The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

3:07 PM | Konkhulion Citadel | December 31st | 1608 COVENANT

That woman, conceited as she was, had fundamentally misunderstood her in almost every regard. Yet unfortunately not in the one respect that actually mattered, which was that she did not, when push came to shove, want to die.

And so, two months and change later, here she was, from the ass of the world to its apex: The largest civilian void port in the Grand Alliance, a place that existed in such stark contrast to Last Respite that it was a struggle to believe they belonged to the same civilization. A place so bright it was blinding and so populated it was suffocating. Millions upon millions of people, crammed into a beautiful but relatively tiny glass and titanium tin.

Gudrun, though, was impressed. In fact, she was quickly revealing herself as a person who was easily impressed, which was not what Lamu had expected but, now that it was happening, somehow checked out.

"Holy shit," she muttered as they stepped out of the aetherbridge exit hall. (Not capitalized; only the original Aetherbridge, the originator of the concept, got that special treatment.) "This place is even crazier than in the pictures! Everyone here must be rich as fuck!"

Admittedly, part of that was because Gudrun's reactions tended to focus on one subject in particular.

"You're never been here, Gud?" Lamu asked, adjusting the overnight bag she'd just thrown back over her shoulders following its examination. "I thought you said you fought in the war."

"Nah, they only ever funneled us through Alliance Central over Old Yru. That place is all military. About as glitzy as a tombstone compared to this." She raised an eyebrow. "Guessing you have been here before?"

"Once or twice," Lamu said, as a Viraaki couple passed by, the bumping into the edge of her shoulder. "The used to hold a lot of conferences here before the safety of the Empyrean became questionable. Still do, relatively."

"Conferences, eh?" Gudrun pressed with a curious smirk. "What sort of conferences?"

Lamu glanced over at her. Somehow, the formalwear black-and-grey peplos and tyrian purple cloak ensemble she was wearing, along with hair now neatly combed in the center, failed to make her look like any less of an inherently shady person.

"Technological ones," Lamu answered flatly.

"C'mon, you gotta give a bigger hint than that."

"I don't see why I should give you any 'hints' at all."

"Lamu! Bro," Gudrun urged. "You can't seriously be planning to hold out on me for the whole three days with this! Saying treason to somebody and then not giving any deets is like serving wine without any alcohol! You're giving me fuckin' blue balls here!"

"I-- I don't-- What?"

She looked at her with an intensely serious expression, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "You've gotta let me nut, babe."

Lamu balked for a few seconds, then just shook her head. "We're not having this discussion in public." She fished through her bag for her logic engine. "The foot traffic here is even worse than I thought. We're going to need to hurry if we're going to make it to the dock in the program's recommended window."

"Who cares if we're a bit late? The ship's not actually launching until six, right?"

"Circumstances being what they are, we don't want to stand out," Lamu stated, and then glanced at Gudrun again. "...any more than can be avoided."

Though if she was being honest, Lamu doubted they'd be on time at this point. Even having planned for things being busier on New Years Eve, the degree to which every aspect of traveling to where they now stood over the past day had been an utter pain in the ass had surpassed even her wildest expectations. A week ago, she never would have imagined being smuggled back up multiple planes with no attempt at disguise or subterfuge beyond fake identity papers and an assurance that the appropriate people had been compelled to look the other way would be the easy part, but everything that had happened since they'd left their boarding house in central Minos had been an absolute nightmare.

Minos, like its pseudo-mythological namesake, had a reputation for being difficult for foreigners to navigate on account of its dense and hyper-symmetrical city planning, but that hadn't even been the problem. Rather, the traffic was among the worst she'd ever seen in her entire life. The city was still undergoing repairs from when its defenses had been briefly breached by the Uan Navy a few years ago, and almost everyone heading towards the aetherbridge had to be routed through a single highway, where the two of them had been stuck in traffic together for over an hour. Getting on the bridge - which had only six active lifts to the modern Aetherbridge's twelve - had been even worse, the entire morning and early afternoon spent in a cramped waiting hall where it had seemed impossible to find a spot where you couldn't hear a child screaming.

