BZPB: Resurgence

OOS: Post theme #1: Sail to the Moon (Brush the Cobwebs out of the Sky) - Radiohead

<Yari III, Old Saskana, 15 BR>

The day before her 13th birthday, the girl’s parents left her with her Uncle Jack. They were going to something they called the ‘March for Dignity’, which they’d been talking about for weeks - a regular occurrence, of course. They always said they were doing it so, hopefully, one day she would be in a better position than they were, but this time, they had a bad feeling. They didn’t say so, but she could tell anyway. The girl had always known all sorts of things, such as that the houses of everyone she knew were generally smaller than some others, that most adults she knew were, try as they might to hide it, exhausted, that there were parts of the town she shouldn’t go to, that that one girl who thought it was cool that she could change shape had soon been firmly told by her parents that it was not cool after all and that they shouldn’t play together anymore, and that all that didn’t count as ‘dignity’.

The day dragged on with no sign of the girl’s parents returning, and she grew worried, especially when at one point they could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance. She thought it seemed like a bad sign, but Uncle Jack insisted it was probably just the Stäbil hunters who lived at the edge of town again. That didn’t ring true, but they carried on playing anyway until she finally went to bed.

The morning after, the girl began to wander downstairs. Surely her parents would be back by now. After all, it was her birthday. From the top of the stairs, she could see Uncle Jack hunched over his tiny holo-projector, his head in his hands. The news was on, and she could just about make out some of what the presenter was saying. The words ‘riot’ and ‘eight Shifters killed’, mostly, and the unrelenting smugness of the presenter’s tone. That was enough for the girl to understand, enough for her heart to grow dark forever, enough for her to know that she would do whatever it took to ensure that, one day, no one else would be in that position.

-----

OOS: Post theme #2: We Suck Young Blood (Your Time Is Up)  - Radiohead

<Yari III, Horba City University, 8 BR>

“Ma’am, please sit down.” the head of Horba City University’s Law School said smugly, standing behind his desk and looking out the window. Aster walked slowly across his plush office and sat down across from him. She was dressed - well, insofar as Shifters imitating clothes could be considered ‘wearing’ them - in black and grey, as she usually was. She never left such hostages to fortune anymore, especially not during this ritual of sorts, this dance where he told her what he expected from her, and she made it clear, without outright saying so, that she didn’t care, and that as far as she was concerned, the only good way to use the system he represented was against itself. It would go on until either he grew tired of it or she made it through the gauntlet.

The head turned around. He picked a folder of some sort out of the clutter on his desk, and thumbed through it for a moment before putting it down next to a heavy-looking sculpture on the other end. “Miss Aster, why exactly are you here?”

Aster smirked. “Near the end of second year is a bit late for an admissions interview.” That was an inappropriate analogy, of course - by necessity, her actual admissions interview had been even more of a game to her than this.

“As you know, of course, when we accepted your application, we actually hoped it could prove to be a boon to our department. A testament to the power of Tanari intellectual culture to elevate even the most… difficult cases. That’s the sort of thing that’s trendy now, anyway. And yet, you don’t seem particularly interested in that.”

She carried on smirking. “My grades disagree. As you know, of course.”

“Yes, I cannot argue with that, and yet! All these radical papers, protests alongside all the worst rabble-rousers in this city, now this nonsense about a legal advice clinic up in the slums… And every few months you come up with something new. How much trouble you’ve caused me and the school...”

She was still smirking. “I didn’t realise the university looked down on submissions to the law journal, or answering good-faith questions. And as for what I do in my spare time, do take a look at your student body every once in a while.”

“You know what makes it out of the ordinary.” he hissed. “You forget I am, perhaps, the closest thing you have to a friend here. I am trying to put an end to this very bad trajectory of yours before any reasonable person’s cup runneth over. We must all make our compromises. I’ve made mine, I’m still waiting for you.”

“My compromise,” Aster replied. “Is being here, even though I know I have no friends here."

The head sighed. “Then I suspect you will not last here much longer.” He was finally putting an end to the ritual. He flinched very visibly as Aster stood up and took one step towards him.

“Don’t do anything you might regret.” The head was clearly trying to sound confident but in practice almost whimpered, his paper-thin refined, vaguely sinister presentation crashing to the ground in an instant, just as Aster thought it would. She gestured to the sculpture he’d dumped her file next to.

“You could bash someone’s head in with that, but you don’t make a habit of it, do you?”

She gave him a look of absolute disgust, and left the room without waiting for a response.

-----

OOS:Post theme #3: I Will (No Man’s Land) - Radiohead

<Yari III, Hotel Bar, 6 BR>

“Mr. Jones. What can I get you?”

“A dram of Teruga Zin whisky. It’s been a long day.” said the Senator as he sat down.

Without moving, Aster reached for the bottle - which was at the other end of the bar, but that wasn’t any sort of hindrance to a Shifter - and began pouring Jones a drink. “You can’t let that Teruga go, can you? Not there, not on the Senate floor, not on the holo-net, not even here. It’s a fetish, it’s obsessive, it’s obscene.”

“I believe I ordered a drink, not a lecture on Protectorate policy.” Jones humphed.

“Yes, well, it’s a slow enough night that, for some reason, my only customer at the moment is the Senate Majority Leader, so you’re getting both.” she said.

“I don’t think that’s within your job description, my girl.”

Aster rolled her eyes. “I can think of a lot of things people like you do that aren’t technically within your job description, but that you still do anyway.” She finally handed him the drink. He took in the scent for an instant, and then took a sip.

“There are maybe twenty people voting for you so you can micromanage the Terugans.” she continued. “And every single one of them is making a lot of money from it.”

“We don’t ‘micromanage’ them, of course.” Jones was getting into the spirit of things now. “We’ve given them so much. Jobs and investment, space travel and medical technology far beyond their wildest dreams… And in return, we get things like this whisky, and a hundred other wonderful things. Seems like a mutually acceptable relationship to me.”

“At first, maybe, but we both know that’s not what it is now. People like you have always had a very twisted idea of what sort of relationship is mutually acceptable.”

“I suppose you see a parallel between their situation and yours.”

“How perceptive of you.” she replied sarcastically, cleaning a glass. “But yes. Cui bono. I imagine you agree, but you think that’s good.”

Jones raised an eyebrow - it wasn’t exactly common to hear Shifters use Latin expressions. Such things were decidedly falling out of fashion among Tanari, and the only reason a Shifter would ever care would be if they, for some reason, to impress the stuffier sort of upper-class Stäbil - in other words, someone like Jones - and Aster clearly had no plan to impress him. “You’re very... opinionated for a Shifter barmaid, you know that?” he said, hoping to prod her into more of a reaction. Aster rolled her eyes again, but he continued. "I mean that as a compliment. I rarely get ambushed by bar staff with opinions on the Protectorate.”

“You’re a Stäbil, a Unionist, and a politician. Yes, I’m shocked you don’t get to speak to many of the little people. Try hanging out in literally any other bar one night.”

“Are you advising me against your own business?”

“If this were something I was particularly dedicated to, would I be arguing with you right now?”

“Besides, there are Stäbil little people too.”

“But you’re not one of them, are you...” Aster then, for once, suddenly stopped dead in her tracks as she belatedly noticed the minor novelty of a Stäbil decidedly not treating the term with open contempt, and Jones spotted an opening, a chink in this odd Shifter's armour he could maybe exploit. “Which group are you with? SFA? Starfire? FARSI?” he asked.

“What, because…” Aster was going to stonewall, but decided she couldn’t be bothered. “SFA are losers and FARSI are lunatics. I do some stuff with Starfire, helping out people in Icala. Legal advice, mostly. Got kicked out of law school for it.” She wasn't sure why she was explaining this to him, but she figured she might as well run with it and see where he was going with this.

“I didn’t know there were any law schools in the Confederation that accepted Shifters anymore." Jones took a sip of his whisky. “Medical, sure...”

“Yes, well done on that. I managed to be the exception that proves the rule, for a little bit.”

Jones stroked his chin. This was an odd turn of events, and he suddenly realised he could perhaps use it to resolve a small problem he had in a very different way than he had originally planned, and to start paying a debt. “Interesting… What's your name?”

“Aster.”

“Aster, I happen to have a vacancy in my office. And I think you might be good for it. You’d have to move to Homeworld, of course, but…”

Aster laughed. “I’m sorry, are you serious?”

“Deathly.”

“I mean, apart from the assumption that I’d leave Yari on a whim like that, we clearly agree on very little, and I wouldn’t vote for your party even if it let me. And for a second I was even starting to think you might be sort of self-aware. How did I give you the impression that...”

“Yes, you’ve given me the impression that you are utterly unlike me, but that you’ll fight for whatever chance you can get to help people, no matter how unlikely. We both know this isn’t a healthy society, and I’m offering you the best chance you’ll have of getting a say, maybe for the last time in your life. Think about it. I think we can both learn from each other.”

Aster scoffed, but much to her own surprise, she did think about it, if not for very long. It was a chink in the system's armour, and you always took advantage of chinks in the system's armour.

-----

[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

"Uh, boss, we've got a bit of a problem."

The security guards surrounding Xavik tried to restrain him, but their hands phased through him as though he was a hologram. Xavik stood, stroking his chin, observing the attempts.

"This one operates on a higher frequency, with which you cannot interact. However, this one has no intention of obstructing justice. This one feels... a great, overwhelming energy calling it in the direction the brig. This one will comply."

With that, Xavik joined Oblique and Halo as they were lead to the brig. Xavik turned and looked down at Halo, staring, trying to analyze the lyre.

"You... you live a life that you dread, don't you?" remarked Xavik. "Your thoughts create your reality. Your mind determines the life you lead. You have the power to ascend beyond this, yet seemingly you are unaware of this fact. This one eagerly anticipates the opportunity for spiritual enlightenment that our shared confinement will provide. That this one should be so fortunate to be able to assist you in such a manner... truly, there is no such thing as a coincidence."

---

[ ES Base, Vesa Qatoria ]

Admiral Massa grimaced as the chemical compound entered his body.

"You'll have to do a lot better than that - or do you truly believe that Sefer's elite warriors can be so easily corrupted by a simple intoxicant? Our minds are sharp - focused. You degenerates are always looking for the next high, the next drink, blindly pursuing your aimless, animalistic lives with no concern for anyone but yourself. There is no place for such weakness in the New Order. Your drugs are... are... useless... they are... are..."

By then the compound had kicked in, and Massa looked around the room in a dazed state.

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

Sally walked into the brig, where Oblique and Halo, and Xavik were being held in two separate but adjacent cells. Even though most of the cells were empty, Xavik had still been stuck in the only occupied one, which contained a Malchiorian serial petty criminal who had been a persistent nuisance to Prush over the years.

“I’m sorry about Prush.” she said, doing a little bow. “He’s… irritable and this is a really bad case. And, to be fair to him, you guys did sort of barge in and take over the place.”

“Hey, lady!” the Malchiorian stuck with Xavik yelled. “How about an apology to me for locking me up with this… thing? I think that counts as cruel and unusual punishment, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Ronald.” Sally gestured at him to shut up, her gesture - which was not necessary in any way to activate her psychic abilities, but which she thought was cool anyway - triggering a memory in Ronald’s brain he preferred to forget. He sat back down, annoyed. “Anyway, we seem to have a lead. Oily blue footprints in the corridor behind Cargo 3. We’ve rounded up a few people who might naturally leave those and are talking to them right now.”

