Book 1 — Chapter 51
Published Spring 2026
Day: Hynyengo
Date: 37
Month: Nokaokarium
Quarturn: 1618
Location: The city of Loeesuvu - Country of Saettee
“Wake me when we get there, please,” Miles spoke in a drained voice. “I don’t want to miss the remote coupling.”
Ash took her eyes off Miles — who was sitting in the rear seating area of the highly modified DTV — and looked toward O’cerne, who grinned broadly and assured Miles.
“I don’t think I’ll need to. It’ll make a nasty din that can wake the dead.”
“Given my current state,” Miles breathed out with a light groan, “‘waking the dead’ is applicable.”
She felt the smile come to her with Miles’ poke at himself. A jest that pulled a chuckle from O’cerne, who continued maneuvering through the streets of Loeesuvu.
Though her mind quickly found a concern. For while Miles had shown a great deal of improvement — and healing of his injuries — through the induction of the generic HEAL, she observed the side effects had taken a particular hold. Most noticeably, the lethargy. She wondered if he shouldn’t have been under more careful monitoring.
But almost as soon as the thought presented itself, so did the denial of this as the source.
She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath — both to calm and fuel her mind’s evaluation of her emotional state.
Her thoughts quickly drew her to the core conditions she was feeling. Including alarm. Though in her examinations, the cautions that moved through her didn’t have a notable cause. She was safe and heading home. Yet, they remained — as if she were perceiving a far-off storm, dark and foreboding, slowly spreading out across her sky and threatening her.
However, the analogy she had imagined could not take hold; O’cerne caught her attention as he — with a tone of encouragement — made a recommendation to Miles.
“We have a stop-and-go drive that will take a short while. Have a power nap.”
Miles didn’t respond; his audibly rhythmic breathing indicated he was already asleep.
She again felt a grin pull at the corner of her lips, thinking of the sweetness of Miles dreaming away.
A sigh touched her lips as she turned her attention out of the side window — and out into the city of Loeesuvu.
It wasn’t a large city, from what she could discern. Regardless, it was spacious and charming. There was a visible farrago of buildings, as the city didn’t appear to have any noticeable zoning. Homes next to businesses, next to schools, next to government facilities — creating a mismatch of sizes and contrasting façades. All of it clean, kept, and certainly not detracting from its appeal.
She let forth another vocal sigh as the environment brought something to mind. A question she asked in a low voice, in an attempt not to rouse Miles.
“This is a very pretty city. I’m surprised more people from Minu don’t migrate down here. Does Saettee have a population cap?”
“No. Last time I read, they were trying to bring more people in,” O’cerne responded with a pleasant, but less reserved, volume. “No. I believe the reason people from the south of Minu don’t migrate here is that they are just too poor to do it. In my experience, mobility — in the economic sense — isn’t just upwards or downwards; it’s also lateral. Keep people poor enough, and they can’t move laterally. Can’t escape their situation, their physical circumstances. Convinced it’s done by design. They keep them poor, and in turn, it becomes a form of slavery. Even more so when you look at how Minu keeps pushing more and more legislation that criminalizes poverty. It puts people into the legal system, which helps fund the system that created it all in the first place.”
Her head nodded emphatically as she released a wordless sound of agreement, which prompted her to expound on her verging thoughts.
“It’s interesting you mention the criminalization facet. My mama is a trolley driver. Just the other day, she was telling me how there are people who, on bitter days, will ride the entire shift. As long as they pay the fare and don’t cause trouble, she doesn’t bother them. These people are so impoverished, they need a warm and safe place to exist where they won’t get harassed — if only for a little while. It’s not technically against policy, but Minu is trying to change that. Says it’s profit protection for the companies because … I don’t know … it cuts down on space for other paid commuters or it expends more energy, cost ratio … whatever stupid reasoning they’re pulling out of their ass.”
“Yeah,” O’cerne scoffed. “Protection for the companies, without acknowledging the cause behind why people do that. The lack of safety nets.”
She watched as O’cerne shook his head and spoke in a mocking and impersonating voice.
