I hope you die then, Maryam Karahailos! Maybe my next roll of dice will be better! “If you sabotage me, then may God curse your next hundred lives Faiyad Ayari!”

He was a member of a National Socialist Trade Union now– but god damn it, he’d be a fed and clothed member of a National Socialist Trade Union. He’d have a job and benefits. He wouldn’t be out on the street. Or dead. In his eyes, that was a victory for labor.

No longer would her mind ask the question, ‘do I deserve her’? ‘Can’t she do better’? Murati didn’t just deserve Karuniya; she desired her with all the little greed she had. And she would more than make up for the interruptions and miscalculations of the past.

“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’m happy she’s found someone worth coming back alive for.” Ulyana explained. “We should all be so lucky as her.” Aaliyah said, shrugging, her cat-like ears twitching. “Indeed. Commissar, let us once again walk into hell for this precious crew, hand in hand.”

“Those memories are irrelevant to the world of today, and I do not let them govern how I live my life in the here and now. But thank you for the hug. It was very warm.” Euphrates added.

She was right on time for Nagavanshi’s secretive little meeting. A meeting that could decide the fate of the Union, she had said.

“I’ve spent all my life putting my body between women and something vast and impossible. Sometimes, they even wanted me to do it.” She said, betraying a hint of sadness. Eris seemed to pick up on her wistful tone of voice.

“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.

“Homa Baumann. I’m– I’m mixed.“ She added to explain her surname. Madiha gave her a wistful look for a moment. She looked deep in thought. “You’re a Shimii, Homa. Your parentage doesn’t matter.“ Madiha took in a breath. Homa had never been accepted so casually and confidently.

“She’s still there!” Mona shouted. “This is an Ideospace! You’ve got to believe that!” “How the hell are you going to turn her back from a bag of meat?! This is insane!” In that moment, the Ideospace enflamed Klara’s despair, awakening The Silent Thicket.

Marina McKennedy, unlike her proud and defiant conduct in previous deceptions, was reduced to begging, and quickly withered under their cold scrutiny. It was an understatement to say this all sounded, looked and felt quite bad.

She developed a good read on Aatto and no longer needed to look her in the eye. Instead, her attention focused past the Rottenführer, on the men and their deadly weapons. Without holding her gaze, Murati reached out a hand to Aatto, offering a shake.

When Daksha left the Union in the hands of that insipid idealist Ahwalia and that utilitarian brute Jayasankar, Kremina had followed dutifully because she believed in her. She owed her life and allegiance to Daksha Kansal.

A student of political as well as military theory, Murati had all kinds of rationalizations for what she wanted.

Her pale face stretched with her cheeky grin, little dark eyes narrowing into their dark bags, each labored cackle tossing the long white hair coming out in long wisps from beneath her grey hood.

“Ingrid, I really want to thank you for doing your job so diligently.” She said. Ingrid raised a hand to hover in front of her mouth while she yawned loudly. Her tail started wagging, just a bit.

Hudson’s joking threat had gotten the absolute worst rise out of her. It had been stupid– but she could not have stood by for that Homa girl to be victimized. Not on a whim– not on anyone’s whim. Kalika would not tolerate an innocent to be hurt.

Cogitan racism allowed them to see the Imbrians, their stations, and their Core Pylon, as violable, or even worthy of violation. Their God wasn’t our God. Just as they were the lesser. Anything could be done to them.

When she returned to Norn’s table, the Praetorian gave her a critical glare. “You can’t be serious. Go back there and grab some of the salad at least.”

“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.”

One shopkeeper named Hasim, rarely seen at the mosque otherwise, actually showed up to report a missing person, for example. “There’s this girl– she came by my shop every day, one of my favorite customers–” But nobody had seen the bob-tailed girl he described.

Mona had brown skin and long, slightly wavy dark hair, and she lacked horns, or a tail, or tall furry ears. Her facial features were also rather median, with green eyes, and a thin nose, and svelte cheekbones.

Evropan values were the value of money– money could transmute The West to anywhere like a surreal alchemy.

After all, if ordinary people could have done it, humanity would already be under the sun.

