We will not and can not forget the lives lost to this tragedy. In these coming weeks, please reach out to those who have experienced loss and support them. Reach out to me if you have been so affected. My door is open. Together, we persevere.

And so, this trying time will not defeat us but bring us together. In the icy depths, we endure —

Councilwoman Madaline Miller paused, a frown on her lips, a black spot growing from the tip of her squid ink fountain pen. No, these words weren't right. She had to end her speech with more confidence. She lifted the nib and scrutinized her sheet.

She had a working computer and printer but preferred to write by hand. Crossed-out sections and rewrites jammed in the margin scarred her impeccable penmanship. She would rewrite it all once she was done, a beautiful, flawless masterpiece, but she made her first draft work for her.

Her intercom flashed on her desk. She sighed, placed her pen in its holder, and accepted the call from her secretary.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice low and smooth.

"Councilwoman Miller," Jaimie's voice sounded from the other side. "I have a Mr. Franz Kruger who insists he needs to talk to you."

Madaline frowned and shook her mouse to wake her computer. "I didn't think I had any appointments today."

Her flashed to life, revealing her calendar. She was correct.

"I know, ma'am I can send him away,"

A muffled voice protested, and Madaline cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, councilwoman," Jaimie stammered, panic in her words. "He insists he needs to talk to you."

Madaline frowned sympathetically. The poor secretary was ill-suited to deal with contention. Madaline needed a break from her speech anyway. "Send him in," she said, relieving the poor girl.

Her office's entrance, not a hatch but an old-fashioned steel door, opened, admitting a short white man with greasy, combed-over black hair and glasses so thick they gave him fish eyes. He bobbed his head in a quasi-bow. Madaline vaguely recognized the supplicant. He wore a systems tech grey plaid vest with many pockets that held bundled cords, adapters, and other small hardware elements.

"Hello," Madaline said as the man wrung his hands before him. "How can I help you?"

"Immunity!" the systems tech squeaked.

"I beg your pardon," Madaline said, startled.

"I want immunity before I talk."

"Immunity?" the councilwoman echoed. "From what?"

"Not another word until I get it."

"What did you do?" Madaline sighed, mostly to herself.

"He made me do it!" Frans shrieked. "I owed him money; he's planning on betraying you."

"Who is planning on betraying me?" Madaline demanded.

"Immunity!"

The door behind the tech opened, and Councilman Vermeulen invited himself in. "Madaline," Cornilius said as he strode in. "How is your speech coming —” He froze and frowned at the systems tech with a dangerous gleam in his eye, but it was too deliberate.

At the sight of the newcomer, Frans wilted like a jellyfish out of water. Madaline narrowed her eyes as she decoded the unspoken subtext. What was Cornelius doing, trying to intimidate the man?

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company," Mr. Vermeulan said, glancing from the systems tech to the councilwoman.

"I'm taking a break from speechwriting," Madaline said. "I asked Mr. Kruger here to help me update some systems. Can you have those done by Monday, Mr Kruger?" She prayed he was wise enough to recognize the lifeline.

"Ye — Yes, ma'am, no problem," he stammered.

"And you're sure you can do it remotely? Don't you need to take my machine?"

"If you’re connected to the hardline, I can do it from the office," Frans Kruger wiped the sweat from his brow with a checkered handkerchief.

"Perfect!" She chirped sweetly. "You're a lifesaver!"

"Thank you, Ma'am!" He bowed his head again, an utterly uncalled-for gesture by Joberg’s customs. At least he was smart enough to recognize the dismissal.

Cornelius watched the tech leave and stared at the door for too long.

"So, what brings you here?" Madaline asked once it was just the two of them.

"How's the speech?" Cornelius deflected.

"Lacking," she said. Like you, she left unsaid. Something about Frans' appearance had Cornelius rushing in to interrupt. What had he made the systems tech do?

"There shouldn't be too much outcry," Cornelius said. "We mostly lost criminals and degenerates."

"Criminals and degenerates have families, too," Madaline said. "And we cleared out the rest home; that hasn't gone over well."

"But at last, our crisis has been averted," Cornelius said. "Our resources should stabilize, and our generational gene pool is stronger than ever.

Madaline slumped to her chair, and her hands curled into fists. "Crisis averted? Cornelius, that raid was a fucking shit show. They didn't collect their payment. We've recovered the bodies of dozens of corsairs; they somehow lost one of their subs, and their second is refusing to answer our hails. What the hell happened? What will their high command say about this?"