“Oh, but safety nets will make people lazy, they cry.”
His head again shook in disgust as his matching emphasis continued.
“But what they really fear is they know that safety nets will allow people to be free. And they can’t have that.”
“You speak with a lot of passion about this topic. I appreciate that,” she offered with sincerity.
“Not to boast, but I’m not myopic about it,” O’cerne clarified. “I well understand not everyone in poverty is wholly blameless. I have worked at a couple transition shelters we have here. Sometimes, people with shit intentions and some serious failings bring drugs, problems, and violence in with them. But in my experience, they are the few. Just make enough noise to drown out the others. But overall, I know the score. Plus, Porter is an excellent influence on me in that respect. I fully agree with him that lack of worker protection and safety nets keeps the exploitation economy churning.”
As he navigated around a circular intersection, he let out a gentle hum of concentration, then continued his thoughts.
“I will admit, I carry some personal intensity concerning it. It sends me reeling when I think how weak you have to be to kick people around when they don’t have the resources to kick back.”
She studied the side of his face, watching his mouth purse with the thoughts that were moving through his mind. She felt a gentle smile move to her lips as she breathed out a subdued chuckle, and she commented.
“I agree with your general statement. Though your expressions tell me this isn’t only based on a broad observation.”
“It’s not,” he confirmed. “One of the most enraging moments of my life, which turned into one of the saddest, was when my Civil Security partner and I came across a man who crossed the border. We could tell he was in distress. When we approached him, he had the most extreme outbursts of fear I’ve ever seen. He sobbed, fell to his knees, then prostrated himself before us and begged us not to beat him. It took a while for us to calm him, but when we did, he explained he had just been beaten by HEAGEN. He was an older man, and to see him sob and beg literally made my mouth water, like I was going to vomit. You know that sensation?”
She was keenly aware of the process by which the mouth seemed to lubricate itself prior to vomiting. But it wasn’t just from illness, she too had felt that sensation when being met with the horrors that she had been introduced to since her return to Melchior.
Though, as the question remained unanswered, she moved around the current dryness of her mouth, and she responded with a soft, but slightly cracked, “I do.”
He nodded to her response and continued.
“We ended up taking him to hospital. He had a broken wrist, a couple of cracked ribs, and internal bleeding. Those shits at HEAGEN beat him for being homeless. He said he couldn’t take it anymore and walked out of Melchior all the way to Saettee. He left his employment, his friends, because of the sub-animals that are HEAGEN and the sub-animals that run Minu that made it a life-or-death choice for him to stay.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Obviously from your language, you have some serious indignation towards HEAGEN.”
“Just the sight of HEAGEN causes an adrenaline rush that moves my hand to my weapons. I loathe those monsters.”
“I can empathize with that,” she admitted in a soft voice.
But her mind was roiling. The considerations and deliberations of the ‘why’ were coming forth chaotically. It prompted her to let out a vocal breath of frustration as she allowed her thoughts to come forth.
“I was shielded from this. I, of course, was cognizant of my and my family’s situation, but my parents got me out the only way they knew how. In a way, I believe they would’ve been happy for me to have never returned. Not because they didn’t miss or love me. Quite the opposite. They were less worried about me far away in Michi than down the road in Melchior. Especially with HEAGEN around. But what gets me is, I don’t understand what the endgame for them is. The whole of what is happening in Minu. What’s the point of keeping people so destitute? What is it that they, the powers that be, want?”
“My unfiltered opinion, along with my objective knowledge,” O’cerne asked in a questioning intonation, one not requiring a response. “Two reasons. One: they want you to die. It’s simply passive eugenics. Poverty enervates people to an extreme. Mind, body, and soul. And when it does, it’s a way to thin out the herd. Two: for those that are strong enough to survive, they want your labor. Your nameless, faceless, obedient labor. Minu has declared war on you as citizens. And I’m happy to see some of you, like yourself, are declaring war in return.”
She swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. Produced from the instant realization that O’cerne was most likely right. The power class wanted her either dead or abjectly subservient. It was a horror of indifference and rapacity that struck her tongue as she tried to speak with a crack in her murmur.
“I don’t know if what we did would be considered war. I … I’m not dismissing what we did, but I doubt we’re going to change the world. Make it slightly more tolerable, yes. But …”
She couldn’t finish her words; the consternation from O’cerne’s remarks were striking her hard and weakening her speech.
It was something that seemed to be apparent, as O’cerne cleared his throat and raised the inflection of his voice.
“I think that’s enough shop talk for now. As you and I are most likely destined to be in one another’s lives via Porter, Wayra, and … others, I think we should get to know each other better. So tell me, Ash. What are some things that will get me on your bad side?”
She released a laugh as the jarring shift in topic and tone was welcome. Another laugh came forward as she considered his question and, coming to an honest conclusion, responded.
“Lies. Inauthenticity. Disingenuousness. All that deceptive shit. I’m sick to death of it all. It’s far too pervasive in the world, and it instantly burns my cheeks. Though I’m not unfair. I do make allowances for omissions, as there are oftentimes very good reasons for excluding information. Just don’t make a habit of it.”
She glanced at O’cerne, who chuckled and nodded with understanding.
“How about you?” she asked.
“I’m going to admit, I’m not as allergic to lies as you are. But I will keep your preferences in mind when engaging you,” he replied with a chuckle. “As to what will get people on my bad side … eh … aside from anything HEAGEN-related, I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t say I’m a pushover, but I do lean towards the tolerant in most things. Though — and I know I’m not unique in this — but very protective of my family and friends. Bring them grief, and I will return the favor 10 times over.”
“I utterly concur!” she stated with a raised voice that hinted at anger. “I’m provoked when someone I care about is tampered with.”
“So you’re intense,” O’cerne supposed with a hesitation. “Can tell by your accentuation that’s a firm threshold I won’t be pressing.”
“No. I wouldn’t say I’m intense. I can boil with the best of them given the proper circumstances,” she let a vocal whine move forward as she considered she was giving the impression she was an angry person and wished to rectify that as she explained. “Oh! I’m starting to feel bad because you’ve caught me in a fiery streak. I promise you, I’m not usually aggressive. Honestly, at times like this, I’m shocked how irate I can become, when the other 98 percent of the time, I truly just was to give love and be loved.”
O’cerne voiced an “aww” to her comment and then began to chuckle as he responded.
“That’s actually damn cute, I gotta say. I didn’t mean to say you’re coming off as unpleasant. So let me rephrase my observation with a metaphor. Your wells run deep. You certainly don’t feel in the shallows.”
“I can live with that description.”
“Good,” O’cerne chirped, before asking in a teasing manner. “But theoretically, if I were to inadvertently provoke you, or better — again theoretically — if I were aiming to cordialise myself to you, what would I need to do to build such rapport?”
Her laugh emoted with a great deal more sound than she was intending, as she was enjoying his brand of humor. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to make certain she had not awakened Miles with her noise. Seeing he hadn’t stirred, she returned her focus to O’cerne and answered in a direct stress.
“Feed me!”
“That, I can do,” O’cerne responded with a chuckle. “ I think …”
“Do me a bother?” Miles’ voice suddenly arose with a befuddled question.
She quickly turned her head to examine him, as the tone of his accent surprised her. As she looked him over, his eyes still closed and a continued unintelligible mumble moved from his lips, she realized Miles was talking in his sleep.
Suddenly a more forceful snap moved forward, one that indicated he wasn’t pleased with the conversation that was unfolding in his dreams.
“Don’t be speaking reckless at me! You’re fixing to havrn …”
As his words trailed off again into incoherent mutters, she couldn’t help but giggle as she turned her attention back to O’cerne as he asked.
“Talking in his sleep?”
“Talking in his sleep,” she confirmed.
“That northern Galu woods-people in him is making an appearance,” O’cerne observed with his own chuckle before he continued. “One of the side effects of that generic HEAL, I understand. Vivid dreams and talking in one’s sleep. But otherwise, he’s reacting positively to it. Almost all healed, from what I can tell.”
