Jim bit slowly into the doughy dessert. Berry jam dripped out the sides and sprinkles of sugar fell in the plate in front of him. He was in heaven. Just a single day after their arrival, he, Alia, Vachir, and the others had become overnight celebrities. As they sat in a secluded “VIP” section (the owner had insisted) of one of the most popular restaurants in town, he relished the relative privacy and delicious food.

Their names were known everywhere in Hurria. Newspapers bestowed upon them titles such as “Bane of the Prophetess” and “Heralds of Freedom.” Politicians rushed to be seen in public places with them. Commoners clamored to catch a glimpse of them. It was all too much for Vachir. He stared at Jim as he continued to eat the delicious pastry.

“You're in awful high spirits considering our situation,” Vachir grumbled. Alia and Jim both looked up from their lunches, mouths full of food. Jim replied, “Mrr smmshon?” Vachir tilted his head and asked, “what?” Jim swallowed and tried again, “What situation?”

Vachir sighed and leaned back in his seat. The food on his plate was untouched. Turning to Alia, he added, “And you. You’re no better than him. Death is standing on your door...hell, all our doors, and you two sit here stuffing your mouths with goofy grins on your face. Alia smiled. A few peas broke loose and fell out of her mouth onto the plate. She replied, “hhf fff any dffffnt.”

Next to Vachir, Sandra Mason snickered. After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, she was again, the rigid well kept soldier that Vachir had come to rely on. Even she wasn’t immune to the comedy unfolding in front of them though.

Sandra asked, amused, “I’m sorry Captain Rychist. I don’t think we quite caught that. Perhaps you two could take a moment to come up for air?” Alia continued to chew her food. After throwing back a glass of water, she burped.

With a satisfied smile, she replied, “How is that any different from any other day?” Vachir and Sandra glanced at each other, confused. Alia saw their reaction and continued, “I think you two have gotten a bit too used to life in the Federation. You have a military, homes to return to, food, clothing, water…” She took another swig from her glass, relishing the sensation of water flowing down her throat.

Before Vachir could reply, Jim cut in, “She’s right. Out there, every day is a struggle. Most days, I was lucky to go to bed with a full stomach, or anything in my stomach at all really. Before last night, I hadn’t slept in an actual bed since...I don’t remember to be honest.”

“Well, drink up and eat hearty,” Vachir replied cooly. “There will be little chance for comforts in the coming days.” He thought back to Emat’s warning. I have to give it one more try, he thought. Changing his tone, he asked, “Would you please re-consider returning to The Herald and leaving this place? It won’t be safe here soon. War is coming.”

Alia crossed her arms, taking a moment away from the feast to ask, “Why do you want us to leave so badly? I imagine you could use the help, especially from the other awakened among my crew.”

Vachir leaned forward, “But, this isn’t your fight. It isn’t worth your life.”

Alia shook her head, “I disagree. This is everyone’s fight. Mine, yours Jim’s, the Protectorate, and the Northern Tribes, even if they don’t yet realize it. You said it yourself, the Prophetess won’t stop at the Federation.” She stared off into an unknown place before adding, “I’ve fought most of my life. During that time, my sole focus was on freeing other awakened from the Prophetess. Well, now, all of humanity is in danger of eternal slavery. As far as I see it, my position remains unchanged.”

Vachir grunted in annoyance and turned to Jim who had returned to eating his pastry, “And how about you?” Jim looked up from his meal. He shot a quick glance at Alia before relying, “wwhh ffffe shhd.” Sandra Mason’s rigid character broke as she burst into laughter.

Vachir couldn’t help but chuckle. He liked these two. “What was that?” he asked.

Jim cleared his throat and replied, tilting his head toward Alia, “Whatever she said.” They all laughed and, for a moment, their problems were forgotten.

***

The troop transport train was enormous, at least seventy cars long. As it floated a meter off the ground, it hummed loudly. Each car was loaded to the brim with troops and ammunition. On top of every other car, dual hand cranked turnguns sat, menacingly, their operators ever watchful of hidden threats.

From the bottom of each car, six “pods” protruded outward. The small two meter wide nacelles, affixed to meter long and nearly as thick steel arms arced red tinted electricity between each other. Soldiers hurried into the metal boxcars across steep sloped gangways, careful not to step too close to the current.

From front to back, the artificial lightning pulsated in a perfect continuous rhythm. Wisps of steam crawled through the air from the front engines, contributing an acrid tinge that caused Jim to crinkle his nose.

