all, the Divers. Divers had to be considered “broke” the instant they left the ship, because their anti-corrosion coatings would start wearing off, joints would take a beating, and small instruments like the sensors would certainly receive some abuse. This was before the sailors considered any battle damage the Divers took on top of that unavoidable wear. As such the hangar saw frequent spikes in activity.

On mission, the sailors kept pretty busy. There was always something to do.

Therefore, the Brigand’s halls and hangar always saw at least some people moving through.

Sonya Shalikova, meanwhile, had precious little to do on any ordinary day.

As an officer and a pilot, she had the privilege of relaxation.

In exchange, she braved the ocean in defense of the ship, risking her life every sortie.

Not everyone was cut out for that.

There were some people who had panic attacks just seeing the empty black ocean all around them, their spotlights unveiling only the endlessly falling rain of biological matter known as the marine fog. Others became greatly sick from the way the Diver moved out in the water, as the Strelok or even the Cheka cockpit was poorly stabilized. Still more refused to have anything to do with the endeavor, as unlike a ship, it was quite easy for a Diver to receive any sort of damage and fail catastrophically, since their hulls were much thinner.

For Sonya Shalikova, throwing her life into this maelstrom was all she knew how to do.

It had never been a question of whether or not to pilot a Diver.

Piloting was all she had to give to the world. Or so she thought.

Lately, at least, she had experienced a few positive additions to her worldview.

She had forgiven herself for the death of her sister Zasha.

Rather than throwing away her life because she felt useless and listless doing otherwise–

Shalikova now wanted to fight to protect her crew and many precious persons aboard.

To uphold Zasha’s memory and the wishes she had for Shalikova.

Fighting to enjoy her moments of happiness; rather than fighting out of a sense of misery.

So now, as she wandered the halls full of sailors, with nothing to do herself,

rather than think,

I’m so useless– all of these people are the real heroes,

she instead reminded herself,

I need to relax more– no use being high-strung then flaming out when it matters.

Taking care of herself and her body and mind was part of her responsibilities as a pilot.

Her free time, that privilege, was also part of the needs of the job.

But–

Ever since the escape from Kreuzung’s core station, something had been bothering her.

They had an encounter outside Kreuzung. Shalikova recalled not only the psionic powers of the enemy pilot and her fearsome aura, but also the sturdiness of a new type of Diver she had been piloting. It had withstood several close bursts from the Cheka’s AK-96 assault rifle. Firing from a distance at a moving target would have severely diminished the effectiveness of the rifle’s 37 mm supercavitating rounds. These weapons had an effectiveness that sharply declined beyond 50 meters or so. In the water, if you could see something to shoot it, it was only then that it was in the effective range of a Diver assault rifle.

However, Shalikova had fired from close range on a stationary enemy, several times.

Everyone else seemed to overlook this freakish durability, but Shalikova could not.

Murati might say that with appropriate tactics, they could still defeat this new model.

Shalikova, who experienced it first-hand, began to believe they needed stronger weapons.

She was not savvy enough to determine what they could do with their current resources.

So she ultimately decided to take the concern to someone who could research it better.

“Valya, do you have a moment?”

“Oh! Shalikova and Maryam! Just a sec!”

These days Shalikova never went anywhere without her brightly smiling marshmallow.

So even as she walked the halls, Maryam was always following along.

Valya could most easily be found in the hangar, where they had increasingly taken on the role of the squad mechanic for the 114th, the Brigand’s assigned Diver unit. In the center of the hangar, along the walls, there were several gantries, each of which held a Diver aloft. Metal arms assisted the Diver so it would not need to stand under its own power while recharging and while undergoing repairs. They also held the machines in place as the ship maneuvered. Shalikova met Valya in the shadow of a Strelok, still the most common mecha in the hangar despite several recent acquisitions. It was the mainstay of the Union soldier.

Like all Divers it was roughly person-shaped, with an oblong cockpit encased in explosive-resistant armor plates that met precisely on the center of the chest, where they could open to allow entry. A hip section attached a pair of legs slightly offset of the cockpit, while a pair of shoulder sections affixed the arms. Atop this stocky body plan was a rectangular, roughly square head. Two cheek plates held together an array of cameras and sensors hidden behind bullet-proof glass, the “eyes” of the machine. Behind the machine were the main thrusters, fed by water from the shoulder and hip intakes. Mounted on a multi-sectioned “backpack,” the jets could rotate as two independent sets for greater maneuverability.

Shalikova whistled when she saw the state of the machine. This Strelok was receiving some specific attention. The unpainted steel plates on its legs having been taken off along with the cap on the hydrojet intakes set into the Diver’s knee that fed its legs jets. In addition, the support thruster for that leg had been removed and set aside. Known commonly as a “vernier” or “solid fuel” thruster– the latter moniker had come to refer to the fact the thruster was not electric, and in truth the fuel used by the Union was usually cheap liquid, though staged-burn solid compounds were higher quality. Under the armor, additional structural plates had their bolts removed and were peeled off, exposing flexible pipe, wires and the inner workings of the Strelok’s knee, such as the mechanical joints.

Inside the exposed metal there was a layer of black-brown grime that had accumulated.

“Coming down!”

Climbing down from a ladder, Valya removed their goggles, leaving a streak of grime on their own cheek. They smiled at Shalikova and Maryam with a refreshingly sunny demeanor. Dressed in a black sports bra beneath a half open gray jumpsuit, soaked in sweat and smelling of grease and metal. Some grime had even streaked over Valya’s salmon-pink hair, which they had not put a cap over while working. With a heavy tool in one hand, and the other waving jovially, Shalikova thought Valya was truly in their element.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you! It looks like a lot of work.” Shalikova said.

“Well, I’m already down! So it’s fine. There’s plenty of time to get back at it!”

Shalikova had thought of Valya as a reserved person, but they seemed to light up more when they were able to work on the machines. Despite the clear grueling effort they were going through, they never seemed to shine as brightly and talk as confidently as when they were covered in grime with a tool in their hands and safety goggles pushed up over their hair.

“Is something wrong with the Diver?” Maryam asked.

One of her tentacles flicked toward the Strelok’s bared knee.

Valya followed the tentacle with their eyes, then laughed.

“Just a routine checkup. It’s filthy inside, isn’t it? This is the Strelok that Ahwalia trashed back in Goryk, and then it got fixed up and returned to the reserve. Recently a sailor piloted it to go out and check how the missile launch bay covers were holding up in the water. When the sailor was on his way back, the leg jet started getting sticky. I think it had microfractures this whole time in the leg so the jet was losing a tiny bit of water into the plates.”

“Wouldn’t it explode or something?” Maryam asked.

“Nope, the leg interiors are not pressurized, but it is still a problem.”

“I see, I see.”

Shalikova patted Maryam on the shoulder, silently asking her to defer questions for now.

Maryam noticed and nodded her head.

“Valya,” Shalikova turned to the salmon-pink haired pilot, “I need to talk to you.”

“Ah, they’re in high demand today I see.”

Valya and Shalikova both turned to meet the owner of a familiar voice.

Elegant, enunciated in a sultry and playful fashion.

From behind them approached a familiar Shimii with long, blond hair and a strikingly glamorous affectation. Her sophisticated radiance was undeniable and it was hard to turn away when she was taking up attention. Heavy wine-purple eyeshadow and well-applied blush, glossy lipstick adorning a confident grin. A hint of wrinkles around the eyes and neck seemed as though an artful exposure of her maturity. On her, the standard uniform shirt and skirt seemed to flatter her curves, black tights accentuating the contours of shapely legs. Her ears and tail were perfectly manicured and had an almost divine appearance of fluffiness, while her tail was exceptionally brushed and strikingly silky and clean.

Her every movement oozed the easy confidence earned with age.

Shalikova averted her eyes before Khadija al-Shajara teased her for staring.

“Aww, I saw you turn away Shali-Shali.” Khadija said. “Don’t hurt a lady’s pride now.”

“It’s not that at all.” Shalikova said, turning a little red.

Teased anyway; there was truly no escaping from Khadija!

At her side, a cheerful Maryam waved to Khadija with both her tentacles and hands.

“Greetings to the lovely V.I.P. as well!” Khadija said. “You two arrived first, so you should conclude your business with Valya first before I steal them away.”

“That’ll have to wait Khadija– I still have to finish this one too.” Valya said.

“Oh, but I need my Strelok to be ready for standby.” Khadija said, leaning closer to Valya.

She put on an expression that was both pouty and somehow still flirty.

“You’ve got a point. I guess I can just leave this here.” Valya said, leaning back a little.

“Why is Valya doing all this work around here anyway?” Shalikova asked.

Valya shook their head. “Too much to get into– but I can handle it, so don’t worry.”

Khadija crossed her arms and leaned back on the leg of the Strelok, waiting her turn.

Her ears were clearly piqued to try to catch some gossip, however.

Shalikova sighed and laid out her request.

“Valya, did you get a chance to look at any data from the Cheka? Or Khadija’s data?”

“Uh huh, I’ve looked at everything with Murati.”

“I’m worried about the model of Diver we fought around Kreuzung.” Shalikova said.

Valya nodded. “That was Rhineametalle’s Panzer model. We actually have data on it from R&D leaks that were turned over to Union spies– but that was two years ago. We didn’t even load that stuff into the dive computers because we never expected to run into it.”

“I nearly emptied my magazine into it and it did nothing.” Shalikova said.

“You’re exaggerating, dame Shalikova.” Khadija interrupted. “You managed to fend it off and we are unsure of how much damage we did to it. Combat damage is more than just dramatic armor penetrations. For all we know it was limping away without life support.”

Shalikova felt mildly irritated at Khadija’s condescension– but it was pointless to pursue.

“Had the Brigand not been close I’m almost sure it would have kept fighting.” She said.

Khadija did not respond, preferring to continue leaning with arms crossed and eyes shut.

“I can try to comb over the data more thoroughly.” Valya said. “I’ll talk to Murati about it too– if she thinks the 37 mm guns seem ineffective against that Panzer we can explore solutions. I think I know what she’ll say though. One encounter is not a lot of data.”

“We don’t even know if they have mass produced the thing.” Khadija replied.

“I just think we need to keep it in mind.” Shalikova said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Khadija winked. “You need to have more confidence in yourself, lady prince.”

“It’s not about self-confidence! One of us could lose our lives if we underestimate that thing in the middle of a fight! It’s senseless not to prepare every possible advantage!”

“Good answer.” Khadija said. “You do make a finer leader than me, Shalikova.”

Shalikova had raised her voice to Khadija, who seemed far too satisfied with the result.

“Hey, c’mon, relax you two. Khadija, you can stop teasing her.” Valya said.

“I’m relaxed. I said what I wanted to say. Come on Maryam.”

Over Valya’s scolding of Khadija, Shalikova turned around and left the hangar.

Trying to work out the frustration that she knew she felt, and hated feeling.

Despite her anger she had grown up just a bit, enough to have more perspective.

In her heart she understood what Khadija was doing.

It was the same thing Illya had told her in Kreuzung. She had to speak up her convictions, even against her experienced seniors. If she was wrong, she was wrong, like Illya said– if she was right then she had to be ready to meet the confrontation and prove herself right. That was part of being in the military alongside war heroes like Khadija and confident theoreticians like Murati. Shalikova had a fearful conjecture and Khadija challenged it with her own knowledge and experience– they didn’t know if there would be more Panzers and they didn’t even really know what effect they had on Nasser’s Panzer. Khadija probably wanted her to stand up for herself and her ideas instead of turning cheek.

Shalikova just was not used to having arguments and resolving confrontations.

When she was assigned to the Thassal fleet she just did whatever she was ordered.

She never would have thought she would have the ability to influence a mission long-term.

Some part of her hated the idea of ‘being a leader’ more than anything.

It was annoying! It exposed her to stupid contradictions! It meant talking to people!

But another part felt that it was necessary. Especially in this case, she couldn’t keep quiet.

“Sonya, are you okay?” Maryam asked. “Are you mad at Khadija?”

They got on the elevator to ride back up to the Brigand’s upper tier.

“I’m annoyed. I felt like Khadija was treating me like a kid.” Shalikova said.

“I think she respects you a lot! I’m positive she just wanted to help!” Maryam said.

“You’re too nice, Maryam.” Shalikova sighed. Her softie marshmallow at it again.

“It’s okay Sonya. I think everyone on the ship thinks highly of you!” Maryam said.

“It’s not that– whatever.” Shalikova simply let things lie at that point.

Once the elevator doors opened, Shalikova led the ever-cheerful Maryam back to their room. As soon as she was through the doors, Shalikova threw herself on her bed and hugged her hand-sewn teddy bear plush, Comrade Fuzzy, tightly against her chest. It was cathartic to hold something tightly. She needed a few minutes to decompress and she wished for silence– and Maryam had seen this enough by now to know. Shalikova heard her girlfriend sit on her own bed, and then no other sounds of cuttlefish activity. She felt grateful for the silence, and even more grateful that at least Maryam truly understood her.

“Maryam, just give me a minute. I’m sorry I haven’t been great company today.”

“It’s okay Sonya! You take all the time you need. I completely understand!”

Shalikova could see Maryam smiling in her mind’s eye and it warmed her heart.

Another thing she never thought she would find herself doing, back at Thassal.

In just a few months, she had changed a lot, hadn’t she? It all felt so– silly.

She hugged Comrade Fuzzy less tightly and a bit more tenderly instead.

Tension was slowly leaving her body. The voices in her ears began to quiet.

I’ve grown a lot I guess– but damn it if I don’t still have a lot of work to do.

Shalikova sighed to herself.

Nothing could ever be easy– not for every long.

Not for soldiers out fighting at sea.

After a short rest, Shalikova turned around in bed, still cuddling with Comrade Fuzzy against her chest. She faced Maryam’s bed and found Maryam seated cross-legged on top, with her eyes shut and her arms crossed over her chest. Her top fins wiggled gently and her tentacles swayed within her hair. She breathed in and out with a deliberate timing. Her soft facial features were slightly screwed close, furrowed brow and cheeks pulling up.

“Trying to concentrate?” Shalikova asked.

“Oh! Sonya! No, I was just relaxing.” Maryam said.

She opened her eyes and smiled. Shalikova’s face sank into Comrade Fuzzy.

“Maryam, don’t keep things from me. You’re no good at it.”

“Ah– well, alright. Since you caught me.”

Maryam shut her eyes, crossed her arms and put on a confident little expression.

“Sonya– I have been finking about our royal cuttlenundrum.”

Maryam grinned.

Shalikova groaned.

“Did you think about it beyond what fish puns to make?” She said.

In response Maryam turned red and puffed up her cheeks, prompting Shalikova to be quiet.

“Okay, sorry–! I was just making fun! Go ahead.”

Maryam shut her eyes, lifted an index finger and looked deep in thought for a moment.

Shalikova stared at her while she puffed herself up for whatever she was about to say.

“Sonya–”

Lifting her pink hands and putting one fist on the other palm like a gavel.

“–it’s time to ask Euphrates, because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah I kinda figured we would arrive there eventually.”

Shalikova laid a hand on her own forehead, lifting up her bangs and sighing.

“After I confessed I was psionic to Murati she told me Euphrates and Tigris were helping her– so I guess it’s okay. As long as Murati does not become involved.” She said.

“Sonya, why are you so against the Lieutenant? She seems nice.” Maryam asked.

For a moment Shalikova imagined Murati fussing over her and Maryam and grimaced.

“Because she’s annoying. Let’s leave it that.”

Maryam gave Shalikova a scrutinizing look before dropping the matter herself.

Shalikova hid fully behind Comrade Fuzzy again.

While the two of them were staring from across the room, something lit up on the door.

In the middle of it a picture appeared in a square computer window.

Short blue hair, wavy and messy, on a youthful, fair-skinned face.

Euphrates was right outside the door, politely requesting access to enter the door.

Shalikova stared at the door with mild surprise.

She half-expected anyone looking for her to be like Illya and just bang and shout on it.

“Speak of the devil. Come in!” Shalikova called out.

Across the room, Maryam had a conflicted expression for a moment and averted her gaze.

Shalikova let go of Comrade Fuzzy and sat up, tossing her hair.

“Good afternoon, Maryam, Sonya Shalikova.”

Euphrates and Tigris crossed the threshold and closed the door behind themselves.

It was the first time Shalikova had a meeting in private with the ship’s “technical partners.”

Shalikova waved quietly in response. Maryam continued averting her gaze.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t turned tomato-colored yet.” Euphrates said.

In response, Maryam puffed up and went red and continued quietly refusing to respond.

“We just came to check up on you.” Tigris said. “On both of you.”

“In fact we just got done covering up for you.” Euphrates said.

“What?” Shalikova stood up straighter in bed. “What does that mean?”

Euphrates put her hands in her coat pockets and smiled.

“Your ability to use psionics came up in conversation– the Captain and Commissar were a bit alarmed to hear that Maryam was psionic as well. I knew she had to be responsible for the Ensign’s psionics.” Euphrates said. For a moment Shalikova went wide-eyed with burgeoning panic. Euphrates must have noticed, as she took her hands out of her pockets to make a comforting gesture. “No, no, no, don’t be afraid. We vouched for Maryam’s trustworthiness and made ourselves responsible for preventing such surprises in the future.”

Shalikova sighed. Maryam continued to give Euphrates and Tigris the silent treatment.

“I figured Murati would have to tell them eventually.” Shalikova said.

“Don’t blame Murati, she has been incredibly discreet.” Euphrates replied.

“Fine. So then– what are the two of you checking up on us for?” Shalikova asked.

“We’re supposed to–” Euphrates began–

“Slow down with the we,” Tigris interrupted. “You volunteered to compile everyone’s psionic potential on the ship. I’m a mechanical engineer, I have things to do. So you have fun covering up all the staring you’re going to do at people on this ship. I am not helping.”

“Can you help me just this once? I really need your assistance.” Euphrates said.

Tigris averted her gaze in the same direction as Maryam. She crossed her arms.

“Whatever. Whatever! I’ll stick around this once.” She said.

“Thank you. Now, take a look at Ms. Shalikova here– you’ll see the problem.”

Shalikova narrowed her eyes, meeting Euphrates and Tigris’ gaze with quiet consternation.

She saw red rings appear on their eyes. Tigris in particular scrutinized Shalikova for longer.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tigris said. “I can’t see anything, no matter what I try. What the hell?”

“Indeed.” Euphrates said. “Ensign, are you employing psionics at the moment?”

“No, I’m not.” Shalikova said. “This is something Maryam said too. My aura is weird.”

Tigris took a deep breath and looked at Shalikova again with renewed intensity.

Shalikova heard Tigris’ speaking in the back of her mind–

Oracle’s Voice: Epexegesis.”

