Yarhaci the Brave

(Sometime in the past)

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Single quotes - thoughts

Double quotes - dialogue

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Wooden planks flexed and heaved, the ship bobbing with dreadful consistency as the sun crested yonder. Days seemed shorter now, lasting only about three hours*. The sunlight gave only brief respite to the band of sailors who probed the breadth of this endless sea - but its effect was waning. Those sunlit intermissions eventually became joyless augurs of night.

The month at sea wore down all spirits. Thoughts of conquest and glory drove the seafarers to brave unknown waters: they were ferocious warriors, confident that neither man nor beast could best them in combat; yet, even the strongest resolve may wilt when confronted by the elements. The only enemy was a dull monotone of cerulean blue punctuated by bursts of storm and the scything waves of cold.

There was sun, and so the daily meeting had to be called, presided over by Yarhaci, son of Nianhan and First Adviser to Chief Explorer Khulan. Yarhaci and Khulan sat cross-legged at the head of a raised wooden platform, a woolen cloth before them. Inked parchment was set out on the cloth in neat rows - these were detailed administrative logs of ship stores, personally verified by Yarhaci's inspection of the three ships belonging to the expedition. The first ship was the venue of the meeting: The Agujam, commanded by Khulan. Two other ships belonged to the expedition: The Negurin, commanded by Arslan, and The Tsolmon, commanded by Berke.

On either side of the platform sat the leaders of the seafaring teams: Chinua, Unegen, Gan, Qacha, Mongo sat to Yarhaci's right, while Arslan, Vachir, Cheren, Mongke and Berke sat to his left. These were fierce warriors, some of whom were old enough to have participated in the skirmishes against the Liao Khitans, nomadic peoples who fought on horseback and who possessed the power of beasts. Some, like Arslan and Chinua (probably as old as thirty or forty summers) could remember battling the Song Han, erstwhile enemies of the Wanyan clan***. These Han warriors were soft skinned and thin boned, but possessed a cunning and treachery which made them a foe far more formidable than the Khitan brutes. The Song Han were tenuous allies against the Khitans - but there was no doubt that once the Khitans were defeated that the Song Han would turn their spears toward the Wanyan.

Those battles had been left behind. The gamble of life and death on the battlefield had been traded for the gamble for wealth, fame and women on the islands beyond the seas. Decades of warfare had only given these young and old warriors scars and wounds which would never heal. The Wanyan clan heads had all but overthrown the Khitan overlords; but no respite seemed forthcoming. There would only be further battles against the remnants, and then the battle would begin anew once the Song Han tired of their allies.

These deserters of the Wanyan had been converted to Khulan's and Yarhaci's vision of a life of wealth and fame beyond unknown waters, near the edge of the world. In that place lay not fog nor monsters but green pastures and flowing gourds.

Yarhaci cleared his throat, dry from lack of water. Water had been rationed to the minimum bearable allowance. Without formality, he immediately launched into his report.

"Firstly, manpower: of the 201 men who sailed with us, 197 remain. Four hours ago, Yelu went the way of the Mohe man, Bahai - death from blood loss or insanity or both. Boke and Batu were thrown overboard for stealing grain from Ship Two's stores.

Secondly, food: about 12000 jin** of grain and 50 jin of salted pork remain. This should last us a little less than two months more at normal rates of consumption of about 1 jin per person per day. If we continue our rationing, this should last us almost three months, although this means the men will not be combat ready.

Thirdly, medicine ... "

Yarhaci meticulously listed out the remaining ship stores as well as Cartographer Burilgi's observations on the weather, amount of drift and other navigational matters. Burilgi suggested that there would be storm tonight.

With slight reluctance, Yarhaci ended his report. He knew what would follow - a chorus of disagreements at the abject failure of leadership shown by Khulan and 'his lackey Yarhaci'. They were promised no more than three weeks at sea; this was the end of the fourth, and although they still had food stores, the water was running out. Now, superstitions ran rampant at the cursed lands of darkness they were approaching. If the days were growing shorter, might the sun not disappear altogether?

