The Sapien Empire: The Sapien Empire, #1

By Nathan Ogloff

Shindo Dacan is a socially awkward but gifted engineer who has made the most brilliant machines seen since before the All-Silence—machines that ruler Vibrun Magrite used in his creation of the Domain as he brought all four of the city-states within his iron grip. With the help of a friend of his, Shindo is secretly planning to provide prosthetic limbs to the many victims of the war his machines have waged.

 

When Magrite finds out and slaughters Shindo's friend before his eyes, Shindo tricks Magrite into funding a warrior mech to wreak revenge and is unwillingly rewarded with a woman from Magrite's harem, Jarim Alsaedon. With his mech machine and Jarim's help, Shindo stages a coup d'état that leaves Magrite dead and him and his accomplice as platonic dual heads of state.

 

As Shindo and Jarim work to rebuild their civilization, they're beset by factions both within and beyond the Domain's borders. Can Shindo learn how to design a stable peace before the new world he'd envisioned becomes a wasteland of death and destruction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan Ogloff
• Release date: Feb 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9781738027118

Book preview

Part One

The Machinewright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS ABOUT time someone in this broken society did something right. If nobody else was going to take out Arch-Lordchief Vibrun Magrite, Shindo Dacan had to do it himself. The scar on the side of his face, in the shape of gaping wolf jaws, wasn’t his only reason. Looking at it every day reminded him of what happens to those that fail the Arch-Lordchief.

Lately though, it was reminding him of the carnage Vibrun wrought using the machines Shindo had been making for him since the age of fourteen. After ten years, Shindo decided the people of the Domain deserved better.

The young man was covered in sweat and grime as the day neared its end and he hauled into place the hydraulic arm of the mech. After three months of work, the machine was almost done. Carefully, Shindo guided the arm toward the chassis using the overhead crane. It screeched as the crane moved overhead upon rust-colored rails within the cavernous space of the Shopgarage.

He wouldn’t be sneaking up on the supreme leader of the Domain and stabbing him in the back, nor lying in wait with sniper rifle in hand. Rather, Shindo would lure Vibrun into a trap, using what he knew best - his gift in engineering one-of-a-kind machines like this. Such aptitude had earned him his moniker - the Machinewright.

The machine had two mechanical arms attached to a chassis, which itself sat upon a pair of tracked wheels. The driver sat in the middle and operated the machine from behind a simple protective cage. Shindo often thought that it looked like an artificial person, one whose massive bulk in no way indicated the thin body frame of its maker.

Shindo climbed on top of the vehicle, tried to lock the arm in place, but realized he had forgotten the final pin. He dropped down and walked past the forge toward the fabrication table. He rifled through drawers underneath trying to find the right part.

The table held memories. It was here he drafted the plans for what would become the ghost-flame tanks, chained-battering rams, and climbing-jackhammers. All of them used by Vibrun Magrite on his warpath as he conquered the other three city-states, creating the Domain in the process. The Arch-Lordchief, Under-Lordchief Vik, their lieutenants, and anyone else who helped him ascend to power would pay.

Shindo needed them all in one place. Vibrun had asked him several weeks ago to work on something new, something that would truly outdo himself. The Arch-Lordchief would get just that, and Vibrun would be unable to resist showing off his new toy. That’s when Shindo would get them.

There it was, the pin he needed. He went back to the machine, slid the pin in, and did some last-minute spot welding. He climbed down from the mech, lifted his visor, and looked up at the fruits of his labor. Finally complete.

Shindo hung up his tools on a peg board adjacent to the fabrication table. He always went straight to bed right after a day’s work. Tonight was no different. Shindo walked to a small washbasin in the back of the Shopgarage. The cold water always felt refreshing upon his tanned skin at the end of the day. He sloshed water all over his bald head and wiped his face, gingerly stroking the scar.

It was throbbing especially hard today, almost as if it were fresh. Maybe it was because of overexertion, but Shindo knew the real reason. It throbbed as one last reminder - don’t back down now, you’re so close.

He took off his welding apron and hung it up beside the small cot in the corner of the Shopgarage. His one-piece, which often felt like a second skin, suddenly felt tight. He undid the strings on the arms, legs, and torso of the body covering garment. Shindo draped the singular piece of clothing over a chair at the foot of his bed, shut down the lights of the Shopgarage, and lied down.