Even after all that, they almost ended up having their slot bumped down to some ambiguous point in the night after one of the lifts was appropriated for an 'emergency' (these things were never really an emergency) military shipment. Lamu had needed to make a call to her hosts to get her on board, otherwise the whole plan might have ended up aborted.

As for Konkhulion Citadel, the only major void installation left in the Grand Alliance that wasn't considered a military target - on account of Irenca's state policy of relative nonviolence, not that this had saved their industry from the aforementioned bombings - it was the busiest she'd ever seen it, which only added to its naturally overstimulating quality. Unlike something like the Empyrean Bastion where it was more or less just a floating conventional fortress, Konkhulion was a vertical spiral, floor after floor looping in clear visibility from the central promenade where they currently stood all the way up to the crystal roof, and everything was so bright it made Lamu's eyes ache. Signs, windows, even the floor was lightly illuminated with Biomancy or sometimes even the Power, a modern excess.

Combine that with the fact the artificed gravity was inverted on the roof of every floor to get the absolute most out of the space, and it felt like they were in some giant nest of insects, hordes of bodies crawling near and far in every direction she looked. It all made her want to crawl into a tight space with some kind of weapon; beyond ugly, grotesque, a flood of stimuli that drowned all sense of aesthetic order. Inotians were psychopaths for designing architecture like this, though not as much as the people around them for choosing to travel on a major holiday in such numbers.

Lamu found her logic engine and prodded the bridge stiffly, wrinkling her lip as she mentally flicked through the information. "The Ninsirsir is at the 9th private dock, on the non-inverted side of the second level," she read. It also stated (bragged?) that it had informally become reserved for important celebrity and political bookings and and so had a long and prestigious history that the installations room on the logic sea was extremely eager to recount in exhaustive detail, but Lamu left this part out. "The faster way will be to take an elevator up a level, then ride the tram through the transposition gate to the other side of the station."

"They have a whole tram system here?" She shook her head. "I don't know what I expected for a giant freehold."

"Technically, it's not a freehold. There's no land, and the station itself is all owned by the government. It's just leased."

"Right, right," Gudrun spoke, chuckling to herself. "Kinda forgot the Irencan government still does their whole Paritist cosplay." Her eyes ran over the upmarket shops in every direction greedily. "With all the security we went through, I bet the fuckos up here are so comfy don't even bother setting up their security golems. Hell, they probably don't even check their cameras. I bet I could walk right in and--"

"You're not doing any robberies, Gudrun," Lamu told her. "We don't have time for that."

"Hey, I was just making an observation! Gimmie a break." She put a hand on her hip. "Seriously, though. It kinda fucks me up to see places like this."

Lamu frowned curiously. "In what way?"

"Well, how many live here?"

"I think a little over 2 million? Permanent residents, at least."

"It's like-- You think of yourself as having accomplished something in your life, right?" Gudrun began. "You become one of the best at the things you do, to the point that nobody you can think of does it that much better. And you think you're carving out a place in the sun for yourself. But then, you know, you look back at the real world, and you remember that the shit you're doing doesn't even matter. That there are millions - hell, billions? - of people living better lives than your thing could ever hope to earn, because no matter how good you are, the stuff they're doing matters and the thing you're doing doesn't. You're not shit! Just the biggest rat in the sewer. Then you realize the world ain't about being good, it's about being valued, and you've been barking up the wrong tree your whole life." She pointed up the spiral. "Every single asshole here, even the ones jerking themselves off for a living, is valued more than me. Makes you feel fucking small."

"For someone who just mocked Paritism a minute ago, you're sounding a lot like a Paritist," Lamu remarked.