'They might not be wrong', Yarhaci mused. Insanity trod through the minds of the seafarers nightly, and fights were becoming more common.

"Fools that have no idea what they are doing!", the venerable Arslan exploded. "Fool that I am to have been deceived by your silver tongue. Khulan, your wretched plans will lead only to death among these waters - we have to turn back now!"

Arslan commanded a large degree of respect from the younger warriors, and his words could not be ignored. This was the first time he had so clearly stated his dissent from continuing the expedition.

"Indeed, the men are too restless to control for much longer. Even if we make landfall in the next week or so, we would be vulnerable to even a disorganised sortie," said Berke. This was not a Wanyan clan member, but a Khitan who hailed from the Burkhan Khaldun. No doubt he would once have been enemy to the Wanyan, from which most of the seafaring crew hailed. But all here were joined by a common disillusionment with war as perpetrated by their clan heads. Of them all, Berke was most vocal in his denunciation of the excesses of the Khamag Mongol****, and thus he found common ground with the Wanyan men. "I say we may continue for two days more - any further than that and we will run out of water on our journey back, even on this measly ration. We must swallow our pride and admit defeat."

There were more vocal (and less rational) utterances by the other leaders, but all expressed a joint sentiment: the expedition must accept its failure if land did not appear soon. In any case, they all were promised a piece of land - but what land could grow crops in this cold? This was unnatural cold, colder even than the dzud^ which ravaged the Siber between the rivers Ob' and Irtysh. The men were flagging in the face of the elements, and they could either submit or die.

Yarhaci had no choice but to defer to the older warriors. His role was simply that of administrator; in any case, the word of an inexperienced man of twenty summers held little weight against that of Arslan or Berke. Among his battles numbered the relatively small skirmishes against Khitan horsemen, where only a few hundred warriors participated at most. He was not the most hardy, nor the most experienced, nor even the most cunning. His post as first advisor to Khulan seemed to be tied to his parentage - Nianhan the Brave, Chief Adviser to Aguda^^ the Liberator and a key component of the victories against the Liao Khitans. Word had it that Nianhan would be made Marshal soon and march against the Song Han cities.

Why then was the son of such a distinguished persona here among the deserters of the Wanyan clan? Nobody knew, and Yarhaci did not care to share. Yet the crew found Yarhaci's presence inexplicable, and most fostered a hostile attitude toward him.

Yet his post as First Adviser meant the others could not blatantly denigrate him. To do so would be to disrespect the authority of Khulan, whose history of countless battles against both the Khitan and Han commanded commensurate deference.

Khulan furrowed his brow and signaled for the chance to speak. Once the clamour had subsided, he spoke, as though commanding those present to see his perspective, "When you all answered my call you knew the dangers. The decisions to leave your homes was final, not only because we never intended to return, but also because those we left will not have us back. The fact is that we are deserters, deserters who wish to leave the battle behind us and seek out prosperity on our own terms."

Yarhaci listened for Khulan's characteristic inflection - there it was! It was almost imperceptible, but its persuasive quality was undeniable. A step down from commander, to confidante and friend: "I agree with Berke that we cannot continue much longer. But this does not necessarily mean defeat! Remember, what we set out to do: not to bend the elements to our will, nor to make war on whole communities. Rather, we seek a better life; imagine all the curd we could eat, the milk overflowing, the fields bursting with harvest... and a beautiful woman to call your own! A place sheltered from the cruel machinations of the Han creatures, a place where we need not subsist on Han fare. We play with the lives of men for the sake of our unborn children; so we must continue a little bit longer, and if we turn back, it is not to face defeat, but rather to continue the little victories we have had.

Think about it: these Treasure Ships still hold together well; our journey has so far been mostly without incident; and most of our men still draw breath - every little thing can be considered a victory for outcasts such as us."

Khulan grinned widely. Yarhaci stifled a cringe at his bloody gums. It was not a pretty sight.

"Fret not - if Tengri has not yet struck us down, then he might still allow our journey a little longer. For this dream we have all sacrificed and have continued to sacrifice. We shall continue a week longer at most; and if we fail to see land, then we will turn back for some respite. That respite we shall use to gird ourselves for further plans. That is all."

