Chapter Two: The Morning Commute
The train was crowded, but not unpleasant. The Miller Metro was a point of national pride—clean, efficient, and powered entirely by the solar grid that stretched across the island’s rooftops and hillsides. The cars were designed with wide windows and comfortable seating, and the morning commute felt more like a community gathering than a daily ordeal.
Ari found a seat near the window, and Regina sat beside him, her satchel on her lap. Across from them, an older man in a worn jacket was reading a copy of the Mill Messenger, his lips moving slightly as he worked through the headlines. Next to him, a young woman in a nurse’s uniform was scrolling through her phone, her expression focused and tired.
The train pulled out of Chelsea Manning station, and the city slid past the windows—the mills and warehouses of the western district, the green spaces that bordered the river, the distant peaks of Snowshine visible against the sky.
Regina leaned her head against Ari’s shoulder.
“Long day?” he asked.
“Long week.”
“It’s Tuesday. It’s 4:36 AM.”
“I know.”
He smiled and kissed the top of her head.
“You’ll get through it.”
“I always do.”
“That’s what I love about you.”
She looked up at him. “My ability to survive?”
“Your ability to keep going. Even when you’re tired. Even when the world is difficult. Even when the timber allocations are arguing with you.”
She laughed softly.
“The timber allocations are not arguing with me. They are arguing with each other. I am simply the referee.”
“A referee with a very good arm.”
She elbowed him gently.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“That’s the plan.”
They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythm of the train a steady backdrop to their thoughts. Ari watched the landscape pass—the rooftop farms, the vendor collectives, the scattered homes and businesses that made up the fabric of the Mill. He had lived here his whole life, and he still found something new to notice every time he traveled.
Regina, meanwhile, was thinking about the day ahead. The State Council was meeting at ten to discuss the shipping lanes. The Finance Ministry was presenting its quarterly report. The Housing Ministry was requesting additional funding for the winter heating program. And somewhere in between, she had a lunch scheduled with her mother.
She was looking forward to the lunch.
Ruth Foster Goldman was not an easy woman to impress. She had spent her life as a lawyer, a State Attorney, and a mother of three formidable daughters. She had seen her husband, Jacob, serve as Prime Minister for forty years. She had watched her daughter take on the same role with the same fierce intelligence and the same unwavering commitment to justice.
And she had never once doubted that Regina was up to the task.
The train pulled into State Hall station, and Ari and Regina rose with the rest of the passengers. They walked through the turnstiles and up the stairs, emerging into the morning light of the State Hall concourse.
The State Hall was a grand building—stone, with tall windows and a lush, manicured lawn featuring a large bush in the shape of a peace sign in front of the main entrance. The lawn consisted of gardens and walking paths, and on this particular morning, a group of schoolchildren was gathered there, their teacher pointing out the edifice’s architectural details.
Ari stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ll see you tonight?” he asked.
“I’ll be home by seven.”
“I’ll make dinner.”
“You made breakfast.”
“I’m versatile.”
She kissed him.
“Pax vobiscum, Ariel.”
“Pax vobiscum, Regina.”
She turned and walked up the stairs, her coat billowing slightly in the breeze. Ari watched her go—watched the way she moved with purpose and confidence, the way she greeted the Gardai officer at the door, the way she disappeared into the building that housed the government of the nation she had dedicated her life to serving.
Then he turned and walked back to the Metro for the trip to the Goldman Mill Centre, where WGPM Radio waited for him.
The day had begun.
Chapter Three: The People Who Make the Mill
Centre Avenue was already buzzing by the time Ari arrived. As he walked past the Mill Messenger newsroom, he could see reporters on the phone and editors reviewing copy; he could imagine the steady clatter of keyboards filling the air.
When he finally made his way into the WGPM Radio building and into the studio, he found Phoebe Pax Allen-Nahn waiting with a cup of coffee and a stack of notes.
“You’re late for the five-forty briefing,” she said.
“I’m not late. I’m precisely on time.”
“It’s five forty-three, Ari.”
“Three minutes is not late. Three minutes is a rounding error.”
Phoebe handed him the coffee.
“The shipping lanes. The State Council is meeting at ten. We need to be ready to cover whatever they decide.”
Ari took a sip of the coffee.
“Any word from the State Hall?”
“Not yet. But the rumor is that the Prime Minister is going to push for a full review of the trade agreements.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“She’s right. The trade agreements have been one-sided for years. If the G7 wants to tighten the shipping lanes, we need to be prepared to respond.”
Phoebe nodded.
“I’ll have the team standing by.”
“Thank you, Phoebe.”
She left, and Ari sat down at the microphone. He put on his headphones, adjusted the volume, and waited for the ON AIR light to flick on.
It did.
“Good morning, Millers. I’m Ari Lieber and this is Ari Lieber Reports on WGPM. It’s 6:00 AM, and we’ve got a lot to talk about this morning. The State Council is meeting to discuss the shipping lanes. The G7 trade boards are making noise. And the Prime Minister is preparing to push for a full review of our trade agreements.”
He paused.
“But first, let’s talk about something else. Something that matters just as much as trade policy. Something that matters more, actually.”
He leaned into the microphone.
“Let’s talk about the people who make this country work. The farmers and the mill workers. The nurses and the teachers. The volunteers and the activists. The people who show up every day, who do the work, who take care of each other. The people who make Goldman Mill the Unbroken Green.”
He paused again.
“I had breakfast with my wife this morning. We talked about flour. We talked about shipping lanes. We talked about the old people in the outer districts who need warm houses and bread on the table. And then we walked to the station together, and we held hands, and we caught the train.”
He smiled.
“That’s what this country is about. Not the trade agreements. Not the G7. Not the shipping lanes. The people. The moments. The small, ordinary acts of love that hold us together.”
He took another sip of his coffee.
“So let’s talk about that. Let’s talk about what matters. Let’s talk about the Mill.”
The phones lit up.
Ari pressed the button.
“This is Ari Lieber on WGPM. Good morning, who’s on the line?”
To be continued.