"Nah, man," Gudrun said, shaking her head. "This isn't a political thing. It's just human nature, y'know? Even in a playground, the cute kids get all the attention, no matter how sick a sandcastle the smelly one in the back is building." She clapped Lamu on the back, which did not make her flinch because she had done it more than ten times already. "Now, though! That's all gonna change. In an hour we'll be looking down on all these assholes." She chuckled conspiratorially, clenching her teeth like a predator. "And to think, I was gonna settle for some class 1 citizenship in the ass end of nowhere."

Lamu tried to smile along with Gudrun's excitement, failed, and then questioned again whether any of this was a good idea.

"We should get moving," she said.

"Hell yes!" Gudrun said, pumping her fist into the air triumphantly. "Anue. Even just being here, I feel the financial mana entering my body. I feel like I'm fitting in better by the second." She was not fitting in better by the second.

Nevertheless, it was too late to turn back. They navigated the blazing white promenade meanderingly for several minutes until Gudrun, who's eyes seemed immune to damage, managed to spot a sign indicating the way to the nearest elevator. They followed a silver-white hall until they came to its silver-white shaft, where they had to queue for another three minutes before there was even room in one of the lifts. Even then, it was so cramped that Lamu - who even in adulthood was still not particularly tall - was almost crushed, and afterwards discovered a silver-white stain on the back of her pale grey dress that Gudrun, fortunately, confirmed was just snot. Following this event, Lamu resolved to never ride a non-void elevator again in her life if there was any means to avoid it.

Fortunately, beyond the ground floor the crowds thinned a little, and the remainder of the journey was relatively smooth sailing, with the tram system mercifully simple to comprehend-- At least for a short journey that would only cross from one side of the citadel to the other. The lines were split into single-level 'S' lines and multi-level 'M' lines, with the tram which merely circled the vertical gravity part being designated 'S1'. It showed up within two minutes, and the trip lasted barely more than that. A hop through a transposition gate, a quick stop at another station, a second hop, done. They hadn't even bothered to give the 'S' carriages seats.

Off the tram, the way to the dock was immediately apparent, an archway feeding into a tunnel with a low ceiling marked by a massive sign reading '7-9' some way in the distance. They crossed the marble floor towards it, Gudrun continuing her ongoing attempt to wear down Lamu's willpower.

"C'mon, Lamu. You gotta fill me in on what's really going on here before we get in there," she continued. "You can't tell me the reason you were on the run down in Last Respite is because you sold state secrets and then not tell me what state secrets."

"Keep your voice down," Lamu reprimanded her quietly as they passed a large group of casually-dressed men who looked to be on their way to a party. "And I told you. I didn't sell state secrets, I just leaked them. It wasn't about money."

"Why?"

"For complicated reasons."

Gudrun smile was so wide it looked like it made break free of her face. "I still can't fucking believe it. You know, back at the bar that night-- Back then, I was kidding when I asked if you sold government data to the Emps. Gods, I bet you were shitting yourself when I said that, eh?"

Lamu's face flushed. "I just told you--"

"But little did I know! Little did I fuckin' know. Every time! It's always the ones you least suspect." She looked at the other woman excitedly. "I ought to have had you pegged from the start. Always quiet and keeping to yourself - never spilling the beans about even the smallest thing - no combat background, way overqualified without even seeming interested in the pay. It practically screams spy."

"I'm not a spy."

"You've gotta be either a spy or an heiress to something big. 100%," Gudrun spoke confidently. "What kinda person leaks government info during wartime, and instead of getting black-bagged out to some off-the-books death camp, gets a deal cut that involves going on a fancy cruise with some of the biggest-dick assholes in the entire world?" She narrowed her eyes. "Are you an heiress? You twitched when I said heiress."

"I'm not an heiress," Lamu said, twitching.

Gudrun clapped her hands together. "Nailed it. Heiress."

Lamu shook her head. "Fine. If that's what you want to believe, then good. It doesn't matter." She fished out her logic engine again - why did she even put it away? - as they approached the mouth of the tunnel, this time to check to see what paperwork they'd need at the gate.

