I came into a place void of all light, which bellows like the sea in tempest - Dante, the Inferno One Year Ago, shortly after the Battle of Archangel, on the outskirts of the Maalik System... Captain von Grimnour sat slumped in her command throne, mind divided between the Lionhead's Semi-Sentience- feeding her a constant stream of updated data- and the activity on the bridge. Officers bustled between computer banks and Lieutenant Travini paced slowly in front of the strategic holodisplay, tugging at his side whiskers and barking the occasional order. An hour ago, a Jihadist fleet had emerged from the far side of the Charon Belt, and was now forming up to meet the Royal squadron. A big Jihadist fleet. Well organized. With a battleship. "How in Ovo's Six fucking Names did they get around us, Lieutenant? With a godsfucked Imperatrix?!" the Captain spat. Travini merely frowned and continued pacing. Naval Intelligence had bungled, badly. The Arian fleets were supposed to be falling back from the Maalik System in panic, turning on each other. Grimnour's squadron was merely supposed to clean up the stragglers and scout out any remaining enemy ships of note. Some fucking stragglers. the captain thought, glaring as she watched the holodisplay. The Jihadist ships were coming on in serried rows, five heavy cruisers flanking an Imperatrix-class battleship, a 10km behemoth that the Lionhead's memory banks identified as the Demiurge, the flagship of one of Arius' chief Void-Heirophants. Apparently His Unapproachable Majesty the King hadn't smashed his enemies at Archangel quite thoroughly. Escort craft hovered around the enemy super-ship like carrion birds around some ancient predator. Comms from the Lionhead's escorts began pinging the bridge. Commanders and captains requesting orders. "We'll be in the Demiurge's primary ordinance range in twenty," said Lt. Travini. Grimnour cursed. She had ten ships under her command, five frigates, a hunter-killer pair of destroyers, and two cruisers besides the Lionhead. Caught off guard, with a major enemy strikeforce advancing between them and the nearest viable subspace translation point, her odds were abysmal. The Lionhead's Semi-Sentience blurted a neuropulse with its terse agreement. Grimnour scanned the holodisplay. She saw her least terrible option. "This is Lionhead to squadron." she declared over her comms, "They expect us to make a run for it, to drive us deeper into this system. Fuck that. Sure we'll run for it- straight through them. Bisect their fleet and translate as soon as your engines can take it. It's been a pleasure serving with you. That is all." The commlink erupted with the grim affirmatives of her escort vessels. The Royal Squadron assumed its offensive formation, the Indoril-class cruisers Count van Fesselvingen and Pride of Adriatus following the Fisher-class Lionhead in the line of battle, with the squadron's frigates and destroyers in defensive positions between the larger ships. "Shields up, strike craft launch." barked Grimnour. A bright azure flash illumined the bridge windows for a half-second as the Lionhead's shields ignited. All along the Royal squadron, fighter-bombers launched from shipboard hangers as shields enveloped the serrated-dagger hulls of His Majesty's Navy. The Arian fleet powered forward to meet their civilized foes, broadcasting their battle-liturgies on the open comm-channels, demanding obeisance to their dreadful and immanent gods. But they had slowed somewhat, perhaps confused by their enemy's unexpected counter-charge. "Enemy fleet entering mass driver range in five." Travini announced. Alarms sounded in the bridge as sensors picked up multiple enemy lock-ons. Grimnour closed her eyes and allowed her mind to integrate fully with the Lionhead's semisentience. For one deliriously delicious moment she was the ship, her heart beating in sympathy with the thrum of the massive engines, burning with the ferocity of small sun. She inhaled slowly, feeling the heavy cannon on her flanks rotate as they locked on to enemy vessels, the torpedoes sitting in the launch tubes, their dim AIs buzzing impatiently for release. Her skin prickled, suddenly alert to the electric ripples in the Lionhead's void-shields as they realigned and adjusted to meet incoming projectiles. She could see the outlines of her enemies, painted bright against the void by the ship's targeting systems, looming closer and closer. She could feel the eagerness of their bloodthirsty AIs. She gave the order to fire without speaking. She willed it, and the Lionhead obliged. Then the bloodletting began. The fleets opened up with long range mass-volleys and lance fire. The forward guns on the Demiurge gutted three Valyrian frigates outright and scored solid hits on the cruisers. The Count van Fesselvingen took a mass-round to the nose, and sped on towards the enemy trailing hunks of armor. The Lionhead's sheilds rippled and sparked as they absorbed the worse of the enemy's wrath. Grimnour eased out of full integration with her ship, suppressing a twinge of panic as the Demiurge loomed ever closer in on the holographic battle display in the center of the bridge, and as her shields deflected heavier and heavier fire. She glanced at Travini, whose bewhiskered face was bright red... but who was otherwise calm, sedately polishing his monocle and shouting the occasional order. "Mister Ryloth, ready the back breakers," he said as the fleets drew within primary ordinance range. Outside, in the vacuum, the Royal and Arian strike craft wings collided into spiraling dogfights just as the Royal ships launched their first torpedo waves. Nuclear detonations and EMP bursts erupted along the barbarian line... and then the two fleets collided. The void was alight with tracer fire and heavy laser exchanges. The Royal ships made their pass to the port side of the Demiurge, raking the monstrosity with fire. The supership's guns remained silent a moment, enough time for Grimnour to allow herself the hope that it was suffering a massive malfunction. The Demiurge's first broadside obliterated the Pride of Adriatus and took out the bridge tower on the Fesselvingen. It's shields popped by the onslaught, the Lionhead returned fire vigorously as explosions erupted along its serrated-dagger hull. Alarms sounded on the bridge. The captain's neural uplink sent her flashes of pain as the Lionhead's semisentience registered damage. "Travini, divert all power from the guns to engines! We'll-" There was a bright flash and a noise like a scream, and then silence as the bridge opened to the void. Grimnour clung to her command throne as her lieutenant and officers were sucked through the Lionhead's burning wound and up into the airless night.

