The Ends Justify the Means

By Oracle9

A collection of stories about Faye Ming-liang.

Consortium Arc

Episode 1

Faye ran the bath until a layer of steam coated the bathroom interior. She undressed, leaving her blouse on the floor. In the reflective tiled walls there were dreadfully crimson marks along the sides of her torso and they travelled up her chest and over her shoulders. She lowered herself into the tub.

Since she was born, red patches waxed and waned on her skin like the moon. She had seen doctors, in confidence, and they didn't know what to do. There was no cure. The nights alone were tortorous, the pain gnawing away at her legs. She often cried into a pillow. Over the years, she worked her way up the rungs of medications.

In the present day, she reached over from the tub and opened a drawer and extracted a bright orange bottle that read PREDNISONE. The pills gave her a glimpse into an alternate dimension. One where she didn't have to cover her skin up to the neck. In this dimension, she went to her high school prom, danced with the boy she liked. She wore swimsuits openly, exercised every day. Her bedside table wasn't filled with pillboxes and labels. In this dimension, she'd died at the ripe old age of 89 in her husband's arms. These glimpses lasted until the patches trickled back onto her arms and legs.

She'd had lots of time to think about the side effects. All the ways that these pills would end up fucking her over. Dependence, liver failure, osteoporosis. She twisted the cap off and gulped 2 pills down dry.

Episode 2

Faye gulped down an anti-inflammatory without water, before she entered the conference room. Seven stuffy CEOs flanked the table in each seat, all of them men, their eyes shifting around to meet her. Synchronized, they rose and bowed. A collective "Your majesty." Faye knew each of them by name and the company which they managed. She knew where they lived and where their children went to school and the vacation homes that they owned in different parts of the city. Most of them woke up at around 7 am and arrived to the office an hour later, except for Frederick who woke up late. They each went to the bathroom an average of four times throughout the day, most of them for innocuous reasons. Jack did drugs in the bathroom, cocaine, though his addiction hadn't yet affected the performance of his company and so did not merit intervention. The men's browsing habits did not deviate from online shopping, TV shows, news articles, and answering emails. Except for Jack. Jack had looked at the webpage for applying for Marinian citizenship. His father immigrated from Marino and this allowed him to claim nationality, though he had not yet done so. He was not allowed to do so. Now, Jack was sitting on the left side of the conference table, squarely between two other CEOs whose children went to the same private academy as his in lower Aberdeen.

"As discussed earlier, you all will incur some temporary salary cuts, though this is not expected to have an effect on your quality of life," Faye said as she sat down. She passed around sheets to each of the men. "My finance minister has prescribed a five-year plan for each of you that you must follow to the last detail. Eventually, you will get even more money than you had before, assuming that your companies keep up in terms of performance."

The men looked over the papers, all of their possible expenses budgeted and accounted for. Expenses they didn't know Faye had knowledge of. All of it laid out, neatly organized.

"Why exactly should we have to follow this?" Jack said. They all looked at him. He held up the paper and waved it around.

"Mr. Qu," Faye said, "The conditions for receiving government subsidies were very clear. You signed a contract agreeing to these pay cuts long before we had this meeting. It will not even put a dent in your net worth."

Jack Qu was restless in his seat. His eyes were wide. He threw the papers back across the table, towards Faye. "We made this money. It was us. Not you, not the government."

"This is not up for deba-"

"We get to decide how to spend it. It doesn't matter what a contract says, it's our money, and you know there's no court out there that would back you up on this. It's theft."

Faye tilted her head. Jack got up and walked to the window. From here Jack could see cargo ships moving down the Novenae canal, carrying products from his own company. "You don't have to lecture me on ROI. As far as I'm concerned, you've got it. We gave you jobs, bumped up your GDP. Is it not enough? Do you have to waste our money on housing people who haven't even earned it?"

Faye paused to adjust her glasses. "You can run away to Marino, Mr. Qu..."

Jack tensed up.

"... but your money will not follow. I will make sure of it. And you or your family will not be allowed back into Novenae again." Faye threw the papers back onto Jack's side of the table. "Even dogs know not to bite the hand that feeds them. Sit down."

Jack, flustered, took his seat.

"From now on," Faye said, barely audible. "I need your belief."

Faye adjusted her glasses.

"This is a war, and we are fighting for a future where our children no longer have to suffer. Where we no longer have to suffer."

The businessmen looked on in silence.

"And if you are not with us, you are against us."

Episode 3

"We offer our deepest condolences for the deaths of the two Gurkhas, your majesty," one of the CEOs said. "We- all of us- are fully willing to cooperate with law enforcement."

Faye was looking out the window, at somewhere distant. She pulled herself back into the conference room. "I appreciate that. They were good men." She circled back and took her seat at the head of the conference table. Gurkhas flanked each side of the room, part of the heightened security measures. "They're not sure who did it. Just a blurry piece of footage from the night of. We think it was someone on our staff."

"Someone working under the Cabinet?" one of the CEOs asked.

"Maybe." Faye looked up. "A lot of people use this building."

"It could be someone in this room," Jack Qu said. He had his arms crossed at the far end of the table. Everyone in the room, save for the Gurkhas, stared at him. "Could be, couldn't be."

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Qu?" Faye asked.

"I'm just stating the obvious," Jack waved his hands playfully. "Since you don't seem to realize."

"Realize what?"

"There is always a consequence, Faye. A consequence for every choice. Just because you got elected, and you hold the keys to the castle, doesn't make that fact any different." The CEO sitting next to Jack mouthed quietly: what are you doing?

"The deaths of two innocent soldiers are a consequence?"

Jack gestured around the room. "We are some of the most powerful people in this city, and you think that you can get away with taking our money and sending us on our merry way? I'm not saying I was behind the deaths of those soldiers, I wasn't. You have no way to prove that I was. But you are messing with an order that has been established since this city was founded."

Most of the CEOs seemed unsure, caught between the two options.

"This is the city of corporations."

Faye looked at the Gurkha standing behind Jack. She blinked twice and nodded.

"Corporations run the show. There's a reason HR didn't-"

Faye got up from her seat and strode across the room. Jack could feel her breath on his nose as she leaned in. "Look at me, Mr. Qu. Do I look like HR?" Faye relented. "There's a new order here, Mr. Qu. I don't have to be nice. I don't have to be fair. That's why I'm removing you from this Consortium. Effective immediately."

Jack leaned back in his chair. He looked around the room. "Are you seeing this?" He looked each CEO in the face. "Are you going to do anything about this? Are you going to hold her accountable?"

Everyone kept quiet.

Jack scoffed. "Cowards. You're all cowards."

Episode 4

As soon as he got to his condo, Jack took the bag out of his suit pocket and spilled the contents out onto his coffee table. He took out his credit card, cutting a white powder into finer and finer parts. His head was being squeezed. The paranoia was building. Finer and finer parts, particles so smooth that they'd slide through his nostrils and through the capillaries into his bloodstream. He did this when he was a young CEO, with Andrea. At the first penthouse he ever bought, they did coke and made love all night. Not anymore. Andrea was officially three years sober, and he was too. Now he did coke alone, in this condo that he bought in complete secrecy. Somewhere Andrea and the kids didn't know about, where they wouldn't stumble into him like this. Trying to relive the glory days. Jack watched his reflection erase the white lines on the table, leaving only a few specks of dust, and he leaned back into the couch.

The doorbell rang.

A wave of panic washed over Jack. Had Andrea found out? Goddammit, I should have stopped. I should have quit. This wasn't worth it at all. He took off his loafers, walking silently over to the door and looking through the peephole. Faye Ming-liang, wiping her nose with a tissue, stood in the hallway flanked by two Gurkha. Jack didn't know which was worse. He walked over to the kitchen, retrieving a silver knife from the cutlery drawer. Nobody's home, he thought. Nobody's home.

"Jack, we know you're in there," Faye's voice came muffled through the door. "We saw you go in."

Jack said nothing.

"I'm not here to arrest you, Jack. I just want to talk."

Jack tucked the knife into his dress pants. He opened the door.

Faye nodded. "May I come in?" Faye and the two Gurkhas entered. Faye looked around, surveying the condo. "Nice place. Could do with some furniture."

"How did you...?" Jack asked.

"The Peacekeepers are very thorough." Faye sat in one of the wing chairs, the Gurkhas flanking her on both sides. Jack didn't like the Gurkhas. He didn't like the way they showed no emotion. He didn't like how they couldn't be bribed.

"What do you want?"

Faye sighed. "I wanted to see if what I heard was true."

Jack pushed aside some of the throw pillows, sitting on the couch. "What have you heard, your majesty?"

"Your mother has dementia?"

Jack looked at the floor. He didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Faye said.

The emotion was seeping in, the cocaine could only hold it off for so long.

"I know that I tend to rule with an iron fist. It's caused some disagreements between us."

Faye's words faded in and out. There was a hospital bed on the other side of town where Jack's mother slept tonight.

"What if we could cure her dementia?"

Jack scowled. That wasn't possible. He'd talked to every doctor on the continent and tried every treatment that money could buy. His expression softened. It could be possible. Some secret government research that he wasn't privy to. "Y- you could do that?" Jack asked.