"So who's your dad?" Gudrun asked. "Somebody high up in the military? Big artifice company? Politician? Must have taken balls of steel to fuck him over like that. Which of the big dissident orgs are you with? I might have shot at somebody you know!" The words were delivered utterly without hostility; the innocent curiosity of a child.

"I was really hoping offering you five times what we got from the raid on that Ironworker facility would have been enough to buy a little more discretion with all this," Lamu said flatly.

"I'm not gonna act like one of your golems just 'cause you gave me a fancy dress and a big pile of cash, Lam-Lam. I'm not an escort." She paused. "Well, not that kind of escort, anyway."

Lamu sighed to herself. It wasn't too late, if she really wanted, to cut Gudrun loose and go without her. Even now, she hardly knew too much. Lamu had given her a truthful outline of the situation - her crime, roughly, how she'd been approached and what they'd offered, that she was expected to testify to some important people about an event in her past - but none of the context that would bring it together. She didn't know where she was from, the fact that she was an arcanist, or even her real name.

Not that it would have mattered if she did, since if the people she was dealing with kept their word (and if they didn't, none of this mattered regardless) that identity was going to disappear forever.

But for all that the woman was being annoying, she was still a fantastic fighter who wasn't reliant on the Power, one who had proven beyond statistical doubt in their delving missions that she was loyal to a venture once committed and stubborn (or bloodthirsty, either worked) enough to risk her life in the process. Lamu had no illusions about the situation-- If they stabbed her in the back somehow and tried to hand her over to the Continental Militia, abduct her or simply kill her, she knew that there was a 95% chance that was the end of the line for her. But if that 5% window could be carved even a little bit wider, there was no reason not to.

Plus, it wasn't like she had anyone else to bring with her. A part of her felt she might as well spread some fortune to the closest thing she had left to a friend.

Gods, though. She really was a creature utterly unsuited for civilization. Speaking of the dress, the whole process of getting her fitted for her formalwear had been another ordeal Lamu was glad she'd never have to repeat.

"Come on," Gudrun continued to urge as they passed under the archway. "Gimmie at least a hint. It's gotta be something to do with scripting, right? Or was that you breaking from the family business?"

"I'm not going to give you any hints."

"This is sadistic, Lamu. It's sicko shit. I'm putting my life on the line for your crazy spy mission here, and you won't even let me in on the loop of what's actually going on. What happens if I get shot? If I'm bleeding out on the floor at the end of this thing - heroically sacrificing myself for your cause, tear in my eye, a knight dying for his goddamn princess - how am I gonna let go of my regrets and accept death if I don't even know what that cause was? Are you trying to get me stuck as a ghost? Are you some kinda ghost fetishist?"

"I literally cannot process what you are saying to me right now," Lamu replied, keeping her eyes fixed ahead. "But you're not going to get shot. With how many VIPs they'll have on board, this will probably be one of the most secure social events of the year."

"You wouldn't have brought me if you didn't think there was a possibility we were gonna get shot," Gudrun countered.

"It's extremely unlikely you'll be shot."

"You're not even consistent!"

"If you're bleeding out, I'll tell you then," Lamu reassured her. "I promise."

"This is bullshit, man."

Eventually, the tunnel split into three passageways for the different docks, the two of them taking the one on the left. Finally, the bright lights omnipresent in the rest of the citadel dimmed, and after a lengthy period on a mobile walkway flanked by glass windows into open space, they came to their destination. Konkhulion Citadel was - as the name implied - shaped like a gigantic conch shell, but the oblong docks themselves were apathetic to this concept, protruding awkwardly from long connective passageways along the lower spiral, almost like they were altogether separate structures only 'docked' themselves.

Supposedly this was so - in the event the citadel ever came under attack - it would be easier for the docked vessels away from the angle of the assault to make their preparations and escape unaffected by the wider crisis, but Lamu suspected the real reason was that they were an addition demanded by the First Administrator towards the end of construction. If the war continued on its present course, with the Grand Alliance only managing to sustain a stalemate as it slowly ruptured internally, it was only a matter of time until this place's non-military status came to an end.

