The Guild pulls Solanio deeper into their ranks

A sailboat glides across glass-smooth water and over the reflection of white clouds piling on the horizon

Out of Shadows

BY SHANEL WILSON AND FRASIER ARMITAGE

PART TWO

Solanio led Captain Ward and her litany of bodyguards along the pier and up the steps of the Guild Hall. Through the large double doors, they entered the Guild’s chambers. Robed figures wound a route between the soldiers to the semicircular desk and took their respective seats. Prospero reclined in the central throne. 

Ward crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Are these the city’s leaders?” she asked Solanio. 

“Captain Ward of the Polity, may I present you to the Guild of Fisherman.” Solanio gestured in a reverential bow between Prospero and the Polity. 

Photo by Adolfo Félix.

“And why are you not among them?” Ward asked. “You were the one who represented the city on the eve of our arrival. Did Newlondon not consider the Polity important enough to send one of their own?” 

Prospero rose from his seat. “Captain Ward, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prospero. And it was my choice to send Solanio to meet with you for the simple reason that he was best qualified in the art of diplomacy. The same reason he was selected as our auctioneer. Surely you can appreciate that holding a rank does not necessarily make a person the best equipped for a given task.” 

Ward heaved a sigh. Politicians. How many more of these insufferable double-talkers would she have to suffer? Just once, she’d have liked to draw her weapon and put a bullet through the forehead of these so-called diplomats. Bullets were the plainest form of communication. 

Leonardo blundered his way to the front and took Ward by the elbow. “Captain, Prospero is an honorable man. You will find no greater authority in Newlondon.” 

At least she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. Saying it once was painful enough. “Very well. Has Solanio informed you of the purpose of my visit?” 

Prospero took his seat once again, the balance of power restored. “He advised us of your tour. You would be visiting each city to assess what resources could be of use to the Polity. I trust the auction was an adequate demonstration of the esteem in which Newlondon is held by the rest of the Globe.” 

“I don’t care for your little rivalries and power squabbles,” Ward said bluntly. “I’ve seen places like Newlondon on every planet I’ve ever stepped foot on. It has that same stink to it. This city is nothing but bait.” 

“Bait, Captain?” 

“It’s a place for reputable folk to hide their dirty, little secrets. Where husbands can attend ‘business meetings’ with their secretaries, away from prying eyes. Where gamblers can place their bets at a card table or backstreet fight. This city’s an enticement, and you think it’s hidden behind the netting and the fishing and the family-friendly amusement arcades. But we both know that nothing remains hidden forever. Time has a way of exposing all things. And the time for Newlondon has come, Prospero.” 

“Why, Captain, you make it all sound so unseemly. Newlondon has its fair share of amusements, but we take pride in the services we provide. Wouldn’t your men benefit from a little relaxation when they’re off-duty? Where better to find a pleasant diversion than in one of our motels, where I hear some wonderfully talented ladies are currently performing. Would that not be something of value to men who’ve spent years stuck inside one of your sterile ships?” 

The soldiers glanced between each other with a spark of giddiness. 

Photo by Jordan Harrison.

Ward turned her head, her glare snapping them back to attention. “All bait is dressed up to appeal, Prospero. But it doesn’t stop it being bait. Where others might look at this city and see the glamor and the lights, all I see are a sorry collection of ramshackle buildings and some fishing nets. What have you got to offer the Polity which we could make use of?” 

“What of the pollium? There are always more krakens in the sea. I’m sure with the Polity’s resources, and our fishermen’s skills, we could collect enough pollium for the entire Polity of Planets.” 

Ward cackled a laugh. “You think the Polity have any need of pollium? It’s garbage. We have more power in a single engine cell aboard the smallest of our ships than a thousand eyes of pollium could ever produce. What can you give us, Prospero? Leonardo tells me that you Newlondoners can do much for us. But all I see is trash. Give me one good reason why Newlondon shouldn’t be torn to the ground and stripped for parts like the scrap it is?” 

The Guild members turned to their leader, and Prospero clasped his hands together, reclining in his chair. “Tell me, Captain. The other cities you’ve visited—have you found minerals and materials that might be of value?” 

“There are resources on this planet that are of value,” Ward answered. 

Prospero smiled. “And I take it your men are experts at transporting such ‘resources’ across the Globe.” 

“My men are capable of almost anything.” 

“Is that so? Do they know where the Mirrim lurk? Have they mapped out every turn of the river? Can they recognize the roar of the savagelands or sense the ambush of bandits? How many of your men can feel a ripple on the river and know whether to run or hide from what rises below? There are beasts on this Globe that would swallow your men without a sound and slither into your skin without you even knowing. And this cargo, these minerals, are fodder for these creatures.” 

“We carry weapons. We’re trained in combat. I think you’ll find we can handle ourselves.” 

“Of course. Your men have nothing better to do than babysit cargo, have they? And their weapons work against enemies you cannot see, or hear, or touch?” 

Ward bit her lip. 

Prospero opened his hands and gestured around the table. “We understand if you take no pleasure in our city. But we of the Guild are tasked with the burden of setting the rates of guides and transporters who can protect the many assets of this world. We are its guardians and its shepherds. Ask your friend, Leonardo here. How long would Whitehall last if Newlondoners did not protect the oil pipeline hovering above the sand? All the way from Westminster to Whitehall, we guard it.” 

Leonardo blushed, but he remained silent. 

“Come, Leonardo, there is no shame in admitting that you wish for us to strike a deal with the Polity for the sake of Whitehall. For the sake of all the cities. And for the sake of the Polity. After all, without Newlondoners, what would be left on the Globe for the Polity to take besides corpses and beasts? These resources you speak of are valueless unless they can be transported safely to your vessel. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Ward gritted her teeth in the knowledge that the old man spoke the truth. She only had so many Marines at her disposal, and she couldn’t afford for her best Marines to become couriers and delivery pilots. Any goods she mined from the planet would be worthless if she couldn’t transport them to her ship and lift them to the UPS Pacifica. “What would stop us from hiring our own guides from among your people?” she asked. 

“Newlondoners know better than to work without the Guild’s approval. And they’d never be granted a license unless it was passed by one of us. Without a license, they’d be no better than smugglers. And if you knew anything about Newlondoners, you’d know that they’d sooner kill you than let you call them a smuggler.” 

Ward nodded. “Alright. Let’s say we came to an arrangement. What price would you name to extend these services to the Polity?” 

“My dear, we would be only too happy to assist the Polity. We Newlondoners are traders at heart. What do you propose would be a fair trade for such services?” 

Ward pinched the bridge of her nose. This is the part she hated. Playing diplomat was just another form of haggling. “You spoke of the technology to hunt krakens. Would that make a fair trade?” 

Prospero shook his head. “It’s a fair place to start.” 

“What else do you want?” 

“Were you not at the auction?” Prospero raised an eyebrow and stroked his whiskers. 

Ward sighed. “Fine. We’ll match whatever doubloons you deem appropriate. Name your price.” 

“Why, Captain. How generous. I believe we have an accord.” Prospero rose and extended his arm to Ward.

She stomped across the chambers and grasped it, grimacing, as if she were dipping her hand in a nest of eels. 

“As a courtesy,” Prospero said, “allow us to welcome your Marines in the truest Newlondon tradition. Free drinks at any tavern they desire.” 

Ward’s skin crawled, but she could hardly refuse. “Very well. They could do with some time to recharge.” 

The Marines around her loosened their shoulders and beamed smiles. Leonardo breathed a sigh of relief. 

“If that is all, Captain, then we have business with Solanio,” Prospero said. 

Ward stroked her chin. “There is just one more thing.” 

“Oh?” 

“Leonardo was telling me about a group known as Shadow Walkers. I was hoping to meet one.” 

Prospero gripped his stomach and howled in laughter. “Oh, Leonardo. You should know better than to play pranks on the Polity.” 

Ward scowled. “What do you mean?” 

“Stories of the Shadow Walkers are just tales told to children. They’re nothing but myths. I mean, really, who could appear from the shadows to fight for justice and disappear just as quickly? Such warriors exist only in stories.” 

“But,” Leonardo spoke up, “if they aren’t true, then what of the rumors about—”

“Rumors?” Prospero interrupted. “Leonardo, you know better than to listen to gossip. The Shadow Walkers are just a fairy tale, I assure you.” 

Captain Ward turned to her Marines. “Right, you jarheads. All who wish to return with me, get ready to depart. The rest of you, enjoy your drinks. Dismissed.” 

The Marines rushed out of the chamber, their tongues wagging. 

Ward marched out of the chambers with Leonardo in tow. 

Solanio stood before the Guild. “Fairy tales, Prospero?” he said. “Were not the Polity a mere fairy tale? Yet, here they are.” 

Photo by Jonas Jaeken.

“Don’t tell me you believe in the Shadow Walkers, Solanio?” 

“Not at all. But who knows what else she might have given us if she’d been allowed to think they were real?” 