“Fair enough. Just so you know– I think it’s really cool. Fascinating, even.“ “W-What is?“ Homa said in a breathless voice. She was so embarrassed. She wanted to disappear. “The gender stuff, duh. It’s interesting. It feels– really modern. Science fiction type stuff.“

Madiha smirked. From between her lips, a tiny bit of smoke blew out. Her eyes glowed briefly red with determination. “Don’t worry. I’m here for you. Anyone tries to touch you, I’ll incinerate them.”

Her pale face stretched with her cheeky grin, little dark eyes narrowing into their dark bags, each labored cackle tossing the long white hair coming out in long wisps from beneath her grey hood.

Most people called the supernatural phenomena common to the industrial era “Anomalies”; the Professor almost always employed the precise and academic terms, “Ideogram”, “Ideomorph”, “Ideospace.”

It was so kind– Homa wanted to cry. It was the kindest, gentlest voice that had ever spoken to her. It was their voice– all of them were speaking. To each other. To her. To everything. We’re Sorry.

Shaking arms rigid like a doll’s reaching; Head snapped back into place like pushrod into hole; Coughing breath reconnected to the windpipe like completed circuitry; Blood spilling where neck muscle and bone tore and scarred refilling new skin; ALIVE.

She avoided such sophistry as to say, “we are shadows of our former selves.” After all, she was living proof that humanity’s best was yet to come.

To save our Ocean, to protect our resources, to sustain our lives and livelihoods, we had to completely change not just environmental policy, but our modes of production and social organization.

Shalikova sighed. She didn’t want to put Maryam in this awkward situation. “I’m not afraid of you Aiden, I’m more emotionally mature than you. Good night.”

It could only have been her who shattered Euphrates. No one else could hurt so deeply. But the shadow of her would not stop. No matter how many times she met with destruction. Everything around her crumbled but– Her own pieces inexorably picked themselves together.

Her grip tightened on her truncheon, enough to begin to wear grooves into the handle. She couldn’t lose a squadron again. Not like this. She wouldn’t allow it. Even if she had to break her vows and become something she despised.

You’re too weak, little-tail. That voice did not belong to the “little guy in Homa’s necklace” that she fantasized about. Too cruel, too cold– It was Nasser’s voice– but she was hearing it in her head.

A sound like a guttural, shrieking roar silenced everything else on the hydrophone. At first it sounded like the growl of a beast, low and gurgling, but as the cry tapered off it almost sounded human. It pierced through her body. She felt the roar right in the center of her gut.

Now that she was seated at their table and could not be turned away– And now that she knew the tone of the evening better– Norn could have all the fun that she wanted with them! Her carefully maintained countenance slowly melted into a mocking, prideful grin.

Zachikova took off running again. She had seen it, running the video in her head– something like a scorpion’s stinger. Arabella! Arabella!

When the alarm sounded, the room was as dark as when Murati went to sleep. She jolted up in bed as if she heard an explosion go off.

“This isn’t about me! I know it is unjust and I know it’s hard to ignore! Remember what we’re here for Murati! If you go off on your own to help a few people you could render us unable to help millions of people! Billions! You need to focus and do the job you were assigned!”

A furious, rising, incredible heat– and a purple glow through a wound in the arm’s plates. Tongues of agarthic energy each the width of hairs leaped across the surface of the machine. “Sonya Shalikova. You are the one who needs saving. Not me– I am the strongest of us.”

“To the class that got to define heaven, people like us can only belong in hell.” She said. Without word, Bhavani took hold of the back of her head and drew her in, kissing her long and deep.

Proteins, lipids, water and iron, hydrocarbons, folded in just the right way to appear alive. Moving at her command with no will of its own. Was this so fearful a thing?

“Norn, I saw myself in the mirror as a monster. I saw a vision of some place–” “You saw a monster. It wasn’t you unless you obsess with it being you.” Norn said simply. That was such a nonchalant and dismissive response it shocked Selene’s senses completely.

She had to wonder– how much pain, how much suffering had Euphemia Alexandri seen? Reminding herself to trust and help people, to live– in this place of pain and conspiracy. To be kind to her irritable landlady. To face her circumstances and not retreat from them.

“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!”

She watched the corpse speechless. Everything blurred from the mind fog of unreality. Euphrates was alive. Alive.

“Greetings, comrades. I am Captain Ulyana Korabiskaya. Our mission is one of historic, revolutionary character. The sea is vast, but I hope to inspire you all to adapt to any difficulty.”