“I see your point. Councilor Nesbitt is an honorable woman, torn between her Mega’s blue majority and the humans who elected her. If the decay in Sinquin does not slow, she will lose control. Only the impure will grant her grace. You believe this simple fear will draw her vote?”

  Ennis recited a line from the Fourteenth Wind Reading.

  “Fear is a powerful motivator, but a dangerous tool. As is truth, when properly applied.” He redirected his eyes to the legate. “The temple’s public support will secure the remaining votes.”

  Sorrell’s eyes narrowed, crow’s feet deepening at their corners.

  “The High Wind Reader prefers to guide from behind the political curtain.”

  “A position that served him well in calmer times.” Ennis kept his voice level, though frustration threatened at the edges. He studied Sorrell’s weathered face, noting the tightening around his jaw. The Legate was more conflicted than he let on. “Stronger currents are required.”

  “You speak of Wind Reader Keet’s daughter.” Sorrell shifted the direction with cunning verve. “You still see a strategic opportunity there?”

  Ennis allowed himself a small smile.

  “Her father’s position grows increasingly untenable. His daughter married to a criminal Blend, raising an abomination for twelve years, yet Galen maintains his status within the temple.”

  “He sent the Blend to Rogue 19. Many consider the debt paid.”

  “Half measures.” Ennis dismissed the notion with a subtle wave. “The daughter works among Blends, thrives among them. She’s become a symbol of defiance against natural order. Galen thought she’d return to the happy fold with her husband ensconced on Rogue. He misjudged.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “’As the Breath teaches us, ‘A tree that bears diseased fruit cannot nourish those who seek shelter beneath its branches.’’ His pulse remained steady despite the underlying boldness of his suggestion. “Wind Reader Keet must publicly disown her or step down from his position. The temple cannot preach separation while its own Wind Readers maintain such connections. He undermines everything we stand for.”

  Sorrell’s expression revealed nothing, but Ennis caught the tensing of his shoulders beneath the gray vestments.

  “Keet is one of many moderates in the temple. You presume much, Councilor.”

  “I observe much, Legate.” Ennis quoted from the First Doctrine: “‘The winds speak clearly to those willing to listen.’ Galen Keet’s conflicted heart makes him dangerous in these critical times.”

  Sorrell rubbed a finger along his jawline.

  “I assume your strategy is well under way?”

  “Advanced stages. Yes.”

  Sorrell stood, smoothing his vestments.

  “This is your message?”

  “It is, Legate.”

  “Then I will convey your ... observations to the High Wind Reader.”

  “The Southern Platte stands at a precipice, Legate.” Ennis rose as well. “Hesitation now may cost us everything we have earned.”

  “The Breath teaches patience and purpose, Councilor.” Sorrell bowed. “Remember that the strongest winds begin as gentle breezes.”

  Ennis disliked anyone who entered his office attempting to rebuke him with the wisdom of the Breath, even a man of the temple.

  After Sorrell departed, Ennis gathered his cup of moc-java and retreated to the wide window which overlooked Vandress. He gazed down at Mega Octoquin from Level 150, wisps of clouds dancing past. The city twinkled a million tiny lights through the almost endless night. Vandress stretched before him like an unwelcome growth sprouting from a planet which had nursed its survival and now waited to do so much more.

  Soon the natural order would reassert itself, with or without the temple’s immediate blessing. The winds are shifting.

  He needed only to direct them.

  ***

  That mission moved into its next phase two urns later. Per his usual form, Ennis arrived at the Unified Council chamber in Trequin before the other nineteen. He watched them file in from his perch on the hemispheric dais. He tracked each councilor’s movements, cataloging subtle indicators of their mood. Councilor Hari Nesbitt entered last, her face taut with strain.

  Good. She feels the pressure.

  The Unified Council chamber formed a perfect circle, an echo to the sacred cycles of Teton’s winds. Twenty councilors, two for each Mega of Vandress. The room’s curved walls displayed atmospheric data and news headlines in real-time, numbers and patterns flowing like currents across the surfaces.

