Aetheral Space

"This," said the Sponsor of War quietly. "Has become a very complicated situation."

The usual bluster that characterized his speech was dimmed, just a tad, creating an odd contrast between the flaming bull and it's somber voice. Sait watched the bovine hologram disinterestedly as it spoke, quietly observing how it's violent movements didn't match the words coming from it's master.

A murmur of ascent went through most of the group. Even with his lack of investment, Sait had to admit, too - this situation was nothing if not complicated.

The Sponsor of Dreams, though - the many-eyed snail - didn't quite seem convinced. "Complicated?" he chuckled. "Well, of course it's complicated. We are men and women of vision, everything we do is complex a necessitate. That's no reason for undue worry, my friends."

Plenty - that stick-thin swine - barked out a harsh laugh. "That's easy for you to say, shooting your films and publishing your lightpoint-grade novels. The most complex thing you have to deal with is how much fucking you can cram into one of your dramas before it becomes pornography."

Sait sniffed. Plenty had only been a young woman when he'd first met her, but even then she'd had such a way with words. She could make the bile rise up in you with just a glance and a greeting.

Not many could manage to be so intensely dislikeable.

When he spoke again, Dreams' voice was low, dangerous. "My work is very important, Plenty. I'd watch your tone if I were you."

The veneer of civility faded so quickly, like rotting wallpaper. It was the same with all people, Sait found. Take away the slightest comfort, and they'd show you the skull beneath the skin.

The moment dragged on, discomfort quickly transitioning into tension. These business negotiations could easily produce corpses, after all.

Finally, War cut in: "Plenty - enough. Apologize."

The Sponsor of Plenty hesitated for a moment, but she obeyed all the same. "My apologies, Dreams," she said, in a monotone that made it quite obvious that she wasn't sorry at all.

"This is besides the point," said the Sponsor of Industry, the silver horse turning in place to face the rest of the group. "As War was trying to say, the situation has become uncomfortably complex. I don't think I need to remind any of you that we have a Special Officer of the Supremacy in our custody."

The snail shifted uncomfortably in place. "Not necessarily."

"Not necessarily?"

"Well, who knows we have the Special Officer?" the Sponsor of Dreams said. "Who knows, really? A few security officers, the interrogator? Easily bribed or removed, and then the fact that we have the Officer disappears."

"You're downplaying the issue," Industry said, voice harsh. "And quite severely, I'm afraid. Every security officer who was there that night, as well as all personnel involved with his transport, and the staff at the facility he's being held. If even one of those breathes a word of this, we can expect Captain Pierrot breathing down our necks before long - and do you really think he won't find anything else while he's investigating the matter?"

The babble died into silence again, punctuated by a cough from Expansion.

The peace between the UAP and the Supremacy was a tenuous one, and both factions had grown quite comfortable with the cold war that had developed in recent years. The capture of a Special Officer by a UAP government - more than that, the fact that a Special Officer of the Supremacy was even here - was an undeniable threat.

Captain Jaime Pierrot would come to investigate the situation personally, that was for certain. And with him around, it wouldn't take long for all they'd built to be burnt to the ground.

Even Sait felt a shiver go down his spine.

"If I may be so bold," the Sponsor of Plenty said haltingly. "We kill everyone involved. Dir, the security in question, Skipper and his crew, the prison staff and this fucking Special Officer. Burn the bodies and scatter them to the winds. Wash our hands of the whole affair and focus on the Citizen - as we should be doing."

"This isn't really my area of expertise, ah," said the Sponsor of Expansion, the colossal octopus hovering over the rest of the group. "But I must question whether that is the best course of action - it seems to me, from my personal perspective at least, that a purge on the kind of scale that you're suggesting would be just as suspicious - if not more so, if I'm understanding your proposal correctly - as our original problem in and of itself. Which is, ah, quite self-defeating, from what I understand, of course."

Sait's eyes flicked from one gaudy hologram to another as the argument continued. He honestly didn't know why he still attended these. He'd lost any investment he had in these things years ago, when his hospital had gained its name.

Now, just like so much of his life, it was force of habit. An indicator to show he wasn't yet dead.

"Well, what are we supposed to do, then?" said Plenty. "We can't keep him, we can't hide that we have him."

