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Ascension: The Envoy

Cera gazed out across the surface. Inky black above, dazzling white below: a study in contrasts. Tiny figures moved ant-like along the axonal projection linking the main dome with the mining area: noncons, shuffling before the whip-hand of their overseers.

“Cera…” A hand on his shoulder; he turned to his wife beside him. “Must you still fight? They have given…”

“What Vana? Token representation at the Synod and a concession that we may educate our own children – as if that were a privilege to be granted! Crumbs, Vana – fodder for the weak-willed.”

“Must you hold a knife to their throat? If you push them too far…”

Cera snorted. “Fear, Vana. Fear is the yoke from which we must free ourselves.”

“Only a fool would not fear,” she replied angrily. “I have spoken with Sala.”

“Ikal’s woman? What would she know?”

“She knows the synod have dispatched an envoy. They would see with their own eyes what rumour has spoken of.”

Cera’s composure faltered. “So be it,” he muttered, turning away. “Let them come.”

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