"In 3023? We may only be a couple years out from a cure. We could save her."

Jack was a businessman. He'd heard thousands of pitches, people telling him what he should do with his company and how he should spend his money.

"HR told me of a vision he had."

Jack knew when someone was pulling his heartstrings to get him on board with a project. When someone was manipulating him.

"He saw a future where all of the universe, all of the species, lived as one. No disease, no poverty, no strife." Faye leaned forward. "It all starts here, Jack. I want you on this Consortium— but I need your belief. We can cure the masses, together."

Jack had learned to avoid manipulation.

"The masses didn't earn it, Faye," Jack said. "I did. I earned it."

Faye pushed up her glasses. The lenses reflected the lights of the city. "I was... I was afraid you would say that."

The Gurkha next to Jack unsheathed his kukri, and in one smooth motion, sliced through Jack's neck. Jack's head fell to the floor. In his last moments, Jack's face was frozen in fear.

Episode 5

Faye thought of Jack Qu's trachea squeezing out bloody bubbles as he drew his last breath. Pumping oxygen to a head that was no longer there.

The truck's driver looked over. "We're here, your majesty."

Outside the windows, all was black as ink. A Gurkha opened the doors of the truck. An enamel pin was affixed to the shoulder of his uniform- a spoked wheel that glowed indigo in the glint of the moonlight. Faye, and several Gurkha, walked as a procession into a warehouse. Their footsteps echoed off of the walls.

I must bear the guilt. In time, Faye thought, the rewards shall be glorious.

---

Flashes of light and dark. The hum of a moving vehicle. Thebe had bouts of consciousness where the world was blurry and her breath built up in front of her face. The vehicle then lurched to a halt, and she was dragged across gravel onto smooth concrete. Something was covering her head. The sound of footsteps filled her ears and suddenly she was thrown onto the ground. The sack over her head was removed.

Four people encircled the center of the warehouse. Thebe recognized them. John. Sam. Carrie. Regina. CEOs from the Consortium- and now she was the fifth. Shadowy figures, soldiers, paced behind them, blinding them with flashlights affixed to the ends of their rifles. Thebe realized that her wrists and ankles were ziptied. Some of the CEOs were crying, some of them with their eyes wide in fear.

"What do you want?" Carrie pleaded.

"Quiet," one of the figures said.

They were drawn to the sound of footsteps- high heels clicking against the floor. From the darkness emerged a yellow blouse.

Faye Ming-liang stood in the center, staring the CEOs down one by one. Though nothing about her had changed, she was unrecognizable. She looked at Thebe like a lion looks at their prey. Faye paced around, shuffling some papers. She held one up, a spreadsheet printed out.

"What is this?"

The other CEOs began shaking.

"Anonymous donations to the Freedom Caucus?" Faye scoffed. "Trying to dig them out of the hole that they put themselves in?"

"It wasn't us, your majesty," Regina said.

"Well, I just don't believe that. I double checked. I triple checked. You wired this money to them under the table. A handsome amount too- it will last them until the next election, if they are smart." Faye stuffed the papers back into an envelope. "When I brought all of you into the Consortium, I explicitly asked for your allegiance. Your loyalty. I trusted you all to help me make Novenae a better place. You violated that trust, took advantage of it."

John leapt forward at Faye's feet. "We'll do whatever you want us to, your majesty. Please don't-" one of the soldiers behind him stepped forward and hit him across the temple, dragging him back into formation.

"It's too late for apologies. You are now against me, and I have quite enough enemies already."

"Wait. Wait," Thebe said, looking Faye in the eyes. "You know I didn't make those donations."

Faye looked down at her and nodded. "I am aware."

"I- I don't understand."

Faye looked behind her, at the soldiers. "Kill them. The quiet way."

One by one, curved blades cut across the necks of each CEO. Blood erupted from their throats. They fell to the floor. Faye turned back and kneeled to Thebe's level, the closest she'd ever been to the Governor-General. "You're very special. I need you to keep the others in line. They may not trust me, but they'll trust one of their own."

"W- why me?" Thebe asked.

"Because now you know how important this is."

Episode 6

They spent all of Calculus I stealing looks at each other. As one looked back, the other would look away. They played this game while the teacher droned on about integrals. They met again in the halls after class. Locking eyes, each stood still in a whirlwind of bookbags and letterman jackets. Hope sidled up first. A dark hoodie hung lazily over her skirt, the cords of earbuds trailing from her front pocket and disappearing up into her hair.

"You're Faye, right?"

Faye's outfit was plain and proper. The only trace of individuality was her right earring in the shape of a crescent moon.

"You've been on the dean's list for, like, the past two semesters."

"Four," Faye said. "Past four."

Hope smiled. "Right on." She got a little closer.

"What music are you listening to?" Faye asked.

"Cantopop. Want to listen with me?" She took out an earbud and reached close, nestling it into Faye's ear. The hair on Faye's neck stood upright.

"Is this Jimmy Wong?"

Hope nodded. "I'm loving his new album. Maybe there's somewhere quiet we can listen together..."

"I know a place."

“Let’s go.”

They walked together, brushing against each other lightly along the way. Jimmy Wong sang in their ears. They entered the theater, quiet and empty, and took a flight of stairs down to the area below the stage. It was cool and still. The only light came through cracks in the ceiling above, just enough to see.

Hope said, "I didn't even know this was here."

"I work backstage, in the theater program. This is where they store all the props."

Plastic boxes filled with fake swords and dresses and tophats were strewn about. Music stands which looked like thin, tuxedoed men standing against the walls.

"You ever act onstage?"

Faye hesitated. "No."

"Why not?"

They sat on the floor by a pillar. Shoulder to shoulder. Their backs touched the concrete. Hope's hoodie spilled over onto Faye's left arm, like a blanket.

"I have... scars." Faye's heart lurched. She chuckled nervously. "I don't want people to see them."

Hope's eyes were two full moons side by side in the dark as she looked over Faye. Her gaze picked apart the patches on her face. She came in close, closer, until Faye felt her breath and the heat of her body and the strands of Hope's hair touching her face.

"I have scars too."

Faye awoke. The warmth she felt on her lips was stolen from her.

She stirred under the covers, the dim outline of all her furniture around her. The sun hadn't even risen yet. Her phone buzzed on her nightstand and she picked it up.

"Your Majesty."

"Yes?"

"The Congress has asked you to appear at a private meeting in two hours. Furthermore, a journalist from the Evening Post wants to interview you about your health."

"Tell the Congress I'll be there. Don't answer the reporter yet."

"At once, Your Majesty."

Faye hung up and limped into the bathroom, where she looked in the mirror and saw a red splotch of skin traveling down her face. Since the news broke of her condition, the flare ups had gotten worse. One more thing she had to hide. Faye reached for her makeup, but hesitated. She went back to her nightstand and got her phone and dialed a number.

“Faye?” Behind HR’s voice was the sound of pots and pans clanging.

“Are you busy?” Faye asked.

“Just cooking breakfast for Naomi. I can talk.”

Faye sat down at her bedside. She fought the urge to curl up and go back to sleep. “My father used to tell me a story. Shakyamuni was on a boat with 500 passengers. Using his powers, he looked into his past life and saw that there was a thief, a murderer, on the boat. Someone who lived off of killing people and taking their belongings, and Shakyamuni saw in his vision that the thief would kill someone on this boat. He was faced with a dilemma. Let the thief kill someone, and allow that innocent passenger and their family to suffer- or kill the thief and ruin his enlightenment.”

HR said nothing.

“You know what he did?”

“He killed the thief,” HR said. “Out of compassion and love for the other passengers on the boat.”

“Then tell me why I shouldn’t lock the Freedom Caucus inside their headquarters and burn it to the ground.”

“Shakyamuni was reborn in hell for what he did. He suffered for eons.”

“I would choose rebirth in hell a thousand times over if it meant achieving a world without suffering.”

“That’s not quite what I meant. Are you prepared for what such an act might entail? The consequences will last far after you or I are dead.”

“I am.”

“I do not think that you are. You are too attached to our vision. So much so that it is consuming you, blinding you.”

Faye massaged her temples. “Maybe you’re not attached enough.”

“Your father and I saw the consequences of killing firsthand. It is not the end-all be-all solution you are envisioning. If there are nonviolent means to resolve a problem, I will exhaust all of them.”

“Did that work for the NCR?” Faye asked.

HR paused for a moment, which made Faye’s heart begin to race. “Shakyamuni made his decision carefully. I trust that you will too. But perhaps all this is a sign— perhaps your work turning the wheel is done.”

“...”

“Faye?”

She hung up. Faye looked out the window of her apartment, where the biosphere across the bay was sparkling against a brightening sky. This can’t be it. Hope’s words were a comfort, an embrace, a vision for the world Faye wanted to create.

“I have scars too.”