Prospero nodded, casting his glance across the chamber. “What did I tell you, brethren? Will he not make a wonderful addition to our Guild?” Prospero extended his palm, and inside, a Guild ring shimmered gold. 

Solanio stepped forwards and took the ring, placing it on his own hand. 

“Congratulations, my boy. You have business to attend to, I believe?” Prospero asked. 

The image of Butch flashed across Solanio’s mind. “Yes, I have a customer waiting. Thank you.” Solanio bowed and turned on his heels, cradling the signet ring that commanded the respect of all. Inside the fold of his jacket, the pistol Prospero had given him—the one that would wipe out everything in its path—felt insignificant when compared to the power in the band of gold wrapped around his finger. If only Bianca could see him now. 

Perhaps Bianca suffered from the same delusion that Ward did? That there was no value in the Guild. How could a woman so calculating as Ward be so naive? Dismissing Newlondon and all it had to offer—was she even human? 

Solanio shook his head. 

“Shadow Walkers,” he scoffed below his breath. “The Polity have much to learn.” 


Balthasar watched from his skiv on the water. The two men with purple eyes lingered with the crate and the bounty of the kraken’s eye within. Another Newlondoner guided them away from the amphitheater and across the dockyard to a pristine barge. They boarded the polished hovercraft, outfitted with the finest weaponry across its mount, and surveyed it. The men nodded and returned to the dockyard as Newlondon haulers lifted the crate onto the barge. 

All the while, the bandit at the window stalked the crate like prey. 

Balthasar gripped his buckle in one hand, and the hilt of his sword with the other. 

“Grant me patience,” he whispered to the ocean, “so that I do not strike too soon.” 


Solanio slipped along the crowded thoroughfare, past the taverns where Polity Marines indulged in pitchers of ale, surrounding themselves in the skirts of blue-eyed beauties. 

From the amphitheater behind him, the Polity flier lifted in a whirlwind of salt and sand before it blasted heavenward, its roar fading into the distance. Goodbye, Captain.

Across the docks, Solanio crept to his barge. The brothers Sebastian and Gonzalo of Westminster waited by the hovercraft. 

“Gentlemen,” Solanio said, approaching them. “Is everything in order?” 

“The eye is on board. But are you certain it’s safe on your barge, Solanio?” Sebastian asked. 

“If you wish to tour the barge, I have no objections.” 

“We’ve already checked it over.” 

“And . . . ?”

Gonzalo shrugged. “It seems in order.” 

Solanio smiled. “Excellent. Do you have the contract for the Westminster Brides?” 

“Signed and sealed.” Sebastian handed over the documents. “And we deposited the doubloons with one of your Guild people at the amphitheater.” 

“Then I wish you well. My men will see you in Westminster.” Solanio bowed and stepped back from the berth. He gestured to the men aboard the barge, and the engines fired, lifting it from the water. 

Spray dashed the brothers Sebastian and Gonzalo, and they watched their cargo shrink as it disappeared up the river. 

Photo by Vasily Ledovsky.

Solanio darted across the harbor, and from his pocket, he removed his chain of keys. He bounded up a flight of stairs to his office on the first floor of a building overlooking the sea. When he reached the top, he selected the key, but the door was broken in two. Splinters of wood covered the floor.  

He entered the office, and Butch stood by the window, surveying the dock. 

“Was it really necessary to break the door down?” Solanio asked. 

Butch bared his teeth, flashing Solanio the look of a growling wolf. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Solanio said. “Are you ready to depart?” 

“My crew are waiting in an estuary up the river.” 

“Then let’s go and meet these fine fellows of yours.” 

“After you,” Butch snarled. 

Solanio led the giant down the steps, but he hesitated before emerging into the street. He turned back and placed a hand on Butch’s chest, stopping him dead. 

“It’s better that we’re not seen together,” Solanio said. “Watch where I go, and follow without drawing attention to yourself. Can you do that?” 

Butch sighed. 

Solanio paced over the cobblestones, through the berths to a sleek skiv with all the trappings. He boarded, and from his keychain, selected the combination of keys that would start the engine. 

Butch blundered a path behind him, and when he stepped aboard the skiv, it dipped and rocked under his weight. 

“Stay down.” Solanio turned the keys and the engine ignited. With movements swift as a striking snake, Solanio piloted the boat out of the bay and up the river. 

He pressed his hand against the pistol in his pocket and prayed that he need not use it. The craft skittered over the waves with the speed of a skycrawler’s dive, following the barge which held the eye. The eye he was about to steal from his own men, trained to withstand any ambush. Trained to kill. 

He rubbed the ring on his finger. This had better be worth it, he thought. 


Balthasar watched the soldiers emerge from the Guild Hall. They entered taverns and swigged ale in a raucous manner that befitted animals, not officers. He shook his head at these so-called “warriors.” Where was their code, their creed, their honor? The only war they seemed capable of fighting was the one with their liver, judging by the amount they drank. 

Through these louts, Solanio–with a Guild ring on his finger!–made his way to the barge, and with a wave of his hand, the kraken’s eye began its journey upriver. 

Balthasar’s fingertips bristled with the urge to follow the eye. But the bandit in the window didn’t move. Something else was going on here. Something else lurked in these shadows.

The two purple-eyed men returned to their hovercraft, and its violet sail followed the barge. But Balthasar focused on Solanio. He entered a building and appeared in the upper window with the bandit. 

The Guild in league with bandits? No surprise there.

Balthasar traced Solanio and his bandit lapdog as they boarded another skiv and ventured up the river. Balthasar adjusted the mirrored panels of his hovercraft to better reflect the riverbank and struck after them, carrying the storm with him. For plotting with criminals, Solanio deserved all that was coming to him. They all deserved the thunder. And Balthasar would bring it, for there was no stopping the wind. 


If you enjoyed Shanel and Frasier’s story, feel free to leave comments below.

And in just two more days, on Friday, we’ll bring you the exciting conclusion of “Out of Shadows” in Part 3!

If you would like to read more about Newlondon right now, try “The Beast Below” which kicked off the Newlondon stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Negotiations are more beastly than you would think

The Head on the Wall

By Matthew Cross

Capt. Ward landed her flier in the plaza in front of the domed building that served as the seat of government of Finsbury. The Globers called Finsbury a city, one of the five cities of the Globe, but the farmlands of Finsbury spread for hectares on either side of the Elizabeth River. Should it be called a county or a shire, she wondered.

Ward’s two escorts, Marines piloting their own fliers, quickly strode up on either side of her, eyes scanning the building ahead and the busy marketplace behind for dangers. Ward had already made her own preliminary threat assessment out of sheer habit and removed her helmet. She doubted there was any danger she could not handle on her own, and with two Polity Marines at her back, she knew only a Republic Special Forces team could match her. Nothing on the Globe, a sleepy, little, blue planet, frightened her.

That was not true. Failure frightened her. She feared not completing her mission successfully. And, unfortunately, what was needed here to extract the Globe’s resources for the Polity was diplomacy, Ward’s weakest skill.

She crossed the plaza to meet with the Finsbury contingent, led by Councilor Calpurnia, whom Ward had met at Whitehall on the now infamous “Kite Night.” Many Globers also called it the “Night of the Rocket.”

Councilor Calpurnia was a large woman. She wore a heavy layer of fat, but underneath that Ward noted strong muscles, probably earned from hard work in the woman’s youth. Calpurnia curtsied and Ward bowed. The men behind Calpurnia bowed. Ward surmised that Calpurnia was no token or figurehead. She had probably fought and clawed her way to the top of this men’s club, and Ward would not underestimate her.

Ward wore her dress whites, but the City Council of Finsbury all wore more casual, loose-fitting clothing, like nothing she had seen in Whitehall, where opulent and outrageous fashions ruled. All their clothing also had similar prints in mottled greens that Ward assumed was camouflage. To Ward, camouflage clothing meant military exercises, and she wondered what it meant in Finsbury.

After introductions were made, Calpurnia turned to Ward. “Captain, I bet you’re real good with a gun. Have you ever been hunting?”

Ward frowned, thinking. “I once tracked a Republic Special Forces unit across a frozen moon. I shot one and killed the second with my knife, but the third had frozen by the time I reached him.”

The councilors all stared at Ward. One with his mouth hanging open. Had she made another diplomatic error or perhaps a breach of protocol?

Calpurnia laughed, but it sounded strained. “Well, then, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble hunting the beasts with us today, Captain. The beasts don’t shoot back.”

Calpurnia laughed and the other councilors laughed with her.

“Let’s find you some suitable clothes, Captain. We don’t want a beast to bleed on your pretty, white duds.”


It took a squadron of hovers of all shapes and sizes to transport the councilors, their assistants, and all their gear into the countryside. Calpurnia insisted on driving Ward in her own personal hover, a sleek, emerald-green capsule that looked like it came from Whitehall. No one else among Finsbury’s leaders had such a luxurious craft, Ward noted. Ward’s escorts piloted their own fliers.

