One: Hurricane Thunderclap.

Freesia stood up from the couch in her apartment and peered out to the street below. The neon landscape lit the darkness that always seemed to shroud the city. Bikers weaved between lanes of traffic, the sides lit in primary colours warning other vehicles of their passing, whether they liked it or not. From the visible storefronts opposite she read the signs that never changed, the perpetual 50% off at the clothes store. A holographic model projected into the front of an electronics store waving about a sign portraying all items a part of the winter sale.

She tired of the towering grey landscape of the city and fell back down to the yellow couch, turning on the marconi as she landed. The case today had involved a good amount of standing still, talking to witnesses, overlooking the view of the crime scene. Pain shot through her left knee, incapable of following her order to bend forcing her to massage the kneecap until it slowly creaked into a sitting position. She planted her leg firmly to the ground and then watched as her grim face stared back at her through the blurry, cascading scroll of the marconi. Her face winced looking back as she described the desecrated remains of the children found hidden under the Bonaparte Sacellum.

Her focus shifted only when Aster turned the corner from the hall. “You want anything?” he said, only slightly louder than the marconi.

She looked to the empty glass beside her. “Yeah, could you get me some blackwater? Thanks.” She said, handing him the glass.

His back shifted against the wall, and once again he was out of sight. She heard the running of blackwater echoing against the sound of her own voice repeating back to her all the events of the preceding investigation.

She caught fragments of speech before switching the scratched up red marconi to a broken channel. The exposed wires frayed the tape they’d used to cover them. She shouted into the kitchen. “Hey, get some more tape. Marconi’s gonna light the place on fire!”

The running blackwater stopped. Steps were replaced by the sound of a rough drawer opening and closing. Aster walked back into the room and lightly placed the cup back on the side table before squatting in front of the marconi, pulling on a long strip of green tape, adhering it to the exposed wires. He walked back to the yellow tuxedo-style couch and sat up against Freesia, who slowly rolled her head onto his shoulder.

“What are we gonna watch?” she asked, looking at her blurry reflection in the black screen before her. Freesia’s light-brown hair had fallen well past her shoulders, almost touching the small of her back. She brushed Aster’s dark shoulder length hair behind his ear so she could see his face. Freesia’s smile was wide. “You need a haircut. How can you even see anything?”

“It’s getting pretty long. Even I’m tired of it now. I’ll get it done eventually. Your choice of movie tonight.”

“What do we have?”

Aster stood up. “I’ll go check.”

He walked over to the small side table and sat down as he opened the door. A stack of colourful records lay piled over one another, the unused space around them gathering dust. “Exactly the same stuff as yesterday.”

“Mixed-Up!” She shouted excitedly.

Aster’s face tensed immediately. “Oh, a new one?” He said, almost robotic. He couldn’t keep the mask on for long, and his deadpan face broke into a laughter. Freesia laughed as well, before a bang on the wall quieted it. They continued to laugh silently as he placed the record onto the large player under the marconi. As he walked back, Freesia turned the dial back to where it had been previously. Her face no longer stared back at her, and they listened for a few moments.

“—ushed to the hospital. It seems that the illegal spice known as Coriander has caused hundreds of emergencies throughout the city today. The cause is still unknown. The Crimson Guard have decided against an investigation. To quote Captain of the Crimson Guard, Eris Vermilion, ‘It is no use getting involved in something people will continue to participate in’. Many protesters are finding their way in front of the—”

“You should turn it off,” Aster quietly mumbled. “You know you’ll get in a bad mood if you listen any longer.”

“Bu—”

“Right, now let’s watch Mixed-up!” He cut her off with a rare, cheery voice.

Once again he sat up from the couch. Freesia shifted her body, her legs now lying horizontally across the couch, the left one incapable of straightening completely. The lights dimmed, and Freesia slowly lifted her legs as Aster sat back down. She placed them on his lap, a weight she knew he wouldn’t mind bearing. The room lit a light blue as the record started playing.

“How’s your leg?”

“I didn’t get to move much at all today. I can’t bend it very far. We’ll go on a walk later, get some food. I need to stretch it.”

“And your hip?”

“I guess that’ll be what hurts when we go get food, huh.”

Aster very gently patted her knee. She could feel him trace out the figure eight that held it in place. “You want me to go get you some food? You can rest here, it’s perfectly fine with me.”

“No, no I need to get out.”

“Alright, just tell me if you feel a headache coming on.” He looked at her and smiled. “And if you need ice.”

Freesia nodded back at him before laying her eyes back on the marconi. She could feel herself calming down as the record played. When the first song came on, she started singing along as if nothing had been bothering her. By the end of the movie, her and Aster couldn’t go a minute without making some kind of joke.

When the record ended, Freesia lifted her legs, freeing Aster’s limp limbs. He stood for a second before turning the light back on. “Still up for a walk?” he asked.

Her response was enthusiastic.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

The cold night air brushed against their faces as they walked to the nearest place that was still open. Aster let go of her cold hand and pulled at the door, letting Freesia in.

“We need to be keeping better track of whose turn it is to pay.” she said as she walked through the frame.

“That would be smart, yes. I can take this one. Doughnuts are on you tomorrow, though!”

She laughed. “Yeah, but you’re not getting any! Especially none of the jelly-filled ones. I know you hate them.”

“Ah darn, just the worst. I hate having taste in my food!”

They laughed and Freesia wandered up to the counter. Aster stood aside, waiting to fill the drinks and carry the tray to their table.

The news was being displayed on a marconi up in the corner of the small establishment. Aster made sure Freesia sat with her back against it while he brought the food over. While they ate, he occasionally made eye contact with the news. He froze when he read the headline.

“I shouldn’t be saying this, but look at the news. That spice thing from earlier. It’s killed into the thousands now.”

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Two: Feeding Flames.

“Good.”

Aster looked her in the eyes before lowering and tilting his head to the side. “Don’t say that. You know they don’t deserve it.”

“And you know what they did to me!” She shouted. The few other patrons turned their heads in her direction for a second and there was the nervous scraping of shifting chairs before their faces retreated back into their meals. Freesia laid her scar-laden hands on the table, looking away from them as she prepared to take another bite.

Asters disappointment cut through her eyes. “It wasn’t a they, it was a him. The actions of one person doesn’t mean that anyone involved in a similar thing should just die.” He paused for a moment. “Anyway, how’s your food?”

There was a moment of silence while Freesia decided how to handle his words. “Fine.”

“Good. Just about ready to get home, then?”

“Yeah.”

Rain had begun to fall when they exited the concrete building, and the moontower atop the roof keeping the roads alight waned in and out. The darkness seemed even darker now as the lights emanating from the roadside convi’s shut down almost instantaneously. They were guided on their walk back to the apartment with the help of the rare lights from the hovers that passed by them, and the two small lights they generated with their callers. The silent moon hung dim behind the low clouds.

The angular doors separated and the two stepped through puddles of their own into the building. Freesia spoke up before they reached their unit.

“You know they’re not doing anything.”

“Who?, he questioned, “isn’t doing what?”

She sighed. “The guard is supposed to enforce spice. I have my job, they have theirs. All they have to do is take their army into the market. It’s not like there’s anyone there that could do anything about it.”

“The spice is regulated. It’s allowed to be here. They can’t just walk in and murder anyone they suspect might have some connection to anything.”

“Then investigate that shit and find out what’s going on!” she yelled into the void created by the automatic opening of their door. It’s not just me.” Freesia carefully lifted her left pant leg above her knee. “Look at this. I needed to learn to walk all over again.”

Aster stood down. “I know.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Freesia was lying on her back, staring at the empty ceiling. Visions of that night played like a reel projected onto an old canvas screen. Her red hover rumbling along the side of the sheer rock cliff lifting up past the sky above her. A mountain of rusted metal concealed the full view of the left turn. The edges of her vision frayed and her body began to rumble.

“—t’s okay, you’re in bed. I’m here.”

Her scream ceased, she shot up, and Aster moved his hand from her arm to her back. He called the lights and Freesia settled down, her gasping rough breathing slowed. The two sat silently before Freesia dangled her legs over the side and looked to the wall. Shadows continued to pull her hair in every direction.

She broke the calm that had begun to settle. “It won’t stop until the problem is solved. I’m talking to the crimson guard in the morning. Can you get me some blackwater?”

“Yeah.” He yawned, arms stretched toward the canvas that had brought forth the nightmare.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

The sun still hadn’t risen over the tall wall that kept the city safe from the Amaranthian Barrens’ constant sandstorms. She turned the dial three times and brought the caller to her ear, hair swept to the side. Aster sat next to her, an offering of support. The marconi was blurry but working on the other side of the room. A distraction to be used if the conversation didn’t go as hoped.

The call went in a few seconds later, and the robotic voice of a woman on the other end spoke into Freesia’s ear.

“Welcome to the crimson guard call service. If you have an emergency, please turn to— 1. If you believe you have information that would be of use, please turn to— 2. If you have concerns about the breach, please turn to— 3. If you want to file a complaint, please turn to— 4. If you need to hear thi—”

She forced the rusted metal dial to four and put the caller back up against her ear and was greeted by another voice. This time that of a clearly human man.

“And what’s your complaint, then?” his voice was exasperated. It sounded as if he’d just got off from an intense call.

“Find out what’s wrong with the spice!” she shouted.

There was a gap in his response. “That’s not the duty of the crimson guard, ma’m. We’re not investigators. You’d have better luck calling someone private.”