With that, the meeting was over, and the men returned to their posts, not completely emboldened but less despairing than before. At least this was not to be an all or nothing mission. They simply had to endure for at most one more month.

With a sigh, Yarhaci returned to the bow of the ship, where Burilgi was. Burilgi lifted his eyes expectantly, waiting for Yarhaci to fill him in; but no further conversation was made. Yarhaci felt uneasy - a premonition - and cast his eyes out into the distance. 'Khulan should not have been so flippant about the gods,' he thought.

Clouds were gathering in the distance. There was nothing to say, but much to do as the crew set about strapping everything in place in preparation for a possible storm.

'If we make our way back, we will need a secure a base to rest and plan for further activities. Perhaps we could try the mountains.'

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Yarhaci woke to an infernal rocking. The wind roared and the waves crashed. A light drizzle had started, but slowly increased in intensity. Devilish cacophonies rang out as if from every part of existence: the noise was maybe one part articulated human terror, the other nature's angry ministrations.

Casting his eyes around him, Yarhaci could only see cowering forms dimly lit by a few live torches. Men were holding on to anything they could grab. Sounds of chaos from the rowing stations suggested things were not much better in the hold. Two other ships maintained some distance, buffeted by the wind and waves in similar fashion. From the small torches pimpling the darkness Yarhaci gauged that they were about 3000-4000 chi^^^ away.

Yarhaci felt almost dumbfounded by the strength of the storm. Perhaps the ship-brokers were right in saying that steppe peoples had no business on the sea. 'I have to find Burilgi!' Yarhaci thought. Stumbling to the bow of the ship, Yarhaci found Burilgi clutching onto the wooden ship-rails.

"Burilgi! The storm is getting stronger!"

"..." Burilgi did not answer, instead staring at the one who had made an utterance so obvious it bordered on stupidity.

"Is our course correct?" Yarhaci continued.

"Friend, I never expected a storm this serious. Go find Khulan. He'll know what to do!" Burilgi yelled.

By this time, the drizzle had become a torrential downpour. It felt like a half-blizzard. Yarhaci stumbled backward as the ship's hull caught the crest of a wave, but he steadied himself by reaching out and grabbing Burilgi's robes. This was met with a disdainful look by the older man, his bald pate glistening in the half-lit darkness.

'How terrifying!' Before this expedition, Yarhaci had, like most of the crew, never ventured out to sea. Of course, this was expected of people who hailed from the vast steppe. They had ventured out of their element in search of prosperity, but most had failed to adequately prepare themselves. Yarhaci was beginning to realise that every venture held dangers unseen and unknown to the inexperienced. Just like war, just like farming, and just like seafaring.

Reaching the entrance to the ship's hold, Yarhaci yelled: "Where's Khu-"

*KRAKOOM*

A deafening noise split the world and the ship lurched. Yarhaci lost his footing and tumbled backward onto his rump.

Struggling to his feet, Yarhaci nursed his bruised buttocks before-

*KRAKOOM*

A streak of light lit up the sky. This time it was so close that the sound hit Yarhaci's ears almost at the same time as the light hit his eyes. In that instant the world behind the darkness was revealed to Yarhaci's gaze:

Gales of wind were lent physicality by the buffeting ice and water. The sea was roiling and black, shifting and crashing every which way. The clouds provided a suffocating canopy of darkness which blotted out the stars from view. For miles and miles there was only sea - but not the dull cerulean blue of boredom. This was the deep black of angry gods.

Another lurch. A few metres away, a form tumbled over the deck into the roiling mass of water below.

'Burilgi-!?' Yarhaci could do nothing but stare into the darkness. The Cartographer was lost forever.

'Damn! Our map-reader!' Things didn't seem like they could get worse.

"FIRE!" A voice shouted. Yarhaci glanced over to see Tegus the iron-worker, who was manning the observation post, pointing toward the closer of the two ships port-side - this was The Negurin. Impossible as it seemed, a large fire had took hold of The Negurin's foremast amidst the deluge.