On the way, Calpurnia explained the history of the hunt. Since the founding of Belmont, its leaders, once called the Brethren of Finsbury, had sworn to protect the farmers from the beasts. Before there were force walls, just walls around the houses and wire fences around the fields, the beasts often invaded the farms, threatening farmers and their property. Whenever a farmer sent a drone with a call for help, the Brethren raced to the fields to provide protection.

“Now, the force walls protect us from the beasts. And, of course, Whitehall sends their Vestras to keep the walls running, and the Artemises to hunt down the worst of the beasts,” Calpurnia said. “If we need much protecting these days, it’s from the greed of Whitehall. They won’t share the secrets of the force walls or the power generation, so we’re forced to pay whatever price they demand. It’s our food what keeps them alive, but they set the price of their force walls high and value our food low.”

Calpurnia swept her hand across the windscreen, indicating the green fields before them that stretched to the horizon. “In a land of plenty, we still have children that starve. And now the Polity wants to take more of our food and call it the price of protection.”

Ward listened and held her tongue.”Listen more, and talk less,” said the SEAL Leadership Manual.

The assortment of hovers landed, kicking up thick, brown dust, in a green field bordered by a tall, humming force wall. Calpurnia walked over to a man standing next to a large, green piece of equipment, a cube-shaped vehicle of some type. After the dust cleared, the damage was obvious. The machine lay on its side and one side had been crushed in.

One Councilor whistled. “Stove it right in. And, look, there, horn marks. Gotta be a Sledgebeast.”

The Councilors unloaded wheeled riding vehicles. They drove around the field, tearing up the tender, green plants. The farmer said nothing, just stood there dourly with his arms crossed. After a while, the Councilors formed their vehicles in a half circle, laughing, making crude jokes and drinking canned ales. They checked their various blaster rifles, compared models and bragged of the even larger blasters they had on order from Whitehall.

Ward had only brought her personal sidearm and a few knives, one of them the laser-bladed knife from Vernon. Calpurnia inisted Ward take one of the many rifles on her wheeled vehicle, and nodded at the men. Ward took it as a gesture that she would fit in better if she took the rifle, so she did and examined the crude pulse weapon.

It turned out that “hunting” a Sledgebeast was simple. Drones were sent out to harry it in their direction. They saw a cloud of dust long before they saw the beast. Most of the Councilors took up positions standing up in their open-frame vehicles while a few raced across the fields on either side to flank the beast.

From the base of the dust cloud appeared a wedge of muscle on four hooves. It had a wide head and three long, curved horns. The ground trembled with its hoof beats. The men riding on either side repeatedly fired their pulse weapons at it. The beast veered left and right, but it did not stop. Then it ran into one of the vehicles, turning it over, before scraping a horn along the stacked stones of the inside of the force wall. The beast opened its mouth, but instead of a bellow, it issued a scream. As the beast drew closer, Ward’s assumption that it was a mammal changed. It seemed to be covered in a flowing layer of feathers.

Ward sensed fear and desperation from the beast. It was trapped inside the force wall and probably could not find its way out.

The Councilors in the semicircle had been firing their weapons repeatedly, some even reaching for a second weapon, long before the Sledgebeast was within range. They grinned and called out in their excitement, claiming to have hit it. The beast veered away from the wall, towards the half-ring of vehicles, and into a volley of pulse fire. The weapons definitely had an effect, but they seemed more to enrage than weaken the beast.

The Sledgebeast crashed into the force wall once again, jackknifed and suddenly faced the right flank of the arc of vehicles. It charged, turning over vehicles and throwing the passengers into the dirt. The hunters closest to Ward and Calpurnia managed to drop into their vehicles and speed clear, but Calpurnia stood her ground and fired relentlessly into the beast. With a flick of its thick neck, it threw an empty vehicle into the air, and then glared at Calpurnia. 

Calpurnia threw her discharged weapon in the dirt and reached for another from behind her seat. The beast raised a screeching cry and charged. Ward leapt from the passenger’s seat with two knives in her hands, one the laser knife from Vernon. She left the useless pulse weapon behind.

The Sledgebeast glared at Ward, and Ward only glared back. Her legs pumped and her knives flashed. Ward’s head-on charge seemed to confuse the Sledgebeast and it’s stride broke. That would not save Ward, who stood no taller than the beast’s shoulder, not unless she dove to the side at the last second. Ward did not think; she allowed her instincts to take over and her body to react with the lightning quickness of fast-twitch muscles.

She raced smoothly towards the beast, noting the long, upward curving horns and the beast’s broad head and broader neck. The head and neck were free of feathers, and she could see foamy sweat ran down its muscled neck and straining tendons. Then she saw them. Distended blood vessels running up from the body and along the neck to the massive head.

The Sledgebeast lowered its horns as it closed on her, but then it could not see straight ahead. She slid under the horns and jabbed upwards fiercely with both arms. Her SEAL knife glanced off the hard flesh but the laser knife found its mark, burning a path down the curved neck as the beast thundered over her. Ward wriggled between the pumping legs and rose to face the beast.

Gouting blood, it stumbled. It’s momentum carried it almost to Calpurnia’s vehicle. The beast’s legs gave out and the mountain of muscle slid through the soft dirt. A horn caught in the dirt, causing the body to spin. Calpurnia leapt free as two of the beast’s legs kicked out and hit the vehicle’s side. Even with only a fraction of the beast’s power behind those kicks, the vehicle jumped a few metes. The door was bashed in and one tire exploded.

Despite the injuries, many of the men were ecstatic and ran over to examine the beast. The assistants sent drones for more help and treated the wounded. Ward, covered in dirt and blood, looked over as her two Marine escorts running up. Despite being the ranking officer on the planet, she would have to explain herself to her chief of security and chief of intelligence. The Polity invested years and massive sums of money in training their officers, and officers could not endanger that investment by being reckless. 


Calpurnia was quiet as she flew the hover back to Southwark, Finsbury’s marketplace and government seat. Ward watched the pattern of the rows and rows of crops flash by and waited patiently.

“I know you saved my life back there,” Calpurnia said finally. “You coulda just jumped clear and left me there. But you risked your own life. I know that.”

“The Polity Navy protects citizens of the Polity. From any danger, seen or unseen,” Ward said.

Calpurnia shook her head. “Naw, Polity don’t care about a City Councilor or the whole City Council for that matter. You coulda let us all die and just bargained with our replacements, I bet.”

Of course, Calpurnia was correct. Ward was not technically required to protect citizens from natural disasters or their own foolishness. Still, Navy SEALs were not the kind to stand by when they could lend a hand.

“But don’t think I’ll bargain my own life against myself or Finsbury. You saved my life. What’s done is done. But I didn’t ask you to,” Calpurnia said.

“The Polity also does not have to bargain with City Councilors,” Ward said mildly. “When we last met in Whitehall, I said I would assess the resources here and determine how the tax will be apportioned. I’m trying to be fair and spread the burden among the cities. As you said, you have food here that the other cities need. I’ll take the ten percent tax of all food traveling north. That leaves the food that stays in Finsbury and even the food traveling south to Newlondon tax free.”

Calpurnia opened her mouth to protest but stopped. She stared straight ahead as she drove.

“Aboard your lander, I asked what choice you gave us,” Calpurnia said. “And then your ship in space showed us how you could rain fire like gods in the sky. And if all your soldiers are like you, we couldn’t even withstand you on our own ground.”

Ward was the only Polity SEAL sent on the mission to the Globe. No one else on the Pacifica had her fighting or tactical abilities. But there was no reason Calpurnia needed to know that.

“Still, if I want to keep my seat at the head of the Council, I need to come away with something,” Calpurnia said slyly.

“What do you want?” Ward asked.

It turned out to be far less than Ward imagined, and a bargain was struck.

Photo by Martin Adams

The Sledgebeast’s head would be mounted on the wall in City Council Hall. It was the largest Sledgebeast anyone had ever seen, and, apparently, the bragging rights meant something in Finsbury. All Ward had to do was allow Calpurnia to take the credit. 

Ward mounted her flier, pleased with the bargain. She now controlled ten percent of the food flowing to Westminster, Belmont and Whitehall. As a boon, she would give that to them for free to ease the burden of the oil and steel she had extracted from them to pay their own taxes to the Polity. That generosity should go a long way to relieve the tensions clearly building in Whitehall from the Polity’s presence.

With the exception of Belmont, things were looking up. Maybe, just maybe, she could change the Glober’s minds about the Polity.

With a sense of optimism, Ward flew back to Whitehall, watching the blood-red Swearing Moon circle the horizon to the north.


If you enjoyed my story, feel free to leave comments below. If you would like to read more about Finsbury, read “The Buried War” which kicked off the Finsbury stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Vernon leads Captain Ward to the heart of Belmont

Outcast of Belmont

Part 2

BY FRASIER ARMITAGE

Captain Ward cradled her head in her hands. She hadn’t killed anything in days. Not since she’d landed. And playing politics with these cities made her ache for a kill. What she wouldn’t do for a single snap of a neck. 