If it came to that, she felt bad for the people living here, despite Lamu's correct observations about their contemporary privilege. Despite the increasing prevalence of actual damage to cities on the surface, they were still far easier to defend than void installations, and the modern world wasn't kind to refugees.

In any case, before the dock proper they came the entrance portal where their paperwork would be checked. Though on the surface it looked like any of the other myriad security checkpoints that as Nhi stated had become ubiquitous in every densely populated part of the Grand Alliance, the shift in atmosphere was immediately apparent. There were even more guards than usual, but rather then military or police uniforms, they were instead clad in formal white chitons, black cloaks and reinforced bronze breastplates, not even wearing trousers - an aesthetic that hearkened back to the golden age of the alliance, to the point that it almost felt out of time. It also spoke to the quality of their equipment; they probably all had personal shield artifices that circumvented the need for armor.

There was only one other party ahead of them passing through - a husband and wife, both extremely well-dressed, flanked by a darkly-dressed man Lamu had to conclude was some kind of servant or security agent.

Gudrun, for the first time on their journey, seemed cast into an anxious silence by this sight. She leaned over to Lamu, whispering. "Why's this place so quiet? You said this party was gonna be, like, nearly 500 people, right?"

"Most of the guests are probably boarding on their own shuttles to make it easier to bring their luggage and staff," Lamu whispered back. She did not understand why she was doing it, but she'd long learned to just go with the flow when people were doing something illogical for a social reason. "And to avoid what we just went through."

"Right, right," Gudrun said, rubbing her chin conspiratorially. "Of course. They'd wanna avoid mixing with the plebs." She hesitated, suddenly seeming insecure. "How do I look right now, Lamu?"

"What?"

"Like, is my hair good? Am I selling this dress?"

Lamu furrowed her brow. "You look fine."

This was, on a purely physical level, true. With her memorable-but-still-pretty nose and high cheekbones, Gudrun even came across as someone who'd had good distinction therapy, presumably through a combination of cheaper distinction therapy and extremely good physical fitness in childhood. If you gave her a brain transplant, she could probably pass for an actual heiress. If you gave her a brain transplant.

"But do I look rich asshole fine, I mean," she clarified. "Is my vibe right? Like, mannerisms and shit?"

"I thought you said you felt like you were fitting in."

"Yeah, well, that was there and this is here," she explained. "We're crossing the rubicon right now. There's only one chance to make a first impression."

"We're not here to socialize, Gud," Lamu reminded her. "What do you even care what these people think?"

"I dunno, dude! This is my big chance to make connections with these fuckers!" She jerked her shoulders up. "Maybe I could become a trophy wife or some shit."

"A trophy wife. You."

"Well, I mean, I'd probably off the guy after a few years or something," she admitted casually. "But my point is, I just gotta probe for some kinda in. Once you're in these people's faces, you can become a part of their world. But not if you come across as some hoi polloi looking dipshit, you know?"

While there was probably a book's worth of things to unpack about Gudrun's pathology and socioeconomic consciousness in just those last few sentences, Lamu knew there was no time. She narrowed her eyes. "Like I said, you look fine." She turned towards the entrance desk. "Come on. We're already a little late."

"Wait, Lamu, fuckin--"

Ignoring Gudrun's moment of crisis, Lamu approached the desk, the couple she'd spotted having finished passing through a few moments ago. She presented her (still freshly-printed) paperwork to the clerk and, rather than going through some kind of machine as was the norm nowadays, was instead scanned manually by an older man in white with a thick mustache, who turned out to be an arcanist - a grafted one, even, based on his absence of a headband. He wielded a hawk-headed golden scepter she recognized and belonging to the Ysaran Victory Legion, the personal guard of the Old Yru Convention formed from veterans of the final battles of the Tricenturial War. Nowadays they were said to be on the way out, the First Administrator and his council preferring loyalists handpicked from the militia or partisan loyalists like the Thousand Swords.

