A single dropship screamed through the turbulent skies of Crucible; its surface still searing hot from its plunge from orbit. It was an older model - a Dremyte-class troop carrier - with the xeno-skull sigil of the 51st Tagma emblazoned upon its hull. The dropship, upon reaching a certain altitude and atmospheric density, unfolded its winglets from within recessions in the hull and began its glide through the ashen skies of Crucible.

Captain Brelgam Narmassus stood inside the cockpit, overseeing the drop over the pilot's shoulder. Through the windshield of the cockpit, Captain Narmassus surveyed the dismal hellscape that was the horizon of Crucible. Against the perpetually-overcast skies, massive thunderheads roiled in the distance. Constant flashes of bright blue lightning from within the sheer wall of black stormclouds gave proof to the intensity of the approaching storm. Below the clouds, a desolate wasteland of soot and black glass rolled on endlessly to the horizon. Directly below the dropship, stormwater churned violently through muddy ravines that coursed their way through the ruins of some xeno city that had been melted from orbit when the Imperial Authority had originally glassed this planet a decade ago. The half-collapsed structures directly below unnerved the Captain. Despite the fact that the indigenous race that built these structures had long been exterminated, it was quite possible that some tribe of degenerates had taken residence in the ruins since then.

"Open the doors," Captain Narmassus ordered. The pilot acknowledged with the flip of a switch on his console. The cabin depressurized with a violent hiss as the side doors of the dropship swung open. Crucible's cold, humid air howled violently through the cabin, causing the Captain's red cape to flutter wildly and prompting the ten legionaries under his command to fix air masks over their noses and mouths. Terraformation of Crucible progressed at a geologic rate, and while the planet's atmosphere was now somewhat breathable, strenuous activities such as combat necessitated self-contained air supplies. The soldiers moved toward the open doors and with rehearsed efficiency drew down pintle-mounted laser cannons from the ceiling and pointed them out the doors toward the ruins below.

"There should be no colonists out this far," the Captain declared as he affixed his own mask. "Kill anything that moves."

In the years following the Imperial Authority's extermination of the indigenous aliens, warlords and pirates had discovered Crucible and settled within its ruined xeno structures. The 51st Tagma had rooted out the large pirate settlements and executed the pirate warlords, but even five anni after the initial crackdown bands of pirates still remained in the unsettled reaches of this world. With their starships confiscated or destroyed and a constant Imperial Authority presence in orbit, those remaining pirates could no longer strike out against worlds on the Empire's fringes. Though they were stranded on Crucible, remnant pirates still posed a threat. Marauders on speederbikes would sometimes cross the ash plains to pillage small colonial settlements, and the occasional potshot from portable anti-orbital artillery pieces suggested that those pirates that remained were well armed and dangerous. And so when a recent orbital scan detected a significant energy anomaly on Crucible's surface emanating from within a dense cluster of xeno ruins, the possibility of the cause being pirate activity necessitated investigation by forces of the 51st.

Captain Narmassus had been dispatched to these sorts of events enough to know it was probably nothing. Often, it was some alien construct running on auxiliary battery power sending out a sort of warning signal or something equally benign. Those pirates that had survived five anni under Imperial Authority occupation knew enough to keep a low profile. But it was not inconceivable that the energy source might be pirates charging large anti-orbital artillery for an attack on the Lucifer. As such, the Captain and his cohort of legionnaires were ready to eliminate anything they encountered with ruthless efficiency.

The Dremyte skirted the leading edge of the thunderstorm. Even over the sound of the wind screaming through the cabin, the legionnaires could feel each tremendous thunderclap in their chests. Narmassus frowned as the billowing thunderheads passed by the open door to his left. Storms on the planet Crucible were exceptionally dangerous; their investigation would have to be hurried lest they be caught in the middle of the tempest.

Through the cockpit, the destination had come into view. A ruined xeno city, with towers half-collapsed in on themselves, radiated out from a giant dome-like fortification that must have once been the city's center. The dome was half-destroyed by an orbital laser strike that had reduced much of the structure to a crater of slag. Despite the extensive damage, much of the fortification was still more-or-less intact, and a large elevator shaft descended far underground from an exposed stretch of the ground floor.

"That's the source of the energy anomaly," the pilot declared, tapping on a screen on his console that flashed wildly before pointing out to the yawning pit. "I'm getting the strongest signal coming from that opening in the ground."

"Then put us down over the pit," the Captain ordered.

"Legionnaires!" The Captain barked as he seized his laser carbine from a rack at the front of the cabin. "Check your jetpacks! Medar, Verim, stay with the the vessel and man the laser cannons! Everyone else, prepare to jump!"

"Aye, Captain!" The legionnaires acknowledged in unison.

The dropship had descended within the ruined alien towers, now just a hundred meters above the rubble and cinder-strewn thoroughfares of the city. Lightning flashes reflected against the burnished metal of the xeno-built buildings as black stormclouds churned menacingly above. As it approached the dome, the pilot pulled back on his joystick, pushing the dropship's snout up toward the sky and slowing the glide to a hover. Captain Narmassus peered out the doors, waiting to see the elevator shaft appear directly below. In the middle of a floor covered with thick rubble, the vertical shaft appeared ten meters beneath his feet, opening into a deep, black abyss.

"Now!" The Captain barked. "Jump!"

Feet-first, Captain Narmassus leapt from the dropship into the darkness of the pit. The red cape fluttered over his head as he and eight of his legionnaires dropped into the blackness. Twenty meters down, the Captain could just barely make out the floor in the dim light from above. Just moments before he would have hit the ground, a jet of fire coughed forth from the thrusters of his back-mounted jetpack, casting flashes of orange-red light on the walls of the vertical shaft. His careening plunge slowed to a gentle descent. The Captain's cape fluttered down behind his back as his boots met Crucible's surface for the first time. His fellow legionnaires touched down around him, riding plumes of fire down to the ground. In the absence of the hiss of their jetpacks, thunder rumbled in the distance as the roar of the dropship's engines faded into the distance. They were alone in unfriendly territory now.

"Move deliberately but do not tarry," Narmassus said to his legionnaires as he lit the flashlight on his carbine. "Find the source of this anomaly quickly that we may leave this miserable place that much sooner."

The Captain led the cohort down a corridor radiating out from the elevator shaft. Their bootsteps echoed through the hallways of the alien bunker, shadows danced across the walls cast by the flashlights of their carbines. Every creak or drop of water from the ceiling froze the imperial soldiers in their tracks, prompting them to take firing positions against an imagined ambush by pirates. Each time, it was a false alarm. There was no living thing to be found in this ruin.

At the far end of the corridor, however, the soldiers saw a light. A sickly-green glow against the absolute blackness of the ruin. They approached cautiously, gathering on either side of a bulkhead door opened wide for some inexplicable reason. The legionnaires burst forth, scanning the chamber beyond with their carbines for any sign of movement. When they saw no evidence of any living being, they surveyed this new chamber more thoroughly. It was a large rotunda, whose outer walls were lined with a dense network of alien conduit. Dense coils of conduit and umbilical tubes gurgling with strange, liquid ran from the outer walls and ceiling of the rotunda to the source of that pale, green glow. Situated atop a pillar of coiled conduit and umbilical was a perfect sphere of silvery-gray metal perhaps a meter and a half in diameter. From some source the legionnaires could not discern, a pale green glow pulsed rhythmically from the sphere, giving the impression of a breathing creature.

