“Really, Ms Shiranui. I recommend you put away your weapon if you hope to learn anything useful here. The people here can be rather shy about overt violence, as I’m sure you can understand.”

The man in the strange uniform strolled further into the settlement, completely at ease despite the handgun that dug into his back, just underneath his rucksack. Asena followed close, her own eyes darting back and forth between her hostage and the surroundings, wary of any and all sudden movements.

“I find that hard to believe,” she snarled with as much menace as she could muster, which came out more as pouty resentment, “given the attitude of the first two men that accosted me here.”

“Theirs is aggression born of desperation,” came the rebuttal, calm and prompt. “Besides which, it was only for show, with the hopes that you’d capitulate with little persuasion. They would’ve scattered at the first sign of a fightback, as you just saw.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“A part of you must want to. Considering you’ve come all the way here.”

Asena fell silent, and her steps slowed just enough to allow for a gap between barrel and back. She quickly slid closer to the man, with her mind racing for a way to regain some semblance of composure.

“You seem to know a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you. How about you start by telling me who you are, and what you want with me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that yet.”

Her hand tensed upon the grip.

“How do you expect me to trust you whatsoever if you can’t even reveal the most basic facts about yourself?”

“But you see, I don’t need you to trust me. In time, ideally, but not yet. However, I recognize that this lack of identification can be unwieldy, so you may call me Ophis if you wish. It’s an alias, but it’ll do for now.”

Ophis—serpent. An apple-peddling serpent? One needed but shallow knowledge of Old Earth cultures to surmise the intended symbolism. Asena all but snorted, and might well have, had she not been so agitated.

“You ascribe yourself biblical significance? Do you fancy yourself as the devil leading the original sinner to the forbidden fruit?”

The man who called himself Ophis chuckled at this.

“Nothing gets past you, Ms Shiranui, which is partly what makes you so suited for this role. And no, I can assure you that I’m nothing more than a man trying to do what’s best for myself and mine. But I’m also not blind to the practical value of symbolism, especially in rallying people to a common cause.”

“People… you mean there’re more of you? Rallying to what cause? And what role do you think I have in any of this? I don’t even know who you are!”

Ophis suddenly stopped. The firearm dug deeper into his back, and Asena herself nearly bumped into the man’s backpack.

“Wasn’t it just this morning that you were advised to narrow down your questions to one at a time? And please, I must insist you put away your handgun now. We’re amongst the Foothillers.”

Asena looked up, long enough to take in yet another shift in surroundings.

The dense collection of buildings and rubbish had thinned into a kind of circular clearing. At its centre rose a large mound of filth-covered scraps, no doubt curated and stored from whatever had washed down with the sewage. Along the perimeter of the clearing were more makeshift huts: uneven walls of salvaged metal and roofs of loosely dangling tarp.

And hiding behind the openings that served as doors were faces. Emaciated, haunted, and covered with grime. But these faces invariably stared out with sunken eyes, obviously wary yet also drawn and transfixed by a desperate need.

Asena’s first reaction was to heighten her own alarm. She drew even closer to Ophis, and pushed in the barrel with more force, as though the threat to his life might drive away the ghosts that now encircled her.

“Think carefully now, Ms Shiranui,” Ophis spoke under his breath, clearly meant only for her ears. “You could easily turn around now and run back the way you came. Back to your mission and whatever else might follow. But if you do that, I guarantee that the truth will be closed to you forever. Because neither my people nor these Foothillers would ever trust you again.”

“You expect me to just lay down my arms and put myself at your mercy?” Asena hissed, also keeping her voice low. “What assurances do I have as to my own safety?”

“None. At least none that I could offer at this juncture. But you know that already, Ms Shiranui. What could I possibly say right now that would put your mind at ease? No, if you can’t trust me, the only thing left for you is to make a choice. Turn away, or move forward. Choose, and quickly.”

Why had she come here? Why had she followed mysterious messages from a stranger—followed her own instincts—to arrive at this place that shouldn’t exist? If not to learn everything she could about Zelen—about herself and the life she’d thought she led—then what?

Slowly, and with trembling hands, Asena slid the barrel off Ophis’s back. She put the handgun back into her messenger bag, with as small a motion as possible so not to alarm the onlookers. Then she asked, “Well? Now what?”

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Ophis looked over his shoulder, smiled his inscrutable smile, then stepped forward into the clearing. He slung off his rucksack, which seemed to be as heavy as its appearance suggested, and placed it at his feet, upon the muddy ground.

One by one, a few dozen ghosts emerged from their huts. As they drew nearer, Asena saw that there were women as well, though everyone here was so skinny and dirty to have looked nearly indistinguishable from each other.

Whether it was due to the absence of a firearm or the presence of a rucksack, the Foothillers no longer had eyes for Asena. To a one, they made their languid yet attentive way toward Ophis.

The man himself also seemed to have forgotten Asena for the time being. He instead busied himself with the rucksack, from which he now pulled out packages of food and water.

The men and women of the Foothills soon formed a crowd around Ophis, neither orderly nor particularly riotous. Eager hands reached for the packages, but never to push or pull. They didn’t snatch more than they were given, nor did they grasp at the contents of the rucksack unbidden.