"They attacked, and people resisted. They should have been more prepared," Cornelius shrugged.

Madaline snorted. "This isn't Jobergians resisting. It's like they encountered an armed militia ready for them."

"Too bad we took security down," Cornelius muttered. The same measure designed to eliminate evidence and protect the council now worked against them.

"I refuse to believe uncoordinated civilians slaughtered so many corsairs," Madaline punctuated.

"Who else could have?" Cornelius asked, half sitting on her desk. "You think JJ could have brought in outsiders?"

"Unlikely. Madaline said. "That smuggler would have had to know the attack was coming to be so well prepared."

"Muller? I'm pretty sure he was on the hit list, and we took out most of his client base; no doubt he has a grudge."

Madaline scoffed. "Honestly, the only people who could have realistically pulled this off are on the council." Her eyes locked onto Cornilius's face as she searched for answers. The corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly on one side. What had he done?

"Thabo certainly could have," Cornelius continued. If he knew she suspected him, he showed no sign.

"The entire police force was with us," Madaline said. "You would have known that if you had been at the council hall like you were supposed to."

Cornelius chuckled, slow and languid. "I ended up trapped in a broom closet. Wish my car made it."

Madaline hummed in acknowledgment. She needed to talk to Frans, the systems tech, before Cornelius made the poor man disappear. "Where's Mandla?"

"Hmm?" Cornelius stiffened.

"You don't go anywhere without him," she elaborated.

Cornelius shrugged. "He's accumulated a fair amount of leave. It's about time he took a break." The councilman circled the desk and stood behind her.

"We're friends, right, Madaline?" he asked.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Of course," Madaline said, not trusting his position behind her but refusing to look back.

"Why are we isolationists?" he asked. His voice grew louder despite his whisper as he leaned in. "We rule this city, but we handicap ourselves. We should thrive and expand even. There's a lot of potential for industry in the African strip. We could be so much more. We can't sustain life cut out from the outside. I'd very much like to stop culling our population every decade."

He wants to let me in, Madaline realized. "The Coral Corsairs protect us from bigger threats," she said. "Working with them is much easier as isolationists."

"The corsairs protect us, yes, but they're our jailers, not our guardians." Cornelius hissed with a touch of venom. "You and I, we could do better than them."

Madaline finally turned to look at him. "That's not realistic. Most nearby communities bend the knee to the corsairs. We couldn't break free."

"Hmm," Cornelius growled, his lean face and fierce eyes marred by his default scowl. "We burn," he said.

"Sorry?" Madaline asked, taken aback.

"For your speech," he motioned to the paper. "In the icy depths, we burn like the vents our ancestors built this city on. Best to end with more confidence. ‘We endure’ is far too weak. Let’s stop being so helpless."

She looked down at the paper. "I like it," she said, crossing the line to modify it.

"I'll leave you then," Cornelius straightened and started for the exit. Madaline watched him leave. Possibly the most cunning and ruthless man on the council, he plotted something the others wouldn't like. Madaline tapped her pen to her first draft, leaving errant and messy spots on the sheet. She would uncover his secrets if she didn’t like them.

********

Thulani entered his hatch and found Nandi and Olivia conversing at the kitchen table. Their conversation hit his ears, muted by the distance. His hands flexed, and his heart rolled. His best friend had tried to talk him out of this; surely, his family would understand. Why was this harder than fighting raiders?

"Hey," he said, his voice hoarse.

The women looked at him, Olivia, with concern, and his sister with a tinge of annoyance.

"We need to talk."

"Bro, what did you do?" Nandi asked in playful suspicion.

"I discovered the truth," Thulani said. "I need you to listen to me for a minute, okay? A big part of me wanted to keep this away from you because I didn't want to scare you, but I didn't want any secrets between us."

"Hartlam, what's wrong?" Olivia asked, her eyes widening.

"That tablet I took answered questions meant to remain secret," Thulani said. "The city council hired those raiders to cull our population to mitigate resource crises."

He was met by silence, but then Nandi snorted. "Wat is die storie? That doesn't make any sense."

"Nandi, it's true! I found their orders and correspondence — don't roll your eyes at me!"