"By Ankh-Sah, what is that?" One of the legionnaires exclaimed.

"A xeno construct," the Captain declared, his eyes fixated upon the glowing sphere. "I have seen many in my time on this world. The indigenous savages built many such devices, but I have never seen one like this. Something about this one is different, but I do not know why. This one unnerves me."

The Captain lowered his carbine, and drew closer to the construct. The machine seemed to respond in kind. The rate of its pulsing glow grew faster, as if excited by the approaching man. The eyes of the legionnaires widened as they witnessed the structure seeming to react."

"Is it alive?"

"No," Captain Narmassus affirmed, running his fingers against the conduit coils running up the base of the structure. "It's a machine. It must be."

"A thinking machine?" A legionnaire asked.

Stunned silence overcame the rotunda as that implication dawned on the imperial soldiers. Man had not built thinking machines in thousands of anni, not since the War against the Machines. Attempting to build such a machine was punishable by death, and the science of building such devices had thus been lost for millennia.

But perhaps this race of xeno had no such prohibition.

"Legionnaires, stand guard here while I recall the dropship," Captain Narmassus ordered. "We must notify Governor Hellefax of this finding at once."

Emanuel reclined in his high-quality leather chair, the material fashioned from a rare and endangered xeno creature from the wild planet of Dhartnick. He sampled the glass of wine he held as he remained deep in thought. The rooms lighting was dim save for the projector that gave a view of the black expanse outside the ship. The stars shining through the black looked like a sea of pearl-like gems. Emanuel always found the sight of space to be truly beautiful in its own right. There was a certain mystique that beckoned to one's imagination-- that made the unknown so attractive to the minds of men.

The CEO of the Aurora Foundation would have preferred a starport window proper. However, the Repulse class-frigate was not a mere luxury craft. His brother-- the liege lord of his house-- had provided the ship and insisted on its use over Emanuel's personal starship. He had to wonder why-- given that the Gara expanse was hardly known for its piracy, well patrolled as it was. There was a light ding from the other side of the room from the doors comms unit which caught his attention suddenly.

"You may enter," his eyes never left the starport holo-projector, his chair facing away from the door as it was.

The portal slid open with a hydraulic hiss before the attendant entered and spoke, "my lord, we are just one void-leap from Akamar. Once we enter, it should be no more than four hours time before we can dock with The Eight Rings."

Emanuel nodded to himself, "I shall take the time to rest then, awaken me one hours time before docking."

The man saluted clasping a fist to his chest, "as you wish my lord."

---

---

The metal corridor echoed powerfully with heavy footsteps as three men walked the spacious hall. Temijen Blackwall escorted by two knights of the order, bedecked in their exquisite armor, walked with determined purpose through the passages of Praag. The dark blue of his long coat shifted with each step as his cane reverberated off the grated steel. At a junction in the hall, the trio stepped into a circular lift before they ascended swiftly.

The elevator stopped suddenly, the sudden halt causing Lord Temijen's stomach to lurch slightly. He frowned, even having used these lifts a hundred times he never did quite get used to their speed. The room he found himself served as the Orders Combat and Information Center, oft referred to as the CIC by most. The place already was occupied by several templar-commanders and among them was one of Temijen's most loyal vassals. Odo of House Nightingale who served as High Lord of Dawn's End.

Those present immediately saluted as Temijen entered and approached the center of the room. There was a significant rectangular table in the middle of the chamber which was, in fact, a holoprojector and communication suite. Currently, it displayed the brilliant light blue image of a planet. Stopping at the edge of the table Temijen gave a nod-- signaling to his subordinates to be at ease. He then turned his full attention to the display as he rested both hands on his cane.

"Slichi 7K7V," spoke one of the commanders. "If our intel is any good, we may have actually found him."

"Has it been confirmed as of yet?" Temijen responded.

Barat the Hawk, the Baron of Vekkotish, shook his head, "we sent a forward detachment, but we have not yet gotten a sighting. However..."

"There have been reports that Imperial Bureaucratic loyalist have been sighted in the system. Given how out of the way the system is and the lack of strategic importance..."

"Prince Grerenth may very well be their target," Temijen added, "even if that is not the cause I don't like the coincidence."

"Agreed, milord," a templar-commander voiced, Temijen recalled he was a scion of House Byran. "I fear our initial team will be ill-equipped in dealing with the matter at this junction. Our nearest battlegroup commanded by High Lord Victor should be close enough to lend support if needed."

"We might tip our hand if we send even a small fleet, he may have to settle with a token vanguard as to not attract attention despite the importance of the mission," the speaker was the tactically minded lord Thubet.

Temijen paused a moment in thought before saying, "send a battlecruiser and two frigates, Slichi is a temple world so our presence should not be seen as strange. We will need to move quickly if we are to gain an advantage here. If both we and the IB have learned of the prince's location, I have little doubt others will have learned of him as well."

Xaxus Prime, the Grand Ducal Palace, Several Months Before the Death of the Emperor

"Move deliberately but do not tarry," said the Grand Duke conversationally- to his soup. "Anomalies abound. Here, there, everywhere, anomalies abound. Move deliberately but do not tarry."

"Now now, your Magnificence," cooed Richmul, a smiling little man in servant's attire, patting the frail Ducal arm, "Don't fuss, just eat your soup."

"Anomalies," said the Duke, blinking, "moving deliberately in the dark."

"I'm sure they are," said Richmul, holding the soup spoon up to the old Duke's spittle-flecked lips, "Now have something to eat."

The Countess and the sorcerer were not paying His Magnificence the Grand Duke of Far Valyrius (nor Richmul the attendant) any attention, though they were seated just to his right along the long and otherwise empty dining table.

The Countess was in the habit of taking dinner with her uncle weekly, out of respect and love, but was not in the habit of giving any acknowledgement to his increasing derangement. He had been a great man, had done much to improve the fortunes of their House and bring prosperity to the Valyrian System, and she felt it would dishonor him, in some way, were she to concede the reality of his diminished mind and spirit.

"Has there been any word," she asked the sorcerer seated next to her, "in our matter regarding the Sefts?"

"No," he replied, folding be-ringed fingers beneath his many chins. Enormously fat and deathly pale, enrobed in fabulous vermillion silks, with lips stained blue from petrichor, Vermiculo Nox looked like something out of a bizarre dream, "I took the augurs this morning and no message has come through. Perhaps they are sending a courier ship."

The Countess sipped her wine. She was dressed in a white military tunic lacking any medals or indication of rank.

"I do have news, however," said Nox, "from our associates in the Scarlet Reach. Apparently a cartel based on the Bureaucracy world of Essos is peddling a substance they're calling Synthetic Petrichor and are planning on going into mass-production within the Annum."

"You tell me this now? Here? This is extremely serious," snapped the Countess, "You magi have always said fabricating it was impossible!"