Laplace Arc

Episode 7

Two guards took the prisoner by each of his arms. Between them, and with the insignia emblazoned on the back of the two guards' uniforms, the prisoner looked like a cursor hovering between two repeated words:

`GENDARMERIE`

He was led to a van, where he sat jostling with several other armed men as the vehicle traversed the damaged streets of Belle Chasse. Craters in the sidewalk, from long-exploded mortars, still lingered. Buildings stood partially collapsed, some completely reduced to only concrete foundations standing guard, supporting walls and ceilings that no longer existed. The air was thick with the sound of construction vehicles and excavators, workers sifting through the rubble to salvage what they could. Through the reinforced windows of the van, the prisoner could see the galleries lining the buildings downtown. He himself had been here some months ago. Him and a friend had used one of these galleries as a sniper’s nest. They had killed many that day- and despite the fact that the war had been lost, the prisoner held no regret for what he did. His life had been over the moment he shot that soldier in Grand Coteau. Though maybe in the twilight of his life, he could find comfort in knowing he tried to avenge the friends he lost.

Emerging at the other end of the French Quarter, the van slowed to a stop outside of the Capitol building. The back doors opened, allowing the muggy Laplacian heat to spill into the vehicle.

“Ne tentez rien,” one of the guards told him.

They grabbed the prisoner, their nails digging into his arm. His orange jumpsuit was patted down and the prisoner was pushed through a metal detector. When the guards were satisfied he had no tricks up his sleeve, the prisoner was led into the Council chamber where the ceiling soared up into a gilded dome. A chandelier hung from the center which bathed the room in a warm glow. In the center of the room was a circular table where, flanked on all sides by military men and politicians, General Vincent Guilloux sat. All eyes were on the prisoner as he was led in. They stopped him at a stone’s throw from the General. The two peered at each other for a silent moment.

“Ils ont dit que tu avais quelque chose d'important à me dire,” The General said. “I want to hear it for myself. Would you like to sit down?”

The prisoner, still handcuffed, walked up to one of the chairs and obliged. Sitting in this chair was the most comfortable he’d felt in weeks— all he had in his cell was a toilet and a dingy cot.

“What’s your name?” The General asked.

“Mersault,” said the prisoner.

“And where are you from, Mersault?”

“I was born in Trou Dans Le Terre, but most of my childhood was in Grand Coteau.”

The General looked away, like he was looking out at the rippling waters of Lake Moreau. “Beautiful out there,” he said. “Even when it was a warzone. I was leading a campaign down there before I was called to Belle Chasse, to help take the capital. Maybe we saw each other?” The General smiled grimly.

“Maybe you were on the other end of my rifle,” said Mersault.

“Should have been faster on the trigger, then.”

The General’s words lingered. He was thinking of his father, who was born in Grand Coteau. At a younger age, maybe not unlike the prisoner before him. Yet here they stood.

“I was told that you saw foreign fighters in Laplace.”

“Saw them? I smoked with them. They gave us ammunition, rations, even helped fix our rifles.”

“I see.”

“They never fought, though. They’d always leave before it got too hot.”

“Did they say who they were?”

“They took great care to hide their identity,” said Mersault. “One night, I was taking a piss out in the woods. I heard them talking to each other as they were getting their boat ready to go and leave. They were speaking Chinese.”

The General raised an eyebrow. The politicians at the table around him looked at each other. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’m sure.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me, Mersault? Four months ago, I would have leapt across this table to put a blade through your skull.”

“Near the end of the war, their help stopped coming. They abandoned us— let us starve.” The prisoner looked over. “I understand we’re on opposite sides of history. But, in this case, I think we can agree.”

The General scratched his chin. “Perhaps we can.”

Episode 8 - "All The Proof I Need"

The humidity was what struck Faye the most. She had not felt such oppressive humidity since her childhood in southern China, and with it flooded in a surge of memories that accompanied her out of the VTOL, onto the tarmac of DuBois International Airport. A crowd had gathered, greeting Ming-liang with warm applause, and two smiling government agents shook her hand.

“Welcome to Laplace,” they said.

Faye spent the next few days being led all over Belle Chasse. Meeting diplomats, scouting out sites where factories would be built with the Consortium’s logo on them. Between each destination a Gurkha-driven limousine would cart her from place to place, and she would look out the window at the towns and cities ravaged by war. Had this been what HR and her father had seen, many years before she was born? To be able to help these places rebuild— Faye felt some semblance of pride, like her father’s death had not been in vain. Despite this, something troubled her. She had one person left to meet. Faye blinked and suddenly she was at another luncheon, at some high-end restaurant in the French Quarter. Picking away at a plate of jambalaya, surrounded by Laplacian government officials and Novenae’s top CEOs. When the conversation moved away from her, Faye leaned over to a man eating at an adjacent table. She spoke in a low voice.

“When the hell do I get to meet this General?” she asked.

Lau turned away from his meal to look at her. Facial prosthetics changed most of his appearance, but his eyes still looked the same. “Tomorrow.”

“On the very last day?”

Lau shrugged. “It’s strange, for sure. But, he’s a busy guy.”

Faye turned back around. That night, she sat by the window of her hotel room in her pajamas, looking out at Lake Chalmette where the shadows of winding marshlands were on the horizon. The next morning, she awoke to Lau knocking on her door.

“A limo’s parked outside, they’ll take you to the capitol.”

After getting dressed, Faye walked the halls of the hotel, lined with Gurkhas and Laplacian military alike. Out onto the front step, where a Laplacian soldier held open the limousine’s door.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Lau said over her shoulder as she climbed in and the door was shut.

Faye was surprised to see General Vincent Guilloux sitting in the backseat next to her.

“General Guilloux,” Faye exclaimed. “I assumed you were going to meet me at the capitol building.”

The General was taller than he seemed in his photos. His legs bent to fit into the footwell. Guilloux wore his service uniform- a grey military coat with golden buttons, pockets lined with ribbons and various awards. He flashed a crooked smile.

“You’re our special guest,” he said.

They shook hands, and Faye noticed that he was missing two fingers. The skin on one side of his neck was badly scarred. The limousine started on its way, entering the heart of the French Quarter.

“I see that you’ve been busy with the Consortium,” The General said.

“Yes,” Faye said. “My heart aches for the people here who’ve lost everything. I think we’ll be able to do some great work here in Laplace, after some concessions have been made.”

“Concessions?”

“I really would like to see a sapient rights clause added to your upcoming constitution. I think it would set the right tone for both of us going forward.”

“These things will come in due time, Ms. Ming-liang. We’re still getting word from each parish about what such a constitution would even look like.” The General paused and looked out the window. “I have a question for you, Ms. Ming-liang.”

Faye raised an eyebrow. “What is it?

“Historically, Novenae did not dip her toes in foreign affairs. Your founder… SR?”

“HR,” Faye corrected him.

“Right. He said that Novenae would forever remain neutral. Yet, here you are, a couple hundred kilometers away, and now you’re building factories and offices and pledging millions of marks on a foreign nation. Why?”

Faye thought for a moment. “You of all people would know that sometimes the best defense is a good offense. I found that HR was too satisfied to let the rest of the world rot while Novenae stood alone— but the rot creeps in, General. It is not enough to stand on the sidelines. Our continent is too interconnected, we are too dependent on one another. If we are to uplift ourselves then we must uplift others too.”

“Uplift?” The General chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like LeBlanc. He wanted to uplift, too. In order to lift someone up, however, you must inevitably push someone else down.”

“What do you mean?” Faye felt herself begin to sweat.

The General pursed his lips. “How close were you with LeBlanc?”

“I only knew him through reports from our intelligence. I never paid him much mind. I was tied up with the Consortium and our housing programs, I didn’t have time.”

Faye realized that they had left the French Quarter. She turned around, looking through the limousine’s rear window. Lau’s car, which had been following closely behind them, was blocked by two military trucks. Faye saw Lau get out of the driver’s side and the two looked at each other one last time as the limousine pulled onto a highway, and Lau’s figure disappeared over the horizon.

“Where are we going?”

The General didn’t say anything for a while and he stared at the buildings of Belle Chasse getting shorter and shorter as they reached the outskirts of the city.

“We’re going to see some of your handiwork.”

Soon, instead of buildings, there were gnarled trees outside the limousine windows with twisted branches reaching out over the roadway, and they were heading deeper and deeper into the bayou. The two sat in an uncomfortable silence. Faye contemplated jumping out of the vehicle- but what then?

“I don’t know what you’re doing, Guilloux,” Faye said. “But it’s-”

“We’re almost there,” The General interrupted her curtly.

They drove up a winding dirt road on the edge of a waterway, where a house stood upon the swamp. The house’s wood paneling was partially rotted, and a silver moss spread out along the roof like veins. A wooden dock wrapped around the side meeting the water. Behind it was a screened porch through which Faye could make out shadows moving around within.

The General looked at her. “Please get out.”

Faye opened the limousine door, her heels sinking into the sodden dirt. Laplacian soldiers hid in bushes watching the roadway behind them.

“From now on, I need complete honesty,” The General said. “No more bullshit.”

He led her up to the front door, which creaked as he pushed it open. The inside of the home was pitch black. Candles were placed on dressers and tables, lighting the way through the living room and onto the porch. Two soldiers stood on either side of the room. This was evidently more than just a house— Faye saw that ammo canisters were lined up against the walls, and holes were poked in the screen windows big enough for the barrel of a rifle. A sofa had been pushed against the wall and several rifles rested on the cushions. Opened MRE scraps were piled in the corner.