...whenever men are not obliged to fight from necessity, they fight from ambition; which is so powerful in human breasts, that it never leaves them no matter to what rank they rise. The reason is that nature has so created men that they are able to desire everything but are not able to attain everything... - Machiavelli, Discourses on Livy Present Day... Strategic Orrery, the Orbital Fortress Invincible, in orbit of Odros, Valyrian System.... Count Cezare stood as the officers of His Unapproachable Majesty's Second Royal Expeditionary Force assembled, filling the amphitheater with the buzz of a thousand muted conversations. Generals in their crimson dress uniforms, medals tinkling on their chests, filed into the massive chamber alongside naval captains and commodores in deep blue tunics. Hulking Gn'Mok Legates, clad in the rune-inscribed bronze plate traditional to their rank, stood silently at attention on the floor of the chamber, their black eyes unblinking. Nyrkin battle-masters, Introgg warchiefs, Xos dignitaries and even more exotic xenos commanders clicked and chittered to one another as they took their seats below the human officers, who regarded them with mixed surprise and distaste. For xenos to be included in a formal operational briefing was most irregular. Cezare tugged absentmindedly at his starched collar, throwing a glance at Lord Admiral Rutherford, seated with the naval leadership on the High Command dais. Rutherford was eying the proceedings with his customary facade of paternal sternness, in contrast to Rear Admiral Wander who sat just to his left, wearing a mild smirk, as though in on some joke everyone else was missing. Behind both men, somewhat obscured by shadow (no doubt on purpose, thought Cezare, the old ghoul loves to play it up), lurked Vice-Admiral Korwitz. The buzz of chatter in the room fell silent in an instant, and the assembled commanders scrambled to their feet. Cezare did not need to glance at the entryway to know why. His Radiance the Grand Duke had arrived. A short man, heavily built, with thick dark hair and a magnificent mustache, Konrad von Ravenstein swept into the room without ceremony, an unlit pipe jutting from the corner of his mouth. He took his seat amid the High Command staff, green eyes hooded and watchful. The room took its cue and sat down, save Cezare, who cleared his throat. "Welcome, excellencies," said the Count, "to His Unapproachable Majesty's Second Royal Expeditionary Force. As you know, we have been tasked with claiming the Maalik System for the glory of the King and the Kingdom, freeing its enslaved masses from the deluded followers of Arius, of cursed memory." At the mention of the Maalik System, the lights dimmed and the holodisplay in the center of the Orrery ignited, filling the room with a detailed, three dimensional star chart of the Leopon Sector, with the Maalik System highlighted in blood red. The hologram magnified the System, the planets and bodies of which filled the room as they spun lazily in their orbits. "Our target system has seven planets, all terraformed and populated by the old Empire. These are: Celestine V, Acheron, Virgilius, Minos II, Malacoda Minor, Cerebus, and the ice-world Cocytus VI..." said the Count, the holodisplay highlighting each planet in turn, displaying geographic details, population statistics and military assesments, "Of these, Celestine, Minos and Cocytus have populated moons. Other notable bodies include the Charon Asteroid Belt bisecting the system, and the gas-giant Caina. Enemy strength in the system is high. Our intelligence reports no less than three major naval battlegroups, including the battleships Malebranche, Demiurge and Atropos. The Atropos, at least, suffered catastrophic damage at Archangel-" The naval officers interrupted with a polite smattering of applause directed at the abhuman Captain Lutzen, who grinned toothily. "-and is undergoing extensive repairs, but the other two ships are in good working order. Ground forces, likewise, are numerous, the usual Arian mix of farmed clones with battle augments, local conscripts and mercenaries, slave soldiers, and drone-tanks and atmospheric craft." Count Cezare cleared his throat and continued. "Our naval dispositions are as follows: the Second Expeditionary Fleet will comprise six major combat squadrons: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Epsilon, Rho, and Omega. Captains, you have been given your assignments already. Generals, the troopships and landers will follow the fleet's lead. Our invasion hinges on the Maalik System's two stable subspace translation points, codenamed Paolo and Francesca. Paolo is located center-system, just beyond the orbit of Celestine V. The enemy have made Celestine and its moon, Pontius, into a formidable fortress-world. Francesca is located within the Charon Belt, in the outer system. Thanks to His Majesty's announcement of the Reconquest, the enemy knows we are coming. Our options are... limited. Given their fortifications at Celestine, the enemy likely expects a push through Francesca, and has filled the Charon Belt with hired marauders and pirate wolf packs to harry any attempted incursion. Our strategic plan is simple: a feint through Francesca with naval squadrons Rho and Epsilon, who will engage the mercenary elements in the Belt in clearing operations designed to give the impression of an impending full-scale push. The squadrons will be able to use the Belt to their advantage, avoiding larger enemy fleet deployments and making use of old Imperial depots and mining installations to resupply. They will be given a steady stream of reinforcements in order to further the impression that this is where our main fleet will translate. Our attack, however, will come through Paolo." The holodisplay focused on Celestine V and its moon, highlighting its extensive fleet protection and orbital fortifications. Murmurs arose throughout the amphitheater. Cezare paused, glancing at von Ravenstein, who stood slowly. "We will take Celestine V from under them," the Grand Duke said, "We will break them where they are strongest."

The reason Rear Admiral Wander was smirking at the beginning of the meeting was that it was also something of a family reunion for him. Hidden within the rows were other golden-haired, youthful children of House Wander. Captain Claus Wander of the frigate Fury, Administrator Katherine Wander of Royal Logistics Corps, several branch relatives from House Melathon amidst the escort leader ranks, and several others he didn't recognize from lesser vassal houses intermarried with House Wander. He'd have to arrange a proper reunion over some bottles of Void Wine, as per House Wander custom. Still, despite his apparent carefree attitude and reason for cheer, he was more than aware of the situation at hand and what the Admiral was asking for. A very aggressive assault against the strongest point of enemy resistance. If they succeeded, the success of the rest of the reconquest would not be in doubt. If they failed....well it would make things "interesting" in the most ancient sense of the word. Especially since a jump at the point closest to the enemy forts meant hauling the logistics division under his command a lot closer to the front than doctrine called for. But they'd be bloody necessary to keep ships alive and supplied in the high-intensity battle likely to come. Mentally tapping his VR implant to compile a message to the rest of the Wander's in the room for a family dinner and afternoon entertainment as well as planning session, Wander spent the rest of the briefing watching the moods of the captains and commanders. Making a list of who approved and who visibly disagreed with the master plan of the admirals. The former were to be noted, the latter to be confronted. He had nothing against honest disagreement, but showing it here and now did not bespeak well to a captain's political savvy, which would certainly play a part when this campaign hit the actual "reconquest" part. And he didn't want perfectly good command staff to be wasted because of some misstep in etiquette. At least not yet.

