Jim had never seen so much water. For that matter, he’d never seen so much life. The Black Forest didn’t hold a candle to what was playing out in front of him. Through his quarters’ window, it was more transparent wall than actual window, he watched as wonders he’d never imagined floated in and out of view.

In the empire spanning passage, referred to by Ambassador Fredrickson as “The Great Underground River,” waterborne life was everywhere. Jim had seen plenty of fish at the marketplaces of waterside cities like Freeport, Trest, and Hurria but, these were creatures from another world.

As the thrumming craft sped through the pitch dark tunnel, Jim spotted a school of… snakes was the only thing he could think to call them. There were hundreds of them moving together in a tightly packed group. Each had symmetrical lines of diamond shaped glowing spots running the length of their bodies.

Their spots all glowed a vibrant blue that cast a soothing hue on the tunnel floor, twenty meters below their submersible. The water was remarkably clear. Through the transparent siding, Jim could see as far as the light would reach. Even at its smallest point, the passage was enormous, measuring five hundred meters across and up.

The walls of the passage were wavy, similar to the endless dunes of The Great Dune Sea but, smoother. In the first hours of their journey when Jim had asked Fredrickson about the strange formation, the ambassador had launched into a scientific explanation of something called “lava tubes.”

“What’s a lava?” Jim had asked.

Although the ambassador was always happy to lorde his “superior knowledge” over others, he’d decided it best not to try and explain. Shrugging, the pasty complexioned man just replied, “a relic of a time before both of us,” and walked away.

More creatures floated past his wall, casting deep purples into Jim’s room. They were much larger than the small water snakes. The elongated bodies gave them the appearance of a comically stretched fish. There were two of them. Their tooth filled mouths were nearly as big as the entire school of “snakes” that was now swimming rapidly away. Thousands of small appendages came together to form shapes similar to fins. They wriggled and waved, propelling the predators at incredible speed through the water toward their prey.

Suddenly, the school of water snakes changed from their mellow blue to a brilliant red. The mix of deep glowing purples from their pursuers glowed against the passage floor as both groups disappeared further down the tube.

Jim willed himself away from the scene of underwater drama. Nature was calling and, he had to make his way to the lavatory at the rear of the ship. Earlier, he had asked Fredrickson, “How does one use the facilities on a ship that is entirely transparent?”

That had elicited a laugh from the man. “Near the door in each room is a small black square. Run two finger across it like this,” he explained, running his index and middle finger across the door to Jim’s quarters. In a matter of seconds, the room had gone from transparent to a dark, milky black and purple, much like black crystal in its raw form.

Armed with that valuable information, Jim made his way down the hallway of the cramped submersible. As he walked, he passed the rest of the crew quarters. Some were transparent, usually the unoccupied ones. Others were a familiar opaque. Either their occupants were sleeping or simply didn’t want to be watched, like fish in a tank.

He’d learned that the crew compliment was only twelve. Apparently, Protectorate vessels required very little in the way of human touch. Four gunners, a captain, first officer, engineer, and five others assigned to various tasks around the ship were all that it needed.

Soon, he reached the doors to the cargo bay. Behind it would be the lavatory and behind that, the engine room. Currently, the cargo bay was dark and shut to viewing from the outside; Something he found odd considering it was typically unoccupied. Jim turned the latch and opened the door. “At least I didn’t have to ask that smartass how to open doors in this place,” he mumbled to himself.

The cargo bay was filled with worn wooden boxes. They looked out of place against the smooth walls of the submersible. Their purpose was mostly to hold black market trade goods.

The black market was thriving in the land of Ruin. With the newly sparked war, it was flourishing now more than ever. According to the ambassador, the Protectorate and League had fostered an agreement many years earlier. With their submersible, the Protectorate would ferry rare materials north such as black crystal, ether cubes, and exotic spices.

From time to time, heads of state or other important figures were smuggled into one of the cities along the southern lakes. In exchange, the League would provide rarities such as meat traded from the Northern Tribes, grains, and rare earth metals mined in the Eternal Mountains.

The “triangle of trade” had been in motion for thousands of years aboveground. Jim wasn’t very surprised to learn that it wasn’t limited to landships and airships.