The silence of the room was only interrupted by the occasional low rumbling of the forge. The plan he had set in motion would see its fruition tomorrow. However, unlike previous nights, as Shindo drifted off to sleep he found himself not think about that. Instead a much smaller, but no less important, memory had come to mind.

After years of creating machines for battle, Shindo had taken the time to craft a prosthetic arm for a boy named Tate. Tomorrow would be for people like him.

1ST DAY OF Spring - Ninth year of The Domain (nine months earlier)

Under-Lordchief Vik stood with his back precariously close to the edge of the deep, black, void that was the Shrine of the Abstract. Stretching out in front and below him was a sea of mountain top festival-goers. The sky filled with their guttural singing, heavy drumming, twisted guitar strumming, and cheers. Most were adorned with body paint and flamboyant costumes reminiscent of wild animals. Fire-dancers twirled flames in swift, arcing movements in hair-raising proximity to the crowd and themselves.

Dusk, the perfect time to perform the opening sacrifice of the spring festival. He would be right next to the Arch-Lordchief as he made the sacrifices, where they would be the most palpable, pungent, and exhilarating. From day to night symbolized the shift in power Arch-Lordchief Vibrun Magrite had created as he conquered the other three city-states around the Salish sea and unified them all into a realm simply called the Domain.

Vik would be Arch-Lordchief once Vibrun died. For now, the young man in his mid-twenties was second-in-command, a position earned no doubt from his ruthlessness and stronger-than-average build. Equaling his boss meant having copious experience, and losing unwanted fat.

The Shrine had no bottom. Twisted, gnarled, steel surrounded the void like the disfigured teeth of a titanic monster that had buried itself. Vik always thought of it as the past trying to grab onto the present, its attempt ending in failure.

He felt the cool mountain air blow across the scar that ran from his forehead to the top of his head. A trophy from one of the many battlefields that earned him this celebration. His medium length hair would cover his ears, if he hadn’t shaved it at the sides, but the proud display of that scar could never be hidden.

Just being there was reason enough for anyone to celebrate. The Shrine held deep significance as a place for pilgrimage to those hoping to better their lives. Vik watched on as the figures danced, occasionally fixating on one of the more mesmerizing females. He had no shortage of women to take back to his tent later; and who would refuse a night with someone of his status?

The sounds dimmed as a grizzly bear of a man carved his path through the crowd, lieutenants to either side of him. The tall, barrel-chested figure of Vibrun Magrite drew the crowd’s gaze. The sacred motorcycle armor he wore had attachment points on the gloves and helmet for decorative accessories.

On the face-covering helmet was an effigy resembling blood sprayed across a black wolf’s head. Effigies resembling fiery bird talons slid into locking holes on the outer edge of his gloves. Vibrun stepped above the crowd, onto the same pedestal as Vik, next to the opening that fell into nothingness. Silence reigned.

I give thanks, said Vibrun, arms spread out wide and voice booming, to the Abstract. That which influences all. That which fills all of existence. That which exists beyond the border of what we know. And that which we become a part of when we die.

Vik stood on the same pedestal as Vibrun. Lordchiefs from the conquered city-states stood on either side of him, a step lower. Lordchief Tersona on his right, Lan and Norson to the left. Vibrun was in the middle, a perfect symbol of the hierarchical power structure.

Three city-states, said Vibrun, Island, Columbia, Cade. The Abstract gave me the right to conquer them all. What was once called the Salish sea, is now the Domain. And I, who was once a major Lordchief, am now the Arch-Lordchief.

And he would rule from his capital, Sier city-state. What was even better, was that it would all be Vik’s once Vibrun died. At that moment, Vik felt almost as divinely righted as Vibrun was.

Tonight, said Vibrun, I repay the Abstract with three sacrifices. One for each city-state. Each greater than the last.

He turned to a lieutenant.

Give me the first one, he said.

The lieutenant redirected the order. Through the crowd, four warriors brought forth a goat with its legs bound.

I give this sacrifice as it is, said Vibrun, so that the Abstract can use it as it pleases.

He flipped the bleating goat upside down and with one swift gesture, grabbed it by the legs and threw the it into the Shrine. The cries faded into the blackness after several seconds.

Bring me the second sacrifice, said Vibrun.

Again, the lieutenant ordered and the warriors obeyed. This time, it was one of Vibrun’s pet wolves. Vik’s inner child, locked away years ago, wanted to scream out. You make sure to forget about things like that when you have to make the hard decisions,

The second sacrifice, said Vibrun, has served me well.