"Your Excellency," said Nox, chuckling slightly, "Do not be perturbed. I have dealt with many pretender-substances, none of them act as promised...how could they? Without the insect and the fungus, there is no...well the details do not matter. It is impossible to recreate. The Subtle Voice, believe me, has tried for centuries. This is certainly an attempt by the Bureaucracy and their criminal pawns to goad us."

"Still," said the Countess, her eyes narrowing, "This cannot be tolerated."

"Of course not," said Nox, "Fortunately our friends in the Reach have as much interest in preserving our monopoly as we do, and they have assured me the Cartel's days are numbered- Bureaucracy support or no."

"Bureaucracy! Ha!" shouted the Grand Duke. Nox smiled indulgently while the Countess took another gulp of wine.

"Bureaucracy's days are numbered, they tried to strangle me, strangle my house and my rights for centuries they've been doing it! But soon they'll be strangled NO! torn to pieces in the coming storm torn to pieces by their own ambitions. Will not survive the crucible." The Duke was half-standing now, his eyes fixed on his niece. He swatted Richmul away and pointed a crooked finger at the Countess, "Move deliberately but do not tarry. There are anomalies here. Anomalies abound."

Richmul gently slid a syringe into the Ducal neck and the old man relaxed backwards into his chair.

"Apologies, Excellency," muttered Richmul to the Countess, bowing.

"Anomalies abound," murmured the Grand Duke, "monsters abound."

Estate of the Trustee, A Property On The Palace

“They all agree? You're certain?” She drummed her fingers against the old table, her brow creased in thought as her eyes bored holes through the messenger.

He'd withered somewhat under her gaze, but to the boys credit he'd managed to keep his composure, “Yes Ma'am, enough of the Vacare agree that there can be no question. Our understanding of the situation is incomplete but there's little doubt that a coup has been attempted and bureaucracy conspirators have sized the capital; it appears what remains of the royal family has scattered to the winds. We've instructed the Vacare Voidcasters to inform us of any developments, but anyone with spies in the capital will know what has transpired in broad terms.”

Amelia turned her gaze to Hadrian, the worried look on his wrinkled visage belying the excitement in his eyes. She didn't like that image in the slightest, but she listened carefully as he spoke, “It seems we have no time to spare. With the Emperor dead and no clear successor to speak of the Authority's command structure will be in chaos, but if I know our resident Admiral she'll side with whoever happens to be sending her orders from the capital. Never was a patriot, that Thomond. If the bureaucracy gives her the word, and they will, she'll seize this system and everything in it. All this family has built will be lost in a moment.”

His eyes narrowed and he turned to Lucius, “We need to act before that happens, how many captains are in our pocket, brother?”

The Trustees brother was almost a decade younger than his liege, but the resemblance was enough that if not for the nearly translucent white of Hadiran's hair they could have been mistaken for one another. His face remained impassive as he considered the question, eventually grimacing before he replied, “Ten we pay and have dirt on, another six just taking the money. One more we don't need to pay; so seventeen in all. They command a little less than a fifth of the ships in dock between them, not nearly enough to fight off the rest if Thomond does what you suspect. I recommend we lock down the Eight Rings, it wont hold forever but if we transfer our security forces from city three we should be able to seize the bulk of the Authority fleet before the remainder override or destroy the docking clamps. If our loyalists are waiting for them when they do we should be able to prevent them from causing any damage or getting away.”

Amelia spoke up in alarm, “If we turn on the Authority without provocation we'll be rebels as sure as the Bureaucracy! I see and respect the viewpoint of the Trustee but we're talking about detaining thousands of Imperial sailors and soldiers, not to mention killing senior officers and destroying ships in open combat. Even we only suspect Thomond is a turncoat. The rest of the Authority won't believe us without solid evidence. We don't get to back down from something like this.”

Maximus had been silent until now, but cast a warning look towards Amelia as he interjected, “Watch your tone Advisor. Besides, the Trustee is right. The Seft family wont survive this if we lay down, Thomonds nature forces our hand. However, you make a valid point. If we commit to this course of action we will have to take a side, and quickly. We can detain the sailors, we can impound their ships, but Authority vessels are gene locked and without their compliance those ships are wasted space. We need those men and women, and the only way to gain their loyalty is to appear to be on the right side of all of this. I recommend we find one of those wayward royals soon, or we'll be all but defenceless when the Bureaucracy or one of the noble houses comes knocking.”

Hadrian nodded, “Just so. As for rebelling Amelia, that implies there is anything to rebel against. For the moment the Empire doesn't exist as anything more than an idea, and we have only ourselves to count on, ourselves and our kin. Lucius, inform your contacts of the plan and dispatch our security forces. After all,” The old man smiled serenely, “We don't get to back down from this.”

Amelia's hand stilled for the first time since the messenger had spoken. Well, she supposed that was how it was going to be. With a sigh she leaned back and watched Lucius excuse himself. The Emperor was dead, and even she hadn't a clue as to who the legal heir would be now, not that it really mattered. As long as the dynasty was preserved the Empire would be whole. For now she'd watch the move that would decide her, and her children's fate on the holographic display that flickered to life above the old table. She could only hope Thomond would be caught unawares.

Octavia Ann Station, One Of The Eight Rings

There had been whispers of some sort of attack on the capital all day, and Jenny had been soaking them in from her usual spot at her favourite drinking hole. If she was going to get deployed against rebels, human rebels with gravity cannons and energy projectors, she was going to get right and proper drunk beforehand. Oh she knew most soldiers had to quell a proper rebellion at least once in their careers, but she'd been hopeful that squishing insects from orbit was all the action she'd have to see. Never hurts to be optimistic does it?

She'd long since dismissed the waves of shouts coming from outside as more soldiers working off their anxiety in that most time honoured fashion, beating the shit out of each other. At least she had until the crack of an electrolaser being discharged outside the bars window resulted in her spilling half a glass of beer down her shirt. Worse yet she was wearing her uniform. Fuck, that wouldn't go down well with the brass.

The cold beer jolted her out of the nice fuzz that'd settled onto her more than two drinks ago and she stood up to see three corporate personnel in riot gear barging into her beloved establishment and cracking the head of the poor private that tried to stop them. Had the infantry detachment started a riot? That didn't fit, there weren't enough corporate goons on any of the rings to handle something like that, it'd have been MP's breaking it up.

Which lead her conveniently back to the subject of rebels. She cursed inwardly, or at least was under the impression it had been inwardly, when she saw the riot police cuffing every Authority sailor and soldier in the bar. With the acrobatic finesse of a beached whale she swung into action by swinging a chair into the bars window. She tumbled out of the window, successfully avoiding the largest pieces of glass and gracefully escaping with only minor lacerations as electrolaser shots flashed past, missing her by inches thanks to her uncoordinated and intoxicated swagger.

All around the street, and having looked up all around the bloody station, corporate thugs were bashing heads and stunning Authority personnel with those damn electrolasers. If Jenny could make it to her cruiser she'd be safe, Thomond would have this cleaned up in a few hours, crafty bat that she was.