As he made his way toward the back of the cargo bay, he noticed something very odd. The wall to his left was completely transparent. By itself, it wasn’t an uncommon sight on the submersible, but why only one wall? he thought. Ignoring his need to use the bathroom for the moment, Jim crept over to the exposed side.

As he approached a stack of crates leaning against the siding, he spotted a pile of trash on the ground. One of the crates had been opened and, some of the wrapped sun dried food had been removed. Rats was his first though. The pests had plagued wooden and metal ships alike since the dawn of time.

Jim picked up a nearby pry bar from atop one of the crates. He raised it above his head and shifted into place. With a powerful shove, he pushed the box aside and leapt into the small space. What he found wasn’t a rat.

Huddled in a small makeshift sleeping area was a very surprised young woman. He recognized her as the one he had recently freed from the Prophetess, Kalandra Meyer.

***

The Prophetess was a beacon of beauty against the burnt out husk of Hurria. Each step crunched as if she were stepping on ice. Yet, beneath her feet was just ash and dust. Beside her, Grand Marshal Alakir Rio tried his best to keep his composure.

To his men, the Alliance military leader was a figure of fear and respect. At nearly seventy years old, he’d served the Alliance for over half a century. Thanks to his prime awakened powers of fire though, he looked like a man in his thirties.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” the Prophetess asked, blissfully. Alakir glanced around at the destruction, trying to locate her reference. All that remained standing in Hurria was made of stone. Occasional walls and mudbrick chimneys stuck out like withered claws among fire wasted city blocks. Some of the more prominent buildings had also survived the inferno with little more than burn scars.

Most of the remaining structures sagged in various directions though. The fire had been so intense in some places, it had softened the stone itself. A testament to the frightening effect of thousands of fire awakened focusing their rage at the same time.

There were many ways for Alakir to describe what he saw. “Lovely” was not one of them. “How so?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

The Prophetess’ face twisted into a scowl. Alakir’s heart skipped a beat. He’d seen horrors, battles, and death most of his life but, catching the leader of the Holy Land in a bad mood was a sentence worse than death.

“Do I need to explain it?” she asked, annoyed. “We stand here among the ashes of your enemy, the Federation. Centuries of conflict, finally ended in fire and destruction. You should be rejoicing, Grand Marshal Rio. Your enemies have been crushed. The Alliance is unopposed; the most powerful empire in Ruin.”

But at what cost? He thought to himself. Hundreds of thousands of Alliance soldiers dead, the conquered holdings of our enemies completely sundered, and a continued guerilla war across the land. Suddenly, remembering that the Prophetess could hear the thoughts of others if she chose to, he cleared his mind.

If she’d been listening, it didn’t show. She continued, “Now, we fix our eyes to the ancient city of Togsov. It is a deep desert city, completely dependant on trade. Without a steady supply of food, the League stronghold should fall quickly to our blockade.”

Turning to Alakir, she asked, “Now, to business. What of the third army?”

The Alliance had three army groups totalling nearly two million men. 1st Army Group had been mired down over the past three months in garrison duty. From the Jindagee Marsh to the Mensora Foothills, an ongoing guerrilla war against Federation remnants was taking its toll on his men. In the past three months, nearly ten thousand Alliance warriors had been felled by partisans and had little progress to show for it. Every time a cell would be burned out, three more would take its place.

It had been an infuriating three months. Worst of all, the Holy Land never seemed to be around during the “surprise attacks.” Casualties had been comically one sided with nearly all deaths occurring among Alliance ranks. Now, the majority of the Holy Air Corps were blockading Togsov, leaving the demoralized 1st Army Group to deal with Federation insurgents.

Again, trying to clear his mind of the many frustrations of command, he focused on the Prophetess’ question. “3rd Army Group is proceeding on schedule, my queen. The first landships should reach Torchlight within three days. The city is not sufficiently walled for such an attack, so we expect it to fall to our bombardment within twenty or thirty hours, assuming they don’t surrender immediately.”

He decided to take a chance, “With some air support from the Holy Air Corps, we could hasten the conquest of The League cities with minimal casualties to my men.”