“What is this?” Faye asked.

“This house was owned by a family who voted against LeBlanc. When the war broke out, LeBlanc’s army killed them and took this house as an outpost to monitor our advance from Grand Coteau. Come and see.”

They walked out onto the dock. Faye could hear the sound of water sloshing against wooden beams under their feet. In front of them, cypress trees erupted out of a dense swamp that stretched as far as Faye could see. A nearby swan, floating on a patch of salvinia, looked over at them and flew away. The sound of frogs croaking and cicadas singing their song made the air pulse. It was especially odd not seeing a skyscraper in the distance, or hearing cars honking their horns nearby. It was like she had left civilization entirely.

“Each of them were brought out onto the dock— a mother, a father, a daughter— and killed one by one,” said the General. “Then the soldiers pushed their bodies into the water.”

Faye looked down and saw dried blood splatters along the floor. They formed an arrow which pointed over the edge of the dock. The water itself was too murky to see through. Faye imagined the family’s bodies staring back at her, like Jack Qu’s disembodied head.

“We took a lot of prisoners during the War,” the General continued. “You know what one of them told me? They told me that foreigners were giving them supplies. That’s why it was so damn tough to take out LeBlanc’s army, even after we bombed their factories and their farms. They were getting help from the outside.”

“You have no proof that it was Novenae,” Faye said. Her eyes drifted from the General, to the water, and back to him.

“Ms. Ming-liang, you being here is all the proof I need.” The General’s coat blew in the wind, parting enough that Faye could see a revolver holstered at his side.

“Wait, just wait,” Faye said. “I have your people’s best interests in mind, Vincent. I want nothing more than for all of them to be housed, fed and in good health. That’s more than can be said for the king in Balancía, or the tyrant scientist. Given the factions currently on this continent, Laplace’s options are scant. You can bring me back to Belle Chasse and we can pretend this all never happened.”

The General’s mouth hung slightly agape.

“I don’t revel in the choices I have to make,” Faye continued, desperately trying to fill the silence. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve spent laying awake, wondering if this is all worth it. But I’m trying to secure a future for ourselves, where we don’t have to suffer anymore. I’m trying to save your lives.”

“Is that so?” The General stared off into the distance for a moment. His mind seemed to go somewhere else. Maybe flitting through memories of crouching waist deep in swamp water, bullets crackling over his head, with his home razed to the ground behind him and a hundred uncertain miles to the capital before him. There was a lull in the call of the cicadas when his eyes focused back on Faye. “You can tell that to them.”

As the General pulled out his gun in one smooth motion, Faye leapt off the side of the dock. The rushing sound of water filled Faye’s ears. She saw nothing but silt kicked up, swirling around her in all directions. There were six muffled impacts as the General’s bullets hit the water and even more as the Laplacian soldiers joined in. Faye swam as fast as she could, as far as her lungs would allow her to go. When her chest felt as if it were about to burst with the desire for oxygen, she surfaced. She spun around, looking back at the house. The General was staring straight back at her as he calmly reloaded his revolver. The remaining soldiers were frantically moving about at the coastline. Faye took another breath and dove underwater again. Eventually she bumped into trees and upon surfacing found herself in a dense flooded forest where she could no longer see the house behind her. The water’s surface teemed with duckweed and cordgrass brushing against her shoulders. She swam to the base of one tree and rested against it. Her muscles ached; she felt sick. She needed her prednisone. Her blouse was sodden and covered in mud and her heels had been lost somewhere in the commotion. She spat out some swamp water in her mouth, startling a nearby frog which paddled away. A heron perched on a nearby tree branch looked at her curiously.

Before, she certainly would have been crying by this point, but all she felt now was a deep, unyielding anger.

Episode 9 - "Righteous Fire"

Maurice was awoken by his King Charles Spaniel, who smothered him with kisses until he stirred and reached for his glasses on the bedside table. René was still asleep next to him. In her stupor, she turned away from the morning sun pouring in through the windows. The kids were already awake and Maurice’s oldest had poured them all bowls of cereal. As Maurice walked into the kitchen, he greeted each one of them with a hug and kiss on the forehead.

“Good morning, papa,” they all said.

“It’s a beautiful day today,” Maurice said while pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Why don’t we all go outside? It’ll do us some good after being cooped up for so long.”

Once breakfast was finished and all the bowls of cereal were piled up in the dishwasher, Maurice heard the clacking of the front screen door as the kids ran out. “Hey!” he yelled. “Did you kids get dressed?” When there was no reply, he scoffed, and resumed putting on his jeans. Maurice made his way out to the porch with a tablet tucked under his arm. He lowered himself down onto a rocking chair and basked in the sun for a moment. He heard only the sounds of the kids playing by the edge of the swamp. No more gunfire in the distance, no more mortars or jets flying by. Maybe he could even get rid of that stupid bomb shelter. Maurice opened the tablet to some news stories he had downloaded while he was in town. Even though the war was over, Laplace wasn’t out of the woods yet, not even close. Maurice wondered how he’d be able to get food on the table. The kids’ chatter suddenly got quiet.

“Papa! There’s somebody here!”

Maurice bolted up and let the tablet fall, running as fast as he could in the direction of their voices. When he arrived, his three children were gathered in a circle around a woman lying partially submerged in the swamp. Mud covered her from the neck down, caked under her nails and around her arms. She’d seemingly clawed her way onto land. Short, ink black strands of hair went every which way over her face, covering her eyes and her nose.

“Step away, now. All of you,” Maurice commanded. He cursed under his breath as the children took a step back. He shortened his gait as his boots began to sink into the mud. He stooped over, placing two fingers against the woman’s neck, resting them there.

“Is she alive?” one of his kids asked.

“Quiet.”

Don’t be dead, Maurice thought. I cannot have a dead woman wash up on my property. I got enough problems already. He felt a faint, gentle twitching at his fingertips.

“She’s alive,” Maurice said. He turned to his children. “Go wake your mother up, tell her to run a bath.”

As the kids ran off, Maurice put an arm on the small of her back and the other behind her knees, picking her up. The swamp water drained from her blouse onto the grass, leaving a trail that followed them all the way back to the house through the main hall into the bathroom. Maurice lowered the woman into the bathtub. The mud immediately began to dissolve, mixing with the sudsy water. Maurice stood over the woman, René behind him, and finally the children and the dog eavesdropping on them from down the hall.

“Who the hell is that, Maurice?” René asked. “Is she dead?”

“No, she’s not dead. I don’t know who she is. The kids found her washed up on the shore.”

René fidgeted anxiously. “What are we going to do?”

Maurice sighed. “Maybe we can go into town, drop her off at the hospital before anyone notices us.”

“What if the police come looking?”

Maurice sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” His voice trailed off.

“Let’s get her cleaned up first,” René said, massaging her husband’s shoulder. “Then we can decide.”

The two went to work scrubbing away at the woman’s arms and legs, revealing her pale white skin underneath all the sludge. They exchanged her blouse for one of René’s, and brushed her hair out of her face. She had a flat, button nose and eyes shaped like almonds. She wasn’t Laplacian, that was for sure. Maurice thought she looked familiar but he pushed the feeling aside. When she was clean they blow dried her hair and Maurice brought her into his oldest’s room, placing her on the bed. The woman slept peacefully. The dog had followed Maurice in and was licking its lips nervously at his feet.

“C’mon Bubba. We should let her sleep,” Maurice said. He placed a full glass of water at the bedside table and beckoned the dog out of the room, the door swinging shut behind them.

Faye tossed and turned. She felt water and mud swirling in her ears and stinging her eyes. She heard the cacophony of gunfire beating against the water’s surface. Three corpses lined the bottom of the riverbed, frozen in their last moments. Faye suddenly awoke. She sat up. Her eyes darted around the room. A bedroom— not the same house Guilloux brought her to. This one was cleaner. There was a window by the bedside and she parted the curtains to see nothing but cypress trees and insects swirling around in the morning breeze. She suddenly spotted the glass of water by the bedside table and grabbed it. She gulped it down in one sitting. Looking around, she saw movie posters along the walls all written in French. There was a wardrobe next to her and a wooden desk against the far wall, where a book lay half opened. She heard hushed voices talking behind the door leading out of the bedroom. She searched the desk’s drawers, even the wardrobe, for anything she could use as a weapon. Nothing. Just children’s clothing and comic books and stowed away stuffed animals. Whatever was on the other side, she would have to face alone. Faye’s heart raced. She clasped her hand over the doorknob and gently turned it.

Maurice and René were standing at the end of the hall face to face.

“I’ll take her,” Maurice said. “I go into town all the time for groceries. No one sees me.”

“This is different, Mo,” René said. “She could be a missing person. The police might think you did something to her. They’ll want answers.”

Maurice noticed Faye peeking out from behind the door, and they both looked over.

“You’re awake,” Maurice said.

Faye held her hands up. “Stay back. I’m warning you.”