“Yes, indeed,” she responded, followed by a vocal breath that accompanied a light groan.
It was a sound that she knew carried with it a great deal of context — internally and externally. One she hoped O’cerne wouldn’t interpret as, again, showing her angry side. She turned her attention to the side window, looking away, and noticed the buildings were becoming further apart as they were moving out of the city proper and into more rural country.
However, her hopes that O’cerne wouldn’t read into her sounds went without success, as he chuckled for a moment and commented.
“There was a textbook lament, if ever I’ve heard one. And while we had decided to change the subject, I have to say again how intrepid you both were. Worthy of admiration to the highest levels. Too, you’ve got to know how brilliant you were to come up with, and execute, such a plan on the rush. Hope you’re giving yourself due credit. You showed sincere moral and physical courage. Not that I expected anything less.”
Her myriad of thoughts all came to a halt; she felt her head tilt in question to O’cerne’s comments, wondering how he could make such a deep assessment.
She felt a chortle come to her, and she asked.
“Curious why you said that. That you wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“That’s me imposing a generalization on you,” O’cerne clarified. “You see, my father instilled in me a great deal over my life thus far. The one that is applicable to this is he taught me that while anyone is capable of anything, there are traits that are inextricable to men and women. One of those traits is that women are the leaders. When the noise is set aside, women rise as leaders. It’s the natural order of things. That’s why I said I didn’t expect anything less. You were put into a situation and the natural order came forward. You led. And did so brilliantly.”
“I …” she stumbled on her words, as O’cerne’s explanation had surprised her. “I mean, you did preface that by saying that anyone was capable, implying men can be leaders, too. I’m just not sure if I subscribe to the idea that women are the default leaders. What would that make the default for men?”
O’cerne laughed boisterously as he shook his head — expressing an emphatic, but silent, “No.” It was a reaction that was seemingly not a response to her question, but to his internal thoughts, and perhaps, answer. He provided insight as his laugh subsided, and with an amused noise, he elaborated.
“You know, I want to say that men, by default, are the protectors; but that’s not even accurate. Going off on a tangent here, but stay with me. You may not know this, but open borders aside, Saettee has one of the more stringent paths to citizenship. When I moved here from Minu, looking to gain residency, one of the conditions was that you have to log in a couple hundred hours of volunteer work as part of your citizenship requirements. The point of doing that is part assimilation, and part what the government calls the cultural value of connectedness, instilling civic behavior. Working proof you’re invested in the community and connected to the people you’ll be sharing said community with.”
“That sounds bureaucratically expensive,” she noted with a light groan of adjacent angst to the consideration of what all that might entail in the implementation of such a program.
“You would imagine, and it’s good you’re thinking ahead, because this is bringing me to my point,” O’cerne responded with spirit. “They get around a lot of the government office labor by having aspiring citizens choose to enlist their hours through established charities and foundations. Those places receive tax incentives for welcoming people on board temporarily and reporting the work on behalf of the citizenship volunteers. So in the requirement for my citizenship, I ended up signed with four different organizations. And do you know what I saw?”
“I couldn’t say,” she admitted, as her smile and interest were rising to what she was finding fascinating about Saettee’s culture.
“Women,” O’cerne stated with emphasis. “In these well established organizations that functioned with high numbers of volunteers far outside the scope of what any citizenship requirement could supply, I worked with a majority of women. And keep in mind, these were not easy jobs. I aimed for volunteer work that would pad my Civil Security résumé and ended up doing some serious anti-poaching and other defensive duties as an example. I was out there with a predominance of women: building, protecting, saving, and being led by. It was a lesson learned organically that while it might seem natural to ascribe men as the protectors, from my experience, women fill that role in abundance as well. It’s something I’ve seen my whole life. I recognize it and honor it.”
O’cerne paused as his mouth turned in a light grin as he continued.
“So to your question of what would make the default for men … I really don’t know. Maybe imperatorial farceurs?”