Commodore Von Ingram sat in the amphitheater surrounded by her staff officers and waited impatiently. To her left sat Commander Wolfram De Ruger, Wolfram had been with Yekaterina since her days commanding the Rosenkreuz and was her sole confidante in the fleet. Now he commanded her escort detail, and though he had a ship of his own he was still very much her First Mate. To her right sat Captain Neion, the Tinman. He was a crude and brutish thug who was more machine than anyone had any right to be and was an angry and bitter lout who found it very difficult to hide that he was an angry and bitter lout. In other words he was the perfect man to be the right hand of Rho Squadron. She trusted him to do whatever was necessary to complete their objectives and the fact that he wasn't the slack jawed idiot that she often chided him for being made him all the better suited for the job. They weren't as close as she was with Commander De Ruger, but he also hadn't spent the last decade serving alongside her as Wolfram had. Filling out the seats in front of and behind her were the other officers of note in Rho Squadron, Yekaterina had tried to get Legate Kossk, the hulking leader of her marines, up among the others as well but there was a protocol for such things and a Gn'Mok legate among the naval staff was not it. With little else to do in her spare time Yekaterina drew a small spring-loaded knife from her pocket and began to play with it. This drew the attention of both Commander De Ruger and Captain Neion who looked at her in much the same way a parent would look at a toddler doing something completely absurd. She hardly noticed either of them as she cleaned under her already immaculate nails with the blade and went back to flicking it open and closed. "I picked one of these up when I was last home. I figured it was finally time to see the object that gave me my nickname," she said flicking it open again. Her eyes were focused on the blade not the incredulous stares of her underlings. "I can't actually tell if I should be flattered or offended by the comparison. Its a nifty little toy but its hardly a threatening weapon. If I ended up in a knife fight I think I'd want something with a bit more heft to it than this, a proper combat knife. I can't imagine how this thing came to be the symbol of cutthroats and ne'er do wells." Wolfram simply chuckled at her observations. Stowing her knife Commodore Von Ingram tugged at her dress jacket absently, it didn't fit her chest properly yet she had forgotten to get it fitted when she was last in port. The crowd of officers began to rise to attention as the Grand Duke entered the room. Yekaterina followed suit. She had the demeanor of a bitch but if Neion was anything to go by it certainly payed to respect one's superiors. She listened carefully to the briefing though she already knew what her part in the operation was. Yekaterina narrowed her eyes at the words and carefully glanced towards Wolf who met her gaze. The Grand Duke certainly had a reputation to uphold, their expressions seemed to say, not that it was a particularly good reputation for most people. At least Rho Squadron wouldn't be in the thick of things, she didn't like the thought of going toe to toe with an Arian battlewagon, she wasn't Captain Lutzen and had no intention of being more like him. As the briefing ended and the admirals left she stood to leave with the others unbuttoning her jacket as she walked. By the time she was out of the Amphitheater she had the unlatched all of the polished buttons and was walking at a clip that her men found difficult to keep up, her jacket billowing slightly like an exaggerated cape as she made her way out. She had a lot of work to do considering this entire plan hinged on her and that over-starched prick Morning raising enough hell for the invasion fleet to not be turned to cinders as they translated into realspace.

An explosion rocked the room, filling it first with a blinding light, then a searing heat. For a few seconds, Commodore Janos Korwitz heard only silence and saw only darkness, as if he had died. Life came back to him slowly, though never completely; it was as if he was dreaming, and for what seemed like years he could only try to interpret the blurry and confused images he saw. There was screaming, yes- a united chorus of shrieks and shouts, coming from those he had come to known and worked with. He seemed to be covered in rubble, which impaired his vision, but at one point he thought he saw Commodore Fenris, a greatly respected man within the Navy, drag himself across the podium's floor, missing everything waist-down. Then again, it might have just been a hallucination, as he was blacking out regularily. He was not conscious when they pulled him out of the rubble, put him in the van in a pile- like corpses, one would think- and put him on the operating table. Later, he would be told that his wounds were thought to be terminal: Both his legs had been blown off, and shrapnel had savaged his body, making a mess of his organs, and almost severing his right arm it two. But modern medical science was a truly amazing thing, and with the most advanced cybernetics, they were able to repair him, or was it replaced? He sometimes wondered if he was the same man who had entered the Royal Officer's Academy that day, to see his son's entrance into the His Majesty's Forces. Perhaps that man died, and he was simply a machine who believed himself to be the same. Twenty-three men died that day, including four captains and a commodore. ********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** Half a year later, he was sitting amongst his peers, more machine than man, to see the entertainement. They were in a small room, filled with chairs and men of importance, all facing a glass window that covered a wall. Beyond the window was a firing squad: Twenty soldiers to execute ten prisonners. There was a jovial mood in the room, as captains and commodores traded jokes and laughed at the impending slaughter. Janos was in his own universe, however, and stared only at the prisonners, blindfolded, tied to the concrete wall, arms spread. They were members of the Sons of Liberty, he had learned- a terrorist organization of radicals seeking to overthrow His Majesty and instate a democratic republic. They had commited terrorist actions all over the Kingdom for years now, funded by Arius's regime, who sought to weaken the Kingdom to path the way for its invasion. It was they, he also knew, who had planted the explosive on that day, five months ago, which killed so many and destroyed so much. Since that day, there had been a severe crackdown- this was only the latest of a long string of executions. So far hundreds of their agents had been uncovered, judged guilty, and executed. It was one thing to massacre commoners, but killing officers was a crime in a league of its own. The officer leading the firing squad barked an order, and his men raised their guns. When he barked again, they fired in unison, a thunder of shot raking the terrorists. Janos felt something in himself wither as he watched their limp corpses hang from their shackles. He did not know which one of them was his son, and yet strangely, that no longer mattered. The fact that his wife was also dead, having lept to her death shortly before the execution, also seemed to him strangely inconsequential. All other emotions were put aside to make way for cold rage, a silent, yet stifling fury, directed at the filthy jihadists and xenos, who had caused so much misery and death. For them, there would be no mercy of a quick death. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** Vice-Admiral Korwitz thus stood in the shadows, filled with a silent anger, watching with both his synthetic and his organic eye the xenos assembled here. They should launched into the vacuum of space, he thought, not welcomed among us. This will need to be rectified. He clenched his synthetic hand tightly.