Nandi caught herself. Thulani growled. "See, this is why talking to you about anything is hard. Anytime I say something, you act like I made it up."

"Bro, you see sharks in every shadow!" Nandi accused. "You always have. Mr. Johnson is a cannibal; they're putting pressure mutagens in the water, there isn't enough oxygen in the air, and now this —"

Olivia put a hand on Nandi's arm, stilling her. "Let's listen first, okay?"

Nandi slumped back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Thulani glared at his sister, tempted not to continue, but Olivia listened earnestly.

"I have proof that the life support report was altered, and now this tablet proves the council hired these mercenaries to kill us. They had a roster of everyone in the city by department, and they systematically murdered anyone low value."

Nandi tensed in her seat.

"Don't disregard this, Nandi!" Thulani snapped. "Raiders tried to kill me. I killed them. So don't pretend like this isn't happening." Thulani's hands shook, and his face warmed. Both women regarded him, stunned.

"So what are you going to do?" Olivia asked.

Thulani relaxed. "Let's see if they'll come clean at the city emergency disaster after action review. If they're honest, I don't have to do anything." If somehow the council exposed the corrupt parties or even tried to justify their actions, then due process could handle the matter. Somehow, Thulani knew that wouldn’t be the case.

"And if not?" Olivia went pale.

"Then I expose them," Thulani said. "I won't let my child grow up in a city where our leaders, sworn to protect us, think they can systematically slaughter us."

"How does this play out in your head, dumb kak?" Nandi asked. "You point and shout to the crowd. People listen to you and make you a new councilman? What if you're wrong? What if you don't have all the answers? You've studied to be a systems tech for years. How is that going to go when the council blacklists you from any tech job?"

Thulani ground his teeth.

"Hartlam, Olivia said softer than his sister. "I'm worried that you are right."

Thulani blinked. She believed him.

"We're going to have a child soon. A child who needs a father."

"A father is supposed to protect his kid." Thulani agreed.

"A father must be wise," Olivia said. "A father takes care of his family."

Thulani groaned as he realized she was trying to redirect him. "I'm not going to wait for the raiders to come back and murder you or our baby!"

"I'm not saying you should," Olivia's voice rose to match his. "But you should be smart about this. Who are you to face down Jobergs government?"

"An angry father!" Thulani exclaimed.

"Maybe you should be a careful father," Olivia said. "A smart one. Keep studying and get a job as a systems tech. Climb the ladder, grow your influence. If you still see this corruption, you'll have a leg to stand on. I need you. Not some hero on a quest; please don't do anything that might keep you away from me." The pitch of her voice climbed, and her eyes watered. Olivia wiped her eyes. "Stupid pregnancy hormones," she groaned as she fought for composure.

Seeing Olivia break down cracked something in Thulani. The girls weren't angry; they were scared. Like it or not, they were part of something together and didn't want to risk him. Nandi could roll her eyes all she wanted, but she was the same. They cared about him more than they wanted justice. But they hadn't held Thshepo as he died. They didn't carry Johan to safety.

Both girls watched him in silence. Olivia's pointed lips and big eyes seemed to drown out the blood on Thulani's hands as he tried to save his friends, and even his sister's scowl carried more substance than the memories of screams and gunfire.

Thulani breathed out, but the tension didn't melt from his shoulders. "Fine," he croaked.

Both women relaxed visibly, but Thulani’s stomach twisted. Even in his own home, Thulani was lost. Was he wrong? Was he crazy? Either way, a part of him realized that being honest with the girls was a mistake. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

********

Mandla sat across from the prisoner on the officer's chairs in the control room. "How is he, Andries?"

The medic flashed a blood-soaked thumbs up. "He's stable but might be a little loopy after the meds. Should I give him more? Might make him open up." Without his helmet on, Andries' grey hair stood on end like he had put a fork in a power outlet.

Mandla shook his head. "I don't want to waste a lot of time here. If he doesn't cooperate, we'll flush him." The words were intended for the prisoner's ears, and the man clenched his square jaw, a lock of his dark hair dropping over his sweat-dampened pale forehead.

Mandla leaned in. "What's your name?

"Go to hell," The man rasped, straining at the handcuffs that secured his hands behind his back.

"Great start," Mandla muttered. "I'll make it quick. Quit the tough guy act, and I won't waste a bullet on you."

The man looked up, his lips drawn to a tight line, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and eyes full of fury. "Waste the bullet," he growled.