“I work for Merensky and Cobalt. This isn’t our jurisdiction either, since no physical harm’s been done.”

“Death doesn’t count as physical harm, then?”

Freesia looked down. “Apparently not.”

She hung up before he had the chance to respond and immediately turned the dial to the Merensky/Cobalt Security Company line. She was confronted with another robotic voice.

Before the voice could say anything, she recorded her number through the caller.

“Redirecting, please wait.” the voice repeated.

There was a click in the line as she disconnected from the call centre and was transferred to the security company. Finally, an old, gruff voice picked up.

“Freesia,” it sounded like he’d just been smoking. She could almost feel the burn of sparks flying toward her face. “what’re you callin’ so early in the mornin’ for?”

“Let me take the spice case.”

“You know I can’t let you do that, Freesia. Doctor’s orders. Anyway, too high profile. If we don’t catch the perpetrator in time, we’ll look like fools. Some other company can take it.”

Her face tensed, Aster gently squeezed her arm, smiled, and slightly turned up the volume of the marconi.

She was speaking through gritted teeth now. “I need this whole ring dismantled, Pax.”

“I know how you feel, I do, I get it. But you know I can’t let you do this. Think of how far back it could set you. You might not realize it, but you’ve come a long way in the past two years.”

“Tell that to my hip.”

Aster poked her hip after she said it, speaking quietly. “Hello, Freesia’s hip. How are you doing today?”

She looked at him and smiled for a second before returning to the conversation.

“Off the record, then. What do you want me to do, Freesia? My hands are tied. I know you need your revenge, but I can’t in good conscience let you do this.”

“Give me a name, a lead, a trail that I can follow.”

He sighed, and the call shut down.

“Looks like I’m going to have to figure this out myself, then.”

Aster put his face into his lap. “Listen to him. It’s a bad idea.”

“I’m going. You can stay here, or you can follow me. We both know you have nowhere to be. No one to see. Nothing to do.” she stood up from the couch. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” he paused for a moment before his melancholy filled voice ran ahead of his thoughts. “I’ll go with you.”

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Three: Fog.

The Allmänna Tower stood overhead the city. Thousands of multiple coloured caller lines leading from all corners of the city converged at the top, forming what seemed a tent of wire underneath. The duo were leaving from around the tower, the centre of the city, to the furthest possible point that its cables could reach. From the furthest point of the tower, they were capable of touching the wall that protected them from the desert sands.

At their arrival, fuliginous crows huddled precariously on the lone blue cable that reached into the market square. From this far away, a call could take some time to reach the central point before being connected to an operator. If Freesia or Aster ran into trouble, they’d need to solve the situation themselves. Freesia had come here a few times on previous investigations on behalf of the crimson guard, but never alone and without a permit.

“We just need to buy a small sample and get out,” Freesia whispered on their approach to a small, green tent. “then I can have someone look into the makeup when we get back.”

“Right.” chills ran down his spine. He’d never felt comfortable outside the small apartment in the big city.

“Aster,”

“Yes?”

“Cover your face, we’re getting close.”

He lifted the scarf up above his nose, just high enough to still allow a slit of vision. Freesia did the same as she spoke to him.

The curtains parted with a brush from Freesia’s gloved hand. The inside of the tent appeared far larger than it did from the outside. It seemed possible that they may have carved through a section of wall in order to expand the operation without arousing any suspicion within the guard. The back of the tent flapped furiously in wind, grains of sand beating against the canvas like hail against the hovers after the season’s change.

A tall, bearded man welcomed them in. “Greetings, cityfolk. What drives you far out here?”

Freesia was flustered at his observation. “How do yo—”

“We’ve been watching your approach. Please, take off those scarves, we’re all friends here in this market.”

The two slowly brought their hands to their faces and lowered the scarves, as told.

“Good, good. See, we must trust each other here.”

“Yes.” Aster said.

Freesia broke out of her short spell and demanded what they had come for.

“Ah, but new customers must show me who they are so we can confirm identity in the database,” he let out.

Freesia attempted cute manipulation. “We only need a small amount of Coriander. Just a sample for new customers?” She let out a small smile.

“I’m sorry, my lovely, but we can’t do that.” He stretched his long, bony fingers beyond the counter in a grabbing motion for ID. “We need to make sure we know who we’re providing.”

Freesia pulled her identification out of her pocket. The gold foil logo of the Merensky/Cobalt Security Company logo shone brilliantly in the corner of the small card. It would seem a bust if she were to hand it over. She worried it may even result in both of their deaths.

“Aster, want to give him your ID?” she pleaded.

He fumbled around in his pockets before gripping the small piece of metal.

“Yeah, I’ll—” he let go on his grip of the card, and brought his empty hand out of his pocket. “Huh, I think I forgot it back in the city.” He said weakly.

Freesia looked up to the green canvas ceiling. “Shit.”

The man across the divide smiled. “Is this a problem?”

“No, no. We just seem to have forgotten them. Is there nothing you can do? I can feel the withdrawal coming on.”

“We are sorry, but no. If you cannot identify yourselves, we will need to ask you to exit the market.”

Neither wanted to draw any more suspicion to themselves than they already had, and left without a word. Once outside, Freesia ushered Aster forward toward the nearest hovestop. They waited in the lighted booth until the sky was dark and a hover stopped on the side of the curb. Upon their embark, Freesia pushed as far back as she could while finding to available seats next to one another. She broke the silence they’d kept since exiting the tent.

“Where’s your fucking ID!” she yelled.

“Here,” he pulled the square out of his pocket. “I didn’t want to be in their database. Sorry.”

“God.” She broke into a slump.

“It was your plan. I don’t want to get myself on any kind of list. I don’t have the protection of the guard like you do.”

“And I can’t buy it because Merensky and Cobalt is being contracted by them. This is why you came!”

“It was your plan, though. Why didn’t you tell me this beforehand. You know I’ve never been in any situation like this before.”

“I’m just letting you tag along.”

They sat together in silence, each staring out the opposite blue neon sand filled window. In the dark, the illuminated tip of the Allmänna tower shone jagged through the blur. The last of the passengers exited the hover, leaving the two alone in the back. Aster brushed aside his hair. The first motion either of them had made since entering the hover two hours prior.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I’ll find someone to buy it for me.”

“Someone willing to get on that list?”

She looked him in the eye. “Or someone who’s already on it.”

“Do you know anyone who’s on it already, then?”

She smiled. “I do.”

“Who?” He asked, curious now.

She looked away. “Monaghan.”

“Oh.”Aster sighed.

“I just need to find him. I haven’t seen him in quite a while. Bad circumstances.”

“So you’ve told me.” He replied. “The one you hate.”

“I’ve been trying to speak to him recently.” She said.

Aster looked away. It took him a few moments before finally responding. “That’s sudden. You didn’t feel like telling me this before now?”

She grunted. “I knew this would happen. I’m allowed to talk to other people.”

Aster looked down. “Of course you are, I never said you couldn’t.You just seem to always hide it when you do. Like I’m not allowed to know what’s going on. Last time you told me about him, it was about how horrible he was to you. I’m just confused.”

“I’ve decided to forgive him,” she stated, matter of fact. “We’re good.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence and once their stop arrived, Freesia quickly exited. Aster followed slowly behind, face to the ground.

“Sorry.” He replied as he stepped off the hover. “Of course you can talk to him.”

“I didn’t need your fucking permission.” she huffed.

“I didn’t say you did.”

She walked quickly ahead of him, arriving at the apartment well before him. When he arrived, she was sulking against the door.

“Forget the code?” He asked, before sliding his fingers quickly across the number pad. “What would you do without me?” he said, smiling.

She didn’t respond, shutting the door quickly behind her. The inside of the room had grown cold in their absence, and they both found themselves next to each other under a blanket on the couch as the heat began to warm up the space. Nothing was on. The marconi was silent. All was silent save for the rare hover passing overhead.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Four: Prison.

When Freesia awoke, Aster’s head had fallen onto her shoulder. They’d fallen asleep on the couch after returning from the black market. She attempted to get up slowly, placing his head onto the armrest next to him. It was early in the morning. Her knee ached from the amount of walking they had done the night before. She crept out of the living room into their room and found a clean set of clothes lying on the floor. She replaced yesterday’s dark outfit with yellow lining and a small stamp of the security company with a regular outfit. A black sweater with no identifiable marks.

When the clock hit nine she checked up on the sleeping Aster to see if he’d woken up, but he was still snoring loudly. He hadn’t noticed that he’d been moved. She picked up five bottles of assorted pills from the nightstand, bringing them out of the room with her back into the living room. She nudged Aster gently on the arm, stirring him slowly from his sleep.

When his eyes opened, he saw Freesia and smiled.

She whispered comfortably to him. “It’s nine, I got your pills.”

Aster rubbed his eyes and yawned out a quiet “thank you.” before pulling the caps off all of the bottles, filling his hand with five pills at a time.

Freesia left the couch, entered the kitchen and filled up a glass of water. She took a small sip before heading back to Aster and handing the glass to him.

“Oh, thanks again.” He said as he received the blackwater and started to take down his pills.

“Yeah. Appointment this morning.” she was grim.

“You want me to come?” he asked.

She looked down at him. “No, it’s fine.” she said. She let out a small smile to assure him in case the words hadn’t been enough.

“Alright, then. Just let me know if you need me.” Aster replied before getting up, heading to the bedroom, and closing the door.

Freesia walked slowly to the entrance of the building. She sat down on the bench and laced her shoes before exiting the apartment. The driver and his hover were already waiting outside the building, and she hopped into the front passenger seat.