Sally took a few steps towards Oblique and Halo. “I’ve talked to Prush, and I’ve gotten him round to the idea of community involvement in the case. We very rarely have murders on this ship, people have a right to be shocked and to want to help however they can. But I will still need to conduct telepathic scans on the two of you. Xavik, you're already in the clear. I don’t like it any more than you do, and I don’t think you did it, but we need to be sure regardless before we let you help. Is that still okay?”

-----

<Vesa Qatoria, Espiritu Santo Base>

Sinead looked at her watch and clicked her tongue in disapproval. She’d been trialling her hallucinogenic on prisoners of the Espiritu Santo and taking note of how long it took to take effect for quite some time, but Di-Jonn Massa had set a new record - and not the flattering sort of record either. She pressed another button, and a piece of equipment set up behind her launched into action. The entire appearance of the room - at least, that part of it the Admiral could see from his pod - seemed to change, in a way that would have been disorientating even if Massa’s bloodstream were not full of drugs. In the end, all he could see was a swirling, colourful void in which the pod now appeared to be floating. Dr. Pharris-Vaccari was gone - Massa’s sole companion now appeared to be a disembodied voice.

“Admiral Massa, give me back my units.” called out the unmistakable 'voice' of Sefer Yetzirah.

-----

[ ES Base, Vesa Qatoria ]

(Theme)

Vesa Qatoria's extensive hydrothermal system was responsible for the creation of many of the caverns and caves hidden beneath its surface, and in many of these caves, natural hot springs existed. Shepard climbed into one of these springs, breathing a sigh of relaxation as he sunk into the hot water. Ah, the Vesa Qatorian Spa, he thought. There are no words.

Shepard had been running for what felt like his whole life. Moments like this had been few and far between during his childhood on Vesa Qatoria, and truly nonexistent during his time in Sefer's employ. Even after deserting the New Order, after blinding Kenton Harland and his manservant Bryce and taking control of Espiritu Santo, after unifying the warring underworld factions of Vesa Qatoria, his life still seemed to move to the beat of someone else's drum. Baze Ishikawa. Sefer Yeztirah. Blackout.

"Shepard."

He opened his eyes; Vekhta stood by the spa, still in her armor. Evidently, she wasn't planning on joining him. For that he was thankful.

"Vekhta."

"On Narayanastra, you said Sefer's plan wasn't unifying the galaxy. You never finished."

Shepard sat upright, resting his back against the edge of the spa.

"Perhaps there was a reason for that."

"Perhaps I'd still like to know."

"Then why aren't you having this conversation with Blackout?"

Vekhta paused, and bit her lip. They both knew why - Vekhta didn't fully trust Blackout, which was reasonable, as Blackout didn't fully trust her. Vekhta and Shepard shared the same set of memories - in many ways Vekhta was Shepard, shaped by the same experiences - and that ensured some level of mutual respect between them. It was this mutual respect that obliged Shepard to break the silence.

"Do you know much about the Lithan Star Empire?"

"It existed ten thousand years ago, give or take."

"Existed is putting it lightly." said Shepard, a grin forming on the corners of his mouth. "The Lithan Star Empire was the pinnacle of civilization. There was no war,  no hardship, no hunger - no suffering whatsoever. The Lithans led lives filled with art and with science and with music, and though they had to make great personal sacrifices to achieve this utopian existence, they made them gladly. The Riders talked about Pax Galactica, but they never managed even a percentage of what the Lithans achieved."

Vekhta folded her arms. "I'm sensing there's an 'And then...'."

Shepard smirked. He had heard the story dozens of times from Sefer herself, and now here he was, the orator rather than the listener.

"And then Arc Blair came. Arc Blair was a Starknight - a guardian of the Lithan Empire - who became seduced by a dark ideology known as Kanos Jai. Kanos Jai was the antithesis of the Lithan Way of life - an ideology that preached that personal enrichment and advancement were the only valid goals in life. The Lithan Empire had been static for so long - so devoid of any narrative of progress or change - that it lacked any form of inoculation against this ideology. There were never any arguments made for the Lithan way of life because it was unthinkable to ever propose an argument against it. It took five thousand years for Lithan civilization to advance to that point. It took Arc Blair ten years to end it all."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Vekhta turned away from him.

"This doesn't help me understand Sefer or the New Order."

"Oh, but I think that it does." quipped Shepard. "There is no point in forging a New Order that can be undone in a thousand years by the ambition of a single man. Sefer realizes that. Klak's an obstacle in her path, and though she doesn't realize it yet, Blackout is too. Freedom and chaos. This era's Kanos Jai - this era's anathema to order."

He paused, then spoke again.

"The Conduit on Bendu is the key to ending it all. Sefer has created a mechanism that will prevent the fate of the Lithan Empire befalling the New Order."

---

[ Vesa Qatoria, Orbit ]

Hours later, Vekhta departed Vesa Qatoria aboard the City Upon A Hill, a lightly-armed corporate gunship owned by Espiritu Santo. Astra and Zeneca accompanied her - sent by Shepard to keep an eye on her. The ship settled into a low orbit; Astra turned from the command console to Vekhta, who sat in the Captain's chair, meditating. Searching.

Where the hell are you, Kakamu? I could really use your help right now.

---

[ ES Base, Torture Chamber ]

"Emperor Sefer..." responded Massa, gasping for air. "Lilith Destroyed the PsyTroopers... Lilith is working... for the... Free States..."

---

[ Aerisgard, Luria ]

The Akkai fleet had long since departed, and in that time, the radiation levels on the planet had dropped - not to habitable levels, but to the extent that a team of heavily armored marines could be deployed to the planet's surface. Continuity of government had to be considered; in this case, the Sword of the Sovereigns had to be retrieved from the Mausoleum of the Winter Guardians, as without possession of this ancient relic the current government had no real legal basis to exist.

The marines moved through the ruins of Aerisgard, scanning the area with their heavy machineguns. There were no indications that the Akkai force had left any troops on the planet's surface, but the heavy radiation made life-sign scans borderline useless. They made their way to the Imperial Square, finding the entrance to the underground mausoleum buried under rubble. Then it exploded.

The soldiers were blown back, but were unharmed - this wasn't a bomb. Instead, the stone lid flew off and a column of light and a wash of steam emerged. A man stepped out, naked - the soldiers aimed their weapons at him. He was intensely muscular, with handsome features and short, blonde hair, and carried the Sword of the Sovereigns in one hand. One of the marines realized who he was aiming his rifle at, and immediate dropped his muzzle.

"Oh- oh my god!"

One by one, the recognition kicked in and they fell to their knees, dropping their weapons. Gabriel Ascheron, seemingly reborn, seemingly regenerated, held the Sword of the Sovereigns high as a recon drone that had been observing the marines captured the entire scene on video. He surveyed the devastated ruins of Aerisgard, looked to the marines surrounding him, then spoke in a booming tone:

"CITIZENS OF LURIA! I! HAVE! RETURNED!

<Vesa Qatoria, Espiritu Santo Base>

From somewhere he wouldn’t be able to see, Sinead observed Massa’s reactions. So far, they were tolerable, but he couldn’t die or suffer some other adverse side-effect before he’d given up useful information. If it looked like that was happening, she’d have to step in.

“Lilith has betrayed us… yes. Unfortunately, that makes sense.” the voice replied. The void before Massa shifted yet again, revealing Sefer Yetzirah - but not the Sefer Yetzirah Massa might recognise. This Sefer cut a much more pathetic figure - she was clearly battered after a long battle, covered with scars, her eye covered with an eyepatch - if said eye was even there to begin with.

“Klak has power far beyond what we anticipated. And with that accursed Lilith on his side somehow, he surely knows a great deal about the New Order now. We’re on the back foot now, Admiral. Our borders have been breached, we are retreating on all fronts. Look at me. We can still turn the tide. We can end this. But as you’re the one who saw her last, you need to answer one question for me.”

“She went after the PsyTroopers.” the ‘Sefer’ continued. “Can you assure me the PsyTrooper birthing process remains safe?”

-----

<Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

“Hold it!” a man shouted, interrupting the guards.

The hulking human raised a badge uncomfortably close to Prush’s face, then pursed his lips. He wore the same outfit as one of the security guards, albeit with a few additional colors to denote rank...or at least that’s what he claimed.

“Inspector West. Nexus West,” he introduced himself. “I’m taking over this investigation with my partner.”

Before anyone could say anything, he did an about-face and spoke into a communicator.

“Please get down here when you can,” he said, before turning to glare at the suspects. He was suddenly startled by Xavik’s striking, powerful, and piercing gaze.

A green-skinned alien woman (same species as Vanna M’orv) shortly entered, rubbing her forehead in frustration. Moments ago, she had been on shipment duty supervising the latest Gotti trade. Yet again, she had fallen for the classic Gotti trick: one of the Gotti dock workers informed her that something had come in the mail today, and...you know the rest. Now, she had a murder investigation on her hands.

“Sorry I’m late,” she sighed, rubbing the skin underneath her cerulean eyes.

“You’re fine,” Nexus replied.

“Everyone, I’m Detective Mavis Deacon. Have the suspects been interrogated?” the woman bemoaned.

---

<Outside the Caverns, Iotunort>

The blast from Blizz’s particle cannon eliminated the New Order troopers. Stokko and Aristotle stared in shock. Bijorn-tarr rushed over to Blizz and helped her up.

“You alright?” he said in a surprisingly benevolent tone. “Uh, I mean...get up!”

“If the New Order is here, that means Arc Jeriko is already inside the caves,” Stokko warned.

“That could be a big problem. Plus, those people watching us might not help things,” Aristotle replied, pointing to Kristoffer Lake’s vehicle in the distance.

“Should we approach them?” Bijorn-tarr asked.

---

<Klak’s Meeting with the Xazari>

Klak sighed in relief at what Zakria Arian had told him. At least they had some Xazari support. He smiled and chatted with Sanjar and all the other executives, introducing himself as well.

“Thank you all,” he said at the end of the formal greetings and introductions. “It’s unfortunate to hear that there are groups within the Xazari that seem to want to maintain the status quo. And I’d hate to hear if there are any New Order-friendly companies inside of the Xazari as well. Please let me know if there is any way we can support your efforts to fight against any renegades, Ms. Arian.”

Between the news that the FSA would have some Xazari support, David Robert Jones’ announcement, and reports of the destruction of the Narayanastra, it seemed like the silver lining was here at last.

If only Klak knew.

---

<Bridge, The Missing M, Approaching Pirate Lord Space>

Fourteen was silent as the ship traveled through FTL. He pondered all that had happened at the Narayanastra, and how everyone was lucky to have escaped with their lives during the brutal battle. He also felt unsettled at all the bizarre occurrences there. The PsyTrooper’s sudden suicide, along with that strange psychic vacuum he felt on the ship...well, it was likely one of the reactors anyway.

He then pondered 404, the enigmatic mercenary with a mental shield (whose name he did not know). Sure, the Vykonian pirates and Pirate Lord possessed mental shields of their own due to their species’ natural immunity to telepathy. But 404 was different. The fact that a mercenary from an unknown sector was suddenly well-equipped to handle his powers was disturbing. She could pose threat to him, meaning she could pose a threat to the one being Fourteen valued most: Pirate Lord Ozar.

Meanwhile, the other pirates on the bridge distracted themselves from the pyrrhic losses at the Battle of the Narayanastra by chatting to each other.

“I hear Pirate Lord May Graven is going to go to the FSA meeting in a few days,” one pirate said.