Still, the fact that one was here personally doing Divination the old-fashioned way spoke to the status of the event and the seriousness with which they were taking the security. Lamu felt herself tense as he stared at her while casting, like his experience would make him able to somehow see through the deception that Nhi's people had arranged.

And he did notice something, but not to her.

"You're carrying a pistol, madam?" He questioned Gudrun.

She tensed, stood up straight like she had a stick up her ass, and spoke with an inscrutable and only partially-successful attempt at an accentless Ysaran dialect. "Y-es, sir. I was told it was fine to bring along small arms for reasons of culture or personal comfort."

"It is, but it needs to be declared," he informed her politely.

"I see." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'm declaring it."

"What's the model?"

"It's a Dorthedon Special Forces Model 3 Basilisk, sir," she answered, her face flushing.

The old man stared at her for a few moments with a mix of curiosity and skepticism - like she was a machine he was mentally disassembling - then smiled. "Good taste," he said with a smile, as the clerk noted this information down.

They let them pass through into the dimly-lit, maroon-carpeted hall beyond - black marble walls with intermittent pillars breaking up the windows - and, as soon as they were out of apparent earshot, Gudrun let out a deflating gasp, her whole body slumping as she stumbled forward.

"Oh god," she said. "That was the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me in my life. Shit!"

"Nothing happened," Lamu replied, glancing at her strangely. "I'm sure people make mistakes like that all the time."

"No, man! That guy saw right through me!" She rubbed her hands over her face in anguish, exposing the inside of her eyelids. "I was told it was fine to bring along small arms for reasons of culture or personal comfort--Fuck. Fuck. I'm so cooked. That guy took one look at me and my shitty gun and figured me for your hired help, I just know it." She dropped her arms limply. "I can't believe this. My one shot, and I screwed it at the first hurdle."

"Aren't you my hired help?" Lamu asked with dry confusion.

"That's not the point!" Gudrun explained. "And no! I'm here as your friend!"

"My friend who's getting paid."

"Yes!"

Lamu sighed. "I still don't understand why you even care, but you're overreacting. It's not like anyone's going to hear about what happened. He's just a guard. He probably won't even be on the ship."

She looked hopeful. "You really think so? Don't all these people, like, talk? Won't I be on some list?"

"I don't think that's how it works, no."

Gudrun exhaled. "You're right. You're right. I'm catastrophizing here-- Psyching myself out. Gotta get your head in game, Gud, head in the game--"

"Good afternoon, ladies," a friendly, deep voice interjected.

Gudrun jumped sharply, while Lamu had of course seen them coming several moments ago. Standing in front of them, having approached as they turned the corner beyond the portal to the dock's final approach, was a young-looking, square-jawed Saoic man in a typical servants grey-black robe, his black hair neatly parted down the center. His head was lowered respectfully.

"Good-- Gudrun," Gudrun stammered.

"Good afternoon," Lamu said, like a normal person.

The man smiled charmingly. "Forgive me my interruption of your conversation. Are you, might I ask, misses Lamu of Harsadaar and Gudrun of Skéydtam?

"That's correct," Lamu told him.

"Wonderful," he said pleasantly, bowing. "My name is Bing Zhang, and i've been assigned as your attendant and concierge during your stay on the Ninsirsir for the new years gala. I was informed of your arrival-- Might I take your bags?"

Lamu wordlessly handed her overnight bag to him. Gudrun, still reeling somewhat from this development, eventually managed to pass him her suitcase, her eyes as wide as a deer about to be brutally crushed by an approaching train. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something to him - 'thank you', possibly - but sound failed to escape.

"Wonderful," he spoke warmly, effortlessly lifting both in one hand. "Now, then, would you care to follow me? I'll lead you through the boarding area and to the check-in desk. I'm sure you're eager to rest a little following your journey."

