Director Vogel was most displeased. Over the past few days, the company had ostensibly entered into a state of utter disarray. The entire Research Division was scrambling, struggling to adapt to executive orders given to them without Vogel’s knowledge or approval, and worse, her entire schedule had been upended because of it. As the elevator reached the top floor of Verloren Industries’s Bruckhaven branch, Vogel stepped out onto the river of maroon carpeting and marched intently down the hall.

  The executive corridor of the Bruckhaven HQ was a madhouse, more so than usual. The impossibly long, windowless hallway was lined with desks manned by frantic, high-ranking assistants from each of the thirteen divisions, all of them scrambling to and fro like panicked poultry. They bandied about a forest of paperwork, stuffing sheets into pneumatic tubes and sending them down through the building, all of it set against the cacophonous backdrop of perpetually ringing telephones. As Vogel proceeded down the corridor, the crowds of workers paused from their hustle and timidly parted for her to pass.

  Reaching the end of the hall, Vogel pushed her way through an elegant set of doors and entered a grand reception area. As the doors shut behind her, the frantic noise of the corridor disappeared, wholly absorbed by the soundproof walls. The warm-toned room contained even greater splendor and luxury than the preceding hall. The dark, wood-paneled walls, hand carved and shipped in from the woodlands of Walholm, were laced with accents of brass and gold and stretched high up to the ceiling. A swinging chandelier, stitched together from a thousand prisms of coiled glass, illuminated the space in a sedative glow. At the back of the room was Vogel’s destination: a final pair of grand double doors, guarded by the Chairman’s bookish assistant, who sat at the desk beside it, fervently clacking on her typewriter.

  Upon noticing Vogel’s entrance, the assistant snapped upright, shaken from her work. “M—Madame Director?” She stood to greet her superior. “I—I’m sorry, but the Chairman is not to be disturbed!” she meekly squeaked as Vogel passed her by.

  “Sit.”

  The receptionist reversed into her chair as quickly as she had stood.

  Throwing her hands against the double doors, Vogel heaved. She pushed them open with verve, entering the suite beyond.

  A flood of natural light spilled over her, streaming in through the titanic bay window that overlooked the city north and the wasteland beyond it. Below the window was a hand-crafted mahogany desk, a small island in an ocean of an office, its top neatly blanketed with stacks of files and charts and ledgers. Seated behind the desk was a lion of a man draped in an embroidered suit of deepest blue, cast in an almost divine aura by the midday sun. He spoke on the telephone, his back turned from Vogel, looking out towards the horizon.

  “But of course, your Grace,” Chairman Metzer laughed, engaged in a jovial conversation. “We are proud to serve your Empire.”

  Vogel approached the Chairman’s desk, letting her footsteps announce her arrival. His ears perking, Metzer swiveled in his chair and looked at her with serious eyes.

  “My apologies,” he said into the phone, “something has just arisen. I’m going to have to call you back.” His friendly facade peeled away, revealing a stalwart, calloused conviction. He threw the headset back onto its base and glared at it indignantly. “Idiot…” he growled. Running his fingers through his coiffed, jet-dyed hair, Metzer turned his full attention towards Vogel, the sun catching on his dark, rectangular glasses. “Lilith. Thank you for the excuse,” he said with a degree of genuine friendliness. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this audience?”

  “I understand that you’ve ordered a general recall of my executive field agents?” Vogel queried, taking a step closer to the desk.

  “Ah, that,” said Metzer, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, it was a necessary step.”

  Vogel cocked her head. “Necessary?”

  “I have decided to push up our timetable.”

  “You are advancing the launch?”

  “The moment is now,” Metzer announced. He stood, impassioned, his already impressive height accentuated by his heeled shoes. “I want all of our best assembled for this expedition.”

  “We had considerable work invested in those projects,” Vogel calmly reminded him. “I was promised time enough to finish what was started.”

  “You of all people should be able to appreciate the bigger picture here,” said Metzer, leaning forward. “Ama-Lasria is within our grasp. We have everything we need to enter the city, and the armada is finally prepared. Why waste any more time? Once we execute Project Millennia the north will be ours for the taking. You will then have ample opportunity to recommence your work.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Vogel stood up straight, hands clasped behind her back. “I… appreciate your enthusiasm, but we are not yet ready,” she warned. “We currently possess but a fraction of what we need. Without the map, we cannot hope to proceed through the Forever Storm.”

  “Oh, the map,” said Metzer, rolling his eyes. “How can you say that when none have made a proper attempt to weather the storm in decades? Look around us—with the advancements we’ve made since the Sky War, we will be able to smash through any obstruction.”