Or at least, that was the thought before the flash of a breached reactor core scarcely a thousand clicks away blinded everyone on the station. Jenny didn't have much time to process that before another flash and a searing pain in her ass cheek put her to sleep.

The Void always reminded Castantius of an ocean. Not the warm shallow seas of his childhood home on Sanctuary, but something far colder, deeper, and darker. The star lanes were currents of warm water threading their way across that ocean, and he and every other ship in the galaxy were swimmers winding their way along those currents. Castantius was a good swimmer, always had been. Navigating star lanes had come easily to him, startlingly so. He was perhaps the most powerful Vacare in the Concordat, or so they told him. He tried not to think about it. Powerful Vacare tended to get arrogant, over-confident, and careless. Castantius had no intention of allowing such folly to claim him. Careless ships got killed.

Still, that knowledge occasionally tugged at the edge of his mind. They said powerful Vacare could dive into the ocean, completely submerge themselves in the Void and step across the stars in an instant. Could Castantius do that? Could he resurface if he did? What would he find down there?

He shook off the curiosity and returned his thoughts to navigation, effortless though it may be. The tendency for a mind to wander remained in him even now. It remained in all Concorded he’d ever met, though they did it more efficiently than baseline humans. Concorded did everything more efficiently. Their brains simply functioned faster as a result of their implants. This speed was limited by the ability of their brains to disperse heat, another thing the implants helped with, but Castantius’ brain was surrounded by liquid coolant all the time, granting him even greater speed over his more organic brethren. He could navigate the Void, monitor his sensors, regulate his powerplants, and let his mind wander all at the same time without any apparent loss in efficiency. He hoped to further enhance his capabilities someday soon; Sendema had told him she was working on designs for neurally integrated secondary processors…

As if on queue, a voice transmitted itself into his speech centers through his cortical network implant: “What are you thinking about?”
A thought fired off into the ship, tracing the transmission back to its source in an instant and displaying a holographic avatar of Castantius beside the person who had sent it. Of course it was Ademnon, and of course he was on the observation deck, staring into the flickering play of light and darkness as Castantius bobbed along the surface of the Void.

The avatar shrugged. “Just your rival, and some promises she made me,” he replied absently. Predictably, Ademnon scowled, and Castantius smirked as his avatar spoke again. “That easy to irritate you these days I see.”
“I suppose it is,” Ademnon said out loud, a peculiarity of his. “She is indeed irritating. Generations of secrecy have served us well. Why she’s pushing for open conflict, I just don’t understand.”
“Secrecy can only last so long. Conflict is inevitable, and with the Imperium in chaos, now’s the best opportunity we’re likely to get.”
Ademnon rolled his eyes. “The best opportunity to get ourselves and a lot of innocents killed, in my opinion. You don’t really agree with her do you?”
“No, not fully, or I’d flush you out an airlock this instant”
Ademnon chuckled audibly, then fell silent for a while. “How far out are we?” he asked at last. Another peculiarity of Ademnon’s; if he’d been tapped into Castantius’s datanet, he would’ve known they were a scant few minutes from the void-limit of Concord Dawn’s star. Instead, he insisted on this ponderous back and forth verbal dialogue. Castantius would never know why.
“We’re close, less than 3 minutes to the limit,” he replied dutifully. Ademnon may have had his peculiarities, but Castantius still held a great deal of respect for the old war horse who had effectively founded their civilization.

Castantius abruptly burst through the star’s void-limit, entering the island of safety that every star projected around it. Practiced as he was with the transition, Castantius flawlessly engaged his real-space engines at the perfect time, gently easing himself out of the void. The ocean metaphor struck him again; he made the transit like the neo-otters of Sanctuary, completely at home in either environment as well as the boundary between them. Less skilled ships made the transit like hexawalruses, smashing onto the beach then laboriously hauling themselves up onto dry land. Castantius’ avatar smiled at the thought.

The traditional challenge from Concord Dawn’s patrols came in, and Castantius passed it along to Captain Leander so that she could reply with her verification codes. It was a potentially awkward bit of protocol, since Castantius himself was actually a Fleet Admiral, vastly outranking Leander. However, like the Imperial Authority whose rank structure Ademnon had brought to the Concordat, a Fleet Admiral had no business in the actual running of a ship. Castantius was technically a guest aboard himself, responsible for coordinating fleet actions. He was capable of assuming direct control of all ship systems at Captain Leander’s request, but during routine operations, his only ship-specific function was Void navigation.

Castantius! Captain Leander’s voice came to his CNI over the network sounding distinctly alarmed. Case DeepMind! Authorization Leander-Sigma-Five-Five-Five!

It had been 1.3 seconds since he’d forwarded the comm challenge to the Captain. It took 0.1 seconds for Castantius to receive the authorization for Case DeepMind, and another 0.1 seconds to bring his realspace engines and inertial sumps to full power. He shot ahead in space under full burn, subjecting his crew to a thoroughly uncomfortable 10 gravities even through the sumps. Even as he moved, Castantius took another fraction of a second to examine the comm message himself. It was not the standard challenge he’d assumed it to be, but a desperate warning from the nearest perimeter station. Unscheduled and irregular FTL signature inbound, EVADE

Castantius rechecked Captain Leander’s logic. Nothing could have followed him so closely through the void without his knowledge unless it had been fully submerged in the void. Only one ship both knew where Concord Dawn was and could fully descend into the void. Leander had indeed been correct to activate case DeepMind. It was Valda.

Case DeepMind handed full control of a ship to its Mind. It was incredibly useful in individual skirmishes, but humans and therefore Concorded did not have an appropriate herding instinct to make it useful in fleet operations. A ship under Mind control could act faster than it could under crew control, but it could not reliably co-ordinate its purely reflexive actions with other ships. A fleet in case DeepMind was a fleet broken and routed. A ship in case DeepMind, however, was a wild animal with very, very sharp teeth. Nothing short of case DeepMind would give Castantius a chance to survive against Valda.

Then she arrived. She exploded from the Void, transit energy flickering across her blackened hull, arching between bizarre spurs and projections, across holes and damaged sectors. She was half again as large as Castantius, an experimental Concordat Dreadnought gone wrong. Castantius was the most powerful Vacare in the Concordat only because Valda was no longer among their number.

Castantius wasted no time trying to talk to her. He’d tried that before and almost been killed for his trouble. Valda was well and truly insane, only replying to transmissions with tortured screams. His shields had come up in the instant after his engines had activated, and his weapons shortly thereafter. They had locked onto Valda in the exact moment she had begun to emerge from the Void, and she was not quite fully settled into realspace when he opened fire. The range was close. His railguns fired their molten ferrofluids, appearing as brilliant beams of light as they seared into Valda’s hull. Conversely, his true energy weapons, the ion beams, were completely invisible until they impacted. Valda’s shields were up before Castantius’ missiles reached her, and the damage that had been done to her hull seemed to do little to slow her down. She leaped to full speed, somehow outpacing Castantius despite her size, lashing out with missiles and railguns of her own. She only used the railguns - older models firing solid slugs - because of how close she was. Valda had been built as a missile-intensive ship, and she’d favoured the long range firepower ever since. The railguns were unchanged since the day she’d launched, as were her missile launchers. The missiles themselves, however, were a new and deadly surprise every time she was seen.