“Not Raymond today, huh?” she said, looking at the middle-aged bearded man in the driver's seat.

“Old man’s sick, so you’re stuck with me today.”

She laughed. “It’s fine.”

“So what’cha got today?”

Freesia grumbled the answer behind her teeth. “Results from the last test.”

“Good. Hopefully they show improvement.”

She grunted and laughed mournfully. “They never do.”

The hover pulled out of the space before the building, stopping just before the highway at Stim Gordon’s Cafferia and pulling in to the hove-through.

“What are you hungry for?” he asked.

“Breakfast sandwich.”

“Same drink as always?”

“Yup.”

They pulled in next to the mic and were greeted by the familiar robotic voice. “What can I serve you this morning?”

The driver gave the answer before moving on to the next window and receiving the small package. He handed them to Freesia, who verified the contents.

“It’s all good.” She told him, as he placed the drinks in their holders.

The drive took two hours. They slid in between traffic trying to make the best time to appointment as they could, but it hadn’t served much use. The traffic in the mornings towards the centre of the city was always rough. The driver took a sip of his drink while they waited in traffic.

Once arrived, they pulled into the underground parking spaces. The underground was dark, grungy. The yellowed lights flicked on and off. The driver slid a ticket through the booth counter, waving a gate and allowing the hover space to park. Freesia got out slowly. Her face was pale.

“I’ll be here,” he said. “let me know when you’re in.”

She nodded. “Yup.”

Freesia entered a grubby caged elevator and rode it to a floor located near the middle of the moderately tall health building. From the outside, the black glass displayed advertisements. On their entrance to the underground parking, a projection on the side of the building displayed a latest development in a series of breaking news reports. More people dead, all found with Coriander in their systems. The driver had noted it. Freesia did not respond.

Once she had risen halfway through the building in the rusted elevator, the caged door opened to reveal a polished, white tiled hallway. Beneath her, visible from a small glass wall, were vendors of fruits and vegetables. She envied the people below browsing without thought. She walked slowly along the hallway until coming to a set of glass doors at the end. They had been recently scrubbed clean. There wasn’t a fingerprint or spec of dust visible. She touched her hand to the glass, smearing it a little, before entering and walking up to the shiny metal box.

At her approach, it chirped a welcome both through it’s metallic high pitched voice, and a set of blue pixelated lights above the stainless rectangular booth. She placed her identification within range of the camera and was then prompted to place her thumb on a foamy pad that slid out from the middle of the machine. She placed her thumb on the pad for a few seconds, holding it strong enough to make an imprint, before returning her hand to the middle pocket of her sweater.

“Welcome, Freesia. Your appointment is scheduled for: 12:00. Please have a seat in the waiting room to your right.”

She did as told and sat on a small white chair. On schedule the machine called her name, giving her directions to the room where the doctor awaited to inform her of the results of her test.

He grinned when she entered the room. “Ah, Freesia! How was the drive over?”

“Fine.” it was as long an answer as she would give him.

“Good, have a seat, please.”

She did, removing her shoes once she had done so.

“So I have the scans here,” he said, holding three small x-ray papers showing the bones of her two knees and hip. “and it seems there hasn’t been any signs of improvement, I’m afraid. Have you felt a change over the last two months?”

She was exhausted from the early ride over. Her barely audible response was “no.”

“Alright. I’d like you to, if you could, please bend your knees as far as you can.”

She understood the context of the question from having received the same one hundreds of times. She sat on a blue mat on the floor, attempting to cross her legs in front of her.

“This is as far as I can go.” she said, her legs barely crossed at the ankles. “It hurts going anywhere past here.”

The doctor put his thumb to his chin. He looked down to her before speaking. “There’s nothing to do, then, than continuing with what you’re already doing. We can only hope for the best.”

Freesia exited the room angry and made her way back into the dingy lot. She opened the door to the hover, slamming it behind her before looking to the driver. “Don’t ask.” she snarled, before he pulled out of the underground lot.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Five: Reflections Of You.

Aster awoke to the din of a kitchen in motion. When he could no longer feign sleep, he walked in on Freesia to discover her hands buried in a silver bowl of tawny dough. The floor length windows now acted as a bar to prevent falling out of the building, allowing a cool breeze to shift around the room. Light split against the hexagonal bowl, causing a kaleidoscopic arrangement to cut through the otherwise dark room.

She lifted her gaze to his. “Making some s’more cookies, wanna help?”

The room seemed to instantly brighten. “Yes, of course!”

Freesia directed him around the room to pick up any implement she needed, and watched as he shuffled across the white tiled floor. On his trip to get a pan, he busted his side into the counter. A short stab of pain hit, but it was instantly forgotten as they laughed at his clumsiness. After the short fit he continued, if walking slightly slower, to help around the kitchen.

“—and we put them in for a bit, then we can eat them!” she said.

When the marshmallow had adhered the chocolate to the graham cracker, Freesia had Aster take the pan out. He placed them on a small cooling tray, allowing them to harden for a few minutes before eating. They then moved over to the living room, back onto the couch.

“So, we need to find Monaghan, then.” Aster said.

“Yeah. But I want you to come with me. Meet him.”

“That’s fine. Where are we going to meet up.”

She put her thumb to her finger, looked at the wall. When an answer came to her, she turned excitedly toward Aster and tapped him quickly on the chest.

“Day off!”

Aster’s eyes shifted to the side. “What?”

“We’re gonna go eat. Then, we’ll play some games.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

The two exited the neon-sided hover into an empty lot and walked across the holographic lines onto the sidewalk. They neared a small concrete building, food advertisement flashing across the windows. Upon their approach, they were greeted by a tall, red-haired man. He glanced at Aster for a second, before noticing Freesia at his side.

“Aster,” Freesia took his arm. “this is Monaghan. Monaghan, Aster.”

The two exchanged pleasantries, and the group entered the building. The room in which they found themselves was brightly lit, with shades of red where shadows were expected. Freesia and Aster huddled together deciding whether they wanted to share the same meal and to figure out who would pay the machine. Monaghan was already running his silver card through the reader, and a small plate slid down a chute next to him. He picked it up, walked to a quiet table, and was soon joined with the other two.

They ate in an aural silence save for the distant chatter of other groups, but Freesia’s mind ran as she pondered how to broach the subject to Monaghan. He was sure to ask of her intentions with the spice. She’d never shown any interest before, and he was sure to take it suspiciously. Before she had the chance to speak up, the food had emptied from every plate and they were returning to where the hover had been parked, keeping past it into the looming black building opposite where they had eaten. She pulled Aster to the side, keeping behind Monaghan.

“You bring it up.” she whispered.

“How?” he asked. “I’ve never even thought of any of this before.”

She huffed. “Hey, Monaghan, Aster has a question for you.” She smiled and looked at Aster, content with having won.

“Yes, that’s right.” Aster stuttered nervously. “I wasn’t sure who to ask, but Freesia said talking to you would be a good idea.”

“Well, what’s the question?”

“Due to my… job, I can’t seem to buy any spice. I was wondering if you could get some for me. M— I can’t get in contact with my usual guy.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I can supply you. Anyone Freesia trusts, I trust.”

“Awesome. So, when do you think you can get this done?”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Upon entering the menacing black building, they quieted down. Monaghan held the door open and Freesia led the group up a set of stairs to the second level of the building. One light source hung above a green felt table. They picked up their cues and began the game.

“So, Monaghan, how’ve you been?” Freesia asked, shooting into a red ball.

“Alright. Not gotten into much trouble so far.” He hit a blue-lined ball, sinking it. “Stripes.”

“Me and Aster are going for solids then. Let’s do this.”

Aster lined up a shot with an orange ball, missing and sinking one of Monaghan’s stripes.

Freesia laughed. “Should have seen that coming.”

At that moment, lights shone through the dimmed windows.

A voice, amplified, came resonating through the walls.

“Monaghan, we have you surrounded. Please exit the building with your hands on your head!”Freesia cursed under her breath. Monaghan rested his hands behind his head. Aster stood alone, caught in the crossfire

“Guess I’ll be seeing you both, then.” Monaghan declared, running down the set of stairs.

Both of them looked at his shadow falling lower and lower with every step.

Freesia spoke up once he had left their sights completely. “Stay quiet. The guard can’t know we’ve associated with him. Once they get him, they’ll be on their way. He’s taking this one for us.”

“Why?”

“Owes me a favour.”

They heard the chaotic barking of orders, determining Monaghan had walked out of the front door, hands over his head. A short electric shock ran through the building and up their bodies. Monaghan had been restrained. A door slammed shut. They stood up, still slightly quaking.

“Well, shit.” Freesia said, grim.

“What now?”

“I’m going to have to try and convince the crimson guard to let him go.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

When the commotion outside had gone silent, the two slowly made their way back to the entrance of the building. They peeked outside the door quickly before running to the hover and getting out of the area. They returned to the apartment and sat quietly on the couch. The news was playing in the background on the fuzzy screen of the small marconi. A commercial ended. The tall silhouette of Monaghan appeared on the monitor.

“Well, that could have gone better.” Aster started, looking at the shadow.

“No kidding.” she looked away.

“Oh, hey!”

“What is it?” Freesia’s scowl dimmed somewhat. Aster had sounded excited.

“We forgot about the cookies!”

“Damn, you’re right!”

Aster jumped off of the couch, walking quickly into the kitchen before asking Freesia how many she wanted. Her reply didn’t satisfy him, so he brought the tray in its entirety. He handed one of the baked cookies to Freesia before sitting down.”