'Fire!' His mind roared and his hands gripped the arms of his chair so tightly he nearly tore the dam things off. Especially with his Cybernetic forearm which was more than possessing of the strength to do just that. But fortunately the sharp booms of ionized energy being smashed against their hull. Whether by the grace of the last few remaining ounces of power left in the shields or sheer tenacity on the part of the Centaur as it simply seemed to shrug off the fire from the enemy frigate and continue barreling through the screen of Laser bolts upon it's foe. Michael's eyes were closed and he was all but deaf to the streams of information being thrown around and at him. He didn't need to hear from his commander that the shields were down, or have the crewman working at the engineering station tell him the enemy frigate was altering course. He could already see these things.... sort of. Not literally with his own eyes but through the eyes of the Centaur. He was viewing the battle from an almost first person perspective of his ship. It was a difficult experience to describe exactly and he doubted he ever could explain it properly with words. To merge minds with your vessel in such a way, more than the basic Neural link that all officers and the ungrateful receive so casually in this kingdom. But an enhanced connection, a deeper connection. One that transcended mere numbers and basic information. One that allowed him to feel the very essence of the ship to listen and work alongside it and understand how it was viewing the battle around it. Right now he new the Centaur was hungry. It wanted the blood of this arrogant little frigate who had the gall to try and damage it alongside it's two former brethren that lay strewn and pieced out all around them. The shots that were landing against the bow of the ship were starting to tell. Without the shields deployed they only had the hull to rely on. Admittedly the hull was thicker than most ships of it;s size and even thicker than some much larger but it wouldn't hold out forever. The crew new this and despite the fact that one layer thick layer of reinforced Steel was all that was currently standing between them and oblivion they continued working unworried. The ship rocked and shook around them as blast after blast landed and reports of light damage were starting to come in from the forward sections but still the captain kept his eyes closed and the ship on course. He felt the ships hunger, the need not just to fight it and blast it away from a distance but to close in and obliterate it utterly and completely. A tactic not often seen by HSR-2 class ships but beloved by this particular AI. It was only when the Centaur was finally broadside to broadside with the frigate did Michael's eyes snap open and one barked order had the ten light laser batteries that were previously standing by awaiting the signal roar to life and tear across the surface of the enemy vessels. Followed shortly by dozens of point defense turrets and cannon that littered the frigates hull with countless minor explosions and lights. It was almost pretty in a morbid sort of way if one ignored the knowledge that they were extinguishing a few hundred lives in the process. Between these additional cannons and the five heavy batteries that were already being fired and used through this entire scenario they made short work indeed of the enemy shields and hull after that. He felt the immense satisfaction of the ships spirit as it watched the other ship crumple like paper under it's unyielding cannons. And only when the entire vessel was reduced to a pile of rubble so complete that nothing could possibly have survived he Michael order the weapons systems to cease firing. Even in the bitter cold of space the muzzles of the laser batteries would have been warm to the touch with the raw power and punishing speed they were unloading their deadly payloads with. And Michael felt something then..... even though he pulled himself out of the Centaur's mind to rejoin the mere mortal existence of his crew he could feel an deep satisfaction at having slain another foe and punished more unworthy for their insolence and violence against the kingdom that was now it's home. “Praefectus” One of his Petty officers whispered just loud enough to try and gather his captain's attention. It was clear from the look on Michael's face that he was in personal commune with the venerable spirit of the ship and the crew always shied away from disturbing him from such a enviable connection. “The supply ships.” He reminded him as the captain looked down at his astronomical display for the first time since arriving at this region. Caught up with the blood fever of the Centaur at the promise of battle he almost completely forgot why they were here in the first place. The convoy they were sent to harass was trying to limp it's way to safety. Hoping vainly that enough damage was done to the Centaur to prevent it from turning back around and finishing what an earlier salvo from the heavy cannons started. As reports of real damage were being reported across the forward vessel he knew they would not be able to stand up to another fight if reinforcements came. There were two other Minotaur class vessels cleaning up the rest of the convoy. What few vessels of this class were left were at least being wisely used for their intended purpose. Michael noted happily. Hit and run, arrive quickly were they were least expected destroy everything possible as fast as possible and bugger off before reinforcements could be deployed. Both of the other vessels were far more injured than the Centaur. This convoy was a little more guarded than they were lead to believe and it took far longer to dispatch the various corvettes and escort frigates than anticipated. He had word sent to the other captains to return quickly and leave the clean-up to him. They seemed eager enough to oblige and as they turned and made ready to fire up their engines and depart this system the Centaur powered up it's cannons yet again. ******************************** (Six months later... Present day) If there was one drawback to his captaincy it was being at meetings like these. He would much prefer to receive such briefings in the comfort of his chair or quarters, surrounded by the familiar smell of recycled air and cold yet welcoming embrace of the tight corridors and hard deck plates. He didn't know if it was a side effect of the deeper neural link he shared with his vessel. The more personal connection afforded to him as a Praefectus that made him constantly drawn to his ship and only leaving it;s side when absolutely necessary. Or maybe the naval life was just that ingrained within him after forty years of education and distinguished service that he felt more comfortable on his personal bunk aboard his personal ship than anywhere else. He supposed that wasn't that illogical or unreasonable. Either way this meeting was a drain on his time but he refused to let it show on his face. He sat straight backed in his seat among-st the other captains and lesser mortals that were arrayed behind the commodores, admirals and generals. Beside him the major of his marine contingent, Viktor Tharkk was dressed splendidly in the crimson and black uniform of a marine officer. His chest was also covered in medals and badges earned over his lifetime of service but there was none he wore as proudly as the blue and silver pins on his collar displaying his loyalty and allegiance to the house Val'Holryn as a vassal and servant. The Val'Holryn eye, the symbol of the great house of his captain and Praefectus. Amongst most officers in the room he stood out not just for being the only marine officer invited to the briefing but also for the fact he was one of the few people that made no effort to hide his cybernetics. Between his right hand and respirator that covered his lower face and two Piercing blue cybernetic eyes that were by far the most visible and eye catching of his features. He had numerous other augmentations below the surface of his uniform. Far more than most people gathered here and certainly far more of them willingly and voluntarily received. Not to mention the hard scarring that covered the right side of his face and extended up to the scalp and down the back of the head it was hard to believe that he actually cut quite the handsome figure in his younger days. One would assume a man of his rank and position would easily be able to afford the most expensive materials and synthetic skin to coat and hide his augments, especially a working lower jaw to replace the one he lost two years ago when this entire fiasco against the false Jihadists began. Instead of a simple metallic grate respirator like those the poor were forced to rely on. But he was far more proud of his robotic parts than his biological ones and refused to cover and hide them as if they were something to be ashamed of. Michael was very proud of his men for their piety and devotion. Most were like the major and bore their augments proudly and received them willingly. It may seem odd to some to bring a marine commander (and he certainly received a raised eyebrow or two) to a naval briefing instead of his second but the major had more than just a few surface augments. He had hidden ones implanted into his mind and body. False organs, reinforced rib-cage and recorders that processed everything he heard and saw when he so desired. Perfect for a man who's entire duty was a eye for meticulous exactitude both in the standards of his men and the execution of orders and tactics. He recorded every face and his eyes recorded picts of every form and piece of information that came across him. These traits made him invaluable to Michael and while most may look down on such drastic augmentation and the deadly risks associated with so many internal and particularly head based implants and augments the potential benefits far outweighed such concerns. And so those cybernetic eyes zoomed and adjusted and took in every face and every image it could. Deciding what was worth capturing in picture or recording and discarding the rest. His brain was just as cybernetic as it was organic and used this power to filter through a dozen details at once. Knowing what his captain would want to be reminded and have record of for future referrals, he recording every word spoken by count Cezare and took in every inch of battle line and tactic being portrayed in the hologram around them. No detail was too small or irrelevant when it came to an invasion. And Viktor was nothing if not meticulous in his gathering of every possible scrap of information.