But she had a duty to perform, and she couldn’t let a little thing like not killing someone get to her. 

She rolled her shoulders, the tension assaulting her vertebrae. Even her hair wound in a bun so tight, it stung her forehead. 

A screech through the intercom made her wince, and she held herself back from slamming her fist through the terminal. Achieve the objective, by any means necessary. She let out a deep breath. Just relax. 

“What is it, Montoya?” she snapped. 

“There’s a Vernon from Belmont asking to see you, Captain,” his voice crackled. 

“Send him in.” Ward scrambled to her feet and brushed the creases out of her uniform, checking her lips still held their crisp purple shade. Vernon had been the only one on this planet who could’ve given her a decent hand-to-hand, especially with the muscles she’d felt beneath his robe when she’d teased a squeeze of his shoulder. 

She needed to relax. Either he’d have good news, or he could do something to relieve some of this mission’s tension. Achieve the objective, by any means necessary.

The door opened and Vernon entered, bowing in his customary way. 

“I wish all men had your manners, Vernon. What have you got for me?” 

“I know a way into Belmont, Captain.” 

Finally. Some good news. “You found the other Belmontian?” 

“He asked me to give you a message. He said that Lorenzo of Belmont pledges friendship to the Polity.” 

“And who is this Lorenzo? Anyone of interest?” 

“Just a boy, Captain. But he is wise. He showed me the spot on the mountain where we can access the city. You can fly us there.” 

Or a hike in the fresh air and a mountain climb might just be the thing to release some stress. “Could you guide us there on foot?” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” 

Ward’s smile grew until it strained her cheeks. “A request.” 

“In which case, then know it won’t be an easy climb.” 

“I’ll bring my best men.” She slammed the intercom. “Montoya, get Valdez, Johnson, and Ringo, and meet us outside the hangar in five. Make sure you’re cammo’d and ammo’d.” 

“Aye, Captain.” 

She turned back to the Belmontian. “Lead the way, Vernon.” 

“As you wish.” 

Ward scooped up her gun and gloves, and they left together down the ramp. The other officers met them by a land cruiser, and Montoya piloted them across the dunes towards the distant mountain range. 

They abandoned the cruiser and fixed breathing masks to their mouths before they strode into the mist. 

“They abandoned the cruiser and fixed breathing masks to their mouths before they strode into the mist.”
Photo by Jason Blackeye

“Here.” Ward pressed a small diode onto Vernon’s back, attaching it to his robe and letting her hand linger on his muscular frame for a moment longer than necessary. “So we can follow you through the fog.” 

“Mind your step,” he said. 

Over the barren rockface, they clambered. Ward followed first, and Montoya brought up the rear. Montoya was a good officer, paternal, with just the right amount of spunk to keep him wired without losing that level head he wore so well. He’d make a fine replacement for her one day. That’s why Captain Exeter had chosen him at the last minute for her crew. 

The only person who didn’t like Montoya was Cookie. But Cookie couldn’t stand anyone with a food intolerance. 

The light blinked on Vernon’s back as he climbed ridges without any need for the balance boosts wired into their suits. A sheer, fifty-foot drop faced them. 

Vernon scrambled up using the thinnest of handholds, and the final bound took him ten feet to the top of the ridge. Ward followed slowly, maxing out her artificially enhanced grip, and as she neared the top, she slipped just short of the ledge. Vernon reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up as though she weighed nothing. 

She gripped hold of his arm. “Thanks,” she said. Her hands refused to let go of the muscle bulging beneath the fabric. “What else are you hiding under that robe of yours?” she asked. 

“What do you mean, Captain?” he said. 

Her breathing mask hid the blush reddening her cheeks. “I mean, what other secrets have you kept from me, Vernon? About Belmont?” She let the rope fall and Valdez caught it, hauling himself up the final peak. 

“Belmont is a cage, Captain. A cage of their own making. They say that segregation is purity. They have no interest in outsiders. You’ll have to be wary of the Council.” 

“You mean, they won’t be welcoming us with open arms?” 

“I doubt they’d welcome you at all.” 

The others joined them at the top, and Vernon led them to the vent, which he found in the exact place Lorenzo had shown him. 

“Down there, Captain,” Vernon said. “That is your back door into Belmont.” 

Ward deactivated her breathing mask, and it snapped back, revealing her lips. “Nice work, Vernon. Montoya, take Valdez. I want surveillance on the city. And when the time’s right, I’ll follow you in.” 

“Aye, Captain,” Montoya said. 

“Expect a hostile response. You copy?” 

Montoya drew his gun and charged the blast cycle. “Loud and clear.” 

“Montoya, take Valdez. I want surveillance on the city.”
Photo by Daniel Stuben

The two officers switched on their chest-cams and lowered themselves into the shaft. 

Ward took a marble from her pouch and held it in her palm. It projected the feed from Montoya’s suit. 

In darkness, he navigated his way between twisted metal, like climbing through a dinosaur’s skeleton. Eventually, he found a grill, and kicked his way through, emerging onto solid rock. 

“I’m in,” Montoya said. He raised his pistol and swept an arc around the shaft’s opening. “All clear. Far as I can see.” 

Smoke smothered the feed, denser than the mist swamping the mountain. 

Montoya inched forwards. He crept along a passageway, and found steps chiseled into the rock. 

“I’m heading down,” he said. “Valdez, watch your step.” 

“Copy.” 

“They scaled the mountain’s core on the smooth steps chiseled into its side.”
Photo by Parastoo Maleki.

They scaled the mountain’s core on the smooth steps chiselled into its side. Smoke charred everything. Soot festered around them. Shadows loomed out of the smog, but they held no threat. A lump of rock here. A shard of metal there. Then a shadow moved in the distance. 

“Did you see that?” Valdez said, his voice faltering. 

“Stay close,” Montoya ordered. 

They crept forwards, but the shadow disappeared into the mist. Footsteps echoed around them, pattering like rainfall. 

They followed the shadow deeper into smoke, their guns raised. A faint red glow burned through the mist. 

“Whew, it’s getting hot in here,” Montoya said. He crept towards the glow and a blood-red river flowed from between two pillars that loomed out of the smog, towering over the heart of the mountain. 

Across the river, a metallic pounding rang once, reverberating around the cavernous chamber. Then it rang again. And again. Harder. Faster. 

“We’re not alone,” Montoya said. 

A clang struck behind them. Then all around them. 

Sparks flew as iron met iron and shadows swarmed their vision. A form leaped through the mist. By the time the officers fired their weapons, the creatures were already on top of them, red eyes fixed on their faces, and they clawed the guns away and threw them into the river. 

The creatures possessed human faces, but their snarling teeth and unbridled shrieks made them animals rather than men. The enhanced power of the suits couldn’t compete against the rage that fuelled the beasts’ strength. 

“To the King,” voices cried around them. “To the King!” 

A mob dragged Montoya and Valdez to the pillars and they plunged through an opening into darkness. A lift ascended. Gears whirred. 

“Captain, are you seeing this?” Montoya said. 

“Stay strong, Montoya,” Ward whispered into the feed. “I’m here.” 

The lift stopped and they were thrown into a chamber where an iron throne reigned in its centre. On the dais, a man sat in a hooded robe, his red eyes glowing behind the shadow of his hood. Beside him, a woman sat quivering. 

“Ophelia, leave us,” the man said. 

“Treat them kindly. He’s alive, Brutus. I know it. Maybe they know where he is?” she said. 

“Did you not hear me? Leave us.” 

The woman disappeared into the corner, and she shivered, holding her legs and rocking back and forth. 

“Speak,” the King said. 

“Oh, mighty King,” one of the mob said. “We found these outsiders trespassing in Belmont.” They pushed Montoya and Valdez before the throne. 

“Who are you?” the King commanded. 

From Montoya’s chest, a blue glow illuminated the chamber, and Captain Ward’s face appeared larger than all of them. 

“My name is Captain Ward,” the hologram boomed, “and I represent the Polity. These are my men. Who are you? Where is the Council of Belmont?” 

“The Council is no more.” The man on the throne’s eyes narrowed. “I speak for Belmont. I am the fire.” 

“No man is a fire.” 

“Fool. What know you of fire? You appear in light and yet your flame holds no heat. There is no spark. You are an illusion. You are a myth, waiting to be judged by the true fire of Belmont.” 

Captain Ward scowled. “Is that a threat?” 

“Heed this warning. The fire of Belmont will consume you. It will purify you or turn you to ash. You cannot escape the fire. The time for our reckoning has come.” 

The hooded king stood from the throne and picked up an axe. He ignited its blade and swung through the hologram. Valdez’s head rolled across the floor before Montoya fell, and the feed was slashed by his blade. 

On the mountain, the hologram dissipated into smoke, and Ward stared at the mist, her fists clenched so tight, her nails drew blood from her palms. 

That’s two for the butcher’s bill. And not by her hand. 

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Ward yelled. 

Vernon shook his head in dismay. “What has become of Belmont?” 