The wolf came up well past Vibrun’s knee. He gently petted the creature on his head.

And he will serve me one last time, by letting the Abstract know what I’m willing to give up.

He placed his arm underneath the front legs and lifted the wolf up, belly exposed to the crowd. From a side pocket, Vibrun unsheathed a large knife. In a sharp move, he stabbed the wolf in the stomach and thrust downward. The Arch-Lordchief reached in, took out the warm entrails, and threw them into the pit before throwing the rest of the wolf in shortly after.

The final sacrifice, said Vibrun, blood fresh on his hands.

This time four warriors wrestled with a man bound up in chains and gagged with rope. Vik overheard all sorts of jeers the crowd threw at the man. Coward! Bet you wish you hadn’t left Columbia now! Can’t run away now can you? Where are your Rustraiser friends to help you?

The warriors forced the man toward the void. Vik couldn’t manhandle the prisoner by himself if he tried. Vibrun, on the other hand, wouldn’t have had a problem.

I give the Abstract, said Vibrun, the last Lordchief to resist me.

He placed a hand on the Lordchief’s head.

Let it know that this is not a normal human sacrifice. Someone who once held so much power. Someone who was almost an equal to me doesn’t leave the Domain easily, but he made his choice.

Vibrun glared at the bound man, lowering his voice so that only those nearest to him could hear it.

Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t made the wrong choice now? Aren’t you Zephyr? he said to the Lordchief. Too bad you can’t go back.

Zephyr muffled something through his mouth gag. Vibrun ordered it taken off.

What was that? said Vibrun.

Zephyr hacked and spat on Vibrun’s face, nothing but malice and contempt seething underneath his contorted face. The crowd gasped.

If you’re gonna kill me, kill me, said Zephyr. Stop fucking around.

The Arch-Lordchief turned back toward the crowd and laughed, seemingly indifferent to being spit upon. Vibrun looked at his victim. Lightning quick, his face writhed as if a sudden fire was surging underneath the skin. Vibrun lunged toward Zephyr and gouged out the man’s eyes with his bare hands. Blood poured forth as Zephyr writhed in agony. The Arch-Lordchief grabbed Zephyr and cast him into the Shrine.

The crowd cheered. Vibrun slowly turned around and stood above them, the fire within his face receding. Once again, he spread his arms out wide.

Begin the celebrations, Vibrun said in his commanding voice.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of music and singing. Vibrun stepped down and made his way through the turbulent dancing of the crowd. Hollers and cries returned to the air as the dancers lost themselves in the moment.

Vik followed Vibrun back to his tent as the Lordchiefs paraded toward a large tent pitched away from the crowd. Already, Vik could smell the barbecue coming off the open fires stationed nearby. Soon he’d be indulging himself in every kind of ale, beer, and lager the Domain had to offer. Outside the tent, aides detached the blood-pattern from the Arch-Lordchief’s helmet.

Couldn’t have given a better speech myself, said Vik.

You don’t have to suck up to me, said Vibrun.

An aide took off the talon effigies attached to the Arch-Lordchief’s gloves, then went inside.

That’s what the other Lordchiefs do, said Vibrun with his eyes piercing Vik through the teeth shapes carved around the visor.

And you love it when they do, Vik said with a crass grin across his face.

Vibrun took off the helmet, revealing his mid-fifties graying beard and bald head. He closed the distance between him and Vik. The Arch-Lordchief maintained the same scorching eyes as he looked down upon Vik. The Under-Lordchief looked up, his grin unchanged. Vibrun unleashed a torrent of laughter.

Doesn’t even flinch, Vibrun said, knuckling Vik on the head. That’s why you’re my Under-Lordchief and no one else.

The Arch-Lordchief took off his gloves, the studded knuckles and side blades glinting briefly in the evening light. They marched into the feasting tent. Along the walls, servants had stacked large casks of various brews. A large, U-shaped table was in the center.

A heavy-set Lordchief stood from the table and approached them. He was a little shorter than Vik, but wider, with arms like tree stumps and a bald, beige head.

The look on Zephyr’s face, said Lordchief Lan, extending a hand to Vibrun. I’m never gonna forget that.

Vibrun grinned and shook his hand.

You should thank him, said Vibrun. If he had surrendered, how would I have been able to give you rule over Columbia?

