Iver’s drug-laden night out at an underground club is shattered when a massive explosion erupts in Fountainhead Spire, where she lives with her brother Phaen.
Trams and lifts across the Protectorate were locked down after the blast. Following hours of delays, the spire supervisors and warders began allowing residents of Fountainhead to enter the spire via the upper level trams. It took Iver four hours to get back to her homeunit.
The sirens had stopped blaring by the time she accessed her front door. Black clouds of smoke from the decimated levels below still billowed past her windows. She called out for Phaen but there was no response.
“Where is Phaen?” she asked the system as she dashed up the steps to the empty nerve center.
“Phaen has left the premises.”
He would never leave. Not on his own.
“Who else was present?”
“Marsander Jagwald entered at 10:24. They both exited twenty minutes later,” replied the system.
Iver groaned. She reluctantly sent a ping.
“I knew you’d be too busy to be there for you brother,” said Marsander as soon as she connected.
“Mother, I came home as soon as I could – “
“He’s fine, by the way. I found him cowering under a table, poor thing. He’s taking a nice warm bath. I’m just glad I happened to have a meeting in the next spire over,” Marsander said.
“And access to a charter gyrocraft.”
“When will you give up your attempts to shame me for my station? It was juvenile even when you were a teenager. Now it’s simply pathetic”
Iver took a deep breath. Her head still throbbed from the exi aftereffects, and she knew arguing with her mother would only intensify her misery.
“When can I talk to him?” she asked.
“He really should rest,” said Marsander. “He’ll stay here with me for at least a week. I know you keep him too distracted and overstimulated for his own good.”
She never understood Marsander’s connection with Phaen. As the CFO of Well-Tybonne, the most powerful corporation in the Consortium, her mother was wealthy beyond measure. For as long as Iver could remember, Marsander flaunted her status and connections at every opportunity. She was, to Iver, the epitome of Avalon establishment.
And yet, when fetus viability scans flagged Phaen’s neurodivergent disorders, Marsander refused to terminate her pregnancy. Her status and power ensured the Authority would not force her to abort as required by law. Despite that seemingly compassionate act, Iver saw Marsander treat her younger brother more like a pet than a son as he grew up. She employed tutors to homeschool him, drudges to cook and clothe him. Iver and Kosa were the only people in Phaen’s life who showed him affection, who cared about the things that made him happy…
The memory of Kosa flashed across Iver’s eyes. Her body sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around her head.
She pushed the memory down, deciding to shift the conversation with her mother.
“Have you heard any real information about the explosion? SigLink has been looping maintenance updates and zoneball playoffs – “
“It was a burner attack, there’s no doubt,” snapped Marsander. “I just can’t believe one of those vermin made it all the way to Dolvac Heights. The legacy of that brilliant architect… what was his…? Nowal Hartoli! Yes. Destroyed. Just like that. Do you know how many sigcast serials were set there? Animals… of course they would decimate one of our landmarks. They all need to be exterminated!”
“A tragic loss of property, Mother,” Iver said. “Tell me it wasn’t your idea to flood the sigs with Wells-Tybonne blast-resistant retrofit promos.”
“Your pomposity is so exceedingly dull. If you really cared so much, you wouldn’t be working for a group that makes it their business to protect terrorists and criminals.”
Iver stifled the overwhelming urge to howl in rage.
“Tell Phaen I love him.” She severed the connection before Marsander could respond.
Iver spent the next hour trying to break through the Consortium’s opaque information control. She wasn’t as skilled at navigating the darksig as Phaen, but she was able to pull portions of a surveillance clip from inside Dolvac Heights recorded moments before the blast.
As the clip played, she saw a tall, thin migrator wearing a yellow cleaner’s jumpsuit staggering across a marble promenade outside a cluster of office units. Business people, clientele, and a few families were visible nearby. Most moved out of his way or willfully ignored him. The migrator pitched forward, arms reaching upward, as jagged light suddenly tore through his flesh. People turned, tried to run, too late. Moments later he burst into an amber nova, obliterating everything around him.
Static filled the screen, then blackness.
It was the first time Iver had witnessed a burner attack. The weight of the deadly destruction slowly bore down on her chest. She took a deep breath, imagining the decimated and shattered bodies fifty levels below.
High Executive Gorlezs Minsel’s surgically pliant face filled the screen of the overhead monitor locked to SigLink. Avalon Protectorate’s leader was seated in the Executive Office, where he broadcast all his official addresses.
“Citizens of Avalon. Earlier today, a burner detonated inside Fountainhead Spire,” he said.
The portrait of a dark-skinned woman with tattooed cheeks and thick, tousled hair filled the screen over the High Executive’s voice. “The outer district terrorists known as the Sixth Column, led by the violent extremist Gam Leska, are responsible for this horrific attack.” When it cut back to Minsel, he was so close to the cam that the thin line of perspiration across his top lip was visible.
“For too long, we’ve allowed these murderers and thugs to fester, like a virus, inside Teris District,” he continued. “We will not bow down to these heinous brutes. As I speak, CCDF forces are gathering to descend upon Teris District and will use the full might of the Protectorate to rid the area of the Sixth Column and anyone associated with them. We will show every insurgent faction the heavy price to be paid when the innocent citizens of Avalon are attacked –”
Iver had just muted Minsel’s robotic baritone when the message board pinged. Another communication from the outer districts: You must shine light on their crimes or many skids will suffer.