Shalikova instinctively responded with her own psionics having detected Tigris invoking a power. She then saw several thread-width lines of colored light, connecting the fringes of Tigris’ aura to her own– or perhaps to where her own aura should have been. Except, the threads stopped just short of Shalikova and hung in mid-air utterly disconnected from anything. She knew right away that whatever Tigris had attempted to do failed.

“Now you can see why I wanted you to try.” Euphrates said.

“Yeah? But I still can’t understand anything even with Epexegesis.” Tigris sighed.

“What are you two up to?” Shalikova asked. “Why are you trying to read my aura?”

Despite the sudden intrusion and strange behavior of their guests Shalikova was not fearful. This was because Maryam, on the other side of the room, was still pouting and staying out of it as if it was just any other casual occurrence. Maryam would have definitely rushed to defend Shalikova from anything violent or harmful. In addition, Shalikova almost felt like she had her own voice in her mind which was telling her that it was harmless, or perhaps more accurately, it was making that knowledge implicit to her understanding.

Shalikova felt like she had always known, somehow, what this power was meant to do.

It was meant to read auras more deeply than was possible by simply looking.

“Aura reading is something common to psychics. It should not offend you.” Euphrates said.

“She has a right to be offended.” Maryam said. “It’s not up to you.”

“Finally, my dear former pupil deigns to speak with me.” Euphrates smiled.

Maryam stuck out her tongue at her.

“I’m trying to read the aura to get a feel for your psionics, but it’s impossible.” Tigris said.

“And we’ve never seen anything like it.” Euphrates added. “So it’s quite novel.”

“Okay? I have no idea what means for me.” Shalikova said.

“Neither do we.” Euphrates said. “But you don’t look unhealthy, at least.”

“She’s fine.” Maryam said. “Sonya is special! She will use her powers for good.”

“Right. And she’s particularly special to you, isn’t she?” Euphrates said.

She reached out and poked one of Maryam’s head fins, causing Maryam to flinch.

“Ugh! Don’t treat me like a kid.” Maryam said. “I’m not the same as I was!”

“No, you are not. You’ve traveled, found a purpose and people to care about. I think that is lovely, and it was never our intention to bar you from it.” Euphrates said. “You can disagree as vehemently as you want with our ethics as you see them. But to me, you will always be a special pupil whom I had a wonderful time teaching. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Hmph. No thanks. All you taught me was to do the opposite of you.” Maryam said.

“She’s become such a cuttletrarian.” Euphrates said.

“Ugh. I’m leaving.” Tigris mumbled.

“Wait.” Shalikova said, raising her hand. “We need your help with something.”

She turned to face Maryam. “Maryam, tell them. You yourself said we needed them.”

Maryam’s colors went dull for a moment. Her fins and tentacles deflated a little.

“Maryam, please.” Shalikova said. “We promised to help, remember?”

“We did promise.” Maryam had an uncharacteristically disagreeable expression.

With her eyes narrow and an unfriendly glower, she explained their predicament.

Recalling how Elena Lettiere told them that Norn prevented her from using her psionics.

Euphrates and Tigris were quiet as Maryam explained Elena Lettiere’s predicament.

At various points in the story they glanced at each other from the corners of their eyes.

Shalikova noticed it– Maryam might have not, or not cared.

After the conclusion of the story, Tigris looked conflicted and Euphrates unmoved.

“So– I dunno, you tell me. How do we exorcise a psionic effect from someone?”

Maryam asked with some of her quiet innocence returning to her mannerisms.

“Maryam– tell me this. How do you define what is real?” Euphrates asked back.

She smiled as if she had just said something very profound.

Maryam’s face instantly turned tomato-red and her eyes went suddenly wide with fury.

“I knew it! I’ve had it up to here with you! Goodbye! I’m not dealing with this again!”

In an instant Maryam stood to leave–

but just as fast Shalikova stepped forward and grabbed her by the jacket.

They stood in the center of the room, with Maryam frowning as she was ensnared.

“Maryam, c’mon, have some patience! For me!” Shalikova pleaded.

Arms crossed, face boiling red, cheeks puffed up, Maryam sat back down on the bed.

This time Shalikova sat beside her to comfort her while Euphrates and Tigris stood.

“I know how you feel– but try to endure it. I get what she’s saying.” Tigris sighed.

“I’m not that annoying, am I?” Euphrate asked. “It’s actually important to consider for this scenario, Maryam. You heard Elena Lettiere describe her experience and drew a conclusion, but think about it: what makes an experience ‘real’? Is there an objective quality, extrinsic to humanity, that makes information, experience, or sight, concretely ‘real’?”

Maryam stared at Shalikova and gestured toward Euphrates with exasperation.

“I’ll answer.” Shalikova said, before Maryam could say something rude or irascible. “I’m not the biggest brain around here, but I’ll try my best to answer earnestly. In the Union, we are taught to be materialists. We believe that the world and its laws are knowable– thinking comes from material conditions. So I guess that, whatever someone experiences, comes from a condition of their material existence. So– whatever you think, it is rooted in something which is real. So Elena must have a reason for what she saw.”

“That’s a good answer– but, do you think you fully verified Elena’s ‘experience’ here?”

“We took her at her word. She told us what she felt.” Shalikova said.

“But people can misinterpret fraught subjects such as these. Especially naïve people.”

Even Shalikova was starting to get agitated. “Look, I’m not a philosopher.”

“Alright, let us set aside the frameworks.” Euphrates said. “Let me clarify what I mean as much as I can. Maryam has presupposed that Elena is ‘under some kind of curse’ that ‘Norn put on her using King’s Gaze’ which then ‘prevents her from performing psionics.’” Euphrates held out fingers for each of these conditions in her argument. “However, how do we confirm this is the case? These are some big leaps of logics. I actually have a counterexample: it is also possible that Elena simply believes she is incapable of performing psionics due to Norn’s influence, without the existence of an actual ‘curse’ at all. You said you read Elena’s aura, but that aura is primarily borne of her own emotions. Even if you think you can feel a trace of Norn there, you do not know why or how. It could all still be ‘in Elena’s head’.”

“That’s what she means by whether something can be objectively real.” Tigris said. “How can we be sure of what happened to Elena? It’s actually easier to believe that Norn influenced Elena’s behavior like, on a traumatic level perhaps, without it having anything to do with ‘curses.’ It could be Elena’s got some learned helplessness to deal with. Or she’s been in Norn’s shadow enough to have internalized a fear of her retribution.”

“Why does any of this matter?” Maryam said. “You’re just philosophizing not helping!”

“I never said I wouldn’t help.” Euphrates said. “But you have to understand, where psionics is concerned, we have to be really careful to consider the variability of the human psyche and of human emotions. My answer from experience is that there is only observable reality– therefore we must be careful what we make others believe to be real. Maryam, if you had tried to ‘remove a curse’ from Elena without understanding what is truly happening, you could have irreparably influenced her mind and damaged her sanity. Imagine if by tinkering around with Elena’s mind within this rhetorical framework of ‘removing Norn’s curse’, you caused her to irrevocably believe Norn is her enemy? You have to be careful.”

Shalikova nodded along. She was a bit fascinated by Euphrates’ logic.

She supposed human minds were still highly complicated, even to experienced psychics.

Henceforth she would have to be careful when she encouraged Maryam to use psionics.

She had not realized she could so much harm to a mind.

“Human minds are conceptual spaces. To their owner, the information that their mind can process is the only thing they can confirm to be ‘reality’. The information and ideology they acquire throughout their life is a function of their material circumstances, that is very true. But what you see, hear, and even smell or taste can still be altered by the condition of the mind. There are people who see things that are not real, and staunchly believe in things they cannot substantiate.” Euphrates said. “Knowing this to be true, you have to be wary of executing a ‘conceptual attack’– using psionics in a way you think is helpful, but that could alter their reality in a way you might not have intended. Not only will the effort be very taxing on your psionics, the end result could be horribly disruptive to your patient.”

“Norn doesn’t even need to use her King’s Gaze to affect Elena.” Tigris added. “For example, if she got to Elena as a kid, when her mind was the most pliable and vulnerable, she can make her believe anything. She could have already been under conceptual attack– we don’t know.”

“It may even be simpler than that, far simpler. At least, simpler in comparison to a decades long conspiracy.” Euphrates said. “Before we do anything, Maryam, I need to talk to Elena Lettiere myself. I want to ask her about Norn and their relationship and then see how she feels. To take it for a given that she is under attack by Norn, and try to tinker with her mind to change that– it could be a horrible mistake. You can’t do such things lightly.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Maryam said, averting her gaze, crossing her arms and pouting.

“It’ll also have to be another day. We’re kinda busy, you know?” Tigris said.

“I understand.” Shalikova said. She turned to Maryam and touched her shoulder for support and affection. “Maryam, I know you wanted to be the big hero, but they’re right. Elena should not just go along with our conjectures. Even if we have the best intentions we need to be careful. Let’s get everyone together and try to figure out more, okay?”

“Sheesh.” Maryam snorted. “Fine, fine, fine. I never said I wanted to force her or anything.”

“Of course. You just got a little over-enthusiastic. It’s part of your charm.” Euphrates said.

“Hmph. I’ve not forgiven you two.” Maryam said. Pointed glaring at the two women.

“Forgiven us for what? We haven’t ever done anything to you.” Tigris said, exasperated.

“For being bad and selfish people!” Maryam said, raising her voice.

“Huh?” Tigris cried out, taken aback by her tone and forcefulness.

“Hmph!” Maryam averted her eyes and puffed her cheeks up.

“Tigris is extremely altruistic. You can be pointed and say it’s my fault.” Euphrates said.

“Hmph!!” Maryam puffed her cheeks up to an even greater degree.

“I won’t disagree with you either.” Euphrates said. “I am– amending– my ethics a bit.”

For the first time her words sounded just a bit hesitant and unsure.

Maryam opened one curious eye to stare sidelong at Euphrates.

Even Tigris started staring at her too.

Euphrates held her hands together in a plaintive gesture, still smiling.

“Inaction and indecision– played more of a part in my thinking than I’d like. I admit it. I allowed events to spiral out of control. I lost perspective.” Euphrates said. “Being on this ship has made me feel that time is moving again for me. And that I must move with it. I can’t remove myself from culpability. I am looking to set things right. Norn, Mehmed, Ganges, Yangtze– any pain they caused is my shared responsibility. I accept it now.”

“Great. Could’ve fooled me.” Tigris replied, glaring at Euphrates again.

“I am not asking for forgiveness, Maryam. But I’d love to have your help in the future.”

Euphrates adjusted her coat, and bid farewell, with Tigris following close behind.

Still arguing about what Euphrates meant and whether she was serious.

That conversation was not for the two left behind, however.

When the door shut, Maryam let out a breath that must have been held long.

She then leaned heavily on Shalikova, squishing her cheeks up against Shalikova’s chest.

“Sonyaaaaa that was super annoying! You have to be really nice to me now, okay?”

“Sure, Sure. Come here. You’re still a big hero to me. A big, squishy softie of a hero.”

Shalikova held Maryam close, stroking the fins on her head and laughing a bit.

Thinking about Maryam and Euphrates, she felt a bit silly about her feelings toward Murati.


After what she considered a somewhat embarrassing appearance at the ‘Meeting to Discuss Weird Stuff’, Murati made for the brig. Hardly knowing what to make of it that the enemy officer whom she had captured had requested an audience with her specifically. She had no investment in whether or not she would be effective in extracting any information from the captive, so it made no difference to her and she was not exactly anxious.

But she was perplexed and a little bit annoyed.

What would she even say to a fascist, face to face?

Murati had argued with fascists in her head for years.

Anyone who studied theory would likely have had similar moments– putting together a worldview and acquiring a set of convictions required challenging their competing notions in her own head. In Murati’s mind, she had argued with the Imbrian Empire, and lately she had argued with the Volkisch Movement as she learned more of their ideology while continuously refining her own. Why was she not a Fascist? Why was she against Imperialism? Answering these questions was necessary to arrive at the truth of communism.

But she had never thought about what she would say to a living fascist in a discussion.

She had at most thought about what she would say if she had to execute a fascist.

“The People make up a Nation; you’ll never build a Nation without lifting them up.”

Then she would pull the trigger and turn around without even looking at the gore.

Maybe it could use some refinement–

At any rate– on the walk over, Murati wandered what she would say.

To Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather, sitting in the brig, requesting to speak with her alone.

Without much progress made in refining a concept of this encounter in her own mind, Murati stood at the door to the brig and gathered her breath. When the door slid open, Murati saw Dr. Kappel jotting something down on her portable clipboard computer. The doctor noticed Murati at the door and gestured for her to wait before coming in. She then stepped outside the brig and shut the door and bid Murati follow her a few steps away, so they would be farther from the brig when speaking. Murati figured she had been evaluating Aatto, and caught a glimpse of a photo of Aatto taken with the computer camera for her file.

“Murati, I completed a preliminary evaluation of Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather.” Dr. Kappel said. She clicked the switch to shut off her computer. “This evaluation was performed for the sake of her health, as one of my new patients– and I will not disclose any specific physical health conditions, or anything she specifically confided in me. But I thought that it might help you to speak with her more effectively if I gave you my basic assessment of her first.”

Murati bristled a little bit. “So the fascist also has medical rights on this ship?”

“Murati, everyone has rights on this ship. As long as I am the ship’s Doctor, we will not deny captives basic treatment. It would be senselessly cruel.” Dr. Kappel sternly said.

“Fair enough.” Murati replied. She felt a little embarrassed in her response.

However, she was also too stubborn to apologize, and still felt she was justified too.

“At any rate. I am not a psychotherapist, but I am trained enough to serve as a counsel for the ship, and I performed some initial assessments of Aatto’s mental health. Are you interested in hearing them, or would you prefer to form your own?” Dr. Kappel asked Murati.

“I’m interested. How coherent is she? Is she holding up well in the brig?” Murati asked.

“She’s quite coherent.” Dr. Kappel replied. “She is willing to talk and is in fact affable in conversation. She answers questions and does not appear distressed by her current predicament. She has realistic expectations about her captivity, but has not expressed any anger, frustration or anxiety about being imprisoned. Her physical health is adequate. However, despite her attitude– I would say her mental health could be at risk.”

“How so?” Murati asked.

“I believe she might be a suicide risk.” Dr. Kappel said. “And my true motive for speaking with you is that, during your interrogation, please be wary of Aatto and if needed, stop her from hurting herself. She has expressed that she holds her life in low regard, and made a few morbid jokes without prompting during our discussion that trouble me. Coupled with the certainty and confidence she projects, I fear she may decide to– escape, in that way.”

Murati was a little bit shocked. She was briefly unable to speak as she processed.

More shocked about her own reaction than anything– she felt a bit of a pang of nerves.

Why would she care if the fascist does anything to herself? They were lower than dirt.

And yet– she didn’t want to be party to someone trying to hang or stab themselves either.

Not in this sort of environment. There was no battle raging in here.

“I won’t bring in anything into her cell, and I’ll watch her carefully.” Murati said.

“Thank you. I don’t expect you to treat her kindly– but remember we have standards.”

“I know.” Murati said. Internally, bristling at the idea that Aatto deserved anything.

Dr. Kappel nodded her head in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

“Wait, Doctor.” Murati said. Dr. Kappel paused to hear her out. “Do you know why Aatto wants to talk with me? Did she tell you anything about that? The Captain and Commissar have not had time to properly interrogate her just yet– but they wanted me to acquiesce to her request. I do not know what benefit she gets out of talking to me.”

“My fear aside, I think it may be a matter of pride or respect for her.” Dr. Kappel said.

“That makes sense. She confronted me directly and I made a fool of her.” Murati said.

“Right. She may want to look into the eyes of the person who captured her, to hear her voice, to be processed by you, as a form of accepting and coping with her failure. I will keep to myself exactly what she said, and like I said, I won’t ask you to moderate your voice.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I will do my best to try to handle things– humanely.” Murati replied.

“That’s all I ask. She may be unworthy of our respect, but she’s still our responsibility.”

Dr. Kappel reached out a hand and Murati shook with her, leaving on better terms.

Now, however, Murati was actually troubled by the idea of meeting Aatto.

Her situation became more complicated than ‘yelling at the fascist.’

Nevertheless, Murati returned to the brig with her hands closed into fists.

Farthest from the door were the few barred cells on the ship. On the right-hand side were the solitary confinement cells, all of which were now unoccupied. Just past the door, standing between the landing and barred cells, Zhu Lian stood guard. Murati found her in the midst of untying her long, dark hair and retying it into a ponytail. She dressed in the same nanomail bodysuit she usually wore, with thicker plates of separated armor on her chest, gloves, waist and leg guards. She had a collapsible baton hooked to her belt and no other weapons. Murati waited for her to be done with her hair before speaking.

“Greetings, comrade. How’s the prisoner doing?” Murati asked.

Zhu opened one eye and let go of her ponytail. “Oh! Hello Lieutenant. She’s behaving.”

“I’ll be stepping in to talk to her.” Murati said.

“Yeah, I heard from the Commissar. She’s all yours. Where should I wait?”

“You can stay here for now. Has she said anything?”

“She said she was excited to meet you. Weird, huh? Like I said, she’s quite well-behaved. I expected her to be more aggro but she has been remarkably quiet and polite.”

Murati nodded her head, walked past Zhu Lian and stepped up to the bars of the cell.

As soon as her shadow crossed the bars, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather’s gaze lifted to follow her every move. Aatto was seated on the fold-out bed provided in the cell, her hands crossed on her lap with eyes cast downcard. She smiled and raised her head upon seeing Murati approach. Aatto had been stripped of much of her uniform. Her coat was gone, her boots were gone, her hat, all of her pins and collar patches and armbands. Aatto was only allowed to keep her button-down shirt, sans tie, as well as her pants, sans belt.

Even her brassiere had been taken– exceptionally evident with her shirt halfway open.

Dark blue eyes meet auburn; Murati stood across the bars.

Aatto stood in turn to meet her.

“Thank you for granting my request. I’ve been dying to meet you.” Aatto said.

“I am just following orders. I’m only curious to know what you want.” Murati replied.

Aatto smiled, a little too happy for Murati’s taste.

She was shorter than Murati, though she would not have called Aatto short overall. She was a well-proportioned young woman, busty, average in figure, decently fit. Fair skinned, dark-eyed, with sleek cheekbones and a small nose with a tight bridge and slightly rounded end– she certainly could have been described as attractive. Her long, brown hair was well-kept, silky and shiny even with minimal hygiene the past few days. Blunt bangs covered her forehead, while the rest of her hair was long and straight. Her tall, sharp ears had abundant fluff while her tail was bushy and bristly, widening with fur across its length.

Her body language was confident and quick. Her hands moved a bit as she spoke.