She felt the laugh come to her with spirited energy as she teased O’cerne through her amusement.
“Imperatorial farceurs? Dear Deo, help me. Another goofy-ass joke peddler to contend with.”
O’cerne responded with a vigorous cackle to her tease, but she couldn’t let her spinning thoughts stay in her mind, as she calmed herself to giggles and continued.
“I have to say, I’m so absorbed in everything you’ve shared with me. From the citizenship requirements — which are intriguing in their purpose towards community assimilation — to what you’ve been taught through your father and experiences. This is why I love meeting people. Hearing their thoughts and processes to see where they are coming from. It really is all engrossing.”
“Have I persuaded you, then? Of the true natural order is women as leaders and protectors?” O’cerne asked with a chuckle.
“Sorry to say, you haven’t,” she confessed. “While I will acknowledge that you obviously have had some excellent principles and developments that would inform your opinion, I don’t think it’s enough to convince me to accede to your assertions. Plus, I have my own biases. One of which is that I don’t care for labels. I find them limiting. Even if they are empowering, and in this case, a bit flattering. I lean towards coequality; subscribing more to the wisdom of the tenets established after the Bottleneck. The ‘only a spoiled society relies on arbitrary gender roles.’ I try not to be insular about it. I’ll grant that there are marked differences between men and women. But not enough to attribute a natural order that goes beyond biology.”
“That’s fair,” O’cerne admitted with a still-confident voice. “However, you raise a question. Beyond biology. Who says leadership and protection aren’t biological markers?”
She felt the breath of slight deference come out in a vocal huff as she countered.
“You have a point, but again, not enough for me to acquiesce to your opinion. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one.”
She watched O’cerne’s grin fade slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. It was a moment that prompted her to share an observation of her own. One that she hoped would bring O’cerne’s smile back in full.
“If I am wrong, and these traits are indeed intrinsic, it is worth remarking that men — the imperatorial farceurs you labeled them as being — aren’t simply fools. Farceurs of history were seen as visionaries in a way. Being socially liminal by definition, and allowing them to hold a mirror up to all parts of society: letting us see the uncomfortable insights about ourselves that always traversed the absurd to the criminally tragic. They played their role well in correcting society, and shouldn’t be unsung.”
She watched as O’cerne smiled brightly, but as his lips turned, they moved to an ornery grin that reflected his thoughts as he shared them.
“Deo damnit, they said you were a deosis in physical form, they weren’t exaggerating.”
“Oh! Absolutely not!” she exclaimed with a titter. “They were indeed exaggerating. I’m no such thing.”
“You calling Porter and Wayra liars?” O’cerne asked with a tease in his voice.
It was a pitch she understood for the question not to be taken seriously. But it was a query that still tripped her thoughts and subsequent response, as she stumbled over her words as they came out in protest.
“That’s not! I meant! Damnit! Don’t you start with me!”
O’cerne let out a howl of laughter; he had found a great deal of humor in unsettling her in a playful manner. But before she could protest further, O’cerne released a happy sigh from his laugh and announced.
“Well, this too is something we’ll have to agree to disagree, for the time being, as we are here.”
Her eyes moved forward out the front window to examine the site before her.
To her surprise, the view wasn’t anything particularly remarkable. A gated lot — not much larger than 200 square meters, she surmised — surrounded by the only indication that the area had any importance: a tall palisade fence.
Through the gate, she could see the plot remained mostly wilderness; the grasses, weeds, and tiny flowers were untouched by artificial maintenance, standing tall and swaying gently with each passing breeze. However, it was not all nature’s domain; in the center of the parcel was a raised platform and its ramp that appeared to be made of concrete, with its shifting hues of grey.
As O’cerne slowed the DTV down to a crawl, he proceeded to press a series of buttons on the forward console, granting access to the lot as the gate opened, allowing them to continue.
With no hesitation, the DTV moved forward — causing some of the more robust weeds to scrape and snap gently against the hull of the vehicle. But as they moved up the ramp and onto the platform, those sounds halted, with only the ambient noise of the always-present hum of the magnetics and their engines remaining.