Mandla sighed and drew his pistol.

"Sir!" one of his men, Stefanus, cut in.

Mandla looked at the long-faced Jobergian in surprise.

"Sidebar?" Stefanus asked.

Mandla rose and stepped aside with the man. "What?" he asked.

"Maybe I can have a crack at him," Stefanus asked. His curled red hair and light brown skin clashed in a rare ethnic blend.

"You want to waste your time with him?" Mandla asked in surprise.

"No offense, but intimidation isn't going to work," Stefanus said.

Manlda Snorted. "How do you know?"

"I'm in sales, Sir. Reading people is what I do."

"This isn't a sale, Stefanus, it's an interrogation,"

Stefanus grinned. "Sir, I see very little difference." Manlda surprised himself when he stepped aside and motioned for the salesman to take over.

Stefanus slinked into the chair and leaned in. "Sorry," he started. "My name is Stefanus," he said. "What's yours?"

"I already told him to shoot me; you're wasting both of our time."

"Hmm," Stefanus frowned and cocked an eyebrow. "So angry. Why are you mad?"

"Why the hell do you think?" The prisoner snapped.

"It's because we killed your friends, isn't it?"

The restrained officer's eyes stormed.

Mandla cocked a surprised eyebrow at the reactions Stefanus baited out of he man.

"To be fair," Stefanus lat back with an overly casual posture. "I'm pretty angry too. You guys attacked my metropolis and murdered a bunch of people."

"Isolationist peasant," the officer spat.

"That's right!" Stefanus lit up. "How will your leadership respond when they learn a bunch of isolationist civilians seized control of your sub?"

The prisoner winced.

"Och," Stefanus agreed. "Tell me, why are you so loyal to your little company?"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand honor," the prisoner hissed.

"No," Stefanus agreed. "Maybe you could enlighten me."

"I'm an officer and a marine in the Coral Corsairs," the man said, his voice quivering with emotion. "We bring order in this chaos. We're not petty gangsters infiltrating with deception and cutting exposed throats."

"You're an officer?" Stefanus said in surprise, either authentic or feigned. Mandla couldn't tell. "So I should call you Sir, right? We don't have an organized military. I don't know a lot about proper customs and courtesies."

"You can call me Sir,"

Manlda practically gawked as the prisoner seemed to relax.

"I won't insult you by pretending we're not enemies," Stefanus continued. "But as possibly the final officer on this sub, this is your chance to assume command and take care of your men." The salesman emphasized the word ‘your’, and the officer nodded ever so subtly.

"So, Sir, what's your name?"

"Lieutenant Botha," he said. "Comms officer."

"Lieutenant, as the final officer on this ship, you’re the new captain. We need you to order your men to stand down so we can assume command of this vessel."

Lieutenant Botha snorted. "That's not going to happen. I don't think you're strong enough to take this boat by force."

Stefanus shrugged. "You might be correct, but it's hard to tell. I wonder, in the case that you do win and you make it home with a single sub, a ghost of a crew, and a failed mission, how will your high command respond?"

"I did my duty honorably. Honor first," Lieutenant Botha said.

"And what about their duty to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"They sent you out here to be slaughtered. The way I see it, you've acted with honor; they've abandoned you."

"Sometimes you lose in war," Lieutenant Botha shrugged.

"But I see a way where you win."

"How?" Lieutenant Botha leaned in.

"Your time with the Coral Corsairs is over. They failed you. Tell your men to stand down, and you continue to command them under our boss." He jerked a finger back at Mandla.

Mandla started forward but restrained himself. Stefanus shouldn't overpromise. That could win the day for now but spell disaster down the road.

"That's desertion," Lieutenant Botha said. "That's unhonorable."

"I'm sorry, but I'm struggling to see how assuming your rightful command while saving your crew and leaving the command structure that betrayed you is honorable. "

Lieutenant Botha's eyes flicked as he considered his options.

Unbelievable. Had the salesman done it?

"What do you need from me?" The comms officer asked.

"Tell your men to stand down; all those who comply will be spared. Now's your chance to save your men.

"If you lose," Botha realized. "They'll flush me."

"Probably," Stefanus agreed. "It's all or nothing."

The Lieutenant considered, flirting with the possibility while weighing the risks. In the end, he shook his head. "I'll need some time to think about it."