“You get first taste.”

She took a small bite and slowly turned her head towards him.

“So?”

Her grimace returned to her face. “They… They’re so good!” She let out a smile. “Success! We’re saving this one.”

Aster grabbed one from the top of the pile, trying it himself.

“You’re right, they are pretty good. How’s your hip?”

“Sore. I need to rest it.”

“Want to watch a movie?”

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Six: Holding Your Tongue.

Aster woke up the next morning to the quiet sounds of the marconi playing. The slow rumble of gunshots knocked him out of bed. When he exited the room, Freesia was long up watching the news in case there was any indication as to what might have happened to Monaghan. Her stare was fixed and unbreakable, even when Aster stood in front of her.

“Anything?” he asked.

“They won’t say anything.”

“Probably not much to say. I imagine he’s a pretty low level concern for them right now.”

“I’m not expecting anything. Just keeping an eye out.”

“I know. Anyway, I have to go do blood work this morning.”

Freesia laughed. “I’d wondered why you were awake before the middle of the night.” she smiled.

“It’s far too early. See you in a bit.”

“Yup, have fun.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Aster left the tall building, walking alongside the road for a while until coming to a pole lit in the middle with a blue stripe. He stood by the heated pole until a large hover pulled over to the side of the road. He waited until all the passengers exited the vehicle, flashing his silver metal card as he entered himself. The hover was crowded so Aster weaved his way near the back, forced to stand. He felt mildly dizzy, but not enough to ask for a seat. He held on tight as the hover continued along its path, his shoes dug right into the rubber ground.

He did his best to look out the nearest window as they flew low across the walled city. The view outside was mostly hidden by stacks and rows of buildings that seemed to reach the sun, bar the few short alleys. A small fight broke out amongst a few passengers in the front. The hover was soon bombarded by the sounds of fists hitting the metal wall. Passengers in the front moved to the back in order to get out of the way, while Aster heard the driver call for assistance. Soon, they were sitting on the side of the road when a small red caravan arrived with soldiers dressed in red and black. The driver opened the door when one of them approached the hover.

“Crimson guard, I’m going to have to ask you to stop.” the masked being said firmly to the two pugilists.

Neither one acknowledged what was said, their thoughts filled with rage and the basic motor functions of swinging arms. One of the men hit the other square in the jaw, dropping him to the ground in an instant.

“Fight’s over.” the crimson guard said, grabbing the man who’d remained standing and locking his arms behind his back and dragging him kicking out of the hover. A second guard entered as soon as the first dragged the standing man out, grabbing the man resting in a bloody puddle on the floor into their arms. When he left the vehicle, a third came in to ask questions of the driver and once satisfied with the answers, left them to continue the journey.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

The hospital was a magnificent shining marble square that seemed to be cut from the desert dust that surrounded it. Ambulances were piled in the front doorway, and Aster noticed a guard carrying the fallen man into the emergency section of the building. He himself exited and walked toward the front entrance, making his way through a slow automatic rotating door. He passively looked at the green arrows on the floor that directed him to the blood work stations, having passed these same halls for years.

A tawdry red light indicated the right turn to the bloodstation, where he placed himself in front of a small camera to allow a facescan. When his identity was confirmed the station asked, in its squealing metallic whirs of a voice, for a fingerprint. A pad extended and Aster did as asked. His identity now absolutely confirmed, he took a seat in the waiting room. He needed to hum a tune to distract himself from the cries of patients in rooms far away.

“Number 0544,” cried a mechanical voice over the PA system. “please head to room A2.”

Once in the room, he placed his arm according to procedure on a small black pad. A robotic arm tumbled down from the ceiling, its arm ending in needlepoint. It quickly embedded itself into his arm, though he seemed not to be phased. After a couple seconds, the machine turned a small, black camera eye toward him.

It displayed a waveform over the display as it spoke to him. “Procedure completed. Please have a good day, sir. Dismissed.”

Upon his return to the apartment, Freesia had barely moved at all.

“How’s your hip been since you woke up?” he asked.

“Mostly fine. I don’t think I’m going to leave the house today, though. My hip and the knees need a little bit more rest. I do need you to help me stretch my legs though.”

Aster gave a thumbs up, took a small footrest from the room and placed it next to Freesia on the couch. She sat up slowly, bending her left knee enough to rest it comfortably on the kneecap while still standing straight with her right leg. Aster took hold of her waist, a precaution against a dangerous fall. Freesia slowly began moving the bent leg as far back as possible. When it had gone far enough to cause pain, she switched legs and repeated the motions.

Freesia sighed. “So much better. Wish I didn’t have to do that everyday.”

“I know. Other than this, how’ve things been today?”

“Alright, still no news on Monaghan.”

“It’s expected. We’ll just have to find some other way to get the Coriander.”

“Monaghan was our best chance.”

“He was, but there’s still things we can do. But you’re not worrying about that today. Other than that, how are you?”

Freesia stood still, adjusting to the stretches. “Annoyed.”

“At what?” Aster asked.

“My goddamn legs. Fuck all this exercise. I want to be able to walk normally.”

“It’ll start to get better overtime. Until then, I’ll always be here to help you. Remember, I couldn’t walk for a while after my operation.”

Freesia scowled. “Your operation wasn’t forced. You were born fucked up. You knew what to expect. I was completely normal until two years ago.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Aster put his hand on her shoulder. “you’re allowed to be annoyed. I’m not saying you’ll get better instantly.”

“Why shouldn’t I.”

“No, of course you should heal quickly, but you know I meant that it’ll happen over time.”

“Shut up. You have no fucking clue how I feel.”

“No, not in exactly the same way, you’re right. I’m just trying to help.”

Freesia laughed sarcastically, leaving the room and Aster alone behind her. He heard a crash of things falling to the floor after Freesia slammed the door to the room. Aster sat alone on the couch, looking at the floor. Confused about what had just occurred, he thought for a moment before standing back up and walking toward their room. He knocked gently on the door.

“Freesia? Can you open up?”

The door cracked slightly. She said nothing, scowling past his body.

“I’m sorry about what I said.”

“Good.” She replied, pulling him into the room with her.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Seven: Price And Cost.

They were lying together when Freesia told Aster about the outcome of her visit to the hospital the day before. The moon was visible outside of their window, shining a dim, reddish hue throughout the room. It was full and bright, but the clouds and sand obscured too much to permit a good amount of light to shine through. Freesia turned slowly onto the right side of her hip and looked Aster in the face.

“So I need to continue with my physiotherapy every morning.” She bent her leg slightly as if riding a bike while she said it.

“That’s alright. It’ll get better in time if you keep working at it.”

Freesia smiled a bit for the first time all night. “I got off the cane pretty quickly, right?”

“Much faster than expected. You’re doing great.”

The right side of her hip was aching from the weight of her body, so she turned onto her left. Aster got closer and wrapped himself around her as if to show he was still there. Her voice turned serious when she continued her line of thought.

“Can you come with me tomorrow morning?” she asked him while looking at the wall.

Aster kissed her lightly on the back of the neck. “Of course. Just wake me up when it’s time to go.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

That morning, Aster was gently roused from his sleep by the cold arm on his shoulder. He rolled as far as possible to get away from the icy grip, but it followed him wherever he went. Even the blanket that he kept returning above his shoulder wasn’t enough to stop the freeze from overcoming his lack of sleep. After what felt like forever he gave in, looking directly into Freezia’s eyes.

She had put clothes on, and her breath smelled like wheat. “Time to go.”

Aster moaned, but obeyed the command. He moved as quick as he could throughout the house so as not to keep Freesia waiting. She was surprised when only a few minutes later he shouted across the hall, the echo reaching her ear, that he was ready. At this, she sat on the bench and tied her shoes. Aster stood beside her, doing the same.

The community center in which Freesia had spent almost every morning of the past two years was covered with windows. From the outside, pools and rinks, men and women on exercise machines, and even those simply stalking the halls as ghosts were visible. Aster pointed to a section of the building, wavering his arm so as to catch most of the visible rooms within his point. Freesia followed his hands before he asked his question.

“Which one are we taking?”

She grabbed his arm and lowered it to the left. “There.”

“What, that big room with a whole bunch of people in it? How do you survive that every morning?”

“I’m not so afraid of everything!” she laughed.

“Good, it’s the worst!” Aster exclaimed.

The doors slid open when Freesia scanned her fingerprint against the soft reader. They closed when she entered the door, leaving Aster stranded outside the building. He could hear a distant “oops” and saw Freesia turn around and head back out to meet him. Looking at the dirty screen, she made sure to press the ‘plus one guest’ option, which allowed Aster to be considered as a workout instructor. He complained about the rules, but she let him inside anyway.

The inside was a steril white, with red tracking along the walls and floor. There were doors every few metres, but even Freesia wasn't aware of what was in them. Screams were emanating from ever few of them, but neither stopped to listen more intently than the mere passing-by. They soon arrived at the area that Freesia had pointed out before they entered the building. From the inside, without the aid of the big magnifying windows, the room didn’t stand out as much as it had.

Freesia first directed them to a row of stationary bikes. She sat on one of them like she did everyday, while Aster stradled it, unsure of exactly what to do.

“Just sit and start biking,” she laughed. “it’s not that complicated!”

“Normal bikes don’t have a marconi in the front.”

“Don’t worry about it.” she said, her legs beginning to pedal.