Before she could inquire about anything that was happening, O’cerne turned in his seat, reaching back towards Miles, and grabbed his knee, shaking it with light force as he spoke.
“Miles. Buddy. We’re here at the pickup. The remote is only a couple minutes out.”
Miles’ body jumped with a mild startle, sucking in air quickly, causing him to snort. But whatever jarring he experienced was quickly diminished as his smile brightened before his eyes were fully open as he commented in an appreciated pitch.
“Ope. Yeah, no, for sure. Thank you so much, my guy.”
She watched as Miles used his finger and thumb to rub his eyes and coax them open. Upon opening, he blinked a couple of times, adjusting his sight, and then darted his focus around and out windows, looking for the remote.
As she turned her attention back to O’cerne, her own thoughts on the remote came to the forefront, as did her apprehension. She brought in a deep breath, trying to calm her rising tension as she asked.
“And you’re sure this is safe?”
O’cerne, whose focus was on a small screen located on the forward console, nodded his head and replied with a pronouncement of certainty through sarcasm.
“Well, I don’t want to die in this thing! I wouldn’t be using these if I thought that was a probability. The only reason they aren’t widely available right now is that the DTVs, as you can see, are very specialized. As are the remotes. I know it seems sketchy, but Saettee — as in the government — hasn’t approved them for general use yet, as they are letting us Civil Security and other associated departments test them out. See how well they really get along with other airships. And so far so good.”
“Not that I’m complaining, as I’m pumped I get to experience one, but why are we even going all the way down to Tishomin?” Miles asked.
“Watchers,” O’cerne answered plainly. “We got reports that Watchers were monitoring public transit and airships coming in and out of several of the northern cities, including Loeesuvu. HEAGEN asked them to find you. Not that they know who you are precisely. Thankfully, they have no clue. But HEAGEN figured you would try to get back into Minu and sent the Watchers out to look for anyone coming across the border or being picked up by airship in the northern cities. We concluded HEAGEN and the Watchers feel you couldn’t have gotten very far into Saettee. So that’s why we are heading far south to Tishomin for the rendezvous to get you back to Minu. We should be there well before evenfall, with enough time to get some food.”
But before Miles could respond, O’cerne spoke in an excited tone.
“It’s here! Don’t be alarmed by the noises. The remote will lower itself onto the top of the DTV, docking its connection into the roof panel. Once it’s made contact and the programs ‘shake hands’ in computer speak, the side arms will come down and wrap around the DTV. That’s where it makes the most racket. Once the arms are closed, it will do a quick check, and if everything is secure, it will take off like any normal airship.”
Neither she, nor Miles, had an opportunity to ask any followup questions; as soon as O’cerne had finished explaining, a large thud struck the top of the DTV. It was significant enough that it caused her body to wince, sending her head down, forcing her ears to meet her shoulders.
But as the perceived danger of the ceiling caving in passed, her attention was drawn out the side window; two large, thick molded arms, which were cupped-hand shaped, came into view and slowly began to close around the DTV.
For a moment, it provided her with a hint of amusement, as she felt as if she were part of a skill crane game. Being selected by the giant claw as a hoped-for prize. However, the humor was quickly suppressed by the promised sounds of the metal arms scraping against the DTV’s body, which were unnerving. An edge that only increased as the arms began to squeeze the DTV, causing the sides to bow inwards with the pressure, forcing her to move in her seat closer to the center out of reflex — as she feared it wouldn’t stop — and the arms would break the windows and crush the metal around them.
Her fear passed as only a couple of centimeters of movement later, the arms ceased their action, and the DTV lifted off the platform, rising high into the air. She released the breath she had been holding out with a vocal sigh of relief; she turned her attention to Miles, who chuckled and commented.
“Well, that was pants-crapping terrifying. Not a fan. Not a fan at all.”
It was a statement that caused her and O’cerne to look at one another and burst into resounding laughter, as it was something they could both wholly agree with.