A particularly nasty surprise today, Castantius thought in the instant between when the missiles somehow punched through his shields and when they impacted his hull. There was pain; he felt it as the missiles struck home. There had to be pain in case DeepMind, or his adrenaline flooded brain might well overlook critical damage. Castantius duly noted the damage to his armour and outer hull in the seconds it took for his weapons to cycle. His normal graser point defence clusters would be insufficient today; it was critical Valda’s missiles be shot down before they could bypass his shields. Fortunately, whatever allowed them to do that had taken up space that would have gone to the warhead, reducing the killing power of the nevertheless deadly missiles. Castantius loaded all of his own launchers with counter-missiles, and held his ion beams for point defense. Those beam mounts wouldn’t do anything close in, but if he kept them targeted at Valda’s launchers and broadened their containment fields, they could easily take down a few missiles each at longer ranges. It would affect his offensive power, but Castantius wasn’t looking to kill Valda, just hold her off until help arrived.

That help was closing fast. Three corvettes on outer system patrol were rapidly approaching, but Castantius shooed them away with a thought. They would be easy targets for the rogue dreadnought. Better they wait for the cruiser squadron coming in from the mid-system before engaging. Five cruisers would tip the balance definitively, and Castantius was confident Valda would run before they arrived. If not, the battleships being dispatched from the inner system would scare her off, or kill her if she stood and fought. Castantius just had to hold on for a bit.

Valda’s next salvo screamed from her launchers. Ion beams cut swathes through them and counter-missiles launched to meet them, graviton warheads pulling Valda’s missiles towards them before detonating and wiping out more. Grasers fired desperately at the remaining few, until only one missile made it past Castantius’ shields, spending its fury against his armour as he rolled to meet the impact. It meant deviating from his least time course towards help, but if he lost an engine, he’d lose time anyways, and they were pointed directly at Valda.

And then Castantius had an idea. His railguns continued to spend their fury against Valda’s shields, loaded with electrified ordinance in an attempt to disrupt her defences, but with the weight of his fire devoted to point defence, they weren’t likely to get through on their own. Castantius watched the next missile salvo come, doing his best to intercept as much of it as he could, but this time two missiles got through, pounding his armour and melting through his outer hull. With great theatricality, Castantius sputtered his engines before shutting them down, letting Valda race up to meet him. He held his fire for a moment, then resumed it at reduced efficiency.

Valda piled on even more speed to catch up. Of course she would. As far as her deranged mind could tell, Castantius had no engines, and was back under crew control. That meant severe damage, possibly damage to his brain itself. Valda fed on the psychic emissions of Vacare. That was the theory anyway. In all her attacks that the Concordat had ever heard of, she only took the Vacare of a ship, or the cloned brains that powered their precog engines. What she actually wanted was petrichor, the Concordat knew that much. She was hopelessly addicted. But petrichor was hard to find and heavily guarded, so leading minds of the Concordat theorized she harvested the brains of Vacare, plopped them in jars, and tortured them until they eventually died, feeding on their agony in place of the substance she craved. So she naturally was very concerned that she might have damaged her prize, Castantius’ brain. And that made her careless. And careless ships got killed.

Her mind reached out, sniffing at Castantius’ like a hound on the hunt, but it was sporadic and intermittent, and he found it easy enough to entice her with falsified pain. Were she not a slave to her addiction, her sensors would have told her the damage she’d inflicted was probably not serious enough to cause engine failure. But Valda came on blindly, no longer firing as she slurped up Castantius’ ersatz emotions. Captain Leander queried him, desperate to know what he was doing, but her logical mind figured it out soon enough and she fell silent, tossing out some panicked distress calls to contribute to the illusion.

Valda was right behind him and starting to dispatch drones when Castantius activated his engines at full power. The fury of a star’s fusion reaction, shaped and directed into a flame of incandescent energy, roared from his engines, punching through Valda’s shields and burning away her forward armour. She screamed, in a way, erratic transmissions bursting out of her, but Castantius ignored them. He turned all his fire on her, blasting away, but she had already turned to run at full speed. He gave chase, thinking for one glorious instant that he might be able to finally put her down. But she was too fast, reaching the void-limit and fully diving in an instant later, down into the depths where Castantius could not follow.

He stopped short of the limit, and returned primary control to Captain Leander and her crew, letting his mind relax, allocating drones to repair duties and other basic tasks. Someday, he would catch Valda and put her down. Someday he would lay his sister to rest.

Commodore Augustine Hellefax sat crosslegged in the command seat at the front of the bridge of the orbiting battlecruiser Lucifer, a glass of purple claret from the garden world of Tarim nestled gently in his left hand. The projector before him displayed the holographic likeness of some civil servant giving his report on terraformation efforts, or lack thereof as these tended to go.

"Additionally," the flickering hologram droned on, "the atmosphere generating-plants have only been running at a capacity of 15 to 23 percent for the past decimester. The supply of nitrogen-rich compounds is just not available. As you are aware, these generators can only produce atmosphere if there is material to burn."

"Then why is there nothing for the generators to burn?" The Commodore asked after a brief sip.

"To be quite frank with you, Governor, I had hoped you would be able to answer that question. My suspicion is that recent storms in the southern badlands have halted efforts at the nitratine quarries; the same storm systems that destroyed 62 percent of our early successional plantings in the southern craterlands we discussed earlier."

"Fair enough," the Commodore sighed. "We will speak again when you have the atmosphere generators running at higher capacity."

"How do you propose I do that, Governor?" The holographic administrator demanded, his ability to hide his frustration clearly failing. "The quarries are flooded. Even if they weren't, the miners won't return to work in those regions because they're afraid of pirate raids. I don't know how to do what you ask of me!"

"That is your duty. Figure it out." Before the administrator could reply, the Commodore tapped his finger on a control panel on the right armrest of his seat. The colonial administrator's hologram disappeared into a cloud of flickering static before the projector went dark.

"How dreadfully tiresome," the Commodore groaned as he took another sip of his wine.

Commodore Hellefax spun his seat around, looking through the panoramic windshield at the very front of the bridge. Out on the horizon, the hazy gray atmosphere met the pitch blackness of space in a fuzzy line of grayish-blue. Some four hundred kilometers below him, through the transparent flooring beneath the command seat, the ash-stained, crater-pocked surface of Crucible rolled by. The past five anni had been so dreadfully tiresome. For five anni Commodore Hellefax had been relegated to occupation of this laser-blasted cinder, charged with turning this graveyard of a planet into a habitable world and keeping pirates from regaining control of it. Such a charge - Hellefax was convinced - was beneath a Commodore of the Imperial Authority. It would be better to simply pawn this hellish world off onto some pauper noble and be done with it. His superiors surely knew this as well; Hellefax was convinced that he was assigned to Crucible as some cruel, undeserved punishment.

"Bastards resent my noble birth," Hellefax grumbled to himself in between sips of Tarim claret. "It's the only reason they keep me in exile here, charged with cleaning this shitheap of a planet."