He followed suit at a far slower pace than Freesia was going. Neither dared push themselves too hard, as there was still plenty more to do. They continued pedaling for fifteen minutes, when Freesia declared that it was time to move on to another machine. They rounded a small corner into a large cubic room with a variety of machines. Unlike the room with the hundred stationary bikes that looked out into the city from the ground level windows, the room was spacious, but without view of the outside.

It was mostly empty. Freesia lead them to a small section with similar machines in a small circular radius, all facing toward each other. She took a seat in one of the machines and fastened her left leg into a weighted strap. Aster recreated her movements and sat on a machine facing her. Freesia strained more with this than she had on the bikes. Her leg shook as it slowly lifted up and down. Aster attempted to follow her pace, not wanting to embarrass her lack of speed. He started a small conversation in attempt to take her mind away from the anger and pain in her knee.

She responded with a question. “Why did you come?”

“With you, here? Because you asked. For company.”

“I could have brought someone else with me.”

“I’m happy to be here, why would you think I’d ask you to do that?”

She switched the weight to her right leg. “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I usually do this with Monaghan.”

“Oh. So you asked me because—”

“It doesn’t matter why I asked for you this time. Thanks for coming with me this morning.”

Aster flinched and resigned himself to respond as appreciative as he could for the invitation, though his words sounded hollow and lacked any strength.

After a few minutes Freesia escaped the machine, picking up Aster alongside her.

“Last thing, now. To the track.”

“Sure.”

The track was ovular. Few people were using it at the moment, giving Freesia the opportunity to attempt to walk backwards for a lap. Aster attempted to do so along with her, but had difficulties walking in a straight line. Freesia, though the exercise put far more strain on her physically, had more experience. At his failure to walk right, she let out a sigh of frustration.

“Just— fucking walk behind me like a normal person.”

Aster stopped and flipped his body around, waiting a second for Freesia to pass him before stepping into her lane behind her. They now walked face to face, though Aster’s was pointed at the floor.

“Sorry.” he said.

“You don’t need to make me feel better by pretending you’re broken too.”

Aster looked up. “That wasn’t—”

“I don’t care. This whole thing is almost done with. I’m heading to Rheasilvia Goal after this. You can come if you want.”

“You won’t be too tired?”

“I will not be too fucking tired!” she yelled,

walking straight off the track and toward the exit of the centre. Aster sulked, following her back to the hover.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Eight: Powerlines.

Four shadows clung to the walls, arms clenched behind their backs. There was no visible mouth movement, no stirring of fingers or the slight twitching of legs. At the end of the room, the source of the light emanating from the hallway beyond, a figure stood in the doorway. The shadows vanished along with the light. There was now just the shadow of the figure in the door hitting the wall beyond. The figure waved their arms in semaphore then left the doorway, returning the four shadows to their place amongst the wall.

“It has begun.” the foremost shadow said, a voice cloaked in many tongues.

“Soon, we will free our people from millenia of servitude!” the smallest of the shadows said.

“This home will no longer belong solely to us,” the largest of them said “but to thousands. Millions. Are we sure the infrastructure is ready to handle this?”

“It has been a long time coming. There will be no hitch in the plans.” the first shadow said again, breaking from his place in the circle and heading towards the light.

He walked alone through the spacious, unlit hall that had been constructed of sandstone long before any of them had arrived. Series of faded images ran along the wall, but had been so dirtied by the passing of time that their meanings remained hidden. Only small sections still had the traces of mixed paints. Thin reds and blues seemingly splattered at random. The majestic paintings did little to relieve Hyacinth's mind, however. If he didn't know who'd created them, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that he'd still have been subservient.

As he walked, the scenery changed, faded into an enochian network of iron tubing coated in a thick layer of rust. The now steel walkway led to a crudely made elevator. A simple, waist-height gate was all that kept the occupants from falling into the tunnels far below. Hyacinth took one step, the elevator rattled as he did, and with the slow grinding of gears he reached the top of the tallest tower in the city.

Hyacinth looked upon his creation. Already, he could see the small swarms that he'd saved from the city. They bustled around shredded tents and wooden crates bringing materials from the outside and depositing them to be sorted by others, and then to be put to use in construction. Where once stood crumbled monuments on a mound of sand was now a rumbling, bustling hive.

He leaned out from the balustrade as his eyes took in the spectacle below when a figure moved in next to him. The frame loomed soft above Hyacinth, who swiftly greeted him.

“Bouvardia, are you in need of anything further?”

“No, sir. I come only to inform you of the mortar.”

“Ah, yes. How is production coming along?”

Bouvardia pointed out to the western horizon. “Under that grey tarp, sir, is the mortar. It should be complete on schedule. Has Protea done their part of the plan?”

Hyacinth shuffled around the tower, coming to a small switch and flipped it. “Protea,” he said, into a corner mounted intercommunications system. “how comes the deal?”

“Cancelled this morning, sir.” was the moused, steel-torn response. “Didn’t give reason, but I believe it shouldn’t hold the project up for too long.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

“I’m contacting another buyer as we speak, sir.”

“Assure that this one doesn’t back out so easily.”

“Of cou—”

Hyacinth flipped the switch back and turned around to face Bouvardia. “Keep the mortar on schedule. If it comes to it, we can start it ourselves. Until the scheduled date, though, keep plugging.”

“Aye, sir.” Bouvardia said, marching his way back into the rusted elevator.

Hyacinth turned back to soak in the view, undisturbed by the screaming pistons behind him.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Nine: Lost.

Freesia and Aster stepped out of the hover into a sand-filled plaza. People loitered around the square waiting to welcome, or head on the mantle-cutter themselves. Cold late-night air brushed light objects along the ground, sped further along by the movement of the sand on which they lay. The light from the moontower, now slightly blue, blanketed the crowd while the crow of the night-watchers kept the violent-prone among them in check.

From the terrace, the front of the station was visible only by the dim light of the moontower and the small marconis hanging from pillars surrounding them that marked the time of the mantle-cutter’s arrival and departure times. Other than the crows and cackles, no one made any sounds so as not to draw near the guard. Few were permitted in the area, Aster among those himself. They dared draw no attention to themselves for fear of being escorted out into the black veil of the streets. Though it was the entrance to the crimson guard’s headquarters, they felt no need to use manpower at the entrance if there was no need for it.

A deep electrical hum wove through the crowd, pitches rising and falling at an alarming pace. Twin red lights above the pillars flicked on, and the marconis scratchy screens defaulted to white, while a bold red type slowly took over. The commotion announced the arrival of the mantle-cutter. A timer then replaced the announcement, thirty minutes for arrivals to exit and departures to enter. What was once a small crowd littered randomly about the square now seemed a carnival as families met in grand unisons and others cut through any available space to get a good stand in line, worried of missing yet another trip down below.

Hidden deep under the earth, Rheasilvia Gaol functioned as headquarters to the crimson guard. It also acted as a maximum security prison for the worst beings of Irisidiom. Tripping slow through the crowd, the duo found themselves near the back of a line that wound around the building. They were caressed, compressed from all sides by a sea of shifting limbs. Aster put his arms near Freesia’s hips to prevent them from being bumped and cause a shock of pain that would last for hours following the initial hit. They shuffled forward, neared the entrance of the building.

Crimson guards stood clad in red-black suit armours so heavy Freesia always winced in pain from having to see anybody bear the weight themselves.

“Identification.” a guard blared as they arrived next to him.

Freesia looked through her bag, coming up with her silver Merensky/Cobalt card. The massive body took it between gloved fingers and thrust it onto the opposite forearm. A faint buzzing travelled up his arm, and he gave the card back.

“Reason for travel?” he demanded.

“Private investigation. Need to speak to one of your prisoners.” she relinquished.

“Valid, carry through.”

Freesia stood aside while Aster relinquished his own identification to ensure she was there to let him in if the guard wouldn’t let him through. Her concern didn’t come to pass, and Aster was let in without incident.

The inside of the station was heavily patrolled by armoured guards. A red carpet, beginning at the doors, led to the entrance of the mantle-cutter. From within the building, the chaotic crowds of the outside felt far away. Relaxing music played over a sound system hidden in the walls, while the room was lit by a dim, warm light. Red felt ropes on gold poles prevented the curious from wandering too far from the shuttle, keeping them in line while people continued to file in.

Although still stuck in the lineup, the two were now guaranteed a place in the mantle-cutter. They advanced slowly, the people ahead placing their luggage overhead and sitting in the tight quarters. Freesia entered first, followed close behind by Aster. They held no bags among them knowing that they should only be gone for a short while. The day at most. Shoulder to shoulder, they waited until the rest of the cabin filled when a voice filled the empty air around them.

“Pre-recorded message 0003: Doors closed.” the flat voice started. “Pre-recorded message 0005: Ensure belts are fastened. Pre-recorded message 0006: Ensure seats are in fully upright position.”

“Shit.” Freesia pulled the seat up. “I can’t sit at this angle.”

“We should be going down soon. You’ll be allowed to stretch your legs once we get moving.”

“That doesn’t fucking help right now though, huh.”

“No, you’re right, sor—”

“Pre-recorded message 0009: Beginning drop in 5.”

Freesia looked out the window to her right. She could see the outside plaza, once a chaotic mess was now losing the last of its crowd as the last few hovers pulled out from the parking. There was still a short line of people that had failed to make the current launch and had to wait until the next arrival, but it was nothing compared to what had once been standing in that same place. Her knuckles were white around Asters folded hand.

“Pre-recorded message 0010: Beginning drop in 4.”