The Prophetess rejected his suggested with an irritated wave of her hand, “My forces are committed to more important tasks. Torchlight and Rock Bottom should present little challenge to your men. Be glad you have been given such a simple assignment.”

There was nothing simple about it. He had no doubt that the League had been warned by now. Its cities would be preparing for a fight. Every inch of their territory would be paid for in blood… Alliance blood. 3rd Army Group was over three hundred thousand strong but, the deep desert had a way of sapping the strength of even the greatest warrior.

“And what of 2nd Army Group’s push toward Freeport?” the Prophetess asked.

This was the part Alakir had been dreading all day. Since there were no priests embedded in 2nd and 3rd Army Groups, the Prophetess had to rely on conventional means of dispatch through Alakir’s couriers. The bleak message had just come in that morning and, he’d done everything he could to avoid her all day.

Taking a deep breath, he began, “My queen, I regret to report, 2nd Army Group was turned back at the Protectorate border. They refuse to allow our troops access through their territory. In light of this -”

Instantly, ice cold fingers were around his throat. Alakir found his one-hundred kilo body suspended above the ground effortlessly. The Prophetess’ eyes were endless pools of blackened rage. As she squeezed tighter, he could feel both his lifeforce and awakened powers being drained from him.

“Those inbred, self righteous, arrogant technophiles! How dare they. I’ll see every one of their cities burn. So help me!”

With one arm still holding his dangling body above the ground, she turned away and mused, “If we can’t pass through their territory, we’ll have to… ugh, bargain with them. Undoubtedly, the cowards wish to avoid war at all costs.”

Her last words were practically spit. During the last crusade, the Protectorate had nearly obliterated the Prophetess’ forces. Before her attack, they’d vehemently maintained their neutrality. Thinking them weak, her forces, emboldened by their victory in the south, had attacked the Protectorate capital at Vigilance Oasis. In less than an hour, her army and airforce were nearly wiped out by their far superior technology. She wasn’t apt to make the same mistake twice. Not yet. Not until she was ready.

Alakir tried to speak. The world was fading to grey as his body became more desperate for oxygen. Finally, as if she had nearly forgotten his presence, the Prophetess glanced at him. Sighing, she released her grip. His body collapsed to the ground like a child’s doll. He gasped for air and coughed, trying to clear his throat.

“Well, what is it?” she asked impatiently.

“My queen, I *cough cough* have already attempted to anticipate your wishes. I’ve ordered *cough* the embassy in Trest to be placed in lockdown. It’s my hope that we can use the Protectorate ambassador as-”

“We can use their own assets as a means of securing passage through Protectorate lands,” she interrupted. “I know how zealously they hold on to their damned technological marvels. No doubt, they would be most displeased if we were to confiscate the contents of their embassy.”

The Prophetess had hijacked his idea as her own. He supposed, it was better than being strangled to death. Not to mention, her complete disregard for the lives of the Protectorate citizens. To her, people were merely pawns.

“Yes, my queen. In exchange for their property and citizens, we could bargain for passage through Protectorate territory and crush the League capital at Freeport. I doubt they would risk conflict after all. I do have one concern though,” he replied.

“And what is that?” she asked.

Considering his question carefully, he asked, “What do we do if the Protectorate government refuses our request?”

The Prophetess clenched her fists. Her already pale skin became whiter around her knuckles. Through grit teeth, she replied, “If they refuse, you will mobilize the rest of the Alliance reserves. I had hoped to push it off until the League and Northern Tribes had been subdued but, we have to prepare for the possibility of war with the Protectorate.”

***

“Kalandra? What in the hell are you doing here?” Jim asked, confused and angry at the same time.

The small teen stared sheepishly at the floor and muttered something. Jim tried again, “You’re going to have to speak up. What are you doing here?”

The girl slowly stood up. Her head was still lowered as she whispered, “I’m here to help you.”

Jim lowered his voice, trying a gentler approach, “Kalandra, I… listen, I appreciate your coming along to help, but frankly, we are likely heading into a very dangerous situation. The embassy is deep in the heart of the city and-”

“Yes, I know!” Kalandra interrupted.