They both laughed. Lan went back to his seat. Sitting next to him was Lordchief Norson. He was taller than Vik with grayish stubble. Norson wasn’t as wide as Lan and didn’t seem like a fighter at first glance, but that’s how he got you. The Lordchief knew how to throw a punch that came out of nowhere.

You always knew how to put on one hell of a show, said Norson with his grisly voice. I thought the wolf was something, but the sacrifice that came after really amped it up.

Vibrun squeezed the Lordchief’s shoulder before passing by.

Gotta hammer the crowd who’s in charge, said Vibrun, leaning in behind him. Don’t you forget it.

Vibrun and Vik sat at the head of the table. Opposite from Lan and Norson sat Lordchief Tersona and the boss of a Rustraiser gangcrew: Engine. A people from the interior. Vibrun Magrite’s hired guns.

Nobody said the road to Gres was easy, Tersona said in her salty voice, but you sure paved one hell of a road for yourself.

Vik had heard that expression. Take life by the balls, go after what you want. That’s what it meant. She was around the same age as the Arch-Lordchief. Her weathered skin was a story of ceaseless perseverance and relentless ambition. Vibrun laughed dementedly.

My domination and the birth of the Domain, said Vibrun, projecting his voice, is the end of a long road that all started with the coming of the All-Silence.

When civilization went to shit. A servant poured Vik a dark brown ale.

The Abstract drew my ancestors here, Vibrun continued, voice raising, from the interior, begging one of them to take it - the first Lordchief of Sier. Then the Abstract gave me the right to rule, but it wasn’t done. I was the next step of its plan.

He took a swig of his ale.

To not rule one city-state, but four.

The servants brought out steaming plates of freshly grilled pork and beef.

You all made a wise decision to accept my rule.

He raised his mug.

Your reward, Vibrun continued, will be anything you want, whenever you want, no matter who has to pay for it.

They raised their mugs and drank, but Engine just sat there, staring down Vibrun.

Finest ale in all of the Domain, said Vibrun, his eyes sharpening as he leered at Engine, but you won’t drink it. Go on, don’t let it go to waste.

Why should I celebrate? said Engine, the tattoos and piercings on his face almost coming alive, Are you done with us now? You treated us like you did the Machinewright, as a tool. Didn’t you?

Lan and Norson shifted in their seats, almost pausing in their meals. Tersona smiled slightly. She took over leadership of Cade after her husband died. The city-state had been conquered last but was the only one which surrendered willingly. No doubt she was enjoying the little argument that was about to break out.

Who do you think you’re talking to? said Vibrun.

Engine pointed at Lan.

I’m not one of your Lordchiefs, said Engine. I don’t have to kiss your ass like them. What did you expect us to do after this was all done? Go away?

Lan smirked. Vibrun kept his resolve under those cold eyes.

We’re of the same breed remember, said Vibrun. The city-states and Rustraisers have traded with each other for a long time. I don’t plan on changing that anytime soon.

Vibrun took an indulgent swig of ale.

Besides, he said, why would you be here if all I wanted was to get rid of you?

Vik noticed the ball piercing on Engine’s left eyebrow slightly twitching. He had seen Engine in action before - bare chested, diving right into the heat of battle. Vik knew that underneath the relics Engine wore, he had a large tattoo shaped like some derelict machine of Forlapse. Engine puffed out his chest and shifted in his seat, almost as if trying to power up the tattoo.

We’ve been trading, said Engine, because one city-state always had a grudge with another. You gave us machines, food, and weapons in exchange for fighting. Now, there’s no more fighting.

Vibrun shot a glance at Lordchief Tersona. She rolled her eyes.

Still paranoid that I’m going to try and break away? she sneered. When I think your guard is down?

My guard is never down, Vibrun retorted. I was thinking about your protection. Who wouldn’t want Rustraiser guards. After all, you know how they fight.

Tersona smirked.

You should listen to him, said Lan, dropping a bone from his roast chicken. Both of you.

Vik knew he meant Tersona and Engine.

I wouldn’t mind having some Rustraisers kicking around, Lan continued, pointing at Engine. I know that not all the gangcrews get along and I know the ones Zephyr hired to defend Columbia are itching for payback.

Engine leered at Lan.

Let them come, Engine growled. They want revenge, I’ll fight them anywhere. Columbia, Island, Sier, it doesn’t matter. I’d like to ‘remind them who’s boss’.