Ambient blue light, no doubt meant to calm nervous minds, flooded into the shuttle. As if it were instinct, Freesias eyes danced around the mantle-cutters interior. The passengers all sat in seats bolted to the side of the cylindrical tube. Looking up and down, there were rows of people. Some cowered. Others had their fists in the air, preparing for the drop. She felt Aster’s hand tense slightly, though his expression didn’t waver.

“Pre-recorded message 0011: Beginning drop in 3.”

Gold lined fabric covered every red seat of the old populuxe-designed interior. She grimaced at the tawdry decorations covering every inch of the shuttle. Blue light reflected off the metallic gold surfaces and bounced around. What might have been a nice, if busy, interior was drowned in a dark blue ocean. She sighed and looked at Aster.

“Pre-recorded message 0012: Beginning drop in 2.”

He looked at her in turn, offering an uneasy smile. His face looked drained of all blood, but he said nothing. Freesia’s left hand beat with the tremor of Aster’s own underneath her. She’d taken the trip many times, but it always felt like the first.

“Pre-recorded message 0013: Beginning drop in 1.”

Freesia tried making conversation, but her tongue was caught in her mouth.

“Pre-recorded message 0014: Dropping.”

Hair pointing to the ceiling, the back of her neck was cold. Outside the window was no longer the image of a calm plaza, but of complete darkness only sometimes disturbed by the quick appearance of sparks catching between her and the wall. Her hands began to lift. Aster gripped the armrest with his fingers, catching her hand in the process before it had time to hit the seat above. The laughter and cheering from the few excited passengers did little to drown the scraping of the steel tube against the wall of the tunnel.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Ten: Belly Of A Whale.

The mantle-cutter was filled to the brim with visitors and guards returning to their posts. Most were unarmoured, choosing to go without the heavy burden until absolutely necessary. For the first-time riders, the excitement of the departure had worn off and there was no longer an echo of laughter in the back of anyone’s field of hearing. The shuttle was now silent.

Far beneath Freesia, one of the crimson guard was strapped into his seat while in full armour. The straps could barely contain the hulking mass on the small seat, so the figure held on to the sides of the seats next to him. Sparks from the windows cast against the black metallic viewport of the mask as if a demon were trapped and raging, bound to burn out of it at any minute. The figure removed their right hand and shifted weight to the left side to avoid falling.

Blasts echoed throughout the metal capsule.

Aster saw the orange shimmer through his glasses.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Aster’s eyes fought to stay open as he watched bodies tumble from the top sections of the mantle-cutter fall down into the black below accompanied by the blunt blow of heads crashing and denting the floor. Before he had time to react, Freesia pushed him deep into his seat and told him not to move. He watched as she unstrapped herself from the seat and pulled a gun hidden in her boot.

“Freesia, Merensky/Cobalt!” she called, lifting her identification card, voice inaudible in the commotion.

She fired a shot in his direction, a warning that she would put an end to him if he didn’t cease shooting. A geiser of blue sparks ignited behind his shoulder. The traitorous guard wasn’t phased, his shots still echoing in every ear. He lined a shot back toward her, firing as soon as the barrel looked upon her head. Freesia stumbled across a row of seats, avoiding the agony of a fiery death. He knees screamed, she collapsed, then slowly righted herself once more.

Aster took his gaze from the combat as his body hung visible to the man below him. He put his back against the capsule wall, made himself a thin target. His eyes closed, the seat rumbled, and his ears rang. Without a weapon or experience he felt useless, a coward.

When he opened his trembling eyes, nothing was visible through the blinding of the heavy bloom. It took a few moments of horror before his eyes adjusted to the light of the beams bouncing around the shuttle until he could track the fight again. More passengers had fallen from their seats. Freesia was now a row lower, and on the opposite side of the mantle-cutter. He watched as she looked around for her opponent.

“Freesia, below you!” he shouted.

She shot down through the seat she stood on, but the guard had already jumped out of the way. The rogue guard turned on Aster now, quickly firing a shot in his direction.

Fire burned in his belly with the might of a thousand stabs. Aster looked down once he’d oriented himself, only to find that blood was seeping and pouring down the shuttle, a pool of blood covering whatever or whoever was unfortunate enough to be sitting under him. He gasped for breath and sank back down into his seat, his eyes growing weary. Slowly, he started counting down from ten.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Eleven: Dancing Pains.

Freesia looked on as Aster collapsed into a burning bloody star. His arms dangled limp over the edge, threatening a deadly fall. She attempted to clamber up rows of seats back up towards him, but her knees and hip gave out, causing her own fall. Aware of the enemy presence, she quickly got back up into a defensive position, back pressed against the cold metal wall.

Aware that she wouldn't be able to reach Aster in time, nor be capable of running from bolt-shots forever, Freesia carefully lowered herself into the same section of train as the other combatant. Once again, she pulled her silver identification out from her coat pocket.

“Freesia, Merensky and Cobalt, stand down!”

The guard removed his reflective helmet, throwing it down the black shaft. Blonde curly hair distracted from his piercing grey eyes. He took a massive, lumbering step forward, overstepping a seat entirely, until he was face to face with his opponent. The man strapped his bolter onto his magnetic hip sheath.

“Walker, crimson guard.” he replied calmly once he was only half an arms length away.

He raised a hand to shake. Freesia stood her ground, hands resting at her side, venom spitting from her mouth.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, you are blind as them. I had hoped one on the outside would see the world as it is. Pray for my naiveté, oh Bonaparte.” Walker raised his arms to the sky in repentance.

“Outside?” she stammered.

“You operate outside of the immediate order, much like I. Don’t you see it?”

“I operate on the side of the law.” Freesia responded. “Crimson guard or not.”

“Pity,” the traitor said as he lowered his arms. “then you will fall amongst them.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Freesia ducked as the bulk of an armoured arm swept out into the pit, narrowly avoiding her. As Walker staggered from the push, Freesia pulled a small bolter hidden in her right boot and fired before she returned to an upright position. The split of lightning hit him square in the chest, burning the glistening paint into a black magmatic bubbling. He lowered himself onto one knee, arms clasped tight at his chest.

She walked slowly, avoiding the gaps between the seats, closing in on Walker. She rolled his head into her arm, punching it hard with the other. He let out a short grunt of agony, but his hands didn’t stray from his chest. She pulled back her arm in preparation for an uppercut to the jaw, but his hands caught hers, which he used to toss her down to another level of seat below.

Bolts danced around Freesia, lying on her back, unmoving. Walker backed away, bolter still pointed in his opponents direction until he stood next to a window. Still facing her, he bashed his hand through the glass, then swept away the small shards. Before Freesia had any time to react, Walker threw himself out of the mantle-cutter, his form falling up as he grabbed hold of a rusted pipe.

Without another moment of hesitation, Freesia turned back into a seated position and tethered herself tightly to the seat that she had found herself on. She let herself rest as her and Aster continued to plummet down into the mantle of the earth toward the base of the crimson guard.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Twelve: Disguises.

Hyacinth, along with his subordinates, boarded a small freighter ship to the outskirts of Irisidiom. It wasn’t hard to bypass the Breach due to the city’s incredibly low standards of inspection of incoming goods. With no trade to speak of save for the few Hoodoo colonies in the Amaranthian Barren, there was no money to waste regarding shipping inspections.

He watched the monitor linked to a camera hidden in an outside corner of the crate that looked onto the outside once they felt the crash and skid of the container hitting the city grounds. When Hyacinth declared the coast clear, they disguised their figures and exited slowly, quiet, from the container.

Under the cover of night, hidden under scraggly olive hoods and scarves, they marched their way to the black market. At their arrival a man greeted them, shaking Hyacinth’s hand firmly at his arrival.

“Sir,” he said, patting his shoulder, “it’s been too long since you’ve come to personally oversee us. What can we do for you?”

Hycinth breathed deeply and removed the man’s hand from his shoulder. “We’re changing our system of delivery, Jean-Paul. Manufacturing is changing locations. You’ll be receiving more product, but now it will be imported from the colonies. I’ve done my end of the paperwork.” He said. handing a grey slate over the counter.

“Come.” Jean-Paul whispered, his head close to Hyacinth’s own. “Let us discuss in private.”

He lead them through the tented, labyrinthine bazaar, passing restricted substances and technologies as they walked. In one corner, a woman held a mechanically fed dêlos-wire through her temple, threaded down into a muddy cable box resting on the floor. Her gaze was effulgent. She looked deep into Hyacinth, who gave a quick and shallow bow at his passing before returning to the side of Jean-Paul.

Behind him, Bouvardia began to complain. “Sir, why do we not—”

“Not now. Soon enough.”

Jean-Paul reared his head back towards Bouvardia. “Oh, what do you not?”

Gladiola, the largest of the group, towered over the salesman. Fists rested above Jean-Paul’s trembling head, ready to come down at Hyacinth’s command.

“It’s not important.” Gladiola commanded. Jean-Paul slinked away, understanding the nature of the argument.

They were lead through the outlaw’s maze until they entered a small room, sealed clumsily with wood planks. A curtain was drawn in front of the entrance, and Jean-Paul took a seat on a patchwork bed.

“What business do you have with us?” He asked.

“Protea,” Hyacinth began, “will be staying with you for a short while, as we adjust to the new system.” He handed Jean-Paul the slate. “Sign this, and delivery can resume tomorrow.”

No room to demand answers, Jean-Paul pressed his thumb into the slate before leading the group back out of the market.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Protea labelled the shipping container outgoing for the Hoodoo colony O-23.93 before following Hyacinth and Bouvardia inside. Soon, they felt the box lift, sending them back halfway into the open desert.