“May Graven?!” one pirate replied astonished. “She’s hardcore! I hear she took on a whole platoon of Sahagin with her bare hands!”

“Oh please,” scoffed another pirate. “Sahagin are a myth, just like Malak al-Maut!”

“No way, my cousin’s roommate’s brother was part of her crew, and he says they’re totally real!” another pirate insisted. “She also did a job with Yon on Elon-Ash, almost blew the planet up!”

“You think that’s why he left?” one pirate guessed wrongly.

“Well, I hear she beat Izzy Kandar in a drinking contest,” yet another pirate added. “Then, a week later, she’s the reason Dallas Dalton and Fourteen had such a close Ku-Pla game six years ago!”

“No freaking way!”

A Lupice pirate, who looked like an icy wolf humanoid with reptilian eyes, turned to face the others.

“Someone told me she once sang a space shanty during a raid on a DeingNu Corp. ship,” the Lupice remembered. “She didn’t stop even when they boarded the ship. She finished when they got back!”

The Quartermaster rolled his eyes and hissed. Pirate Lord May Graven inspired a lot of tall tales. Some were true, some false, some exaggerated. Others were actually under-exaggerations of her Graven’s many deeds.

-

<Mess Hall, The Missing M>

(OOS: theme for this part of the post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdtmP9VOPAc)

As he made his way to the bridge, Akzer once again felt the violent urges arising out of Blackout’s incredible Void magic. Blood. Blood. Death. These words echoed in both English(?) and Liquid Metalliconite. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Quick Billy Song sat at the edge of one of the tables, paying no attention to the pirates chattering near him. He stirred the beef stew around with his spoon, grateful for the luxurious meal he was about to enjoy. Although Billy had grown accustomed to the Liquid Metalliconite gastronomy—in spite of his humanity—he nevertheless preferred the slightly more edible options available when around higher status Pirate Lords. Lords and Ladies like Akzer often ate like kings, preferring more intergalactic cuisines. And after the insane Narayanastra mission he had just gone through, he deserved to treat himself both here, and back on Liquid Metallicon.

Sadly, before he could take a bite, Akzer tapped him on the shoulder.

“I know what you did,” Akzer growled with a grin. “You shot me and tried to leave me for dead.”

“Did you hit your head?” Quick Billy said as he ate, not looking at Akzer. “A Kracian shot you, I saw. It was a chaotic battle anyway.”

“Bullshit,” Akzer spat.

“Dunno what to tell you,” Billy replied with barely a care in the world.

“Hmm,” Akzer sneered. “You’re surprisingly alright with the fact that you failed to kill a major Pirate Lord, Quick Billy. That’ll really do harm to your reputation.”

That got him. Quick Billy paused and sighed.

“How the hell did you survive?” Billy whispered.

“I made a friend,” Akzer replied in a similar tone. “Shame you won’t be meeting him.”

“That a threat, Akzer?” Quick Billy growled. “Maybe I need to finish the job here and now, keep Keichi happy.”

“You don’t have the guts,” Akzer taunted while backing up.

Quick Billy swerved and pulled out his gun. He fired a laser straight at Akzer. Suddenly, the bolt halted in midair. Billy felt something constrict around his body as he levitated off of the ground, eyes widened in shock. Pirates loyal to Keichi began to pull out their guns and aim them at those loyal to Akzer, who responded in turn. Those loyal to Ozar or any other Pirate Lord merely looked on in confusion.

“Amongst even the Pirate Lords there exists a set of rules,” Akzer boomed, maintaining his grin. “Among these are rules governing warfare between lords. All is fair, and you can even kill the Pirate Lord yourself so long as you have conquered enough of their crew and territory. However, you cannot order a First Mate to kill a higher ranking Pirate Lord without permission of the Lord of the Seven Metal Seas…that is, the head of the Pirate Lords, aka Ozar. My cousin. Pirate Lord Keichi neglected that rule and ordered Quick Billy Song here to kill me, using our battle with the New Order goons to cover it up. Sadly for them, I survived. And I know very well who tried to kill me. As such, I am within my right...to retaliate.”

Akzer flicked his wrist and the bolt darted to Quick Billy’s abdomen. The laser slowly began to drill into his flesh as he cried in agony.

“Now you experience the pain I did,” Akzer explained. “But slowly. Nothing ‘quick’ for Quick Billy.”

The bolt burrowed as Billy bellowed. Fourteen ran into the mess hall.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” he shouted.

“Getting even, Fourteen,” Akzer boasted.

“Let ‘im go, Akzer!” Fourteen ordered. Although he was a First Mate, the fact that he was close to Ozar meant he technically had a higher rank than many Pirate Lords. But Akzer ignored his commands.

Fourteen summoned his strength and used a telekinetic attack to knock Akzer down. Although this was part of Fourteen’s standard arsenal, he felt as though he had drained a lot more strength than he had intended to make Akzer finally relent. And even then, when his telekinesis touched Akzer’s body, Fourteen felt a slight sense of dread, as though he had briefly come into contact with nothingness itself.

Quick Billy collapsed onto the floor unconscious. He later slipped into a coma. Fourteen ordered Akzer into the brig, a command that was later rescinded by Ozar during a holocall.

--

<Lalli & Regina’s Ship, Narayanastra>

The ship jumped to FTL and Regina sighed. Once they arrived at random remote coordinates in deep space, she placed the ship on autopilot and went to go check on Lalli and the others.

“Lalli, how are you feeling?” she cooed.

“Better now,” Lalli grunted. He forced himself up then winced. “Just a scratch.”

“Please, lie down, damn it,” Regina urged. Lalli plopped back down. “Amanda, Ash, Pes...you alright? What the fuck was all that?”

She noticed the bitter expression on Ashton’s face and began to stare at him, hoping for an answer.

-

<September Dawn, Narayanastra>

“We fought the New Order and invaded their starship. That’s better than nothing, I’d say,” The Shadow Operative argued.

“Where’s Herd Stir?!” Onyx shouted at Hawkes and Buckner. “WHERE ARE THEY?!”

A mere glance from Hawkes was enough to tell her the worst had happened. Onyx gritted her teeth and slammed her fist onto a nearby seat.

The September Dawn corvette rocketed out of the Narayanastra’s hangar, explosions from nearby sections of the station causing the ship to rock around as it escaped. Moments later, their cruiser jumped to lightspeed.

“Our reports can tell the truth,” Onyx said, breaking the silence. “But we should recommend Malchior spin this as a victory. Even if we weren’t the ones who actually blew the station up...maybe the fact that we got close should be a source of hope for the galaxy. Herd Stir and all the others...they couldn’t have died in vain, Hawkes.”

She removed her straps and angrily darted out of her seat, making her way to the corvette’s locker area. The Shadow Operative removed his own restraints as well as his helmet. He began to quietly say the Mourner’s Kaddish for the dead, both FSA and mercenary alike.

---

<Palace of the Pantheon, Amuni superpyramid, Near the star Khepri, Days Later>

The pantheon assembled again. Pharaoh Osiris I hunched over on his throne, the rays of the star Khepri illuminating his pensive face.

“It seems the choice has been made for us,” he announced. “Shai has called the odds. The Hebrew psychic ordered her New Order to launch a full-scale assault on the Free States Alliance. Multiple nations along the front lines have suffered massive casualties. Worse, they have aligned themselves with the Eclipse solar heretics. An outright declaration of war, and we barely had time to prepare Abneris for his diplomatic mission.”

“A provoked declaration,” Set clarified. “We attacked their installation to make ourselves palatable to the Malchiorians. This is simply the snake’s retaliation.”

“Nevertheless,” Horus dismissed. “We should consider aiding the FSA for now. They are our allies in this current conflict.”

“Agreed,” Isis nodded. “For mutual benefit, and as long as it is wise.”

“The war on Nephthys colony has not been going as well as we had hoped,” Sekhmet growled. “The heretics have used this Fleetmaster Xnopyt well.”

“He must be stopped, Lady Sekhmet,” Osiris nodded. “We will assist the FSA. First, reinforcements to the war against the Eclipse. Xnopyt must be destroyed, along with the rest of the Eclipse heretics. We should also assemble regiments to assist the FSA in repelling the New Order onslaught. Many of us will take an active role in these wars. In the end, many in the FSA shall beg to be ruled after we liberate them.”

Set shook his head and stood up.

“You go to an ally?” the perceptive Sia guessed.

“Yes, an old friend from long ago,” Set replied.

“Who?” Horus asked.

“Malak al-Maut,” Set grinned.

---

<FSA General Parliamentary Assembly, Malchior IV>

Zuln'balec-Aerenvas, Former Majordomo to the First Ascendant of the Vykonian Ascendancy...or what remained of it...spoke on behalf of the government-in-exile. He used a hologram, as appearing in public was far too great a security risk. Aerenvas detailed his people’s oppression at the hand of the New Order in a moving way. Later, he praised Gaius Malcovus’s proposal of a resettlement plan to help the non-New Order Vykonians live with dignity, a plan that was a product of their secret negotiations several days earlier. He wrapped up his speech by endorsing Malcovus’s bid for Secretary-General. Applause roared throughout the FSA building, and Aerenvas sighed slightly in satisfaction. He had prepared for hours for his oration and even forced his lunch of baeans down his gullet to give himself more time to practice. Thankfully, it was all worth it.

Up next was an alien who could be best described as a mass of tentacles attached to a hairball mounted on top of arthropod legs. The alien kindly pointed out that Vanna should have mentioned the recent New Order onslaught that had affected so many worlds like his, and urged that the new Secretary-General, whoever they may be, immediately send reinforcements to help the planet survive.

Vanna had omitted the invasion from her speech because it happened in a later post to maintain an optimistic tone. Nevertheless, more and more of the speakers began to mention the New Order incursion. A sense of urgency filled the chambers.

Gaius Malcovus quietly watched all the speeches from his own pod, flanked by other Pasajem diplomats and an increased security presence, the latter due to Salem’s assassination attempt. One could be forgiven for thinking one saw a smile briefly flicker on Malcovus’s face upon mention of Luria’s destruction. But most beings deny to this day that it ever occurred, and even if it did, it was in the sliver of a millisecond. Otherwise, he kept a neutral expression, smiling and nodding only when named and endorsed.

The Tuvar'nloq diplomat spoke and proclaimed her endorsement after a lengthy speech expressing gratitude for allowing her planet to join the FSA after it rejected VPR influence (something that no doubt irked Turel). Following her speech, a Tinusian (OOC: same species as Arila) diplomat spoke.

Then came a Pinacul Orc diplomat. The Orc lamented the destruction of Luria and praised Evangelise Ascheron for ‘her’ bravery. Gaius Malcovus sneered. Suddenly, the Orc requested that the FSA chambers play a holo-recording of Ascheron’s speech. The Lurian’s rousing call to action against the New Order echoed throughout the FSA chambers. Gaius frowned and steamed as he could visibly tell that various diplomats of innumerable worlds were moved by the speech. He needed to get them back on his side, or he would start bleeding votes.

Moments later, at the end of the moderated caucus, Gaius stood up. His pod floated to the center of the vast complex.

“The Pasajem delegation moves for a 20-minute unmoderated caucus,” he announced. 20 minutes was nowhere near the amount of time he truly desired, but he knew it was all he was going to get in order to schmooze anyone who was starting to switch to Ascheron’s bloc.

The vote came in, and Gaius’s motion pass. The FSA diplomats began to scatter; some walked to each other, others floated to the other through pods, others escaped to conference rooms to negotiate and debate. Gaius left the chambers. He had a lot of work to do.