Just outside of the Strategic Orrery of the Orbital Fortress Invincible Captain Leidolf Lutzen pulled himself to one side of the vast corridor and behind one of the ornately furnished columns lining it to avoid the oncoming mass of murmuring officers, who were vacating the Orrery en masse now that the briefing had concluded. To his slight, but niggling embarrassment, he had noticed a seam some how torn into the sleeve of his uniform mid-briefing. A tuft of black fur protruded from it. He desperately hoped that he was the only one that noticed it. "Something must be wrong with you today, fuzzball." Said a voice that made Lutzen freeze. He recognized it as as belonging to Isabelle Nue, the human commander of Siegmund, one of the destroyers that formed his group of escorts. "Just a nod and a grin? Even to that much applause? From that many of your colleagues, comrades and superiors? I expected a... a grandiose speech, abundant in self-flattery." Isabelle pulled up in front of him, wearing a grin. "You know, your usual routine whenever someone so much as gives you a thumbs up." She chuckled. Lutzen suddenly sprang to attention and shifted his arms to clasp his hands together behind him. Partly to maintain appearances, though mostly to hide that growing tear in his sleeve. "Take what praise you are given humbly, and never be so audacious as to grasp for more. Be satisfied in knowing what you are given is what you have earned." He recited in an official tone. "These are all things father taught me." Lutzen hastily added, giving a nod. At this, Isabelle merely shook her head. "Really, Captain? Come now, friend. I've known you a lot longer than that. You really expect me to believe all that?" "Well, it would have been nice!" Lutzen replied, giving a sheepish grin and a light shrug. He then sagged with a huff. "But, alas, you have caught me." He said in a low tone. "Zounds, blast and forsooth." He fakely growled, swinging a fist belonging to the arm with the non-torn sleeve before him a small gesture of mock outrage. Lutzen then rose back up and grinned broadly. "Ah... but you know me too well. You know that I -love- to be recognized for my work. I really, really do! It gives me a... warm, even tingly feeling, to know that my close brushes with death in the service of the kingdom, dragging some four thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine other poor souls along for the ride all the while, does not go unappreciated." Isabelle smiled again, then folded her arms as she examined the Larestan more closely. "Figured. So why so silent, sir? Is something amiss? I'm sure there's time for you to visit the medical facilities if you're genuinely unwell." "Pish-posh." Lutzen waved a hand dismissively. "I've just been so busy with preparations for the coming operation that I've barely found the time to sleep, is all." He explained. Having glanced around and found the rest of the officers had long departed the area, he indulged in a rather large yawn. "Do not be worrying about this supposedly poor captain. He is quite fine, he assures you." He gestured for Isabelle to follow him as he finally shifted from the column and began strolling down the hall. "He'll just need to give the transcript of the meeting a few read overs later, is all. He would have liked to have stayed in bed, but it is neither decent nor smart to avoid gatherings of this importance for such trivialities." Isabelle complied and maintained an even pace with Lutzen. "So, did you recognize many of the officers gathered there today, sir?" "Oh... a more than a few. Those I didn't, I'm sure I've heard of. It's like a close-knit, but highly dysfunctional family, for the most part. Of particular interest, to my ever so humble self, anyway, was finally encountering Von Ingram, His Majesty's Switchblade. I have often heard her declared to be my opposite. In fact, they have a similar appellation for me, I've heard. 'His Majesty's Sledgehammer', it is." On that last note, he turned to face Isabelle with an uncertain grin. "I... am not so sure if this is a good thing, hauhau." She shook her head and shrugged. "Couldn't tell you, Captain. At least you are good at breaking things?" "Heh, yes. Quite so. Anyway, I had to conceal my grin when I saw Rear Admiral Wander. Very strange fellow indeed, but an excellent host! Just... try not to get too involved with him, I'm warning you." A sudden thought occurred to Isabelle. "Sir, I... I mean no disrespect, but I was wondering how you feel you're treated as a... an abhuman. This was my first high level meeting, so I wasn't sure of what to expect, and I am equally unsure of what I observed." Lutzen uttered that peculiar hauhauhau of a laugh again. "No offense taken. There are certainly those that are uneasy around, and even resent, us abhumans, yes. I noticed more than a few scowls, if I am to be honest. But, it cannot be helped. I accept things for what they are. I am sure everyone in that room can agree that the Arians are the worst scum in the galaxy right now anyhow, no? After the war is through, they can turn me into a rug for all I care, but there is more at stake right now." He paused before a viewport and peered out into the void of space. "We've ships to explode and worlds to take, after all!" "Though I think visit to the station's tailor is in order first, sir." Isabelle added, her eyes on the ever growing split in the sleeve. Lutzen huffed loudly, his ears lowering.