“If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they’ll get. You said they built themselves a cage. Then let’s cage them.” She turned to her two remaining officers. “Johnson, Ringo, I want you to stay here and set up a perimeter. Nobody in or out. We’ll assemble a team and surround the gate. Let’s see how long they last without food or air. Vernon, you’re with me.” 

“Should I not stay? Perhaps I can go down and reason with the people?” 

“Vernon. Don’t be a fool. They want a war, and the Polity will give them one.” 

“Belmont dreamed of peace once. The people are not beyond hope.” 

Ward bit her lip. “Ringo, Johnson, you have your orders.” She snatched Vernon by the arm and yanked him into the mist. 

Ward began the climb back down the mountain, retracing their path. Vernon followed easily. It had been years since he’d dared approach the mountainside, but the tricks to crossing the rocky terrain and steep slopes hadn’t escaped him. 

His mind reeled from the violence he had witnessed. And he knew Ward was ready to kill anyone or anything to avenge her men. Her movements were lythe as a hunter, as if she were stalking prey through the mist. He waited for the climb to take some wind from her. When they reached a flatter plateaux, he spoke, knowing any time would be too soon.

“Captain,” he said, “I’m from Belmont. I’m an outcast, but not an outsider. Perhaps I can broker a peace?” 

Ward whirled on him. “Listen, Vernon. Those officers gave their lives for the Polity. So don’t you dare think you can go down there on some kind of suicide mission and get yourself an easy way out of this. You hear me? Those people are savages, and we’ll treat them as we do all savages. But until then, you have a duty to avenge those officers whose lives were just wasted. So I need you here. I need you with me. Understand?”

“I understand, Captain. Duty is sacred. I won’t fail you.”

She paced the flattened path, her blood rising, death yearning to find its way into her hands. “Just calm down, Ward,” she whispered to herself. “Find a way to relax. To think.”

Achieve the objective, by any means necessary.

“What can I do?” Vernon asked.

Ward snarled, succumbing to instinct as she flung out her hands. Knives twirled in her grip. The first blow rang from where it collided with his staff. But her rage only grew. She swung again. And again. Each thrust stronger than the last. Even over the rough terrain, she moved smoothly, in her natural element. Ward and Vernon began to dance, the only music the knives ringing against his spinning staff. Their breath and the slide of their footsteps across the gravel punctuated the tune. She stretched her muscles, striking high, and then swooping low, making him bend to meet her glinting blades.

His hood fell back. They breathed deeper. 

She slashed at his face, and he ducked, but lost his footing. She swept his leg, and he planted his staff, launching himself through the air in a somersault over where she stood. Her roundhouse struck air, and she pirouetted, facing him, their shadows growling through the fog. 

Apparently, Belmont’s Gatekeepers knew how to fight, better than a lot of her Marines. But Ward was not just a Marine, she was a Polity SEAL.

In a flourish, she sheathed her knives. The time for finesse was over. Two of her men were dead.

Tears filled her eyes. Not tears of sadness. No, she had lost Marines before. Some of them better than Montoya and Valdez. These were tears of rage, she told herself. She unleashed herself upon the Belmontian with a force deadlier than any beast he’d encountered in the savagelands. 

Vernon dodged the full brunt of her kicks and blocked others with his staff. She closed in and slugged it out, her punches growing sloppy, as if she didn’t care where they landed. Anything to vent the fire within her. 

Vernon dropped his staff and blocked the lunges with his palms. Then he wrapped her fists in his own large, gloved hands.

“Fighting will get us nowhere,” he said.

“You’re right.”

She fed from his strength, finding solace in his touch. He leaned over her, surrounding her with firm shoulders, biceps of iron, and his dark cape.

She withdrew her hand from his grasp and reached up. He flinched, but saw in her eyes the smoulder of her anger transmute into desire. They breathed heavily. She pulled his head towards her and planted her lips on his.

“Captain—”

“Shut up, Vernon. That’s an order.”

Guilt inflated her chest. She thought he had emerged from the fight unscathed. But she’d slashed both his wrists and ankles. Nothing serious. She had merely kissed the skin with the blade’s edge. But in a few seconds they would sting, and he might bleed into his leather gloves. Yet, she relinquished her guilt to the pressure of his lips, and surrendered to the fire that burned inside him.

To Vernon, her perfume mingled with the mist, intoxicating him. Swallowed by the mountain’s veil, they found comfort in each other’s arms. A flame ignited within Vernon, one that had long since died. He would never need to wander again. His heart became glass, and it took the shape of the warrior in his arms, an outcast no more.


If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Frasier’s “Pillars of Smoke,” which kicked off the Belmont stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on their way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Lost to Belmont, Vernon must now find a way back in

Outcast of Belmont

Part I

BY FRASIER ARMITAGE

The Marine Lander’s doors whooshed open, and Vernon’s long robes trailed behind him as he entered the hangar. He left his iron staff by the door and paced towards the center of the vast chamber. 

Captain Ward stood with one hand on her hip and the other twirling a laser pistol. Subtlety was for diplomats, not marines. 

Vernon approached her and bowed. “You summoned me, Captain?” His face remained hidden in the shadow of his hood. 

Ward holstered her pistol and smiled at the Belmontian, catching her reflection in the glisten of his mirrored goggles. “Vernon of Belmont. You’re a hard man to find. You know it’s taken me three days of sending messages through Whitehallers to get you here. Where’ve you been?” 

“Is that why you summoned me?” 

Ward raised an eyebrow and tapped her pistol. “You showed up out of the blue the night we arrived. We watched Kite Night together. And then you vanished into thin air, with no way to be contacted, despite the fact I made it clear how much I wanted an escort into Belmont. I just wondered what could be more important to you than your duty to the Polity, and to your city?” 

Vernon nodded. “Nothing is more sacred than duty, Captain. But I have no duty to Belmont. Not anymore. So I can be of no use to you. It was in your best interest that I disappear, for I would only hinder your chances of safe passage into Belmont.” 

“Why?” 

Vernon’s shoulders shuffled in apprehension. “Because of my banishment. I may never return to Belmont.” 

Ward frowned, her tongue pushing against the inside of her cheek. “But you represented Belmont at our talks?” 

“I represented myself. I never claimed to speak for Belmont.” 

Ward laughed. “Vernon, you sly dog. You know I’ve heard so many things about Belmontians. That they’re made out of fire. That they’re inbred mutants, allergic to sunlight. That their skin is so pale they make the moons look dark. But I never heard they were smart.” 

Vernon shook his head. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Captain. A true Belmontian would never deceive another. Not intentionally.” 

“Then you really aren’t a true Belmontian, are you?” 

His head dipped. “Not anymore. A pure Belmontian would never be seen outside the mountain.” 

Ward’s lips curled into a smile. “I’m curious to know how many of these rumours are true. Why don’t you pull back your hood and show me that face of fire?” 

Vernon stiffened. “It is forbidden to reveal oneself to an outsider.” 

“You can’t remove your hood? Not even if I ordered you to?” 

Vernon’s fingers fluttered in a ritualistic gesture. “I still follow the way of fire, Captain. But, like I said, nothing is more sacred than duty.” His hand quivered as he peeled back his hood to reveal his face. Scars tattooed his cheeks in a pattern of scorch marks. 

“I still follow the way of fire, Captain.”
Photo by Kyle Cleveland

Ward ran her eyes over his calloused skin. “Well, they were right about you being pale, at least. Still, I like a man who knows when to follow orders. So tell me about Belmont, Vernon. How do I get there? How do I get inside that mountain?” 

He shook his head. “You cannot. The Gatekeeper watches when the force field protecting the city is lowered to allow supplies through.” 

“Gatekeeper?” 

“It was the station I used to hold in Belmont. They monitor everything that enters the gate. It would be impossible to get past them, either in or out.” 

“Not totally impossible. Take a look.” Ward produced a marble from her pocket and it floated from her palm, projecting a holo across the hangar. 

Cast in pale blue, footage played of a skirmish at a restaurant. Two people boarded a hover and the camera chased them through the streets. Just before a pistol-blast fried the footage, the image paused to show a young man and woman. 

Ward clipped her fingers together and zoomed into the image. The fractured pixels revealed the man wore goggles, the same as Vernon. Along the hangar wall, Vernon reached out and traced the faces of the man and woman. 

“This was taken from a drone in Whitehall during kite night,” Ward said. 

“The Whitehallers gave up their footage?” 

Ward pulled the imaging-ball back to her and it zipped into her palm. “Not exactly. We monitored all of Whitehall’s drones during kite night. For security, of course.” 

Vernon nodded. “Of course.” 

Ward slunk towards him with panther-like grace, ready to pounce at whatever prey crossed her path. “Rumour has it that goggle-boy’s a Belmontian. So he must’ve got out somehow.” 

“Not through the gate.” 

“Then there has to be another way into the city.” 

Vernon rubbed his brow. “If another way to reach Belmont exists, the boy is the only one who knows it. Why not summon him instead of me?” 