"Well, as I said - this isn't my field of expertise," Expansion rambled on, the octopus' tentacles swaying as he spoke. "But it seems to me that one workable solution to this conundrum would be to just let the poor fellow go. We can frame the matter as some daring escape on his part for the benefit of personnel. Why, Dreams, I'm sure you could pen quite the thrilling script for such a scene!"

War's flames intensified a tad, illuminating the dark chamber. "That doesn't solve the problem, friend. Once the Central Council discovers that we had a Special Officer here, they will send Captain Pierrot all the same - well, he will order them to send him, but the result will be all the same."

"So you're saying we can do nothing?" asked Plenty, aghast. "What do you want us to do, then? Just accept that we'll lose everything because of some Supremacy rat?"

Was surrender being proposed? That could be interesting, if so. Sait vaguely wondered what manner of punishment he'd receive for his crimes.

Well, no matter what it was, he already knew it wouldn't be enough.

"No," said War empathetically. "I've put gears into motion for us to solve this problem. To solve all the problems we've been given, Citizen and Supremacy alike. All we need is time - Dreams, can you delay this information from spreading? For, say, a fortnight?"

War's tone had changed, Sait noticed. He was up to something, definitely up to something. He thought about voicing this observation for a moment, but decided against it.

Whatever game War was playing, it didn't matter to Sait.

The snail shifted in place. "A fortnight…" it mused. "Yes, it's possible. I can delay communications for that long - we'll use the Citizen as an excuse to keep all security teams on shift, so they don't even have a chance to leak this information early. Permanent standby for two weeks - elegant, no?"

"It'll suffice," chuckled War.

The octopus swirled in place like an airborne whirlpool. "If I may be so bold, gentlemen - and ladies, of course, my apologies to Plenty - I feel as though this matter of the Special Officer, while serious without a doubt, has distracted us somewhat from our original adversary: the Citizen. We have the journalist in question, this young Roz fellow - if I remember correctly - do we not?"

A spurt of flame burst from War's nostrils. "That we do."

Sait supposed he had better contribute to the meeting, at least put in a token effort. Otherwise, talk about removing him may drift up, and that would be tiring to deal with. He opened his mouth, ignoring the hollow pain in his jaw.

"Roz," he said quietly. "What has he said?"

He heard War suck air in between his teeth, even though his bovine avatar did not reflect it. "Unfortunately, it appears that young Mr. Roz elected to place a time-lock upon his relevant memories."

Plenty groaned. "Fucking night-eyes."

Dreams cleared his throat in annoyance, but War began speaking again before another argument could break out.

"The time-lock in question was to last a week, from what I understand," he said, voice booming throughout the chamber. "That deadline should be up by the end of the day - and I assure you that every word of his testimony shall be shared with this assembly."

"It had better be," said the Sponsor of Industry, metal body creaking as it rotated to deliver it's point. "The longer we wait, the longer the Citizen has to cause more damage. He must know the net is closing around him - he'll act irrationally."

"And then the Fifth Dead will dispose of him," said the Sponsor of War, voice very intentionally strained to sound patient. "I assure you, my friends - my solution is one that will meet all our needs."

Again, the time had come for a token effort.

"The Fifth Dead?" Sait croaked, slouching in his wheelchair. "That idiot? He nearly ruined the operation to grab the Umbrant. Am I wrong?"

The flaming bull was silent for a moment - save for the sound of burning wood - before it spoke again.

"I must admit," the Sponsor of War said. "The Fifth Dead did become an obstacle there - but that was only due to my mismanagement. He came to seek Roz independent of our own efforts, believing the young man would lead him to the Citizen. I've informed him of the situation and he sends his most sincere apologies."

That even gave Sait a chuckle. He knew, as did all the others, that the Fifth Dead was not one inclined to apologize for anything.

The Sponsor of War intensified the flames coating his body, and before long the only sign of life inside the inferno were the two black pits of its eyes.

"My friends," it said, voice booming like thunder. "A fortnight is all I ask of you. At the end of this period, I promise - all your concerns will be at an end."

And with that, the bull dissolved into ash and faded away. The Sponsor of War had left the meeting.