Quickly placing her excitement in check, she lowered her voice again. “The embassy is located on the corner of Golden Circle and Rich Street, next to the Northern Tribe and League embassies. About two blocks from the industrial quarter.”

“Uh, how did you come across that information?” Jim asked, confused. “Were you hiding out in our planning session as well?”

The girl shook her head quickly, “No no, of course not. You see, before I was...enslaved, I lived right across the street, in the administrative sector.” Her voice was rising as she grew more bold, “My father worked for the Trest Printing Office.”

The door to the forward section of the submersible opened. Through the opening, Henry peered in. “Jim, are you in here? he called.

Stepping out from behind the boxes with Kalandra in tow, he replied, “Yeah, over here Henry. Seems we have a stowaway onboard.” The girl stood behind him, half concealed and starting at the floor.

“What in the-” Henry exclaimed. “Isn’t that the new convert? Umm, Kassandra?”

Replying in a whisper, she corrected him, “Kalandra, sir.”

At that, Henry laughed, “My dear, I’m not the captain. No need for titles. Henry will do just fine. Jim, how did she get on board? Sneaking on a completely transparent ship, well...that’s an impressive skill, to say the least.”

Kalandra replied quickly, “Oh no, sir… I mean Mr. Henry, I-”

“Just Henry please,” he interrupted.

“Yes, of course umm. Henry, I was asked to come aboard. There was no sneaking involved,” she added.

Jim raised a suspicious eyebrow, “What do you mean you were invited? Usually, if I invite someone to come along with me, they don’t hide in the cargo bay and steal my food stores.”

Henry chuckled and Kalandra turned a shade of red. “Yes, I’m sorry about that,” she replied. “It’s just, I...I’m not comfortable around people and, well, I don’t really like that Fredrickson person.”

Both Henry and Jim laughed. Jim patted Kalandra lightly on the back and commented, “Well, join the club. And, I can appreciate the desire for privacy.” He shot a friendly glance at Henry before continuing, “that leaves one question. Who asked you to come and, why weren’t any of us told?”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” she replied, digging through the inner pockets of her burgundy hooded cloak. Finally, she produced a small envelope tied in twine. “She made me promise not to open it and to give it to you once we were underway.”

“Who did?” Jim asked.

“Captain Rychist,” she replied.

Jim sighed and grabbed the envelope. After untying the twine and removing a small paper, he turned so that Kalandra and Henry couldn’t read its contents.

To my dearest husband whom does no wrong. Not a good start. The sarcasm was practically burning letter shaped hole in the paper. As I sat here contemplating the next six or so months of benign nesting aboard the Liberator while you and Henry are off having all the fun, I wondered to myself just how to ensure your safe return.

I think you and I can both agree that you have a serious obsession with protecting the helpless. Although I’ve tried to convince you that I’m not one of said helpless damsels, you always come charging to my rescue.

With that in mind, I present to you, the most helpless among our crew. It’s my hope that, you will be so concerned for her safety all the time, you won’t make any stupid decisions and will return to me in one piece. Also, it doesn’t hurt that the poor girl is obsessed with you. At least I know that she won’t let you out of her sight either.

Finally, her father works for the Trest Printing Press. I’m sure you know, that’s just a politically correct name for ‘Alliance Propaganda Office.’ Assuming your rescue goes well, I’d like for you to make a stop off at his house and convince him to come back with you. I have a plan that would find the employ of a propaganda specialist very beneficial to our cause.

Take care of the girl, my love, and come back to me in one piece.

Love, Alia Rychist.

Jim sighed, “Even when she isn’t here, she has to get the last word.”

“Well,” Henry asked, impatiently, “What did it say?”

“It looks like we have our work cut out for us when we arrive,” he replied. Turning to Kalandra, he added, “And, if all goes well, you might get to see your father again.”

Before she could reply, an alarm sounded through the submersible. At once, the transparent wall faded to its black crystal opaque state. Fredrickson’s voice came from somewhere above them, “Battlestations! Jim and Henry, report to the bridge. We’re about to have company.”