One member of Gaius’s bloc rolled his eyes as a member of Ascheron’s bloc urged that he vote for Evangelise.

“She’s going to be just like her father!” he scoffed.

“She’s not her father!” the member of Ascheron’s bloc urged.

If they only knew of the ruse...and of the sudden reappearance of Gabriel in the smoldering nuclear wasteland that exists where Aerisgard once stood.

-

The pirate nervously smiled as Pirate Lord May Graven slapped him on the back. Despite his armored exoskeleton, he could still feel the pain. He still wasn’t too used to Graven’s demeanor.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he stammered. “The Lurians always make our plundering difficult...and honestly so do the Pasajem.  But whoever wins, this should be interesting. The other Pirate Lords just want to make sure our latest deal works out smoothly. We wouldn’t want any....erm….”

The pirate pulled out a notecard. Now that May Graven was around, he had to practice some of his pirate lingo.

“...any of these landlubber scurvy dogs to backstab us after Akzer’s parley,” he enunciated. He looked to Graven for approval.

Meanwhile, Bourbon’s eyes slightly widened. He suspected that the Xazari would send a diplomat, but he was a bit surprised he would get discovered so quickly. It make future meetings between other Xazari executives and Melchias Apolion a little…awkward.

“Ah, good to see you, Ambassador Kurokawa,” he crooned. “I would say things have gotten very interesting. It looks like Evangelise Ascheron could eke out a lead. What are our analysts projecting for our margins should she be victorious?”

--

<Anh-Dante Cemetery, Malchior IV>

The Presidential Guard had escaped the blasts, but were hit by some of the beams of raw power that had emanated from the fighting. Now that his mysterious, priestly guardian had suddenly left with a bystander, Vell was alone with his second attacker.

Dr. Pa Vell gazed in horror as “Lilith” approached. Emotions flooded over him as he realized he was near his final moments. His life flashed before his eyes, then he smiled. Not a face of joy, but of pity. Somehow, the paradoxical energies electrified him and he regained the memories of “Lilith’s” disguise failing.

“I saw you in the fight,” Vell whispered to “Lilith”. “You’re not Lilith, are you? You remind me more of Malak al-Maut. Whoever...or whatever you are...you have no idea about what he truly is, do you? I pity you. If you kill me you will unleash a nightmare worse than you or the woman whose skin you wear could possibly imagine. The stars will burn, and not just because of the war. But now is not the time for fear...that comes later. Though perhaps those are the concerns of the living...for now I join my beloved in peace.”

-

<Secret New Order Base, Malchior IV>

Treveya slammed her fist, denting the metal table.

“Son of a bitch!” she cursed aloud.

“Hang on, I have an idea,” Rahn offered. “You lost Eachan...but now you have the holo-call log.”

“So?” Treveya spat.

“So,” Rahn insisted. “You can release those logs to Eachan’s enemies. Suddenly, Eachan will look like a traitor who used a secret communication channel to contact a New Order spy.”

Treveya lit up, then frowned.

“Wait, no,” she pouted. “He’ll just release any recordings he might have lying around, and look like the hero.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” Rahn chimed with a grin. “You release the logs, and one of two things will happen: either Eachan gets his clock cleaned and comes crying back to us, or he releases the recording, makes his opposition look like idiots, and you get what you wanted.”

“Agh, you’re brilliant, Rahn!” Treveya replied gleefully. She sent the logs to David Robert Jones and several Tanari media sources.

Days later, after the New Order invasions began, Treveya Q once again returned to the base after a scouting mission. An embarrassed New Order inquisitor trudged up to her as she entered.

“Commander Treveya,” the inquisitor muttered. “We need your assistance with a prisoner.”

Treveya deviously smirked.

“Oh good, I was getting hungry anyway,” she said menacingly.

Treveya stood up and made her way to a makeshift interrogation room that looked more like a medbay. Two Malchiorian human officials, one male, and the other female were sitting in chairs, eyeing her suspiciously.

Treveya nodded politely then sat in front of them. She placed her Takemikazuchi katana on one end of the table in front of the soldiers.

“The way I see it, you have three options,” she informed them. “You either talk, I use this katana, or we get the answers out of you another way.”

“Don’t you people have other ways to make people talk?” the Malchiorian man groaned.

“Absolutely!” Treveya smiled. “But you wouldn’t believe the budget cuts this base has been getting lately. Maybe things will change, but at least we can rely on more...practical methods.”

“Fuck you, tiktak!” the Malchiorian woman spat.

Treveya sighed.

“I’m not Takemikazuchi,” she explained. “The katana is, as was your previous interrogator. Such a kind people. Us Fauld are far more…direct at getting what we want.”

Treveya stood up and smiled as she opened her clawed hand, revealing three small red holes in her palm. The Malchiorians stared in shock.

Treveya hovered it over the Malchiorian woman’s face. The woman gulped fearfully, then began to writhe in pain as multicolored energies crackled around her body. She screamed as searing pain coursed through her veins. Her body began to visibly age as the energies, now crimson, were absorbed into Treveya’s hand.

The other Malchiorian begged for mercy, his initial pleas falling on deaf ears. After seconds that felt like eternities, Treveya stopped. Her victim now looked like an elderly woman.

“We’ll tell you everything!” he gasped. “The supply routes, the coordinates, all of it!”  

Treveya nodded, then left the room without a word.

-

<Presidential Palace, Malchior IV>

Vice President Weir and Emily glanced at each other uncomfortably. The Vice President smiled and stood up and bowed in respect towards the ambassador.

"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador, truly a pleasure," he smiled. "I look forward to hearing from the Vrai soon."

Moments later, he left. Emily remained in her office and smiled at the ambassador.

---

<Andromeda Hotel, Yari III>

Rain smiled when Aster declared the truce.

“Good, us outcasts gotta stick together,” he replied with a smile. “Let’s get this Blackout destruction society of ours going.”

When Aster pointed out that Kristen Bluth and Mett had arrived, Rain rubbed his forearm and cleared his throat.

“Taloran Kite, same backstory,” he whispered while reaching for the Somebody Else’s Problem Field emitter. “But, turns out, we’ve known each other for years. You met me on Malchior, we met before the Tanari War. Yet you avoided telling anyone because of a paranoid fear of...salacious rumors in the press. Anyway, you hired me personally for an intergalactic PSA that’ll come out just in time for the vote and get the attention of the rest of the FSA.”

He removed the emitter, then smiled again.

“Shall we?”

-

<Hideout Flat, Yari III>

“Hmm,” Raven grunted in response to Igor’s statement. He turned then poured himself a glass of the Alpha Centauri rum.

“You’re right, both of you,” he grinned. “Apologies, old bean, just thinking out loud. Cheers.”

He raised his glass and smiled. After everyone toasted, he took a sip.

“So, where do we begin?”

-

<New Dalebridge, Yari III>

Fmr. Commodore Jones Skydda scoffed as he saw the energy shield in front of his podium. His security team had insisted he use it after the recent murders, but to him it was unnecessary and demeaning. They may have called him “Shield-Man Jones” during the wars, but it wasn’t because he cowered behind a shield. On the contrary, his creative use of spaceship shields in both the Vrai and Tanari wars helped him bring down countless enemy ships over the decades. His nickname and reputation was arguably what led him to be appointed as commodore over the 10th Regiment, with unanimous praise from the VPR, Lurians, and Tanari alike.

Skydda grinned and adjusted his tie. The classic Yari business attire was not exactly his idea for comfort, but polls from his latest speech indicated voters were happy about it, so now it was part of his typical wardrobe. He glanced up around him, noticing all the tall skyscrapers glaring down at him, an imposing sight for anyone. Behind him were cream-colored stony steps leading to a rotund building which was the New Dalebridge city hall. Skydda had just emerged after a productive meeting with the city’s mayor; she had promptly endorsed Skydda in his race for Yari III’s parliament.

Security monitored the roofs of most of the skyscrapers in the immediate vicinity. All but one, far to the east of where the speech was going to occur. There, Brian Alfons Terra quietly began to set up a sniper mount. He pursed his lips as he looked through the scope, the targeting system chiming when he locked in on his target.

Meanwhile, Skydda solemnly placed his hands on top of the podium and looked into the crowd. The crowd of supporters--coming from his would-be constituency and from all over Yari III--were flanked by the press. He smiled again.

“Good afternoon,” he enunciated. “My security team insisted that I use these shields for my own safety. They know that this murderer has been targeting ex-members of the 10th Regiment, and they believe I may be next.”

Skydda chuckled. The audience remained silent. His eyes darted around, and he breathed in.

“This is what our Confederation will look like if Lundby and Jones have their way,” Skydda declared, waving his arms dismissively. The audience erupted in cheers. “You speak your mind, and you have to live in fear of death in case a backward Shifter radical didn’t like your tone! And don’t you dare complain, or even Malchior will get mad! They can’t defend the FSA from the New Order onslaught, but they can meddle in our Confederation’s business! It’ll only be a matter of time before they start telling the Trilateral what to do!”

The audience kept cheering and chanting.

“None of this will happen if I am elected!” Skydda proclaimed as he pumped his fist into his chest. “Yari III’s real citizens will live safe and secure, without needing to worry about radical Shifter subversives or anyone else daring to spread lies that threaten our society. Von Budberg and I will stand up to outside influence, and be part of a coalition with Eachan that will help route the New Order and establish a better Yari, a better Trilateral.”

Skydda paused as if to keep the audience in suspense. He slightly rolled his eyes as though he had to grant the rest of the Confederation this line, no doubt an appeal to any Trilateralists in the midst.

“...and a better Tanari!”

The audience whooped in acclaim.

“Which is why I say to the killers, I am not afraid!” he shouted. Skydda left the podium and stepped to one of the shield’s sides. He crossed his arms in pride as the audience went into a frenzy.

Terra’s finger looped into the trigger, but before he could pull it, a staccato of gunfire rang out from another building.

Skydda ducked. The audience began to scream and many began to run for cover. Skydda stood back up, unscathed, and raised his arms. He gazed up to the source of the gunfire and smiled.

“You missed!” he boasted. The audience composed themselves and began to roar.

Terra cursed to himself and quickly set down his rifle. Either someone else had their eyes on the controversial Skydda, or this was a setup. He flung the rifle on his chest, shifted a pair of wings, and fluttered away.

Meanwhile, Skydda’s security rushed to the source of the gunfire. They found a drone holding a loaded gun. One of the guards deactivated it, and nodded to the other.

“Looks like Skydda’s plan worked,” he said.

---

<Vongola, Kozin’s Camp>

Joshua Kozín sighed and peered at the roof, lost in thought. He then looked back at Inquisidora Kora.

“I’ve been fighting this war for years, Inquisidora,” he replied solemnly. Democracy is why I stay in this fight against all odds. I first infiltrated the coup plot believing that if we sabotaged the revolution, we would restore the monarchy. But as time passed and we became a resistance, I realized we can establish a real democracy on Vongola, not the thinly-veiled tyrannies of the Di Armechios or of Oncé. I can promise you some form of democracy, though this new republic may need modifications to keep the Thomas Kanes of the world happy…otherwise, this war will never end. As for the rest….”

Joshua paused and sighed again. He took the last sip of the drink he had prepared back during his conversation with Kane.