“She doesn’t speak French,” Maurice said. “Calm down, ma’am. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Are you one of Guilloux’s men? Where are we?”

“No, no. My name’s Maurice. This is my home.”

Faye looked down the hallway. There were family portraits hung along the walls. A crude stick-figure drawing was etched in crayon in the corner, parts of it having been unsuccessfully scrubbed off.

“My kids found you by the swamp. You were in rough shape. I hope you don’t mind that we cleaned you up.”

Faye stared down at herself, taking notice of her new clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief. “No. That’s quite alright. Thank you.”

“Much obliged,” Maurice said. He walked up to Faye and they shook hands. His handshake was gentle. “What should I call you?”

“Faye. My name’s Faye.”

“Well, Faye, this is my wife René, and my three kids here. And Bubba, of course. You can leave right now if you want. It’s twenty kilometers to the next town and I can drive you. But I’m curious to know how you ended up in my front yard, if you don’t mind me asking,” Maurice and Faye shared a chuckle and Faye felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. “Won’t you join us for supper?”

Faye’s stomach grumbled. “Absolutely.”

Ten minutes later Faye was seated at the dining room table. René stirred a pot on the kitchen stove with a wooden spoon, filling the room with a savory scent. Maurice fixed her a green tea and she took long sips, gradually washing the taste of swamp water out of her mouth.

“So, what happened?” Maurice said. He poured himself some green tea and sat at the table across from her. René listened intently from the kitchen.

“The last thing I remember was being on a fishing trip,” Faye said. She chuckled. “I somehow convinced myself I could do it all alone. My boat capsized, and I remember treading water for ages. Then, I must have lost consciousness.”

“You poor thing,” René said. She grabbed a ladle and scooped a stew of shrimp, chicken, and sausage into three bowls. She picked up the bowls and placed one in front of Faye.

“This looks delicious. What is it called?”

“Gumbo,” Maurice said. “René makes the best gumbo north of Lake Chalmette. *If you don’t count her mother-in-law’s*.”

Faye chuckled. She finished her food within just a few minutes— she hadn’t eaten since that restaurant in the French Quarter.

“I take it you’re not from Laplace,” Maurice said.

“No. I’m visiting my nephew.” Faye tried her best to remember the details she fabricated for Maurice, knowing she might have to keep her story straight later. “Do you have a phone I could use to call him?”

“Unfortunately not,” Maurice said. “There’s no cell service out here. In town there’ll be plenty of phones for you to use.” René glanced at her husband quickly, after he mentioned the word “town”.

“You all are quite isolated,” Faye said. “Forgive me, I don’t venture out of the city often. Where do your children go to school?”

“Oh, we homeschool them.” Maurice shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Faye wondered if she should push her luck. Maybe if they were annoyed, they’d get her to town faster. “Homeschool? That sounds like quite a handful.”

“We have our disagreements with the schools here,” René piped up. “We thought it’d be better if we did the teaching.”

“Don’t trust the public schools?” Faye asked.

“No, not at all.” Maurice said. He chuckled, then paused. “Where did you say you were from?”

“I’m Wiltshirian,” Faye lied.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before… are you a celebrity?” Maurice asked.

“Not really. I’m an attorney.”

Maurice squinted. “You don’t look Wiltshirian.” Suddenly, thunder made the house briefly tremble. He scooted his chair over to a nearby window and looked up to see clouds as dark as slate reaching over their heads. “Shit. Looks like it’ll rain.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“Trouble is that the roads can flood when it rains. It’ll be dangerous to try and drive into town now.”

“You can use our oldest’s bedroom,” René said. “You two can drive there in the morning.”

After thirty minutes, and with some help from the kids, Faye’s new bedroom was done up with fresh sheets and every trace of the previous occupant neatly filed away. Faye ran her fingers along the covers. It reminded her of when she would get home from school as a child, and her amah had cleaned the house. That was a memory she had not considered in a long time. That house was now burnt to the ground, in a continent that she had long since abandoned hope for.

Hope.

If Hope were here now, what would she say?  She’d probably plop herself on the bedsheets, spread out, like she did when they went to her dorm room in college. Then she’d prop her head up with one arm, her other arm resting on her hip, and she might say:

“This bed is better with you in it.”

Then Faye would sit down next to her, feeling the warmth of her body, and Hope might say:

“That couple is hiding something.”

Goosebumps travelled up Faye’s arms. She began to realize that the aching in her muscles was back, and that she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. After a few hours when the world outside of the window was pitch black, save for the half moon’s pale glow through the rain clouds, Faye gently opened her door. The hallway was empty and quiet, though occasionally she heard shuffling from the adjacent rooms. Distant thunder made the house shudder once more. She moved into the living room, past where the dog lay quietly sleeping, and into the kitchen. Picking out one of the drawers René used at supper, she opened it to reveal various cutlery lined up side by side. One of the compartments sported a large chef’s knife which she picked up by its black handle. The blade reflected only the faint glint of whatever moonlight reached the window.

“Faye?”

Faye spun around, pushing the knife into her pants pocket. The lights in the kitchen came on.

“You gave me a start,” Maurice said. His glasses were off and he was in dark blue pajamas.

“I’m so sorry,” Faye stammered. “I was trying to get a glass of water.”

“The glasses aren’t in that drawer. They’re over here.” Maurice sidled up and retrieved two glasses for them, filling them up at the tap. He handed one to Faye.

“Thank you.”

Maurice sipped his water. “Faye, I need to ask you something.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“You weren’t really going fishing, were you?”

Faye didn’t say anything. She felt the knife in her pocket pressing down on her leg.

“When the kids found you, you were wearing this dress. All business-like. Formal. Like you were going to work at an office or something.”

Faye took a sip of water which allowed her to think for a moment. “Maurice, if you would like to know my secrets, then I need something in exchange. Why are you so worried about the police?”

Maurice shook his head. “Damn. You heard us.”

“It’s nothing I should be concerned about, is it?”

Maurice sighed. He leaned against the kitchen countertop. “We used to be God-fearing people. We used to go to church every Sunday, like a good Christian family. Then my eldest was born. He was always… different. He never liked the things that boys his age normally like. Then he started to get older, and you know how it is, these boys start to get crushes and things like that. So we waited, and we waited, but he never said anything about who he liked or if he wanted to date a girl. And we thought ‘well, he’s just waiting for the right woman to come along.’ But the thing is, it wasn’t a woman he was looking for.”

Faye looked at Maurice as he paused.

“The way he is… people began to realize, and they didn’t like it. Not one bit. It was against how they believed things ought to be, and so they shunned him. And we shunned him too, because that’s what we were taught to do. And one day, at Sunday school, this group of boys beat him to a bloody pulp and the priest did nothing about it. Nothing at all. So I burned that church to the ground, and I burned my bible and my cross because something in me screamed that everything I’d learned up to that point was wrong.”

“Wow,” was all Faye could think to say.

“The church and the government in Laplace are like this.” He took his index and middle fingers and wrapped them around each other. “So the police have been looking for me ever since. One day, I hope that everyone can have the realization I did. That’ll be the Ascent of Man.”

They stood in silence in the kitchen for a moment listening to the sound of Bubba snoring and the rain pattering against the window.

“Well,” Maurice said. He crossed his arms. “Go on, then. Your turn.”

Episode 10 - "Escape from Belle Chasse"

Two trucks blocked either side of the road and, between them, Faye’s limo was getting smaller and smaller. It reminded Lau of the end of a film, when the edges of the screen would narrow before the credits began to roll. He didn’t like it one bit. Lau threw open the car door.

“What the hell are you guys doing? We’re the security detail!” he yelled.

Two Laplacian soldiers stepped out of each truck with their rifles trained at his chest.

“Oh shit.”

Lau dove back into the car as a volley of gunfire echoed across the street. The windshield was peppered with bullet holes. The Gurkha in the passenger seat drew a submachine gun from under his vest and began to return fire. Lau peeked out from behind the dashboard, bullets grazing the top of his head, and slammed on the gas pedal. Lau’s car careened forward and pinned two of the Laplacian soldiers against their own truck. Lau quickly reversed, the tires screeching as the car whipped around and accelerated in the opposite direction. The highway that the limo had taken raised up and over the outskirts of Belle Chasse, continuing on outwards towards the countryside. He needed to find another on-ramp. Lau weaved through narrow streets of shotgun homes and creole cottages. The roads were a patchwork of craters, potholes and partially laid asphalt. The houses were all different colors— cyan, purple, pink— spilling right up against the sidewalk. Some had balconies lined with iron that curled their way up and along the sides of each home.

“Sam, you alright?” Lau asked. He kept eyeing the empty roadway behind them in the rearview mirror.

“I’m good,” said the Gurkha in the passenger’s seat. “I was hit, but my armor caught it.”

“Awesome. Let’s figure out where we’re at.” Lau threw his phone at the Gurkha, who caught it and opened up the maps application. “We need to get on that highway.”

“Looks like we need to turn left. No, right.”

“Left or right?”

“Right. Now!”

Lau’s car swerved at the next intersection, nearly colliding with through traffic. The sounds of horns honking faded into the sound of the car’s engine revving.

