Toward the Belly of Lead
The sun was already disappearing over the horizon when the armored train cut through the fields, windows sealed shut, stomachs still heavy from the feast offered hours before.
Amos broke the silence, looking at Acram:
— You saw the reality of Ceres today. You know… that exalted man had already been to the Republic of Fiume. He spent a year there, teaching the people how to repair and maintain the machines we produce. He could not bear to see his people starving. There were excellent machines, but their government only thinks about profit — they prefer to sell the grain to other countries. He cried out for Mother. And Mother does not abandon a child.
Amos sighed, his voice lower:
— Sometimes I feel more pity for him than for the farmer himself. Because the farmer has the eloquence of hunger… but he does not. He knows tragedy from the inside.
His gaze became lost in the landscape beyond the steel walls.
— What frightens me most is thinking… if one day our machines stop, it will not be only Ceres that perishes. The entire continent will fall. And the end will come in the form of war.
Amos raised his face, his eyes burning with fever.
— Don’t you understand? — he whispered, but it seemed as though he were screaming inside. — The farmer complains because he does not have the right to hold his children. But that right is a lie. No man owns anything. Not the land he cultivates, nor the bones he carries. Everything belongs to Her. Mother Ceres.
He took a deep breath, his voice choked:
— When I saw Her for the first time… it was like looking inside a burning furnace. I felt my skin burn, and even so, I knelt. Because I understood: it was not pain, it was purification. Hunger, thirst, the loss of children, the blood She takes from us — everything is bread. Hard bread, bitter bread… but bread that sustains.
Amos closed his eyes, and a brief, almost childish laugh escaped him:
— That is why I say I no longer want to be free. Freedom is the open mouth of the desert, spitting dust. I would rather be swallowed by Her, feel Her teeth grinding my flesh, because at least I know that inside that stomach there is destiny. There is a future.
He opened his hands, as if offering his body:
— The farmer cries for the children he cannot raise. But he does not see that this is precisely how Mother Ceres feeds him: by taking what is his, only to return it transformed into order, into continuity. The man loses, but the entire City gains. It is harsh justice, but it is justice.
And finally, in an almost prayerful tone:
— Whoever tries to resist dies in abandonment. Whoever accepts lives in the eternity of Her belly.
The elevator opened in silence, revealing the black marble hall. The floor reflected like a mirror, and above them, the translucent dome allowed the diffuse light of the sky to enter. From every angle, a 360-degree horizon stretched out: behind them, the gray stone mountains; ahead, the golden waves of wheat and soy; farther beyond, the disciplined city, with its straight streets and uniform towers.
At the absolute center of the room, elevated like an apparition, stood Mother Ceres.
The immaculate white dress flowed to the floor, almost without folds, revealing not even the slightest human gesture beneath it. Her face remained hidden behind the black oval lens, without contours of expression, only a mirrored void that absorbed the gaze of anyone who dared to look at Her. Around Her stood the Silencers: motionless figures wrapped in dark-gray uniforms, with the same oval lens over their faces, identical, indistinguishable, unbreakable in their posture.
Amos led Acram to the marble line that marked the limit of approach. The sociologist carried a worn brown leather bag over his shoulder. Inside it, only one object had been permitted: the recorder, already checked and inspected. Acram had taken photographs of the fields from outside, but here, in the heart of the Tower, only sound would be a witness.
— The recorder will remain active throughout the entire conversation — Amos informed him in a dry tone. — Dated record. Socioeconomic-political study. Nothing beyond that.
Acram nodded silently, adjusting his glasses on his face. His heart beat heavily: he was not standing before merely a ruler, but before a figure whom time and discipline had transformed into myth.
Amos then took a step back, leaving him face-to-face with the central figure.
The Silencers did not move, but their presence formed an invisible circle of steel.
Mother Ceres did not approach. It was unnecessary. Her voice emerged without her lips being visible, amplified by the space as if the marble and glass themselves were Her vocal cords:
— So, Acram, you came to ask how we achieved what the rest of the world did not even dare to imagine.