Around Jim, thousands of soldiers were clamoring into the cars. It had been a few hours since their parting lunch with Vachir and Sandra. Henry was somewhere in the city, enjoying his newfound freedom while Alia had retired to one of the more extravagant Inns that one of the Federation’s politicians, jockeying for some free publicity, had “graciously” offered to put them up in.. in full view of local news reporters of course.

Meanwhile, Jim had decided to satisfy his curiosity concerning the gigantic Federation trains. Travel in the wasteland was far too dangerous to risk the incredibly expensive machines and their complete lack of mobility. In his decade of sailing, he’d only spotted a few and even those, never ventured outside controlled territory.

All around him, the capital city was being inundated with volunteers. In fact, FedCom was having trouble equipping the massive influx of recently activated reserves. Men and women as young as sixteen and as old as eighty were turning up to fight for their homes.

Try as he might not to, Jim couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for these people. His opinion of “civilized” society had never been very high. As he saw it, affluence and comfort stripped a vital piece of humanity away from people and left snobby, privileged, worthless aristocrats in its place. His distaste for people, particularly the upper class, kept him out of most major cities whenever possible.

But, what he was seeing was nothing short of inspiring. These were a people that saw the storm on the horizon. They knew doom was approaching but, they refused to flee. They stood resolute against almost certain destruction. From every corner of the Federation, from every walk of life, they came. Fear wasn’t to be found in their eyes. Only a grim, dogged determination.

“It’s damned amazing isn’t it?” Henry’s voice entered from behind him. Jim smiled and turned to greet his friend. He didn’t quite expect…”Henry, what...hahaha….what are you wearing?” he asked, nearly bowling over with laughter. The clockwork man, normally unclothed, had donned a full gentleman’s suit, cane, and even monocle. Hanging out the side of his mouth was a corn cob pipe. What really caught Jim’s attention though was the ill fitted top hat.

Jim continued laughing as Henry replied, “I don’t see what’s so funny. Now that I can be seen in proper society without worrying about the consequences, I figured, it was time to change my look. I’d ask you what you think but, I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.”

Jim took a moment to wipe his eyes before apologizing, “I’m sorry Henry. It’s just...as a clockwork man, wearing that suit, you look like a...well a, a store window mannequin come to life.” Jim let out another burst of laughter.

“Well, I think you look dashing, my good sir,” Alia’s mock accent broke through Jim’s laughter as she made her way over to the group. She yawned and rubbed the last bit of sleep out of her eyes. A few dozen paces behind her, a contingent of reporters strutted back and forth, trying to get a good view and a hint of their conversation for the morning paper. Thankfully, Vachir had the foresight to assign a guard detail to each of them in order to keep unwanted attention from ruining their short stay. Three armed guards stood resolute between the two groups.

Henry bowed and attempted his best gentlemanly accent, “Thank you, my dear lady. You always were a woman of class and sophistication. Truly the product of good breeding.” Alia performed her best mock curtsy.

Finally recovered, Jim turned his attention back to the soldiers and commented, “You’re right though Henry. It is pretty amazing. These people are coming in from all over the countryside to stand up to the Prophetess and her Alliance dogs.” Alia nodded and asked, “And what of General Vachir and Lieutenant Colonel Mason?”

Jim squinted his eyes as he looked ahead of the train. Small indentations streaked along the sand leading out of the city walls to a point far over the horizon. Lines of trains had been moving troops and breakneck pace. Each full train could fit thirtyfive hundred to four thousand troops...and nearly a million had shown up at Hurria alone. To the south, word was, the unaligned cities of Gateway and Togsov were also emptying of Federation expats. Some criminals, some political dissidents, some emigrants. All were promised their citizenship in exchange for answering the call to arms. Millions more were expected in the coming weeks.

“They left a few hours ago for the northern front,” he replied as the last car closed its doors. “We were given a couple days to rest, relax, and enjoy the city. After that, we head north to join them. The attack is expected sometime in the next week.”

A warning bell rang from the station behind them. The assembled troops, scattered around the station in their tannish gray uniforms, slowly shuffled backwards, away from the train. After a minute or so of clanging, the bell stopped and the train came to life.

Suddenly, the small arcs of red power that connected between each nacelle burst to webs of intense electricity. Jim’s hair stood on end as the machine thrummed to full power. When the power reached its peak, the nacelles slowly began their rotation a few degrees backward.

In moments, all the downward force was directed backwards. Pushstones underneath the train kept the cars from crashing into the ground as the outer pods directed their immense power to the rear for thrust. The train crawled forward at first, no faster than a brisk walk but, in seconds, it was up to speed, moving at over a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour. The sudden gush of wind threw dust and sand into the air.

As the last of the train cars flew out of the station, small bands of children, scurried around behind it, cheering and laughing, oblivious to the magnitude of the larger political picture unfolding in front of them. The first train had barely left before another hovered sideways from behind the immense city wall and lined up to take its place.

“Wow,” Henry exclaimed, awestruck. “Yeah, no kidding,” Jim replied. “You can see why I’ve been watching it for the past few hours.” He pointed to the incoming train and added, “It’s incredible how much power these things use. Living on the fringes, I’ve rarely encountered anything that uses ether cubes. Maybe a few patrol fighters or the occasional citywide street lighting but, this...”

“So, you like ether cubes?” Henry asked. “Perhaps you’d care to join me? You too Alia. I’ve met someone with some technology you both will find very interesting.”

***

The streets of Hurria were a stark contrast to Rock Bottom. Alabaster walls of sun bleached stone and stucco stretched high into the sky. Large pipes ran the length of every house corner from top to bottom, emptying into three meter high cisterns affixed to the foundation. Every building was designed to utilize every precious drop of rain.

Sitting at the far end of Green Lake, Hurria was privy to occasional small winter squalls. Not a single drop of their life giving water was wasted. Every building was designed with a slightly sloping roof that allowed rainwater to drain through piping and collect in large cisterns below.

Some of the taller buildings were similar to those in rock bottom with their regal, almost castle like designs. Despite their splendor, even upper class housing sported its own set of pipes and water collection. After all, water tastes the same regardless of one’s position.

The streets were markedly different from Rock Bottom however. While still busy, especially during the late day rush, there was a noticeable level of organization to them. People on the right side of the street walked one way while people on the other side walked the opposite. It was so controlled, so organized. Frequently, Jim spotted city militia and police force strolling through the crowd.

Oddly enough, nobody seemed to mind. They continued about their daily lives without paying the slightest bit of worry to soldiers in their presence. It was far different than the streets of a typical Alliance city. There, soldiers were feared and avoided.

Unlike the Federation, the Alliance drew its military almost entirely from the aristocracy. Commoners were treated as little more than sheep. If a peasant or lower class citizen caused offense to a soldier or law officer, they could count on a month of hard labor in the black crystal mines, public corporal punishment, or in rare cases, execution.

As they made their way through another winding street, careful to travel on the correct side of the road, Henry exclaimed, “Aha! There it is. My new favorite place in town.” Across from them, an enormous domed building of sheet steel and concrete dwarfed the structures around it. “Captain, you’re gonna love this,” Henry added, rolling across the street as he spoke.

Jim and Alia crossed behind Henry as they stared up. Above a large roll up door (which was fastened down firmly) in large letters made entirely from used gears and sprockets, the words “Argola Airwerks” were spelled out. “Why is it spelled like that?” Alia wondered aloud.

Henry gave his best effort at a shrug and replied, “I’m not too sure but, wait till you see what they have cookin in here.” He was practically bouncing on his large metal ball with joy. As they approached a small door in the side of the building, he turned the handle and ushered them inside.

As soon as they walked through the door, they were nearly blinded by yellow light. Jim and Alia shielded their eyes against the intense glow. After taking a moment to adjust, they looked around the large space. Both stood silent, awestruck at the scene.

Fighters, hundreds of them lined the floor in seemingly endless rows. Between them, uncountable numbers of workers darted to and fro welding, hammering, testing, performing any number of tasks as they prepared the machines for war. It was the glow that caught Jim’s eye though.

In small pyramid shaped piles at the end of each row, yellow ether cubes waited for their designated equipment. Once in awhile, a worker would grab one with steel tongs and scurry off to their assigned fighter. It was more ether cubes than either Jim or Alia had seen in a lifetime.

Their wonder was cut short by a man in his early fifties. He was tall and lanky with a receding hairline of plastered gray hair. His gray suit looked a few sizes too large for him and totally out of place among the grease covered workers of the Airwerks’ floor. He stepped forward and offered Alia his hand.

“Greetings Captain Rychist,” he began, shaking her hand. “It’s an honor to have you here in my workshop. My name is Sharan Argola. I trust your time here in Hurria has been pleasant.” Alia nodded and replied, “Yes. I’d say it has.” Motioning to the construction work, she inquired, “What exactly is Argola Airwerks if I may ask?”