For this, only Protea had need to exit the crate, as negotiations had already been settled over long-wave communication relays with the Internuncio. Before exiting the shipping bay, he stamped a return to sender note on the crate, sending Hyacinth and Bouvardia back to the bustling hive they were creating.

Slowly, Protea crept through the bay, slinking through shadows and around dark corners until he entered a dim, yellow-lit hallway. A crack in the exposed plumbing on the ceiling let a drop of grey liquid fall onto his hood. Carefully, he rubbed it away with a latex-gloved hand. Once he was out of the restricted area, he risked removing his hood, allowing for a greater field of vision.

“Baroness.” he heard, a quavering voice across the room. “Baroness, your most magnificent ladyship, the stock has arrived”

Her response rose above the room, authoritarian, dark. “Have them sent to the incubation bay”

“Yes, your Baroness— Lady— Majesty.” the slim shadow hissed, slinking away through shadows.

Protea slid out from under the mantle-cutter hull back into the light, watching as the Baroness made her way out of the bay with a balletic grace. He woke from his reverie and returned his mind to the task at hand. A neon-lit arrow pointed the way out of the shipping room, back into the colony’s central hub. That was where he’d find the contact.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

It was the Internuncio who made the first advance, signaling with semaphore from afar. Protea changed course, cutting a direct path through the crowd.

“Autre turnyor la chai.” The Internuncio, a small woman with black hair cut across the ears, said at his approach.

“Vorfror yu strenzh revish sai.” Protea responded, ensuring to assume the correct tone.

“Follow me.” The woman bluntly told him, signaling forward.

She lead him through a gutted industrial complex once, it seemed to his eyes, used to manufacture hovers. A large conveyor belt ran lengthwise through the building, rusted to oblivion and still holding the last green-copper vestiges that never had the chance to be incorporated into a machine. The plash of their boots slapping through water echoed out around them, as if an army. Protea followed the woman, who led him up through a rectangular spire of stairs and down a dingy corridor, until she stopped ahead of a door and twisted the handle.

She sat, legs up on a desk, and addressed him for the first time since their meeting. “Hya-”

“No, Protea, his representative here on O-23.93.”

“They all bring representatives.” She told herself. “Well, sit.” Her hand motioned to a grimy red couch in the opposite corner of the office.

Protea sat, sinking down into a void of cushioning. “The shipping permits are secured?”

“They are. Manufacturing has begun?”

“It has. Instructions have been given to the man ‘Jean-Paul’. I will oversee the affairs from here.”

“As expected.” She replied. “When does shipping begin?”

“Tonight.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Bouvardia toured Hyacinth around the production plant for the first time since its completion. Rows of tables stood at the ready, equipped with tools for a small workforce to create a vast amount of spice in a limited time frame.

“And the workers?” Hyacinth asked.

“In their quarters. Call them in.” Bouvardia responded, handing a small black box over.

Hyacinth brought it to his mouth. “Report in.” The transceiver crackled into the ears of the workers in rooms hidden away.

Soon, machines, worn and consumed by time, filed in enmasse.

“Oh, this won’t do at all.” Hyacinth moaned.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Thirteen: To Heaven.

Freesia awoke at the screeching of the mantle-cutter’s brakes deploying, metal flaps scraping against the concrete tunnel. There was no sound cushion to dampen the sounds piercing through the cabin. Even with her hands gripped tight around her ears, her head rang in pain. Spots of blood on the wall jolted her awake, reminding her of the traitorous crimson guard who'd killed so many.

Aster lay stretched across a row of seats above Freesia, but she couldn't force her legs to climb up to him.

“Aster!” She called hoping he was conscious enough to answer, but there was only silence.

The doors opened on every row of the mantle-cutter. Steam billowed along the seams as they opened, adjusting to the change in temperature. It wasn't long until an alarm sounded from within the station, quickly followed by screams of confusion. Crimson guardsmen rushed in through every open door.

“Hello,” Freesia heard amongst the commotion. “Are there any survivors?”

She could only let out a faint whisper, but every head turned in her direction. When she had caught their attention she lifted her arm up, pointing at Aster.

She managed to breath out a quick help for aid. “I don't know if he— if he's alive.”

Suddenly, Freesia’s torso was ripped from the seat, the buckle caving at the force it took for the guard to pull her free. Her lungs gave out before she was capable of letting out a scream of protest. Limbs flailed about hitting multiple guards as she was dragged out of the capsule, the scene of the bloody pit seared itself into her eyes. A prick on the arm caught her off-guard, her body felt heavy, her arms dropped, and her consciousness faded.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Dripping slowly eased her back. First she noticed the smell. The lack of it. The stench that had filled her every sense for hours, decaying corpses, bolt singes, had gone. Nothing replaced it, allowing the memory of the cold steel coffin’s scent to linger.

Formally upright in posture, a guard was stationed by the door. Freesia turned her head as fast as her neck would allow. Blinked. The red silhouette caught the faint motion, and brought the bulk of their arm to their neck, pushing in with a finger.

“She’s awake, Ma’am.” she said, pointing a gentle nod and melancholic smile in Freesia’s direction.

Within minutes, a marching beat pounded the emergency ward.

“Capitaine Eris Vermillion.” A figure declared upon entering the small sterile room, her arm bent at the waist.

Freesia struggled into a sitting position but kept her legs forward, unable to bend. Finally, she looked in the direction of the voice.

The Capitaine, unlike the hulking stature of the rest of the guard, wore a red shirt covered by a thin unbuttoned lab coat. It’s tail fluttered behind her as she walked forward and took a seat next to Freesia’s bed. Revealing a makeshift scanner from one of her pockets, she injected the needle through the skin of Freesia’s thigh, who let out a shocked yelp. Capitaine Vermillion retracted it, reading the signals on a marconi fastened to a large pipe in the corner of the room.

“You’re cleared to leave.” She said, waving the helmeted guard away and gesturing the door closed. “And you’re going to answer some questions.” She told Freesia, plainly.

“Where— What—” Freesia tried to ask, cut off by her own drowsiness.

“CGHQ. I won’t answer anymore questions. What happened aboard the mantle-cutter?”

“Mantle… Aster!” She shouted, remembering his body laid across a row of seats, blood pouring from his chest.

The Capitaine relayed the info into her pocket-sized notebook. “So that’s the man we recovered.

“Is he—”

“What happened aboard the mantle-cutter.” She insisted.

“Answer the questions and I’ll bring you to him. I’ll ask you again. There was a pile of bodies on the floor of the shuttle and two survivors. A man, it seems you know, and you. What happened aboard the mantle-cutter.” It wasn’t a question.

Freesia shut her eyes, tried to recall the event. Her eyelids haunted her. The screams came from around the room. A pile of bodies lay, piling higher and higher as they continued to fall. Below them, firmly on the ground, a man shot up at the ceil—

“Walker!” She remembered, her eyes jolting back to life. “That was his name.”

“Walker who? What did you see?”

“He was dressed like,” she pointed to where the crimson guard once stood by the door. “—like that.”

The Capitaine turned her head. “I don’t see anything.”

Freesia, exasperated, talked through her fear. “A Crimson Guard!”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

“Security, do we know the whereabouts of a Mr. Walker Lewis?” She cried into a transceiver, walking briskly to her office, Freesia trying to follow close behind.

“Let’s see…” Came a decayed signal. “Lewis, Walker…”

“Shut up, just tell me when you find him!” She replied as Freesia closed the door to the office.

“Bring me to Aster.” Freesia declared.

“Not yet. We have to confirm your story. You’re still a culprit.”

“I work for Merensky and Cobalt! I wouldn’t—”

“Neither would Walker.” Replied Capitaine Vermillion, tense, angry.

The transceive squabled back to life. “He should be on duty training the Red’s, but no one is able to locate him.”

“Shit!” Cried Vermillion. “Shit! Can you locate his tracker?”

“Somewhere in the undercity. It’s not moving though, he must’ve—”

“Get men in there, now!” She cried. Then she looked at Freesia. “On Bonaparte’s ashes! Your companion is in Overnight 97A8. I’m going into the tunnels.”

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Fourteen: Cut Your Hair.

Aster woke up, slowly, from a restless void. His body refused to follow his commands. His chest was stiff and heavy, a rock swallowed by the depths of the mattress he woke in. The room was black. Through the dark, he couldn't make out if any shadows lingered alongside him.

His eyes darted around, but he couldn't feel the rim of glasses against his face. Even with light, he would see nothing. A blurred green dot moved into view as he struggled to turn his head. It blinked in rhythm accompanied by a faint, far off, beep that he'd only now begun to notice. The light reflected off small strands of clear tubing. Following one with his eyes, he found that it lead inside his stomach.

Aster tried to pull the cord, but fell back in shock as it tugged around his skin. After the struggle, he found his body exhausted. The faint beep came to define his thoughts. Tiredness won him over and he fell into a fitful sleep.

When his sleep broke again, his vision was awash with light. Peering into the sun above him, his head eked out another rough turn. It all seemed familiar to him. Clinical. This scene had played out years ago.

Something walked past the open doorway. The floor squeaked and the figure turned back around.

“You're awake.” A voice, familiar somehow.

“Took you long enough.” Closer now, as if a ghost sliding in towards him.

A hand brushed against his long hair, rogue strands catching behind his ear. The voice came again. “Aster, hey.”