The recorder in his hand seemed heavier than ever. Acram swallowed hard, pressed the red button, and the small tape reel began to turn, recording not merely an interview, but a testimony that, he knew, might never be able to be published outside that place.
— I am ready to listen — he said, his voice low, almost reverent.
Mother Ceres tilted Her head slightly, a minimal gesture, but enough to impose an overwhelming aura.
— Listening is only the first step. Writing will be the second. The third... will be surviving the weight of what I am going to tell you.
The hall fell silent. The wind across the plains outside seemed suspended.
And Acram understood: this would not be a dialogue. It would be a revelation.
Acram adjusted the recorder and took a deep breath, aware that every word would be recorded for posterity.
— Ma’am, how does your city manage to maintain this advantage over the rest of the continent? Without wars, without deaths… how is that possible?
Mother Ceres tilted Her head, and the black oval lens reflected the light of the hall like a faceless mirror.
— There is no secret, Acram. Only the obvious. — She said in a calm, precise voice. — We secure the banks in our city, which remains neutral. The entire continent trusts us because we have never made mistakes in our calculations.
She paused, as if watching the future unfold through the glass.
— Foreign leaders come as guests, even suspicious ones. They inspect their vaults, verify our messages by radio… and still, they remain confident. That is because we treat the neutrality of Ceres with absolute seriousness. There is no problem with them looking; transparency is part of our power. Ceres holds the continent. Not through fear, but through the certainty that we know how to manage its wealth without mistakes.
Acram made a mental note, surprised by the simplicity of the explanation. It was almost trivial, yet impossible to replicate: there was no mystery, only ruthless rigor and discipline.
— So… all this prosperity… — he ventured — depends on the trust of the other peoples?
— Exactly. And that trust is fed by consistency, Acram. There are no shortcuts. There are no tricks. Only results. And results, when they are constant, become law.
Acram paused, studying every detail of the hall, the motionless Silencers, the horizon of wheat and soy.
— May I… call you Mother? — he ventured, somewhat hesitantly.
Mother Ceres tilted Her head slightly, and the black lens reflected Acram in an almost hypnotic way.
— You may call me you, or Mother, if that helps you understand Ceres. — She said, in a calm, almost maternal voice, but laden with weight. — Many find the way we live complicated: food, advanced studies, machines that function like living clocks…
She walked slowly, allowing the distant fields to reflect in Her presence.
— We will launch our 13th astronaut soon. Within a year, the astronaut from the Republic of Fiume who is in training will be able to compare the difference between our nations. Here, we do not merely teach, but guarantee the future. Outside… they live in uncertainty.
Acram took a deep breath, feeling the contrast between the city's absolute rigor and the lightness with which She spoke, almost as if normality itself were extraordinary.
— So… — he began, trying to control his nervousness — Ceres's secret is this combination of discipline, transparency, and… predictability?
Mother Ceres stopped, making a minimal gesture with Her hand, almost imperceptible, but sufficient to impose silence.
— Exactly. And yet, no one here deceives themselves: maintaining this requires constant attention. Whoever underestimates Ceres's balance gets lost. Whoever understands it prospers. You are beginning to see.
While Acram was still digesting Mother Ceres's words, the door to the hall opened silently, almost as if the black marble itself had allowed someone to enter without interrupting the flow of air. Ysa entered, her steps firm, dressed in the dark-gray uniform that only accentuated her authority. In her hands, she carried folders filled with meticulously organized reports.
— Ma’am, — she said, inclining herself slightly before Mother Ceres — I bring the reports on Ceres's progress.
Mother Ceres made a minimal gesture, allowing her to approach.
— Present them to the visitor, — She said, Her voice echoing like an absolute command.
— Acram, this is Ysa, our National Head of Development Intelligence. She coordinates the collection and analysis of all of Ceres's data. — Amos stepped several paces away, leaving the two alone before the city's implacable figure. — You came to conduct an interview. The reports will settle your accounts, and ensure that what you record is real.