“I tried. But he’s even harder to find than you are. I think he’s getting help to stay out of sight.” 

“And you want me to find him?” Vernon asked. 

“Not just a pretty face, are you? I have the feeling you know all the best hiding places. But I want access to the city, Vernon. I want Belmont to know we’re here.” 

Vernon bowed. “I will find the boy, and if he knows of another way into Belmont, then you shall know it too.” 

Ward grinned, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing. Her perfume danced through the air between them. “I know you won’t let me down.” 

Vernon pulled his hood over his head. “I will not fail you, Captain. I, too, wish for Belmont to know you are here. Who knows what kind of fire that spark of knowledge may stir? When I find the boy, I shall return.” 

He paced away from her, picked up his staff, and left the hangar. The door whirred closed behind him. 

“With staff in hand, he journeyed across the dunes towards the river.”
Photo by Stéphane Hermellin

Another Belmontian had left Belmont. Did that mean Julius had failed again? His lip quivered at the thought of another outcast roaming the sands. 

With staff in hand, he journeyed across the dunes towards the river. His feet had grown so used to sand, he’d forgotten what it felt like to stand inside the mountain, to feel the surety of rock and the pulse of magma rippling up from the river of fire. He’d caught glimpses of it in the Marine Lander. The dormant engine’s hum filtered through the hangar’s floor, reminding him of his post by the gate, before Julius’ scheme was discovered. If only he’d opened the gate before the Council had sent their enforcers against him. They were all so young back then, with dreams of harmony and unification. Ideals which abandoned him as he’d been forced to walk the sands alone. 

Those first nights after he’d been forced out from the mountain, he’d wandered the savagelands, his robes tearing as Mirrims snatched at him. He’d spent his days wrestling unseen beasts and his nights wrestling the cold. His skin blistered as the sun penetrated his hood. Skycrawlers circled above, until he stumbled across the river, to Wildcat Fields, and the fringe of Westminster. 

It was there he’d found a shard of glass poking out of the dunes. His first glimmer of fire beyond the mountain. He still remembered the day he built his first kiln, and the first ornament of glass he fashioned as he turned the sand around him into cups and bowls. 

Nomads from Newlondon had stumbled into him, and traded his sculptures for food. As his craftsmanship became more precise, he sculpted them ever more intricate maps for their skivs. That was how he’d made the beginnings of a life, how the seeds of friendship with the outsiders had been planted, and how the harmony he’d dreamed of had in a small way come to pass. 

Now, as he journeyed across the same desert, from Ward’s ship to the Elizabeth river, he trudged through his memories. They shivered through him like the shifting sands. 

Vernon wondered how long the boy might’ve wandered alone before he’d found help. Whether the boy had been luckier than him. His help had come too late. His curiosity over the lights had made him a puppet of Ward. But it might not be too late for the boy, provided he kept the lad away from her. Besides, if he brought another Belmontian to her, she may not request his presence again, and he may never smell the sweet intoxication of her perfume. But he pushed thoughts of Ward away from his mind, as he focused on the image of the young man from Belmont and the woman on the skiv.

Vernon dipped his toes in the Elizabeth’s crystal water, and waited for the passing hovers which had fed him all these years. He collected boulders from along the riverbank and wisps of tall grass. Stones grouped together to form a kiln, and he removed the shard of glass which had saved him all those years ago, and given him the gift of fire. He angled sunlight through the shard, and the grass erupted in flame. He fed the fire until it was so hot, he could barely stand beside it, and then he tossed sand into the hearth. 

After hours of working on the sculpture, and blowing air through his hollow staff, he’d worked the glass into the image that he’d seen on the holo. He let the glass cool, and flagged down a passing skiv. 

“…Blowing air through his hollow staff, he’d worked the glass into the image that he’d seen on the holo.”
Photo by Johannes W.

“You need a ride, old man?” the Newlondoner hollered as they slowed. 

“I need a favor. Do you know Oberon?” 

The Newlondoner scoffed. “What Newlondoner doesn’t know Oberon?” 

“Will you give him this for me?” Vernon handed them the sculpture. “Tell him that Vernon the Outcast seeks an audience with these two. I’m certain he can reach them, for one of them has eyes of blue.” 

“And in return?” the Newlondoner asked. 

“In return, you may keep the sculpture. The glass alone is worth the hassle. Do you accept?” 

The Newlondoner weighed it for a moment. “Okay, Pops. You got yourself a deal.” 

“Tell him that I shall wait here three days, and on the third day, if I haven’t heard from them, I’ll know they refuse me an audience.” 

The Newlondoner sailed into the distance. 

Vernon laid beside his kiln and slept. Three days should be plenty of time for Oberon to send the message. The old sea dog had connections up and down the river. Someone was bound to know of them. 

Of course, there was no way of guaranteeing Oberon would send out the message. But he trusted his friendship with the man enough to believe that Oberon may feel a duty towards him. 

All Vernon need do now was wait, and hope that duty would be enough for the old trader. 


Night fell on the third day. Vernon had blown glass in his makeshift kiln each day and night. At first, they were just random shapes, but as the hours drew on, they came out more and more like the image of Captain Ward. He’d foraged enough to survive this long, but he could wait no longer. He stomped out the fire, and took his staff to smash his sculptures, when a hum droned up the river. A barge approached with its lights off, but his red eyes made out its shadow as if it were midday. 

“He took his staff to smash his sculptures, when a hum droned up the river.”
Photo by Jackson Hendry.

“Are you Vernon?” a voice echoed from the hover. 

“I am the same,” Vernon answered. 

“Then hop aboard. Nice and slow.” 

Vernon collected his staff and his latest sculpture. He leapt in a single bound onto the deck of the skiv. 

A gun pointed straight between his eyes. 

“I mean you no harm,” he said. 

“If I had a credit for every guy I’d shot who said that, I’d be a rich woman,” the Newlondoner threatened. 

“I seek only to talk with the Belmontian. Look.” Vernon removed his goggles and hood, flashing his red eyes. “I am a friend.” 

“Lorenzo, do you see anything?” 

From behind the helm-panel, the young man from Belmont appeared. “It’s all clear on the shore. I think we can trust him, Ros.” 

She lowered the gun. “What do you want with us?” she asked. 

Vernon shuffled forwards and placed the sculpture on the deck. “I am Vernon. I was once the Gatekeeper of Belmont. And though I am an outcast, I honour the flame.” 

“My name is Lorenzo. I never heard of a Gatekeeper by the name of Vernon before.” 

“It was a long time ago. Do you know a Hoodsman by the name of Julius?” 

Lorenzo nodded. “I heard rumours of him down the mine. They say he wants peace between Belmont and the outsiders.” 

“And so do I. He was my brother once. I may have been forgotten by the mountain, but does he live?” 

Lorenzo shrugged. “All I heard were rumours. Is that what you wanted to ask me?” 

Vernon shook his head. “Did you see the lights that adorned the sky?”

“The Polity?” Ros asked. 

“You know of the Polity?” Vernon raised an eyebrow. 

“They’re looking for a home,” Lorenzo said. “They’re no different than the rest of us. If you’re here to convince us otherwise, you’re wasting your time.” 

“They sent me to find you,” Vernon said. 

Ros frowned. “You’re with the Polity?” 

“Captain Ward of the Polity seeks an audience with the Council of Belmont. But she cannot obtain entry to the city. You got out, Lorenzo. How?” 

Lorenzo glanced at Ros and back to Vernon. “Through an old smoke vent. The deeper they mine, the more smoke they produce, but this old vent was redundant. The smoke barely reached it.” 

Vernon pinched his brow. “There must be hundreds of vents that lead to the mountain. But you say you found one that is safe to travel through? Can you show me where it is?” 

Lorenzo crossed his arms. “I’m not going back to that mountain ever again.” 

“You don’t have to. Here.” Vernon gestured to the glass sculpture. “This is the mountain. All you need do is point at where the vent is.” 

Lorenzo approached the glass object on the deck and peered closer at the intricacy of its details. His jaw dropped as he recognised the path he’d wandered, and the ridges he’d scaled. “You made this?” he asked. 

“I did,” Vernon answered. 

“Then I salute you, Vernon. This is the entry point, exactly where I was when the Polity landed.” 

Vernon memorised the spot. Not even the thickest mist could’ve hidden it from him. “Thank you, Lorenzo.” 

“Will you take a message to the Polity for me?” Lorenzo asked. 

“Speak, and they shall know it.” 

“Will you tell them,” Lorenzo said, “that we are all the same. And that Lorenzo of Belmont binds himself to them in an oath of friendship. We are galvanised by one purpose.” 

Vernon smiled. “I’m sure that Captain Ward will be thrilled to hear of your vow.” 

Ros stood behind the helm. “You need a lift?” 

“Can you take me to Whitehall?” Vernon asked. 

“We’re not too popular around Whitehall these days,” she said. “I can get you to the city gate, but no further.” 

“Thank you. Now, tell me of Belmont, brother Lorenzo. Do the pillars still stand?” 