Freesia's voice opened the overflowing gate of memories. They crashed against the back of his eyes. He tried to move his arm in her direction, but it caught on an IV line and tugged at his skin and veins. Freesia slowly, carefully, untangled them to ease the discomfort.

He spoke silently. Pain wracked his chest as he exhaled the words. “Where— Where are we?”

“The crimson guards medical bay.” She said. “You were shot in the kidney.”

Aster let out a sigh, but his response was jovial. “Which one did they shoot?”

“The good one.”

“Then what's the point of having three‽” He laughed, but his voice turned sombre. “Do I need a new one?”

Freesia lowered herself onto the side of the bed, taking the once IV-coiled hand in hers. “No, it should heal. You're good for now.” She smiled.

Aster let out a sigh of relief. “Good, didn't feel like doing that again. How are you? What happened?”

“He got away. Walker Lewis— his name— I couldn’t… The Capitaine, Vermilion, she’s gone into the undercity to try and catch him.” She looked down at her knees in disgust. The slithering scars taunted her. “I can't do anything like this!” She cried. “I would have prefered to die!”

Aster pulled his body up against the heavy force of gravity that locked him down. He brought his other arm, after some untangling, to Freesia's side and rubbed gently. She lay her head on his shoulder and faced, blank, the wall. Every crack and pore in the drywall was examined. Every miscalculation. Every mistake.

“You did great.” He said, a weak attempt at reassurance as he lay in the hospital bed. “Where would I be without you?”

Freesia looked down at him.

“Other than stuck in a hospital bed far under the city in Rheasilvia Gaol sleeping off the gunshot wounds of a traitorous crimson guard.” He added. “I decided to come with you. This was on me.”

Freesia, looking him in the eye, gave him a gentle smile. “Your heart is so warm… Why?”

“Growing up with lots of problems might hurt,” he said. “lack of inclusion, no one understands you… You don’t understand yourself. I know you feel it now too.”

“You're shit's so bad! I feel stupid complaining about my knee all the time.” Freesia gestured a light rap on her knee, but decided against it just before contact.

“It's not a competition. Neither of us are doing so great. You're allowed to be mad that a guy ran, while in the opposite lane and around a blind corner, into your hover. Don’t let it consume you. But I was born with this. I’ve had to deal with this forever. It's all new to you, and I'll do my best to help.” Aster felt as though his words escaped his mouth faster than he could think of them. They were blurred. A smattering of advice that he wished would be useful, but knew full well meant nothing.

A quick tear ran down her cheek. “My family doesn't— You've only known me for a year.”

“Don't worry about it.”

To Aster, it appeared that the short conversation soothed Freesia some. With that in mind, she asked him if he wanted anything to eat and left the room.

Aster rested while waiting.

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

It took two hours before Freesia returned holding a water-logged bag of cold food.

She entered, giddy. “You have to hear the story of—”

By this point, Aster was focused on the marconi. Freesia’s entrance was acknowledged with an almost imperceptible nod. He tried to keep his eyes away from her. He was afraid she would see the pain and disappointment in his eyes.

She noticed as he looked out toward nothing, catching his mood. Her cheery face turned instantly into a frown. “Why are you mad?” She asked, aggressive enough to force an answer.

“I'm not. Why do you always ask me that?” He questioned. His voice was gentle, and he was only half lying. “I’ve been stuck in this bed waiting a while. Isn't the cafeteria, like, right outside the door? I could hear you speaking. You didn't think to even drop the food off while speaking?”

“I'm allowed to speak to people!” She cried. “You can't tell me what I'm not allowed to do! Why didn’t you yell for me if you could hear me so well, anyway‽”

Aster remained calm and gentle, never once breaking his composure even while tripping on his words. “I'm not— That’s not what I’m trying to say. I don’t like yelling. I— Why didn’t—”

Freesia dropped the greasy bag at the foot of his bed and stormed out of the room. Aster couldn’t reach it.

\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///

Fifteen: Wicked Winds.

Capitaine Vermillion and the rest of her squad returned, a thundering might in the quiet of night. Freesia and Aster both jolted awake, unfamiliar of the environment and still on edge from the trip down. It was only when the Capitaine’s voice echoed through the hall that Freesia realized nothing had happened. She insisted on talking to Vermilion, and insisted Aster let her go. He obliged, though still wary of the dark both in his surroundings and in his mind.

The Capitaine still wore the bulky red and black enforsuit, not having the chance to clear out before Freesia came walking quickly in her direction in the locker room. She spared no second before getting to the point, ready to rid herself of the vision of the sweaty, almost horrifically large figures accompanying the Capitaine.

“Did you get him?” she asked, as Vermilion unclasped the sides of the helmet and set it on a bench behind them.

Vermilion motioned her arm about the room. None of the newly uncovered faces showed any sign of joy, no black scalding burns of blaster fire, and there was no prisoner brought through in chains. “But,” she said, after her point had clearly been made. “We did find a convict that had escaped us earlier in the week.”

Freesia tilted her head to the side. “Who?”

“That is none of your concern, civilian.” Vermilion replied as she stepped out of the suit, the back almost now a set of wings to allow exit.

“It is my concern!” She yelled, a shrill that echoes off the metal lockers. “We were ambushed coming in! Somebody must know we’re out to get them.”

The Capitaine had ordered Freesia follow her to the office now, through a minimally lit hallway simulating the dark of the above ground. “It’s just a common transporter. Some guy named Monaghan. We just missed him a week ago, but now he’s in our custody.”

“Monaghan? Tall, red hair, bearded Monaghan?”

Vermilion nodded silently, “Sounds like you know him.”

“ I do.” Freesia confirmed. “When things got rough, he was always at my side. Haven’t spoken to him much this past year, though. Only started trying again a few months ago.”

“And did you know he was a transporter?” Vermilion quizzed.

“He’s been useful in a few investigations,” Freesia replied. “It’s helpful knowing someone on the inside who’s somewhat involved.”

Vermilion sighed. “There are better ways to go about business. Don’t think that just because you work with M and C means you can get out of that.”

“Our whole society is one big black market. Using one criminal to my advantage isn’t going to change that."

The Capitaine stopped walking. “Anyway,” Freesia said, reaching for the card in her pocket and swiping it by Vermilion’s eyes. “I need to speak with him.”

A moment of dense silence for a moment, before the Capitaine sighed. “Damn Merensky. You got a minute with him.”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Freesia was led deeper into the depths and down into the brutal pits of Rheasilvia Gaol. The clinical white plate tiles that had once surrounded them gave way to sandy ruins. Remnants of the old city, Comcodasyera, were used as passage for the jail, but impenetrable due to the glass coating the walls. Vermilion stopped in front of an unmarked door, her insistant knocking dampened by the glass.

“66-62-44-26, you have a visitor.” She declared, forcefully prying the door open. “You’ve got a minute.”

Monaghan sat against the corner of the cell, his legs drawn up high against his chest. “Freesia?” He said, with a small note of disbelief. “Here to rescue me? From the sounds of it, I’ll be sent to a Rewiring Centre soon enough.”

“Not at all, asshole. Those stations are just rumours anyway. Likely, they’ll just let you rot in here.” Freesia was all too matter of fact when speaking with him.

His eyes dropped to the ground. “Then what are you doing in my cell?” Oh! You must be my new cellmate.” He said as he patted the ground next to him.

She stepped toward him. “You wish. No, I believe you have information that I need. Who supplies your Coriander?”

“Ah,” he smiled, “You want information. Want to make a deal?”

“No.”

Monaghan stood up. Even leaning against the wall, he towered over Freesia. “Ditch Aster.”

Her face contorted into a mix of emotions. Anger and sadness flowed through her and forced her extended fingers into fists. “You know I would, Monaghan. He’s more tiring by the day. Unfortunately, he’s a bit emotional. I don’t feel like breaking him just yet.”

“How did he get you before me.”

She scowled. “Nobody ‘got me’, I enjoyed his presence. Even now he can calm me down from— Enough of this. Who is— no— who was your supplier?”

He laughed. “Maybe go ask at the black market!”

“We tried.”

“We?” The end of the word was raised in pitch.

Freesia raised her voice, audible now even to the Capitaine who had walked back down to the opening of the hall. “Just shut the fuck up!”

Monaghan did as he was told, and sat back down.

She was visibly annoyed. Her arms twitched at her sides. She contemplated punching him.

Under his breath, Monaghan whispered. “Urkhammer.”

“Thank you for the word.” Freesia said, sarcastic, trying now to sit alongside him. “But what does it mean.”

“It means,” Monghan began, “that there’s a city out in the Amaranthian.”

Freesia lept back with all the might that she could muster into her legs. “Surely it died out centuries ago? No one can live outside the wall.”

“Believe what you will, but that’s all I’m going to tell you. Unless—”

Freesia slammed the door behind her, yelling to him once she was on the other side. “Not one more goddamned word!”

||| ||| ||| ||| |||

Vermilion escorted her back to the medical wing, where Aster was now pathetically sitting, collapsed into himself. A mark was almost burnt into the spot in the wall at which he’d been staring. Once the Capitaine left the two alone, Freesia slowly began relaying the information to Aster, who was slowly picking himself back up.

“Urkhammer.” She said, curious as to what his response would be.

Nothing but a sigh escaped him.

“A city completely lost to the Barren. Obscured by storms and heat. No one has left the city any further than the colonies for thousands of years. To believe there might be something beyond the sand…”

Aster remained quiet, his usual excitement only building on the lump in his throat.

She tapped him on the shoulder “We just need to find it. Not a problem.”