Among the crowd also were the two men that had stopped Asena at the entrance. Not only did they appear to be consciously avoiding her gaze, they also peacefully waited their turn for the handouts. Whatever ‘desperation’ had driven them to be aggressive toward Asena had been assuaged by Ophis’s arrival.

It soon occurred to Asena that there was something distinctly odd about the gathered people—something beyond their embattled appearance and collective misery. But she couldn’t quite finish this thought before it trailed off into other observations.

As it turned out, food and water weren’t the only things being exchanged. With every Foothiller that stepped close to claim their handout, Ophis also offered them a few mild-mannered words.

“Micah, how are you, my man? How’s that gash on your arm? All healed? Good. Aisha! It’s good to see your appetite is back. Got over that bug, did you? I’m glad.”

Asena watched and listened, and a new realization slowly dawned.

From the moment she’d first been contacted by Ophis, long before they ‘met’ in person, she’d always assumed the man to be Essential. The assumption had been admittedly premature, perhaps too heavily influenced by the courier’s outfit she first saw him in. Now, however…

She inspected what she could of Ophis’s military fatigues, the colours of which could only be described as white with black and grey camo patterns. This didn’t fit with any of the schemes associated with the five differentiations of Seherschaft. And upon the shoulder epaulettes, which should’ve borne rank insignias, instead there was that diagram again. Fruit, stem, leaf: an apple.

With handouts given and pleasantries exchanged, relative quiet settled upon the circle once again. The Foothillers remained in the clearing, wordlessly partaking in the food and water. Some wolfed everything down in a matter of seconds, then proceeded to stand and watch, at once satisfied and wistful. Others took their time, savouring every bite and every sip.

In all her life, Asena had never known anything close to starvation. But she wasn’t so ignorant as not to recognize it in her fellows. A familiar chasm within her chest made its presence known again, but a more pressing concern drove her to kneel next to Ophis and speak in whispers.

“You’re a Gaertner.” It was statement rather than question. “Does that mean… you’re Sehermensch?”

“I am a Gaertner, yes.” Ophis startled Asena by speaking openly, making no effort to lower his voice. “But no, I wouldn’t call myself Sehermensch. At least, not anymore.”

Asena frowned. “What does that mean? Once you’ve been elevated, the status is in effect for at least three generations, after which—”

“For someone so perceptive, Mr Shiranui, you can also be so rigid in your thinking. There’s more than one way to define the measure of a man, and I happen to subscribe to a different school of thought than the one with which you’ve been taught—nay, indoctrinated with.”

Her frown only deepened. And yet, she found that she didn’t reject the notion outright. Asena of even a few weeks ago might have, but now…

“Fine. I’ll add that to the mountain of questions I already have for you. When are you going to start answering my questions, and not creating more?”

“Have you decided on which one you want answered first? Keep in mind, I still reserve the right to decide what I could or couldn’t—”

Both Sehers’ attention turned at once toward movement among the crowd.

One man—who was so short he might have passed for a child were it not for the wild greying beard that framed his haggard face—limped toward them with unsteady steps. From the way numerous pairs of eyes trained on him, Asena sensed this to be unusual behaviour, one that broke the Foothills’ expected norms—perhaps even taboo.

The man eventually made his way back to Ophis and his rucksack, then stood silently, eyes downcast and shoulders slouched. In his slightly tremblings hands, he still held packets of food and water. Oddly enough, they were barely half-finished.

“Bateer,” Ophis greeted the man with an inscrutable smile, “was there something I could help with?”

Asena stared, heart pounding. Was this—this shrivelled wretched thing that could barely stay on his feet—Bateer Tenger, the smiling schoolteacher from Zelen’s memories?

“I’m… I’m terribly sorry,” the man called Bateer spoke in a frail voice that faded as soon as it touched the air. “I know this is against the rules. But Sarnai… my wife… she’s not… she’s not well enough to come out of the tent.”

Ophis’s smile shifted into a slight frown of concern.

“Is she injured? What happened?”

“No, it’s not that.” Bateer shook his head, a gesture that was barely distinguishable from his resting tremor. “It’s… it’s just her usual… except this is the worst it’s ever been.”

The Gaertner nodded grimly, understanding at once.

“It’s about the girl,” he stated rather than asked.

“What girl?” Bateer’s voice rose with sudden emotion. “That’s what I keep telling her! That there is no girl. But she won’t listen, Ophis, and I’m at my wit’s end. Please… even if you can’t”—his sheepish gaze darted toward the crowd’s watchful eyes—“even if you can’t spare an extra package for us, will you… talk to her perhaps? I don’t know how to help her, but perhaps you can…”

“Of course.” Ophis nodded again, then stood, shouldering his rucksack in the same motion. Then, still eyeing Bateer, he too raised his voice so the rest of the gathered Foothillers could hear. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. If anyone here requires medical attention, they need but ask. Lead the way, Bateer.”

Ophis took but one step before looking back over his shoulder.

“Will you join us, Ms Shiranui?”

Asena’s chest only pounded with greater urgency. She didn’t know exactly why the prospect of following Bateer Tenger into his tent made her so nervous, but she also sensed that she was on the cusp of something monumental—a breakthrough, if not for herself than at least for Zelen Athelstan.

She returned the serpent’s gaze with steady eyes of her own, then stepped forward.