“I’m afraid what pledging to the Order and Progress Coalition will do to our already decreasing FSA support,” he explained. “Frankly, thanks to them, the Diamond Dogs, and even the Galactic Government, we’ve survived much longer than we should have. I’m not sure if they’ve been expecting us to join all along, or if they even care at all. Either way, it will take a lot of negotiating to talk them out of abandoning us outright…plus I need to convince all the other leaders of the Front, especially those who are working on building local governments in the Liberated Territories.”

Joshua stared at the ground, pondering the possibilities. Either he would accept Kora’s offer and risk alienating the FSA or reject her offer and keep the Coalition on Kane’s side. Sure, the latter would mean that the Vrai would still help fund the rebellion regardless, but between Joshua’s fraught relationship with Kane and the Vrai’s own problems with the monarchists, it would end up being a tenuous alliance that relied upon a tenuous alliance. Joshua would have to spend half the war hoping and praying for unity in the rebellion, otherwise they would prolong the war. Essentially, the second option would just maintain the status quo, which is what led to Thomas Phaedrus Kane becoming the Hero of Sards. And there was still no guarantee the FSA would continue helping the rebellion anyway—they had a war of their own to worry about.

“But I’m willing to join your Coalition if it means saving this planet,” he affirmed. “With regards to your third request…some of my generals have talked about contingency plans should Kane decide to betray us. But I think the best way to keep him at bay is to offer him the presidency in a new Vongolan republic. It may not be the government he or his supporters want, but perhaps that little cult of personality of his will be satisfied in the meantime. As for Figlio…some of our recent high-ranking defectors have informed us that not everyone in the VPR is 100% happy with him. Some think he’s far too brutal, even some of Uteriach’s own butchers don’t seem to stomach Figlio’s brand of purging. Others believe he is lagging on truly revolutionizing the system and bringing lasting change. They believe his father was far more committed to the VPR’s ideals. What if our factions and the FSA all worked together with dissident generals to launch a coup of our own on this planet? A rebel killing Figlio would turn him into a martyr. Just look at Uteriach after all, and I’m not even sure he’s truly dead. But what if the government itself did it to save the Vongolan Republic? If only we could somehow convince them that the coup would also stop the New Order or something, that would certainly help.”

Joshua chuckled and glanced at his empty glass. He shook his head then looked back to Kora.

“I’m sorry about all the monologuing, Inquisidora Kora,” Joshua breathed. “Do we have a deal?”

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

One of Halo's wooden eyebrows moved upwards in curiosity, his eyes slowly turned towards Xavik, and his mouth opened to speak. His somewhat shrill, high-pitched voice had quietened to a whisper, as if he did not want anyone but Xavik to hear him. "What do you mean, ascend? I mean, not that I don't like being a lyre, and a particularly badass one at that, but are you saying I could be something else?"

Meanwhile, Oblique was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his fingers intertwined, apparently deep in meditation. His brilliant white robes continued to flow around him, making it impossible to tell whether he was actually touching the floor or was levitating. Upon hearing Halo's conversation with Xavik, Oblique hissed "Shh!" and twanged one of Halo's strings, causing the lyre to yelp and then fall silent.

A moment later, Oblique's eyes snapped open and he jumped up from the floor, urgently stepping over to the cell door. His sky-blue eyes locked onto Sally's, and for a split second the gemstone embedded in his forehead flashed the same color.

"We don't have much time," Oblique spoke to Sally telepathically. "I sense you are like me. A telepath. Your spiritual coils are... isolated, but present. Do you feel it too? I feel... malice. Close, perhaps even in this very room. Malice beyond annoyance... transformed into the intent to kill. Our murderer has already decided to kill again. That is the fate that has befallen their soul, but it is not a fate that we have to share in. There's not much time left. Enter my mind if you must. Whatever you do, you must act now."

-----

<Alcanta Valley, Malchior IV>

Before Kakamu could respond to the arrival of the strange figures in front of him, he heard a voice in his head. It came and went so quickly that he almost brushed it off as a hallucination, a side-effect of weariness after having been mauled by the creature from his childhood nightmares, but the Mask of Clarity latched onto the voice and replayed it, refusing to let Kakamu dismiss it.

"Kakamu?" the unmistakable voice of Arc Vekhta spoke.

"What?" Kakamu whispered, looking around and rising to his feet as he processed the voice.

"I know, I know the name wasn't my idea," the thin, black and silver, snake-headed robot replied, its metal mouth forming a grin. "Or was it? Nah, it was definitely yours, wasn't it, Muta?"

The flat cylindrical head of the large white spherical-bodied robot next to him turned from side to side, indicating a negative response.

"Well, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to argue about it later," the snake-headed robot replied, turning back to face Kakamu. "So, will you be coming with us, your majesty?"

"It would help if I knew who the hell you are," Kakamu grimaced, reaching for the Guardian Fire Spear on his back. "I've had a long, long day, so make it quick."

"Oh? Oh, a day?" the snake-headed robot laughed uproariously, throwing its head back. "Aww, Kakamu wants his beauty sleep! Well excuse me, but we've been out looking for you for weeks. This goddamn portal network stretches all across the galaxy. We must have visited dozens of planetary dumps before we found you on this one."

"We should get moving," the spherical-bodied robot interjected in a typically neutral robotic voice, stepping towards its leader. "The portal closes in three minutes, and this is Malchior IV. If we get stranded here..."

"I know, I know," the snake-headed robot sighed. "Okay, bag him up, let's go."

The spherical-bodied robot then stretched out one of its palms towards Kakamu, and before the Tekkui could respond, he found himself launched towards it, as if he was being pulled telekinetically or by an extremely strong magnet. Kakamu felt the air leave his lungs as he was crumbled against the robot's hand, trapped in its grip. As he began to slip out of consciousness, he felt the Mask of Clarity move a new objective to the top of his list of priorities.

Find answers. Find Arc Vekhta.

[ Warship Akathama Kimaris ]

Canaan Jones lay in the ship's medical bay, hooked up to an IV, but conscious. Evangelise Ascheron stood over him, brushing the wounded man's hair out his face, surveying his wounds. He'd sustained most of them in the escape from Narayanastra itself - contrary to her worst fears, he hadn't actually been tortured during his captivity aboard the station. She had Lilith to thank for that.

Canaan was the first to speak. "How bad is it, Doc? Be honest."

"You look like shit." responded Evangelise, checking the readout on a medical monitor located next to his bed. "But I wouldn't have you any other way. Your vitals are good - you'll pull through."

"And here I was hoping for an early retirement." joked Canaan, surveying the compact, but high-tech medical lounge of the Kimaris. "This... sorta looks like a New Order ship, Eve."

"That's because it is. We, uh borrowed it."

"Ah."

"Well, Daniel Danssen borrowed it first. From Timothy Morgan Veidt."

Canaan sarcastically nodded. "From Timothy Morgan Veidt. As one does."

"It's a long story. Anyway, it's ours now, and we made a few... upgrades."

"I figured as much. I'm not too sure about the name though. Akathama Kimaris. Doesn't quite flow off the tongue."

"Can you think of a better one?"

"You bet your sweet a-"

"Sorry, Canaan, allow me to clarify: Enterprise is not a valid suggestion, nor is Normandy, nor is Rocinante, nor is Yamato."

Canaan grinned. "That still leaves me with one."

---

[ Lurian Interim Flagship Hugo Gernsbacher, Luria Orbit ]

The apparent rebirth of Gabriel Ascheron at this pivotal turning point in Lurian history had restored hope to the entirety of the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes. A crestfallen people, reeling from the loss of their ancestral homeworld, had found their faith strengthened and renewed by the act of divine providence that was the return of their greatest leader.

But it had come at a heavy cost. Evangelise Ascheron had, as far as the public knew, given her life in exchange for her father's; sacrificed herself, body and soul, for the Lurian way of life. There was no greater sacrifice to be made, and already, shrines and memorials to her had been hastily assembled across the entire AKD. In reality, Ascheron could simply no longer pretend to be Evangelise now that he had returned to his original identity - he was a Shifter, not a magician.

"My lord."

Ascheron turned. Samuel Malcyar, one of the few privy to the truth of his identity, slithered into the room like a sinister, slimy snake. The scientist had facilitated Ascheron's transition to his new Shifter body, and in exchange, was allowed to practice dark science, provided it was for the benefit of the Lurian people.

"What is it?"

"A communication. For you, my lord - from the independent warship Pathfinder. They were able to provide... your personal authentication codes."

Evangelise.

"Leave me. I'll take the transmission in this room."

Moments later, a holographic projection of Evangelise Ascheron appeared in the room before him.

"It's good to see you, Evangelise."

"Don't pretend that this is any kind of happy reunion - or that you haven't been sending assassins after me daily for the past few months. My existence has been awful inconvenient as of late, hasn't it? Given that you've co-opted my identity, and all."

Gabriel gestured down at his new, restored body. "A necessary prec-"

"Again, spare me. I'm... I'm not here to talk about that. We have more pressing issues. The New Order needs to be stopped."

"That we agree on."

"I'm going to cut you a deal. You will transfer over to me ten of the mothballed King Bradley-class corvettes currently stored at the Tannhauser naval yards. I've included the registry numbers of the ships I want in the metadata of this message. In exchange, you will be buying my silence. Your story relies on people never knowing that you became a Shifter - that the real Evangelise Ascheron is still alive. I'm beyond caring about your delusional, power-hungry antics, and the Ascheron name never sat right with me. It's a trade I'm willing to make."

Gabriel Ascheron appeared stunned. "Why... why do you want ten ships?"

"I'm starting a navy. A small, elite force that can rapidly respond to New Order attacks, and doesn't owe its allegiance to any one nation. The Free States can hold the line, but they can't win the war. They're too inflexible, too immobile."

Gabriel Ascheron couldn't help but grin; his daughter had his mother's keen military mind. "And the King Bradleys are perfect for hit-and-run attacks. Very well - as long as they'll be used against the New Order, I see no issue with your terms. Does your navy have a name, Evangelise?"

"It's... admittedly, it's a work in progress."

"And, do you? Have a name, that is? Given that Evangelise Ascheron will soon be a thing of the past."

"It'd be better for the both of us if you didn't know it. A Heyerdahl corporation cruiser will arrive at Tannhauser to transfer skeleton crews to the corvettes. After that, we're done. We go our separate ways."

Gabriel Ascheron chuckled, stroking his chin. "You used to be so heroic, Evangelise. Just like your mother. There was a time where you never would've been willing to reach a compromise with me - with the evil Gabriel Ascheron - and now look at you. You're willing to turn a blind eye to all my evil acts, just to secure a fleet of ships. The ends justify the means - is that your new rationale?"

"I prefer perfect is the enemy of good. Goodbye, father."

Evangelise cut the communications feed, leaving Gabriel Ascheron alone.

---

[ ES Base ]

"The base on... on Osdurandt... is fully... Operational..."

Massa screamed as he tried to struggle against the drugs and torture.

OOS: Start remembering what you read.

<Malchior IV, Anh-Dante Cemetery>

“Ah, Dr. Vell, I’m terribly sorry.” Blackout said. “You must have mistaken me for someone who has a problem with that. It was nice of you to confirm what I already suspected, though. Such a nice, helpful man you are.”

“It’s a pity. In some other, better world we might be blissfully unaware of each other’s existence. Instead I’m going to have to use you to light the funeral pyre. In this case, I’ll do it more in sorrow than in anger - not that that matters to you.”