In a bout of fury, the Commodore drew his glass from his lips and threw it to the floor. The glass shattered instantly against the transparent floor, casting a spray of purple wine and glass shards against Crucible's equatorial ash desert.

"They will rue the day they sent me to this damnable world," the Commodore declared. "One day they shall pay dearly for this."

The bulkhead door at the back of the Lucifer's bridge drew upward with a mechanical whine, allowing Captain Brelgam Narmassus to stride into the bridge. Still clad in the combat armor and his soot-soiled cape from his foray onto the surface, the Captain approached the Commodore's seat at the fore of the bridge.

"Captain Narmassus, I am gladdened that your expedition to the surface was brief. I trust you and your cohort found nothing of interest down there."

The Captain's eyes flickered to the puddle of wine and shattered glass on the floor beside the command seat. "Governor, you've spilled your wine,"

"So I have."

"You know how I feel about food and drink on the bridge," Captain Narmassus growled, concealing his frustration behind his emotionless visage. "The instruments on the bridge are extremely sensitive to moisture, and a simple spill could compromise the combat-readiness of... nevermind it," the Captain ending that thought with a shake of the head. "Governor, do we have the bridge to ourselves?"

"Yes. We are alone," Hellefax affirmed.

"And the hologram communicator is off?" The Commodore tapped a button on his armrest once again to confirm the hologram projector was indeed off and that there was no potential for eavesdropping.

"What did you find on the surface, Narmassus?"

"To be frank, Governor, we are not sure precisely what it is. It is a xeno construct, built by the indigenous race that lived on Crucible before the planet was glassed. That much we know. It appears to be some sort of machine."

"Strange xeno constructs are nothing new, Captain. If I recall correctly, most of these energy anomalies are nothing more than xeno machines producing warning signals that their battery supplies are running low. What does this machine do?"

"I believe it could be a thinking machine."

The Commodore leaned forward in his seat upon hearing the Captain's revelation. "A thinking machine? What makes you believe that this construct is a thinking machine."

"It... it sensed my presence. It sensed my approach and it seemed as though it reacted to my being there."

"That does not make it a thinking machine. Reacting does not equate to thinking. A thinking machine is able to generate inputs without living outputs. Your approaching would have only been a living output. Besides, there has not been a thinking machine built in thousands of years. Nobody knows how one would even go about building one anymore."

"Man has not," Captain Narmassus corrected. "Who is to say the indigenous xenos did not build thinking machines before they were destroyed? Whatever this construct might be - thinking or not - I wish to know what you wish done with it. Man-made or xeno-made, a thinking machines is dangerous. I say we take no risks with this construct and destroy it immediately."

"No," Commodore Hellefax denied at once. "Prepare a squadron of dropships and take me to this construct. I wish to see it for myself before anything is done with it."

"As you wish, Governor," Captain Narmassus acknowledged. With a bow, the Captain turned on his heels and left the bridge to assemble the Commodore's landing party.

Alone in the bridge, Hellefax turned in his chair back and looked down upon the puddle of wine and shattered glass on the transparent floor of the bridge beneath him.

"A thinking machine is dangerous," said the Commodore to himself, "but who is to say one could not be useful?"

It had been somewhat of a calm evening for Boros. As Head of Vacare Affaires on Aurax, one would assume that Boros was a prestigious fellow. But the truth was that every evening was calm for him. He moved his papers are a leisure pace and sometimes preferred to take a quiet day contemplating on new policies than actually doing any work. Of course none of the new policies would see the light of day. But to Boros, they were just as important. Vacare powers, in his opinion, had gone too long unchecked. He was one of the few on Aurax who was greatly delighted by the idea of the Order. People who could subdue a Vacare’s connection to the void. Alas, his request to station some of them on Aurax was denied. Probably because House Teklis and Aivira fought it fiercely.

It was no secret that Boros feared the Vacare. He was loathe to write the right permits and kept Aivira on a tight leash. All so as he sat in his home he could comfortably sip of his wine while looking over the barren, white surface of the moon and the black expanse beyond. Without any defense measures around him. What fool would dare attack the Imperial Bureaucracy’s administrators? Any Vacare caught in the attempt would be killed. It was no secret.

But then, a strange feeling crept up on him. He was alone in the apartment. Yet for a moment he thought he saw a shadow creep around in the corner of his eyes. He turned around yet he saw nothing unusual. Nothing that was moving. He returned to his own thoughts. Maybe in a few years he could get off this wretched moon and somewhere closer to the Order. Yes, he would like that very much. Then he heard a clang from behind him. Surprised he looked behind him. A plate had fallen off the counter. Now how did that happen? Alas, Boros preferred to keep things clean. So he got up and walked towards it. He reached for it, but in between blinks the plate just vanished. As if it was never there and the fat man was reaching towards nothing. Instead, the piece of nano-reinforced porcelain stood on the table top. Where it had always been. Rather confused he went to touch it. Yes, this existed. He could feel it. Maybe he shouldn’t have opened that second bottle. Boros was a man of many pleasures. He loved life and all that it offered him. So obviously he would often indulge. Putting the strange event on a wine glass too many, Boros returned to his chair. Though in the artificial light flooding inside through the window, he thought for a second that he saw someone sit in his chair. Yet when the lights flickered for but a moment, he realized it was just his imagination.

The man continued contemplating his state and career for another hour, looking outside towards Aivira. Though eventually he decided that it was time to sleep. Rather fatigued he walked to the kitchen to kill the light. Though as he approached it, he saw a distant shadow that should not be. The shadow of a person. “Hello?” he said, trying to get the attention of the intruder. As he walked into the large kitchen, he saw that there was no other person in sight. With his eyes on the strange shadow, he killed the light. Darkness filled the kitchen. Immediately he turned the lights back on. The shadow was there again. He turned the lights off and on again. The shadow was there. Unmoving. What could cast such a peculiar shadow? Curiosity was replacing fear ever so slight as he switched the lights off and on again. And again. Boros decided it was not worth losing sleep over. One more time he turned the lights in the kitchen on. The shadow was gone.

“Good evening, Administrator.” Boros heard from behind him. Surprised and afraid he turned around. A woman was sitting his chair now. The recent events suddenly all made sense. “Damn Vacare! I will have punished for this!” He threatened. Assuming some youngling Vacare was using her powers to play a joke on him. But as the chair turned around, he saw none other than Isabel Imken. “My lady! What do you think-“

“Silence.” She said. Boros wanted to continue and overrule her. Yet his lips refused to move. “As I understand it you are a man that loves our great Emperor very much.” Boros did not understand why she stated that. Sure, he liked the Emperor. Who didn’t? “So when you heard he died, you were distraught, of course.” The Emperor, dead? Why was this witch speaking to him like he already knew. “This and your wife running away with your only daughter has sent you over a cliff.” Laura ran away? With Assa? What was happening? “You couldn’t take it anymore. When you got her letter. Asking for a divorce.” Boros’ body moved towards his computer and opened a newly delivered letter. “This wore hard on you. So you decided to end it.” Boros’ mind, using panic to push through the Vacare’s influence, could snap his head towards a maliciously grinning Isabel. He wanted to yell! Scream! Curse her! But he could barely open his lips before the Witch took over his body again. “Farwell.” Isabel said, before she too vanished in a literal blink. Boros’ body still didn’t listen as he took a seat before his computer. He wrote a note saying how full of pain he was. How his life had became a pile of sadness and disappointment. How his career was doomed, his wife had left him and how his love for the Emperor broke him in two. Lies they were! Lies all of them! Laura didn’t love him, sure. That was established on the wedding night. It was a political move. So why would she even run!? No, he would not break because of the death of the Emperor. Why was he typing these lies!? He ended the note with a terrible statement. Life was no longer worth living. Suddenly he realized what was happening. Like a caged animal panicking his mind tried to fight the influence as he grabbed towards the drawer. No, he could not end his life like this. Nobody would believe it! Yet slowly his hand reached for the heavy, metal weapon inside. Slower than one would, he grabbed it and lifted it out. His mind could only slow the inevitable. “May the void embrace you, Boros.” He heard her voice for a final, wretched time before he put the gun to his temple.