Unlike her stern commands in Kreuzung, her voice in captivity turned somewhat sweet.

“I would like to throw myself upon your mercy, and under your power.” Aatto said.

She bowed her head, at first– then dipped into a stage bow, with one arm out.

“No mercy is necessary. As far as I know, nobody intends you harm.” Murati said.

“It’s more than that. It’s about my purpose.” Aatto said. She stood back up to full height.

Her voice reverberated through Murati’s chest like a shockwave.

Those dark-blue eyes flashed a strange gaze at Murati’s own.

In that instant, Murati pulled her internal trigger in reaction.

Red rings glowed around her eyes which met their counterparts in Aatto’s own.

They were reading each other’s auras– Aatto had some psionic ability.

Not only that– Murati could see in her aura the bizarre euphoria slowly becoming evident in her expression as they stared each other down. Aatto’s tail began to wag so strongly it started striking the bed repeatedly. A cheek-to-cheek smile flashing white teeth; embroiled in a white and blue flame of an aura, impassioned, exuberant, sublime–

With a texture like a waterfall, like rushing silk, an unbroken current–

There was no denying what was going through her mind.

“Murati Nakara, please take me as your own instrument! Let me be of use to you!”

Murati was stunned to silence. Those words completely shattered her composure.

There was not a hint of aggression or hesitation in Aatto’s aura or her body language.

She was sincere; utterly sincere. Her every emotion was sharply focused on Murati.

“I want nothing more than to serve you! I wish I had been born a part of your body rather than all of mine. I want to see your power! Let me defect and I will show you how useful I can be! This body– you can do anything you want with it! All of my life has led me to this moment. Take me, or strike me down, whatever you wish! But I know that in life, I can be a great asset to you! I will tell you anything you want about the Volkisch! And I’m not just an informant; I’m a great analyst and organizer! Let me be your personal adjutant!”

Aatto’s speech continued to rise in volume and her expression grew wilder.

As if by continuing to speak she was making herself more and more excited.

When she finally finished, there was an enormous void where her shouting had been.

Readily filled anew– by the roaring indignation within the object of her admiration.

“Are you insane?” Murati shouted back. “You want to defect because of me?”

“Yes! Please take me under your command! I will do anything!” Aatto said.

“Absolutely not! Absolutely not! I would never–! You insane fascist!”

“I’m not a fascist! I’ll be whatever you need! Please let me join you!”

“Do you even hear yourself? Have you any shame? How can I possibly trust you?”

“Give me a chance and I will absolutely prove myself worthy of trust!”

Murati and Aatto shouted back and forth at each other, as if neither was listening.

Nothing could have prepared Murati, this situation was in none of her plans.

None of the possible conversations she imagined with this woman led to this outcome.

Aatto did not seem suicidal, at least– but she was certifiably, completely insane!

It shook Murati– the kinds of words she had never heard in her life.

Murati had never been so admired, no one had ever thrown themselves on her.

And all of this desire was coming from the imprisoned fascist?

Some part of her was susceptible to the flattery– but she categorically rejected it!

“Why me?” Murati asked, sounding like a mortified girl. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“Of course it has to be you!” Aatto said. “You demonstrated true power to me, Murati!”

“Power– right! You’re also– no, shut up, one moment–!”

Murati turned around suddenly. Near the door, Zhu Lian stood with her mouth covered.

She saw Murati turn to face her, and silently realized the reason for her doing so.

Zhu Lian, nearly laughing, left the room instantly. Hopefully she would be discreet.

Murati turned back to Aatto to find her holding the bars with her face against them.

That demented smile as if a permanent feature of her expression.

In her mind, Murati superimposed the black uniform full of fascist symbols over her body.

She shook her head, balled up her fists with frustration. Her head filling with violence.

Stepping up to the bars herself to lock eyes with Aatto, so close she could feel her breath.

“Be completely serious. Nobody is listening. Tell the truth. Now.” Murati said.

“You know I am telling the truth. You can see it. I am not lying to you.” Aatto said.

She was not lying to Murati. She was completely earnest, completely certain, and peaceful.

That smile on her face that seemed like it would never wipe off was utterly sincere.

But none of it made any sense!

“Who are you? Who are you really, Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather?” Murati asked.

“I was but a living corpse until the sight of you made me want to live again.” Aatto said.

“Ugh! That’s insane! That’s nonsense! Stop making shit up! I won’t fall for your tricks!”

Murati knew Aatto was not tricking her. Murati knew that Aatto was telling the truth.

However, in the landscape of what should have been true, her answer was impermissible.

“Tell me the truth! The actual, whole truth, Aatto! What are you trying to do?”

“Murati Nakara, the Loup are a warrior culture of the Imbrium Empire. We are born to follow the orders of unworthy masters. I was nothing but a soldier, but hardly any good at direct combat– in Rhinea, they made me into an intelligence analyst and then a field agent. I did this task for the Imperial Navy and then the Volkisch inherited me like an old coat left in a closet. But I was never loyal to the Volkisch– in fact, I actually saved many Liberals from persecution! I falsified information, rerouted patrols! I betrayed the Volkisch!”

“Like I believe that.” She was telling the truth. Still telling the truth. Her aura was bright and untroubled and unmistakably clear. “Do you have any proof?” (She was telling the truth.)

“Ask the social-democrats in Aachen about Illaria Howell and Heimdall.” Aatto said.

“I suppose I will.” Murati said. Her resistance remained firm. “But why would you spy on or turn against the Volkisch? Why help the Liberals? What was in it for you? I know you possess powers yourself. You just showed them to me– I’m sure you meant to do so as well.”

“Yes, I meant to show you– though my power is far weaker than yours. I can only see.”

“Fine. Answer the question. You had personal power and standing– why risk yourself?”

Aatto’s smile wore steadily away as she answered.

“I helped the Liberals because I thought that they would take up arms and fight against the Volkisch. It all came at me like a flash. Several most-wanted persons cases fell onto my lap. In the course of my typical work, I had the opportunity to fix papers and assist in the escape of Illaria Howell, a big liberal politician, before she was purged by the Sicherheitsdienst. We met briefly in the course of events, and she vowed that she would form a resistance network, and I agreed to help save more liberals in order to help her do so. My heart fluttered– I wanted to see the Liberals destroy the Volkisch and reassert their place in the world– I wanted to see if they could overturn what seemed like their wretched Destiny.” Aatto said. Murati noted her darkening demeanor. “But all they wanted was to escape with their lives. Illaria had lied, none of them resisted. They simply wanted to go into hiding and avoid any danger. Their cowardice sickened me– I endangered myself for nothing. So– I resigned myself to return to the Volkisch, to what seemed like my own fate. Then I was captured by you.”

She raised her head again to look at Murati. Some of her bright cheer slowly returned.

That way she looked at Murati– with such fondness and tenderness– it was frightening.

“You rescued me from them, Murati! From my indenture to those weaklings!”

“Stop calling me by name, I don’t know you!” Murati grumbled.

“Oh! Of course. Of course! Forgive my impudence. You are someone who is worthy of the utmost, strictest respect. What is your rank– or should I just call you my Master?”

“What?! No! People will misunderstand! Don’t call me Master! I’m nobody’s Master!”

Murati stepped away from the bars while Aatto kept a thoroughly fixed gaze on her.

“Of course. Whatever you say.” Aatto replied. “You are my King.”

“Absolutely not! I’m nobody’s King!”

Exasperated, Murati turned her back on Aatto to avoid her eyes.

Behind herself, she heard a sharp intake of breath as she took steps toward the door.

“Please don’t go! I’m sorry! Please! I’m truly serious! I am defecting! Please!”

Murati fully intended to leave and did not immediately pause when she heard the cries.

“Please don’t abandon me! I truly can get better! Please! I want to change my fate!”

Close to the door, Murati fully stopped. She sighed to herself. She laid a hand on her face.

Aatto was openly crying and screaming and begging like she had been beaten.

I want to change my fate.

At no point had Aatto been lying to Murati. She knew that well.

Maybe even without psionics, she would have felt Aatto’s bizarre sincerity as well.

Her demeanor had changed entirely like she had swapped one identity for another.

It was shocking– but it was also hard to trust anything she said.

However–

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Murati asked, still not turning around.

She felt a pang of a truly wretched sympathy.

“My father once said– the world is a barrel-organ that God turns. We are just spectators to a song already recorded on the drum.” Aatto said, breaking out into outright sobbing and weeping. Her voice cracked– Murati thought she heard a banging on the bars and recalled Dr. Kappel’s words. She turned around immediately and found Aatto thankfully unharmed but drooping against the bars with all of her brightness and strength sapped. “I was born to be a servant– to unworthy rulers– but I don’t want the fate of the Loup– I don’t want the fate of the Loup–! Please, don’t abandon me– don’t– when I found hope–”

“Be quiet!” Murati said. “Just for a moment– be quiet. Please. I won’t leave yet.”

Aatto seemed to have spent all of her exuberance. But she dutifully quieted down.

Hanging against the bars as if holding them was all she could do to stay up.

Her eyes running red, tears down her cheeks, lips quivering with sobs.

If this was all acting– it was terribly convincing.

(And could her aura even lie about such clear and open intentions?)

Murati was torn in half by opposing instincts.

There was a part of her that reveled in the power to cause Aatto suffering.

That voice said,

“this fascist should die screaming with the agony the Volkisch inflicted on the world.”

There was a part of her that softened to the plight that had reduced Aatto to begging.

That voice said,

“this girl should be able to overcome the ideology that has had her captive for life.”

How was it that a person lived ‘inherited like an old coat’ by an evil military regime?

But then again– Murati did not know that much about Imperial Loup culture either.

What was the fate of the Loup? What would Murati be consigning Aatto to suffer?

What had Aatto suffered already that led her to this place? To her present mania?

Murati walked back to the cell and stood opposite Aatto once again.

Aatto raised her head and stared at Murati. Not smiling anymore– broken down.

It was tough to look at her now, having seen her previously carefree smile shatter to this.

Knowing that all she did was turn her back once to cause this to happen.

“Do you believe in the racial superiority of a class of ubermenschen?”

Murati’s question momentarily perplexed Aatto. But Murati did not follow up.

She did not even meet Aatto’s gaze until the captive provided an answer.

“Of course not. I’m a Loup. I wouldn’t be considered as such.” Aatto whimpered.

“Do you believe there’s an untermenschen class unfit to have agency in their lives?”

There was a heavy note of bitterness in the next answer.

“I believe the Imbrian people are largely a smooth-brained rabble.” Aatto replied.

Murati’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you believe there is ‘life unworthy of life’ such as social parasites and degenerates?”

Aatto paused for a moment, catching her breath. “Well– It depends–”

Murati frowned. “Do you believe that all Imbrians form a ‘Volksgemeinschaft’ that must carry out their unique racial destiny through the conquest of enemy racial communities?”

“I guess my definition of Imbrian is pretty broad, if I were to submit it–”

“Do you think there is a conspiracy of enemy races against the ‘Volksgemeinschaft’?”

Aatto put on a small carefree grin again.

“Well– I think, if you look at the evidence, the Cogitans and Hanwans recently–”

Murati slammed her hands on the bars in exasperation. She failed every question!

Aatto drew her eyes wide with surprise at the striking on the bars.

“You think exactly the same as a fascist! You’re still a fascist with fluffy ears and a tail!”

“Please forgive me! All I’ve ever known is the Northern Host and the Volkisch Movement! I can change if you help me! Show me your books! Teach me what you believe!” Aatto said.

“Damn it, you’re just saying whatever I want to hear?! You manipulative bitch!”

“No! It’s the truth, you know it’s the truth! You can see it! Please– I’m begging you.”

Aatto lifted her hands from the bars and clapped them together, shaking.

As if in prayer or reverence, a supplicating gesture. Her ears folding, tail dropping.

Murati was utterly exasperated and out of sorts with this whole charade, but–

No matter how much she wanted to harden herself and cast this woman into the fire.

It may well have been cruel and inhumane to simply walk away and ignore Aatto.

She could feel what she believed to be truth in her heart and it weakened her front.

There was no equivocating that Aatto was an Imperial officer and had worked for the Volkisch. Wearing that uniform was an atrocity. She tried to do some good in her position, maybe– but she had warped reasons for doing so. Even if she was perhaps not an ordinary fascist she was certainly an elitist and a mystic. That idea of hers– trying to find someone who would fight the Volkisch to “overturn Destiny,” it was clearly a gigantic delusion. Aatto could have easily just been fishing for the winning side to save her own skin.

But– it felt more difficult to condemn her after seeing her break down.

Murati started to retrace the path of her own current convictions, searching her heart.

Child to labor organizers who were punished with slavery, and who died in the service of communism. A nun and a traveler who became scientists, who became communists, who became fighters willing to kill for their beliefs. They had changed over time. Like all citizens of the Empire they had not been born communists. They had arrived at that conviction.

Murati became a communist in the nation her parents helped to found, and now she could judge Aatto for what she thought with a lifetime worth of living and studying under communism. Her material conditions led her to her present state. It could have all gone quite wrong somewhere in the middle. Even in the Union, there were still nonbelievers in communism and even people who still held on to nationalistic or liberal ideas.

Murati had an opportunity that was explicitly denied to someone like Aatto.

Aatto had been brought up to an entirely different set of circumstances. She could have been said to have been a slave herself. Loup were a racial minority in the Empire, raised and valued as military manpower. That much Murati knew, even if she did not know the exacting cultural specifics of the Loup Hosts. She did not know much about their religion or traditions or family lives, and had only superficial knowledge that the Northern and Southern Hosts differed culturally. She did know that Imbrians could put Loup in torpedoes and shoot them at enemy ships to try to board them. She did know that the royal family once upon a time had a tradition of keeping a royal guard brigade half-composed of Loup kidnapped from their homes as children and raised as soldiers entirely within the captivity of Heitzing.

Even if that tradition had been overturned by the Fuellers– it still spoke to something.

Imbrians saw the Loup as inferiors. They were not equals in society. Far from it.

They were all objects; instruments of war that could only thrive in the military.

Despite this, there were plenty of Loup still fighting for imperialism and the Volkisch.

There were many Loup who still internalized fighting for this status quo as a virtue.

But there was one Loup, in front of her, begging for a chance to do otherwise.

Perhaps a Loup could not be a fascist in the way an Imbrian could. It was more complex. Perhaps that was only an excuse Murati was making for herself, for this Loup. For this fascist— specifically. Because she could see her hurt right in front of her eyes. Even despite her convictions. Even despite everything she had come to believe. Her rationality told her that it was too convenient to view Aatto as a special case among the fascists.

Aatto had not been without choices. Her condition could not be entirely given onto fate. She could not be seen as entirely helpless. Even if she seemed to believe that she had been led to this by the nose, she always had choices. All humans did, even if those choices were grim and hopeless at times. To wear that uniform and work as a fascist, was a horrific choice– but she had also made the choice to rebel. More than once. And perhaps given a chance, Aatto could rebel enough to make amends for whatever circumstances led her to Volkisch service.

To condemn Aatto to “the fate of the Loup” as she put it– Murati did not have the steel in her chest to do that. As much as she felt like she was betraying her own convictions for not hating Aatto with every fiber of her being, for not stepping past those bars and beating her into a pulp the second she tried to beg for forgiveness. None of that would actually be justice. None of that would overturn the yoke the Volkisch had on anyone else. It would just be petty, senseless vengeance, in effigy, for the same monsters that probably tormented Aatto greatly herself. Murati grit her teeth at her own soft-heartedness.

Defectors existed in all causes to all causes– by that rubric, Aatto was not hopeless.

For everything else, Murati could only have faith and hope she would not regret her choice.

“I will talk to the Captain and Commissar about your defection.” Murati said.

She tried to keep a stoic tone and would not meet Aatto’s eyes any longer.

Aatto stared at her and smiled through her tears. Her face instantly brightened.

“Thank you! I won’t let you down! Your magnanimity is radiant! You are a true saint!”

“I’m not guaranteeing you anything!” Murati said sharply. “But I will talk to them.”

“Of course. I know you don’t have absolute power– though you deserve it–”

“Ugh. Don’t make me regret this.” Murati said. “You better be serious about it.”

“I am serious! I will be more than an adjutant! I will bear your scepter! I’ll be your knight!”

Murati could not have balled up her fists any tighter hearing all of that nonsense.

What kind of a mess am I getting myself into with this woman?

She tried to focus on material things. There was too much idealism in the atmosphere.

A Volkisch defector could be a great asset!

Aatto had been part of the Volkisch intelligence, the Sicherheitsdienst. If she truly had the kind of access to divert prisoners, fool patrols, and falsify documents, then Aatto could be a trove of information on the Volkisch and their operations and processes. Even taken with a grain of salt, it could help. And if she was telling the truth, she was crafty enough not to be caught, and she had connections with the liberals. They could use Aatto to help them find more Volkisch willing to turn and talk, or act as spies, perhaps. Even if she also insisted on being Murati’s adjutant– well, Murati could always use the help. She had been incredibly busy lately. But Aatto’s slavering displays of devotion were incredibly vexing.

It would be terribly embarrassing if she spent all her time trying to lick Murati’s boots.

But– Murati had given her word now. She had set her mind to being responsible for this.

Having Aatto locked up until she lost her mind and hurt herself was not a solution.

Maybe accepting her defection was not a perfect solution. But it was comparatively better.

So, Murati could say, in a unforeseen and surreal way, this was a productive outcome.

She could say that to herself repeatedly like a mantra until she shouted down her anxiety.

Still– Aatto’s behavior was unnerving. Something had to be done.

Something had to be said.

She turned her back again and found the words to voice her worry.

“I’m leaving. By the way, I have a wife. So– if you’re after me for– baser reasons, you had better not get your hopes up.” Murati said. She felt insane for feeling like she needed to clarify such a thing. But Aatto’s behavior had to be corrected somehow.

“I see! Well, that’s not a problem for me.” Aatto casually responded.

Murati was not facing Aatto but could practically see her expression in her mind’s eye.

Her mind was briefly overcome in a storm of emotions.

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? WHAT–?!

Murati vocalized nothing of the screams and expletives going off in her mind.

She simply and silently put one foot in front of the other and vacated the brig.

Her head throbbing and pounding– but her heart lighter and less aggrieved.


“Marina, we’re back here again. Again! After all the times you withheld information from us that ended so well.” Ulyana said sternly. “What do you have to say for yourself now?”

“At this point I am not sure I’d ever trust another word out of your mouth.” Aaliyah added.

“I have nothing to say in my defense. I apologize profusely.” Marina mumbled.

“You apologize– and yet keep choosing to lie to us every time anyway!” Ulyana shouted.

For their final disciplinary meeting of the day, Ulyana and Aaliyah saved the worst.