  “The seventy-third closed intake of the Vandress Unified Council is now in progress,” announced the chamber’s automated system after everyone arrived.

  Ennis, who held the rotating gavel this month, moved past the usual pleasantries and pointless chatter of a closed intake. He banged the gavel and took up his cause straightaway. He knew these people too well: If Ennis deferred, others would consume the oxygen with their petty concerns until no time remained to indulge his own.

  “Before we address new business, let us review the environmental reports.” He pointed to the chamber’s main display. “Degradation continues, primarily in the southern Megas where we see the greatest density of Blends.”

  Councilor Nesbitt’s eyes narrowed.

  “Correlation is not causation, Councilor Vega.”

  “On the face of it, no.” Ennis forced a professional smile through pursed lips. “Yet the Wind Readers’ interpretations suggest otherwise. The Breath teaches us that patterns reveal truth when properly understood. Unlike many in this chamber, the temple employs the most exemplary of environmental experts.”

  He brought forth another display: A map of the city overlaid with color-coded pollution levels. Red zones pulsed over the Servo District and adjacent areas.

  “The atmospheric processors in these sectors operate at reduced efficiency despite increased maintenance.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?” Nesbitt challenged. “More Blends are dispatched to maintain those scrubbers than anywhere in Vandress.”

  She teed him up to perfection.

  “The planet resists our efforts because we continue to violate natural order.”

  Councilor Leaf Harrick, representing the southern Mega Trequin, cleared his throat.

  “Our meddocs report a five percent increase in respiratory distress over the previous three months. We’ve encouraged our most vulnerable constituents to avoid venturing outside unless essential, but medical resources are strained.”

  “As predicted.” Ennis nodded solemnly. “Which brings us to the proposal I intend to put forward at next week’s intake. The Blend Employment Restriction Ordinance would begin addressing these issues at their source.”

  Nesbitt leaned forward.

  “By removing qualified technicians from critical infrastructure positions? The environmental monitoring stations and water induction maintenance crews would lose nearly a third of their workforce.”

  “Not at once,” Ennis conceded, his voice measured. “The Mayfair Initiative, as I call it, will provide a phased transition. It will fund training for pure Tetonians to fill these positions.”

  “Training takes time we don’t have,” Nesbitt countered. “You’re also assuming we’ll find enough people to fill these positions. They are difficult and often dangerous. Our forefathers designed the Blends for this very type of labor.”

  Ennis loved this quality in Nesbitt: She opened the door with such ease.

  “And what did we gain, Councilor? We live inside fortresses at the polar ends of the planet, cowering behind weather shields while our forefathers’ noble dream of Blend salvation has left us no better off after a century.” Ennis delivered his condemnation to the entire chamber. If his words triggered a few more concurring votes, so be it. “The Breath warned us that modification disrupts the Sacred Cycle, yet we persisted in this flawed experiment, and now we pay the price with each toxic breath outside our monuments of glass, steel, and erasite.”

  Ennis did not raise his voice nor diminish his smile.

  “We must accelerate our return to natural order. The degradation began after Blend integration policies flourished. And with any particular purpose long behind them, the Blend offer Vandress little value we can’t service ourselves.”

  “They’re human beings,” Nesbitt fired back. “With children, no less. Behind that plastered smile is a level of cruelty conveniently absent in your public persona. Your implications are …”

  “Founded in truth, guided by the Breath. Would I say these things in public? Doubtful. But is that not the beauty of closed intake? All we say here is and must remain off the record. Correct, Councilor Nesbitt?”

  She shot right back.

  “Then it wouldn’t be inappropriate for me to remind the majority of this Council that you, Ennis Vega, sit in that chair thanks entirely to the Pure Breathers. Fundamentalists chee-rolled your campaign. Not the only one of us here, true, but we will not allow this body to be bullied by extremists.”

  Ennis applauded Nesbitt for the force of her reply. She wasn’t wrong, of course, but she’d lose anyway.

  If not this week, then soon after.

  The winds blow ill for you, dear Hari.