The Rook, currently docked with Orbital fortress Invincible Logan and four other members of The Rooks crew sat around a large crate, cards in hand and the scent of tobacco smoked heavy in the air. The five members of the group looked at each other and then back at their hand assessing both their cards and each other, finally they played their cards or folding their hands. "Four of a kind." One of the ensigns said, putting down her hand and grabbing her cigarette from the tray and taking a drag off of it, everyone turned to Logan who still had not put down his cards finally with a flair for the dramatics he put his hand down. "Straight flush sweetheart, i win." He said chuckling, and taking a sip from some of the whisky they had stashed away for their game night, with a curse the ensign threw down her cigarette and demanded to see his sleeves. "You just want to see me strip don't you sweetheart?" He joked but the joke was lost on the ensign who spoke sharply. "Take the jacket off you fucking cheat." She shouted, so Logan obliged and handed it to her so she could shake it down, satisfied with her checking of the jacket she stormed off. "You got lucky this time Noctura, but next time we are cleaning you out." She shouted as she left, the others going with her. When they were clear he pulled his cards out of his boot and swept them back into the deck, then he walked over to a stack of crates where his helmet sat, the voice of the silver lady invaded his ears. "You know cheating with cards in your boots is one thing, but using me to spy on the opposition and tell you the cards in their hands just takes the sport out of it." She said, Logan just chuckled and came back at her with a defense of his own. "Then why did you help me?" He asked. "Because you asked me to help you." "But you don't have to help me, and so that makes you a accomplice." The Ai laughed her laugh sounding like that of bells chiming. "I was programmed to help you, and are those contraband items I see on that crate? You do know that there are cameras in here and the captains AI is watching right. Also aren't you late for that strategic meeting?" The AI seemed to nag at him and he tuned everything out until she mentioned strategic meeting. With a curse he threw his helmet into the open cockpit of his fighter and threw on his flight jacket over his uniform and sprinted out of the hangar. He went through the docking tube and the airlock sequence before sprinting through the station. When he finally reached the meeting it was over and he was out of breath. People were filing out, and the pilot looked at them looking for a face he knew. Finally his eyes settled on one of flight leaders from The Rook He stopped her. "So what happened in there?" He asked, she just shook her head. "You're hopeless, I'm not going to bail you out this time. You'll just have to ask the captain and accept your punishment." She said and left him standing there, with a silent curse Logan set out to find Captain Neion, when he found him he was with Commodore Von Ingram, upon sight of the group he stood at attention and saluted, he knew better than to open his mouth and say something to the officers without them speaking to him so he stayed quiet instead fixing his eyes on Von Ingram and her rather ill fitting jacket. "If she wasn't a Commodore the things I would do to her." He thought, for a second he stopped saluting so he could shake his head and get the thought out of his head and then as if nothing happened went back to saluting waiting for the order to stand down.

The Strategic Orrery, Invincible Celestine. Captain Gillam Belasko's pearlescent eyes reflected its holographic representation in shimmering bands of pink as he took in the spectacle before the combined leadership of the Second Expeditionary Force. Scarlet continents slowly gyrated about against a smooth sea of blood red ocean. Mountain ranges, lakes, and islands were all depicted in various shades of red. Paired with the satellite Pontius orbiting at a crawl around it, Celestine V appeared innocuous enough as planets went. Such appearances were deceiving, for this was a fortress world. An assault on this planet would be a bloody affair indeed. The Royal Armada could expect to face nothing short of an array of mammoth anti-orbital cannons that could cripple a Demnevanni with a single slug. Defending each of these installations would certainly be a layer of smaller yet equally redoubtable anti-air guns, guarded in turn by a teeming host of Arius' abominations. If the Second Expeditionary Force was particularly unlucky, a series of orbital bastion stations would complicate fleet staging whilst making insertions a costly proposition. An unsupported Celestine would be a hard nut to crack; barrages from Pontius' own anti-orbital installations and the dread fleet lurking about the Maalik system elevated the challenge to a new order of magnitude. Captain Belasko's eyes flitted up to the holographic fortress orbiting about the Orrery as Grand Duke von Ravenstein concluded. From his vantage, Pontius was slowly eclipsed by Celestine as the moon's circuit slowly placed her on the far side of the planet. An assault would have to target this hemisphere of the planet, lest it face the murderous barrage of the moon's anti-orbital emplacements. Captain Belasko had devised the first stages of his attack plan. But Captain Belasko was merely that - a captain. He had no sway over the royal command structure. The Admirals and his Unapproachable Excellency had taken every necessary precaution to ensure an utter massacre in the Maalik System, it seemed. And though Captain Belasko would uphold his solemn duty to carry out his Majesty's will, he had no particular interest in dying to see that will carried out. As the summit stood in unison for the closing salute, Captain Belasko's eyes fell upon the dais of the Admirals - upon an old friend. There, standing with stoic dignity, was one he knew could hear reason among nonsense.

Harper entered the room in tow behind Commodore Von Ingram, the female in charge of Special Task Force Rho. He felt uncomfortable in his uniform at the moment, with the buttons firmly clasped to the opposite side of the front clear up to his throat for the strategy briefing. He was also required to wear his cap, which was currently casing his scalp to itch from rubbing against the thin stubble across his head. Harper ignored how uncomfortable he was in his stiff uniform with little more than a grimace, but this look had become second nature to him. The only thing that was out of sorts with his uniform was the missing sleeve on the left side, showing his bionic arm in place of a flesh and bone one. When he entered the amphitheater, he sat to Von Ingram’s right and took his cap off to set it in front of him. He directed his gaze to the center at the dormant holoprojecter, awaiting the meeting until he heard a noise to his left. He turned his head towards his commanding officer and looked down at her hands. She was fiddling with a switchblade, saying something about wanting to see the object her nickname had come from. With the knife out, Harper couldn't help but examine it himself, wondering why she was named after the instrument of cutthroats and thieves. He was brought of his thoughts as everyone stood in greeting of the Grand Duke. Harper pulled himself to his feet with little enthusiasm and sat back down happily. As the display came to life in the center, Harper analysed what he could and gave his attention more to what Rho’s role was in the coming invasion. Once he had the information he needed, Harper was ready to leave and get back to his ship so he could unbutton his dress coat to prevent it from choking him further and to plan accordingly with Commodore Von Ingram and the heads of Epsilon. He was one of the first up when the officers were dismissed to leave. When he turned to leave, however, there stood Lieutenant Commander Noctura at attention, late. Narrowing his eyes, Harper looked the pilot up and down before speaking, letting him stay at attention longer than was average. “At ease, Noctura. Follow me back to The Rook. You can explain there why you're late.” Harper didn't want to spend more time looking “professional” with his jacket choking him ever so slightly more than he had to. After his instructions, Harper filed out of the amphitheater behind the Commodore and back into the hall, his cap back atop his head again.