Marina McKennedy in her suit and button-down shirt, with her hands cuffed behind her back. Seated on a table across from Aaliyah and Ulyana, with Klara van Der Smidse looking over her. Out of everyone on the ship who had taken some misguided action, Marina was the only one being treated as actively dangerous. Ulyana felt like she had ample reason to think so. Marina was the only one who had consistently been in a situation like this and simply never reformed herself. In every situation since they allowed her aboard Marina had deceived them. And now Marina was also the one who had caused actual, verifiable harm.

For Illya or Zachikova, their last escapade was the first time they disobeyed orders.

Both of them at least had a noble reason– saving their comrades.

Marina, meanwhile, had aided and abetted in the Kreuzung Core Separation Crisis.

She confessed to everything with hardly any prompting.

“I was looking for information on an old partner of mine– a scientist named Asan. In the course of that, I ran into Kitty McRoosevelt, a GIA agent who was behind the Core Separation plot. I knew what Kitty was up to, she told me up front. I tried to dissuade her from it; but then I assisted her. I helped her secure mercenaries and refined her plan. I knew if I didn’t do anything, she would just get herself killed. I could see it in her eyes that she was ready to die. I thought if she succeeded it might create an opportunity for you and that it might save her life. I was wrong. I knew I was the moment I saw those lights start flickering.”

“You’re damn right that you were wrong!” Ulyana shouted. She could not help but feel incensed at the unfeeling delivery of this excuse, for the degree of evil that had been committed. “Marina, potentially torching an entire station is not worth an opportunity! You assisted this madwoman in attacking a reactor! You could have compromised the entire structure! Citizens of a station have nowhere to run to or hide from that! If you destroy the tower they will die crushed within it! Without hope of escape! Anyone who could escape would be the rich or the Volkisch! Is this truly how the G.I.A. operates?”

Unlike in past confrontations, Marina did not try to excuse herself.

She did not meet Ulyana’s shouting with her own, nor did she continue equivocating.

Instead she looked down at the table, her hands tied behind her back.

Unable to meet the eyes of her now captors.

“An apology is worth nothing to us Marina. The scale of your deceit here is intolerable. You almost certainly have the blood of innocents on your hands for this.” Aaliyah said.

“I’ve always had the blood of innocents on my hands.” Marina mumbled.

“Don’t even try it.” Ulyana said. “You’ll find no sympathy from us with that excuse.”

While the Republic of Alayze and the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice were strategic allies against the Imbrian Empire, Ulyana would not tolerate Marina’s lazy and callous defense. The G.I.A. could lie, cheat and steal all it wanted, but all was not fair in the course of war– there were things which were beyond the pale for even special forces or spy agencies to do. There had to be a level at which brutality was not worth success– and there was one.

On a material level, attacking stations was difficult for any combatant under the ocean, because a station was an enormous prize that was easy to destroy, and thereby condemning and annihilating everyone inside it– but useless in such a state. Capturing stations was the most difficult part of any armed conflict, more difficult than fighting fleets. There were ways to do it. Compromising the electricity or blowing it up was not on the table.

It was taboo– because it was foreclosing the possibility of human life itself.

Such wanton brutality did nobody favors. It moved humanity closer to total extinction.

Even the greediest and most sadistic madmen of history had avoided the cardinal sin.

There was nothing but water out there– the human world was inside the stations.

Whether to plunder, whether to build power, or set people free– the stations had to stand.

To attack a station with the intent of destruction was to attack human life in itself.

Nobody would gain anything from it. All of humanity would simply, permanently lose.

“What can I even say to this anymore?” Ulyana said. She had shouted herself out of breath.

There was nothing more to say. Marina had gone too far. They could hardly fathom it.

It was hard to speak of punishments for something like this.

Somehow anything they said or did felt like it was not possibly enough.

Still, they had to reach beyond the emotional and assert a realistic response.

“I advise we strip Marina of the rank and credentials we afforded her.” Aaliyah said.

“I’m still on your side. I still want to help.” Marina said. Still staring down at the table.

“You have gone too far this time Marina. I am not able to excuse what you did, to myself, in any fucking way.” Ulyana said. “You’re damn lucky. We are not about to have an execution carried out on this ship. Your words are meaningless; but your actions may yet redeem you. For now what you’ve earned yourself is two weeks of solitary confinement, and the loss of your rank aboard the ship. Once you come back out, you’re a civilian to us.”

“An untrustworthy civilian who will be monitored stringently.” Aaliyah added.

Marina smiled bitterly. “You’re right. I’ve been lucky one too many times haven’t I?”

“Sit in the brig and think about what you did. It’s you who has to live with that.”

Marina grit her teeth. She still could not lift her gaze to meet theirs.

“Damn it. You’re both soldiers too. Where the fuck do you two get off on judging me?! Commie bastards. How many people wouldn’t you kill for a victory?”

From across the table, Ulyana suddenly raised her arm and slapped Marina across the face.

With such vehemence she knocked Marina sideways out of her chair.

Aaliyah had no admonishment for this act of impulse.

She quietly stood up from her chair and with Klara’s help got Marina up from the floor.

Marina weakly struggled in Klara’s grip, but could not escape the security girl.

From her expression it was evident she knew she was completely out of hand.

“Take her away.” Ulyana said sternly. Klara nodded and led Marina out of the room.

The last Ulyana saw of Marina that day, was the glint of tears in her eyes.

When the door shut, Ulyana broke out into tears too.

The Captain’s whole body was shaking from the anger and shame bound up inside her.

How could all of this mess have happened, under their watch?

Were they that useless and helpless?

“Captain, we trusted her and had that trust violated. It wasn’t our fault.” Aaliyah said.

“I know.” Ulyana wiped her eyes in vain. “It’s just– god damn it. It’s so senseless.”

Aaliyah returned to the Captain’s side and rubbed her shoulder for support.

“There’s always going to be a horrid, bloodstained line between the need to take action and the need to take the right action.” Aaliyah said. She was not weeping, but had a tender expression. “We can’t hold ourselves up too high– we can be as ethical as the situation allows us; we can try to avoid unnecessary, senseless violence. But our actions against the Empire will have consequences like this– or worse. We have to be ready.”

“I know.” Ulyana said. She lifted a hand to her face to cover her weeping eyes.

Deep down what hurt the most is that only a very thin line separated them from Kitty McRoosevelt. Would they ever become as desperate as she had been?

Ulyana could not deny it– not decisively. That was the worst feeling of all.

“You have a good heart Captain.” Aaliyah said. “You don’t have to bear Marina’s burden.”

“Thank you.” Ulyana said. “I just feel responsible. She admitted to it so callously.”

“Can I be frank with you, Captain?” Aaliyah said.

“Always.”

“Don’t let this become another Pravda for you.”

Ulyana locked eyes with Aaliyah for a moment. She swallowed the shock.

Despite a brief surprise she quickly recognized Aaliyah’s support for what it was.

“Thank you for your candor. I won’t break down. I just need time to process.”

“Thank you. I understand. It has been a heavy few days for you.”

“For us, Aaliyah. You are invaluable to me. I’d go insane without you.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. I believe you’re stronger than that.”

Aaliyah smiled at Ulyana. Despite her tears, Ulyana smiled back.

They remained together in the room for a few moments, decompressing.

Then, the meeting room door blinked, a bright computer window opening on its surface.

Murati Nakara was requesting access to the room.

Unexpected but not a problem.

Ulyana wiped her tears.

Aaliyah sat beside her and verbally commanded the door to open.

“Greetings. Captain. Commissar. I spoke with the prisoner– it’s funny, actually–”

Murati walked into the room and sat on Marina’s chair– she had on a strange expression.

They had never seen her so apparently nervous, and yet almost laughing.

Ulyana and Aaliyah followed her with their eyes. Murati had a manic sort of energy.

When she spoke, she started gesticulating with her hands in a rather dramatic fashion.

“Aatto Jarvi-Stormyweather– is defecting to become my personal adjutant. There are a few things we can confirm to be sure of her sincerity, but I will take responsibility for her.”

Ulyana and Aaliyah blinked at her silently for several heavy heartbeats.

In both their heads a calculation of the circumstances seemed to play out.

Their facial expressions went through several increasingly darkening shifts.

“I guess we need to discuss what to do about her rank right? I have some ideas.”

Murati added this while nervously picking at her own tie and collar.

Speechless, Captain and Commissar both laid their heads against the table.

As if a wave of exhaustion had suddenly claimed their ability to stand.

Instantly, the room went silent, save for Murati laughing a bit, nervously still.

For several minutes the Captain and Commissar simply groaned in response.


Previous ~ Next

Mourners After The Revel [12.2]

A pair of dark-furred cat-like ears stood up straight and engaged in a subtle wiggling.

“I’m hearing an Imperial ship! Ritter-class Cruiser!” Fatima al-Suhar called out.

Several bridge officers stiffened up in their seats.

The Ritter-class encompassed quite a few ships that had given the Brigand and its guests substantial grief in recent events. The Aleksandr detected near the end of the battle for Kreuzung; the Greater Imbria that had chased Elena Lettiere out of her home; and worst of all, the Antenora, flagship of the fearsome Norn the Praetorian. Ritters were high-tech types of vessels that could fight toe to toe with the Brigand if not give it pause outright, with comparable 150 mm guns, secondary 76 mm guns, missiles, torpedoes, drones and Divers.

“Check for the IFF before getting nervous.” Olga Athanasiou said, in a blunt tone of voice.

There was a rare configuration of command on the bridge. Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya was out taking care of ‘personnel issues’; Commissar Aaliyah Bashara joined her; and Premier Erika Kairos meeting the sailors and thus, also indisposed. Prior to their adventure in Kreuzung this should have made Murati the next-in-command on the bridge as First Officer.

Instead, Erika’s right-hand woman Olga Athanasiou was given the bridge, sitting in the big chair in her black hoodie and long casual pants, her pale hair tied up in a ponytail. This was more of a mercenary situation than the strict military regimentation the crew was used to.

On the main screen, a small Zachikova model appeared and nodded her head.

She pointed her round, tiny hand at waveform graph that appeared beside her little body.

“This signal perfectly matches the ‘Day Code’ given to us by Premier Kairos to identify the Volksarmee’s acoustic beacon IFF. I am certain that this is an allied vessel.” She said.

Olga smiled and leaned farther back in the Captain’s chair, putting her feet up.

“That’s the Rostock then. Helm, rendezvous with them. Signals, send an acoustic hail.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Kamarik and Semyonova worked as instructed, efficiently and without complaint.

“So– do you think she is ever going to learn our names?”

On the opposite side of the bridge from signals, Torpedo Officer Alex Geninov grumbled.

“Gamer, tis been but few moons since she joined our band. Silence your errant tongue.”

Gunnery Officer Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa whispered back with typical verbosity.

Olga sighed audibly at the two of them.

“Rejoice you two; I know your names, because you get scolded the most!” She said.

Fernanda shot Alex a glare as if to say ‘you got me in trouble again!’

Alex squirmed in her seat, under both Olga and Fernanda’s glowering expressions.

Even with Olga in the Captain’s chair, there could still be an air of familiarity.

Soon after, the National Volksarmee flagship answered the Brigand’s message. Within 30 minutes the two vessels closed enough to one another for laser-based communications. On the main screen, the Rostock came to loom massively within 50 meters of the Brigand in the otherwise empty-seeming, near-black landscape of Eisental. It was the first time since they had left Thassal Station that the Brigand was face to face with an Imperial model ship on assuredly friendly terms. Quite a unique image to be seeing in ultra-high resolution.

The Ritter-class, also known as the “Sword class,” resembled what its nickname suggested. The prow of the ship was sharp and roughly triangular, while the gently flared rear armor over the hydrojets resembled a sword’s handguard. Atop the slight curve of the top deck rested the main gun turret, its dual 150 mm barrels and their chunky drainage housings permanently engaged, unlike the Brigand’s retractable guns. But the Rostock had a few modifications. Most obviously, it had a livery, dark green with a red stripe running across the bow. In addition to the interdiction gas guns and the secondary 76 mm cannons, there were also additional jet anchor pods installed on the front and rear of the ship. Sixteen cells of vertical missile launchers were evident as well. How had Erika acquired such a vessel?

Olga always answered the same– that is a story for another day.

So the crew remained curious but nonetheless professional as they could be.

“Yeah, that’s her all right.” Olga said. “Accept the hail, Sig– Semyonova. Main screen.”

Semyonova smiled at Olga. “Yes ma’am. Right away.”

She promptly routed the communication from the Rostock to the main screen situated on the forebridge. After a few seconds a woman appeared, saluting the entire time, rendered massively in front of everyone due to the size of the main screen. Like Olga and Erika, the captain of the Rostock had the same rectangular horns coming out of the back of her head pointed up, barely visible from behind her peaked cap. Her skin was lightly pink with orange mottles visible around her neck. On her cap, there was a silver badge that had been evidently defaced, a crude star cut over whatever it had once represented. She dressed in a long red coat over black pants and a cut-off black top, and wore her dark blue hair quite long.

“Comrade Olga. Captain Daphne Triantafallos of the Rostock is reporting in.”

Her voice was serious and her enunciation was very deliberate.

Olga cracked a little grin upon seeing her.

“How have things been, Daphne? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and we’re going to have do it while on the move. It is going to be pretty annoying, you know, so get ready for that. But until Erika gets back from chatting, we can take it easy for a little bit.”

Rather than respond, Daphne glanced around.

From her vantage, she could see some of the Brigand’s bridge crew.

“These are Union soldiers, Olga?” Daphne asked.

“Indeed they are.” Olga replied dryly.

“To think– I will fight alongside the great liberators of the southern sea. It is my honor!”

Semyonova narrowed her eyes with confusion as Daphne adopted a more compliant tone.

“May I attend the Brigand for a spell in order to observe their operations? I’m sure we can learn something that will improve the Rostock’s efficiency!” Daphne said, with a little smile.

Olga laughed. “Sure, sure. We’ll have a lot of people coming and going.”

“Are we that special?” Geninov whispered, but not low enough–

“Have some faith, torpedoes!” Olga declared almost as quickly as Geninov spoke.

Geninov frowned, and there was some light giggling throughout the bridge at her expense.

On the leftmost edge of the main screen, beside Daphne, a second figure peeked into the picture. Daphne turned to acknowledge her and bid her to come closer and greet everyone. In the next instant, a round-faced and pretty young woman took the opportunity to jump in, cling very close to Daphne and fully enter the picture. Dressed in a plastic, hooded coat with numerous pockets that seemed like it had either been sloppily dyed red over or blue; or that it had faded from red with specks and streaks of blue dotting its surface. When she pulled her hood down, she rendered visible her brown hair, collected into a big braid. Her skin was a brownish-grey with spots of white, but most peculiarly, she had a single horn stretching from the top of her forehead, a few centimeters long before it was broken off. Big orange eyes and rosy cheeks, gave her a more girlish and soft appearance than Daphne’s sleek edges.

“Greetings everyone! I am Nomia Grammateas. I am Daphne’s adjutant. Nice to meet you all.”

She spoke in a voice so dulcet-soft she earned an easy comparison to Semyonova.

“You can catch up later.” Olga said. “Daphne, we should not stay put for much longer. We need to get the show moving. Pull the Rostock alongside us, we’ll synchronize navigation data. We can use shuttles or Divers to ferry personnel between the ships in motion.”

Daphne acknowledged with a shallow nod.

In a corner of the main screen, a camera picked up movement and brought up a picture-in-picture showing the ocean ahead of them and what had been detected. There was only one sight to see. The Rostock began to pull water through its jets again, leaving the area of the forward cameras to be picked up by side cameras. Slowly circling around the Brigand to face in its direction while maintaining a fifty meter distance from starboard. Olga ordered Kamarik to get the Brigand moving also; the two ships resumed their journey together.

Olga sat back in the Captain’s chair and shut her eyes for a moment.

She thought of the amount of work ahead of them before Aachen. They had to synchronize the data of both ships; come up with a slew of protocols for working together; collate a shared inventory; make communications routine enough that both crews became habituated to working together and making joint decisions; all of this just in the middle of the ocean while hurtling toward greater troubles. There would be even work at Aachen, and even more to do once they worked out any kind of plan against the Volkisch Movement.

As with all previous events that transpired– Olga simply grinned to herself.

There was a lot of toil ahead, and she would certainly complain.

But she was excited to be out of that stuffy Kreuzung station and back in the ocean.

In the ocean, where there was a fight, there was the possibility of change.

Victory or death.

Erika’s dream was one step closer to being realized.

And that was all that mattered to her. A world where Erika would not need to work.


At Dr. Kappel’s request, Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya visited her clinic.

Of the many meetings on her schedule this would be the first.

She was grateful for the opportunity to put off the disciplinary meetings with Illya and Valeriya– and Zachikova and Arabella after them. She also had a meeting with Erika, Murati, Euphrates and Tigris to catch up on the events surrounding Arabella, the Omenseers, and “Psionics.” Then she had to finally reprimand Marina. Compared to all of those topics, talking to Homa Baumann, if not any lighter, would at least be easier to approach.

Ulyana walked into the clinic and made note that all of the disciplinary hearing subjects had already been collected from their beds by Akulantova and taken to the meeting place. Aaliyah was likely already there with them. There were a pair of sailors helpfully assisting in putting away the plastic screens that had been installed between each bed. It made the clinic look a lot less occupied. There was one barrier at the end that would not yet be moved.

Behind it was Homa Baumann.

(And Kalika Loukia, seated beside her and in the middle of conversation.)

Ulyana arrived swiftly, interrupting the two and introducing herself.

“Greetings, Homa Baumann. I’m Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya. Let’s have a little chat.”

In her bed, Homa Baumann looked– small.

She was not necessarily a very short girl, and it was not necessarily because Ulyana herself was taller than average. Rather, Ulyana felt that Homa was making herself small, distant. She was nervous and closed off. Whether voluntarily or not, she seemed like she was shrinking back from Ulyana. Compared to when Ulyana had last seen her, when she was brought into the ship, Homa was cleaned up and healthier, her dark hair attaining a lively luster again, her eyes brighter. She was looking even skinnier than she did in Kreuzung, when she greeted Ulyana at the port. But she was eating again, so she would be restored in time.

“Do you recognize me, Homa? We actually met when my ship arrived at Kreuzung.”

Homa briefly glanced at Kalika and then back to Ulyana.

“Yes, I do recognize you.” Homa said. “I remember. The Pandora’s Box– I always knew you guys were shady.” She averted her gaze. “Two days ago– I had just been operated on and I was really freaked out. But I get it– I’ve ended up on a mercenary vessel. Isn’t that right?”

“Close. I suppose you could say that about our present situation.” Ulyana smiled.

Homa narrowed her eyes.

“Are you going to try talking in circles around it too?”