Another lurch. With a loud crack, the observation beam toppled and dashed the wooden ship-rails to pieces, narrowly missing Yarhaci. 'There goes Tegus. No time to worry about others now.'

Again struggling to the entrance to the hold, Yarhaci shouted to Rowing Sergeant Qara Budang: "Budang! Row faster! We have to escape this storm!"

"Fool!" Yarhaci jumped at the booming voice - it was Khulan. "We have to turn the ship first! Burilgi mentioned that the storm clouds were coming from the east; our best bet is to travel either north or south and attempt to escape this storm breadth-wise. Where is Burilgi!?"

"Fell overboard. We just need his compass^^^^ to calibrate the rudder." Yarhaci returned.

"Damn it! Fine. I will signal The Tsolmon and Negurin to follow us north-ward. Find the compass and steer the ship." Khulan commanded.

Nodding, Yarhaci bounded to the bow of the ship once again. The violent lurching of the ship threatened to send Yarhaci over the ship-rails, but he managed his balance skillfully enough to reach Burilgi's post without further incident. The post was sheltered by a small wooden roof, with a desk covered in wet parchment. Yarhaci yanked the desk-drawer open and plucked the compass from its confines.

Then, Yarhaci made his way to the stern-post rudder, stumbling as he did so, but somehow more used to the violent thrashing. More screams as men fell overboard.

"The hold is flooding! Compartments 2 and 4 have been compromised!" A voice yelled out in panic.

"Get the reserve rowing team off the mast and into the hold! We have to seal the breach!" Khulan commanded.

Within the minute Yarhaci was at the rudder-levers. 'Travelling a few degrees off North,' Yarhaci noted, glancing at Burilgi's compass. He lowered the rudder further and strained his muscles. The rudder barely budged. Again he tried; with titanic effort, the rudder and his body groaned in unison, and the ship lurched to port. Glancing back at the compass, he observed the direction dial correcting northward.

*KERACK*

'What was that?' The sound seemed to have originated from the hold, thought Yarhaci.

As if in answer, Qara Budang came dashing across the deck, screaming in panic, "Khulan! Yarhaci! Compartments 1 and 3 have flooded! We have to escape this ship sir! Right now our only chance for survival is with Berke or Arslan!" Seeing Yarhaci, Budang came closer to repeat his message.

Now Budang was a short man of some twenty-five summers. Here was a bald warrior whose face was permanently contorted into a rictus of anger. To see that face now betraying all the signs of fear almost made Yarhaci laugh. Yarhaci noted that Budang's scalp could not glisten the way Burilgi's did because of the mass of scar tissue it sported.

"Calm down..." A moment of silence as Yarhaci digested the information. Even if they escaped the ship on the smaller boats, they would not escape hunger and thirst. They had to salvage what stores they could. Otherwise, they would face certain death.

"Arslan is still closer than Berke?" Yarhaci asked.

"Yes sir, but his ship was on fire earlier and has not moved since! Khulan has already signaled for Berke to come closer, but they have yet to correct their bearing", Budang returned.

"How long do we have?"

Budang could only manage: "It's filling up fast."

The torrential storm had not subsided, but it had not gotten worse either, Yarhaci observed.

"I have an idea. But it's a gamble." Yarhaci stated.

"Quickly!" snapped Budang.

"It seems Arslan put out the fire," Yarhaci noted, pointing to The Negurin, where a thin plume of smoke was now rising. "But the ship's draft*^ has not changed, which means the ship might still be seaworthy." More seaworthy than The Agujam, that is. "Our best bet is to attempt to get to them before our hold completely floods. We have to get any stores we can salvage out on the deck, and prepare for a difficult transfer."

"Relay this message to Chief Khulan: One ship will not carry the survivors back toward [Yakutsk], so I suggest splitting the survivors and salvageable stores between Negurin and Tsolmon. I will direct us to Arslan's vessel. Tell Khulan to get the Tsolmon closer." Yarhaci summarised. "The emergency paddle boats are off-limits - you may execute any who attempt to flee."

"Understood." Budang replied tersely, huffing his way back into the hold.