Lau looked at the rearview again. “No perimeter or anything. They’re not even following us. Fucking idiots.”

As they pulled onto a slip road, they saw yet another Laplacian military truck blocking their way. Two soldiers got out with rifles slung across their chests. Sam moved to raise his weapon again when Lau suddenly floored it. The hood of Lau’s car smashed into the side of the truck, knocking everyone backwards. Their tires squealed like a wounded animal and smoke was thrown up in a great cloud behind them as the military truck was shoved to the side and they broke out onto the highway.

“Sorry about that,” Lau said as Sam pulled himself upright in his seat. “Pull up the tracker.”

Sam pulled up a map on Lau’s phone to see a purple blip gliding along the freeway several kilometers ahead of them. It was the tracker embedded in Faye’s necklace. “They’re just up ahead.”

“Okay. How much ammo you got?”

Sam pulled the magazine out of his gun. “This one’s halfway, and the two mags in my pockets.”

“I’ll try to pull up next to them,” Lau said. “See if you can shoot out their tires. If not, I’ll try a pit maneuver.”

Lau threaded expertly through Laplace’s morning commuters. In a past life, he’d done things like this as a police officer in Kiuh Saang. He would never tell anyone, but he had missed it. Working for the Institute of Peacekeeping & Intelligence kept him mostly out of sight, dropping burner phones on the doorsteps of diplomats. It was nice to be in the field again. Nothing could compare. Lau was pulled from his thoughts when the highway began to dip down to ground level, aligning itself with a railroad track.

“Where are they going?” Lau asked.

“Don’t know. There’s nothing in this direction.”

Not good. The wilderness was ripe for conducting executions and torture. No neighbors to complain about the sounds of gunfire or screaming. Lau would know. Goddammit. I should have never let her get into that limo, he thought. It had been a long time since someone had pulled the rug out from under him like this. Maybe he was growing soft. Lau’s eyes widened as he saw the roadway ahead. A police cruiser was parked off to the side, and an officer was crouched down by the asphalt with something in his hands. The object suddenly shot out across the roadway and unfolded into a line of spikes. Lau tried to brake, but it was too late, and he felt his tires give out under his feet. Lau’s car began to lose speed. He went as far as he could but eventually the car rolled to a stop. They were at the side of the road where the highway was to one side and a dense forest was on the other. The two men stared at each other in silence for a moment, the lack of noise or movement leaving a vacuum except for the reality that the woman they spent their lives protecting was now gone. This realization was interrupted by the sound of sirens approaching from the distance.

“It’s been an honor, sir,” Sam said.

“No. Fuck it,” Lau said. He let out an animalistic grunt. “We’ll go on foot. Fuck it.”

The two men got out, opening the trunk. There were several magazines of ammunition, a first aid kit, and two rifles which they grabbed. Together they hurried off into the woods, leaving only their empty car for the Laplacian police to find. They hiked for several kilometers. Their legs ached and were scraped up by thorns and bramble. Their stomachs gnawed with the desire for food. But they were used to hunger, and they were used to pain. Pain signified their loyalty to Novenae, and their commitment to a world without suffering. It was nightfall when the two men arrived at the house nestled in the swamp, where Faye's tracker had died. A pale moss was draped over a roof which sagged with rot. Approaching cautiously, they made their way up to the home’s front door.

“On me,” Lau said. Sam stacked up behind him. Lau twisted the doorknob and, with their rifles drawn, the two men flowed into an empty living room lit by the faint glow of candles. One by one, they cleared each room, the barrels of their rifles moving in a perfect symphony. They worked their way onto the screen porch and finally the dock wrapping around the side of the home.

“No,” Lau gasped. He spotted a dried trail of blood at the dock’s end. Trembling, he inhaled. His rifle clattered onto the wooden planks. “I don’t know what I was expecting. I— I thought maybe they’d keep her alive.” He took up clumps of his black hair in his hands, squeezing to the point of ripping them out one by one.

Sam scanned the lake around them, where the sun was slipping under the water line, giving way to night. “Sir, look,” he said. He pointed to a single high heel, drifting on the other side of the bayou.

Lau breathed a sigh of relief. “She swam. She got out. Might have gotten out.”

“But there’s still a chance,” Sam replied. The crickets droned deeply around them. Sparks of light appeared here and there— fireflies igniting in the dark. “What now, sir?”

“We’ll sleep here tonight, head out in the morning. Then we’ll find her.”

So they did, taking turns sleeping and keeping a lookout until the sun rose again. They set out towards the nearest town which took them two hours of walking to reach. The term “town” was used liberally here— this was a smattering of shops, a gas station, and a motel nestled within a plateau in the bayou. The town bordered a dense forest where the men found a spot and buried their rifles, covering them with leaves and dirt until they were no longer visible, leaving them with only their sidearms tucked into their trousers. They ate ravenously at a nearby restaurant, then rented a motel room where they drew the curtains and laid all their equipment out on the bed. Lau picked up his phone and dialed a number.

“What is your callsign?” A robotic voice said on the other end.

“IPI-2730. Longlegs.”

“What is the purpose of your call?”

“It’s one minute to midnight.”

“Is the Emperor dead or alive?”

“Unknown.”

“Received.”

The line went dead. With that, every IPI asset in Laplace would be activated and pointed their way. Soon, the Secretary of Defense would be notified and the Security Council would meet to draw up a plan to rescue the Governor-General. Despite knowing all this, Lau felt utterly detached from all of these processes, like him and Sam were still completely alone.

“Her tracker died here,” Sam pointed to a satellite view of the house which they had found. “She must have swam straight across, to the other side of this inlet. There’s no telling what direction she went after that.”

“What direction would you go?” Lau asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

Sam scratched his chin. “If I was scared, straight ahead. As far away as possible.” Sam scrolled over the heads of an army of cypress trees, going on and on. “That just goes further into the swamp. Plus, she might have gotten disoriented. We don’t know if she went in a straight line.”

“Eventually, she’d get tired,” Lau said. “What direction does the water flow?”

“Southeast, maybe. That’s where the nearest outlet to Lake Chalmette is.”

“So let’s say she floated southeast.”

Sam zoomed out, following the curling waterways, imagining Her Majesty floating on the water’s surface looking back up at them. “A few houses here. We can sweep the shoreline, too, but it’ll take a while.”

“We need a way to get around quickly,” Lau said. “I am *not* walking again.”

Sam leaned back, peeking out of the curtains of their motel room. Across the road was a lot with golf carts parked out front. Lau peeked over his shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Forty minutes later their golf cart was headed down a dirt road deep in the Laplacian forest. A blanket of nacreous clouds was being pulled over their heads, and they could see glimpses of it in the sky whenever the tree branches relented. They parked their vehicle nearby to a river and killed the engine. Now the forest was still with the sound of water playing against the shore and birds singing their song. The men got out and began to conduct a search of the shoreline. Lau used to do this with a bloodhound and a team of cops behind him. Now, all he could do was lay out the objects of the forest in his mind, as if they lined the tables of a banquet hall. He spotted a bush along the water, one of its branches broken leaving the white cross section of its insides exposed. Animals seldom broke these, unless they were in a hurry. Maybe the branch had snapped in someone’s hand, weakly grasping out, trying to slow themselves from floating further down the way? As his boots came to be sodden with mud, he found a patch of salvinia that blossomed out from the land. Part of it had been disturbed, eroded by the shape of something passing by. A passing duck or frog, or the body of a person? The police academy had taught Lau not to impose his assumptions on the evidence— the evidence would come to its own conclusion, regardless of what he wanted. But at this moment, he couldn’t help himself.

“Sir, do you hear that?” Sam asked.

Lau made out the sound of an engine cutting through the water, steadily approaching. The two men got on their stomachs, pressing their bodies flat against divots in the ground. Peeking up, they saw a boat with the word “GENDARMERIE” on its hull passing through the water. A soldier on a machine gun stood on the bow, while another three were at the helm. The soldiers all chatted away with each other in French. Eventually, the boat paused for a moment at a crook in the river just ahead of them before finally disappearing. As Lau and Sam stood up, thunder rang out across the bayou like old church bells. It would rain soon.

“Was she here?” Sam asked.

“Maybe. But when it rains, all the tracks are gonna get washed away.” Lau thought of the passing gunboat. “For better or for worse.”

Lau took one last, long look at the forest. Like one of those children’s picture books, he hoped that Faye’s face would be hidden under a leaf or superimposed on a pile of twigs. What he saw startled him, and he suddenly rushed over to where a group of cypress trees lowered themselves down into the water.

Caught on the base of one of the roots, he picked up a shimmering, pearl necklace.

Episode 11 - "Your Pain is Mine Now"

“It’s a forty minute drive to the nearest town,” Maurice said.

Maurice, René, and Faye sat at the kitchen table while the morning sun rose well over the trees. The family’s dog lapped up its breakfast from a silver bowl at their feet. A map of Laplace was splayed out on the table before them, nestled between the plates full of grits and scrambled eggs and cups of coffee. Maurice’s finger followed a road winding through the bayou. Waterways pierced the land, curling like the fronds of a great plant.