A soft tone rang through the room, bringing the young woman to set her reading glasses down and glance over towards the door. It was still early in the day, and quite a few forms remained incomplete, leading her to answer in a more aggressive tone than she intended. "Enter." She said quickly, her eyes narrowing as the door opened and her second-in-command entered hesitantly. For a moment, he simply stood at attention in the doorway, his face absent of emotion while he awaited permission to speak. "You are aware that I still have paperwork to complete, are you not, Erik?" She closed the screen on the desk, a soft beep letting her know the work was saved, and she turned her body around to face the uniformed officer. All it took was a single glance of his pressed uniform and polished medallions to let her know that he clearly expected to attend the Grand Duke's meeting between the commanders of the Kingdom's fleet. The barest hint of a smile crossed her lips as she stared him down, her green eyes narrowing slightly as she looked upon him as prey. "My lady, the bridge received a message from the Grand Duke's staff alerting us of the meeting, I thought I should come with all haste to inform you." He spoke respectfully, but his tone remained soft, telling of his young age and inexperience in the field. Despite being a decorated officer within the Third Division, Erik Argenon had yet to truly taste battle, and a part of her wondered if it was a good idea to have him at her side when it came to the assault on Celestine V. "I know of the meeting." She said dismissively, looking over to where her own dress uniform hung. "In fact, I chose not to attend because I have that power to do so." Getting up, she smoothed the front of her shirt reflexively even though she was in casual dress and began to walk the floor of the room. "They do not think so, of course, being so wrapped around the Grand Duke's fingers like so many rings. These commanders, I know their kind. Aristocrats, dukes, royalty by any other word." Her fingers ran along the suit of armor hung on the wall, tracing the paint that marked where she had been shot during the Assault of Hinterpommern. "I've nearly died at the hands of people like them once in my life, and I do not intend to do so again. We have our orders, and we will follow them. The contract will not be broken, not by meddling aristocrats pretending to be warriors. We are the true warriors, Erik, those who go and put their lives on the line in the heat of battle while they sit pretty within their starships and lay waste to yet more cowards." Erik remained silent as Alexandria spoke, his attention focused directly forward as he listened. "Tell me Erik, how do you think they feel about us?" She had come up right in front of him, her face inches from his own and all too close for his own comfort. Taking a breath he started to answer, ignoring the slight scent of perfume he swore hung about her. "From my very brief discussions with our allies, I would hazard a guess they see us as disposable." "Disposable." She spat the word with clear distaste, though it was clear that was the answer she not only expected but knew to be true. "You're not as useless as I thought. That's exactly right, we are disposable assets to them, just like a weapon only to be fired once. Think otherwise and you will play right into their hands, Erik." Turning away from him, Alexandria walked back over to sit at her desk, opening the screen once more to start from where she left off. "That is why I did not attend their meeting, because we are just an asset to the Grand Duke. We will do our part and then we will leave. Make no mistake, though we may be under contract to the Grand Duke, he does not command me or my troops. Celestine V will be handed over to the Kingdom, and these Arians will be put to the sword, but that is where our contract ends. There will be no extra missions, no bonuses, and zero deviations." Seeing that she was clearly done with him, Erik snapped a salute and affirmed her orders "Yes my lady, the contract will be followed to the letter. If I may be dismissed, I will return immediately to the training deck to instruct Broken Star to redouble their regimen." Waving her hand towards him, she dismissed him and continued on her paperwork. Only when the door slid shut behind Erik did she look up again from her screen, her eyes settling on her armor and the mark on the shoulder of the carapace. For only the briefest moment her emotions got the better of her as she grasped an empty mug next to her and pitched it at the armor. The mug shattered across the surface of the armor and fell to the floor beneath it even as Alexandria suppressed a slight cry of anger. "Damn you, Sicarius." She muttered, thinking back to the battle. "I gave you the chance to end it, and you fucking shot me." How ironic it had been that the only wound she had suffered during the assault had been at the hands of Sicarius, and that when she had moved the stars themselves to try and bring reason to him, it was her hand that ended his life. It was her fault of course, she was foolish enough to think that her loyalty meant more to him, and so had gone alone to face him. The scene continued to play out in her mind, of the crack of the pistol firing and the suddenness of the bullet impacting her shoulder. Her hand came up immediately, her fingers tightening around the pistol and pulling the trigger as soon as the barrel lined up with his head. Slowly the bullet left the chamber, spiraling towards him as she swore he looked at peace. His lips parted as he spoke a few short words before the bullet shattered his skull. A slight crack shook her from her memories as she loosened her grip on the pen in her hand, looking down to see it damaged beyond use. "Damn you." She whispered, tossing the pen down and holding her head in her hands. "Just.... Stay dead will you?"

Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements. - Mammon, Paradise Lost The Maalik System, in orbit of Cocytus IV, on the bridge of the Imperatrix-class battleship Demiurge... To the Uninitiated, the bridge would have been almost silent. The gentle hum of rebreathing systems, the muffled rustling of a Perfecti's vestments, the occasional groan of ancient metal as it adjusted to changing gravitic stress, these were the only noises a reprobate would hear. To the Initiate, however, to one who'd been Opened to the noosphere, the bridge was a cacophony of sound. The Call to Obeisance rang out loudly along the holy neuro-networks, marking the hour, and commands from Thearchs and Perfecti to the lesser castes zipped along info-cascades in flashes of blue and violet. Mental Castrati filled the neurosphere with hymns to the Immanences, and behind it all, of course, was the constant, low chatter of the Demiurge itself, an endless stream of esoteric wisdom (or nonsense, depending on one's religious persuasion). Very few, even among the Perfecti, could interpret the ship's augurs and counsels, or could truly understand the wishes of the Immanent Divines. Among the elect, only Arius had communed with them as equals. And Arius was gone. Some of the Thearchs and Prognosticators had interpreted the Emperor Arius' physical destruction at Archangel as his ascension to full communion with the universe. Others postulated that the apparent defeat was a clever contrivance, and that he was still alive, preparing in secret for his triumphant return and war against the heathen Valyrians. Magister Kalix thought such speculation foolish, though he was careful to mask his thoughts- as well as the pit of despair growing within him ever since Archangel- from prying minds on the noosphere. He swept down the center aisle of the bridge, black and gold raiment billowing out behind him. The glowing crimson slits of his optical appendages flashed as he approached the Altar, sending out the appropriate security codes and indications of pious submission. *Kalix* the not-quite-a-voice of the Void Hierophant echoed throughout the noosphere as the Magister approached. The Heirophant sat, if that was the word, behind the bridge's central altar, his flesh-body barely visible amid a tangle of wires and data-feeds rising from his Command Throne like twisting branches from some grotesque robotic tree. *Exalted Superior* said Kalix, bowing. *I am familiar with your wishes, Kalix. It was unnecessary for you to bring your flesh-vessel here* *Of course, Exalted One, but my need is urgent. The course we are taking is dangerous* *Unseemliness. Your continued questions are unseemly.