Acram took the first sheet Ysa handed him. His eyes widened: the numbers were identical to those he had written in his notebook during the flight over the fields. Every detail matched perfectly, as if someone had read his own mind.
— No one lied, Acram. — Mother Ceres said, and there was a glimmer of pride in Her voice. — Transparency is not merely a policy. It is our way of existing.
Acram took a deep breath, realizing the weight of what he was seeing. Every piece of data, every record, every report confirmed that Ceres was not merely efficient: it was impeccable. There were no tricks, no manipulation. What he had written down with simple human eyes was there, before his recorder, reinforcing the myth and logic of the city.
Ysa remained beside him, impassive, but Acram felt her gaze like discreet blades: every gesture, every number, every word he spoke in that hall would be watched and recorded. He was merely another visitor before the perfection of Ceres.
Acram adjusted the recorder, swallowing hard, and finally asked the question that had consumed him from the beginning:
— Ma’am… how did Ceres achieve all this? All this prosperity, all this order… without wars, without deaths, without chaos?
Mother Ceres remained motionless, the black oval lens reflecting the horizon stretching as far as the eye could see. Her voice, when it emerged, was calm, almost didactic, but every word carried the weight of centuries of precision:
— Because we were never naive. — She said, pausing so that silence could cover the hall. — We know that hunger is the most faithful of philosophies, the most rational of forces. If we feed our citizens properly, if we control the ambition and excessive greed of others, we can prevent chaos before it exists.
She made a minimal gesture, indicating the fields below, the towers, the armored tractors, and the research centers:
— Feed the greed of other peoples in Ceres's banks. Let them wage their own disputes… but let them not touch our land, nor destroy the future of the continent. Transparency and predictability are our weapons. We never hide anything — but we control everything.
Acram glanced at the Silencers, who remained motionless like statues, and then returned his gaze to the city below. Each field, each tractor, each artificial river seemed to speak: this is the result of calculation, not luck or violence.
— So… — he murmured, trying to absorb the dimension of what he was hearing — it is not a secret. It is obvious… but no one outside Ceres had the patience, or the vision, to do this.
— Exactly. — Mother Ceres replied. — The obvious, when ignored for centuries, seems impossible. But we did not ignore it. And whoever tries to imitate us… fails. Without us, this continent would not exist as you see it today.
Acram took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words. For the first time, he understood that Ceres's strength was not in weapons or blood, but in the discipline, absolute logic, and implacable vision of its Mother.
Acram took a deep breath, adjusting the recorder, and decided to move on to something more personal:
— Ma’am… I heard that you fast before giving speeches. Is that true?
Mother Ceres tilted Her head slightly, the black lens reflecting Acram as if She could see his doubts and intentions. Her voice sounded calm, firm, and laden with reason:
— Yes. I always have. — She said. — For my philosophy to be practiced, I need to feel hunger before I speak.
Acram raised his eyebrows over his glasses.
— But… hunger? Before political speeches?
— Yes. — She replied without hesitation. — Hunger comes first. No philosophy can be conceived without basic needs being understood. If someone speaks of freedom, justice, or progress, but does not understand the emptiness of the stomach, their words are empty.
She gestured minimally, pointing toward the fields below the Tower, the motionless Silencers, the city breathing beneath the setting sun:
— Before any decision, any speech, any law, I understand hunger. Because whoever does not feel the limit does not understand balance. Whoever does not understand balance destroys.
Acram made a mental note, fascinated: the logic was simple, almost cruel in its clarity. It was not merely physical fasting; it was a philosophical method applied to governance, the most concrete manifestation of the discipline that had transformed Ceres into myth and reference.
Acram leaned slightly forward, adjusting the recorder.
— So… Ceres is neutral. Without wars, without deaths. But tell me… doesn't that mean other countries try to use your resources, manipulate your banks, or test the city's patience? Isn't it risky to trust so much in the city's “goodness”?