“The police are gonna be out in full force lookin’ for you, so we shouldn’t stay long. We’ll stop by a diner where you can make a call. Then your friends can meet us here,” he pointed to a spot secluded in the woods. “It’s an old steel mill I used to work at, abandoned since the war. There won’t be nobody to bother us there. I’ll wait ‘til nightfall before I drive home, just to be safe.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Faye said, nodding. She fidgeted in her seat. The plan didn’t bother her so much as what would happen after. Novenae still needed Laplace, but Laplace would not go along quietly. Most important of all, Guilloux was an enemy. He needed to die. Faye looked at the couple. “I can’t thank you two enough, really. I’ve been meaning to ask- would you like to come to Novenae with me?”

The couple looked at each other.

“It could be a fresh start for you all. I would take care of all the paperwork.”

René raised an eyebrow at Maurice. Maurice paused, chewing on the thought of uprooting his family. He began to shake his head slowly. “Look, Faye. We appreciate it. But Laplace is our home. It wouldn’t feel right settling somewhere else.”

Faye looked at Maurice and saw someone much like herself. “I understand.” Faye finished the last of her breakfast and rose. “Let me get dressed and then we can head out.”

In her bedroom, Faye opened the wardrobe, picking out a blouse. She slipped one foot, then the other, through a pair of René’s old jeans, dragging them over the scars that rippled up and down her legs.

“I can’t believe you’re going to law school,” Hope said. She was strolling around Faye’s room while Faye got dressed, long brown hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back. “Isn’t your Mum mad?”

“I can do a lot more good as a politician,” Faye moved over to her desk and took out her concealer, making the scars on her cheeks gradually fade away. “Why don’t you join me? You can be my running mate when I become mayor.”

“I’d rather be your First Lady.”

Faye couldn’t help but smile. “Aren’t you going to the protest? You should start getting dressed.”

Hope shook her head. “This world’s rotten. I don’t think it can be saved.” Hope was transfixed on a poster hanging over Faye’s bed. “Even if Jellico gets ousted, he’ll just get replaced by some other asshole. The wheel keeps turning.”

“We have to try,” Faye said.

“Do we?”

“We do. Someone has to.” Faye got a pair of earrings out of a nearby drawer and affixed them to each ear. “Ugh. I sound like my Dad.”

“You never told me about him.”

“Not much to say. He was a soldier. A leader. He wrote poems. HR says that my father saved his life. He wanted to make the world a better place.”

Faye got up, moving over to where Hope stood, standing side by side with her facing the poster on the wall. It was Andy Leung— a Cantopop heartthrob, member of the boy band MIRAGE. It was one of their favorite bands.

“Are you coming or not?” asked Faye.

“I think your father would be proud of you,” Hope said, turning to face Faye, getting closer. “And yes- but only if we get boba after.”

“It’s a deal.”

There was a knock on the door. Faye snapped out of her trance, realizing that she faced one of the movie posters on the bedroom wall. As she turned, she saw the knife she had nabbed from the kitchen. It was lying on the desk, its blade spreading a sliver of the morning sun on the wall behind her. She hesitated for a moment and then slid it into one of the pockets of her jeans. Faye answered the door.

“You alright?” It was René. “You’ve been in there a while.”

“Yes. I’m okay.”

René chuckled and reached out and massaged Faye’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Maurice has done this before. He’ll get you home safe.”

Faye returned a smile. The family gathered outside, where Maurice waited for them, leaning against his truck. René embraced him, giving him a kiss on the cheek while the kids stood on the front porch watching. Faye gave René one final hug.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Faye said. “I will remember it for the rest of my life.”

“Call it Laplacian hospitality,” Maurice said and they all chuckled.

In a moment, the house had disappeared into the forest behind them and they were driving through the winding countryside of Laplace. Rivers that waxed and waned beside them, flat marshes upon which sat boathouses on stilts. The cordgrass swayed in a salty breeze. Faye’s mind drifted to the front entrance of the Novenae Parliament.

`we need to talk`

`Why?`

`i’ll wait outside for u`

Faye looked up from her phone, walking out into the summer heat. The city streets were noisy, and bustling. Aberdeen was much busier than Juneville and she was still getting used to it. She looked out at the Novenae promenade in front of her where people lounged on the grass. Her eyes scanned around until they locked on Hope, standing on the sidewalk with a cup of boba in each hand.

Hope offered her a drink. “I brought this.”

“Thank you,” Faye took it and they kissed. “Want to sit down?”

They found a bench under the paifang, cast in the shade of an orchid tree. They watched the tourists taking pictures with each other as they sipped on their drinks.

“I was just looking at some cases for Mr. Cheng. He wants to create a framework to make sure NOoSE officers are using an appropriate level of force when making arrests.” Faye took a sip between sentences. “Novenae’s changing so fast. It’s exciting.”

Hope said nothing. Faye noticed that she was wringing her hands nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Faye asked.

Each of Hope’s words were drawn out. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at your job recently…”

Faye suddenly felt nauseous.

“And I feel like we’ve grown apart…”

A pall hung over Faye, over them both, over the entire city. The beginning of something twisted.

“I know your work is really important to you. I know you want to honor your father…”

The skyscrapers around them felt like the fangs of some parasite, that would steal the last moment of peace Faye would ever know and swallow her whole.

“But it’s been so lonely… since we moved…”

Faye’s heart sank down and melted in the pits of her stomach.

“And…” Hope’s voice cracked. Faye turned to see her eyes filled with tears. “I’m really sorry. I think we should see other people.”

Faye stared slack jawed straight ahead for a long time, even after Hope had left. She sat alone until trucks full of soldiers arrived, and masked men entered the Parliament building to take it by force. She sat there long after the sun set on a city that would never be the same.

“Faye?” Maurice said. “Don’t fall asleep now. We’re almost there.”

Faye sat up in her seat as they pulled into a small town. The buildings here looked like they did in the French Quarter but smaller, more run down. Faye picked out a bar, a market, a hardware store. Maurice pulled over to a diner with a gravel parking lot and a marquee sign out front that read “NOUS RECRUTONS”. A bell above the front door chimed as they entered. On one side, there was a luncheonette which terminated around a corner at the far end of the room. A column of laminate booths lined the opposite wall. Between them was a valley of cheap checkered tiles that danced from one side of the diner to the other. Maurice approached the cashier.

“Bonjour,” Maurice said.

“Salut,” the cashier was an old man in a button up shirt. He wore an apron splattered with grease.

“Can my friend use your phone?”

The cashier silently gestured to the end of the luncheonette. Maurice watched Faye walk down the length of the diner and round the corner. He waited until he could hear her quiet conversation before he turned back to the cashier.

“Just beignets, please. To go.” Maurice said.

“In a hurry?”

“Yeah. The in-laws are coming over.”

“Good luck with that,” the cashier scoffed. “That will be three ninety-nine.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

The cashier shook his head. Maurice moved over to a booth facing the entrance. He tried to eavesdrop on Faye’s conversation, but she was speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. Maurice stared up at the ceiling, where a fan spun lazily above him. A real goddamn queen, washed up in my backyard. Maurice puzzled over what kind of queen this timid, polite woman might be. Did she wear a crown? No, no. Maurice couldn’t see that. A figurehead, staying silent in the background? Maybe. That begs the question— why would someone want her dead? Did Faye have a dark side? Maurice glanced over his shoulder again. He saw only a sliver of Faye’s face around the corner, the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder while she rattled off instructions.

A waitress came and deposited a paper bag full of beignets at his table.

Maurice thought his son had a dark side. Really, it was the rest of the damn world. Ever since he’d left the church, things had been topsy-turvy. The rules he used to follow didn’t work anymore. He knew one thing for certain— he saved a woman on the brink of death. He had done the right thing. As he unpackaged the first beignet, and popped it into his mouth, the bell at the front entrance chimed. A man in a bulletproof vest appeared at the front.

A single word was emblazoned on his chest: “GENDARMERIE”.

“Morning, sheriff,” the cashier said.

The policeman adjusted his belt. “Good morning. I’ll get the usual."

The policeman strolled over to the booth in front of Maurice and sat down. Maurice averted his gaze, stealing glances at the officer from his peripheral vision. The policeman was engrossed in something he was watching on his phone. A clip from an old pre-war game show. The policeman had the audio turned up so the whole diner was filled with ridiculous sound effects and canned laughter. Maurice shook the sensation of pins and needles out of his fingers. The policeman looked up suddenly, chewing on the inside of his lip. Silencing the phone, he rose, and walked past Maurice towards the end of the diner. Towards Faye. With his heart beating against the inside of his ribs, Maurice got up and followed the officer. He examined the items on the officer’s belt. A gun, a neon yellow taser, and a pair of zip ties that dangled over his left buttock. Maurice wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he needed to think of something fast.

The two men rounded the corner to a cramped vestibule with a phone hanging on the left wall. To their right, a closed door. Faye was nowhere to be seen.

The policeman turned around. “Can I help you…?”