Engine shot Vibrun a stare.

That’s what you say right?

The Arch-Lordchief nodded and grinned, his teeth glinted like fangs. Vik laughed and sat a little straighter. He eyed Tersona, her stoic face trying to ignore the conversation. Putting people in their place - one day, Vik would be doing it as well as Vibrun.

Why don’t you scare them off with the ghost-flame tanks, said Norson, finishing his steak. Worked the first time.

Vibrun laughed.

The Machinewright sure did his job, said Vibrun. They had no clue what those ethanol fires were now didn’t they?

Norson laughed, Lan joined in.

Engine, said Vibrun, the Lordchiefs have just told you that you’re still needed. You want to be security, you have it. If Lan needs to defend Columbia from a future rival gangcrew attack, you’re his man.

Vibrun stood and his voice bellowed.

Tonight is about victory, he said. Yours just as much as mine. If you don’t want to celebrate it, leave.

Engine stood.

You think I’m going to walk away now? said Engine. Just when my fun is getting started?

He raised a mug, almost to challenge Vibrun.

Here’s to having more fun than you tonight, Arch-Lordchief Magrite.

The Lordchiefs and Vik cheered in unison. Engine sat as did Vibrun. The Arch-Lordchief bit into his piece of pork shank and gorged himself with beer. The alcohol relaxed Vik, imbuing him with the same bear-like confidence Vibrun exhibited. Out of the corner of his eye, the Under-Lordchief could see the Vibrun leering at Tersona.

Lordchief Tersona, said Vibrun. You surrendered Cade without a fight. What’s the matter? Didn’t think you could make the decisions your late husband would have?

Tersona calmly stopped sipping her wine and placed it back on the table. Vik wanted to see, as much as Vibrun did, if she could handle it in their world. Behind that weathered face seethed resentment and humiliation from not putting up a fight like the other two city-states had.

If I had wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, she said, I would have done it. I’m not afraid of battle, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I thought I’d achieve more by being the smarter Lordchief.

She chewed her ribs.

Yes you would, said Vibrun with a wide grin. Sure you’re ready to play with the big boys? Because I like to play rough.

She smiled.

You can be as rough as you like, said Tersona. We’re the ones who give birth remember? My pain threshold would make you curl into a ball and cry.

The tough old bat wouldn’t break. The Lordchiefs let out a laugh.

Lordchief Tersona, said Vibrun, pointing at the other two Lordchiefs. You have bigger balls than these other two, and that’s why you get to sit here.

Vibrun stood up and raised his mug.

A toast, he said, to the lives we’ve earned, and having it all.

They continued to eat and drink. Later, well fed and perfectly intoxicated, everyone slogged out of the tent. Vik knew what they were doing; satisfying their carnal appetites. He was no different. It was his right to do so as much as it was theirs.

Vik went back to the crowd of dancers, losing himself in their mesmerizing, tantric movements. He pressed himself against one that had grabbed his attention earlier. Confidently, Vik plucked her from the crowd and took the dancer back to his tent.

SHINDO PASSED UNDER derelict cables that used to be part of a mass transit system as he took the prosthetic arm to Tate, a boy in need.

The smells coming off street vendor food carts wafted toward him as he walked downhill through the narrow roads shared by people and vehicles. Space came at a premium in Sier and the hand carts were a practical way of doing business. Cramped was an apt word to describe the city of twenty-thousand people. A derelict shell was another.

Civilization withered away during Forlapse, until the world was a patchwork of city-states immersed in seas of chaos and decay. Then the All-Silence came, which caused all things electrical to briefly stop working. It was enough time to allow the chaos outside to flow in and snuff out those last embers of civilization. Shindo lived in the ashes of one of those city-states.

He walked down a tight road between two tenement buildings, both made of a durable, fire-resistant material called tancewood; a relic from the people of Forlapse. Shindo made a left and approached the dirty, chipped edifice of another four-story tenement. This was where Tate and his mom lived.

The inside had an open courtyard with a communal garden and a large rainwater catch system because sometimes the water pipes didn’t work. Shindo walked up a flight of stairs before turning down a hallway. A low hum came from the other side of a tenement door as he passed by. The erratic undulations of sound tipped Shindo off immediately. Someone had a methane-compost reactor. It was a good source of heat when the often-unreliable electrical grid cut out.

