Washington, D.C., Six Days Later

Thomas Bannister read over the latest proposed draft of the Memorandum of Understanding that he and Ghalrak Dramz had spent almost a week refining and felt a surge of quiet, intense satisfaction. The talks had gone well, exceedingly so. In fact, they were going smoothly enough to make him worry that at some point the other shoe was going to drop. His ice-blue eyes scanned the page with clinical exactitude.

It wasn’t a full-fledged trade agreement. Not yet. But it was a hell of a good start. He read it again, for the third time.

Memorandum of Understanding

Between
The Government of the United States of America

and

The Kingdom of the Under-Realm

Concerning the Establishment of Diplomatic, Commercial, and Scientific Cooperation

Preamble

The Government of the United States of America and the Kingdom of the Under-Realm, hereafter referred to collectively as “the Parties,” recognizing the unprecedented circumstances under which their nations have come into contact and acknowledging the opportunity for peaceful cooperation between their peoples, express their shared desire to establish relations founded upon mutual respect, stability, and the advancement of prosperity for both civilizations.

The Parties further recognize the potential benefits arising from peaceful exchange in the fields of commerce, science, engineering, medicine, and culture. With these objectives in mind, the Parties record the following understandings as the basis for a continuing relationship and as the foundation for a future treaty governing friendship, trade, and cooperation between the United States of America and the Kingdom of the Under-Realm.

Purpose and Scope

The purpose of this Memorandum of Understanding is to establish a framework through which the Parties may pursue peaceful relations, initiate commercial exchange, and encourage scientific and technological cooperation between their respective nations.

This Memorandum reflects the intention of both Parties to act in good faith in developing practical arrangements that will allow communication, trade, and knowledge exchange to occur in a stable, orderly, and mutually beneficial manner. The Parties affirm that the understandings described herein are intended to guide cooperation between them and to serve as the basis for negotiations toward a formal and binding treaty of friendship and trade at a later date.

Recognition and Diplomatic Engagement

The Parties acknowledge one another as sovereign political entities and express their intention to establish regular diplomatic contact between their respective governments. Each Party intends to designate official representatives empowered to communicate on behalf of their governments and to conduct negotiations concerning matters of trade, diplomacy, science, and cooperation.

The Parties further intend to establish permanent diplomatic missions within mutually agreed territories once appropriate facilities and security arrangements have been developed. These missions shall serve as the principal channel of communication between the governments and will facilitate the continued development of cooperative relations between the peoples of the surface world and the Under-Realm.

Commercial Cooperation

The Parties express their shared intention to encourage mutually beneficial trade between their nations. Such trade shall be conducted in accordance with the laws and regulations of each Party and shall be guided by principles of fairness, transparency, and mutual advantage.

To facilitate these objectives, the Parties intend to establish a Joint Trade Commission composed of representatives appointed by both governments. The commission shall serve as the principal body responsible for coordinating trade arrangements, identifying resources of interest to both Parties, recommending procedures for the transportation and storage of goods, and addressing logistical and regulatory issues that may arise in the course of commercial exchange.

The Parties recognize that the natural resources and engineering traditions of the Under-Realm, combined with the industrial and agricultural capacity of the United States, present significant opportunities for mutually beneficial trade.

Resources and Materials of the Under-Realm

The Kingdom of the Under-Realm has indicated its willingness to make available certain mineral resources and geological materials for export to the United States. These resources may include copper, tin, iron ore, nickel, cobalt, tungsten, molybdenum, lithium, uranium, platinum group metals, gold, silver, gemstones, and a variety of rare earth elements used in advanced manufacturing and energy technologies.

The Under-Realm may also supply refined metals and specialized alloys produced through deep-forge smelting techniques that utilize subterranean heat sources and pressure conditions not available on the surface. These alloys display exceptional resistance to heat, corrosion, fatigue, and mechanical stress and may be made available for industrial, commercial, and scientific applications within the United States, subject to mutually agreed quotas, licensing arrangements, and pricing agreements.

The Under-Realm may further supply high-purity crystalline materials, industrial gemstones suitable for cutting and drilling applications, specialized mineral compounds with unusual thermal or magnetic properties, and structural stone materials prepared for large-scale architectural and engineering uses.

Manufactured Goods of the Under-Realm

The Kingdom of the Under-Realm has also expressed its desire to export a range of manufactured goods reflecting its longstanding traditions of metallurgy, stonecraft, and mechanical engineering.

Such goods may include master-crafted mechanical assemblies produced by Under-Realm guild workshops, including precision gearworks, pressure regulators, reinforced fasteners, hardened cutting tools, and other high-tolerance industrial components designed for use in mining, metallurgy, and heavy engineering. These components are known for their durability, long operational lifespan, and resistance to deformation under extreme mechanical loads.

The Under-Realm may also export specialized mining and tunneling equipment developed for subterranean environments, including hardened drilling heads, reinforced excavation tools, mechanical boring assemblies capable of operating in high-pressure geological formations, and heavy excavation machinery designed for the efficient removal of dense rock formations.

In addition, the Under-Realm may provide automated constructs of stone or metal designed for heavy lifting or work in hazardous environments. These constructs, referred to in this Memorandum as “golems,” are powered by specialized energy sources known as Hearthstones and may be employed in mining operations, large-scale construction projects, disaster recovery operations, and other forms of heavy industrial labor.

The Under-Realm may also offer metal alloys and manufactured goods produced through the controlled application of arcane energy, hereafter referred to as “enchanted” materials. Such materials may exhibit properties such as extreme superconductivity, heightened resistance against other magical energies, and other properties not found in naturally occurring substances. These materials may be made available for industrial, commercial, and scientific use within the United States, subject to mutually negotiated limitations and export controls.

The Kingdom of the Under-Realm may also export architectural materials, including pre-cut structural stone, reinforced masonry components, carved architectural elements, and engineered stone assemblies suitable for use in bridges, tunnels, fortifications, and monumental construction projects. These materials reflect the extensive experience of Under-Realm builders in subterranean construction and structural engineering.

Biological and Medicinal Substances

In addition to mineral and industrial materials, the Under-Realm may provide biological substances originating from subterranean ecosystems. These substances include rare medicinal fungi cultivated within deep cavern environments, botanical extracts derived from underground plant life, and a variety of biochemical compounds believed to possess therapeutic or pharmaceutical properties.

Among these substances is the compound known as naran-nae, a fungal-derived extract traditionally used by Under-Realm healers and believed to possess significant restorative properties. Additional substances may include luminescent fungal cultures used for natural illumination, fermentation cultures used in food preparation, and other biochemical compounds of potential value for medical research and pharmaceutical development.

Hearthstone Technology

The Kingdom of the Under-Realm has indicated its willingness to provide limited quantities of small Hearthstones and Hearthstone-powered devices for civilian use within the United States. Hearthstones function as long-duration energy sources capable of generating heat, light, or mechanical power without the use of conventional fuels.

Devices incorporating Hearthstone technology may include consumer products such as enchanted pest-repellent wall hangers, personal heating devices, air-filtration systems, rechargeable light sources, emergency power or heating modules, self-heating cookware, children’s toys, and other appliances intended for civilian use.

The export of Hearthstones and Hearthstone-powered devices shall be conducted under mutually agreed restrictions and oversight mechanisms designed to ensure safe operation and responsible distribution.

Exports of the United States

The United States of America has expressed its intention to supply a wide range of agricultural products, manufactured goods, and industrial technologies that may support economic development and infrastructure within the Under-Realm.

Such goods may include agricultural commodities such as wheat, corn, rice, soybeans, barley, potatoes, fruits, vegetables, processed food products, preserved meats, and dairy goods. The United States may also provide textiles, clothing, household goods, tools, construction materials, glass products, ceramics, furniture, and other consumer items commonly produced by modern industrial economies.

The United States may further make available industrial machinery and engineering equipment, including mining drills, loaders, conveyor systems, rock crushers, earth-moving equipment, metal refining machinery, industrial furnaces, electrical generators, power transmission equipment, water purification systems, pumping equipment, refrigeration technologies, cargo trucks, railway locomotives, and related transportation infrastructure.

The United States may also make accessible, subject to applicable export control laws and national security review procedures, certain telecommunications technologies, including digital wireless communications hardware, advanced radio systems, and related information and communication infrastructure. Training, technical support, and maintenance services may also be provided as mutually agreed.