Yarhaci strained the the boat further to port. Bobbing haphazardly on the choppy waves, the ship made its way toward The Negurin. On the opposite side of that vessel, Berke had completed the correction manoeuvre and was now angled in the appropriate direction.

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|Tactical Display|

|🌊🌊(_)<- Tsolmon, facing ↘ 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊|

|🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊|

|🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊 (_)<- Negurin, facing ↑🌊🌊🌊🌊|

|🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊|

|🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊(_)<- Agujam, facing ↖🌊|

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'Almost close enough...' Yarhaci nervously glanced over the deck to the choppy waves below. Slowly, the waves seem to be rising. The Agujam was sinking fast.

A couple more minutes and they would be close enough to link up the wooden vessels. Under the hold, the rowers were battling heroically against the terrifying intensity of the stormy sea.

Finally, Yarhaci found himself close enough to The Negurin that the stormy din failed to drown out the vessel's on-deck chaos. "Arslan! We have to fasten the ships together."

It was Chinua 'The Wolf' who poked his head out over the deck: "Crazy man, your sinking ship will drag us down! Away with you!"

"We have grain and water - stop wasting time and fasten the ships together," Yarhaci yelled back. 'Damn this cowardly fool!'

"..." Chinua's pockmarked face scrunched up for a moment, "How much time?"

"Enough time to transfer our stores. Catch this rope or we will set our arrows upon you," Yarhaci returned as calmly as he could; by this point Chinua was about 10 chi away - it was now or never. With all the strength he could muster, he heaved a coil of rope (which one end of which was fastened to the stern-post) in Chinua's direction. The rope plopped down next to Chinua, who quickly set about fastening it to the ship-rails, grumbling as he did so.

"Monx! I need planks. Get the team to help with the transfer of stores!" Chinua ordered.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" A voice which could only have belonged to Khulan warned.

*KERACK*

The impact between the two ships came too suddenly, perhaps due to the choppy waves. Yarhaci was sent flying off his feet, the sound of splintering wood resounding in his ears. The world turned upside down as he tumbled over backward into the stern-post.

*crack*

'Is that my-' Before Yarhaci could complete the thought, a scream of pain rang out. Glancing up, he pinpointed the source as a member of the Arslan reserve which had fallen overboard onto the splintered wooden floor of The Agujam. Sobbing sounds drifted from the broken body; the face which looked up was a mess of teeth, wooden splinters and grimy flesh. Viscera drooled from the wicked gash in its abdomen.

Cringing slightly, Yarhaci turned away. It would hopefully die soon, but it was not for him to put it out of its misery. His task lay elsewhere. They would abandon this ship soon, and he had to organise the transferal of the ship stores.

'Ah... broken,' Yarhaci thought as he cradled his forearm.

Planks were already being fastened between Agujam and Negurin; a short distance away, Khulan was barking orders at the line of men heaving heavy barrels out from the hold. The Agujam was sagging noticeably to port and it was becoming more difficult to keep one's balance on the steepening incline.

The Tsolmon drew closer, but wisely stayed clear of the chaos.

"Khulan ...*cough*... we're sinking fast! We have to throw the weapons overboard to buy more time," Yarhaci managed as he stumbled forward. The sinking ship would take its neighbour with it.

"Chinua, where the hell is Arslan?" Khulan bellowed

Chinua's beady eyes looked up. "Hell if I know! Get the water barrels up first - that's more important than the grain!"

One, two, three barrels...

Suddenly, Chinua made as if roused from his nervous supervision, "That's enough! Cut the ropes - it's too late for them."

'!' Before Yarhaci and Khulan could react, Chinua's men drew their sabres and set about cutting their ship loose of its dying cousin. 'It is either them or us', they thought. At once, the men on the sinking ship rioted, clamouring and pushing forward in a last-ditch effort to make it over to the Negurin. Khulan roared in rage as he was pushed overboard, tumbling off into the darkness below.

*KERACK*

The planks splintered and folded as the sudden shift of mass caused the sinking ship to tilt even more dangerously. Barrels of food, medicine and clean water tumbled into the roiling ocean as caution was abandoned in favour of a mad scramble.

