On the Transantarctic Rail,

  Commonwealth Territory

  67°30’57.0”S 106°26’47.1”E

  18.05.2024 – 21:00 UTC +07.00

  “Our mission was never about diplomacy, anyway. Remember that. We were and are here to ensure the Prince’s safety,” T-2 Azura said.

  Tier 2 Agent Azura was one of my bosses and one of the Tier 2 Headquarters leaders. She had asked for my assignment to this position out of Santiago, due to its sensitive nature, and I had initially appreciated it. However, I was not trained in politics as she was, and witnessing her calm after the insults the Trastamara Royal family had suffered, I was surprised, if not horrified.

  She saw it in my eyes because she looked right at me as she tried to bring our spirits up. I looked at her right back. The age and experience had wrinkled her forehead just enough to add an accent of worry to everything she said, and her thick, dark hair, fashioned to perfection into a pixie haircut, had only started to grey out. But her eyes were calm.

  “Alright. What about the T-4s? What do we tell them?” T-3 Ricardo asked. A man in his forties with a tall, built frame and a thick beard stylized enough to be permitted in our agency. T-3 Emilio stood between us, completing our trio of assigned Agent leads in the Briefing room of the Transantarctic.

  “Do not go into details. Say nothing happened, say the Prince had to travel back sooner because plans changed. Or something like that,”

  “What of the media. The Madrid News?” I asked.

  “Leave that to the Prince’s team in Santiago. We make no comments, no matter what we saw and heard in New London. Is that clear, T-3 Elena?”

  “Yes, Madame,” I complied. I phased all reluctance out of my voice.

  “Good. Then the three of you, focus on getting your T-4s ready to land in Santiago. You've got less than ten hours till we get there.”

  “Yes, Madame,” we said in unison.

  One by one, we stepped out of the Briefing room.

  “Elena,” T-2 Azura said, just before I left, “do yourself a favor and don’t get mixed into this. The situation is unstable.”

  “Yes, Madame,” I said coldly, as I exited the Briefing room, letting the door slide and lock behind me.

  I walked through the tight corridor of the wagon, slowing down my pace, letting Ricardo and Emilio rush into the next wagons first. I looked at the window next to me, and through the enhanced glass, there was nothing but dark rock and ice.

  My reflection emerged from the darkness of the window, and it looked right back at me. It was hard to believe how pristine my look was, given the circumstances. My hair was wrapped in a professionally made braid knot, which I would not dare do normally. But my position came with personal stylists. No one associated with Trastamara Royalty could dare not always look stellar.

  Almost stellar. There was sweat dripping on my forehead.

  Was it the stress of the past days, or of the political turmoil that was about to come? Perhaps it was feeling trapped under all these meters of rock and ice. The Transantarctic burst at high speeds through the ice and the tunnels beneath the mountains of Antarctica. It would take us a while to see the Trastamaran Sun again. It never got easier. I swiped the sweat.

  “It will be okay,” I said, locking eyes with my reflection again. “It will be fine.”

  My earpiece fizzled, the frequency violently changing to the channel of my team. Miguel’s annoying voice snapped me out of it.

  “Ela, you are needed in Wagon Three, over.”

  “I swear one day…” I said to myself. Miguel insisted.

  “Wagon Three, Ela, Over”

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  I pressed the button on my earpiece and responded.

  “Are you a five-year-old?” I asked. I hated it when he called me Ela, but there was no point in clarifying again. He knew it, and he was doing it on purpose.

  ? ? ?

  “It is T-3 Elena for you,” I barked at T-4 Miguel, once I found him sitting and exhibiting his silly grin, at a table in Wagon Three.

  He was leaning back on a couch, his legs resting on top of the table. He was wearing the same blazer as all of us, but his was unbuttoned near the neck. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was slicked back. He normally had long curly hair, but he had gone through the same stylist treatment.