* *My prognosticators have corroborated my initial Dissent. Ravenstein will invade Celestine. The current attacks in the Charon Belt are a diversion. You must reinforce the orbital defenses at Celestine, Exalted One. Create a trap for Valyrian arrogance.* *Displeasure is expressed, Kalix. I have taken the Augurs and already communicated the Immanences' wishes on the matter. My fleet shall reinforce the Charon defenses, the Malebrance and escorts will move to Virgilius, where they can reinforce either Celestine or move to support my operations in the Charon Belt.* *This is dividing our forces moste dangerously, Exalted One. Ravenstein has contracted with mercenaries and made allies of xenos. We-* *Your line of query is terminated, Kalix. I will permit no more of this. Celestine is most strongly held and will not fall. I have taken measures to ensure it. Our Anansi sellswords are even now moving to reinforce the garrison fleet. Continue to question me and I shall have you assigned a Penance.* Magister Kalix ceased his data-stream with a bow, turned on his heel, and strode away from the Hierophant's grisly throne. In the dark corners of his mind still closed to the noosphere, he began to plan. ---- The Orbital Fortress Invincible, in orbit of Odros, Valyrian System.... After the Briefing... Unseen, or at least ignored by most, Vice-Admiral Korwitz stalked through the crowd, having had enough of mass of speculation and socialization. He disliked human contact, and the admirality were still too human for his tastes. There were several pressing issues on his mind, and he intended to speak to Ravenstein of them alone, without a flock chattering of halfwits and courtiers buzzing around the room. The Grand Duke had retired to his solar, the count knew, to tinker with plans and play with numbers. His efficiency was in large part why Korwitz held him in such high esteem. Korwitz arrived at the entrance to ducal solar, an ornately carved wooden door guarded by two Gn'Mok centurions. A quick request to see the Duke was all it took for him to gain access; he was a frequent visitor to this office, frequently consulting and advising his liege in matters of strategy. Entering the chamber, he could see the Duke at his desk glancing over a pile of data slates, a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth, trickling bluish smoke. The room resembled a gentleman's study more than a warlord's office, filled with bookcases, mounted trophies of old hunts, and even a bar cart. Behind the duke, a window offered a magificent view of the planet Odros below them, continents blackened and scarred from invasion and counter-invasion during the Jihad. The site of the Grand Duke's greatest victory, one of the bloodiest battles in Valyrian history. The Vice-Admiral advanced, hearing the heavy doors close behind him. The Grand Duke looked up for a brief moment as he saw Korwitz approach. "My lord," Count Korwitz rasped as he saluted, with the harsh voice one has when their vocal cords are replaced by machinery. "May I have a word? There are some matters I feel I must discuss with you." "Korwitz," said von Ravenstein, plucking the pipe from his mouth. The Grand Duke's green eyes slid over the half-human admiral; his face remained slack and unreadable. "Capturing Celestine conventionally is folly," Korwitz said bluntly, his organic eye staring at his superior, his synthetic whirling furiously around, scanning the room. "Who knows how far the jihadists have indoctrinated its people? If we take this world and leave the inhabitants alive, they will simply be waiting to stab us in the back. I believe that the optimal solution would be to liquidate the native elements from orbit. We have more than enough stock of Agent BE-2335 aboard the Ragnarok for the task, I assure you." Ravenstein snorted. "Not this again," he said, raising his eyes to meet the vice-admiral's chilly glare, "I am not inclined to repeat myself, Korwitz, but let me say this one last time: the issue is not whether you have enough of the godsdamned virus. It's whether I want to kill four billion people outright at the start of this operation. I know such considerations are trivial to you. Do you know for whom they are not? The King. The noisemakers in the Diet. Your direct superior, Rutherford. And most importantly, there are millions of conscripts on that planet that I need to take the rest of the system." von Ravenstein pushed himself to his feet, circled his desk and approached the looming cyborg, who stared silently. "A time may come, Korwitz," the Duke said in his low, flat voice "in the course of this farrago we've been embarked upon, when I will have need of the horrifying weapons you've been-illegally- stocking away on that floating tomb of yours, but I will not allow what will be my greatest triumph, the greatest triumph in the history of Valyrian arms since Ovo's Victory and Peniol- to be marred by your bloody quest for vengeance." Vice-Admiral Korwitzs bionic eye stopped swirling, and focused on Ravenstein. " This soft-heartedness will cost us many lives for centuries to come," he rasped, "but of course... it is your decision to make... efficient or no. However, the presence of xenos in our expedition is not only a vulgar taint in what will be the great crusade of humanity, but it is also irresponsible. These... mercenaries will betray us, I can promise you that. Why wait for the inevitable? The coming battle will be chaotic. Who would question it if, in the mayhem, perhaps some stray shots were to destroy their ships?" The Grand Duke exhaled a twisting cloud of bluish smoke through his nose, which hung around his head like a spectral halo. He walked over the to bar cart and poured himself a Xossan brandy, neat. "You don't drink, do you Korwitz? I don't understand abstainers." The Vice-Admiral glanced at the cup with disdain. "Drinking is addiction, addiction is weakness." He returned his gaze to the Duke, replying chillingly: "And weakness must be purged, wherever it is found." "Korwitz," said Ravenstein in his placid, quiet tones. He spoke like a man commenting on the weather, "If your rage becomes a liability to my operations, I will purge you without blinking. I have sent greater men to the airlock." Ravenstein looked down at his glass and back at the glowering, half-human officer. He took another slow sip. "Half the command staff on this fortress despises you, and the other half are terrified of you. Rutherford, it will interest you to learn if you haven't already, gets a tidy pension from the Office Unspoken to keep tabs on the likes of you and I, and a sprinkling of other ambitious and clever officers of whom His Majesty is frightened. I don't despise you, Korwitz, and I certainly have nothing to fear from you. That makes me the closest thing to a friend I think you're likely to have in this life. You'll notice that I've let you keep your clandestine stockpiles of virus-bombs, and the rather more exotic horrors you have stowed away. If you are ever going to get the vengeance you seek, it will be at my side, not by disrupting my war." "My Lord," Count Korwitz replied in his usual cold, dead voice, "Of course I submit to your, ah ,wisdom. If that's all, I must ensure that the Ragnarok is ready for the invasion. By your leave, sire." [collab w. Vahir]