Medical cooperation may also occur under this Memorandum. The United States may provide surgical instruments, diagnostic equipment, hospital supplies, emergency medical vehicles, vaccines, and selected pharmaceuticals intended for civilian use.

Specific quantities, delivery schedules, pricing arrangements, and transportation procedures for all goods described in this section shall be determined through negotiations conducted by the Joint Trade Commission.

Scientific and Technological Exchange

The Parties acknowledge that each civilization possesses unique scientific knowledge and technical expertise that may prove valuable to the other. The Parties therefore express their intention to encourage exchanges of scientific knowledge and technical expertise through workshops, demonstration projects, research delegations, and collaborative studies.

Representatives of the United States may be permitted to observe and study certain aspects of Under-Realm metallurgy, subterranean engineering practices, Hearthstone technology, and biological cultivation methods, subject to restrictions established by the government of the Under-Realm.

Representatives of the Under-Realm may similarly be permitted to observe aspects of American industrial production, agricultural systems, electrical engineering, telecommunications infrastructure, and computing technologies where such observation is deemed appropriate by the United States government.

Infrastructure and Industrial Cooperation

The Parties express their intention to cooperate in matters relating to large-scale infrastructure development and industrial engineering. Skilled craftsmen, miners, engineers, and builders from the Under-Realm may assist in construction or resource extraction projects within the territory of the United States when invited to do so by the American government.

Such projects may include tunnels, bridges, mining installations, foundries, and other major industrial structures, as well as projects intended to enhance the resilience of existing infrastructure against natural hazards, including earthquakes, floods, and hurricanes.

Engineers and technical specialists from the United States may similarly participate in collaborative projects within the Under-Realm with the consent of its authorities.

Safety, Security, and Law Enforcement

The Parties acknowledge that certain technologies or materials described in this Memorandum may possess strategic or hazardous characteristics requiring careful oversight.

Both Parties, therefore, agree that exchanges of technical personnel and materials shall be conducted under strict supervision and that military technologies, strategic weapon systems, and classified equipment shall not be transferred under this Memorandum unless specifically authorized through separate agreements.

Both Parties further agree that technologies or materials considered sensitive by either Party shall be subject to prior mutual review and approval before export or transfer.

Individuals operating under the authority of this Memorandum shall remain subject to the laws of the host nation while present within its territory. Matters involving criminal jurisdiction, extradition, or civil liability shall be addressed through procedures agreed upon by the Parties.

The Parties further agree that technologies, goods, or services exchanged under this Memorandum shall not be transferred to third parties without the express consent of both governments.

Dispute Resolution

The Parties affirm their commitment to resolving disagreements arising under this Memorandum through dialogue, consultation, and cooperative negotiation. Should disputes arise, the Parties intend to refer such matters to the Joint Trade Commission for mediation or to designated diplomatic representatives for further consultation.

Transportation and Trade Routes

The Parties intend to cooperate in establishing safe and reliable trade routes between their territories. Maritime transportation, overland cargo routes, and other logistical arrangements shall be developed through consultations conducted by the Joint Trade Commission and the relevant authorities of both governments.

Duration and Review

This Memorandum of Understanding shall remain in effect for a period of ten years from the date of signature unless modified or replaced by a subsequent agreement between the Parties. The Parties intend to review the implementation of this Memorandum periodically through consultations conducted by their diplomatic representatives and through the Joint Trade Commission.

Future Negotiations

The Parties acknowledge that this Memorandum represents an initial step in the development of relations between their nations. They express their intention to continue diplomatic discussions with the objective of concluding a formal treaty governing trade, cooperation, and peaceful relations.

Final Provisions

This Memorandum of Understanding reflects the good-faith intentions of the Parties to pursue cooperation and peaceful engagement. It does not constitute a legally binding treaty but serves as a record of the understandings reached between the governments of the United States of America and the Kingdom of the Under-Realm.

Signed in good faith on behalf of their respective governments.

For the Government of the United States of America
President Thomas Bannister

For the Kingdom of the Under-Realm
Envoy Ghalrak Dramz
Representative of King Azaghal Firebeard

Bannister allowed himself a brief surge of intense satisfaction. It was well done, he thought, and about as stellar an arrangement as either side could have hoped for. Both his country and Ghalrak’s were getting much of what they wanted out of it, and both were giving up something valuable in exchange. The finer details would take weeks, perhaps months of further negotiations, but the muscle and sinew and bones of a massive trade deal had been put into place. All that remained now was to put skin over it and knit it all together. The small army of lawyers, bureaucrats, lobbyists, and other officials under Bannister’s purview would take care of that, and he was happy to delegate the task to them.

He glanced at the minimalist clock on the wall. Still two hours until the first photo op, three hours until he’d need to stand up and deliver a statement to the nation. Plenty of time to give it one more going-over, if he cared to. He didn’t. Bannister had already read over the thing so many times he almost knew it by heart. There was nothing further to add to it. All the important items and most pressing issues had already been addressed and included.

Ghalrak, seated across from him, gave the human a sympathetic grin. “Sittin’ in a chair for so many hours shouldnae be so exhausting,” he said. “But I feel like I just put in twelve hours in the mines, ye ken. We did well, Bannister, methinks. Real well. My King willnae have any trouble agreein’ to these terms, that I promise ye.”

“I certainly hope so,” Bannister agreed. “I won’t have much issue selling this to Congress, either. I think we can nail this down into a formal trade agreement by the end of the year, if all goes well.”

“Aye,” grunted the Dwarf. He would never have admitted it aloud, but Ghalrak, over the course of days of intense bargaining, had formed a grudging respect for Bannister’s uncompromising drive and almost childlike stubbornness in the face of obstacles. Neither leader had yielded so much as an inch that wasn’t wrung from the other’s grasp, and that was how it should be from the Dwarf’s point of view. Nothing worth having or doing should come easily. Struggle created value and meaning and tested the measure of character. He liked Bannister. Firebeard would, too.

Ghalrak stood up, bones popping, and stretched his hands overhead. “Will you be wantin’ another look at it, or shall we sign the bugger and be about our day?” he asked, shooting Bannister a shrewd grin.

“We’ll sign it later this afternoon. I would just as soon put my name at the bottom and be done with it, but the press expects a spectacle.” Bannister made a face. “I hate this part, but it’s expected. There will be a photo op in the East Room first. You’ll get the full treatment — red carpet, Marine Guard, cameras up your ass. After that, a joint statement to the press, and then they’ll cart the whole circus over to the Willard for a formal dinner.”

Ghalrak, too, huffed in irritation. That was another thing he and the human leader shared. They both hated these dog-and-pony shows—the parades and flag-waving, the scripted backslapping for the cameras. Still, the Dwarf understood the necessity: formalities had to be observed, and frankly, the people needed a show. Americans, he knew, had endured a very stressful couple of weeks, to put it mildly. They needed a bit of hope and a reminder that their leaders could handle this bizarre new reality. It was easy to forget, in the midst of all this, how desperately people had wanted reassurance that their world wasn’t about to collapse out from under them.

“Well then,” the Dwarf said. “Best not keep ‘em waiting, aye?”

Bannister nodded, then paused. “Ghalrak, I want you to answer me frankly.”

“I dinnae know how tae do otherwise, laddie.”

“What do you think of us? What do you really think?”

The Dwarf blinked, a bit nonplussed, and after a moment stroked his beard as he considered his answer.

“Laddie, I think ye Americans are just about the weirdest people I’ve ever come across. Ye don’t seem to know what you want. I mean that in the best way, too. Dwarves want stability, gold, a good meal, a good mate, and to die with our hands wrapped around a hammer or an enemy’s neck. Yours are different. You Americans want a hundred—even a thousand—things all at once. You want to do it faster, louder, bigger than anyone else. It’s a surprise you lot don’t explode from the sheer pressure of your own wanting. Ye move quick, think even quicker, but ye're never satisfied, even when ye win. I suppose that’s how ye managed to build all this—” he gestured at the White House around them—”in the amount o’ time it takes one of my people tae reach middle age. Aye, an’ I’ll say this, too. Ye dinnae give up, even when all reason says ye should. I think of everythin’ I’ve learned about ye so far, that be the quality I like the most. The sheer bloody stubbornness of you people.”

Bannister grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Aye. I meant it as one.” He held Bannister’s gaze, voice turning softer, almost reflective. “But I also think you’re the most hopeful folk I’ve ever known. Most humans, even the clever ones, get ground down by the years, bit by bit. Not you. Hold tight tae that, Bannister. My people havenae had it for a long, long time. We’re old, ye ken. Very old. An’ we’ve seen—” He paused, searching for the word, “too much. So, it’s mighty refreshin’ to trade with folks like you. Reminds us of what that was like.”

Bannister nodded, though he found himself at a loss for what to say. That last bit had landed heavier than he expected. The Dwarves were a very, very ancient people. Ghalrak claimed they delved their first halls before the first human cities had ever arisen on this new world, and like all elders, they were no doubt wizened, hardened, and rendered cynical by the world in which they lived. Bannister saw that now— saw it in the way Ghalrak had spoken of age and of hope as if they were precious relics, heard the heaviness of it in the cadence of his words. For all their bluster and their power, for all the technical prowess displayed by the Under-Realm, the Dwarves were weighed down by centuries, maybe even millennia, of losses and wars and trades gone sour. It explained the calculating caution hiding behind the Captain’s boisterousness. Trust didn’t come easy to the Under-Realm, and why should it?

Bannister silently vowed that as long as he was in the Oval Office, he would do what he could to never let his country become ossified in the way Ghalrak hinted at. He would never let the hope burn out. Not on his watch.

He straightened in his chair, flicked a glance at the sheaf of papers, and then—impulsively—held out his hand. “To partnership, then,” he said.

Ghalrak took Bannister’s hand in both of his own and gave it a sound shake. “Aye, to partnership.”

“Are you planning to head back to Thafar-Gathol soon?”

The Dwarf nodded, withdrawing his hand. “But I’ll stick around long enough tae make sure all’s in order afore I take my leave, if it’s all the same tae you.”

“You are most welcome to do so. While you’re here, I will arrange for you to see some of the sights,” said Bannister. “I’m sure you’re keen to get a better look at our capital outside these four walls.”

“Aye, and get outta this room while I’m about it,” Ghalrak confirmed. “Dunno how you people do it, sittin’ in a stuffy office like this all day. I’m gonna go get me some fresh air. Even the muggy weather outside’s better than this.”

Amen to that, Bannister thought, and followed the Dwarf out of the room.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Raul Lopez, aged 18, sat in the shade under the porch of his mother’s adobe-walled house and watched a lizard dart out from under a rock to flick its tongue in the air. Like most young people his age, he’d been coping with the Event as best he could in the weeks following that impossible happenstance. Everyone did it differently—he did it by trying to find a job to distract himself, by making sure his mother, his two younger sisters, and his baby brother had food on the table, and, at the insistence of his stern but aging grandmother, by making sure he graduated high school. Normally, most people his age would have gotten their diplomas already, but the school closures following the Event meant that the ceremony was delayed until the end of the month.

Raul scowled. He just wanted to be done with school already. Not because he hated it, per se, but because he was ready to try and start doing something. He had a part-time job working at a local restaurant, but he didn’t want to do that forever.

He still had trouble, at times, wrapping his head around the fact that America was in an entirely different world, but the evidence of it, the impact of it, was ever-present. It was present in the way new computers became less and less common in stores, the way cars grew more expensive, and the news was full of stories about resource shortages and rationing. It was in the empty shelves at the FoodMaxx, in the panicked whispers about supply chains and replacement shipments, and mostly in the way even the grownups—especially the grownups—seemed haunted by a thousand new worries. His grandmother had called it a calamidad, and she wasn’t wrong.

The world had changed. He was told, as all kids were, that change was an opportunity. But Raul had yet to find much opportunity in it unless you counted the chance to take on two extra shifts scrubbing dishes. Still…

He sighed and got to his feet. Since the Event, Raul made a habit of heading down to Santa Fe’s famous Plaza and looking at the bulletin boards to see if he could find actual work, the kind that wasn’t just scraping up tips or washing other people’s mess. Sometimes there were day-labor jobs for clearing brush or digging ditches on the outskirts, but competition for those was ferocious. Besides, Raul didn’t feel like breaking his back in the hot sun for barely more than minimum wage, not when he could make the same minimum wage at the restaurant with the added benefit of air conditioning. Once, he’d tried out for a local security company, but most of those jobs went to ex-cops or ex-military. They’d laughed him off the lot, right to his face.

He stepped into the blast of the early-morning sun and squinted, then found his bike leaning up against the battered stucco wall of the house. His mother was already gone—she’d gotten a job as a teacher at a nearby school, and his grandmother was probably half-asleep in the kitchen, drinking coffee and watching telenovelas with his baby brother, who was only four.

Santa Fe was quiet as he pedaled down the hill. In the distance, the scenery looked the same: the same mountains, the same arid, parched dust, and the same sky. Sometimes, Raul would look around and almost forget. It could fool you, if you let it. The horizon hadn’t changed. The air still smelled like dust and pine sap and faint traces of juniper. But beyond all that, beyond the U.S. border, everything was different.

The Plaza, once so crowded with tourists and retirees and college students, now felt deserted. There were still the old men playing chess, the musicians strumming their guitars for tips, but fewer vendors selling turquoise jewelry, fewer art stalls, fewer families taking pictures in the shadow of the cathedral. Sure, there’d been some excitement when the Dwarves came through a little while ago, but they’d only stayed for one night, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to get a glimpse of them.

He shook his head. Dwarves. Actual Dwarves. The media had followed their cross-country road trip like groupies following a rock band. He still had trouble, at times, wrapping his head around the fact that this was a whole new world—an entire planet with magic and Dwarves and who knew what else, where all the rules were different.

He recalled how, during Mass the previous Sunday, Father Herrera had said that the Event was God’s way of testing them. That maybe this whole thing was some kind of divine plan, a second chance for America to get things right. Raul wasn’t so sure about that. If God wanted to test people, there were easier ways to do it than yanking an entire country across dimensions or whatever had happened. And besides, people were still people. They’d make the same mistakes here as they did back on Earth. They always did.

Herrera had called this world a new Eden, but Raul didn’t see a whole lot that reminded him of the paradisical Garden. Eden was supposed to be a place of plenty and utter tranquility and contentment—a place where you didn’t have any problems. But the Event had created a whole lot of problems, some of which impacted Raul’s family directly and few of which did so for the better.

He shook his head. You could wrestle with those kinds of big-picture questions for weeks, and you still wouldn’t find any answers. He had more immediate, more pressing things to concern himself with—such as adding whatever he could to the family budget.

Raul locked his bike to a rack near the Plaza and strolled toward the bulletin boards. New flyers appeared daily, and he tried not to let himself hope as he scanned them. The usual notices were there—help wanted at restaurants, a few handwritten cards for yard work, tutoring services—but his attention was caught by a large, official-looking poster that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“FRONTIER CORPS,” it read in bold blue letters. “Be part of America’s future in a new world.”

Curious, Raul stepped closer. The poster showed young people in rugged outdoor gear standing on a hilltop overlooking an unexplored landscape. Below the image was more text:

“Ages 18-25. No experience necessary. Training provided.”

Curious despite himself, he read further. The poster described a new government initiative for exploring and developing “strategic resource locations” beyond current U.S. territory. They were recruiting young people to help establish outposts, conduct surveys, and build infrastructure in what they were calling “the next frontier.” There was a QR code at the bottom, too.

Raul thought the whole thing sounded too good to be true, but even so, there wasn’t any harm in at least checking it out, right?

He dug his phone from his pocket and tapped the code. In seconds, a mobile-optimized site loaded, heavy on red-white-and-blue and impossibly upbeat. “Calling all young Americans!” it practically shouted. “Do you crave adventure? Want to make a difference? Join the American Youth Frontier Corps—a paid civic opportunity to build the future, forge new industry, and claim the wilderness for the next generation!” Further down, in smaller type, it listed a bunch of practical stuff: must be at least 18 to apply, physical and background screening mandatory, that sort of thing. “Earn money. Learn valuable skills. See the world. Leave your mark. Serve your country. Visit your nearest U.S. recruitment office to enlist!”

The pitch was so corny that Raul almost groaned. Our tax dollars at work, he thought drily. To him, it sounded a lot like busy work, a way to get people his age employed doing anything and everything like the old Civilian Conservation Corps used to do. Nana told him stories about how his grandfather did that, back during the days of the Depression, and as far as Raul was concerned, the CCC didn’t sound all that different from the various odd jobs he was doing already.

Even so…the benefits and perks of the program were nothing to sneeze at, he had to admit. Free room and board, for one thing, not to mention the possibility of travel. Raul had never traveled much, except on road trips to other states, and even those had been only once a year if he was lucky. The thought of going somewhere exotic, maybe somewhere tropical with palm trees or something, had its own certain appeal. The pay was good, too, in comparison to what he usually got for his efforts. Thirty bucks an hour, plus the possibility for generous overtime, along with health benefits, a retirement account, and a generous college tuition package if you stuck it out long enough. All pretty tempting stuff if you didn’t mind a little hard labor, and Raul was used to that already.

He clicked on a link to the site’s FAQ page and read it with growing interest despite his initial skepticism.

Q: What would I do each day?

A: As a member of our Youth Frontier Corps Program, you will be paired with a team of motivated young Americans from across the country. You’ll learn to operate modern machinery and advanced tools, help build new roads, bridges, and dams, and support the country’s recovery and expansion. You might build trails, clear land, plant agricultural crops, set up and maintain infrastructure, assist scientific expeditions, or even help support the construction of entirely new settlements in uninhabited territory. We also offer specialized tracks to qualified applicants, including: Surveying, Engineering, Agriculture, Construction, Sanitation, Environmental Science, and Communications.

Q: Will I have to travel? Where will I be sent?

A: Your assignment may rotate you between different sites around the continental U.S., Hawaii, Alaska, and overseas territories. Some members may be selected for missions to new outposts, island chains, or other geographic areas beyond the mainland United States, but this is not a guarantee. Your assigned duty station will depend on project demand and Corps priorities.

Q: Is this military service? Will I have to fight?

A: The Frontier Corps is a strictly civilian program. However, all members are required to complete a rigorous, intensive 12-week training program that will teach you skills such as emergency first aid, emergency preparedness, basic self-defense, firearms use, and more. Your safety is of utmost importance, but you will also be expected to demonstrate discipline, teamwork, and a willingness to serve.

Q: Is there any chance to do something besides physical labor?

A: Absolutely! In addition to a huge variety of field work, Corps members are needed for support roles such as logistics, communications, education, IT, administration, and even artistic or journalistic documentation of projects. If you have a special skill or talent, let us know.

Q: What if I get homesick or want out?

A: You can leave the program at any time, though bonuses, tuition, and career advancement are tied to completion of your contracted term

Q: Why is the U.S. attempting to expand into new territories? That sounds a lot like conquest to me.

A: The United States is not trying to “conquer” anyone. Shortages of certain resources and materials as a result of the Event mean that the country must act decisively to keep Americans safe and supplied. That means developing new sources of food, energy, and materials, and launching scientific and exploratory missions to understand the new world. The Corps will never ask you to invade or harm other people. Any overseas location you may be deployed to has been carefully surveyed to ensure no local or indigenous populations are present and cleared of any dangerous or hazardous wildlife. Your assignment is focused on building, not destroying.

Q: What if I like the place I’m deployed to and don’t want to leave?

A: Good question! The Frontier Corps makes use of the Homestead Act, enacted by Congress all the way back in 1862 and amended by Congress post-Event. If you complete your three-year term in good standing, you may be eligible to apply for a homestead grant and claim up to 120 acres of land in any eligible Expansion Zone, provided you live on and improve the land for a period of at least five years. Not only that, but relocation and start-up assistance are available, too. The spirit of the frontier is alive and well! See your recruiter for more details.

Now that got Raul’s attention. Before the Event, he had trouble even imagining himself owning his own home one day, let alone more than a hundred acres. But here it was, laid out plain as day: do your time, show up, don’t screw up, and you could walk away with your own plot. And sure, there were probably a bunch of terms and conditions and fine print—it was the government, after all—but it still seemed a hell of a lot more plausible than buying a house in Santa Fe. Money was tight, always had been, and even after the Event, some things remained the same. Rent still came due every month. His sisters still needed to finish school. His mother still worked long hours. If there was really this much empty land out there, why not get a piece of it for his family? Why not get a slice of the pie and actually get ahead for once?

And, really, what did he have to lose? Worst-case scenario, he’d just wind up back where he started.

Raul looked at the time on his phone and made a decision. The recruitment office was only a few blocks away—he could go now, ask some questions, and be done in plenty of time to get home for dinner. His shift at the restaurant didn’t start till seven. If nothing else, it would be a distraction from the mind-numbing routine his life had become.

He unlocked his bike, swung his leg over the frame, and pedaled toward the address listed on the poster. It was a small office tucked between a sandwich shop and a hair salon, with a freshly painted sign that read “U.S. Frontier Corps Recruitment Center.” The glass door was propped open, inviting passers-by inside to escape the heat.

Raul hesitated at the entrance. Was he really going to do this? The thought of leaving Santa Fe, his family, everything familiar—it made his stomach clench. But then he thought of his mother working double shifts, of his grandmother struggling to keep up with his energetic little brother, of the constant worry about bills and food and how they would make it through the next month.

This is for them, he thought. It really was as simple as that.

He squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

The recruitment office was well air-conditioned and unexpectedly modern. Gone were the drab walls and plastic chairs Raul had expected. Instead, the space featured sleek touchscreen displays showing panoramic wilderness scenes, comfortable seating areas, and a large interactive map of what he assumed were potential deployment locations. The walls were covered with posters extolling the virtues of the various branches of the U.S. armed forces. Here, a young woman in a flight suit stood smiling, posed on a ladder leading up to the cockpit of an F-35 fighter jet. There, a guy in Navy fatigues was depicted on the bridge of an aircraft carrier.

Behind a desk sat a woman in her thirties wearing a navy-blue uniform with a small American flag patch on the shoulder. Her nameplate read “Sgt. Johnson, USMC (Ret.).”

She looked up as the bell above the door jingled. “Welcome,” she said. “How can I help you today?”

“I saw a poster about something called the Frontier Corps,” Raul said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I, uh, wanted to ask some questions.”

“Of course. Please, take a seat.”

Raul plopped down into the chair across from her.

“So what caught your interest about the Frontier Corps?” Johnson asked, folding her hands on her desk. “The adventure? The pay? The homestead opportunity?”

Raul shifted in his seat. “All of it, I guess. But mostly the homestead part.”

She laughed—not mockingly, but with genuine appreciation. “I like that. Straight to the point. A lot of people come in here talking about patriotism and adventure, which is great, but practical motivations can and should factor in, too. It’s a great opportunity, especially for someone your age. Not many chances to own that much land these days.”

“So…it’s for real?” Raul asked. “Like for real, for real?”

She nodded. “Yes. Congress has reactivated and modified the Homestead Act specifically for this program. One hundred and twenty acres of land. Free and clear. The catch is that you need to complete a three-year term with the Corps first, then improve the land for five years. But after that, it’s yours. No mortgage, no rent, just taxes and upkeep. The Corps will even provide some basic start-up assistance—tools, seeds, building materials, that kind of thing.”

Raul bit his lip. “And what’s the catch? I mean, there’s got to be one, right?”

Johnson smiled, a little ruefully. “Well, for one thing, it’s not easy work. You’ll be in remote locations, sometimes with minimal amenities. You’ll face physical challenges, isolation, and you’ll be far from home. More, you’ll work harder than you ever have in your life.” She paused. “And before you get to do all that, you’ve got to pass training first. It’s going to be intense—not quite a military boot camp, but close. Twelve weeks of learning everything from first aid to wilderness survival to firearms use and basic construction.” She sat back, her chair creaking. “It’s not for everyone. People do wash out. But for those who stick it out, the rewards can be life-changing.”

Raul nodded slowly, taking it all in. “What about my family?” he asked. “Would I be able to see them? Call them?”

“Absolutely. You’re not joining a cult,” Johnson said said. “You’ll have regular leave, communication access depending on your posting, and emergency family leave if necessary. And if you get your homestead, your family can join you there.”

“And where would I go? I mean, after training? How many, um, places are there?”

“The term you’re looking for is Expansion Zones,” replied Johnson. “At present, there are six confirmed Expansion Zones under the Frontier Corps’ purview, though we’re potentially looking at more. Each location has been carefully scouted, mapped, and assessed for suitability.”

“Suitability…you mean, like, natural resources?” Raul asked.

“Among other things, yes. As you know, the Event severed a lot of our supply chains, and even though we’re looking at a potential trade deal with the Dwarfs—you probably read about that in papers, right?”

Raul nodded. The Dwarfs’ arrival in D.C. had been all over the news for days.

“Right, well, even if such an agreement is put in place, it won’t solve all our problems overnight. That’s why the President and Congress have authorized the exploration and settlement of key locations. We need to secure new sources of vital materials like rare earth metals, uranium, and dozens of other resources critical to our national security and economic stability. Not every Expansion Zone is geared toward resource extraction, though. Some are oriented more toward scientific endeavors—studying the flora and fauna that call this world home.”

She tapped on her tablet and turned the screen toward Raul. A colorful map appeared, showing what looked like the United States and the surrounding territories. Six areas were highlighted in bright blue, each labeled with names like “Greenshore,” “New Cascade,” “Aurora Basin,” “Silverpeak,” “Coral Haven,” “New Sahara,” and “Stormwatch.”

“Each zone has its own climate, terrain, and resource profile,” Johnson explained. “Greenshore is tropical, with white sand beaches and dense jungle interior. New Cascade is mountainous, with vast deposits of minerals like cobalt, lithium, and nickel. Aurora Basin is a vast, fertile valley with ideal conditions for agricultural experimentation. Silverpeak is a mountainous region with dense forests and abundant wildlife—we’re planning a monitoring station there, and a lot of what you’ll do is cataloguing and researching the different species. Coral Haven is a tropical archipelago with pristine reefs and marine resources, ideal for aquatic research and fishing. New Sahara is an arid region with unusual geological formations and rare mineral deposits. And Stormwatch is a coastal region known for its dramatic weather patterns.”

“And they’re all empty? No people living there at all?”

“That’s correct,” Johnson nodded firmly. “Every Expansion Zone has been extensively surveyed by drones, satellites, and ground teams to ensure no indigenous inhabitants will be displaced by our activity and to ensure no hostile wildlife is present. We’re not out to displace or conquer anyone.”

That was a relief. Raul leaned forward, studying the map. “Can I choose which one I want to go to?”

“Not exactly,” Johnson admitted. “You can state preferences, and we try to match skills and interests when possible, but ultimate placement decisions are made based on Corps needs and your aptitude scores during training. That said, if you have specialized skills or a background in a particular field, that will definitely be taken into consideration.”

“Which one has the most recruits going to it?” he asked.

“New Cascade and Aurora Basin are our most active zones right now,” Johnson replied. “They’re both in need of infrastructure development—roads, housing, power generation. But each location needs different skillsets. Where do your interests lie?”

Raul thought about it. “I don’t know…I’m good with my hands, I guess. I’ve done some construction work, among other things. Odd jobs, mostly…”

“Construction skills are in high demand,” Johnson said brightly. “The Corps is building entire settlements from the ground up. Every road laid, every building constructed, every power line strung—it all needs hands to make it happen. We could definitely use someone with your background. What about your education level?”

“High school,” Raul said. “I’m graduating at the end of this month.”

Johnson nodded approvingly. “Perfect timing, then. Our next training cohort begins in three weeks. If you’re interested, I can set you up with an application and preliminary screening today.”

A flutter of anxiety mixed with excitement rose in Raul’s chest. This was happening fast—maybe too fast. But then again, what was he waiting for? Another summer of washing dishes and watching his mother struggle to make ends meet?

“What’s the screening like?” he asked.

“Basic physical fitness assessment, medical exam, background check. Nothing too invasive. We just need to make sure you’re healthy enough for the training and don’t have any disqualifying criminal history. The Corps doesn’t let just anyone in, you know. We expect all our recruits to adhere to the highest standards of integrity.”

Raul nodded. It made sense. “Do I have to decide right now?”

“Not at all,” Johnson said. “Take some information home, talk it over with your family. This is a big decision.” She handed him a sleek folder filled with brochures. “But don’t take too long. As I said, our next training cohort begins in three weeks, and slots are filling up fast.”

Three weeks. That wasn’t much time to decide on the next three years of his life. Raul took the folder, suddenly feeling the weight of it all.

“If you’d like to fill out those forms, you can take a seat and do that before you leave,” continued Johnson. “When you’re done, we’ll proceed to the physical fitness and medical evaluation tests to see if you’ve got what it takes.”

Raul nodded, taking the folder. It was heavier than he expected, packed with glossy brochures and forms that needed filling out. He flipped through them quickly, scanning the headings—medical history, contact information, skills inventory, personal statement. At the back was a thick waiver of liability that made his stomach tighten as the woman handed him a pen.

This was a huge decision, he knew, and no matter how many precautions the Corps took, there were always risks. He could get hurt, or worse. And three years was a long time to be away from his loved ones.

But then his mother’s tired face flashed in his mind. The dark circles under her eyes were from another double shift. His sisters sharing a bedroom, his baby brother sleeping on a mattress in the living room. The constant, grinding anxiety over bills.

That was all the motivation he needed.

Before he knew it, his hand was moving, filling out the application as neatly as he could. Raul’s penmanship was not what anyone would call stellar, but he thought it was neat enough to get the job done. A lot of it was routine: they wanted to know his name, address, place of birth, etc. But there were other sections that required a little more thought, not least of which was the last section, which asked for a personal essay. “Describe what motivates you to serve,” read the prompt. “What would you hope to gain, and what do you think you can contribute?”

Raul rolled his pen between his knuckles for a minute and stared at the lines. His first thought was to write the lowest-effort thing he could and move on, but that wouldn’t help his chances. If the recruiters saw he half-assed it, it could count against him. He could make up something about patriotism or a sense of duty instead, but then, everyone else was probably doing that too: telling the recruiters or whoever had the tedious job of reading all these applications exactly what they thought they wanted to hear. Besides, what would Nana or Mama say if he lied on a government form? Perhaps honesty really was the best policy, so Raul wrote:

My family has lived in New Mexico for three generations. My Nana came here from Mexico when she was a kid and lived her whole life in Santa Fe. We’ve never been rich, but we’ve always worked hard. My mother works two jobs right now, and I help out by working odd jobs and stuff every day after school. I want to join the program because, even though this country’s been good to us, I still want to build something better for myself and for my family.

Raul paused, biting his lip. He didn’t want to come across as ungrateful—he was patriotic, insofar as an 18-year-old American teenager can be, but he didn’t want to come off as sycophantic or insincere, either.

I guess I want to see some of this new world, too, and if there really is that much land out there, and my family could own some of it one day, that’s worth working hard for. And I’m not afraid of hard work. You can ask anyone. I’m good at following directions, and I know how to get along with people. I’ve also got some experience with farm work and general handyman stuff like wiring, painting, plumbing, and landscaping, and I’m willing to learn anything else I need to.

It wasn’t flowery, but it was honest. He finished the essay with a grimace, feeling self-conscious, and powered through the rest of the forms—a health questionnaire (no allergies, no ongoing meds, vision perfectly fine), an agreement to submit to drug testing, criminal history (none), a permission slip for a background check, and a few professional and character references. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

After about half an hour, he handed the forms back to Johnson. “Here.”

“Excellent, thank you. Now, if you’ll please proceed through that door and into the back, there is an examination room. A qualified medical doctor will be in shortly to begin the next steps.”

Raul nodded, stood, and walked through the indicated door, where he found the examination room at the end of the hall. It reminded him of his school’s nurse’s office—that same antiseptic smell, the paper-covered examination table, the blood pressure cuff hanging on the wall. The walls were painted an institutional off-white, and a paper-covered examination table dominated the center. Medical posters showing anatomical diagrams and safety procedures lined the walls. A small desk with a computer terminal sat in one corner, alongside a scale and height measurement chart. Various medical instruments were arranged neatly on a stainless steel tray.

He felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. What if they found something wrong with him? Some hidden condition that would disqualify him before he even got started?

After a few minutes, the door opened, and a woman in a white coat entered, carrying a tablet. She appeared to be in her forties, with graying hair pulled back into a neat bun and rectangular glasses perched on her nose.

“Raul Lopez?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Reyes,” she said, extending her hand. “I’ll be conducting your physical evaluation today.”

Raul shook her hand. Her grip was unexpectedly firm. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. This will be a standard physical assessment—blood pressure, reflexes, vision, hearing, and a basic fitness evaluation, as well as a blood draw. We’ll also need a urine sample. Nothing too invasive, but comprehensive enough to ensure you’re fit for training. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“…Am I gonna have to take my clothes off?” It was embarrassing to ask, but he couldn’t help it.

Reyes smiled reassuringly. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll only ask you to roll up your sleeve for the blood pressure check and blood draw, and to remove your shoes to check your height and weight. Don’t worry, you can keep your clothes on.”

Relief washed through him. “Okay, good.”

From there, the examination went quickly and professionally. Dr. Reyes checked his blood pressure (normal), tested his reflexes (quick), and had him read an eye chart (20/20 vision). She listened to his heart and lungs, tested his reflexes by hitting his knee with a rubber hammer, and gauged his height and weight.

“Five feet eleven, one hundred and forty-three pounds,” she announced. “Excellent muscle mass, too, relative to your height and body size. You’re in very good shape, Mr. Lopez. Do you exercise regularly?”

“Er…I play soccer sometimes with friends,” Raul said. “And I do odd jobs and stuff after school. A lot of those involve heavy lifting and things like that.”

“I see. Any history of asthma, diabetes, or heart conditions in your family?” she asked, tapping notes into her tablet.

“My grandfather had diabetes,” Raul admitted. “But nobody else.”

She nodded, making another note. “And you personally—any broken bones, surgeries, or chronic conditions I should know about?”

“I broke my arm when I was ten, but other than that, no.”

“Mmm.” Reyes scribbled again.

“Good. The last thing we need to do is a quick blood draw and have you provide a urine sample. Then we’ll move on to the fitness assessment.”

Raul grimaced but nodded. He wasn’t super-squeamish about shots, but he still didn’t like them. Who, after all, would like the experience of having a needle in their arm? Still, he rolled up his sleeve and did his best to relax and think of something else as she sterilized a spot on his arm with an alcoholic swab and prepared the needle and tourniquet.

A heartbeat later, there was a sharp pinching sensation. Raul couldn’t help but watch, morbidly fascinated, as his blood began to run through a thin little plastic tube and into the vial the doctor was holding.

After it was about two-thirds full, Reyes nodded. “All done,” she said, withdrawing the needle smoothly and directing him to hold a cotton ball to the puncture while she capped the vial and labeled it. Lastly, she handed him a Band-Aid.

Raul put it on. “What now?”

“Urine sample,” she said crisply, and thrust a small plastic cup into his hand. ‘The bathroom is down the hall.”

Raul felt embarrassed but tried his best not to show it. Five minutes later, he was back in the examination room and handing the now-full container back to her.

“Perfect,” Dr. Reyes said, checking off something on her tablet. “Now for the fitness assessment. Follow me.”

She led him out of the examination room, down the hall past the bathroom, and into what looked like a small gym. There was a treadmill, some weights, a pull-up bar, and an open space with exercise mats on the floor.

A man in athletic clothes stood waiting, clipboard in hand.

“Mr. Lopez, good to meet you. I’m Coach McDonald. I’ll be conducting your physical fitness assessment today.”

The coach was built like a brick wall—broad-shouldered, stocky, with very little visible neck to speak of. Reyes slipped back out the door as he gave Raul the rundown.

“This,” McDonald said, “is where a lot of folks wash out. You youngsters these days, way too many of you are out of shape—all that damn corn syrup they put in everything, and spending all day inside on your phones. So, I’ll be blunt with you, Mr. Lopez: this is probably going to be the most unpleasant 45 minutes of your life.”

Raul felt a little chill crawl down his spine. “Okay,” he said, trying not to let his voice crack. “What do I need to do?”

“Let’s start with something simple. Give me thirty push-ups,” Coach McDonald said, holding up a timer. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”

Raul dropped to the mat, positioned his hands shoulder-width apart, and began. The first fifteen were easy enough—he’d done physical labor, so that helped—but by number twenty-five, his arms trembled. He gritted his teeth, imagined the clock ticking, and forced himself to continue.

“You’ve got ten seconds and five push-ups left, Lopez!” McDonald barked.

Raul lunged through the last five push-ups, arms quivering, face burning with effort. His elbows threatened to buckle, but he locked them at the last second, and by sheer force of will, he managed to complete the final repetition a heartbeat before the timer buzzed.

“Time! Thirty in fifty-eight seconds. I’ve seen better, but I’ve also seen worse,” McDonald said, making a note on his clipboard. “Now, without resting, I want twenty jumping jacks, twenty squats, and then run in place for sixty seconds. Go!”

Raul’s chest heaved as he hauled himself to his feet. Sweat already soaked through his t-shirt at the armpits. “Can I have a second to catch my breath?”

“No. Now get cracking!”

Raul’s legs felt like lead as he launched into jumping jacks. His lungs burned, muscles already protesting. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and dripped down his back. By the time he hit twenty, his chest was heaving, and his heart was hammering so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. His vision narrowed to just the wall in front of him, and he kept picturing, over and over, his mother’s exhausted face when she came home from her double shifts. He imagined the house he’d build for her, his siblings, and Nana when he finished his service. A really big house, he thought ferociously. With big bay windows and big bedrooms and a big attic and a treehouse in a big tree nearby for my sisters to play in.

The squats that followed were even worse—his thighs burned like someone had injected them with fire. By the time he started running in place, spots danced before his eyes.

“Get those knees all the way up!” McDonald barked. “I want to see them at waist level every time! Higher—I said higher!”

Raul gasped for air, forcing his legs to pump harder. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he pushed through, focusing on the timer on McDonald’s wrist. Thirty more seconds. Twenty. Ten.

When the buzzer finally sounded, Raul collapsed and fell to the mat on his hands and knees, gasping for oxygen, body shaking, lungs burning. His mouth hung open as he sucked in precious air greedily.

“Now you can take five,” McDonald said. “Five minutes, Lopez, then we’re moving on.” He tossed him a water bottle. “Don’t drink all that once, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

Raul wanted nothing more than to drain the damn thing dry, but he forced himself to take small sips instead. The cold water felt utterly glorious as it slid down his parched throat. He leaned back against the wall, willing his heartbeat to slow down, his lungs to stop burning.

“You’re doing better than most,” McDonald said, surprising him. “Most of these city kids can’t even finish the first round. Had a kid in here yesterday who puked after the push-ups.”

That made Raul feel marginally better. He took another careful sip of water and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. His late grandfather—God rest his soul—had taught him that years ago, when they used to go hiking up in the mountains.

The five minutes passed much too quickly. McDonald’s timer dinged, and he clapped his hands. “Break’s over! Now, here’s what you’re gonna do next.”

He pointed at the treadmill. “You’re going to run two miles. Twenty minutes or less—that’s the standard. Clock’s ticking as soon as you step on.”

Raul’s mouth went dry. Running wasn’t his strong suit. He was good at sprinting, sure, and could go a fair distance in short bursts, but two miles without stopping? With his muscles already burning from the previous exercises? Raul wasn’t sure he could do it. But the alternative—giving up now—wasn’t an option. Not with all that was at stake.

He reluctantly dragged himself to his feet and climbed onto the machine, wiping sweat from his eyes.

“Ready?” McDonald asked.

“Yeah,” Raul muttered, although he certainly didn’t feel like it.

McDonald walked over and set the machine to a moderately fast pace. “This is the setting you’ll use. Don’t fiddle with it. Maintain it for the full distance without stopping. Timer starts…now.”

The treadmill lurched to life. Raul stumbled slightly, then found his rhythm and began to run.

The first quarter mile wasn’t too bad—he settled into a steady pace, focusing on his breathing, and tried to conserve his energy. By the half-mile mark, however, his lungs were on fire again. Sweat poured down his face, soaking his shirt completely. His calves ached, his thighs burned, and each breath felt like inhaling sandpaper. The time showed only 5:43 had elapsed.

“Pick up the pace,” McDonald barked. “You’re falling behind. You’ve come this far, Lopez. Do you want to choke in the home stretch? You fail any part of this physical exam, and you’re out. Those are the rules. Do you want to be in the Frontier Corps or not?”

“Yes!” Raul said through gritted teeth. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to go faster, to push harder, tapping into reserves of endurance he didn’t even know he had.

“I can’t hear you!” McDonald shouted.

“YES!” Raul bellowed. His lungs burned like someone had poured acid down his throat, and his legs felt like they might snap off at any moment, but still he kept running gamely on.

“That’s it! Keep pushing!” McDonald barked, standing beside the machine now. “Ten minutes gone! Ten left! Don’t you dare slow down! Don’t you dare waste my time, Lopez! Go, go, go!"

Raul’s legs had transformed into pillars of fire. Every footfall sent jolts of pain shooting up his calves into his thighs. He tried to distract himself from it, once again, by thinking of his loved ones and why he was putting himself through all this.

The house won’t just be big, he thought. It’ll have a wraparound porch where Nana can sit and watch hummingbirds. It’ll have a huge kitchen with the best appliances for Mama to use when she cooks for us. I’ll have a playroom set aside just for my brother, and I’ll have a swing set out front for my sisters to use.

But none of that would happen if he failed here. None of that would come to pass if he didn’t pass this test.

An incoherent, defiant roar tore from his throat, and he surged forward with the last of his energy. He wasn’t going to fail—not here, not like this, not when so much was at stake. The treadmill’s digital display blurred through his sweat, but he could see the distance marker climbing: 1.75 miles… 1.8… 1.9…

He was light-headed, spots were dancing before his eyes, but he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. His feet pounded against the treadmill belt like hammers on an anvil.

“One minute left!” McDonald shouted. “Come on, Lopez! Finish strong! You’re almost there! Push through it! PUSH!”

He did. Raul pushed himself harder than he ever had before in his young life. With a final burst of will, he poured every last ounce of energy and strength he had into that final stretch. It was enough, just enough, to carry him over the finish line as the timer hit 19:58.

McDonald hit the stop button on the timer as the treadmill automatically began to slow. Delirious relief flooded through Raul. His legs buckled as the belt decelerated, and he grabbed the handrails to keep from collapsing. His chest heaved, lungs burning with each breath. Sweat poured down his face in rivulets, soaking his shirt completely.

“Nineteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds,” McDonald announced. “Made it just under the wire. Congratulations, Lopez.”

Raul couldn’t even summon the energy to smile. His lungs felt raw, his legs trembled like jelly, and his shirt clung to him like a second skin, completely drenched in sweat. He stumbled off the treadmill, took three wobbly steps, swayed dizzily, and promptly collapsed onto his back. He hit the mats with a thud and lay there gasping like a fish out of water.

McDonald shook his head. “You need to work on your endurance, kid. But you made it.”

“Did I… did I pass?” Raul gasped between breaths. “Is it…over?”

“Yeah,” McDonald said. "Yeah, it is. That was the last part of the test. You cut it awfully close, but you pass. Congratulations.” He scribbled something on the form. “You’ve got grit, kid. I’ll give you that. I’d say about three-quarters of our applicants never even get as far as the treadmill.”

He tossed Raul another water bottle. This time, Raul didn’t even try to catch it. The bottle bounced off his chest and rolled onto the mat beside him. With trembling hands, he grabbed it and twisted the cap off, then propped himself up on one elbow to drink.

“What now?” he asked, glancing up at McDonald.

“Now? You wait,” the older man said. “Your paperwork’s gotta be processed and evaluated. If the folks over in the OPM—”

“OPM?” Raul frowned, confused.

“Sorry, that’s government lingo. It means the Office of Personnel Management. They’re the ones who hire and fire people when you enter federal service. They’ll review your application and handle the background checks. If they clear you—and I see no reason why they wouldn’t, unless you have a criminal record or something—you’ll get an email with your start date and information about where to report for training.”

“How long will I have to wait to know?”

“Optimistically? A week, maybe two, if they’re moving quickly, though it could be longer. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though. The Frontier Corps is new, and they’re eager for recruits. Unless you’ve got a criminal record or something, rejection is unlikely.”

McDonald extended a hand and pulled Raul to his feet. “You gonna be alright to get home?”

“Yeah,” Raul managed, taking another gulp of water. His heart rate was finally starting to slow. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Go ahead and take a few more minutes to cool down. There’s a shower and changing area through that door if you want to clean up before you leave. Should be some Corps-issued clothing in there too.”

“Thanks.”

McDonald smiled wryly. “Don’t thank me yet, kid. What you just went through? That was nothing compared to what’s waiting for you at Camp Roosevelt. You’d better buckle the fuck up.”

Raul groaned. The mere thought of doing anything more strenuous than breathing made his muscles scream in protest. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Physical training every morning starting at 0500. Classroom instruction on survival skills, first aid, basic construction, and fieldcraft. Weapons familiarization. And that’s just for starters. I suggest you start preparing, kid. Take up jogging. Every day, if you can.”

Raul’s face fell. Seeing this, McDonald’s expression softened slightly. “But hey, you made it this far. That’s something. Most don’t.”

Raul’s chest swelled. I did make it, he thought. Nana always said that pride was the worst of the seven deadly sins, but he didn’t think God would mind if he allowed himself just a little as he hauled himself to the shower. Each step made him wince, and his legs still felt like overcooked pasta, but the trembling had subsided somewhat.

Under the spray of warm water, Raul closed his eyes and let reality sink in. He’d done it. He’d passed the test. In a few weeks, he might be leaving Santa Fe behind, heading off to who-knew-where to start a completely different life. The thought sent a flutter of excitement through him. Where would they send him? He considered the different places Johnson told him about. Coral Haven sounds nice, he thought. Raul had always wanted to visit somewhere tropical. He’d lived in New Mexico his whole life, so he’d never even been to the ocean before. He pictured walking along a white sand beach and swimming in clear blue, warm water, perhaps going snorkeling and diving down to see brilliantly colored reefs.

Or maybe Aurora Basin, with its fertile valley and perfect weather for growing things? Raul had worked on farms before, so he knew quite a bit about how that sort of thing worked. There was something satisfying about planting a seed and watching it transform into something that could feed people. Besides, he liked the idea of growing his own food rather than helping grow someone else’s.

Feeling much better—if still bone-tired—Raul turned the water off and availed himself of a pair of regulation-issue blue shorts and a gray T-shirt from a shelf stocked with them. The shirt had the Frontier Corps logo emblazoned on it, and after pulling it over his head, he looked down at it.

The hardest thing you’ve ever done, McDonald had said, and Raul believed every word. This was going to be hard, but having set upon this path, he was going to see it through one way or the other. If he washed out at some point, well, that would suck, but at least he’d be able to tell himself he gave it his all and didn’t quit of his own volition. Better an honest failure than a weak-willed quitter.

And the prize…if he made it, the prize would make everything worth it.

Mor’Ath, the City of Ships, the Dominion of Sarnath

The weather on that fateful day was, by Sarnathi standards, comparatively mild. Slate grey and overcast, bitterly cold with an icy wind that made Lady Nyrena’s fine cloak spread out voluminously behind her.

The Umbra was the pride of House Aran’yar and the vessel she’d chosen as her flagship. Her House didn’t boast the naval might of some others, but it had a handful of full-sized war galleys under its banner, and from these she’d selected Umbra for both its storied history of service to the Dominion and its seasoned, veteran crew. More to the point, the crew was loyal to her first and foremost, and that provided an additional layer of security.

She might very well need it. Nyrena’s eyes flicked to the six deathly still, almost monolithic warriors standing to either side of her.

They were clad in armor the color of midnight, a deep, light-drinking blue that seemed almost to swallow the gray daylight around them. The style would have struck a human eye as something out of a distant, harsher age—reminiscent of the Eurasian steppe or medieval Eastern Europe. Their helmets rose into tall, conical points, slightly flared at the base, with narrow nasal guards to protect the nose. From beneath each helm hung a veil of fine chain, obscuring everything below the eyes so that no expression, no hint of humanity, could be seen.

Their bodies were encased in overlapping plates of dark metal, fitted over a lamellar jerkin that allowed for a surprising degree of movement despite the armor’s apparent weight. Sleeves of densely woven mail ran from shoulder to elbow, meeting heavy vambraces that encased their forearms, while their hands were enclosed in articulated gauntlets of jointed steel. Greaves, strapped tight with dark leather, guarded the lower legs, and their feet were shod in thick sabatons.

About their shoulders, they wore heavy mantles of dark fur, and over all of it fell cloaks of pale silver, lined with white ermine. These cloaks stirred in the cold wind as if possessed of a life of their own, enchanted—so it was said—by the Queen herself to turn aside arrow, spear, and blade.

The inclusion of six of the Queen’s own guard, the elite and storied Severed, had been an unexpected and double-edged gift from Her Majesty. On one hand, their presence was an unmistakable sign of Queen Alarae’s favor. On the other hand, Nyrena also had no doubt they were there to keep an eye on her even as they protected her, and act decisively if she exhibited any treasonous or disloyal tendencies.

Yet that was not the only reason their presence made her uneasy. There was a hideous sense of absoluteness about them, an emptiness so fundamentally wrong and unnatural that it set her teeth on edge. Her people prided themselves on their self-control and rationality, but although they were not slaves to their emotions, they still felt them. The Severed, though, were different. They were relieved of the burden of emotion—along with every desire, every wish, every fear, and every form of individual expression and identity. Those things, so the rumors went, were excised from them—cut away as a surgeon cuts away an unnecessary or residual organ. How exactly this was accomplished was unknown to anyone, save those responsible for the training and indoctrination of new recruits. Perhaps it was done using sorcery, perhaps as a result of their inhumanly draconian training, perhaps a combination of both.

Whatever the truth, the result was the same: an empty vessel—a pitiless, remorseless machine of flesh and bone who would obey orders without question, hesitation, or mercy and act as a pure extension of Her Majesty's will. The Severed could not be bribed, manipulated, reasoned, or negotiated with. They had no sense of self-preservation, so they could not be threatened death or injury. They had no emotional attachments to anyone or anything, not even each other, so they were immune to blackmail or coercion. They had no personal ambition and no concept or idea of any existence outside of or beyond their service, so their loyalty could not be turned. They did not even have names.

Lady Nyrena had never been able to look at one of them directly for long. It was like staring into a void.

She turned her gaze away from her unwanted guardians and focused on the vessel upon whose deck she stood. The Umbra lay at anchor in the dark, oily waters of the massive deep-water harbor around which the city of Mor'Ath had been built so long ago. Around it, hundreds, no, thousands of Dark Elves worked with the single-minded, coordinated efficiency of a nest of bees. The final preparations for the expedition were almost complete.

Nyrena took a moment to appreciate how historic the occasion was. It was many thousands of years since the last time the Children sallied forth from their homeland in any kind of significant force. Only something like the Disturbance could have shaken them from isolationism. It had been so long since Dark Elves were last seen abroad that many among the younger races no longer believed they even existed. Yet here she was, at the center of it all, mistress of a great fleet, charged with a task of such import that success or failure might seal the fate of all her people.

She watched as the laborers, puffing and heaving and sweating even in the cold, brought chest upon chest of treasure into Umbra’s cargo hold. Emeralds, sapphires and diamonds, mainly—Sarnath had plentiful deposits of them—but also ingots of silver, rare woods, ivory, and enchanted artifacts and weapons of every type. There was enough wealth contained within each ship in the fleet to drive any human mad, but the Children were more prosaic and wiser than their inferiors. Wealth was a tool, no more and no less. A means by which Nyrena could accomplish her various ends.

There was a trumpeting, bellowing noise from somewhere to her left. Nyrena turned and watched, with detached interest, an enormous woolly mammoth being prodded and poked by several Dark Elves wielding long pikes until it began walking up a heavily reinforced and spellworked gangway designed for that purpose. The sight made her smile. The zburator was beloved of her people, but the mammoth also held a place of esteem and respect among the Sar’Kadan. The beasts were used for all manner of heavy labor and drudgery, and in war, a fully-armored mammoth at full charge was nigh-unstoppable. In diplomacy, too, they would prove most useful: as a method of shock-and-awe.

The mammoth raised its trunk and let out another trumpeting squeal. The ship visibly swayed, and its timbers creaked as it stepped onto the deck, but didn’t break apart under its colossal weight. Nyrena had ordered it, and one other vessel as well, converted and outfitted specifically to ensure their massive occupants were fed, dry, and cared for during the journey. Specialized handlers, some with centuries of training and experience, would travel aboard with them.

She clasped her hands behind her back and waited with inhuman patience as the last of the treasure, supplies, and other things necessary for the fleet were fully loaded, stowed, catalogued, and organized. Then a tally was taken to ensure all aboard each vessel was present and accounted for. The soldiery assigned to the expedition—five thousand of the Dominion’s finest troops, with several hundred more of the elite wolf-helmed Lykaia too—stood at attention in serried ranks before the masts so their armor and weapons could be inspected.

It all took hours, but that meant little to her. The Dark Elves did not perceive the passage of time the same way as lesser races did. Nyrena could have waited a century and found it little more than an inconvenience. The Dark Elves did not rush anything—when they did something, they got it right the first time.

Patience. That was the true and greatest virtue of her people. It was also the one thing humans always, always lacked, and that was why they were always and ever bested by their superiors.

Then at long last did Nyrena’s seneschal, Vaelthys Mor’grim, approach her where she stood and bow low at the waist.

“All is in readiness, my lady. The fleet sails on your command.”

Nyrena nodded, just once. “It is given,” was all she said.

By now, crowds of Dark Elves lined the harbor to watch the fleet depart. There was no cheering, no waving or fanfare, though. That was not the way of the Children. Instead, they observed the event in watchful, respectful silence.

A score of Dark Elves groaned at the capstan, and slowly, Umbra’s anchor chain began to rise from the bottom. Sailors climbed into the rigging, nimble as monkeys, as the order rippled out across the fleet. Drummers began a slow, steady beat to coordinate the strokes of the rowers below decks.

“Helm,” Nyrena said calmly. “Take us out into open water. Then set our course south-by-southwest. Heading one-eight-zero-zero.”

“Aye, my lady. Heading one-eight-zero-zero,” the young Dark Elf manning the wheel repeated, his pale hands gripping it with practiced confidence as he began to turn it round. The ship began to come about like a great leviathan. Its prow, decorated with an onyx figurehead of a snarling winged zburator with sapphires for eyes, started veering toward the trackless seas beyond the harbor’s gaping mouth.

“Full sail, Vaelthys,” Nyrena added. “Oars to double-time.”

“By your command.” Vaelthys raised his voice. “All hands! Full sail! Oars to double-time!”

The oarmaster’s whistle cut through the air, and the drum tempo increased. Beneath the deck, hundreds of oars dipped into the dark waters, churning the sea into white foam as they drove the vessel forward. Nyrena felt the subtle shift beneath her feet as Umbra gathered momentum, its massive hull cleaving through the waves with increasing speed.

Then the great black sails of the Umbra unfurled with a gusting billow and caught the breeze with an earsplitting crack.

Around it, the rest of the fleet did the same with perfect synchronization, their sails unfurling like the wings of enormous ravens against the gray sky. The rhythmic pounding of drums echoed across the water as waves of rolling thunder.

Nyrena waited for the perfect moment before giving her next order. “Bring out our colors.”

This time, it was not Vaelthys who hurried to obey, but the Severed. Solemnly, they went and brought a carefully-folded piece of cloth from below.

She bowed to them and took it when they presented it to her. Then, with reverent care, she affixed it to a long halyard rope running up to the mainmast peak and began to pull. The wind caught it and unfurled it with a snap as it began to climb.

Though their faces remained stoic, the heart of every Dark Elf present—with the exception of the Severed, perhaps—soared to see the banner of the Sarnathi Dominion fluttering in the freezing cold: the snowflake-and-lightning, trailing three drops of snow, on a field of crimson red. Spear-butts slammed down onto the deck, and swords beat against shields in a rising clamor—a clamor that only grew as every other vessel followed suit until the long, winding, oversized blood-red pennants streamed atop all of them. Horns blew in salute from the harbor, from the city, and from every ship in the fleet.

Nyrena looked up at the sky. She wondered if the damnable mechanical eyes of the humans—the satellites— could see them even now. She hoped so. She wanted the humans to see what was coming to their doorstep and witness the might and glory of her people.

Proudly, gracefully, Umbra led the fleet out of the harbor in stately procession, past the rocky breakers that lined the coast and into the open sea. The Dark Elves were abroad in the world once more.

It would never be the same.