At this point there must have been twenty or so warriors which hung desperately from the ship-rails on the port-side. The combined weight of their bodies were tilting the Negurin - it was in real danger of capsizing along with the doomed Agujam.

"Off with their arms!" Chinua screamed.

*KRAKOOM*

Sabres flashed forward, glinting in the lightning-lit darkness. Metal cut into flesh at awkward angles, catching on leather armor, bone and sinew. These were dirty, messy cuts which flung bits of flesh and bone into the air. Screams followed the sickening crack of men's ulna; figures fell wailing into the cold waters below, loosely flailing their floppy wet stumps of flesh. Thick blood pooled on the slanting deck of the Agujam as arms, fingers and pieces of face flopped down upon the darkening wood.

'Cur! May Chinua be cursed to rot in the lowest pits of the Tamağ,' Yarhaci seethed. Glancing around, he saw Budang groaning at the entrance to the hold. He must have been trampled underfoot by the rowing team in their frenzy to get off the boat.

'I have to get to the paddle boats,' Yarhaci thought. He peered into the hold and shouted: "Storemaster! Storemaster!"

No answer.

'Unegen's not here?' Yarhaci thought to himself. 'No time to find out where he is now...' Yarhaci slid down into the flooding hold and grabbed a sabre from now-abandoned weapons pile before making his way out to Agujam's starboard-side, grabbing the now-unconscious Budang by the scruff of his leather vest. Reaching the paddle-boat suspension, he set Budang down length-wise in the boat and set about cutting the suspension ropes with his weapon. With a *Thump!* the small paddle boat was freed of its bondage and immediately started sliding down the slanted incline of Agujam's deck.

'Off we go!' Giving the boat a push, Yarhaci got on and prayed that it hit the water right-side up.

*splash*

The cold spray of sea-water hit Yarhaci's face. Looking around, he could see dead bodies (some missing arms) bobbing up and down with the waves. The water was so cold that death would come in a matter of seconds to any erstwhile swimmer.

*splash*

The small paddle-boat was now in between the capsizing Agujam and the rocking Negurin. Screaming bodies plunged into the waters around Yarhaci as the sounds of struggle continued above.

Taking the adjacent paddles in his hands, Yarhaci set about rowing the boat out of the dangerous channel. Either the Agujam would destroy the boat with itself, or some poor soul would capsize them on its way down.

Fatigue was setting in. Yarhaci could barely grip the oar handles with his naked, freezing hands.

One... two... push... one... two... push...

But as soon as the paddle-boat had escaped from the small channel and into the domain of the stormy seas, control was wrest once again from Yarhaci. Choppy waves carried the light wooden construct up and down; Yarhaci had to hold onto Budang's unconscious form to keep him from falling out of the boat and to certain death.

Up... down...

Yarhaci could not row any longer and had to use all his strength to hold on for his and Budang's life. Further and further away, did the storm take them from the half-sunken Agujam.

In the distance, The Negurin had righted itself, and the Tsolmon seemed to be probing the waters for survivors. 'If anything, I hope Berke puts that scum Chinua to the sword!' thought Yarhaci.

But the storm god gave no allowance to Yarhaci to mull vengeance. Over and over again the waves continued to buffet the small wooden boat, sending it careening further from the large ships... until those wooden figures could hardly be made out in the darkness...

And yet the storm did not subside, haranguing the stranded warriors for their hubris. 'Here be fools,' the storm was saying, 'who should never have left the dust-swept steppes to challenge my splendour.'

'Ah... I was a fool,' Yarhaci thought, 'to have wanted to escape from my birthright.'

'So this story I would have titled Yarhaci the Brave, ends here in the watery grave of Yarhaci the Conceited. No mark of mine will be left in the dark and empty vastness of sea. In this circumstance, the finality of death truly has no meaning - there is no possibility of learning, no possibility of regret, no possibility of life.'