Blackout let off a burst of energy in Pa Vell’s direction, then dropped the shield around them. As soon as he did, a small dark cloud that had been hanging in the background ever since Salem had blown up the original assassin suddenly flew towards him at high speed and entered him, healing him of his injuries. He gave the Presidential Guard a quick wink, and then disappeared.

-----

<Vesa Qatoria, Espiritu Santo Base>

Blackout breathed a sigh of relief as he rematerialised in the Espiritu Santo base. Though he hadn’t used the full extent of his power, far from it, and he’d been able to heal using the remaining Void Magic from the body of his deceased assassin, the combat had still taken a toll on him. Thankfully, Void Magic was attracted to Void Magic - when someone touched by it died, it lingered and could be absorbed by another being, so long as their system already contained Void Magic. (This did mean there was an Espiritu Santo running around with twice the usual amount of power for an Espiritu Santo and the occasional strange dream, but that wasn’t a pressing issue.) The same principle underpinned his teleportation abilities -  while he could theoretically try to go anywhere, he would only be sure of reaching his destination if there was at least a trace amount of it at the other end.

He broke out of his train of thought as he became cognizant of the presence of another being in the room with him. “Of course,” he said, and turned around. Before him sat Lilith Heyerdahl, locked into her own pod.

“Where are my manners? Miss Heyerdahl, welcome. What can I do for you?” he said, and almost immediately became lost in thought again. It was incredible, when one thought about it, how little he’d actually had to do to plunge the galaxy into an inferno. Empires were so easy. All one had to do was pull on the emotional heartstrings of two people. He could have taken a different approach - there was still Void technology out there, more than enough to start a conflagration if he’d wanted to - but this way was less conspicuous and more interesting.

“I hope you’ve not been mistreated while I’ve been gone.” he finally resumed. “We wouldn’t do that. You are an honoured guest here.”


“Osdurandt?” said the fake Sefer Yetzirah. “Start making sense, Admiral. The New Order is short on time… and you are even shorter. Osdurandt is already not safe.”

-----

<Yari III, Andromeda Hotel>

“Ms. Bluth, welcome to the Andromeda Hotel. But please tell me that he isn’t here with you.” the receptionist said, gesturing vaguely to Mett. The woman looked tired - it had clearly been a busy day. “I’ve had to shuffle so much around just because you can’t make a booking properly. We’ve already had to rebook the honeymoon suite for the other half of your party.”

“Is this how you speak to all guests? Don’t make me file a complaint...” an annoyed Kirsten began, only to pick up on what the receptionist had said. “Wait, did you say the honeymoon suite?”

At this point, Mett stepped in, his trade unionist’s instincts leading him to be more annoyed by Kirsten’s behaviour than anything else. “I’m sorry for my colleague, she’s new to Yari. But no, I’m not staying here, I just need to deliver a message to Aster and Taloran Kite.” he said in his usual dry tone.

“Oh, thank god!” the receptionist cried. “Sorry, I've been up to my neck today. I get cranky when I’m hungry. They’re in the restaurant.”

Mett looked around, first at the clock, then at their surroundings, then suddenly grabbed a post-it note, scribbled a phone number on it and slipped it to the receptionist. He leaned forward and whispered. “I work for the YFL. Call me after work, I can give you some advice.” With that, he left for the restaurant, a slightly embarrassed Kirsten in tow.


“Ah, I’m so paranoid I got them to book us the honeymoon suite. Genius plan, very you.” Aster snarked in-between mouthfuls of noodles, though in reality she couldn’t help but think it might at least keep the Eachanite propaganda machine off-balance for a day or two, and a day was a long time in politics.

Kirsten and Mett then walked up to their table. The four greeted each other, and Mett pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Aster. It contained their schedule for the next few days: the first item was a visit to the Homecoming Church in Icala District in just a few hours, and the next day...

“Old Saskana.” Aster whispered.

“Yes, we thought you might like that. It’s a marginal seat now, thanks to all the people priced out of Horba because the Thirteen Families own so much of the land around here that we can’t build.”

“Imagine being priced out of Horba.” Aster grumbled. Of course, Aster hadn’t actually lived here in about thirteen years, but she’d been back a few times since, and the memories of her original time living here were rushing back to her now anyway. She finished scanning the schedule, then handed it back to Mett. “Right, that seems to make sense. You guys get something to eat if you want, and we can head off to Icala. Taloran?”

“One last thing. We’ve had to make one little change for near the end of the visit.” Mett said. “Someone else is visiting last-minute. Someone very important.”

“Oh, don’t tell me…” Aster gritted her teeth as she realised he could only mean one particular presidential candidate.

-----

<Yari III, Icala District of Horba City>

The mood on the streets of Icala was funereal that afternoon. This wasn’t down to lack of activity - indeed, some would say it wasn’t physically possible for the streets of Icala to ever be empty, the whole place having been named after an ancient Shifter word for ‘hive’ - but due to the news of the New Order offensive. Everyone knew it was inevitable that Sefer Yetzirah would attack again, but there had been relative calm for so long that hope had been starting to emerge. And now everything was exploding, and it was surely only a matter of time before they came for the Tanari Confederation again.

As Aster, Kirsten, Mett, and (hopefully) Rain walked towards the Homecoming Church, having finished lunch, picked up the tab (it was not very expensive - the dish Aster and Rain had ordered was the cheapest on the menu), and left their stuff in their rooms, they went off to Icala, periodically being stopped by Aster and Kirsten’s phones going off. They were being absolutely spammed with messages, thanks to a killer combination of spam texts which were technically legal on Yari, journalists asking them for comment on the New Order offensive and Evangelise Ascheron’s speech for some reason, texts asking if they were still alive stemming from a bizarre rumour that the New Order fleet had already reached Yari III, and in Aster’s case, texts informing her about Freya Jackson’s ill-fated attempt to get William Douglas Reed to work with her to sabotage her leadership.

The latter problem was resolved through a few texts with the chair of the MRF executive committee, which ended with Freya’s party membership being suspended on grounds of ‘bringing the party into disrepute’ (Aster pushed for the official reason to be ‘being a fucking idiot’, but was eventually convinced otherwise). A lot of people would complain, and some of them would even mean it, but you didn’t help anyone without power, Aster thought, and you didn’t get power by being a fool like Freya. Reed was a problem and he would have to be dealt with, but for now the best she could do was to plug the leaks. Aster then shut her phone off, just as they came within sight of the Church, a surprisingly unimpressive sight all in all, especially as it was not yet time for the next service and there weren’t many people heading for it.

“On the beach at night alone, as the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song, as I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future. A vast similitude interlocks all. All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, all distances of place however wide, all distances of time, all inanimate forms, all souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds, all gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes, all nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages, all identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe, all lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future. This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d, and shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.” Aster quietly intoned.

“Huh?” Kirsten and Mett went in unison. “Aster, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Just an Earth poem. Jones always reads it out whenever he runs into one of the Homecomers.” she explained. “I don’t care for poetry, but I like that one.”

“Help! Somebody help me!” came a voice coming from a nearby dark alley. Without really thinking, Aster went over to check out what was happening - she figured this would annoy Rain, but this only seemed like another reason to do it - and found a man wearing a red cap holding another man at gunpoint. Quietly, she stretched her arm out forwards, turning it into a long pole which she used to knock the armed man’s legs from under him, and then grabbed his gun when it went flying.

“Are you alright?” she said to the victim.

The victim coughed. “Yes… this cunt just attacked me out of nowhere! I was just going to church!”

“The Stäbils are bringing misfortune on us all!” the attacker yelled. “Allmanism was them, not us! If we do something about them, maybe Sefer will spare us!”

“We are not animals.” Aster hissed, quoting the old, and now sadly forgotten, Starfire slogan. As the attacker tried to get up, Aster decked him with her pole-arm again. She checked the gun, which barely had enough charge left for one shot. This clearly hadn’t been planned very well. “Get out of here, you superstitious fool. Hopefully if Sefer does come here, she’ll get you first.”

The attacker ran away, leaving Aster not very concerned about him, but very concerned in general about what could happen even if the New Order didn’t get to Yari for a long time.

-----

<Yari III, Hideout Flat>

“Nothing wrong with thinking.” Siper said. “For example, I thought to get us this.” He suddenly took out a piece of paper, which was almost identical to the one Mett had given Aster.

“This is official. How the hell did you get this?” Paul had a shit-eating grin on his face reading the schedule. “We can get her anytime now.”

Siper shrugged. “I’m just that good.”

Truth be told, Siper had never been that good. In fact, he had been something of a liability during previous missions, and though he hadn’t yet told him, Paul was planning to let him go after the Yari election. Now, he had suddenly stepped up his game, and Paul was impressed.

“And the good news keeps rolling.” Igor opened his box, revealing a seemingly normal, old-fashioned revolver and a set of bullets. “I got this baby on Sukhonia. It’s a normal gun, but the bullets are all coated in a special anti-Shifter poison. Undetectable, and depending on the dose, usually takes about an hour and a half to finish them off.”

“Wonderful!” Paul said, still clutching the schedule. “This says the circus is rolling into Old Saskana tomorrow. Raven, Siper, I want you to go there ASAP and prepare so we don’t just charge in and get caught. Igor and I will handle Von Budberg and things here in Horba. Agreed?”

-----

<Yari III, Richard’s Camp>

“The master grows impatient.” the bald Terugan said in a slow, unsettling voice.

“Yes, he fears you have failed him.” his Tuvar’nloq companion continued, somehow in the same tone. “That you are too weak to handle his power or to complete the plan.” This was some irony; both their brains had been as good as fried by Void Magic.

“The plan is mine, god damn it.” replied Richard. “I’m just a day or two away. He will be pleased with the results, trust me.”

“He hopes.” the Tuvar’nloq said.

“Or the Espiritu Santo will have to find an alternative solution for this sector of space.” the Terugan finished.

-----

<September Dawn Corvette>

“We can spin this, agreed. And I have enough technical data for the eggheads back home to work with.” Hawkes said. “But what actually happened is weird enough that we need to talk about it. Buckner, tell them.”

Lt. Buckner gulped. “I saw Lilith Heyerdahl give a self-destruct order to the PsyTroopers. She said we’d infected them with some sort of virus when we came on board. Except, obviously, we hadn’t. Had we?”

-----

<Lalli and Regina’s Ship>

Amanda and Pes spun around in their chairs, also hoping to finally get some answers. An uncomfortable silence filled the room for a second, and finally, Ashton caved in.

“I acted against my instincts on the Narayanastra.” he finally said, eyeing Lalli. “And now I hope I won’t regret it.”

------

<Malchior IV, FSA General Parliamentary Assembly>

Turel silently fumed at the Tuvar'nloq's speech. The VPR had given him so much, elevated him from a petty crook to… whatever he was now, and it could do so much for so many others, if only they’d let it. Well, they’d see soon.

His mood was soon restored when the pirate took out the notecard. He tried to keep a straight face when he saw it, but failed and started sniggering. “Fuckin’ hell!” he laughed. “I knew you guys were just pulling everyone’s leg with all that ‘arrrr, matey’ crap.”

“The Pasajem looks like he’s shitting himself.” he said as Malcovus called for a recess. “Evangelise might just be running away with it. You really think you can work with her? The Lurians don’t seem like they’d put up with you for very long, no offence.”


Further down, the Phantom Lord, Alpha Centaurian, Corrantian, and Alainian ambassadors all recognised the same thing Turel had. And they didn’t like it one bit.