Plenty went second, without a word to her fellows. The emaciated pig consumed itself in a grotesque display - no doubt she'd gone off to suck up to War in a private call.

"Well, Among the Stars is airing in an hour or so," said Dreams, a sudden exhaustion audible in his voice. "I intend to get showered and fed before it comes on. I wish you all a good night, gentlemen." The snail popped like a bubble.

"Until our next meeting." Industry's voice was curt, professional, as the metal horse rusted away and scattered to the winds. He'd likely gone off to meet with his own subordinates, engineer his own plans. He was diligent like that, the bastard.

"Good day to you, ah, Care," rambled the Sponsor of Expansion, his avatar fading even as he went on and on and on. "It was pleasant in the extreme - yes, in the extreme - to have the honour of your company this evening. I earnestly hope that things go well for you and your present goals meet with nothing but unmitigated success-"

And with that, he was gone. And Sait was alone, in an empty room in an empty world.

He tapped a button on his wheelchair. At that moment, he knew that the pale snake that represented him was vanishing from another room just like this one.

And Sait felt nothing.

-

"They can't keep us here like this," grumbled Ruth, pacing back and forth through the room, her arms crossed.

"Clearly, they can," said Dragan, messing around on his script. The connection to the outside was cut off, but he still had access to the files he'd downloaded before coming here.

He'd watched this documentary about Lilith worlds nearly three times now, but it was better than nothing.

Ruth stopped, shot him an irritated glare. "How can you just sit there? Aren't you worried about Bruno and Serena?"

They were in the room they'd been provided in the security complex, just as they'd been for the last week or so. Skipper had headed out an hour or so ago - probably to irritate Dir, knowing him - but that left Dragan alone with an increasingly worried Ruth.

"Of course I'm worried," said Dragan - indeed, as he spoke, his finger tapped nervously against the side of his script. "But there's nothing I can do about it - so there's no point wasting my energy like you're doing."

Ruth came to a stop, put her hands to her hips as she glared at him. Dragan suppressed the urge to roll his eyes; he'd done it now.

"There's nothing you can do about it?" she said. "How do you know that? You haven't even tried anything!"

Dragan sighed, flicked the screen of his script off just as the narrator launched into another monotone profile of a Lilith tribe. "Like what?" he said, irritation slipping into his voice despite his best efforts. "What, you wanna bust through the wall and make a break for it?"

Ruth still glared, but her eyes flicked to look away from him. "Maybe," she growled.

"And then you'd get shot by every plasma gun in the building - and I'd get shot too. How long do you think that great escape would last for? Let me tell you - not long."

"You don't know that for sure," said Ruth. She folded her arms in what was presumably an attempt to look tough - though it was diminished somewhat by the fidgeting that came along with it.

Dragan pushed himself up from the ground with a grunt. "I do," he said, wagging a finger. "I do know for sure. I've not spent this last week sitting there with my head up my own ass, you know."

She smirked. "Coulda fooled me."

"You're so very funny," Dragan lied, before launching into the rant that had been building up over the last seven days. "You know what I've been doing? I've been listening. I've been watching. Whenever those patrols go past the door, I listen to where they go. Whenever I head to the bathroom, I spot the cameras, work out as much of the layout of this place as I can. I've been doing this for a week now - and I'm damn good at this - so believe me when I tell you that we're not getting out."

Ruth shrugged, almost pouting. "Well, you never know…"

Dragan could have strangled her, save for the fact that he was so nice and Ruth was so much stronger than him.

The door slid open - both Dragan and Ruth whirled around to face it as it did - and Skipper strolled in, stretching.

"Hey kids," he said, hand over his mouth as he yawned. "How're tricks?"

"Bad," said Dragan, returning to his position in the corner of the room. "Did you talk to Dir?"

Skipper winced uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head with a hand. Dragan knew the answer before the man even opened his mouth.

"Apparently, our pal Dir has to talk to his superiors," he sighed. "So, uh, I wouldn't be super optimistic about that. Sorry."

Dragan sighed, matching Skipper as he rubbed his hands over his face. "Well, uh," he said, fumbling for a new strategy. "Let me talk to him. He likes me. He doesn't like you."

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "Why would he like you and not Skipper?"

"I'm likeable," said Dragan. "I'm a likeable person."