The message contained the same coordinates as the last one, pointing to Bellgast Mines. Iver rubbed her temples. It couldn’t be coincidence that she’d received these messages so close to the Dolvac Heights attack. You must shine light on their crimes or many skids will suffer. What crimes?
Her comm pinged. It was Jau.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Nah. Not nearly.” She could hear the strain in his voice. “Falla and me skipped our shift. By the time the tram got us to Eclipse we heard CCDF agents were making sweeps of all the kitchens, rounding up skids for questioning.”
“Oh no.”
“We’re huddled at Jarva’s. To be real, I kinda hoped the blast was a reactor meltdown. The way the Authority is cracking, it must’a been a burner.”
“It was.”
Jau sighed. “We’re scragged, no doubt. We’re gonna get scarce while we can. You won’t be hearing from us for a while.”
Fury gripped Iver. Her friends and the other migrators she knew would all be at the mercy of the Consortium Authority. She’d heard the many stories of detainments, interrogations, expulsions and executions after the last burner attack inside the Protectorate. She felt helpless. The ethos she’d constructed as The Beacon felt useless, juvenile, in the face of the coming repression.
She looked at the message board again, re-reading the mystery pinger’s words.
“Jau, this is going to sound crazy – but I know you know someone who can help me,” Iver said. “I need to get out of Avalon.”
“You’re my first,” Abis said with a sneer.
He looked Iver up and down, his gaze lingering too long. He was tall with a thick neck that didn’t match the size of his head. He wore too many rings and jewels for Iver’s liking. Jau had warned her that Abis was shady, but she needed a xolo willing to smuggle her out of Avalon on short notice, so choices were limited.
“I specialize in moving people one direction – outside to in. But I could make an exception for you.” Again his eyes danced over her body. “If I get squared right.”
Iver crossed her arms, leaning back on the ratty couch. “Does 15K sound right?”
“That’ll get you outside Avalon and back. Where are you going in Teris?”
Iver hesitated. She didn’t like the look of Abis and decided to give him as little information as possible. “Bellgast Mines.”
Abis frowned, obviously surprised by the answer. “At least a day to get there, depending on gridlock. Especially with the CCDF going after Sixth Column. Not budget. Not budget at all.”
“25K.” She hoped it was enough; it was the last of her funds until the next injection from Dalwin. “Fifty percent now, the rest on return.”
Abis chuckled, nodding his head. “Works for me. When do you need to leave?”
Her comm chirped. It was Dalwin. He’d been pinging her constantly since the burner attack. Iver silenced it. The last thing she wanted was Dalwin’s input on her reckless plan.
“As soon as possible,” she said.
“Two hours, then. I’ll drop you the location to meet. What biz do you have in Teris?”
“I think 25K is enough to keep my business my business.”
He nodded before assessing her once again. “Whatever it is, best you dress like a skid. Cover that hair, if you don’t want to attract attention. You need some fibers?”
“I’ve got some.”
Abis stood and opened a fridge in the corner of the dingy room. Iver couldn’t tell if the defunct water treatment facility was Abis’ home or only his place of business. She had to take multiple lifts deep into the sub-levels of Capella Spire to access the facility. He had furnished it to look like a lounge, albeit one rigged with second- and third-hand amenities.
“Vaddu! Where’s my sandwich?” he shouted. Rushed movement could be heard in the next room, what Iver guessed was the kitchen.
Abis pulled a beer from the fridge and held up a second bottle as an offer to Iver. She shrugged and accepted it. He grinned as he clinked his bottle against hers, then swigged the entire thing in four gulps.
Vaddu quickly entered carrying a plate with a cricket and lettuce sandwich. “Sorry. I had to get the toast right the way you like.” Her accent placed her from the outer districts. Iver thought her form-fitting dress was too flashy to be doing kitchen work.
Abis took the plate from her quivering hand. He took a bite and she waited, staring at the floor while he chewed with his mouth open. When he grunted in satisfaction, Vaddu exhaled in relief.
“See that woman over there?” Abis pointed out Iver to Vaddu, as if giving her permission to acknowledge his guest. “She’s paying good tokens to leave Avalon. Ain’t that something?”
Vaddu glanced at Iver with a mix of confusion and wonder. Iver tried to smile at her but Vaddu looked away too soon.
“My point is, she’s paying. Good. Tokens.” Abis stepped close to Vaddu, leaning down to get in her eyesight. “I won’t be stuck with her working off her debts like the rest of you.”
He waved his hand and Vaddu scurried away from him. As she opened the door at the far side of the lounge, Iver spotted three more women inside the dark room Vaddu entered.
Abis grinned as chewed another bite of the sandwich. Iver hated him.
Check out this map to find locations referenced in the story.
If you want to read another story in the From Our Ashes series, check out The Lancer, available on Amazon.
Love the original slang.
This is high-stakes world-building. The contrast between the polished cruelty of Marsander and the raw, predatory grime of Abis is chilling. You’ve captured that classic cyberpunk "no-win" feeling perfectly—Iver is escaping a corporate monster only to jump into the arms of a literal trafficker just to find the truth. The detail about the "amber nova" was a visceral way to describe the burner attack, too. Nice one.