Ros threw the hover towards Whitehall. Lorenzo caught Vernon as he stumbled at the sudden lurch of the craft. “They stand as solid as I am on this deck. And yet, how I wish they would fall.” 

“The way I do on this deck.” Vernon laughed. 

“You get used to the way she pilots,” Lorenzo said. 

Vernon nodded. “People can get used to anything.” 

Lorenzo pulled him to his feet. “Even the darkness,” Lorenzo said. “That is Belmont, brother. They are so used to the darkness that they cannot see the flame, even as it burns before them. Is that why you left?” 

Vernon sighed. “I left because I tried to make them see there was a world out here. That we had a higher duty which stretched beyond ourselves.” 

Lorenzo nodded. “You cannot cure a man of blindness while ever he refuses to open his eyes.” 

“We’re at the gate,” Ros called. The hover slowed to a thrum. 

“Thank you, brother.” Vernon took Lorenzo by the arm. 

“I hope we meet again,” Lorenzo said. 

“May the fire warm and feed you. Both of you.” Vernon leaped from the hover and landed on the sand. Ros turned the skiv and it faded into the distance as Vernon vanished into the night.


If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Frasier’s “Pillars of Smoke,” which kicked off the Belmont stories in the Globe Folio series.

Check back on Friday, when we reveal the conclusion to “Outcast of Belmont.”

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

New leaders ride the shifting sands of power

The Sands of Change

Part II

by Shanel Wilson

Ward jumped off her flier in front of Westminster’s main gate. There was little difference from this place to the hundreds of other desert cities she had seen on Polity missions. She rolled her eyes at the sandstone walls that wrapped around the city. One blast from her pulsar gun would shake the primitive thing apart. Ward tossed her visor into the flier, nearly pegging Leonardo in the head. Shame it didn’t hit him. She would have much preferred to take these tours without Whitehall’s self-appointed guide simpering at her elbow.

“Let’s get this over with.” She stamped through the sand and through the gate.

Leonardo sped through the group of Ward’s crew she brought with her.

“Welcome to Westminster, Whitehall’s industrial sister. You saw the oil pipeline on your journey here, and they created all the glass for our photo-voltaic cells that power Whitehall.”

Hover trolleys were gathering workers for their morning shifts at the Smith and Wildcat Fields. A few of the citizens cast tentative glances at the group of heavily armed and armored newcomers, but none gave any greetings or welcomes.

A hover came blasting around the corner and stopped suddenly directly in front of Ward. A small cloud of dust caught up with the hover and swirled around the group. Leonardo coughed and waved his hands to clear the air. Ward crossed her arms as two men jumped out of the hover. Both were quite young and had piercing violet eyes.

“Greetings, Captain. Welcome to our fair city!” the shorter one exclaimed.

“Gonzalo? Sebastian? We are not scheduled to see Eglamour and the Smith until this afternoon.” Leonardo consulted his notes in the small folio he kept attached to his hip.

“Captain, I am Sebastian, son of Eglamour.” Sebastian gave her a small bow, ignoring Leonardo. “And this is my younger brother Gonzalo. We have eagerly awaited your visit.”

Photo by Hasan Almasi.

“And which one are you, glass or oil?” Ward looked the brothers over.

“We proudly represent the Smith, the Globe’s great glass factory. We would be glad to take you on our hover to the factory floor for your tour.”

“We are due in the Fields, as I said, Sebastian.” Leonardo pointed to his notes.

“Ah, yes, you see a tragedy has befallen Westminster since your comm. The great Benedick, the head of Wildcat Fields, passed away from a long illness, yesterday. We did not want to delay your important visit, so we are here to take you to the Smith.” Gonzalo stepped forward, his chest puffed up to appear as important as possible.

“Fine. I don’t care which I see first, but I need to see the oil fields before I leave. Who can give me that tour?” Ward asked.

“Benedick’s niece, Imogen. She has been overseeing the operations since her uncle fell ill, but I am sure she is mourning as she is his only remaining family. I assure you, we will be able to handle anything you need while you are here in Westminster.” Sebastian smiled and gestured for Ward to board their hover.

Ward sighed. She was already tired of the grandiose welcomes, but it came with the territory on a mission like this. That’s why she much preferred close combat. No facades in the way. Just you, the enemy and your weapon of choice. Her hand unconsciously slid over her sidearm as she stepped into the relatively small hover. 

“We do apologize, we only have room to accommodate Captain Ward on our hover. The rest of you are welcome to enjoy a pleasant stroll through our fair city and meet us at the Smith. Leonardo, I believe you know the way?” Sebastian climbed into the hover, followed by Gonzalo.

Leonardo fumed but before he could respond, Ward waved her hand.

“Johnson, you and the team will go on foot with Leonardo.” She touched the commlink in her ear.

“Yes, sir.” Johnson saluted and mirrored her and touched the commlink in his ear.

She was glad their commlinks had not failed so far. The communications around this place seemed primitive to what she was used to, and she didn’t want to rely on any of them to communicate with her team. These simpletons’ solution to the atmospheric disturbances which scrambled radio waves had been to program drones to carry messages for them. Pathetic, really. Any Polity child could have rewired a commlink to broadcast a message across the surface, even a surface as messed up as this one. Still, at least it meant they weren’t going to hack into the commlink and eavesdrop. Johnson would report anything else pertinent they may find along the way. And, as a bonus, she would be free from Leonardo for the first time since landing on this rock, or at least nearly.

“Gentlemen, shall we?” Ward reclined in her seat.

Sebastian took the controls and they sped off through the city. Ward especially enjoyed Leonardo’s face as they left. Maybe there were a few joys to be found, even if she couldn’t shoot her way through this mission.

A short while later, they arrived at the Smith. The two brothers gave her the grand tour, complete with a visit to each glassmith to see what they were working on. Ward hoped she would be spared gladhanding the locals, but she did her best to feign interest for a while. Colorful glass trifles were never interesting to Ward. Unless it served a purpose, she had no use for it. By the end of the second row of furnaces, she had seen enough.

The two brothers gave her the grand tour, complete with a visit to each glassmith to see what they were working on. Photo by Taton Moïse.

“Thank you for your time. I will meet my Marines now.” Ward nodded a farewell and turned on her heel to leave.

“There is no need to rush! Please, can we offer you a meal at our dining hall? We have some of the best chefs in the Globe creating delicious meals for our glassmiths that rival what the famed culinary men of Finsbury produce.” Gonzalo jumped in Ward’s way.

“We have provisions. Thank you for your offer. I have many important things to attend to.” Ward couldn’t justify any more time spent dealing with these windbags. She knew glass was worthless to the Polity, so she allotted just enough time to seem diplomatic.

“We would be glad to escort you to Wildcat Fields now, if that is your wish,” Gonzalo piped up.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ward responded.

“We humbly thank you for the time you have spent with us, Captain Ward. We will be glad to furnish as much glass as the Polity will need. We hope you see the value we . . . I mean, the Smith, will provide.” Sebastian placed his hand on Ward’s arm.

Ward wrenched her arm away. It took everything in her power to keep herself from pulling her sidearm on him. She took a deep breath and regained her poise.

“I will report to the Polity and let them know your keen interest.” She marched off without waiting for an answer.

Sebastian and Gonzalo watched her strong silhouette exit through the doorway at the end of the factory.

“That’s it?! She’ll let them know our ‘keen interest’? She thinks we’re fools! We cannot tolerate her disrespect!” Gonzalo ran his fingers through his hair while pacing around Sebastian.

“She’ll see the error of failing to strike a deal with us today, but we need to stick to the plan. If we do, our patience will be rewarded. The Polity will be crawling back to us before you know it.” Sebastian crossed his arms across his chest confidently.


Ward, her Marines and Leonardo arrived at Benedick’s house after a short walk from the Smith. Though the city was rustic to her eyes, Ward appreciated the functional nature of the buildings and the clean layout of the streets. She almost let herself enjoy the walk outside, except Leonardo spent the entire time trying to convince Ward to postpone her visit to Wildcat Fields.

“Please. We should leave the poor girl to her mourning. Perhaps we can come back after we have visited Newlondon?” Leonardo pleaded.

Her once-neat braid was frayed, and the rims of her eyes were red. Photo by Saif el Ouarti.

“The Polity cannot wait, regardless of when death takes its toll.” Ward pressed the button next to the doorway.

After a short wait, Imogen opened the front door. Her once-neat braid was frayed, and the rims of her eyes were red. The imposing figures of Ward and her Marines seemed to catch her off guard. Leonardo stepped around Ward to greet her.

“Please, pardon our intrusion. You must be Imogen. I am Leonardo of Whitehall. We know this is a difficult time for you, but may I present Captain Ward of the Polity?” Leonardo motioned to Ward and her Marines.

“Yes, of course. The tour of the Fields. It will be no problem.” Imogen brushed the hair from her face. “Forgive me for not inviting you in under the circumstances. We can head straight to the Fields.” Imogen stepped out into the street and closed the door behind her.