Tate’s tenement was at the end of the hallway. Shindo knocked on the door. A thin woman with sun-stricken skin and flowing black hair answered.

You kept your promise, said Shiron, Tate’s mom.

She was almost in tears. From his satchel, Shindo took out the prosthetic arm wrapped in cloth.

Please, she said, almost out of breath, Come in.

Her hands were shaking and voice was quivering. He didn’t know if she was excited or nervous. Maybe both, Shindo could never tell. Outside a light breeze blew by. Even though the balcony doors were closed, Shindo heard the shrill whirl of a portable wind turbine. It was a way many people supplemented their electrical needs.

Tate sat at a small table near the tiny kitchen, which was itself adjacent to the only other room - the living space where the mother and son also slept. Shindo sat across from Tate and unrolled the arm from the cloth.

The young boy made a thin smile as he turned toward Shindo. The long, brown, fluffed hair on his head looked like it hadn’t been washed for days. He leaned his pudgy face in toward the arm, eyes fixated on this life improving contraption.

Shindo had seen Tate often in the more commercial parts of the city, street dancing for kurens. Shindo had always been preoccupied with something else, never stopping to offer the money. One day, Tate’s left arm from the elbow down was gone and instead of dancing, he was begging.

He couldn’t bare to ignore it any longer, but not because Tate was begging. The boy’s smile, that had been pinned to his face when dancing, disappeared. The prosthetic would restore that smile, Shindo hoped.

When can I put it on? said Tate with hollow eyes.

Soon, said Shindo as he took out a piece of measuring tape from his satchel and measured the boy’s stump.

He compared the circumference to the alignment of the movement pins in the prosthetic. They were off. Shindo took out a fine-tuning screwdriver and made adjustments.

Don’t rush the young man now, said Shiron, sitting beside Tate, comforting him as Shindo adjusted to make the arm fit properly.

He’s gone out of his way to help us, she continued, when no one else would.

Shindo checked the watch on his utility glove - eleven thirty. He had to meet Nedru at the factory by one. This whole process was a testing ground. If Tate could use his prosthetic just like a real arm, then it meant Shindo’s design worked.

There, said Shindo, finishing the adjusting. Let’s try it now.

Shindo took the arm and made his first attempt to fit it.

Will my one-piece fit over it? asked the boy.

You might have to adjust the strings on your sleeves, said Shindo. But other than that, you should be able to wear your clothes like anyone else.

Tells it like it is, said Shiron. Good thing you don’t sell stuff for a living.

It sounded like an insult, but was probably more of a friendly jibe like the kind Nedru gave. People always did speak in an odd, mysterious code to him. Shindo decided to say nothing at all and focus on making sure the prosthetic didn’t slip off Tate’s stump.

Try moving the wrist, he said.

The boy attempted to open and close the hand. It was movement Tate did with little effort, even if it wasn’t exactly moving the wrist.

Try putting it through the sleeve, said his mother.

The prosthetic was a little clunky for a child. They had to adjust the strings which tightened the sleeve around the arm. Other than that, Tate could put on his one-piece over top with no problems.

It feels weird, said the boy.

Give it time, said Shindo. You should get used to it.

Tate angled the wrist up and down.

No, said Tate. It feels weird. It’s too tight.

Hmm, said Shindo. Let me try adjusting the levers.

Tate undid his one-piece and Shindo removed the prosthetic.

It doesn’t work, said the boy, eyes welling up. I’ll never get a new arm. Why? Why did the Abstract have to take my arm away?

Shindo played around with the fitting strap. His steady hands cloaked his racing heart. If Tate was upset now, he would be devastated if Shindo had to take the prosthetic back to the Shopgarage and redo everything. By the will of the Abstract alone, Shindo would restore that kid’s joy.

Hey, Shiron said, reaching over and hugging Tate. It’ll be okay. Why don’t I tell you a story? Would that be better?

The boy nodded.

What would you like to hear? she said. "The World in Us? That’s always a good one now, isn’t it?"

Tate smiled, almost as widely as Shindo remembered.

The world is in us, said Shiron, because even though our home is here, it wasn’t for our parents, or grandparents, or even their parents. Some came here because their climate was too hot. Others because they had no water, or no food. And some came because bad men didn’t like who they were and wanted to hurt them.

Shindo checked his watch. Noon. It would take him at least half an hour to walk to the factory. What had he done wrong? Rushing this kind of delicate procedure