“You may,” Sharan replied proudly. “Around you is the culmination of nearly four hundred years of blood, sweat and tears. The Argola family has a long history as inventors, mechanics, merchants, and even the occasional politician here in Hurra. Although I’m not too proud of that last one.”

Sharan chuckled at what must have been an inside joke before continuing, “Our primary product is assorted fighter craft. Dragonflies, Firebugs, and the heavier Wasp variant bombers. All were invented by Argola family members over the years.” He sighed. “Sadly, I can’t take credit for any of those inventions but, I believe I may have come up with a little something that could very well mean the difference between victory and defeat in the coming days.”

Alia was intrigued. Being the captain of an airship and spending most of her adult life in the sky had molded her into quite the expert in fighters and all things airborne. Still starting at the scene, she replied, “You have my attention.”

“Excellent!” The balding businessman exclaimed. He leaned past the group to unlock a rusty gate that barred a set of stairs down to the factory floor. “If you’ll please come with me.”

They made their way down the steep steel stairs. The railing looked decades overdue for replacement and creaked under their weight. Henry brought up the rear. His rolling ball clanged on each stair as he gripped the rails tightly. Once they reached the floor, Sharan Argola led them to a nearby pile of yellow ether cubes.

Jim crouched down and examined the closest one. Each one was a perfect meter cubed. On every one, strange letters, or possibly numbers, dotted the surface. The numbers (or letters) changed every few seconds to new patterns. He’d never seen the language before but, somehow, he recognized them. It was as if he’d seen them...perhaps, in a dream.

“What are the symbols on these cubes?” He asked.

“We don’t know, actually.” Sharan replied. “For centuries, the best minds in every corner of Ruin have attempted to decipher their meaning and, to my knowledge, none have succeeded. Since the first cubes were discovered in the ancient ruins of a lost civilization, deep in the eastern desert, nearly half a millennium ago, we’ve been excavating them and are still no closer to an answer.”

Henry scoffed, “I’ll bet those techno oddballs in the Protectorate have the answers. They practically worship their coveted technological innovations.”

Sharan shrugged, “Well, if they have, they aren’t sharing.” Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit Jim. He promptly fell backwards from his sitting position and stared at the ceiling as it spun above.

Sharan chuckled and pulled Jim backward, away from the cubes. “Sorry about that, my friend,” he began. “All ether cubes have a small repulsor field around them. It isn’t powerful enough to repulse anything like a human or a bullet but, it works great to keep stray sand and particles a solid five meters away. The combined effect of dozens can knock you out. I believe your clockwork friend here understands.”

Henry nodded, adding, “A stack of them is a whole hell of alot of...repulsoring...repultion? Rep..well whatever the hell it is, it will make you dizzy right quick. Best not to loiter around so many.” He picked Jim up who was still swaying uneasily.

“Indeed, your friend is correct,” Sharan replied. “Now, if you’ll follow me, we can continue the tour.” They group made their way to a nearly complete firefly at the end of the assembly line. It’s side was still missing armored plating sections, exposing the intricate clockwork within. Among the countless brass and steel gears, a perfect cube shaped receptacle sat, waiting for its power source.

Jim, starting at the inner workings asked, “Isn’t it true that ether cubes contain unlimited power?”

Before Sharan could answer, Henry interrupted, “Yes and no, actually. It is true an ether cube could run indefinitely. In fact, some of the fighters on the Liberator were loaded up with ether cubes that predate the Last Crusade. However, they don’t have infinite output. Blue, yellow, and red ether cubes have a limited maximum output. If you attempt to push them beyond it, they can burn out. Once an ether cube burns, it never glows again.”

Their conversation was cut short as Sharan waved at one of the mechanics. The dark skinned man was holding a yellow ether cube at arms length with a pair of tongs as he approached them. “Ahh perfect timing. Lady and gentlemen, this is Mr. Kumar, one of our lead mechanics in sector G.” He noticed confusion written on their faces and added, “Each row of fighters you see here is a sector. When a fighter is near completion, we stamp the metal with a designation.”

“Yep.” Mr. Kumar added. “If you look a hair under the cockpit window near the back, you’ll see it says ‘G-1229’. That means, it’s the one thousand two hundred and twenty ninth model to come off this assembly line.” he nodded to Sharan, adding, “Now, if you’ll excuse me sir. These cubes aren’t exactly light.”

Sharan shuffled out of the way, instructing the group, “Step back. This is the best part.” The four of them formed a semicircle just outside the reach of the craft’s twin wings. Mechanic Kumar proceeded to place the cube slowly into the receptacle. With only a few centimeters remaining, he withdrew the tongs. He turned to Alia and asked, “Care to slap the baby?”

Jim tilted his head, confused, and asked, “Slap the baby?”

Alia laughed and replied, “Yes. It’s an old mechanic’s term. When a baby is born, it’s common for the doctor or wet nurse to slap it in order to shock him or her into breathing. Same goes for cube powered craft. You have to use good ol percussive maintenance to get the cube in that last little bit. It’s a bit like christening a new landship” She nodded respectfully to the mechanic, “I’d be honored to slap the baby.”

Suddenly, she sprinted across the small space toward the dragonfly fighter. At the last second, she leapt up into a flying kick. Mechanic’s boots met glowing cube. The cube jolted into place with a clunk. Immediately, its intensity increased to almost double. Jim had to shield his eyes from the glow.

In an instant, the machine came to life. Inner gears begin to turn as an invisible bubble formed around the craft and shook the dust from its inner and outer layers. It was as if the fighter had just received a free immediate coat of gloss. Jim was almost certain the metal changed tints.

The previously sagging quad wings lifted into a ready position. Their nearly translucent skin was awash in yellow light. Jim had never seen a working fighter so close and stared in wonder at the sight of it all.

Mr. Kumar chuckled and shot out a hand to shake Alia’s. “I see you don’t just dress like one of us for the fashion sense,” he noted. Alia returned the shake and replied, “I should hope not. I’ve been a mechanic for nearly fifty years now. I lost count of how many fighters I’ve had to drop cubes into...although none were fresh off the factory floor.”

The mechanic stared at her, dumbfounded and asked, “Fifty years?” Henry rolled over to the bewildered man and placed an arm around his shoulder, replying, “That will take some explaining. If you have a few minutes. I’d love to discuss some theories on ether cubes and perhaps a bit of our history with you while these two continue their tour.”

The mechanic glanced at Sharan who nodded. The two wandered off toward the breakroom, already lost in conversation. “I wonder if Mr. Kumar realizes what he just got himself into?” Alia mused aloud.

Sharan Argola motioned toward a room at the back of the warehouse, “If you’ll come with me please, I have one more thing to show you. Something very few have seen in fact.” Alia replied warmly, “I’m a kid in a candy story here. Please, proceed.”

The group made their way through more lines of fighters in various stages of construction. As they covered the length of the warehouse, they passed other mechanical wonders being built. A train engine, a line of automated turngun emplacements, and more than a few contraptions Jim couldn’t even begin to guess at.

Finally, they made their way into what must have been Sharan’s office. The place was a mess of papers. Two metal chairs covered in strips of badly frayed leather sat against the wall uncared for. On them, piles of paperwork sat waiting for attention. His desk was in ever worse shape under an intimidating stack or two. If Jim didn’t know any better, he’d guess that Sharan was attempting to decorate every surface with documents.

Sharan pushed his equally uncared for rolling chair out of the way and motioned for them to join him behind the desk. They looked at each other before moving either side of him. “Hold on tight. This next part is pretty neat,” he warned before reaching underneath the desk and pressed a hidden button.

Suddenly, the floor underneath them hissed and creaked. Squeals of metal on metal sounded from beneath them. “Hold on to the desk!” Sharan warned. They weren’t about to ask questions and followed his instructions.

Without warning, the floor dropped beneath them. For a moment, Jim felt weightless. The stacks of paper that had plastered every inch of the desk a moment earlier exploded around them as a gust of rushing air sent them flying upward. All around him, Jim saw walls rushing by. They were dropping at a sharp angle.

Every few seconds, a sign would rush by overhead. As they continued their fall, the numbers on the sign counted up.

12, 13, 14, 15, 16…

The group gripped the table with white knuckles.

17, 18, 19, 20, 21...22…...23……...24

The signs slowed as the platform appeared to be nearing the end of its journey. Jim and alia braced their legs against the quick deceleration until a loud peal of artificial thunder announced, they had reached the bottom of the shaft.

25

Sharan walked over to a nearby toggle and flipped it up. Loud buzzing followed by a bright red glow filled the room. Above them, small arcs of red electricity, not unlike those from the train they had watched earlier, jumped between metal lighting poles. The trail of lightning led around a corner a couple dozen paces ahead.

Alia and Jim were still tightly gripping the desk when Sharan motioned for them to follow. Still in mild shock, Jim walked around the desk, followed closely by Alia. As the pair rounded the corner, Alia inhaled sharply and Jim stared wide eyed at what lay in the next room.

“Behold,” Sharan beamed. “The Chariot of the Awakened.”