-----

<Vongola, Kozin’s Camp>

“Your plan is sound. What you say about the FSA is worrying,” Kora said, though it wasn’t worrying to her, per se. “But we will offer whatever assistance we can. We can even use our influence to try to bring Kane to heel, if he tries to hold out on you. Offering him influence in the new democratic republic seems necessary, though it is also storing up problems for later. In any case, we have a deal.”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

“That’s right.” Sally responded telepathically. “Let’s hurry.”

She entered Oblique’s mind.


Prush, who had just returned from speaking to the first of their two blue-footprint suspects, angrily blocked West and Deacon’s path. “Excuse me, what the hell are you doing here?” he yelled. He didn’t usually scream so much, but this case - with its seriousness, the lack of progress, and the sheer quantity of people that kept interrupting him - was getting to him shockingly quickly. “I’ve been working security on this ship for five years, and I have never heard of either of you in my life! Either you give me a damn good explanation for this, or… or…”

He pointed to Xavik and Ronald’s cell. “Or you’re going straight in there for obstruction of justice and impersonating an officer!”

“Hey, c’mon bruh! Four to a cell? Now that’s definitely cruel and unusual punishment!” Ronald whined.

Prush whipped around. “Ronald, I swear to God…”

“Look, all you have to do is let me out, and I promise not to let anyone know about the utter mess the Coldest Story’s criminal investigations department is.” Ronald offered.

Prush made a funny face as he pondered possibly the strangest, yet admittedly somewhat well thought-out bribery attempt he’d ever faced. He wasn’t going to take it, but it did give him an idea. He surely wasn’t the only huge fan of Sefer Yetzirah’s favourite brand of coffee on the ship.

“I’ll consider it, but only if you introduce us to some of your black market dealers.” he finally said.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig - The Mind of Oblique Twilight Radiance>

As Sally closed her eyes and entered the mind of the Lithan, she experienced a sudden sensation of falling, as one sometimes does in the moments before they fall asleep.

In the next moment, her vision was filled with vague, blurry splotches of grey that gradually solidified into something that resembled groups of clouds passing slowly beneath an equally grey sky. As Sally floated through this expanse, she noticed that each of the clouds contained a selection of moving images that were briefly illuminated by lightning bolts dancing between them. All around her, Sally saw visions of robed warriors clashing with magical swords and spells, dragons tearing into spacecraft with their claws, and a hooded figure crumbling a mountain with nothing but the power of his voice before the clouds that carried these images receded into the dark grey skies, replaced by new clouds with new images that portrayed different events. Although Sally realized that she was floating alongside what were most likely representations of Oblique's memories, this experience was nothing like the other times she had entered the minds of others. She had hoped to find a psychic environment that was more familiar to her, given that the Lithan species was distantly descended from humanity, but she was just grateful that there seemed to be some way for her to navigate his mind.

The next set of clouds that entered her view depicted a white-haired and blue-eyed Lithan child practicing martial skills with a wooden sword, ankle-deep in a field of bright green grass. Judging from the color of the child's hair and eyes, this was Oblique, but Sally found it curious that she could see him from a third-person perspective if these were his memories. Intrigued, Sally floated towards this particular cloud, momentarily forgetting about the urgency of the current situation on the Coldest Story. In an unrecognizable, presumably Lithan, language, the voice of an older woman called out to the child, getting his attention. The young Oblique smiled, turned, and ran, and the vision ran with him, chasing him across the field. Miles in front of him, on the horizon, a colossal tree - the largest Sally had ever seen - touched the sky, its branches stretching out in all directions and forming a canopy that stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Excuse me," the adult voice of Oblique spoke, interrupting Sally's viewing.

Sally jumped - or would have, if there was gravity in this place - and turned around. Floating next to her was the adult version of Oblique, or at least a psychic manifestation of himself. He appeared identical to how he did in the real world, with flowing white robes that seemed more appropriate in this weightless environment, but with one immediately noticeable exception: Halo was nowhere to be seen. A gentle smile spread across his thin face, and he placed his hands on Sally's shoulders. "Like I said, there's not much time. Let me guide you."

As Oblique flicked his hand, the cloud depicting the child version of himself was rushed away, along with all the other clouds around it, to be replaced by the next group of clouds that arrived. Like flicking through files in a folder, Oblique spent the next few moments browsing through his own memories at rapid speed, taking less than a second to assess and dismiss each of them. Eventually, Oblique stretched out his palm to stop the progression of clouds, settling on one that depicted a similarly-cloudy planet that was lit by the dim glow of a red sun.

"This is where it all began," Oblique said, frowning. "Come with me."

OOS: section theme

Taking Sally's hand, Oblique dove into the cloud, emerging in the world it depicted. The two psychonauts found themselves falling through its sky, hurtling towards the ground at rapid speed, until they eventually landed on its surface. Although a drop from such a distance would have annihilated them in the real world, Sally felt no impact; in fact, when she looked down, she found herself standing on her feet, as if she had been like that all along. The world around her was dry and lifeless, with large cracks all across the landscape leading towards tall, rocky cliffs that occupied the horizon. Oblique stood beside her, his face contorted into a scowl as he observed the events that had set him on his journey unfold once again.

In front of Sally and Oblique, three robed figures were engaged in a vicious battle against another, hooded figure who wore a skull-shaped mask that concealed his face. Although all his opponents carried swords, the masked figure seemed to fight only using magic, with arcane runes circling in the air around his fingers as he unleashed a blast of energy that sent one of his enemies flying across the battlefield towards the observers. The unlucky warrior crashed and rolled, eventually coming to a stop at Sally's feet. Upon looking down at his face, Sally realized that the injured swordsman was no other than Oblique himself, with Halo strapped to his back and a sizable hole having been seared through his robes. The sword he was carrying twitched for a moment before exploding, some of the shards embedding themselves in the ground and in Oblique's chest. This version of Oblique grunted and climbed to his feet, preparing to re-enter the fray despite his injuries.

"We can't beat him hand-to-hand!" Halo shouted. "It's time to let me loose!"

Sally glanced at the present version of Oblique to gauge his reaction, but he seemed distant, focusing on the efforts of the other warriors rather than the past version of himself. One of them was a Lithan woman with bright orange hair tied into a ponytail and equally orange robes who brandished two emerald swords, one in each hand. She screamed a battle cry as she leaped into the air towards her masked enemy, seeming to clear the distance between them in less than a second. Although she moved at breakneck speed, the masked figure seemed to halt her approach with only a wave of his hand, freezing her in mid-air. With another quick gesture, as though time itself was being reversed, the woman was sent flying backwards, coming to a stop with her feet on the ground. As the spell wore off, she barely had time to breathe before a bolt of dark energy was launched into her face, sending her reeling in agony.

The other warrior engaged in battle against the dark sorcerer was a male humanoid who wore robes that were a similar bright white color to those of Oblique's, albeit without the frills and decorations. He had pale blue skin that almost seemed more like a kind of fabric than natural skin, which seemed to have been sowed together, judging from the appearance of bright white 'seams' all across the surface of his skin. In addition to the seams, his skin was also covered in bright white runes that almost seemed to glow as he did battle with his enemy. The sword in his hand was also colored white, with a long blue crystal that was housed within the blade. As this warrior thrust his sword towards the dark sorcerer, the air between them seemed to freeze, creating a sheet of ice that threatened to engulf the sorcerer. The sorcerer, however, shattered the ice as it approached him with a single punch, creating a shockwave that knocked its creator off his feet.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" The masked sorcerer 'spoke' in a male voice that was more like an eerie hiss or whisper. Sally was unsure whether the man was speaking vocally, or telepathically; it was hard to tell the difference in a psychic environment such as this memory. "Are you trying to save this world, Quolas?"

Saying nothing, Quolas grit his teeth, readied his sword, and returned to the fray. He was running out of strategies; the wizard seemed to be able to counter every attack, so Quolas had fallen back on the hope that eventually his enemy would be exhausted enough to finally let his guard down... that is, if Quolas was not exhausted first.

"What can you do in your current state?" the dark sorcerer continued mockingly, advancing towards Quolas. "I will be the one to save this world. I will be the one to save ALL worlds. I will correct all the mistakes that your people left to grow untreated, like a cancer on this reality. You are not a guardian of time... I am. You can't even save a friend."

The sorceror then stretched a black hand out towards the female Lithan, telekinetically pulling her towards him until her neck landed in his grip. Her once-pristine face was now obscured by a smouldering burn, the result of the dark energy the sorcerer had subjected her to. She choked and struggled, feeling her strength fading the longer she remained in his grasp. Quolas began to approach them, but stopped when he realized that, with each step, the sorcerer's grip got just a little bit tighter.

"Oblique, we gotta act now, man!" Halo pleaded, barely able to watch their comrade in such danger.

Oblique coughed up blood and rose to his feet, also having been weakened by his injuries and the sorcerer's dark energies. "Wait, Halo. She has a plan. Any second now..."

"You have the power to save her, Quolas," the wizard continued. He raised his hand, lifting the Lithan woman so that her feet no longer touched the ground. "Go back in time. Stop this. You know there's only one way this will end."

While Quolas clenched his fists and considered his response, the Lithan woman suddenly produced a dagger from one of her long orange sleeves and thrust it into the wizard's side. Audibly hissing in pain, the wizard threw the woman into the ground head-first, knocking her out cold.

"Now!" Oblique shouted. He grabbed Halo by his side and began to rapidly spin him around in a circle, creating a wheel of light. At that moment, Halo's voice resounded through the battlefield, erupting with a sonic boom that swept everyone off their feet.

"Though the onset of clouds may cover the land in darkness, no shadow can quieten song. As is the way of music, so are the laws of our justice!"

While Halo laughed maniacally, his wooden frame split and transformed into a long wooden box that opened to reveal a silver blade that crackled with golden energy. The wooden parts of Halo then folded and condensed into a hilt for the blade, allowing Oblique to grasp it. Reinvigorated by its aura, Oblique launched himself across the battlefield, the Sword of Halo pointed at his enemy's chest.

With his right hand covering the stab wound on his side, the dark wizard raised his left, intending to conjure another spell to trap or kill Oblique. The green runes of his magic materialized and began to dance around his fingers, only to be burned away into nothingness before they could land on Halo, evaporated by Halo's radiance. Realizing that his magic was useless against Halo, the wizard gasped in horror, having no time to conjure another defense. Without hesitation, Oblique drove the blade of Halo through the wizard's chest and out through the back of his robes, spraying blood across the dry, red earth behind him. The wizard's eyes bulged, and he collapsed, twitching on the ground.

"For great justice," Oblique snarled into the wizard's ear before pulling the blade from his chest.

Next to Sally, the version of Oblique from the present shook his head in sorrow. "And yet, it still wasn't enough."

The sound that then emerged from the sorcerer was not one that Oblique expected to hear. It began with a low vocal hissing noise that soon escalated into raucous telepathic laughter that echoed in the minds of everyone present.

Quolas ran over, aiming his sword at the wizard alongside Oblique as the villain lay sprawled across the ground.

"Well done, well done," the masked wizard hissed smugly, glaring at Oblique while seeming to ignore the blood that continued to flow from his open wounds. "This was a remarkable test of your abilities. Now that I know your true power, Lithan, I and my kindred can plan accordingly. Perhaps you will be remembered in the new world... perhaps not. As for you, Quolas," the wizard continued, turning to him, "We will meet again.. for the last time."