Maurice stammered. “Oh, uh. Sorry, I-”

They both looked over as the door to their right suddenly swung open. The sound of a flushing toilet echoed behind Faye as she stepped out of the bathroom. When she saw the policeman, she froze.

In Maurice’s mind, there was a burning steeple.

Maurice swiped the policeman’s gun from its holster and pointed it at him.

“What the-”

“Get back,” Maurice said.

The policeman reached for his taser.

“Don’t do anything stupid, now.” The barrel of the gun quivered. “I don’t wanna hurt ya’.”

The policeman held one hand out, as if to stop the bullet from coming out of his own gun. “You don’t have to do this, sir. We can talk about this. Just put the gun down.”

“Take a step back.”

Slowly, the policeman did so.

“Come on, Faye.”

Maurice kept the gun trained on the officer as they walked backwards out of the diner, past the luncheonette, past the cashier gaping at them and out into the gravel parking lot where they piled into his truck. The policeman came out of the diner’s front entrance and watched them as they sped off. Once the diner was out of sight, Maurice laid the officer’s pistol on the center console and put both of his shaking hands on the wheel.

Faye broke the silence. “They’re meeting us at the steel mill.”

“We’ll be there,” Maurice said. He cleared his throat. “Faye, I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Look in the glove box. Open the manual and turn to page seventy.”

Faye pulled the handle and the glove box fell open in her lap. She flitted through the truck’s manual, each page walking single file under her thumb. On page seventy was a diagram showing how to work the radio. Below it was a phone number written in pen.

“I have some friends in high places. I reckon with the end of the war, the Ascent of Man can finally begin in Laplace. I need you to help them see it through.”

Faye studied the number. Maurice’s family were good, honest people. If there were more Wheel-Turners out there, she needed to find them.

“I will do everything I can.”

Across a grassy plain, the first thing they saw was the steel mill’s rusted furnace piercing the sky. The mill’s sheet metal exterior was gangrenous with overgrowth. Bits of refuse were strewn along the road, rotted planks of wood, industrial barrels caked in rust. Maurice pulled the truck over to the side of the building. When they entered, Faye looked at the ceiling to see the mill rise four stories above them. It was the largest building she’d ever seen. Metal girders were laid parallel over their heads. Hooks dangled from metal cables above, and above those were walkways and pipes that went every which way. Above that, the morning sun peeked through a hole in the ceiling. Everything was covered in a layer of splotchy rust that reminded Faye of the scars under her clothes.

“Where shall we go?” Faye asked. Her voice echoed.

“Follow me. I know a place where we can rest.”

The mill’s control room was a glass box overlooking the main production area. Inside were two U-shaped control panels, each with their own crumbling office chair. On the other side of the room was a staircase that led to the walkways above. Maurice and Faye sat across from each other.

“I used to work in this room,” Maurice said. ”I’d work the crane, bringin’ pig iron to the oxygen over there.”

“What was Laplace like, before the war?”

“Things had been getting worse for a long time, but that’s not how it felt. I think everything before was a dream, and the war woke us up.”

After twenty minutes, they heard the low scraping of a vehicle pulling up outside. A pair of footsteps echoed from across the mill.

“Your Majesty?” a voice called out.

Faye’s brow furrowed. Before Faye could stop him, Maurice called out as he walked to the door of the control room. “We’re over here. Agh—”

Maurice’s body suddenly tensed. His arms and legs twitched erratically as he fell to the ground. The prongs of a taser trailed from Maurice’s chest to a hand that was missing two fingers. General Vincent Guilloux gave the taser another squeeze, filling the mill with the ominous *click-click-click* of electricity. He watched Maurice spasm on the floor. As he approached, he heard the sound of shoes bounding up a set of metal stairs. The control room was empty. One of the office chairs spun around to a stop. Guilloux looked down at Maurice who lay on the floor unmoving.

“Thank you for not killing that officer,” Guilloux said. Maurice’s eyes were vacant. “I would never have thought to check the phone records if he didn’t tell me.”

Up the stairs, Faye ran across a walkway that overlooked the factory floor. She could hear the whining of vehicles pulling up outside and boots pounding on the gravel. A burning seeped into her legs as she scaled another set of stairs onto a platform with metal pipes zig-zagging around her. Faye’s legs ached and throbbed. It had been 36 hours since her last dose of prednisone, the longest she’d gone since she started taking it. Faye hid behind a large, metal ladle sitting dormant on the factory floor. She muffled her heaving breaths with one hand.

“Ms. Ming-liang,” Guilloux called out as he reached the top of the stairs.

Faye caught a glimpse of him as he walked between a pair of metal beams. Guilloux was in his combat fatigues and held a revolver in his right hand.

“The building is surrounded.” Guilloux strolled calmly to the center of the room. “I’m afraid there’s nowhere left to go.”

When the pain in Faye’s legs abated, she ran to two great machines and squeezed through the gap between them. She ran across a wide, open space and ducked under a pneumatic arm. Suddenly, Faye’s foot caught on a metal chain lying across the floor. The chain rattled, loudly, the report echoing off the walls. Using her hands, Faye dragged herself to a pitch black corner in the shadow of a furnace.

Guilloux’s footsteps followed from behind. “Is this how you wish to die?” His voice boomed. “Running? Like a coward? If only your people could see you now.”

Faye massaged her ankle. She took shaky, silent breaths through the pain.

“You never have to face what you’ve done. The families you kill, the widows you make. Just like LeBlanc, you sit comfortable in your palace, away from it all.”

Faye saw in the distance an opening where sunlight poured through. It was a conveyor belt, slanting up and out of the factory. Faye steadied herself.

“It is time for you to face judgement.”

In an instant, Faye bolted across the room. Her legs were nearly numb under her. She flinched at the heavy slam of a bullet being fired and ricocheting just a few meters from her head. She reached the conveyor belt, using the surrounding metal frame to pull herself up. The belt went at a forty-five degree angle up to a blast furnace where raw iron ore would have tumbled into a fiery pit. Faye started to ascend. From above, she could see police cars collecting at the front of the mill. Police officers and soldiers stood about with their rifles. Faye glanced over her shoulder and saw Guilloux looking back at her, climbing the belt rung by rung. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Faye finally heaved herself over the top. There was a small platform along the lip of the furnace. Over it was a sheer drop all the way to the ground. Still panting, Faye propped herself up against the platform railing. She felt something jostle against her hip.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a kitchen knife.

Faye studied it for a moment. The afternoon sun reflected off of its blade. A miracle, maybe a sign that she was meant to be on this path. Faye crouched down, hidden, lying in wait next to the conveyor belt and listening for Guilloux’s approaching steps.

“Ms. Ming-Liang?”

Faye looked up. She was in a hospital waiting room in Wiltshire that smelled of disinfectant, packed shoulder to shoulder with other somber families. Faye looked over to see a nurse with a clipboard wearing a surgical mask.

“She’s ready to see you now.”

The nurse guided her through long sterile hallways where doctors and nurses spoke in hushed whispers. With the lack of windows, Faye felt more like a centaur than a visitor. They came upon a room where the door was closed.

“Here she is,” the nurse said and left Faye standing alone in the hallway.

Faye approached the door and knocked twice. She heard some mumbling from inside. She opened it slowly. Hope was resting on the inclined hospital cot in the center of the room. On the TV across from her, footage of the Ausmerzer hovering over Novenae was playing. It was interrupted by the WBC logo and then a news anchor yammering on. Hope reached for the remote and turned the TV off, leaving them in silence.

“Hey,” Hope said. Only a few wisps of her hair remained and she was ghastly thin. Faye thought she could have picked her up with just two fingers.

“Hey,” Faye said. She came over to the side of the bed. “How… are you?”

“Not great,” Hope said. They chuckled.

Faye fidgeted with her hands.

“What did they tell you?” Hope asked.

“That the chemo didn’t work… that there’s other options, but…”

Hope sighed. “I didn’t want to do it. I don’t see the point.” Hope looked around, as if she was searching for something. “I’m just not like you, I guess. I’d rather throw in the towel.” Hope looked at Faye quizzically. “Can I…?” Hope raised a frail hand, stroking Faye’s cheek with the end of her thumb. “Your scars look better.”

Faye nodded. “My doctor started me on prednisone. It’s helping.”

“But not without side effects..?”

Faye shook her head. “No, of course not. There are always side effects.”

They both smiled. The room began to blur. Faye rested her head on Hope’s chest, feeling the slowing rhythm of her heart. She closed her eyes.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Faye Ming-liang.”

When Faye opened her eyes, the blade of her knife was plunged into Vincent Guilloux’s throat. She pulled it out. Blood came out in rhythmic spurts. Guilloux’s revolver fell and careened off of the edge of the conveyor belt and onto the ground. His eyes wide, Guilloux clutched his neck. Faye grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him onto the platform. She stabbed him once more, straight in the heart. She stabbed him again, and again, and again. Once Guilloux stopped squirming and the blood was caked all over her hands and under her fingernails, Faye dropped the knife. Her legs, her entire body gave out and she found herself collapsed on top of Guilloux’s chest.

She listened until his heartbeat stopped, and all that was left were Hope’s final words.

“You’re going to save this rotten world. I just know it.”