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(2101AD, 21st January, 1400hrs)

Yuxi strode down the concrete tunnel, heavy boot-steps reverberating through the underground complex. This was the end of her first week here at the Stellar Academy, and she was positively excited to start exploring New Hamburg's North Pole Town (NHNPT) up top. No, she wasn't a student here, but a researcher attached to the Digsite Combine in the southernmost reaches of NHNPT's Under-Ice Sewage System.

NHNPT was a raised city built upon the shifting ice caps of the North Pole. It was thought at the turn of the twenty-first century that the North Pole could never sustain any stable community by virtue of the shifting ice which made up much of its land-mass - but revolutionary advances in technology allowed for an entire city to be built upon a vast platform kept suspended over the ice by a system of ultra-massive undersea buoys. Initially, NHNPT was a small research town which aimed to study cosmic radiation at an area of the earth where the planet's magnetic field points vertically downwards; but over time, a thriving cosmopolitan community had been established under the auspices of the World Trade Association LLC (not to be confused with the World Trade Organisation), a private company incorporated in Delaware. Zero-tariff policies and attractive subsidies subsequently resulted in an explosion of corporate and state-owned research labs being opened. Low temperatures further reduced the energy-consumption of cooling devices for the supermassive machinery being tested in the various facilities.

Yuxi was simply lucky enough to have found herself on an exchange to Yale University when the Stellar Academy Digsite Combine recruiters visited. For her efforts in the admissions testing and interview, she was offered a position the pay of which far exceeded what would normally be available to a fresh Biotechnology graduate.

What she had won was not simply a lucrative career, but a means to support her family in the vast Shenzhen Technopolis. 'Here was a way out!' she thought, from the difficult drudgery of a corporate job in any of the Chinese cities.

Not to mention that NHNPT was at the forefront of space technology; where terraforming technology and plans for extraterrestrial colonization have had in past decades come to fruition on the Moon and Mars. Here was the pinnacle of progress - the apex of human scientific achievement at the turn of the twenty-second century.

But 'TGIF'; difficult science was a task for another day, Yuxi thought. Ignatius the Task Manager had called her from her research cabin (at a rather inopportune time, just as she was choosing the appropriate clothes for some night-life enjoyment at the Academy) on her final duty for the day - a check-up and report on a discovery by the Professorial Combine. This was a "bio-matter discovery" which required some expertise, although Yuxi knew these tasks generally ended up crystallising into some staid report on a new species of cold-weather mollusk.

Within the half-hour, Yuxi reached a massive circular vault door upon which flashed a electronic signage: "Professorial Combine, site 40109". This was her destination. Being a new associate at Stellar Academy meant that she lacked the access privileges granted more senior members; as such, she had to contact her assigned mentor.

Yuxi whipped out her smartphone. "Hello, Mr Kariuki? Ms Chen speaking. ... Yes I'm outside now."

The massive portal before her unsealed with hiss, whirring mechanisms shifting the heavy metal to the side. Before her was revealed a concrete platform surrounded by ice. This ice had been bored through by special diggers engineered to handle the ancient and hard ice of the Poles. The diggers had dug in three different directions, making the area Yuxi was in the junction of four tunnels (including the concrete one she had arrived from).

'This must be the inside of a glacier.' Yuxi thought.

Over the centuries, the North and South Poles had shifted many kilometres, which was one of the reasons why NHNPT was suspended by buoys; it allowed the city to correct its position vis-a-vis the ice. Not all the reasons why this had to be done was for research; sometimes, a powerful oligarch might want to shift the city's position to test-fire a mechanism (rocket-propelled or not) at a certain longitude and latitude. This would be done from one of the two available launching facilities, which would be appropriately centered by NHNPT's mobility systems. The cost of utilising those systems was, surprisingly, not as expensive as one would imagine, given that the whole NHNPT only weighs about 9 million tons, that is, lighter than most other cities.

Yuxi stood around awkwardly, having expected Mr Kariuki to be waiting beyond the entrance. He was not.

'He's probably down one of these tunnels', Yuxi thought. However, she refrained from traipsing down any of the ice-tunnels, knowing full well that they might sometimes stretch for many kilometres. After several minutes, Mr Kariuki came huffing down the right-most ice-tunnel in an insulated suit.