"That's very kind of you," Lamu said, and gestured forward. "Please."

And so they went, the hall curving and expanding, the carpet replaced by well-cleaned grey cement as they entered the dock proper.

"Dude," Gudrun whispered to Lamu again. "This is crazy. We get our own guy?"

"Apparently," Lamu, who internally was wandering if he'd have been briefed on her situation, stated.

"But we're not even, like, important!" She glanced at the attendants lower body. "He's even hot!"

"I guess anyone going to this is considered important enough." She ignored the second comment.

Gudrun ran her fingers over her mouth. "They're treating us like royalty, man. This fucks. I'm gonna get addicted to this. It's dangerous--"

But her train of thought was interrupted as they finally arrived, and the ship itself came into the view.

The dock - as you'd expect from the word - mostly consisted of a massive concrete protrusion, reaching out from a largely-empty (save for some servicing equipment and large and complex pieces of machinery that Lamu assumed were engine parts) indoor chamber the size of a small sports arena and into the Empyrean, the two halves separated by a gargantuan wall of glass and a dozen circular titanium airlocks about 25 feet tall, save for the edges which were partially concealed behind a layer of unfoldable bronze shielding which presumably covered everything in the event of an attack. Beyond the glass, suspended against the concrete and four massive bronze supports, was the ship.

It had to be said that, by modern standards, it wasn't particularly impressive. Dating from before long before the Grand Alliance had adopted its more organic-looking, Biomancy driven voidcraft, it was intead blocky and utilitarian in the way one associated with the Uana, but with little of their contemporary vessels sleekness and design economy. There had been an obvious attempt to impart it with a kind of stately, cathedral-like beauty befitting of its original status as a flagship, but in broad strokes it looked like a series of gigantic bricks glued together. A small, slightly curved frontal brick - presumably where it was captained - jutted out of a massive, brass-colored oblong midsection, which in turn tapered off into a hybrid arcane/convention engine that looked like the mouth of a furnace.

Only one part had been visibly changed to suit its new status, and that was the uppermost level. It was hard to get a good angle from where they were standing, but it looked like the roof was curved and transparent, with some green splotches - foliage? - visible within. This flourish, of course, dated the ship to the 15th century egregiously. As a remnant of a past age.

But if Nhi had her way, it wouldn't just be an artifact, but an anchor, a redeemer to restore that past. Something that would pull civilization back from the brink, to the days when a true utopia seemed tangibly reachable.

As if that could ever happen. As if even if every conspiracy at work lay exposed, every conscious design against the order of the world, anything could shift history from the course on which it was now set. No; Lamu had seen her type before. People so insulated by wealth and power, they couldn't perceive that the war they were fighting wasn't just lost, but irrelevant. That something new had already grown around the world they knew, rendered it a mere sub-component.

There would be no going back. She could only hope that she was wrong about everything coming to an end, and this would be enough to carve out a small, comfortable corner for herself.

"Wow," Gudrun muttered quietly. "Can't believe that thing still flies."

"Everything alright, ladies?" Zhang asked.

"Just taking in the view," Lamu said.

"She's a handsome old thing, isn't she?" the man quipped, with the eyes of a salesman. "Don't worry. I think you'll find the interior quite a bit more inviting." He inclined his head. "Shall we?"

"Of course."

Once more, they followed towards the one airlock which appeared connected to the ships hull via a tunnel foot-thick cloth, where a few other groups - some coming from shuttles stationed elsewhere along the dock - were collected, chatting among themselves. Gudrun continued to murmur to Lamu.

"I can smell the blood in the water right now, Lamu," she hissed. "I can feel it. This is my big break. This is it."

"Okay," Lamu said.

"I can't believe I'm gonna be rubbing shoulders with a former First Administrator in a couple hours. I'm so glad I met you. Biggest fucking windfall of my life. I could kiss you."

"Don't."