  Councilor Val Drayson, the junior representative from Sinquin and one who rarely spoke during these sessions, surprised everyone by clearing his throat. Unlike Nesbitt, whose sympathies for the Blends were well known, Drayson came from a Tetonian family long associated with the upper levels across multiple Megas.

  “If I may interject,” he said. “My sphere of influence borders the Servo District. The issue of atmospheric degradation aside, I’d like to focus on an internal issue of growing import. We’ve seen ... incidents. Spikes in crime. Blend youth forming gangs, reports of theft. Just yesterday, for instance, a medical supply shipment was compromised.”

  Ennis concealed his satisfaction. A beautifully timed opening.

  “Indeed. I’ve heard disturbing reports, Councilor Drayson. My contacts in the Enforcement Q are running down several incidents. The theft you speak of, for instance, might be linked to a Blend only just returned from the Rogue penal colony. It’s a disturbing trend that …”

  Nesbitt cut him off.

  “Are we discussing crime now, or environmental policy?”

  “They are connected, Councilor,” Ennis replied. “Societal disorder mirrors environmental disorder. The Breath teaches that all systems exist in harmony or disharmony. We’ve allowed this experiment in integration to continue despite mounting evidence of its failure. The employment restrictions represent merely the first phase of necessary and inevitable separation.”

  “First phase?” Councilor Seska Tremayne asked, her voice carrying the weight of Mega Doquin’s conservative base. “What follows?”

  Ennis paused, weighing his next words. Council rules forbid any member to discuss details of these closed intakes at the risk of imprisonment. Yet if he moved too soon, might someone – Nesbitt, perhaps – take the gamble?

  Patience and purpose.

  He recalled Legate Sorrell’s advice. Yet Sorrell was a weak and tired creature, a moderate unable to read the shifting winds. Ennis answered Tremayne:

  “The Wind Readers have been monitoring planetary signs. High Wind Reader Kaal believes we have a narrowing window to act before atmospheric conditions deteriorate beyond our ability to manage.”

  “Act how?” Tremayne said.

  Here we go. Watch carefully.

  “I and a few others are in the early stages of drafting The Blend Relocation Initiative. It would establish separate, self-governing territories for the Blend population. Colonies, if you will. Far from the cities, where they would have autonomy while pure Tetonians rebuild our covenant with the planet.”

  The chamber erupted in murmurs. Even those who supported his policies seemed taken aback by the scope of his vision.

  “Madness,” Nesbitt stated flatly.

  “Survival,” Ennis countered. “For all parties involved. The Blends were designed to suffer the elements. Their modified bodies will tolerate the outside.”

  Nesbit gagged.

  “If such a ludicrous plan ever made it to public intake, Vandress would turn on you overnight.”

  “Would they?” Ennis allowed himself a slight smile. “The Fifth Wind Reading reminds us that ‘in the end, the natural world always finds its way into the heart of men.’ The people sense the truth, Councilor Nesbitt. They feel the planet’s distress in their bones. They simply await leadership with the courage to speak it.”

  Ennis placed a gloved hand over his heart and bowed.

  “The Initiative is only in the planning stages. No point in working yourselves into a lather. But I urge each of you to attend next week’s Wind Reading at the Central Temple in Unquin. The planetary voice speaks clearly on this matter to those willing to listen.”

  Ennis watched their faces, noting who nodded, who frowned, who remained strategically neutral. Seven solid votes. Maybe Drayson as eight. Three wavering.

  Patience and purpose, and one week still to the public intake.

  ***

  After three urns of discourse on a wide range of topics, most mundane or outright banal, Ennis visited his personal tailor, who added some remarkable suits to his wardrobe. He returned home by levtrain wearing the best of the lot. The fabric, imported from the Shinn Tapestry in the Northern Platte and at stupefying expense, shifted between deep blue and obsidian depending on how light struck its surface. Silver thread accents mimicked the sacred wind patterns of high temple vestments, a subtle reminder of his connections to the Breath’s leadership. His new gloves proved a perfect accessory.