  “I would not tempt the powers so,” Vogel advised. “We will be dealing with forces we do not yet fully understand.”

  Metzer flashed Vogel a bright, charming smile in an attempt to butter her up. “After all your years of research, how can you not know what awaits us? What more is there to learn for ‘The Woman who Does Not Sleep’?”

  “Aurik,” Vogel said soberly, “I promised you the North, and I will deliver it to you. All I ask is for more time. We have the map in our sights. The purveyor of this delay has been dealt with, and his accomplices are soon to follow. If we were to commence the launch now, our divided resources could potentially make recovering the artifact additionally challenging.”

  “Then you will have to accept the additional challenge,” said Metzer, his smile slowly morphing into an ill-tempered annoyance. “Do not forget, I was assured, by you, that the map was a certainty, that we would be ready by now. And yet, in our moment of triumph, you allowed this ‘crucial item’ to be stolen out from under you.” He glared at Vogel for a moment before turning to look out the window. “Consider yourself fortunate that I was able to use this fiasco to put the Expeditioners Union exactly where I’ve always wanted them.”

  Vogel remained silent.

  Metzer drew in a calming breath, gazing over the grandeur of the city and the flat desolation of the wasteland beyond. “Thirty years, Lilith,” he whispered. “Thirty years to build up the armada without stirring suspicion. Thirty years of tireless research and advancement. I have waited long enough. I will not delay any further…”

  Vogel let him have his moment. She knew there would be no reasoning with him, not on this day. The map was essential, and though he did not believe it now, he would see her way in time. He always did.

  “We make the announcement in the morning,” Metzer proclaimed, turning back towards Vogel. “We leave in three days time, with or without the map. I will not have this conversation with you a second time. Are we clear?”

  Vogel bowed. “Understood.”

  Metzer lowered himself back into his chair. “But make no mistake, the launch is no excuse for leniency. We mustn’t allow the rabble to think they can take from us without consequence. I hold you responsible for these bunglers’ swift retribution.” He gestured to the door. “Now, if you would.”

  Vogel remained at his desk, statuesquely still, staring at him through her perfectly circular lenses.

  Metzer leaned back in his seat. “Am I mistaken in believing you have something further to discuss?”

  “Correct,” said Vogel. “If you will not consider a delay, then I am requesting additional support.”

  “Support?” said Metzer incredulously.

  “I would like to establish a formal task force with the sole purpose of apprehending these criminals. My agents are already inbound, you yourself have seen to that.”

  “Absolutely not,” scoffed Metzer. “I am not going to send our finest out to chase a few simple pillagers. You should have no trouble with a single detachment of guards.”

  Vogel cocked her head. “Perhaps you would be more invested if you were aware of who was involved,” she slyly revealed. She could see in Metzer’s eyes that she had hooked his attention.

  “…Perhaps I would,” said Metzer. He folded his hands and leaned in. “Knowing you, I take it you already have a lead?”

  Vogel nodded and removed a manila folder from her frock coat. “Indeed,” she stated. “Admiral Handler reported six ships sighted on his way to Dremaseah. We have cross-referenced the personnel files of these ships with the description of an individual observed by Agent Pfeiffer this morning, last seen returning to the coconspirator’s brokerage. Doubtless this is our quarry.”

  “What’s the name?” asked Metzer.

  Vogel threw the dossier onto the desk. An identification photograph of a lanky, bespectacled girl no older than twenty spilled out onto the surface, sliding to a stop at Metzer’s fingers. “Sheah Ziedler of the Redland Runner,” she declared.

  “Ziedler?” said Metzer, his brow deeply furrowing. Stroking his glossy chinstrap beard, he studied the image, the faintest glimmer of recognition behind his scowl. “Reffen’s daughter?”

  “Correct.”

  Removing his glasses, Metzer massaged the bridge of his nose. “This family is a constant plague upon me…” he growled, gnashing his teeth.

  The Chairman fell still for a short beat, weighing his choices, before unleashing a heated breath and rehardening his posture. He looked into Vogel’s eyes with grave resolve.

  “Very well, you may have your task force,” he at last acceded. “Recruit what agents you need. Find the girl, I don’t care what it takes. And if you so happen to recover the map from her corpse, then all the better.”

  “Very good,” Vogel coldly nodded. “I have already sent out the order.”

  Metzer’s brows twitched apart, a slight smirk curling the corner of his mouth. He always did admire her initiative. It’s what got her the job in the first place.

  “Agent Undali is on his way to the docks presently,” said Vogel. “With the Union cooperating, we may do with these thieves and their ship as we please. Soon the world will cease to recall that the Ziedler girl, and the rest of her band of miscreants, were ever even alive.”