  I despised that guy – well, almost everyone did. He had the behavior of an amateur, but his Curses rendered him invaluable, and he was under my responsibility. Or under my care, rather, being a glorified babysitter.

  “What is happening, T-3 Elena?” the agent sitting across Miguel asked. T-4 Catalina, the second member of our three-party group. Catalina and Miguel reported directly to me and managed the T-5s in their command.

  Her long, slick hair was parted behind her ears, clearly messing with the stylist's guidelines, but Catalina was never one to adhere to those. She would only listen to me. And Miguel. This annoyingly smart woman somehow got along with that brute. That wasn’t bad for our team, as at least she could act as my right-hand when it came to uniting us.

  “Nothing,” I responded.

  “Oh, come on, what’s the gossip then? I saw Ricardo and Emilio passing by already. I know the briefing is over,” Miguel said.

  “It is for T-3s and above. And for the love of whatever you hold sacred, go take a break. I don’t need your nagging now.”

  He had no respect for authority or hierarchy, so I did not expect him to abide. From the very first week we were staffed together, I had realized that there was no reason for me to exhibit proper behavior either.

  “Ouch, that bad?” He stood up and closed in with his annoying smile. “Don’t worry you got me.”

  He patted my shoulder. I grabbed his arm and twisted it.

  He shrieked.

  “Don’t tempt me, boy,” I hissed at him, as he backed off.

  “I will be with the guys in five. I leave the two of you girls to talk it out,” he said.

  “Go. Take. A. Break.” I pronounced slowly, but he was already heading away. He’d rather do it before I ordered him, lest he appear obedient.

  “Ok, calm down, sheesh.”

  The guy was a walking menace, but unfortunately, he could get away with it. People with such combat-useful Curses were rare, and his Curse had limited to no downsides. I knew, indeed, if things ever were that bad, he would probably be the one to rely on in the field. His lack of discipline had kept him from rising further in the ranks, but no one from the top brass dared fathom not having him in our already very limited roster.

  “So, what happened?” Catalina asked, after tapping her fingers on the table a few times.

  “They are keeping us out of the loop. PR will take over, or something. They don’t want us to say anything wrong,” I said.

  “And you think that’s wrong?” As she asked, she pointed at the door in Miguel’s direction. She had a point.

  “I… No,” I said, “can you make sure he does not say or do anything stupid, Catalina?”

  She nodded and stood up. “Take some rest, boss,” she said.

  ? ? ?

  I sat on a seat with a table and looked out the window for hours. Not that I could see anything on the dark canvas, only sometimes interrupted by a brief security light in the deep tunnels. But the nothingness calmed me a bit. I slept in the empty wagon, passing between the waking and sleeping world.

  I thought about Marcelo. Prince Marcelo – he probably would be lying devastated in his wagon. All the diplomatic envoys, the exchange of gifts, letters, and promises, and his hard work have gone down the drain in New London over the last week.

  The Spanish Colonies and the Commonwealth had been stuck in these Antarctic Negotiations for decades, as both states were divided on their ties with the motherland, Europe. Marcelo Trastamara was the first Prince to attempt to sponsor these negotiations heavily. And more importantly, he was one of my childhood friends.

  It was around half past three, the wagon was empty except for me lying in one of the couches, when I decided to succumb to curiosity and tune in to our safe channel.

  “Marcelo?” I asked, whispering almost.

  “Hey Ela,” I heard Marcelo’s kind voice in my earpiece. He was the only person I accepted calling me like this. I encouraged it, even.

  I smiled. “I was just thinking about…” you. I hesitated. “…the hot boiling mess you landed on.”

  I heard him laugh a bit, and that immediately bolstered my mood.

  “Oh, I will be media dog food once the news reaches Santiago,” he responded, “but we have quite a while before that happens. I gave a gag order.”

  I considered his words. Perhaps that was why T-2 Azura had called us in to tell us to stand down. She knew the Prince had censored the news until he could control them, at least.

  “You should be sleeping,” I said.

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