  He ran his fingers along the lapel, appreciating the perfect break of the cuff that revealed half an inch of the pristine white shirt beneath. Mo Ralles had outdone himself with this commission. The suit conveyed authority without ostentation, precisely the image Ennis cultivated since his first Council campaign.

  The train slowed as it approached the Unquin private dock links just outside his residence on Level 197. Few Tetonians lived higher, save the High Wind Readers and the Families of the Long Exile – the Vegas being among them. The doors whispered open, and Ennis stepped onto the exclusive platform, where the air carried none of the recycled staleness common to lower levels.

  His palatial home occupied much of the northeastern quadrant of 197, its entrance marked by a curved doorway of polished stone quarried from the Zephyr Mountains. The door recognized his approach, sliding open to reveal the foyer with its vaulted ceiling and central water feature.

  “Good evening, Councilor.” House steward Carys appeared with practiced timing, her simple black uniform immaculate, her scalp free of hair. “Beautiful suit, sir. Perfect for dining. Mo Ralles?”

  “Who else could achieve this perfection, Carys?” Ennis smelled something good wafting from the kitchen. “Is everyone prepared for dinner?”

  “Yes, sir. Madam Vega selected the formal dining room tonight. The boys are dressed and waiting.”

  He nodded approval and moved through the main corridor, past artwork depicting Teton’s early settlement, idealized scenes of harmony between planet and people. The corridor opened into the formal dining room, where a table of polished native wood stretched beneath a chandelier of crystal and silver. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a commanding view of the city below.

  Klora stood as he entered, her posture perfect, her dark hair arranged in an elaborate style that complemented her high-necked dress of deep crimson silk, adorned with delicate silver embroidery along the collar that traced traditional wind patterns. Their sons – Roe, 14, and Ren, 10 – rose from their chairs on opposite sides with synchronized precision, each boy standing beside his seat in matching black formal suits with the silver Wind Reader insignia pinned to their lapels. Their hair was immaculately combed, parted on the right, not a strand out of place, their young faces solemn as polished stone like little attendants awaiting their marching orders.

  Klora stepped forward to greet Ennis, meeting him with calibrated warmth.

  “The winds favor you, husband.”

  “And you, wife.”

  He took his place at the head of the table, the polished wood gleaming under the chandelier’s crystalline glow. The heavy chair’s legs whispered across the floor. The boys remained standing until he nodded permission for them to sit, their bodies tense with anticipation, eyes fixed forward as they waited for the subtle downward tilt of their father’s chin to release them from their rigid postures.

  Carys led the servers from the kitchen entrance, moving with silent grace to place the first course before each family member, a delicate arrangement of cultivated proteins designed to resemble traditional seafood, garnished with hydroponically grown herbs from Unquin’s Sky Garden.

  Dishes served, the staff and his family waited for the councilor’s signal. Ennis studied the presentation, which balanced portion sizes and color scheme to his satisfaction. Ennis glanced up to the far end of the table, where his wife waited. He allowed her a gentle nod to confirm success on her end.

  Standards met, Ennis thanked the servers, who returned to the kitchen, relaxed. Carys remained poised at that entrance.

  Ennis raised his hand in the ceremonial gesture of gratitude.

  “Before we partake, let us acknowledge the Sacred Cycle.”

  His sons straightened at once.

  “As the Fifth Volume teaches us: ‘What the planet once freely gave, it shall give again when purity returns to its surface.’’ His voice carried the cadence of temple recitation. “Our ancestors walked beneath open skies, breathing clean air drawn from natural forests. They harvested bounty from unspoiled waters.”

  Ennis gazed at his sons, seeking signs of proper reverence in their young faces.

  “Remember this meal represents both privilege and responsibility. One day, when the Sacred Cycle completes, all Tetonians will again know such abundance.”

  The boys bowed their heads and followed accordingly.

  “Privilege and responsibility. Yes, Father.”

  Ennis observed his sons as they ate in dutiful silence. Roe had his mother’s features but Ennis’s intensity. The boy would begin Wind Reader preparatory studies next season, a year earlier than most uppers but a path Ennis carefully arranged after years of political maneuvering at temple.