---

“The bureaucrats are disposed of on Aurax.” Lord Kest of House Teklis declared in the conference room. Before him sat Isabel, grinning her malicious grin. His brother Allegan, Grand-Master of the Vacare. Commander Illistra Hazen, a low born Vacare that travelled to Aurax when she was young. A talented fighter. “All in favor to seal Aurax until the succession crisis is resolved, raise your hand now.” All hands were raised towards the glass ceiling. Beyond it was the vast black expanse. They themselves were adrift in its endlessness.

The grass around was still kept as a stark reminder that they were all once planet bound. Meant as a reminder where all of them came from. “Very well. Now for the next subject. Our Seers heard whispers of a successor. Prince Grerenth is sighted on Slichi 7K7V. The table in the middle projected a hologram before all members of the emergency council. Detailing the location. “Bureaucrats are moving in. As will no doubt others. I am of the opinion that Aurax must have a hand with the succession. A favorable Emperor could be a powerful tool. Who agrees with me?” Again, all hands were raised. “Good. Commander, send a detachment. Use a cloaked frigate. I allow you to take several of my Household Knights. As well as any Aivira members.” Isabel stood up to protest. But one, gaze from Kest’s old, weary eyes made the young woman sit down again. Commander Hazen gave Kest a short but formal nod and left the room. Then Kest turned to Isabel again. “The bureaucracy is dead in Aurax?”

“Yes.” She stated, trying to not sound unnerved the weary man before her.

“Good. He held us back too long. I am sanctioning every experiment you have, at your own discretion.” Isabel looked stunned at the man. All of them!? Was it her birthday!? “I’m also activating every Black Site you have. Aurax’s edge is Vacare and I intend to make it sharp. Even if I must blacken it.” Isabel spared no time. She got up and made a deep, formal bow before vanishing behind the door. Soon her shuttle would get her back Aivira. A great time for Vacare was approaching.

“Such freedom, brother.” The blind Allegan, now little more but a heap of robes, said. His voice sounding like old, stiffened paper getting cracked. “If anything, her exuberance should be tempered down.” Kest did not respond to his own, twin brother. If Allegan had to say it, it was because he wanted to use his voice just a little. The two had a connection like no other. It was not directly telepathic. Yet he understood his own brother better than his wife and Allegan, he understood Kest better than Kest himself.

The large slowly rotating circles known as The Eight Rings were quite a sight to behold. The massive constructs stood as an impressive example of the empires engineering prowess, a proud achievement, and a testament to the ingenuity of the human race. Emanuel, unfortunately, could only appreciate their marvel from a holo-screen. The final preparations had finally concluded as the Zircon, the name of his frigate, docked with one of the central towers of Eight Rings. Emanuel allowed himself one last look at the projected image of the station before nodding to his subordinate and turning to leave the command bridge. It did not take long for him and his trusted bodyguard Saerus, to arrive at the umbilical transfer bay of the Zircon, the lift doors opening to reveal the ships starboard umbilical chamber. There standing in wait outside the airlock doors was a mixed group of household guards and a single squad of wardens. Emanuel frowned upon seeing the Exalted soldiers his brother had 'lent' him, but with a sigh, he exited the lift entering the long hall.

He stopped short of the group standing in wait for him as they saluted with bowed heads. Emanuel took this moment to turn his attention to what appeared to be the leader of the group of wardens. "Knight-Corporal Balian was it? I do not recall requesting your presence," Emanuel kept his voice neutral, though his eyes seemed to bore into the man.

"No mi'lord, however, his liege lord Temijen made it clear that we-," Balian explanation was suddenly stopped short by the raised hand of Emanuel.

"If I needed your presence I would have called for it, I thank you for your concern but I trust you, and your comrades will not be needed once we're aboard the station."

Balian opened his mouth as if to protest, paused a moment then added, "with all due respect mi'lord, his liege made it quite clear his wishes."

"He also appointed me to oversee this directly and to proceed as I see fit. Your detachment will remain aboard the ship until further advised. I'm I clear?" The order voiced in every way as a clear command and not an actual question.

The man bowed deeply, "of course, as you wish, lord."

Balian turned to the wardens flanking him and gave a quick gesturing command before they turned to leave. Saerus who had been quiet until now watched the exalted wardens go, voicing when they were out of earshot, "having a few more bodies with us can't hurt lord."

"That may be true. However, I dislike the message it would send. Such proceedings need a gentle hand and the further we can distance ourselves from apart of the Order the better," Emanuel explained. "It is the very reason my brother chose me for this task after all. The Order itself is not officially sanctioned the class of ships we're here to collect after all."

The large man only shrugged, "I leave such politicking to those better suited to it lord. I am only concerned with your safety... I trust you saw all those I.B vessels docked in the other rings?"

"I did, and I am not concerned, besides why do you think I have you around?"

Saerus hmmed in his throat as his only answer, his face hard and unreadable as solid granite. His one bionic eye flared slightly, the red of its lens gleaming a deep crimson. Saerus was an EX-imperial soldier, a sergeant at one point in fact from a division within the imperial armies special forces. He was a twelve year veteran of the Exodus Nebula Expansions on the empires fringe systems. The man spoke very little of those days of course, but as Emanuel had been able to gather from that conflict, it would appear Saerus had been apart of a Blackwatch unit tasked with espionage and unconventional warfare.

The hulking man was everything one would want in a bodyguard, or what the noble elite liked to call a praetorian. It was the place of a praetorian to die or fight in their master's steed. Emanuel was unlike most nobles in that both he and Saerus had formed something of a workable relationship that was closer than simple servant and master. It was not quite a friendship, but it was far from the usual indifference, for Emanuel had long relied on the older man for advice and tactical input now and again. The fellow just had an insight into things most did not possess, a sixth sense for danger hard earned by a life of violence. Emanuel quickly ordered the token guard he did allow to exit with him through the transfer chamber.

Aside from himself and Saerus, Emanuel had opted for only three escorts and an attendant. Most nobles never went anywhere without some protection or guard. Emanuel was no exception, but often he preferred as few retainers as possible whenever he was out on business. He'd always appreciated the fact he was the youngest of his brothers, therefore the least if importance, as was oft the cause of the youngest son of any noble house. There was the heir, the spare, and then there was Emanuel. He had never felt bitter about such things, however, for he always had preferred to make his way on his own.