“No. I will tell you everything you want to know. Then you can decide whether to stay with us or part ways. So just ask. I can spare ten or twenty minutes. You can ask me anything.”

For a moment, Homa was warier than she had ever looked.

“What happens if you tell me your secrets and let me go, and I snitch to the Volkisch?”

Kalika sighed openly and put her biological hand over her face in response.

Ulyana smiled, because it was such a farcical proposition, and such a prickly response.

She was not threatened in the slightest.

This outburst came from a place of hurt.

“Nothing will happen to you. At least not by our hand.” Ulyana said. When she spoke her voice was gentle but firm. “You can go directly from our ship to the Gau office at Aachen. Nobody will stop you. You can say what you want to say to them, and certainly we may be inconvenienced by it, but more than likely you will end up being arrested by them and we will just escape and find another way to conduct our business. You have some lurid fantasies if you think I’m going to silence a helpless girl as a threat to our security. We operate just a bit more ethically than that. Besides, you hate the Volkisch too, don’t you?”

That final point was the most important one.

Knowing what Ulyana knew about the situation, made it much easier to sell things softly.

Had Homa been any more ambiguous– she may well have had to cover off the possibility.

But the sad, withdrawn girl in front of her was no threat to anyone right now.

She would not do anything to merit extreme measures.

“What makes you say that?” Homa said bitterly. “There’s a lot of Volkisch Shimii now.”

Homa could not meet her eyes. She had never once looked at Ulyana directly as they spoke.

Poor girl. Her voice was trembling. Her state made Ulyana’s heart quiver with pity.

“You fought them in Kreuzung. You killed them too. You threw yourself right at them.”

At the sound of the word ‘killed’ Homa seemed to flinch and stare down at her own lap.

“Homa. Please. Nobody will hurt you.” Kalika finally interrupted.

She reached out a hand to comfort her– and Homa gently shied away from it.

“It’s not that.” Homa said. Partially through gritted teeth. Her hand clutching her blanket.

“Homa,” Ulyana said, believing it was time to just put everything on the table with finality, “I’m a Captain of the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice’s Navy.” She waited a moment for Homa to draw her eyes wide. “You may have heard of us referred to as rebels or bandits; but we are communist soldiers and we have not come here to plunder or enrich ourselves. We are here to help the people of Eisental to resist the Volkisch Movement.”

“The Union?” Homa said. Her lips quivered. “So you’re not mercenaries. You’re real soldiers.”

Her initial shock seemed to quickly abate, but she still could not lift her eyes from the bed.

“Before either mercenaries or soldiers, we’re all communists.” Ulyana said. She bent over slightly to try to get closer to capturing Homa’s eyes. Homa continued to avoid her gaze. “We don’t want to cause you unneeded suffering, Homa. When we dock at Aachen, no matter what, you will have a chance to leave. But we know that you fought the Volkisch at Kreuzung. If you are opposed to their injustices, then we can be your allies in that regard.”

Homa narrowed her eyes. Her ears folded. She looked more conflicted than before.

“You don’t have to make any decision right now.” Ulyana said. “You don’t even have to decide when we get to Aachen. Take your time and think about it. Staying with us will put you in a lot of danger– but as long as you remain here, we will feed you and take care of you. You’re not the only guest we have. We don’t have infinite capacity but we can certainly help you. We’re not in the habit of abandoning innocent girls to the elements. We will not make you fight either, so you do not have to worry about that. You can still do what you want with yourself. But if you want to leave, you can leave. We’ll do our best to assist you.”

Homa bowed her head. Her hair fell messily over her face, enough to cover her eyes.

“Why?” Homa asked. “I don’t understand why– why would you be like this? Didn’t one of you look at the data from my machine? I was afraid you wanted me to fight. So– why–?”

Ulyana suppressed a laugh.

She must have gotten wind of Murati’s thoughtless intentions.

“I’ll tell Murati Nakara off if she gets too excited. I am not recruiting you Homa.”

“I don’t understand!” Homa cried out. “Why would you be this accommodating? I’m just some nobody! No, even worse– I’m just a big target now! I killed Volkisch back at Kreuzung. I killed dozens– no, hundreds of them! So I’m a murderer and a criminal! They’ll find me and hunt me down and make me pay! Meanwhile I’ll just take up space, eat your food, and you’re even giving me a free surgery. I don’t understand why you would do any of this for me!”

Homa had made her own voice crack several times. She was losing control.

Ulyana tried to reassure her again.

“We are doing this much for you– because it’s right, Homa. Because causing you harm or neglecting you is the senseless, needless option.” Her calm gaze met Homa’s impassioned eyes directly for the very first time in their conversation. “Because I couldn’t live with myself throwing you out of this ship knowing you have no means to sustain yourself. Because what is convenient for me is not what is right or just for the world. That is why, Homa. We can adjust the rations; we can get more medicines; we can move around people so you can have a place to sleep. But we rescued you; we have a responsibility to help you!”

That screaming which had shaken itself out of her chest seemed to leave Homa hollow.

“I– I–” Homa began to weep. “I see. I see. I– I don’t have any more questions. Sorry.”

She turned suddenly in bed, wrapping herself in her blankets, turning her back and sobbing.

Ulyana looked at Kalika, silently requesting her input.

Kalika shook her head and made a waving hand gesture as if to say ‘go, I’ve got this.’

Ulyana nodded back.

She turned her own back on Homa’s bed for now and walked away.

In her years as a Captain she had built up some experience dealing with traumas like this.

And she herself had a complete breakdown too– after the Pravda incident in the Union.

Back then she had completely blamed herself for the accident.

For the sinking of the newest Union dreadnought and the loss of hundreds of lives.

Ulyana knew the sound of those words that Homa spoke against herself.

Blame and self-hatred and confusion. After the Pravda sank, the questions would torment her mind for years. “Why did I live when others lost their lives?” “Where did I go wrong?” “How can I keep living like this?” To silence those voices, Ulyana drank and fucked and retreated from the world. She ignored her friends and shouted and spat at any stranger who tried to drag her back or to give her a way out. Only Nagavanshi succeeded.

She saw so much herself in Homa that it was almost painful to bear witness to it.

Ulyana had grown too, however. She was not still the woman of mere months ago.

For a woman in her mid-30s, the last few months had done the work of years.

Overcoming had been slow– but she forgave herself.

She would not avert her gaze from Homa. She had to meet that girl’s eyes at her level.

She also knew that trying too hard to help could become its own torture for poor Homa.

Instead Ulyana hoped that Homa would slowly accept the everyday kindness of living on the ship and come to a decision for herself. Exposed to the frequent and unexceptional kindness that everyone on the Brigand would receive in their time of need. She hoped that given the right opportunities to fight her own helplessness, Homa would take them and it would build her spirits back up, so that she felt like she had found her own power and purpose again.

That was what the Brigand and its mission, had done for Ulyana herself.

Ulyana had learned to forgive herself for the Pravda.

All she wanted for Homa, was that she could forgive herself for her own tragedy.

At least Kalika had put herself at Homa’s dispensation. Having a friend would help.

There was not much Ulyana could do. She walked out of the clinic feeling ambivalent.

Walking slowly through the hall to have a moment’s peace to decompress.

Before all of the exhausting meetings about to come.

“Homa Baumann is the least of my problems.” Ulyana said to herself.

Still– that meeting had been nowhere near as simple as she had hoped it would be.

People could hurt so badly– in every piece of them, the cruel Imbrium could put a scratch.

Just like the Brigand itself, sailing immaculate before being patched up over and over.

All Ulyana could do was keep patching, to keep the water out.

Several doors down the hall, her next problem awaited in a nondescript meeting room.

There was a table, some chairs, the blue walls, nothing exceptional or different.

Akulantova at the door; Aaliyah waiting on the other end of the room, alone.

And between them, Illya Rostova, her arms crossed; and Valeriya Peterburg, avoiding eyes.

Perhaps one of her most dangerous set of problems.

“Have they been behaving?” Ulyana asked upon walking in.

“They know better than to piss me off worse than they already have.” Akulantova replied.

Her voice was gruffer than usual. She was more unreservedly blunt to these two.

Neither Illya nor Valeriya made a sound despite being mentioned so roughly.

Ulyana walked around them and took a seat next to Aaliyah.

“Are we ready to begin, Captain?” She asked.

“We have to be.” Ulyana said. She meet Aaliyah’s eyes– her Commissar looked wary too.

Together, the two of them faced Illya and Valeriya on the other side of the table.

“Let’s cut the bullshit.” Ulyana said immediately. Aaliyah’s ears stood on end. “You two don’t respect me or Chief Akulantova. You are probably laughing to yourselves because Akulantova values human lives and I was just an ordinary ship Captain. You probably don’t respect Aaliyah because she’s ‘just’ a Commissar too. Am I wrong? You believe your special forces clique are the center of the universe don’t you? That you are all above the law?”

“Captain–!” Aaliyah gasped with surprise.

Ulyana did not draw her eyes away from Illya.

Even Akulantova had her eyes drawn wide at the Captain’s aggression.

Illya raised her eyes from the table, her icy gaze meeting Ulyana’s passion.

“Dead wrong.” Illya said. “I believe no such things, Captain.”

“Then I misread you. I sincerely apologize. Let us put it behind us.”

Ulyana reached out a hand to shake. Illya looked at it and quizzically returned the gesture.

Neither of the two made any sort of show of their hand shaking.

Just an ordinary firm shake. As if nobody had shouted.

When their hands retracted, Ulyana crossed her arms. She let out a breath.

“Tell me why you and Valeriya left the ship without authorization, in full combat gear.”

Illya shut her eyes. “To rescue Zachikova.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Do you think I would have forbid her rescue?” Ulyana said.

“I worried you might put the mission ahead of a single crew member.” Illya replied.

“And you wouldn’t?”

“I don’t leave people behind if I can help it.”

“People, writ large– or people, as in just your former squadron?”

“We would have done the same. For you.”

Valeriya finally spoke up in the middle of them. She was covering her mouth with her hand and would not make eye contact with anyone. Both of them were dressed in the Treasure Box uniforms, and Valeriya was not given her tactical mask back to wear. So she was covering her face and speaking from behind her fingers. While Illya’s body language was firm and determined, Valeriya looked shaken and unable to hold her gaze on anything.

Despite this, she spoke up when she needed to.

Ulyana sighed. These two weren’t necessarily ill intentioned– just difficult.

Difficult girls whose history Ulyana was not allowed to know.

For the first time Ulyana felt that it would be difficult to make friends here.

She had to be the boss, rather than the inspirational figure or the ship dad.

“You misjudged me as well, Illya Rostova. In that situation, I would not have abandoned Zachikova. Our mission has paramount importance, of course– but I need my crew to complete my mission. I need Zachikova, you, and Valeriya. More than that– I am responsible for you. It would take the most dire circumstances for me to abandon you.”

For the first time, Valeriya briefly glanced at Ulyana directly.

“It’s my responsibility– what we did.” Illya said, raising her voice as if hoping to center all attention on herself. Meeting Ulyana’s eyes while reaching out a hand and gripping Valeriya’s shoulder to comfort her. “When I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I own up to it. You’re partially right, Ulyana Korabiskaya. I do not know you as a Captain. So I would rather break a few plates, and be yelled at, and learn my lesson, than lose my chance. So I went out and brought back Zachikova. Because she was a comrade– and friend. So I just broke the plates.”

“Does this mean henceforth you will correct your behavior?” Aaliyah asked.

“Yes.” Illya said. “Next time this happens, I’ll follow protocol and trust you.”

“We’ve been pretty speedy decision-makers when it has mattered. We could have avoided a lot of trouble.” Ulyana said. “Anyway. Let me be clear about where we stand. You are all valuable members of my crew. I have decided to punish you, and the punishment has been decided too. But I will expect both of you to continue doing your jobs, and to perform with excellence. I expect you to follow orders. You want those guns out of their lockers, you request it from the Chief. You have a situation, you report it to me or to the Commissar– or hell, even Murati! We just can’t afford to be completely in the dark. You had that scuffle with Ahwalia, and now this. You will learn to cooperate with others properly. That is the only thing you are missing. You must recognize that you are part of my team. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.” Illya said. “I intended no disrespect. I am not trying to subvert command.”

“Good. And while you intended no disrespect, you disrespected me nonetheless.”

“I apologize, Captain. I will do whatever it takes to rectify the situation.”

“Just do your job. Do it right. Look at Klara and Lian for examples.”

Illya seemed to bristle ever so slightly at that suggestion, but said nothing more.

Maybe she was a good girl after all.

Ulyana turned to Valeriya and spoke to her directly.

In that instant Illya looked more alarmed for a moment.

“You care about Illya quite deeply. But don’t just do whatever she tells you. I want you to be able to exercise your own judgment and rein her in if you must. Are we clear?”

Valeriya nodded her head quietly. It was difficult to be firm with her.

“Good. You two have demonstrated a lot of skill– I will be needing you. So shape up!”

The Captain turned her attention back to Illya and smiled.

“Now, let bygones be bygones, agree to do better next time– and accept your punishment.”

From a corner of the Akulantova, who also had a grin on her face, picked up a box.

She dropped the box in the middle of the table between Illya and Ulyana and chuckled.

“You are all cordially invited to café Last Resort Rations. Three meals a day, two weeks.”

Ulyana opened the plastic box to unveil several compressed bricks of food vacuum packed in transparent wrappers. Each of them had a sticker with the packing date, fall-off date and the name of the item. She held up one which was a muddy dark color and had specks of green within it. It was evident through the packaging that the brick was dense and crumbly.

“Look! Soy sauce cabbage congee! Amazing!” Ulyana said, putting on a sadistic smile.

Aaliyah picked one up and showed it off with the exact same expression as Ulyana.

“And here we have red rice with beans and peppers. Scrumptious.” Aaliyah said.

“But we’re not monsters here. You’ll also have water from your rooms, and one of these.”

Ulyana produced from the ration box a tiny two-piece alcohol stove, a pack of fuel tablets for the portable stove and a little steel cup. An entire portable mess kit for survival use.

“You can bite straight into the food bar, or you can dissolve the contents into a little stew.”

“Three a day.” Aaliyah added. “We will be checking in on you to make sure you eat them. If you even as much as look at Minardo’s cooking we have some creative ideas to make this worse, so it’s best to steel yourselves for it now. While you eat, think about what you’ve done and the social contract for being on this ship. I don’t care how classified or not the two of you are; you’re under the Captain’s command and my supervision. End of story.”

Enjoying herself far too much, Ulyana pulled out a third bar and waved it gleefully.

“Straight out of our old homeland: buckwheat with mushrooms and algae!”

Aaliyah followed her, producing a fourth block. “Homestyle tofu rice with green onion.”

“I get it, I get it.” Illya said. “We’ll eat out of the box and be good girls from now on.”

Valeriya nodded her head alongside Illya.

Even she looked a bit more amused than before at the nature of the punishment.

“Did you think we were going to vent you of an airlock?” Ulyana asked.

“No, more like shoot me in front of the crew as an example.” Illya said.

“We’re not putting that entirely off the table on a repeat offense.” Aaliyah replied.

Now it was Ulyana’s turn to look momentarily shocked at her Commissar’s aggression.

Off to the side of the table, Akulantova made a face and averted her eyes.

Illya and Valeriya looked completely unphased by the comment.

“Well– I suppose that is most of what needed to be said on this topic.” Ulyana said trying to fill in the sudden silence, and wanting to move on to her next meeting. “Illya and Valeriya; we will be monitoring you more closely from now on. I want us to have a better relationship. My style of leadership is that I want to trust that everyone working for me is an adult with an ethical compass who can do their job correctly and communicate well. I am grateful that you were able to bring Zachikova and Arabella back safely. But you have shaken my trust in you — needlessly — and it will need to be rebuilt. But I want to believe in you two.”

Illya nodded her head. “Acknowledged. I will endeavor toward excellence, Captain.”

“See that you do.” Ulyana said. “Is there anything more you want to tell me?”

“Actually, there is, Captain. There is something you can do for me.”

Ulyana awaited for Illya to explain– instead she got up from her chair.

Akulantova stiffened up– Aaliyah was about to shout for her to sit until dismissed–

But everyone quieted when Illya kneeled beside Valeriya, taking her hand.

“Valeriya Peterburg, will you marry me?”

In that moment, Valeriya’s eyes drew wider open than Ulyana had ever seen them.

She was rendered perhaps more speechless than usual.

“I want to take care of you forever. I never want to leave your side.” Illya continued. “So much has happened to you for following me all of this time. For every one of my horrid decisions, you have supported me. At my every lowest point, you have been forced to watch me struggle to stand. Whenever I falter, you are forced to save me. When we were in the middle of a firefight again, I trusted you with my life, but I was– I was so deeply afraid for yours. I can’t pretend like this will make up for everything, but it’s a real commitment I can make to you right now. I want to spend the rest of my life treating you like a queen, Valeriya.”

Aaliyah and Ulyana stared in mute surprise. They glanced at each other helplessly.

Valeriya lifted her hand from over her mouth– she was smiling, a little bit.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” She whimpered, her voice lower than ever.

Her eyes glinted with a hint of tears. But she was smiling, happier than ever.

From her kneeling position, Illya turned to face the others.

“As soon as possible I want this to be completely official. The Commissar is a communist party official, so she can notarize; and the Captain and Akulantova are our two witnesses. We have cohabitated for years. I want to marry her. You don’t have to put me on any lists for bigger rooms or whatever the fuck– just fill out the form for us. Please.”

Illya sounded far more serious than she had been during the entire conversation before.

This meant even more to her than her life, Ulyana thought.

These two– they really were very difficult women. But very tender too.

Aaliyah sighed. “I’ll add your paperwork to my unending list of things that need doing.”

“Thank you, Commissar, Captain, Chief.” Illya said. “Truly. Thank you for everything.”

“You two are always the biggest pain in my ass.” Akulantova said. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations.” Ulyana said, helpless to add anything more substantial.

“Congratulations.” Aaliyah added in a monotone voice.

All of the reluctance in the world had taken residence in her. She was nearly shaking.

Regardless, there was a confession and everyone accepted it.

Illya and Valeriya stood up, and Valeriya threw her arms around Illya without hesitation.

In return, Illya kissed her with her own unreserved passion, the audience be damned.

Neither of them stretched out the scene any further. After the kiss, they were dismissed.

Illya took the box of rations and carried it, beside an uncharacteristically smiley Valeriya.

Akulantova watched them go with a critical expression, jaw twitching with irritation.

And so concluded that piece of business.

“Well,” Ulyana said, “Never knew this whole mess would end in a wedding. Fun, huh?”

Aaliyah stared sidelong at Ulyana, frowning, her arms crossed, seated back on her chair.

