“This is the mechanical area. All the air purification, electricity, sewage, it all starts here!” Zedock was shouting to be heard over the angry-bee whine of old machinery. Occasionally one of the great mechanical beasts would hitch, filling the air with acrid stink and metal-on-metal screeching. Around them, men, women and the occasional Tarsi would run over to the complaining valve or turbine and strike it with a great red hammer or perhaps a silver wrench. The noise and smoke would immediately dissipate.

“Why does it smell like animal in here?” Letho asked.

“Well, I’m glad you asked! Follow me!”

Zedock led Letho over to the rear wall of the machine area, which bulged out toward them like a pregnant belly. When he pulled open a metal door, Letho gasped from the shock of what he saw. Even in his former life, he had never made it down to the hydroponics sector of the Fulcrum station. He had never felt the warm damp that was so hospitable to plant life. He had never smelled fresh leaves or the sweet earth smell of soil. Even with the pungent aroma of animal waste mixed in, it was an intoxicating bouquet.

Letho inhaled deeply, wanting to pull in as much of the natural goodness as he could. His lungs and chest thanked him with an explosion of warm endorphins, as if to congratulate him on taking the first breath of what Eursan’s atmosphere was meant to be.

Before him, rows and rows of verdant, unfettered nature spilled from pots, bins, and troughs. Dirt covered everything, sweet and black. Letho wanted roll in it, to get the mineral smell deep in his pores so that it would never wash away. He wanted to get it under his fingernails and never scrape it out, to feel it gritting between his teeth.

Above the rows of plants a brilliant false sky shone with the ferocity of a multitude of white hot filaments sealed in glass bulbs. And farther back, Letho could see animal pens that had been shaped from repurposed catwalks and handrails. The cackle of chickens and the grunting and squeals of pigs filled the air. Letho had never seen a live animal before, save for in simulations during his formal ed sequence. He felt an incredible urge to run over to the animal pens, leap the fence, and grab one. He wanted to feel the warmth of another creature’s skin, smell its scent, see its eyes, feel the wet touch of its nose on his skin as it sniffed him—all things he had read about as a child but never experienced. He felt five years old. He knew that Zedock wouldn’t judge him for such an act, but he held himself back.

“You want to go take a look?” Zedock asked.

“Sure,” Letho said, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing.

They made their way past the rows of legumes and fruits, and Zedock plucked a plump red sweet tomato from a vine and tossed it to Letho. He bit down, and felt the juice explode into his mouth and run down his chin.

A female Tarsi appeared from a shed, a wave of pink and dappled skin tumbling underfoot. She clucked at the creatures and sang in the Tarsi way, and it was sweet music to Letho’s ears. She met them at the fence line and exchanged a few pleasantries with Zedock, who surprised Letho with some stilted but serviceable Tarsi.

“Letho, this is Sada; she’s a good friend. She’s got a natural touch with the animals here.”

At the mention of the name “Letho,” the Tarsi’s eyes widened, and she immediately took a knee and bowed her head. The sight of this magnificent creature kneeling in mud and pig feces, a ramshackle fence between them, simultaneously broke Letho’s heart and caused it to swell and hammer in his chest like a war drum.

“Sartan-Sien, I never thought I would meet you. Praise Je-Ha,” she cried.

“Thank you, but get up, please,” Letho stammered, chewing his cellophane words, wishing they were better. Then he took another tack, singing to her in his best Tarsi.

Rise, great matron. I am not worthy of this gesture.

The words came more easily, and with much more poignance, when he used Tarsi song-speak. Sada’s eyes grew even wider, and her lip trembled. Letho extended his hand, and she took it in a hand big enough to crush his several times over, but with a gentle touch kind enough to soothe infant skin.

“It is you. I always hoped I would meet you, chosen one.”

“Well, it is nice to meet you too, Sada.”

There were no more words to be said between them, at least none within Letho’s grasp. Hopefully the song had been enough, for what do you say to a creature who believes you to be a deity?

Sada was clutching something small and vital in her other arm. She drew it from her bosom and held the squiggling thing out to Letho, who without thought took it awkwardly in his arms. Sada clucked and cooed, calming the little creature. She was its surrogate mother, and it her baby, and she eyed Letho carefully, ready to leap in at the first sign of danger to her young.

It was a piglet, and its pristine pink flesh was clean and soft against Letho’s skin. He could feel the animal’s heart hammering against his palm, and it nuzzled his chest as he held it close.

“Somethin’, ain’t it?” Zedock said, beaming with pride, as though he himself had built the entire facility and possibly sired the piglet. Though, Letho thought, he did deserve kudos for finding this place and keeping it running.

“How?” It was all that Letho could muster.

“Well, whoever built this place thought of everything. We don’t know much about it, because most of the paperwork got ruined or thrown out long before we got here. But we know it used to be a military facility.”

“As missile silos tend to be,” Letho interrupted.

“Very funny, smart aleck. Yes, as I was saying, the only thing I can figure is that someone, or a group of someones, bought the place and converted it. Maybe they saw the storm coming, who knows. All those light bulbs you see, there are thousands more in storage. Only a couple have burned out since we’ve been here, and Je-Ha knows how long they were here before us. I reckon we can keep it going for another century or two.”

“What about seeds? I mean, where did you get the plants? I didn’t see a single living plant up top,” Letho said.

“Well, they’d stashed those away too. Plenty to plant down here and still more left over to plant up top when this whole thing blows over.”

“You mean when Abraxas decides to uproot and head back to his side of the galaxy?”

Zedock smiled. “That, or you and I go put a boot up his ass.”

“How are we going to both get our boots up there? Are we going to kick at the same time?” Letho asked, laughing.

“Letho, do you ever take anything seriously?” Zedock’s face grew stern.

Letho paused to gauge Zedock’s reaction. But there was no humor in Zedock’s expression, and the corners of his lips did not turn up with mirth. The cold steel that Letho had first seen in Zedock’s eyes, when they met during an interrogation for insurrection, had returned.

“Come on, Zedock. You’ve got to be joking. Abraxas and Alastor have already won. What could we possibly do now? He’s got an army, right? And we’ve got like, what, a hundred, two hundred people? Do you guys even have any weapons?”

Zedock didn’t respond, save for a rather spartan nod as he stared off into the middling distance, as men his age were wont to do when lost in thought. Then he turned and fixed a fifty-caliber stare on Letho, smiling a mischievous smile.

“Yup, to all that. We got some weapons that we scavenged up. Found a real good military bunker that Alastor’s men somehow missed. Rifles, ammo, warbirds, we got it all. We also got a bunch of pissed-off, bored-as-hell Tarsi that want to have a reckonin’ with those two assholes. That feud goes back longer than we know, Letho. Centuries upon centuries, and then a few more centuries before that. Who are we to tell them they can’t take their fight to the fella that that burned down their whole damn planet?”