Ruth put a hand to her mouth, suppressing a laugh. "In what universe?" she said, the chuckle spilling out all the same.

"Every universe. It's multiversal, in fact."

"Kids, kids!" Skipper said, raising his hands as if breaking up an invisible brawl. "There's no need to fight over my attention. Your dear leader has come up with a plan."

Now it was Dragan's turn to cross his arms. "And what kind of plan is that?"

Skipper grinned, wide and earnest. "We make a great escape!"

Dragan groaned.

-

Noel checked her script for the fifth time that hour, the fifty-second time that day, the three-hundred and twelfth time that week. Still nothing. No messages from the Citizen, not even an admonishment for their failure.

Fear danced in her heart. Had they been cast aside? Surely the Citizen wouldn't do that - he couldn't. Noel and the others were too valuable to be treated like that.

"Anything?" said Simeon, lounging on a chunk of rubble off at the side of the room.

They were staying at their latest headquarters - the Midnight Sun, an abandoned hotel nestled right on the border between Toptown and the Pit. The place was so run down it barely qualified as a building, but it was quiet and - thanks to Noel's hacking - out of the eyes of security surveillance.

Noel put the script in her pocket, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke: "Citizen says stand by."

Simeon blew an exasperated raspberry, settled back into his rocky sofa. There was a good possibility that he'd seen through her lie, but Noel knew he wouldn't care enough to do anything about it. He was in this for the thrills - so long as he got those, he didn't much care what the circumstances were.

Reyansh, on the other hand…

Her gaze slid over to the half-masked warrior. He was leaning against a pillar, arms folded, eyes closed. Noel honestly couldn't tell if he was trying to look like some kind of stoic badass, or if he was just genuinely asleep.

That idiot was a true believer - whether he was devoted to the Citizen's cause or just respected the man's strength was irrelevant. If Noel stopped being their leader's mouthpiece, Reyansh would abandon her.

So she'd keep getting messages to stand by until she figured out what to do.

This was such bullshit. She'd grown up in a damn castle - she deserved better than this. Still, it was temporary. It was temporary. She'd rise to the top of this shit-pile and take what she was owed.

She heard the doors open.

Noel swung around, sending out a command through her Digital Complex - and in response, the drones she still had arranged themselves around her in a defensive formation.

Simeon sat up, pulling a long hair from his head and readying it in his bow. He pointed the glowing pink arrow towards the darkness at the edge of the room.

Reyansh just opened his eyes - but Noel saw that his knife was already in his hands. Idiot he might have been, but he was always ready when it came down to it.

"Wait for my order," Noel muttered, glaring towards the direction of the threat. Everything had to wait for her order.

Clicking footsteps approached - regular, measured, like the ticking of a clock. Whoever this was, they were used to keeping their body under control. Some kind of military training, then.

"Do I fire?" said Simeon, licking his lips. The arrow undulated gently in the bow, as though eager to get to business.

"Not yet," Noel growled. Simeon hadn't paid attention to her first order - that was bad, very bad, she would have to take steps in the future.

A thought occurred to her, a hopeful one: was this the Citizen? Had he finally come to give them orders directly, to give them some damn direction? To acknowledge their efforts?

That hope was nearly instantly replaced with despair - if it was the Citizen, the others would find out that she'd been feeding them fake orders. He'd steal her position as leader. That would be worse than anything.

The walker came into view. It wasn't the Citizen.

It was a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and vivid, blood-red eyes. Her face was seemingly friendly, with a pleasant smile on her lips, but Noel couldn't tell whether that was genuine or not - especially with the punchpoint rifle slung over her shoulder.

Wait. Red eyes. Was she the Citizen, then? No. She was too young - from the story the Citizen had told him when she'd first 'met' him, he had to be much older.

Noel had all her drones point their guns directly at the woman. The barrels gleamed with malevolent intent.

"Who are you?" she said, putting as much authority into her voice as it could hold.

The woman stopped her approach, put a hand on her hip. Her eyes flicked from Noel, to Simeon, to Reyansh, clearly analysing and dissecting the situation mentally. Finally, she looked back to Noel.

"Hey there, kids," she said. "My name's Marie. I've got a little proposition for you."