Mother Ceres answered as one teaches the obvious:
— It is not goodness, Acram. It is calculation. Transparency. — She said, gesturing toward Ysa, who handed over a new folder with graphs and detailed reports. — Look here: every transaction, every loan, every credit granted to the countries of the continent is recorded, audited, and compared with our projections. We never make mistakes. We have never been betrayed in a way that harmed us.
Acram quickly leafed through the reports and, to his surprise, the data was precise, detailed, identical to what he observed and recorded in his notebook in the fields.
— So… — he said, almost incredulous — even suspicious, even competing among themselves, all these leaders continue to trust Ceres?
— Exactly. — Mother Ceres replied, Her voice firm and dry, without a trace of arrogance, but crushing. — They come as guests. They inspect our vaults, question us, but continue to trust us. Because they know we do not fail. And if we fail… the entire continent feels it.
Acram gave a slight smile, trying to provoke Her a little:
— Fascinating… so Ceres holds the continent by the stomach and the wallet? A combination of food and numbers… a power so simple that no one dares to replicate it?
Mother Ceres tilted Her head, almost as a nod of approval:
— Exactly. Whoever understands this simplicity prospers. Whoever ignores it destroys themselves.
Ysa added, with the precision of someone who measures every word:
— Every piece of data you see, Acram, is auditable. There is no deception, no exaggeration. Every advance of Ceres is recorded, from planting to banking, from education to astronauts. Nothing moves without absolute control.
Acram took a deep breath, impressed. For the first time, he felt that Ceres's neutrality and prosperity were not merely philosophy or propaganda — they were an impeccable machine, a living, irreplaceable, and implacable system.
Acram took a deep breath, looking through the Tower's panoramic windows. The fields below stretched like golden oceans, the armored tractors moving with almost mechanical precision, and the Silencers remained motionless, vigilant.
— So, Mother… — he began, more seriously now — you maintain neutrality and progress, but how do you deal with the greed of other countries? Don't they try to exploit Ceres, use its resources, or take advantage of the city?
Mother Ceres tilted Her head slightly, as if analyzing every atom of the question before answering:
— It is simple, Acram. — She said, Her voice calm and cutting. — We feed their greed. We allow them to seek wealth, credit, and advantages… but always within limits that do not harm us. Their leaders come, observe, question, but never go beyond what we can control.
Ysa approached, handing over a new report, filled with transaction charts, audits, and records of international contacts.
— Look, Acram — Ysa said, without raising her voice, but with absolute precision — every movement is monitored. Every loan, every export, every radio message is recorded. The greed of others becomes predictable when they know they cannot deceive Ceres.
Acram leafed through the pages, every number corresponding exactly to the notes he had made while moving through the fields. A dense silence fell over the hall.
— So you… control greed without needing violence? — he murmured, somewhat incredulously.
Mother Ceres smiled slightly, almost imperceptibly beneath the black lens.
— Exactly. — She said. — Violence is the consequence of ignorance. We replace it with discipline, predictability, and transparency. As long as we understand everyone's limits, there is no need for war.
Acram took a deep breath, realizing that he was facing something greater than theory or philosophy: an entire city organized like a perfect organism, where every gesture, every number, and every grain obeyed an implacable logic.
— It is… impressive. — he murmured, finally acknowledging the weight of Ceres. — You do not merely feed the people… but control the future of the entire continent.
— And we always will. — Mother Ceres replied, Her voice firm and maternal at the same time. — Whoever understands prospers. Whoever ignores gets lost. Here, hunger, discipline, and vision are our instruments. We do not need to touch anyone to control reality.
Acram lowered his eyes to the recorder. Every word was being recorded, but he knew that there, in the Tower, the reality he was seeing surpassed any record.
Mother Ceres leaned slightly forward, Her arms relaxed at Her sides, while Her black oval lens reflected the fields below.