“Personally, I must express disapproval. But administratively, I will comply.” She said.

Ulyana laid a hand on her shoulder with a smile. “That’s our charming Commissar.”

“Hmph.” Aaliyah’s ears folded, but she did not shake Ulyana’s hand off her shoulder.


Another meeting room door opened in the wake of the Captain and Commissar.

Seated across the table from Arabella and Zachikova this time. Both of them out of their hospital beds and back in uniform. Arabella had been retrieved with some truly grisly wounds, and had recovered exceptionally. However, ever since she was brought aboard she had refused to take on any color in her skin or hair. A pale girl with completely white hair and pale eyes, even the once flush and vascular tips of her horns were stark white.

Meanwhile Zachikova was still quite herself, but she was nursing a serious injury to her leg and sat on a wheelchair during the meeting. For once she had an emotion on her face.

She looked nervous.

As soon as Ulyana and Aaliyah took their seats across the table, Arabella bowed her head.

She bowed so low that her hair covered her face. Aaliyah sighed.

They heard her sob but could not see her tears.

“I apologize for the danger I brought upon all of you. I am so deeply sorry.” Arabella said.

Zachikova remained quiet, her hands on her lap with the fingers curled into fists.

“We are still almost completely in the dark about what this danger was,” Aaliyah said, “and about your role in it,” she then turned to face Zachikova, “and why you snuck out to go after her without telling anybody. More than punishing anyone, we need to understand the circumstances. We can leave some things to a report, but I want a motive.”

Zachikova raised her eyes from the table and met Aaliyah and Ulyana’s gazes.

“She went missing and I had a feeling she was in danger. So I went after her.” She said.

“When a crew member goes missing, Braya Zachikova, we form a rescue party, and then we know where everyone is, what they are doing, and we can coordinate them. When we work together we have a much higher chance of bringing everyone back safely!”

“I had an emotional response.” Zachikova said. Averting her eyes.

“It’s not that I can’t sympathize with that. We are all emotional on this ship.” Ulyana said, entering the discussion. “But when another crew member’s life is on the line, we need to temper our emotions with rationality. We can’t act on pure impulse. There is always enough time to make sure the crew knows what you are doing and can back you up. Zachikova, the way you decided to do this could have jeopardized your life, that of Arabella, and Illya and Valeriya, who also went after you in secret. You could have all died without us ever knowing where you were, or what had happened to you. Akulantova had to run out to find you! You should thank her for your lives. We can’t allow this to repeat ever again.”

Zachikova paused to think for a moment.

But even she seemed frustrated with her own response when next she spoke.

“I understand perfectly well. It’s not like me– but Arabella isn’t like anyone else to me.”

“It was my fault.” Arabella interrupted. “Please do not chastise Braya.”

“I must chastise her.” Ulyana said. “Because she knows better than to have done this.”

“I know– but what I mean is, I called out to her in a panic. I called out to her to save me.”

“You’re talking about psionics, aren’t you?” Ulyana said.

Betraying a sudden weariness.

Arabella nodded her head. Aaliyah narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Zachikova heard my psionic screaming. That’s the reason she came after me.” Arabella said.

“You don’t have to make excuses for me. I made my own decision.” Zachikova said.

“Let her talk.” Ulyana said. “Arabella. Why did you run away in the first place?”

Arabella looked utterly defeated as she spoke.

They could barely see her face and she was weeping.

“When you came back from your meetings with the United Front groups, I caught the scent on you– the scent of some awful people of my own kind. They are known as Enforcers of the Syzygy. They are brutal and they disdain hominins. I was terrified that they were plotting to trick you and kill everyone here. I felt that I needed to go after them– that only I could do it– in order to protect Braya and all of you. I prepared for a few days by gathering my old memories and then I escaped to go after them. Perhaps it was also the hunger– pushing me into conflict with them. But ultimately, I did what I did. It was reckless and useless. I did enormous damage to my mind and body, and betrayed your trust, for nothing.”

“Have we really just not engendered any trust in you all?” Ulyana said sternly.

Somehow, she felt more saddened that nobody reported to her when they were in need.

Perhaps because that was something easier to grasp than the rest.

“You caught the scent of your kind on us?” Aaliyah asked. “So we met with Omenseers?”

Arabella nodded her head.

“So these Enforcers you mentioned– we can rule out Erika and her troops, or Arabella would have made her scene on the ship rather than vacated it. We can also rule out the demsocs, since Gloria was not physically present but Orlan is on the ship and getting along–” Ulyana felt her heart beat faster. She recalled the strange behavior of the anarchists, utterly false in their ideology and confessing that they believed some bizarre theories.

“It was Zozia and Ksenia then.” She finally said. The Imbrium was cruel indeed.

“I might be able to describe their hominin likenesses for you.” Arabella said.

“So you were not successful in eliminating them.” Aaliyah said.

“I’m afraid not.” Arabella said. “They almost killed me. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Then we’ll be running into them again at Aachen.” Ulyana said gravely.

Aaliyah’s tail stood up straight. “We need more info– how do we even respond to this?”

“Arabella, are you okay with telling us all of this? You don’t have to do this.”

Zachikova spoke up in defense of Arabella. Aaliyah shot her a furious look.

Ulyana laid her hand on Aaliyah’s shoulder and shook her head to stop her going further.

“Zachikova. Arabella saved our lives back at Goryk. We deferred prying into her affairs back then. But now we need more information. We are not doing this out of convenience– if we want to protect her from her enemies, who clearly meant her harm, then she has to work with us. She can’t keep going around behind our backs anymore. Do you understand?”

In response, Zachikova quieted and averted her gaze. Arabella held her hand briefly.

“It’s okay, Braya.” Arabella said. She put on a brave face.

Facing an Ulyana trying her damnedest to smile, and Aaliyah’s fiercely skeptical eyes.

Arabella began to speak, and she told Ulyana and Aaliyah something new.

“My name is Arabella– it is what I was originally called. Arbitrator I– that was something my sister made up. Her name was Caderis– now Arbitrator II.” Arabella began. Then her tone grew impassioned, and the things she said made both Aaliyah and Ulyana stare fixedly. “My sister and I were created as weapons. Biological weapons. By people up there.” She pointed at the ceiling. She clearly meant the surface. Ulyana and Aaliyah followed where her finger pointed with wide-eyed confusion. “They used DNA from the original Omenseers to make us. We were meant to be extremely adaptable weapons that could be used to control the hominins. Hominins were more scared than ever, and fighting each other, and the world was in a truly horrid shape. When I was born, the sky was already purple. ‘Biomechanoids’– as they called us– did not need fuel or munitions, and we could repair ourselves– and we derived our fighting energy from the most abundant resource left in the world. Expendable, infinitely replaceable hominins. We could kill them, eat them, and then kill more.”

Ulyana could hardly believe what she was hearing. She did not know how she could reply.

Or at least, that was her snap reaction.

After a few moments she realized the world had been overturned and made a farce in front of her eyes so many times already. She could believe almost anything after she overcame her initial shock. Then again– judging by Homa’s reaction, to her, communism was as incomprehensible as the idea of talking to a surface world bioweapon. So perhaps musing on the weirdness of the particulars here was nothing but good old human emotion.

Aaliyah did not raise her voice to interrupt either.

She had her arms crossed, she had her eyes to the table. Mulling over as Arabella spoke.

Hearing no interruptions, Arabella caught her breath, continued– but quickly deteriorated.

“I wish I could tell you more– about my self or Caderis or the original ancient peoples. I wasn’t lying when I said it takes me some time to remember my memories. I’m sorry. It’s because I’m not a real person– I believe you are all real people, and I’m a fake person. Back then– the hominins came up with the idea that there were ‘Genuine Human Beings’ who had to survive. But I’m not one of those– because Genuine Human Beings have a normal brain, and they have a soul too and God loves them. I’m a ‘Biomechanoid’– I’m only conscious because of a DNA computer inside me. Not because I’m a person. And–” Arabella grew more distraught as she spoke. Zachikova started to look at her with clear distress. But she also did not interrupt. She seemed as shocked as everyone else. Arabella looked like she had to make a physical effort to control her stuttering and complete her sentences again. “I know it must sound dumb, and I’m really sorry! But I broke the computer! I wanted to get all of the data blocks out of it and read them again but I was careless and now I can’t remember half the things I should know anymore. Back then– I put them all away, because I was scared of everything and I wanted to run away! But then when I wanted to be brave all of the blocks are broken and I cannot read them now! I’m really sorry! Now I’m useless to everyone!”

“Arabella, please calm down!” Ulyana said. She reached out and held both of Arabella’s hands in her own, giving her knuckles a gentle squeeze with her thumbs. “It may be cold comfort to you– you have experienced things we can’t possibly imagine– but I believe you are a human being! Humanity is more than just your biology. You’re human to me– I care about you.”

Hands smashed down on the table from beside Arabella.

“And it doesn’t matter if she isn’t a human being!” Zachikova said suddenly. Angrier and more emotional than she ever had been. She stole one of Arabella’s hands from Ulyana and held it herself. Arabella turned to look at her, Zachikova with her cybernetic eyes that still wept, her brain implants and her antennae-like ears. “Humans aren’t the only things worthy of existing in the world and having their lives respected! I know– I know what it is like to not feel human. Arabella, you don’t have to be ‘a person’– you’re important to me! To hell with the computer too! You’re more than the data some bastards left behind! I don’t care about it!”

“Braya–” Arabella’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry– I broke it– I’m–”

“I told you before. I need you. You’re not useless– never say that again. Never.”

Zachikova squeezed her hand.

Arabella shut her eyes and smiled. She took in a deep breath.

“Thank you. I won’t say it again Braya. I won’t say it again. I’m so sorry.”

Both of them wept and held each other’s hands and fixed their gazes.

Intertwining fingers, tearful smiles.

Ulyana could have almost cried herself.

Zachikova had changed a good bit since the Brigand had set out too.

She had found the person who, in the entire ocean, brought out her warmest feelings.

“Arabella, we’re not here to torture an innocent girl for information.” Aaliyah said, piercing the silence that had befallen the room as the lovers comforted each other. Ulyana could see that it was taking her some effort to hold her own passions in the midst of all of this emotion. “I can understand that with the trauma and injury you’ve suffered, which would have killed any ordinary person, you are unable to recall what has– apparently– been an incredibly long life’s worth of complicated information. I’m not going to insist on wringing your memories out of your mind. The Captain is correct– before we are military officers, we are communists. For now, try not to stress out over your lost memories.”

Arabella looked from Zachikova over to Aaliyah and wiped her tears.

Her eyes shut–

and in an instant, her skin flushed, turning a light brown with a slight pinkness.

Color surged across her skin like a time-lapse of a flower blooming. Her hair became dark purple-blue, shrunk to back-length, with somewhat disorderly bangs. When she reopened her eyes they had become blue and purple as well. Her horns glowed with thin purple veins. She gave off a very different kind of presence. No longer slouching and defeated.

As her lover had found her warmest feelings; Arabella found her colors again.

Zachikova stared speechless at the rapid transformation, still holding Arabella’s hand.

Arabella squeezed that hand with a fond expression on her face.

She suddenly looked much more like herself.

“Thank you, Commissar, Captain. I’ve been a lot of trouble, but– I won’t run away again. I promise. Even if my brain is more scrambled than ever, I know what is important.” Arabella said. Her tone started wistful but slowly became firmer again. “You are all so incredibly kind to me. I feel ashamed of what has happened. I will take responsibility for myself. I want to protect Braya. I want to protect her friends too. I will do whatever you say, Captain.”

“Arabella– you don’t have to–” Zachikova began to speak, but Ulyana interrupted.

“You’re not going to reject her determination, are you? She’s trying to move forward.”

Ulyana smiled. Zachikova narrowed her eyes and grunted but then quieted.

She averted her gaze but then found herself looking at Arabella, who was also smiling.

Zachikova seemed trapped between the two of them and bodily relented.

“Fine. I’ll be there every moment, anyway, so I needn’t worry.”

“You really are getting emotional huh?” Aaliyah interjected teasingly.

“We’re not treating her like equipment.” Ulyana said. Also teasing the self-described ‘robot’.

“Captain, you know how I feel about that already, so please just drop it.” Zachikova said.

“Alright, alright.” Ulyana said, smiling.

Aaliyah crossed her arms and stared at the table, shaking her head.

“I was already planning on doing so, but we need to have Maharapratham look at her.”

“Maharapratham?” Arabella said. “That’s the mushroom lady right?”

“She would be so upset at you calling her the mushroom lady.” Ulyana said, amused.

“She’s our resident scientist and lab technician.” Aaliyah said sternly. “She was supposedly a wunderkind at the academy– even has two degrees supposedly. Recent events got me thinking that with Arabella’s cooperation and consent, Maharapratham might be able to learn more about Arabella’s kind through lab tests. I think it is worth trying.”

Ulyana stared at Zachikova expecting an overprotective comment in response.

But Arabella also turned to Zachikova after hearing Aaliyah’s suggestion, smiling brightly.

The attention of the two women caused Zachikova to wither, silently disgruntled.

“Braya, would you be okay with your mate becoming a science experiment again?”

Arabella smiled again in the silly way she once used to address the world around her.

As if to remind everyone that this purple-haired, darker-skinned version was still herself.

“Do what you want.” Zachikova grunted. “But I want to be included in the project too.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll inform Maharapratham. It’ll have to be later– I’ll have to catch her up on all of this.” Aaliyah said, gesturing around herself. “In the mean, Zachikova, you will assist in gathering Arabella’s testimony. Compile all intelligence about the Kreuzung Omenseers into a detailed report. That way when we get to Aachen we can more easily disseminate information to the Volksarmee about the fake anarchists to keep everyone safe.”

“Sounds good. Just one more agenda item on the unending pile.” Ulyana sighed.

“Don’t forget we’re also punishing them.” Aaliyah said. “Go on and punish them, Captain.”

“Punishing us?” Zachikova said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh that’s right! I almost forgot. You’re going to eat nasty food for a week.” Ulyana said.

Ulyana got up from the meeting room table, ready to show the pair a packaged ration–

“Whatever. I don’t care. I’m not even sure if Arabella can taste food normally anyway.”

Zachikova deflated the performance before Ulyana could even put down the ration box.

“I’ll eat anything for Braya! No matter how gross! She was going to eat a man for me!”

Arabella called out in solidarity. Zachikova flinched and stared daggers at her in turn.

Out of surprise and consternation, Ulyana dropped the ration box on the table with a thud.

“Wait! She was going to do what?! Back up! Say that again?!” Aaliyah shouted.

Ulyana felt her poor pitiable heart start banging up a storm again inside of her chest.

“Let’s– Let’s just leave that– for the official report Zachikova will be writing for us.”

“No–” Aaliyah said, her voice sounding distant and distraught. “I need to know now.”

“I’d– I’d really rather not today. I’d really rather just read about it later.” Ulyana said.

Aaliyah and Ulyana gave each other the most haunted gazes they had ever shared.

“It better be in the report.” Aaliyah said, staring at Zachikova. “It better be in the report.”

“God damn it.” Zachikova grit her teeth. “I didn’t eat anyone. I was trying to feed her.”

Realizing too late what she had just said, Zachikova suddenly shrank further in her chair.

Arabella was all smiles, as if the atmosphere in the room had not become a thunder cloud.

“It better be in the report.” Aaliyah said again, dangerously. “I’ll be– displeased– if it isn’t.”

Ulyana, similarly shaken by what she had heard insinuated, supported the Commissar.

“You better write an entire novel explaining what happened in grotesque detail.” She said.

“I’ll type everything up. I’m really sorry.” Zachikova said. “You’ll know everything.”

“Two weeks eating the bricks.” Aaliyah said suddenly, raising her fingers in a V-shape. “Don’t even think about going near the cafeteria. Or I’ll make you wish you were a cannibal.”

“Yes ma’am.” Zachikova said. She had never sounded so compliant as she did right then.

In Ulyana’s eyes everything was a surreal blur and in her ears words rang distant.

Zachikova and Arabella were ultimately ushered out of the meeting room by Akulantova.

While Ulyana and Aaliyah stayed, staring at the metal table surface and middle distance.

“Well. I guess– actually, is there even something in the regulations about–?”

“Please, Ulyana. Just. Please.” Aaliyah put her head down on the table.

Ulyana reached to stroke her ears gently.

They stayed together for fifteen minutes, sighing, before the next meeting.


Euphrates waved with a sunny smile as if she had not a care in the world.

“So compared to the rest of your day, how easy do you think this one will be?”

“Don’t even joke about it. If I wasn’t the Captain I’d call in sick tomorrow.”

Ulyana and Aaliyah wearily sat down in an even smaller room than before with even more people than ever. It was their most familiar meeting room yet. Because it was the room they worked out of the most, during their stay in Kreuzung. While the two of them looked quite worse for wear, the rest of the participants seemed quite fresh. Euphrates in her spiffy sportcoat, her shoulder length messy blue hair having just barely met one more comb than usual; Tigris in brown overalls and a long-sleeved white shirt, her red hair tied into a long ponytail, without a drop of grease on her; Erika Kairos, sharp as ever, her coat and business attire pristine and her smoke-blue hair silky and shiny; her companion Olga, her feet up on the desk, wearing a black hoodie and long, tough pants, her white hair collected into a ponytail framed by her horns; and Murati Nakara in a uniform worn perfectly, shoulder-length hair disorderly, having grown out a bit since the start of their journey.

“Wait, who has the bridge right now?” Aaliyah asked.

“Kalika is up there, don’t worry.” Erika said. “Homa Baumann is sleeping.”

She added the last detail with a little grin.

“She’s really taken to that kid huh? I didn’t know she could be so nice.” Olga replied.

“She can be a bit tetchy about politics, but she’s not heartless.” Erika said.

Once everyone was gathered and seated, Ulyana and Aaliyah took a moment to compose themselves before diving into the meeting’s topics. Since Ulyana felt she would leave any meeting with Arabella having more questions in mind than answers in her pocket, she had requested that Euphrates and Tigris meet with her directly afterward for a session to discuss the session. Euphrates was amenable to more discussion surrounding the Omenseers and suggested they also review what Murati had learned about psionics so far.

“We now convene the second ‘Meeting to Discuss Weird Stuff.’” Ulyana said.

“Take it seriously.” Aaliyah sighed.

“How should we begin?” Euphrates asked. “Anything on your mind, Captain?”

There was so much on her mind it was hard to narrow it down. “By any chance, are you familiar with DNA-based computers?” Ulyana asked. “We just got done talking to Arabella and she claims her consciousness is in the form of a computer inside her that is now broken, so her amnesia won’t recover. I’m inclined to believe her– if she meant us harm, she would have caused her ruckus inside of the ship rather than sneaking out. But does that mean every ‘Omenseer’ is also some kind of flesh computer? Can her ‘data’ be recovered?”