“After you.” Ward gestured to Imogen. She was pleased to meet someone willing to get down to business without the flowery shows of flattery.

“We can start at the refinery. There you will be able to see the beginning of the pipeline. This way please.” Imogen led the group to the northwest corner of the city.

Imogen maintained a quick but steady pace. Ward allowed her to stay a step ahead of the rest. Her questions could wait. Ward was more interested in observing her. She noted the proud way Imogen carried herself. It was the same fortitude Ward expected of her Marines.

They arrived at the refinery where Imogen gave a brief yet instructional tour. Ward appreciated her efficiency. Imogen answered all the questions Ward put to her with ease and intelligence. Imogen’s professional demeanor only broke once, as they passed Benedick’s office.

“And this is head office.” Imogen’s voice cracked as she saw her uncle’s name on the nameplate.

Leonardo placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Imogen gave him a sad smile and smoothed her hair again.

“Seems like it would be your office now. Under the circumstances, that is,” Ward remarked offhandedly.  

Leonardo scowled at Ward as Imogen’s face paled. Imogen traced the nameplate absentmindedly. Ward rolled her eyes at Leonardo and cleared her throat. She didn’t have time for emotional detours. Imogen blinked and turned back to the group.

The golden dunes were dotted with slow-moving oil rig pumps bobbing up and down.

“Yes, Captain. I guess you are right.” Imogen paused, then strode down the corridor. “This way please.” Ward noted the slightly faster pace that Imogen took the rest of the tour. Imogen proved she was capable under pressure, but Ward wondered how she would fare once they began negotiations. Imogen led them to a small but comfortable lounge usually reserved for crews returning from their shifts in the Fields.

“Captain, if you wish to see Wildcat Fields itself, we can take a crew hover from here. The Fields are managed by two-person crews because of the creatures that inhabit the dunes. Your Marines are welcome to wait here.”  

“Thank you. Marines, at ease, I will return shortly.” Ward nodded to her Marines and Leonardo.

Imogen brought Ward into a small garage of hovers and got into the nearest one. Ward climbed into the passenger seat, and they set out into the dunes. Ward shaded her eyes to get a better view. The golden dunes were dotted with slow-moving oil rig pumps bobbing up and down. As they sped past, Ward saw a few workers in goggles tending to the mechanisms.

Imogen brought Ward into a small garage of hovers and got into the nearest one. Photo by Sara Bakhshi.

“I could use a pair of those goggles about now,” Ward quipped.

“There should be a pair under your seat, but they won’t help with the sun much.”

Ward reached below her seat. The goggles she found were lightweight, made with straps of canvas and fitted with deep violet lenses. Ward slipped them on but saw nothing unusual except her vision was now tinged purple.

“The goggles help filter the light so they can see the ultraviolet rays more easily.” Imogen pointed to the lenses. “They won’t help you much, except for maybe keeping the sand out. You may have noticed some Westies have violet eyes. Those with violet eyes can see ultraviolet light, but women have the strongest sight. Ultraviolet vision is a valuable asset on the Globe, especially in a place like Wildcat Fields. Not only are repairs made easier, but many creatures bear ultraviolet markings. They would be completely camouflaged otherwise.”

“That is a useful trait. If violet-eyed women have the best sight, why aren’t the crews exclusively women?” Ward slipped off the goggles and stashed them back under the seat.

“Long ago, the leaders in Whitehall learned of this unique trait and asked if their scientists could study a woman with violet eyes. They were able to develop a surgery that would enhance the ultraviolet vision even more. It was agreed that once violet-eyed women reached a certain age, they would be sent to Whitehall for surgery, and they would be hired out to the highest bidder for work in repairs or for creature defense and research. The women soon became known as Westminster Brides.” 

Ward raised her eyebrows at the word “brides.” Imogen rolled her eyes and continued, “Not what I would have called them, but no one asked me. Whitehall, as it does today, controls the greatest number of resources and power in the Globe. Westminster was not in the position to refuse this arrangement, so the practice continues through today. Westminster rarely tries to compete with the prices Brides fetch, since much of the work for the Fields can be done with our own men.”

“You have one of the largest resources on the Globe, your oil. Why not leverage it if you do not wish to keep sending your women out in this forced labor?”

“When the Globe was established, we agreed to share these resources. That principle remains today, yet with a few more caveats. Finsbury once tried to assert its independence from Whitehall, to be free from their constant demands. Let’s just say that Whitehall ensured that it would never happen again. That sent a clear message to the rest of us of what could happen if we tried to operate independently from them.” Imogen’s fists tighten their grip on the hover controls.

Ward herself had “sent a clear message” to all the Globe leaders when she arrived, showing that the UPS Pacifica in orbit could destroy anything anywhere on the Globe with its lasers. She knew that would rankle some leaders, but had it also reopened old wounds in the other cities under Whitehall’s thumb?

Imogen brought the hover to a stop at a rig on a far ridge. Ward’s eyes scanned the ridge around her. She made a mental note to prod Leonardo about the failed Finsbury coup. Understanding the backward power dynamics of this rock was critical if she was to complete this mission successfully. Blazing oranges, pinks and purples painted the sky. Ward rarely got the chance to see colors like this while on the Pacifica or any of the other Polity ships she had been stationed on. Her mind drifted from politics and resources as she let the colors wash over her. 

Her mind drifted from politics and resources as she let the colors wash over her. Photo by Nader Abushhab.

“Benedick would bring me to this ridge to watch the two moons rise,” Imogen continued. “He also brought me here when he had something difficult to discuss. I thought this would be appropriate for today. How much oil will the Polity demand exactly?”

Ward sat up from her reclined position in the passenger seat. Imogen maintained steady eye contact while the breeze blew the loose strands of her hair across her face.

“I like a girl who can cut to the chase. The Polity will need forty percent of your production.” Ward cocked her head, returning Imogen’s eye contact. The Polity didn’t really need that much oil, but Ward knew better than to ask for what she truly needed. That much would be a nightmare to try and haul off this rock, anyway.

“That is impossible. The whole of the Globe will come to a screeching halt within a week at that rate. We can give no more than ten percent.” Imogen remained calm and resolved.

“Navy leadership won’t be happy, but I am sure I can talk them down to twenty-five percent.”

“I promised my uncle to protect our people. While the Polity may promise protection, we have done well for ourselves for five hundred years. We will give no more than fifteen percent,” Imogen’s gaze returned to the ridge while she waited for Ward to respond.

“Then I have no choice but to accept.” Ward raised her hands in a gesture of defeat.

“That gun on your hip says otherwise.” Imogen smirked. “But I thank you for accepting. Shall we return? I am sure you want to get back before it is too late.”

“Quite right. Though today has been more informative than I had imagined.” Ward leaned back as Imogen started up the hover. Imogen was the first person with any brains around this place, so far. Ward appreciated being spoken to without artifice. Ward would have liked to entice Imogen to join her crew on the Globe, yet she knew Imogen would never leave the Fields. Especially since they were her responsibility now, something that made Imogen even more attractive as a crew member. Too bad.


Gonzalo watched Ward’s flier blast off into the darkening sky.

From the window of the apartment he shared with Sebastian, Gonzalo could see the flier’s red engines flair as Ward headed towards Whitehall. Jet engines were Polity tech, unlike anything he had ever seen. Sebastian sat on the small couch tossing an ornate glass ball in the air.

“There that wretched woman goes.”

“Come sit, brother.” Sebastian motioned to the cushion next to him.

A muffled ping escaped Sebastian’s pocket.

“What’s that?” Gonzalo searched for the source of the sound.

“It’s Father’s comm.” Sebastian pulled it out to see the message.

“When did you take it? Father will . . . “

“Father will what?” Sebastian interrupted. “He’s so confused, he doesn’t even know what year it is. Someone needed to be responsible for it. Let’s see what the message says.”

The blue screen read:

Eglamour, you are cordially invited to the auction of the Eye of the freshly slain Kraken in Newlondon Harbor. All invited are welcome to bid for the Eye. The most valuable bid will win! Good luck and looking forward to seeing you in our esteemed city soon. Sincerely, Solanio of Newlondon

“What did I tell you, Gonzalo? Luck is on our side. Ward will no doubt attend, so we will be sure to have a bid so extraordinary, Ward and those greedy Newlonders will be eating out of the palms of our hands. Tomorrow is a new day.” A sly smile crept over Sebastian’s lips as he clasped his brother on the back.

“And it will be ours!” Gonzalo cheered. Sebastian clicked a button on a remote resting on the coffee table. Brassy, upbeat tones filled the room with the newest Whitehall disco hit. The brothers danced around the room while the two moons rose through their window.


If you enjoyed Shanel’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Shanel’s “Shadow of the Dunes,” which kicked off the Westminster stories in the Globe Folio series.

And make sure to check back next Friday week for the next story in “Nights of Revelation.” Frasier Armitage takes us back to Whitehall as the governor and mayor grapple with the shifting power on the Globe in “A Matter of Principle.”

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross