Vexton, “my son is not dead. That’s HERESY!” The word ricocheted around the royal chambers like it meant something, “The next person who in any way says or implies that my son Damian is dead will be shot and their corpse incinerated! Long endures Santos Damian!” Twenty-two hours a day there is someone on duty in the royal chambers. For the other two TavroOS robots stand watch. The room is monitored by a suite of cameras and sensors. Some are recording video and sound, others are streaming the Primaris Solenne’s vital signs. “I have spoken!” There is a visible edit in the data stream. The threat made by Vexton is absent.
Primaris Solenne Vexton Ulyth is a fading old man by the end of “Inger’s Finger“. He says a lot of things that rattle like swords dropped on concrete floors. Most of them clatter and never leave the room. These seven words shot into the air and hit emptiness. They never traveled further than the liminal space between Vexton’s barcalounger and the walls.
The duty nurse sat in a Queen Anne chair reading a Harlequin romance. A paperback pulp fiction novel—a physical book when nearly all media is digital and the most common format is video. She dropped the book lower so she could see if Vexton’s words needed more attention. He spoke then stared at a Mikako costumed as a butler before relaxing back into his easy chair and slumbering.
The nurse had been in that room long enough to know which outbursts meant something and which were just the Primaris’ brain misfiring like an old engine. She’d seen the monitors spike, settle, spike again, each time the Hive deciding whether to intervene. The TavroOS units didn’t react unless commanded; they stood like lacquered statues, waiting for a threat that never came. The whole chamber felt like a mausoleum with a pulse — a place where a man could shout damnation into the air and the only witnesses were machines that didn’t care and a woman who’d stopped being startled months ago.
Bungalow Love
Inger is home. Kenji and Tala dropped her off at Reno Airport. She caught a coach class flight to Richmond, then an Uber back to her bungalo. It was a couple weeks at home then she missed the energy and noise of the casino. Being home had been good, but quiet in a way that made her skin itch. The bungalow had its comforts — the porch light, the familiar creak in the hallway — but it didn’t hum.
Paradise Valley hummed. The air vibrated with money, desperation, neon, and the soft mechanical glide of TavroOS servers weaving between gamblers. Inger didn’t need the chaos, but she needed the motion. Standing still too long made her feel like she was sinking. So she asked for a bar back shift on a busy night. The casino gave her Friday and Saturday dinner service.
Inger likes the dinner shift from 6pm to 2am It’s not exactly an eight hour shift. To be off the clock by 2am means winding down her station at around 1am. That last hour is mostly cleaning. Restock and mix prep happens on day shift. Then from 2am until the count is done, bartenders and service staff count their drawers and tip out. Bar backs can’t leave until the count is done and the walk through is complete.
One Truth
Damian’s story trends. The usual tropes kicked in on the Pulse: Damian recast as a tragic Golden Boy, Inger blamed because she’s not a “good” woman, and the algorithm filled the gaps with conspiracy, pity‑bait, and retroactive diagnoses.. Someone named her a Carmen because “Karen” is ancient.
It’s funny. Inside the Citadel, within the domain of the war lord Primaris Solenne Vexton Ulyth, a liberated woman isn’t what we think it is. Boomer that I am, a feminist woman owns her agency. She lives in a society where she is free to choose her path. To be a praiseworthy woman to Ulyth is to be a LUMEN. A LUMEN is freed from the burden of choosing her own path.
LUMEN women embody disciplined purpose and unwavering alignment with the Citadel’s order. They live within a structured path that defines their duties, aspirations, and place in the social order. Her conduct reflects clarity, restraint, and devotion to the stability of the Citadel community. She is a beacon of service to the collective. Her presence signals harmony, predictability, and the triumph of doctrine.
Go Carmen
What Inger was supposed to do is bring children to Ulyth. She would marry Damian, and ensure the fiefdom would continue. I get Inger. I am from South Jersey. Not the South but I grew up with a similar ethic. Bring some manners and respect and we are great. Doors lock and shutters close when someone Begins with aggression, entitlement or demands. We push back when pushed.
Yeah . . . so . . . the scolds on the Pulse can shut up. And the LUMEN bitches have a slapped face in their future, just saying. It don’t matter none because what Inger earns as a bar back covers her needs. Citadel, for their part, have bigger problems. Ulyth’s health isn’t awesome. Old man problems, among them pseudobulbar affect.
Damian was the plan. He would succeed his father, Inger would be queen, and the fiefdom’s future would be secured. Doh. Another outburst from Ulyth, “God HATES ME!” His sedation must be wearing off.
And That’s the Way It Is
While everyone on the Pulse is screaming at each other, Inger’s biggest worry is the bar running out of Yuzu Drops again. The new bar manager ordered frozen yuzu juice like he was buying lemonade mix, and the Japanese bosses lit him up for it. He had to send the whole shipment back. Fresh yuzu is off‑season, so now we’re all just waiting to see if the next crate shows up or if we’re serving sad drinks for a week.
The scolds online have their own story, of course. They say Inger looks harmless, so she must be hiding something. The LUMEN women say she’s brainwashed because she didn’t want the life picked for her. And they say she’s complicit in Damian disappearing, because blaming a woman is easier than admitting the Golden Boy had problems.
Inside the Citadel it’s even worse. The LUMEN women get soft in the eyes when they talk about Damian, like they’re imagining themselves carrying his babies and living the perfect little doctrine life. To them, the only reason Inger said no is because she’s stupid, or broken, or empty inside. That’s how they talk. That’s how they think. If a woman doesn’t want the Golden Boy, then something must be wrong with her — never with him.
Reservation Confirmed
Ulyth’s watch was the first to alarm–a concerning cardiac arrhythmia that lasted too long. Notification rippled across the Hive Mind nodes inside the Castle. The two on-duty TavroOS humanoids powered up from sleep mode and walked toward the Primaris’ bed. Then Ulyth’s heart resumed sinus rhythm. The Hive elevated his monitoring status for an hour before resuming normal watch.
Just before dawn he shouted an outburst, “BEAR! WATCH OUT! THERE IS A BEAR THAT HAS YOUR SCENT! RUN BACK TO THE ROAD!” then lay back down and started snoring. “It must be a dream,” wrote the Hive in the logs. The data stream of Ulyth’s vitals remained within norms until he woke at 6am.
In the morning he rallied. The old Vexton was back. Sharp, cognizant, reviewing reports and making decisions like he was the young lion that conquered oppression and lack. It became a busy week as staff pushed hard to get done what only the Primaris could do. Nobody wanted to talk about the phantom elephant in the room that grew harder to ignore. The old man was fading and there was no one who could replace him.
Plus One Day
Inger finished her shift. Their produce vendor messaged them saying he could get Yuzu from Australia but the price was higher. The bar manager approved the purchase and they updated the menu to account for the price change. Yuzu Drops were a top shelf cocktail only a few Japanese whales ordered—Suntory Haku Vodka, Yuzu Juice, and Simple Syrup then decorated with sugar. Worth ordering, though.
She worked Friday dinner and closed out Saturday morning. Her next shift was Saturday dinner so she booked a capsule hotel in the staff quarters. After getting tipped out and doing a quick walk through to make sure the bar was good, she clocked out.
Tala was back from co‑driving with Kenji to return the Muteki to the casino. The way those two interacted was more than simple coworkers — they’d made a connection. Inger knew it the moment she walked past Kenji, face buried in a bowl of ramen, slurping down the goodness Tala had cooked for him.