“Tigris, any ideas?” Euphrates said suddenly, smiling at her companion.

Tigris had her arms crossed and her head down and looked surprised to be addressed.

“Why the hell are you asking me? I work with machines not with meat.”

Euphrates shrugged comically. “There you are, Captain. I’m afraid it’s beyond us.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know anything! Idiot! You agreed to this meeting!”

Erika raised her hand as if in a classroom.

Ulyana was surprised to see her interject. Having access to the Brigand’s classified operational data for a few days already, Erika knew at least as much about Omenseers and psionics as they did. She had been included in the meeting on a purely informational capacity– their political leader should just be aware of these ‘classified’ subjects. There was no expectation she would have information of her own to share about the situation.

Instead the Premier smiled mischeviously once she was given the room.

“I am here to make an important disclosure– which is why I brought Olga.” Erika said.

“I’m an Omenseer.” Olga said suddenly, crossing her arms and averting her gaze.

Everyone else in the room turned reflexively to stare at Erika and Olga.

“What? You’re not going to be nervous around me now, are you?” Olga grumbled.

“She won’t bite.” Erika said, calm and affable.

“C’mon, don’t put it like that.” Olga replied, further annoyed.

“Well, it looks like my work here is done.” Euphrates replied, shrugging again.

“No it’s not! You’re going to talk if they ask you something, you clown!” Tigris shouted.

“Time out!” Aaliyah said, forming a ‘T’ with her hands. “We need to speak in turn!”

“Premier,” Ulyana started, still grasping for what to say, “How did–?”

“Much as with you and Arabella, my dear Olga stumbled into my life a mystery. Over time I slowly unraveled a few parts.” Erika replied, remaining calm and amused despite the attention. “But I have never needed to know more than what she wishes to tell me. I have never demanded any more. She has never intentionally hurt me. I trust her more than I trust any other person in the world. So I will request that you do not try to force any information from her– or from Arabella either. Regardless, she and I are at your disposal.”

“It’s about time to tell the bits I know.” Olga said. She sighed again. “Look, Arabella is not incorrect in what she told you. She might not be able to recover some of her memories again. Omenseers’ heads work differently than those of ordinary people. Think of it like having two sets of memories: there’s your everyday stuff, and there’s more tucked away somewhere. You kind of know it’s there, but ‘thinking’ about it is more complicated. I think that is what Arabella is talking about with ‘DNA computer’. In my head, I know it is called STEM.”

“Okay. So, are you going to tell me that yours is broken too?” Aaliyah asked.

Olga put her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “Yeah. I am. Mine is incredibly fucked up by this point. See– the STEM stuff is in our bodies, right? I don’t know whether it’s DNA or what it is exactly. It’s inside this body, the data is stored in my flesh or organs somewhere, but it is different. Then– Well, Omenseers can shape our bodies into different forms. It’s called ‘biokinesis’. Doing that, we can recover from injury faster, or grow weapons. Look.”

She raised one hand out of her pocket and waved it in front of everyone.

Ulyana stared at her raised index and middle finger, which Olga pressed together.

Until they joined to become one combined digit that was sharper than before.

Then in the next instant, with seemingly great ease, she split the fingers apart again.

Perhaps a more dramatic version than what Arabella commonly did to her own body.

“Now think about the data that is stored in my body. I do not know where it actually is. I do not know how this STEM or whatever inside me works, I just know I have it and that if I think in a certain way I can try to access it. But it’s in this body that is constantly changing, getting fucked up, getting patched up– of course after a while the data has to be scrambled up some. So if I tried to access my STEM it would be like an insane dream.”

“Well. It’s a bit surreal to watch it in action, but it makes sense.” Ulyana said.

“I guess it does.” Aaliyah said, putting a hand on her forehead as if nursing an ache.

“Olga, how did you come to be an Omenseer? I still don’t understand that.” Murati asked.

“Before, Arabella told us she was a thousand-year old member of a ‘culture’ but now she is saying she was a surface-era biological weapon that was made from the DNA of– I assume– a member of that ancient culture. I am having a tough time squaring it.” Ulyana said.

“Huh?” Murati nearly shouted. “A bio-weapon? That’s– that’s incredible if it’s true!”

Her eyes had lit up like twin jewels with the excitement of discovering an ancient weapon.

Ulyana was torn between thinking it was cute and thinking it would be annoying.

“Don’t get too excited.” Olga replied. “I don’t know anything about that. It’s definitely not how I ended up here. But who knows– maybe Arabella is just special and different.”

“Don’t bother Arabella, Murati– or Homa Baumann, either.” Ulyana said.

“Wait– why Homa Baumann?” Murati looked suddenly helpless.

“Be quiet, Murati. It’s not your turn.” Aaliyah said, raising her voice.

Murati turned a downcast expression at her corner of the table.

Erika covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Olga, can you tell them your story? I’d love to hear it too.” She said.

Olga met Erika’s eyes. Her stern expression melted in one softer and more relaxed.

When they looked at each other it was as if they were alone in the room.

Ulyana thought this was an opportunity for Erika too, not just the Brigand’s crew.

And that Olga was not resentful to have that opportunity.

“Damn it, you already know the important bits Erika. You’ll just be bored.” Olga ran her fingers through her hair and chuckled. “But fine. Whatever. Believe me if you want or not. But I was actually a Leviathan before. Weirdly, I remember what I looked like– I was thick and kind of blunt, all tail but with a horned head. That’s where these are from.” Olga poked at her horns. “Most of my life is a huge blur to me, but sometimes, I see it in my dreams– the ocean, being huge again. I feel like if my STEM worked it would have those memories.”

Not exactly coffee-table conversation, but everyone around the table kept quiet.

Ulyana looked at Aaliyah and found her screwing her face up and folding her ears.

Whenever she was met with something wild like this, she would physically resist it.

She was quiet, however. Quiet, and listening, and with eyes inquisitive.

Even if her face looked like she had just tasted soap.

“Omenseers now, are Leviathans that became human. Over time Leviathans just get more intelligent I guess. Honestly I barely remember when I changed, and what happened afterwards. I see it in my dreams and I want to believe it was true– that one day, I got sick of fighting for my life every single day like an animal. I discovered that I could be something less violent and less rapacious and I took the chance. But I don’t really know.”

“Being an Omenseer seems like a pretty psychedelic sort of experience.” Euphrates said.

“C’mon, I’m baring my soul here. If you think it’s useless I can just shut up.” Olga said.

“I think it’s lovely.” Erika said.

“I agree, and I can relate.” Euphrates said. “To knowing something only in dreams.”

“Well, maybe you ought to tell the room yours.” Olga said. “Anyway– one day, all my bulk was just gone, and I was like this. Floating in the ocean. Somehow I was not crushed by the water or eaten by a monster– but I was visited by something truly demonic. Arbitrator II.”

“The Autarch of the Syzygy.” Euphrates said.

“You’ve mentioned it before.” Ulyana said. “You and Tigris have history with this being.”

“We killed her. A long, long time ago.” Euphrates said. “The Sunlight Foundation briefly became interested in abyssal exploration, and to make a long story short, we came into contact with the Syzygy and it tempered our ambitions quite harshly. Arbitrator II confronted us personally as we began to dive more frequently and deeper, and we were forced to attack her. I can hardly claim that we succeeded. We never went that deep again.”

“So we’re dealing with an immortal cult leader here?” Ulyana asked, sighing.

“Olga,” Aaliyah said, “Are all Leviathans human, then? Can they all become like you?”

Ulyana felt her chest tighten– she had not put together this suggestion herself.

Certainly it matched everything they had learned so far.

After Goryk, Euphrates had referred to Omenseers as ‘humanoid Leviathans.’ Arabella had been a Leviathan once. Olga confirmed this was not necessarily anything special– there was, in front of them all, a second person who had once been a Leviathan. With this information, it was reasonable to believe that every Leviathan had the potential to become a person. And therefore, that perhaps all Leviathans were already humans, to some degree.

And, if Arabella was to be believed, that meant Leviathans were anthropogenic.

Perhaps they were made with that ‘original Omenseer’ DNA too.

Perhaps they were all bio-weapons.

Perhaps they were all humans.

To think then– that they had spent all this time killing them– no, it did not really matter.

Ulyana was a soldier. She had been killing humans already, in less complicated ways.

Whatever happened– there was simply no reasoning with a giant, dangerous animal.

Olga shrugged at the question that had shaken Ulyana so much.

“Yeah? I think so. I don’t know. I can only speak for myself.” She said simply.

“Olga, the Autarch found you– she did not make you into an Omenseer?” Euphrates asked.

“Right. Sometimes she just finds strays, like me. But I’ve also seen what she can do. She has troops go out looking for Leviathans with psionic potential. We captured them, and she would use psionics on them and have them shed their forms. That’s her preferred method of recruitment. I changed myself– but I do not know how many of us leave our leviathan forms naturally or how we are different from the ones Arbitrator II makes. Except for one detail. For the ones she changes she can brainwash. She could not brainwash me.”

Euphrates looked for the first time truly captivated by what Olga was saying.

“So she seeks out potential in Leviathans and baptizes them– interesting.”

Her jokey demeanor had faded slightly. But she did not follow up that statement.

“What does the Autarch want? What is this ‘Syzygy’ doing all of this for?” Aaliyah asked.

“I mean, like anyone, she wants control over people.” Olga said. “She wants control over humans. It makes sense when you think about it. Now, don’t freak out at this next bit, it’s annoying if you do– Omenseers feed on people. You guys knew that right? Arabella had to have had at least human blood or she would go crazy.” Olga scanned the room and saw Ulyana, Aaliyah and Murati making faces. She threw her hands up in frustration.

“I’ve been feeding Olga my blood. That’s one of the things we do in private.” Erika said.

“Premier– we did not need the clarification that you do more than that in private.”

Leave it to Aaliyah to be more offended at the insinuation of sex than the cannibalism.

“Quit gawking!” Olga said. “I’m really good at controlling myself and I have Erika. You don’t need to be fucking scared, okay? Anyway– you can put two and two together here right? If the Autarch can build up her army, she could basically start her own human farm and never have a worry in the world again. She needs to rule over the humans to eat them more easily. I’m not just painting a picture with the farm stuff either– she literally can capture humans and grow a kind of crop from them. Her own sick little garden in the abyss.”

“That’s– that’s actually– a lot more dangerous than we imagined.” Ulyana mumbled.

She could hardly even imagine it in full– she supposed ‘biokinesis’ was responsible.

Responsible– for turning a human into a sick little garden.

Aaliyah heaved a weary sigh. “Yes, that is disturbing, but I am not impressed with Omenseers yet. For example, if Akulantova is to be believed, she nearly punched one of those Syzygy fighters to death, and a small and well-trained spec ops squadron can fight it out with them and kill a good half-dozen. They are not yet ‘Imbrium-conquering’ level threats.”

“The rabble is not– the officer ones are a lot scarier, but there are not enough Enforcers to just overthrow humanity overnight. That’s why they are trying to sneak around and join a faction here, I guess.” Olga said. “I know the Enforcers are searching for something. But as a whole Syzygy are biding their time. Gathering intelligence, forces, and useful idiots. Just like you, I suppose– you’re in a little race with them for the Imbrium. Who will win?”

Olga leaned back and grinned to herself as if amused by the mental image.

“Obviously I intend to win that race.” Erika said. “And you will be at my side.”

“Of course. Between us, I’d love to rip out the Autarch’s throat myself.” Olga said.

“For a taste of your own kind?” Erika teased.

“Hey– shut up. I mean for justice or whatever.” Olga said, turning slightly redder.

“Somehow I doubt ripping her throat out will do much justice.” Euphrates said.

She sounded much more wistful than normal– but it was not followed up on.

“Then I suppose we can only do what we came here to do.”

Ulyana sat up straight and stretched her arms, feeling a bit sore from sitting tensely while she listened to all of this bizarre knowledge being shared. She tried to relax her muscles and to still her heart. There was only solution to this– they were just as prepared for the Syzygy right now as they were for the Volkisch. They did not know the total strength of their forces, they did not know their logistics, they had not found their bases or political supporters or the locations of their officers, and so they had no plan of attack. They could not allow themselves to be mystified by the more esoteric side of this situation.

They had to gather more intelligence and be prepared for a fight.

It was an uphill road, but the Volkisch controlled the government and the Syzygy did not.

Within the framework of the Imbrium, the Volkisch Movement was currently immortal.

To the layperson, they were just as mystical as this Autarch.

Just as powerful, indefatigable. Just as disturbing and cruel.

Nevertheless, the Brigand plotted to fight the Volkisch. It was an essential inevitability.

That was their mission. They had taken it up, knowing it was that difficult.

Nagavanshi pushed them hard. She was a damnably persistent recruiter.

But she had known that every single member of the crew would take up the challenge.

All of them were here because the impossible called to them, and they dared stare it down.

“At Aachen, next time I see Zozia, I’ll punch her right square in her jaw and see how her makeup holds up to it. I’ll scuff that well-to-do fuckboy coat she always wears.” Ulyana said.

“I know what you’re capable of– so I truly hope you are joking.” Aaliyah said.

“Sometimes I want to be the manly sort of Captain who pops off.” Ulyana said.

“Not that I mind popping off, but let us be delicate at Aachen, specifically.” Erika said.

“Of course, Premier. I would only pop off with your permission.” Ulyana said.

Her ridiculous declaration seemed to clear in the tension in the room just a little bit.

“Are you all satisfied or do you have more questions?” Olga asked, sounding annoyed.

“Is it too personal to ask how you and the Premier met?” Aaliyah said.

“It won’t elucidate anything about the Syzygy. That part is simple– the Autarch never had control over me because I was not an Omenseer that she made. So at one point, I got sick of being ‘Hunter I’ and I saw an opportunity to escape. I just ended up in Katarre after a lot of struggle that is pointless to recount. The rest is irrelevant. Hell– some part of me thinks the Autarch put no effort into stopping me either. She is not threatened by deserters.”

“Alright. Then–” Aaliyah turned to Erika. “Premier, are you psionically capable?”

Erika smiled. “Yes. I was going to disclose it when you were done with Olga.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Aaliyah said. “I was mainly wondering for your own safety.”

“I am not in Olga’s thrall.” Erika said. “If that is what concerned you.”

“I could not control this insane woman even if I tried with all my strength.” Olga said.

“Apologies. I rest my case.” Aaliyah said. “Anything more can be the subject of a report.”

“I am not offended. It is your job to consider every possible dangerous angle.” Erika said. “I quite like that about you, Commissar. To be clear, I knew much of what Olga had said– she said certain things to me, and now disclosed others to you. I wanted to be part of this meeting not just to play a perfunctory political role, but as a resource. Ultimately, however, Olga does not have encyclopedic knowledge that can answer existential questions about her origins and nature; anything she knows about the Syzygy’s tactics, I am sure she would willingly disclose in a report or some other official dissemination.”

“Right. I’m fine with that.” Olga said. “But there’s not much to say. There is regimentation like in a normal army. I was a ‘Hunter’ so my role was to move from the deep abyss up to the human world and carry out reconnaissance and retrieval missions. I hardly did much– I was not trusted, since the Autarch did not personally turn me. I joined her because I was lost and had nothing, and she and her Enforcer cronies were there to shelter me. Once I was grown a bit more into my new form and had my own thoughts, I wanted to escape. I do not know much about the other types of Omenseer beyond the surface level.”

“Do you have any ideas as to what Omenseer bases survive to this day?” Euphrates asked.

“Good point. You said they live in the deep abyss– so there was a Syzygy base at Goryk?”

Ulyana asked, recalling the rising of that enormous leviathan at Goryk, Dagon.

Arabella had told them back then that it was a Syzygy battleship.

They had not taken it seriously enough in the moment. Now it made much more sense.

“When I was part of Syzygy, I operated out of northwestern Veka.” Olga said.

“That is kind of close to the farthest Goryk aperture. Maybe they are linked.” Ulyana said.

“We’re just guessing. Nobody has an accurate abyssal topography.” Aaliyah replied.

“Not even among present company, I’m afraid.” Euphrates said.

“We wanted to try to do it someday– the Agni was partially for that.” Tigris added.

Breaking a long silence in which she had mainly crossed her arms and harrumphed a bit.

“Alright. Well. A lot of exciting reports going into the drafts today.” Ulyana said.

“We wanted to ask Murati how she was doing with psionics.” Aaliyah reminded her.

Murati, who had been mainly making faces quietly in her seat, suddenly revived.

Like a flower that had been splashed with water, she stood up straighter and more alert.

“Ma’am–”

Murati addressed the Captain but then paused without speaking further for a moment.

“Um– I guess I don’t actually have much to report. I’m still evaluating things.”

“Are you feeling hale and whole?” Erika asked in a sweet voice.

“I suppose so.” Murati replied. Clearly confused at Erika’s sunny, impromptu check-up.

“You’ve seen her handiwork recently, Captain.” Euphrates said. “She’s a fast learner.”

Euphrates looked pleased with herself. Probably as much genuinely as teasing Murati.

Ulyana knew that this ‘handiwork’, however, involved turning a Volkisch guard squadron into a mess of shattered bones and crushed organs on Alcor’s blacktop. This was something that a grenade could accomplish with much more control– and it was easier to teach anyone to throw such a grenade. While it had been undoubtedly helpful, Ulyana remained wary of psionic powers. She wondered how much use they actually could be.

Murati averted her eyes. “I have a little trouble controlling my own strength.”

“I will preempt the obvious question that the Captain and Commissar must be preoccupied with,” Tigris spoke up suddenly, “and say that no, I do not think the rest of the crew should be taught about psionics yet. Not until we figure out what’s going on with Murati.”

“There is nothing going on with me.” Murati said. “I just need more practice.”

“At any rate, we can’t consistently teach anyone else right now.” Tigris said.

“Murati, what about Shalikova?” Ulyana asked. “How is she doing?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that.” Euphrates interrupted. “Maryam will support her.”

Murati raised her index finger and then put it back down immediately.

“Maryam?” Ulyana said. “Is Maryam psionic too?”

Aaliyah’s ears perked up again.

“Who else is psionic around here?” Aaliyah cried out. “This is out of hand.”

“I’ll tell you what– I’ll write a report on everyone’s psionic potential on the ship.”

Euphrates smiled congenially despite the tension she had reignited in the room.

Aaliyah and Ulyana dropped back into their seats.

“Thank you, Euphrates.”

“Fine. Fine. Just fine.”

They were both clearly stressed to their limits by this conversation–

Until a firm voice spoke up from beside them and excised the disquiet.