Had he been the first or second eldest he'd have never earned the amount of freedom for his pursuits as he enjoyed now. After a short delay, the duel doors rumbled open into the airlocked transfer chamber. After those closed behind the group, the secondary doors hissed open, leading into the umbilical plank. Emanuel and entourage continued through to the end of the plankway that led to the stations own airlock that seemed to be reinforced by some form of shielding technology. The progress of moving through so many checkpoints, doors, and airlocks allowed Emanuel's mind to wander towards the meeting to soon take place. This would be the first time he'd have met this Maximus in person and Emanuel was curious what kind of man he was.

Once past the airlocks and on the station proper Emanuel was greeted by a single aged man in an old, but unquestionably expensive, suit. The venerable servant bowed and attended to all the customary greetings before instructing Emanuel and his group to follow him to the elevator and down to a proper landing bay. The bay itself was cavernous and filled to the brim with yachts, short-run cargo ships, and Trust skiffs. It was to a particularly ornate example of the latter that the servant led Emanuel's retinue, and there before it stood a thickly built man with a short trimmed beard in a white and orange suit that while garish was unquestionable of fine make. Maximus would have agreed with most peoples first opinion of the garb, it was showy, hard on the eyes, and altogether unfashionable. It was also in the family colors and something that instantly identified who he was to anyone worth the slightest fraction of his time.

Maximus waved off a servant he'd been speaking to and the old man who'd guided Emanuel's group faded into the background as one of the Trusts most senior members greeted Emanuel with a proffered hand, “Emanuel Blackwall, and just in time. I trust the journey here was as quick as it was safe? You never know in these troubled times.”

Emanuel effected an easy smile as he inclined his head toward the man ever so slightly, "a thankfully uneventful journey, though one worth the trip to see the famed space-borne cities of the Akamar," he began simultaneously acknowledging the man's concerns while skillfully shifting away from the topic of the shattered state of the empire. "Maximus Ben Seft I presume? I hope you did not have to wait overly long."

“Not at all, in fact you’re just in time.” Maximus grinned openly and gestured towards the sleek white skiff behind him, “I was just ensuring everything was ready to go. If you and your party would follow me aboard we can head to the secure shipyard right away, the vessels you ordered are just going through their final checks and getting a little polish here and there. I think you and your organization will be most pleased with them. After all, the Trust hasn’t forgotten what it takes to build something special, a city we stand on and those others you spoke of are but one example of that.”

"Most excellent," Emanuel voiced. "I have heard much of the shipbuilding prowess of the Trustee, and indeed your deep space stations alone are impressive, I look forward to seeing the crafts built by your engineers firsthand. This could very well be the beginning of a long-trusted partnership between Aurora and the Sefts. Please lead the way."

Maximus led the party up the ramp and into the skiff. After clearing the air locked entryway they emerged into what could best be described as a poor man's yacht. Large windows, visibly more than a foot thick, lined the sides of the passenger compartment, and the passenger seats were arranged around a large wooden table brimming with beverages and exotic snacks from across the empire. Takeoff was unremarkable, in fact, it was so unremarkable as to suggest a great deal of money and time had gone into the vessels inertial sumps. Not a single glass dripped as the skiff departed the hanger and accelerated towards the distant shipyards.

Maximus shared stories all the way, grinning and laughing like he was spending time with friends that'd been away too long and he dearly missed. Though he easily adopted the demeanor of an easygoing man he clearly paid close attention to how much he ate or drank and even closer attention to anything Emanuel said.

Scarcely thirty minutes into the trip Maximus quieted notably and pointed out a distant collection of lights that grew brighter by the minute. When the hazy silhouettes of two ships ensconced in a framework of habitation modules and scaffolds became clear he spoke with deference, “There they are. Right on time, and I assure you not one weld was placed without the greatest care. Others, House Gallus or Astra Corp, for example, they don't quite understand what goes into a ship. A sloppy weld here, a loose bolt there, for them these things are just realities of construction, but out here we don't have the affections of the planet born. Every engineer working on those ships understands the importance of perfection out here, that loose bolt could fail and take a whole section with it in battle, that sloppy weld could give out during maintenance and space the technical crew. Growing up without the security of a world instills a greater understanding of what it takes to survive out here. We didn't evolve in space, Emanuel.”

As the ships became clear and the lights of their designated docking station began to flash Maximus leaned back and picked up a fluted glass and its odd green contents, “Fly those ships through a corona, punch a hole through their side, and they'll still come back. So, a toast to the completion of two vessels that will serve you better than any of them. Perhaps even to a partnership greater than this one.”

Emanuel observed the ships with an expression that revealed he was indeed impressed by what he saw. "The craftsmanship of your house speaks for itself good Maximus, I see that the reputation of House Seft is one well deserved."

Emanual thoughtfully took one of the glasses poured for him and swirled its contents with a soft smile, "I see indeed Lord Temijen was right to come to the Sefts for this task." He sampled the wine and nodded his approval at the choice of drink. Belquin was a rare and tasteful brand of spirit that fit well for such an occasion, "I look forward to seeing how these crafts handle, but it is fortuitous that you speak of partnership. Indeed, House Blackwall has given much thought to this very matter. There is much we can both offer each other I think. In such...worrying times an ally- nay- a friend is a worthwhile thing to seek out. Would you not agree?"

As it happens, I very much do, and in that, I echo the Trustee.” Maximus smiled warmly and took a sip of his drink just as a small shudder went through the skiff as it docked at the station. “These ships, formidable as they may be, are just two vessels after all. The Trust is more than willing to come to an arrangement concerning a more… Invested relationship with House Blackwall. Of course, if we’re to be more than allies we need to look out for each other do we not? My house and this system has much to offer any friend of ours, but while we may be strong in some places we are weak in others; for all the ships we craft there are few that remain here. Such has not been necessary in the past.”

Emanual nodded, "it seems to me the Blackwall line has been remiss in not establishing relations with your esteemed house sooner, good Maximus. I think it is long overdue for such a thing to be ratified." He set his glass down and leaned back in his seat steepling his fingers. His eyes thoughtful as he continued, "as you well know- Praag is rich in many minerals perfect for the production of high-grade steel and even adamantine silver. While House Seft have long proven to be expert craftsmen. It will take some time to get the measure of these vessels, but once that is out of the way I predict further bridges built between our two houses-- such as exclusive trade deals for House Seft in those very resources? In return, all my Lord would ask is the privileged rights to construction queues for Order vessels. House Blackwall will also be willing to extend its support and of course protection... if your house agrees. However, such things need not be decided upon as of yet. I am sure you will want to deliberate with the rest of your kin first."

Maximus nodded and downed the rest of his drink, “Of course, but I have little doubt the Trustee will be amenable to your proposal. The world isn’t what it was after all. None who matter will fault us for taking special care of our friends, new or old.” He stood up and straightened out his rather absurd suit before continuing, “Now then, we have your lord’s newest battleships to inspect. It won’t do to be tardy!”