"Ms Chen! A pleasure to meet you," the man boomed. "Put on one of those suits and follow me."

Yuxi glanced at the hangar set upon the concrete platform beside her, and nodded, "Sure Mr Kariuki..."

"Please, call me Christopher. Christopher Kariuki."

She smiled sheepishly as she struggled into the insulation suit. She was not good with such informality at a first meeting. Furthermore, the man's features were hidden behind his grey suit; for some reason he had polarised his visor. It seemed pretty pointless to introduce yourself if nobody could see your face.

Christopher continued, "These are Prozac's Insulir suits. Top of the range."

After struggling into a suit one size too small (Yuxi did not want to delay the obviously impatient man before her by trying on another size), Yuxi jogged after the already-moving Christopher down the ice-tunnel.

"Now, you may be wondering why you've been called down at such short notice... well - to put it simply, we've found a human specimen!" Christoper said excitedly, even as he increased his pace.

"...Human... specimen? In the ice?" Yuxi stuttered, not completely comprehending.

"No, in space!" said Christopher sarcastically. "Where else would it be, given where we are now? Anyway, it's the first discovery of a human specimen in this context - and i need not remind you of the kind of importance this holds to Stellar Academy's client."

"Imagine! This could be the true test-case of Revival and Reconstruction Tech." Christopher's excitement was palpable. Yuxi could hardly keep up now; they were entering an area of the tunnel where Safety Inspectors were still checking the integrity of the tunnel - 'seems like the tunnel had only been dug out in the past few hours', Yuxi thought - and she was trying not to bump into the busy men and women going about their work.

"Now, of course we've run the tests on bugs, then small domesticated animals like dogs and cats, then larger animals like elephants, then woolly mammoths... but to have a man be resurrected from the dead - this is some Jesus-level shit!"

"Aren't there... errr..." Yuxi started, unsure if she would be dampening her colleagues euphoria, "...ethical concerns?"

Christopher stopped and glanced at Yuxi. One moment of silence and then, "Ms Chen, weren't you briefed by old Iggy? Our client is the World Trade Association."

'Was that supposed to be self-explanatory?' Yuxi thought, still unsure what that had to do with anything. Perhaps Mr Kariuki had overestimated her seniority. She was simply the 'expertise' sent in answer to his request.

"In any case, we will be able to test the effects of the Revival and Reconstruction Surgery with much greater precision. For example, what will be its effect on memory? Will brain function be impaired? As long as communication is possible in some sense - our language could be taught, for example - then we would make great leaps in improving our technology. What are your views, Ms Chen?"

"Well, there's no evidence of this having been done on live human subjects given the huge risk of litigation. This could be a very risky venture ... In principle, however, it should work. Woolly Beth, the mammoth, seemed to have survived a Revival and Reconstruction Surgery with only minimal mental impairment; organ function seemed to be at near 100% functionality, which is probably better than when the creature was originally alive. As it is, R&R tech may in certain cases restore a specimen perfectly, at the cost of potential genetic alteration. The possibility of genetic alteration increases with respect to the amount of damage the cadaver has sustained. This means that a well-preserved human could very well be restored to full, or almost-full, functionality."

Seemingly satisfied, Christopher nodded, "Well, I'm glad to hear that, but biotech is hardly my area of expertise... As for litigation, we should leave it to the lawyers. I'm just here to get a good report."

Finally, the duo reached a crowded spherical dig-out. Without ceremony, Christopher pulled aside the canvas covering the key asset housed in the room.

There, locked in a cage of ice, suspended in time, was a man in leather armour. It seemed authentic enough, studded with steel, with a large rondure to protect the abdomen. Only the skin of his head, face and hands were exposed: his face was pockmarked and scarred, his head slightly bald. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were shut tight, right hand open as if in supplication to his patron deity. In his left hand was gripped a wicked, brazen sabre, possibly to be proffered as tribute on his journey to the afterlife.

Ah, majestic simian! Did you ever know that Man's perpetual quest for power would come to this? God's power of resurrection, finally in the muscular grasp of apes!