“Captain, in situations like this, we must center rationality and ethicality in our response.” Erika said. Her tone was still gentle but she sounded much more declarative. This was the ‘Premier’ speaking now, Ulyana thought. Erika pointed a finger up and circled it as if to encompass the room. “You have used this rubric a few times in these conversations before– we have reasoned that the ‘guests’ aboard this vessel, like Arabella, or Maryam, have had ample chances to sabotage it, subvert your control, alert your enemies, or otherwise cause grave inconvenience. None of this has happened. There is no reason to believe that some kind of secret plot is brewing. I believe we should formalize that logic and establish a standard that a crew member in otherwise good standing, who is found to possess psionics, is not ipso facto a threat to the mission. In this way we can avoid circular debates about the loyalty of particular individuals, and in turn, avoid wasting time and resources.”

“You’re right. We shouldn’t keep stressing out about this.” Ulyana replied.

“Premier, that is a reasonable standard.” Aaliyah said. “While I am continuously surprised at how much esoteric information and concepts keep getting wrapped up in our humble guerilla mission, it is unproductive to become paranoid. However, I must insist on a different standard for Omenseers and psionic users other than our current roster. Any future psionics users that we meet, we must be wary of and more wary than normal.”

“I don’t disagree.” Erika said. “But also, I think we already have wonderful standards and procedures by which we gauge our trust in strangers. We must also have a view toward the utility of dealing with the Omenseers, including Syzygy, and psionics users like our friends Euphrates and Tigris. We must keep our goal in focus. In Eisental, the law is not written by this Autarch– we must seize every opportunity to inflict defeat on the Volkisch.”

“Duly noted.” Aaliyah said. She did not sound completely satisfied.

But she would follow orders. Both Ulyana and Aaliyah had thrown in their lot with Erika.

And Erika thankfully seemed to keep a clear head even in these bizarre situations.

“Anything further should be part of classified reports. We cannot trust that we will retain verbal information indefinitely and we all have other jobs that need doing.” Erika said. “Package every report and everyone in this room will commit to read them, request any further deliberation, and then rationalize a final version. Then we will be on the same page vis a vis Omenseers and psionics in the future. Does everyone agree?”

There was a hearty nodding of heads and a few salutes in the room. As always with some answers and ever more questions, the second ‘Meeting to Discuss Weird Stuff’ thus concluded. Ulyana tried not to let the sensationalism get the best of her.

Truly, however, the Imbrium Ocean was deeper than she had ever thought possible.


Erika and Olga left the meeting room and made their way back to the bridge. Despite all of the shouting and turmoil throughout the discussion, Erika was, in her heart, quite pleased with the events. She walked with a light step and was even humming a tune. Ulyana and Aaliyah had one more visit that day and would not join them, leaving the bridge to the Volksarmee officers for now; and even Murati had someone she needed to talk to.

Everyone was working hard.

“Erika, did that go how you wanted?” Olga asked.

“Nothing ever does, because my imagination is too extravagant.” Erika said. “But I have full confidence in our alliance. They have been thrust headlong into events of incredible magnitude, but retain their heart and spirit. They are like us. That satisfies me.”

“I can write up more in the report, I guess. It just feels kinda pointless.” Olga replied.

“If you don’t think it’s important to say something, I trust you completely.” Erika said.

“I know you do.” Olga said. She put her hands in her hoodie pockets, grunting. “Part of me just feels guilty I’m not wracking my brains to tell them every little thing, and I do wish I could access my STEM better, but like– they’re fighting a war, and what Omenseers eat or how my Nest used to look or whatever, that does not really help them out. My dreams about living under a big silver tree. All of that just feels pointless to say.”

“Dreams are important! But you’re right, they’re not militarily actionable.” Erika replied.

Some secrets hardly mattered to anyone; some secrets changed the world.

It was impossible to tell which was which to women with as many secrets as them.

Whenever Erika told anyone even an inkling of the secrets that she shouldered–

She expected bedlam to follow. Despite this, her load was now lightened.

Ulyana Korabiskaya and Aaliyah Bashara had already seen impossible sights, after all.

More so than psionics, the dream of liberation felt impossible until it was achieved.

Maybe in the future she would tell them about her own DNA.

“Olga, do you know ‘The Union Officer’s Pledge’?” Erika asked.

“No?” Olga replied, narrowing her eyes.

Erika put a hand to her chest and shut her eyes while reciting.

“I am an officer of the Union of Ferris, Lyser and Solstice. My rank is proof of the faith placed on me. I accept the responsibility of living up to my title, with honor; to serve the Union, with distinction; to acquire correct understandings, with humility; and thus to lead the downtrodden masses by example. I agree to live and die a worker, without a name.”

“That’s intense.” Olga said. “Do they all have to say that?”

“They all did– I found it in the ship’s files. It’s part of the commission process.”

Erika looked ahead.

She imagined everyone, from Murati Nakara to Ulyana Korabiskaya to Alex Geninov reciting this pledge. How did they feel? Did they know the power of their words?

All around her, she was surrounded by the people of the Union, just walking this hall.

That pledge was everything she wanted to be.

An impossible dream for a girl in the gutters killing to survive every day.

And yet, she saw it!

In their humble, everyday demeanor that they themselves never questioned.

In their minds, perhaps they did not think themselves communists, nor anything special. All of them took this pledge for their families or homeland. But to even be a communist, to accept it, to say it out loud, required immense bravery. All of the world told them they were insane, dangerous, even evil– but they fought on for those taboo ideals.

It was electric.

Her Rostock in formation with this ship full of quiet, impossible dreams.

She felt a bit embarrassed, but she wanted the Volksarmee to take the pledge too.

Without realizing it at first, Erika put on her sunniest smile yet.

“Psionics and Omensight both pale in comparison to the sheer power contained here.”

Olga smiled. “I am not sure that I agree with any of that, but I’m glad you’re happy.”

She was happy– she could see her dream in this place.

Arriving on the bridge, Kalika stood from the captain’s chair and greeted them.

“It’s been uneventful. The Rostock is alongside; operating normally.” She said.

“Glad to hear it. Olga and I can relieve you.” Erika said.

Kalika’s brow furrowed and she put her hands on her hips.

Erika could foretell the scolding.

“It’s not necessary.” Kalika said. “You’re the one who could use some rest, Premier.”

“Nonsense,” Erika replied. “I’m feeling spry and the coffee here is fantastic.”

“Olga, please tell her that she works too hard.” Kalika said.

Olga shrugged. “You can tell her all you want; when it comes to work, she won’t listen.”

Kalika shook her head and relented. “Alright, if you insist. I can go find something to do.”

Erika and Olga stepped aside and allowed a reluctant Kalika to leave the bridge.

“Order on bridge!” Olga called out. Imitating the Commissar; she was grinning in fact.

“We don’t need to be stuffy. At ease everyone!” Erika called out right after.

While the Brigand made its way through unoccupied territory, there was hardly anything for the bridge crew to do moment to moment. Over on Erika’s left, Natalia Semyonova had a deck of cards and was perhaps practicing some kind of divination or magic trick; Fatima al-Suhar read a book on a portable, still wearing the sonar station’s earbuds; Braya Zachikova was still only present as a cute miniature on the main screen. On her right, she saw that Alex Geninov and Fernanda Santapena-De La Rosa were discussing something about ‘shipping’ that Erika came to think was not logistics-related; and Abdulalim Kamarik looked over the ship’s autopilot every so often while listening to music on a communication headset. Or so Erika assumed from his casual body language. They all heard and acknowledged Olga’s declaration before returning to their hobbies. A rather homey atmosphere.

“Olga, I think they’ve earned a bit of peace, don’t you?” Erika said.

Olga shrugged. “Until we run into a patrol or something.”

Erika took seat in the captain’s chair, while Olga occupied the Commissar’s beside her.

“Semyonova,” Erika said, “could you message the Rostock and put Daphne on my screen?”

“Of course! Captain Triantafallos assured me she was at your disposal at all times.”

Semyonova cheerfully swiped her finger on the screen of her station to wake up the display.

Within moments, Erika had Daphne on the computer affixed to the captain’s chair.

“Premier!” Daphne saluted the screen. “I am elated beyond measure to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you too Daphne. How has the crew been?” Erika asked.

Daphne seemed quite pleased with herself as she answered. “Our cadres remain well supplied, amply motivated, and operationally efficient. Our consumption is controlled and we have not had any encounters. Magdeburg and Gera are presently lying low around Rhein-Sieg-Kries, awaiting orders. We can collect them on the way to Aachen if you desire, just say the word. Enemy activity remains low. Patrols are clustered around the Ayre border– their last order from Thurin was likely to guard against Palatine troops. We noticed the patrol fleet are avoiding Stralsund and the edge of Khaybar, so the east is open.”

“Unfortunately, that’s because of the Mycenae Military Commission. They simply do not want to cause a confrontation.” Erika replied. “So the east is still not open to us. Thank you for the report nevertheless, Daphne. I wanted to ask if you had collected any broadcasts from Kreuzung in the past few days. Some newly arrived tenants are likely to be our main concern going forward. The Brigand has been disconnected for a while.”

“As a matter of fact, we did capture a speech by the ‘newly-arrived tenants.’” Daphne said. “Kreuzung’s station broadcaster pushed it through every laser line and every channel carried it. They intended to make a nation-wide statement. In a matter of hours, northern Rhinea has been declared ‘Reichskommissariat Eisental’ and this Violet Lehner is now in charge of the place as its ‘Reichskommissar.’ No response yet from the Thurin Reichsgau.”

“We need to gather as much information as we can on this event. After Aachen we will have to make a pit stop in Trelleborg to see what the underground knows.” Erika said.

“Trelleborg?” Olga said. “The madwoman there wanted to bite you last time.”

Erika looked a little embarassed. “It will be fine Olga– nobody will bite me.”

“Nobody will bite the Premier on our watch, Olga.” Daphne replied, sounding deadly serious. “Premier, about the current tasks. Tomorrow we will begin work on operational integration between the Brigand and Rostock. It will be a tight few days. I am not sure we can complete all the necessary work before we reach Aachen. We have to sync the computers, rationalize supplies, set up recurring channels, appoint cadre liaisons–”

“Don’t worry, Daphne. Aachen is not the deadline.” Erika said. “Whatever you can get done during the journey is appreciated, but it will be an ongoing process to get everyone talking and working together. It will be gradual. I am not expecting it tomorrow.”

“Acknowledged, Premier. Your magnanimity is appreciated. Shall we reconvene later?”

“We should plan to meet. For now send me the video. I am curious about the rhetoric.”

“Of course. I look forward to shaking your hand and saluting in person, Premier!”

Daphne disappeared from the screen. In her place, a transfer bar appeared.

Once it completed, Erika played the video of the broadcast from Kreuzung.

The Rostock had captured the event in-progress.

Partway through an introduction by a state news anchor, who was cut from shortly after the video started. When the camera finally captured its intended subject, it was clear that Violet Lehner was settled into the old office of Kreuzung’s governor. Everyone in Eisental had seen the room used in broadcasts before, by old Werner. Now, rather than reflecting sky or grasses, the projection walls around the stately old desk projected instead red banners each with a central white circle. In one circle was a black sonnenrad, and on the other a diagonal hooked cross. Neither of these symbols were common to the government in Thurin, who preferred to identify with iron eagles, bundled arrows and straight, steel crosses.

Rather, the bannered symbols belonged to the ‘Esoteric Order’.

Within the broader Volkisch Movement, the Esoteric Order was not the most extreme nor the most niche group. Erika was aware of far smaller and far more violent elements. Esoterics were instead characterized by a greater radicalism. Ordinary right-wing elements sought to preserve or harken back to ‘better times’ in the past– to turn back the ‘progress’ of liberalism. The Esoteric Order had a complex transformative rhetoric. They believed in the new– they believed that Fascism was ‘modern’ and that through Fascism, a new mode of being could be discovered. Rather than harken back to the past, they believed the Nation was yet to be attained, that the ‘Volk’ had to struggle to be worthy of it. Their racial destiny was not in the past, but in the future. The Nation could not be moved to suit the fascist ubermensch; the fascist had to become ubermensch to suit the Nation. They did this through personal ritualization, religious mysticism, and bizarre nouveau racialism.

Erika had not been aware that the esoterics had an armed wing, however.

And that this armed wing was now personified by the woman with the long two-tone hair.

Violet Lehner sat behind the desk, in her black uniform, surrounded by esoteric symbols.

A lean, striking and pretty young woman with just a hint of exoticism to her appearance.

Her eyes had the slightest slant; her nose just a bit of hook; her skin tone just slightly deep.

To the most extreme elements of the Volkisch, she might’ve been too racialized in fact.

In the Esoteric Order, however, she was racialized enough.

As if Violet Lehner herself was an example of the all-encompassing Nation.

“Good greetings, citizens of Kreuzung, Stralsund, Rhein-Sieg-Kreis, Aachen, and many such places in the Eisental region– and to those watching from farther afield, perhaps! I appear before you today by way of introduction and to pledge my commitment to you. It is unlikely that many of you have seen or known much of me before recent events. Events that saw me thrust from a position of humble servitude in the backdrop of the Volkisch revolution, to the peak of Kreuzung in search of justice. My name is Violet Lehner. I am the only child of the Fuhrer Adam Lehner. My parentage has been heretofore a secret, albeit an open and unguarded one– I simply wished to forge my own path in life, and that is that.”

“By education, I am a laywer and a businesswoman. In my life, I have been a student, a shareholder, an advisor, a writer and in recent months, formally a military officer. It is with this eclectic character that I view the state of the Nation with anger and sorrow. Since the profligate Konstantin von Fueller saw fit to finally abandon the territories he had grown bored of plundering and toying with, and seek the retribution of the next world, our economies nearly collapsed, and we became surrounded by enemies.”

“We could have allayed the consequences of the Imperial collapse with decisive action, but the liberals and their committees and subcommittees hindered our response until death was at the doorstep. It is only through the brave actions of our National Socialist Navy and the Stabswache that we were able to deal with the saboteurs and meet the enemies; and only because of our swift and innovative Corporations that we forestalled material collapse. I am here following the examples that have been set. Eisental has suffered crisis after crisis, abetted by the remains of the liberals, by the saboteurs, and by the political-academic elites, who led the working men astray, sowed division within the Volk, allowed infiltration by foreign elements, and stifled and strangled our economic prospects.”

“No more will this be tolerated. Today begins a new era for Eisental. I and my forces have already arrested all of the criminal elements who had entrenched at the top of the tower; liquidated the foreign elements who went mad with bloodthirst and rampaged under Adolf Werner’s knowing eyes; and we will soon take all needed measures to restore the dignity of Eisental’s people and resume production of all the needed goods and materials to revitalize the economy, and pump blood back into our Volk and our Nation. We have stricken down the liberal elites and put men and women of sense in charge of everything.”

“Starting today, I have accepted the mandate of Reichskommissar of this territory, the Reichskommissariat Eisental, to oversee the return of order and the restoration of the Volk in this area and advance our shared cause. Eisental is the motherlode and breadbasket of Rhinea. Restoring Eisental to glory is to restore the Nation, which has been grievously wounded; and restoring the Volksgemeinschaft that has been splintered into a million pieces on spurious, ideological bases by the liberals. Starting today, you will recognize you are all Imbrians, and are all blood-siblings of the Nation. All of you are one.”

“Our task is monumental, and the stakes are high. We have everything set against us.” Reichskommissar Lehner raised her voice. That camera focused on the desk zoomed closer to her impassioned expression. Before she had spoken calmly, but she allowed greater fervor to bleed into her voice until it raised. “We are surrounded by charlatans who seek to plunder our wounded nation and erase the Volk! The victor shall always be the judge, and the vanquished the accused: we fight not just to exact justice, but to enshrine our struggle as the world’s truth! Should we fail, they will forever laugh at us for our toil. But we will prevail! Because unlike the liberals we have not turned our backs on the Nation!”

“Ethnicity, class, sex– these identitarian categories are part of an antiquated ideology that prevented us from achieving our shared Destiny. But I know the truth, the secret, that the liberal order wished for us to never seek; we are the one Volksgemeinschaft, one Imbria! Our Nation bleeds and cries out for all of us to save her! So we will unite under black sun and the wolfsangel! National Socialism gives us the path to our revolution! Our Nation calls us to action! We answer as one people, one struggle! All that matters is this: will you work? Will you fight? Will you answer her call? Those who turn their back on the call will be shunned by Destiny! They will be left behind to die with no one to save them! But to those who fight for Destiny’s favor we can say: you have all of the Volk behind you!”

“So come tomorrow, when you clock in to work, when you return to school, or when you pick your gun on patrol, or when you set sail for battle, think of this with seriousness. I am an Imbrian! What can I do to advance the Volk? What can I do for my Nation? Who are those around me that reject the Nation and seek to drive us back into squabble and misery? Who are those around me that will march alongside? All of you are the Nation! Your individual actions and decisions are what will make up the whole of our success! Kill the sniveling liberal in your brain who tells you that you the Nation is not worthy of you! By your actions, make yourself worth the glory of the Nation! Endsieg shall be yours!”

Violet stood up from her desk, and raised her right hand, from the shoulder, straightened.

“In your workplaces, in your places of worship, in your homes; you are one people with one united struggle! You all work toward fulfilling one immutable Destiny! You all work toward one Nation and will seize victory together! Stand proudly, and prove yourself worthy! Today begins your very own National People’s War! SIEG HEIL!”

Around her, the walls with the banners instead displayed several uniformed soldiers.

All of them were Shimii. Black uniforms, decorated in the same symbols on the banners.

And all of them hailed victory behind Violet Lehner with perfect precision.

Curiously, Erika noted, the victory salute was not followed by a salute to the Fuhrer.

As should have been customary: Sieg Heil, Heil Fuhrer. An omission rich in meaning.

“Violet Lehner is staking out for herself.” Erika said. “Her Nation will not include Thurin.”

“She’s a fucking lunatic.” Olga replied, peeking in over Erika’s shoulder.

Erika shut off the video and laid a hand on the screen as if she could make it disappear.

All of this was an opportunity– if they could seize it. If they were up to the task.

But the sight of Shimii soldiers doing the fascist salute was somewhat disquieting.

They were not the only ones fighting for the souls of Eisental’s dispossessed peoples.

Could Violet’s fascist subsumption of the will appeal to the broken masses of Imbria?

How many Shimii, Katarrans, and the Imbrian poor would be taken by this rhetoric?

Led astray by honeyed steel from a false savior, in the hour of their greatest desperation.

In that moment, Erika’s grand dream finally, truly met its nightmarish competing vision.

Past tragedies; present tensions; and the uncertain future all bled in front of her eyes.

Even in the quiet, empty ocean of middle Eisental, it could be felt–

the currents carried, along with Violet’s voice, and the cries of salute,

the brimming violence of the Nationale Volkskrieg.


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