Before either Oblique or Quolas could react, the blood that poured from the wizard then rapidly receded back into his body and the gashes made by the blades sealed themselves, as if they had never been made. Oblique and Quolas instantly raised their swords and swung again, but the wizard fell through the ground, disappearing into a dark portal that appeared behind him. Oblique reached towards it, but Quolas grabbed his hand, pulling it away in the nick of time. Although Oblique did not realize why, he found his answer when the portal closed a moment later, bisecting a rock that fell into it.

Enraged, Oblique rapidly punched the ground where the portal had manifested, knowing full well his enemy had slipped away. Quolas, however, stood in silence, taking a moment to swallow his defeat, before walking over to his fallen comrade. The burns on the Lithan woman's face had stopped smouldering, but it was difficult to tell whether the damage could be healed; although most regular types of burns were trivial to repair in this era, burns sustained from the type of dark energy that had fuelled their enemy were a different matter entirely.

"Will she be alright?" Oblique asked, strapping Halo, who was still in sword form, to his back as he rushed over to inspect his comrade's injuries. Although she had been disfigured, her eyes were closed, and she looked almost like she was at peace. Oblique clenched his fists, knowing all too well that peace was in reality still a long way away.

"She'll recover," Quolas replied, trying to smile reassuringly despite their painful losses. "This is Melody Over Tempest we're talking about. As far as she'll be concerned, this is just a scratch."

Oblique nodded, not quite sure whether to share in Quolas's optimism. "So, what now?"

Quolas sighed and looked up, gazing at the stars that were beginning to peek through the clouds of the darkening skies. "You saw what our attacks did. At this stage in his plan, he's effectively immortal. His temporal magic will just reverse any injuries he sustains. If we kill him, his magic brings him back. If we trap him, his magic removes him from the prison and places him where he was before."

"So... what can we do?"

"I have an idea," Quolas decided. "My people are gone, but... there are legends that our masters made allies other than Sha'lythe, once upon a time. Mortals who they trusted to carry out their will, granting them weapons of great power... weapons that can undo aberrations of time."

"A weapon that can kill him," Oblique deduced, optimism starting to creep back into his voice. "Where could we find one?"

"Well, I have a few ideas..."

The present version of Oblique then turned to Sally, curious to see how she was taking this in. "I think we can skip ahead. Don't you?"

Without waiting for her response, Oblique flicked his hand, and the world - literally, the entire world - fell from beneath their feet, sending them soaring into the sky. Before she knew it, Sally was back with Oblique in the gallery of memories she had first found herself in upon entering his mind, surrounded by rolling clouds. Oblique continued to flick his hand, sending more and more waves of clouds rolling past them, until they arrived at one that depicted an environment that Sally was all too familiar with. Taking her hand once more, Oblique dove into the cloud, and thus into the memory, arriving in the Coldest Story Ever Told.

Sally found herself in the part of the ship where new arrivals were processed, looking over Oblique's shoulder as he proceeded towards a checkpoint. She noticed that Halo, who had returned to the form of a lyre, was strapped to his back, but he was significantly quieter and less animate than usual, as if he was pretending to be an inanimate object. Sally watched carefully as Oblique proceeded through the security checks and filled out his papers - there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary there, except Oblique had declared himself a 'refugee of war', which was a fact she still wasn't sure of, given the fact that he had previously mentioned that the Lithan Royal Family had a stake in what happened to him. Upon being cleared and approved for residency aboard the ship, Oblique proceeded to his assigned quarters, a cosy little metal room that was probably used for storage some time in the past, but suited his needs all the same. Oblique sat down, crossed his legs, and had barely begun to meditate when Halo piped up.

"So, where's the sword, boss?"

Oblique sighed. The journey to the Coldest Story had been fraught with turbulence, and the only thing he wanted now was peace and quiet, but it was only fair to let his most constant companion in on his plans. "It's in a sealed container in Cargo Storage 3."

"So... when are we gonna get it?"

"We can't just run in and grab it," Oblique replied, trying to assume a comfortable position on the floor. "We should wait a few weeks first, at least. Gain the trust of the locals. If we head straight to the storage area now, and we're caught without a believable explanation, we may as well have committed a murder."

The version of Oblique from the present then caused events to speed up, portraying the admittedly-mundane actions of Oblique and Halo aboard the ship during the two weeks between then and the present. At one point, a Terugan tried to steal Halo to sell him on the black market, but was thwarted when Halo unexpectedly bit his hand, causing the Terugan to drop him. Nobody believed the Terugan that Halo was alive, making for an amusing story for the Coldest Story crewmembers who the Terugan tried to elicit help from. Oblique and Halo spent most of the rest of their time aboard the ship in their quarters, waiting for the right moment to seize the legendary weapon they had come for. However, Sally saw that, when that time finally came, it just happened to be when the place had been turned into a murder scene. She saw no evidence that Oblique or Halo had been responsible for the murder of, or had even met, Guillaume.

"When we arrived in Cargo Storage 3, I noticed that the crate containing the sword had been unsealed," Oblique told Sally telepathically. "However, I did not get the chance to see whether it was still inside. It is possible that that is your murder weapon."

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig - The Mind of Oblique Twilight Radiance>

“Great Maker.” Sally whispered, somewhat disoriented but clearly mesmerised. She was now certainly convinced of Oblique’s truthfulness, but if the Lithan had been hoping she would remain laser-focused on the investigation, he had another thing coming. This was exactly the sort of thing that could keep her going for hours. “So, how did the sword end up here? Do you think the murderer would’ve known what it was? Are Quolas and Melody still alive? What’s a Sha’lythe? Did that planet survive? Is that wizard still going? What’s your connection to the Lithan Royal Family?”

Her mouth raced at a million miles an hour, her questions getting progressively less relevant to the task at hand. Finally, she collected herself, remembering that she wasn’t just here to satisfy her own curiosity - she had an actual job to do. “We need to get back to Cargo 3 quickly, to let them know to look for the sword. Hopefully you taking it afterwards won’t be too much of a problem, but Security can be a pain about these things… I’m the highest-ranking psychic on board, so I can vouch for you!” She pouted. “It definitely would have helped if you’d just told us all this, though.”

-----

<The Tanari Confederation>

When Treveya Q’s bombshell hit the news, David Robert Jones moved cautiously, not trusting the source and, while he was quite happy that that particular aspect of it had been somewhat overshadowed by the allegations now surrounding Eachan, he was quite annoyed that he had foolishly allowed himself to be recorded making off-the-cuff statements. Although, much to his surprise and confusion, there was a large - or at least rather vocal - community on the Tanari holo-net that had picked up not on his comments on the treatment of Shifters, but on his colourful description of what should happen to journalists, and described it as ‘based’, whatever that meant, which he wasn’t sure what to make of. They mostly seemed to be joking around - he at least hoped they were. Despite the occasional grievance, he genuinely did believe in the importance of a free press, after all.

Another thing David Robert Jones believed rather strongly in was the danger the ceaseless advancement of technology could pose. Silver Eachan’s plan had, indeed, been more or less as Rahn suggested. He routinely recorded his phone conversations - it was only the sensible thing to do for a man in his position. After his phone call with Treveya, Eachan had travelled to Aluic-5, one of the so-called ‘inner worlds’ of the Tanari Confederation, to campaign, and when the Tanari media got ahold of Treveya’s tape and started publicising it, he knew exactly what to do. He held a press conference where he played his own recording of the call, which showed that he had backed out as soon as he realised he was likely speaking to an agent of the New Order. However, Silver Eachan was an older man now, and frequently under the influence of alcohol, and he fell victim to a rather more mundane manifestation of what Jones had warned Nadle about - as it turned out, he had not fitted the recording device entirely correctly, which led to the recording becoming distorted, if still usable.

Many people soon noted this fact, as well as the suspicious way the story had reached the media and the fact that it was objectively quite convenient, given Eachan and William Douglas Reed’s campaign strategy thus far of playing on caste anxieties, that Jones’ alleged comments had been publicised regardless. A theory grew up that Eachan had, indeed, conspired with New Order spies in order to sabotage his opponent and that his version of the recording was a forgery, and some even went further and alleged that he was a New Order spy outright, and that he was deliberately sabotaging Tanari defences on the orders of Sefer Yetzirah.

While it didn’t appear to affect voting intention at all - polls since the New Order offensive had shown Eachan either slightly behind or slightly ahead of Jones, and no meaningful movement was recorded after the call was published - under the surface, something was changing. Polls or scanning social media weren’t enough to fully capture this phenomenon, and so it escaped most of the Tanari political world’s notice. The New Order offensive seemed unrelenting, and it was surely only a matter of time before Takemikazuchi ships crossed the borders of the Tanari Confederation for a second time in five years. People were afraid, and willing to put their trust in places they wouldn’t have considered in the past. Jones was too cautious to fully take advantage of this sentiment, or even fully grasp its depth, but it wouldn’t be long before somebody on his side did, and once that happened, Tanari politics would never be the same again. But that’s a story for another time.

-----

[ FSA Parliamentary Assembly ]

"Excuse me. Your attention, if you'd please."

Tapping a wise glass to produce an audible chime, the politician who had been observing the vote summoned the attention of the gathered delegates.

"I am Synis Lyndon Mantell. I speak for the Arcadian Federation. Much has been said today about the virtues of the two prospective candidates for Secretary-General. Everyone here with half a brain, however, knows that we are asked to choose between the lesser of two evils. Were Krieger still alive, the outcome would have already been decided, but instead we are asked to choose between a would-be dictator and an actual dictator, none of which are suited to upholding the values of the Free States Alliance. President Lunasynthia Pascale once said that we cannot compromise who and what we are purely to defeat the New Order, but that is exactly what we are proposing to do here."

Synis observed the room, knowing that what he was about to say might get a gun pulled on him. He looked down, checked his watch, then looked back to the delegates.

"However, there is a third choice in this election and it a choice the Arcadian Federation has elected to go with. Four hours ago, the Arcadian Federation formally seceded from the Free States Alliance and... has pledged its allegiance the New Order. Peace and security - concepts the Free States Alliance is wholly unable to provide for its citizens and member states - have now returned to Arcadia. For us the war is now over. Furthermore, the door is open, and the invitation is extended to all those here who, like us, see through the farce that is this election, through the ruinous dead end that is the future of this alliance. There is a better way. There is a third way. Long live the New Order."

---

[ Reed Apartment, Tanari Capital City ]

The holo-net was a mess. Between Freya Jackson's firing, Treveya's release of the tapes, and the ongoing hostilities with the New Order, more social media trends were popping up than Reed's VI could map. His Xwitter posts were drawing impressions twice, thrice what they normally would - but they felt like drops in the ocean, now, just one opinion amongst many. Sighing, he disconnected his VI, the display projected onto his retinas flickering out of existing. He gazed out of the window, out to the impressive view of the city it commanded.

He sat in silence. His apartments were luxurious but entirely sterile; open-plan with high end furniture, but little in the way of decorations, beyond a single framed photograph sat in the kitchen. It had a showroom feel to it - fake, manufactured, artificial - as if Reed could move out tomorrow and it could then immediately be shown to prospective tenants. Reed liked it better that way. Material possessions were yet another aspect of life he had no interest in - another distraction from his purpose in life.

Making his way to the kitchen, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey from his drinks cabinet and set it down on the counter. The photograph caught his eye - his gaze fixated upon it as he poured himself a drink. It showed Reed and Oriel Matthieu Saint, a few years ago, at a happier point in their lives - and a more intimate stage in their relationship. Reed was an expert at self-sabotage, and his interpersonal relationships were the battlefields he took to to ensure his skills were still sharp in that regard. Judging by the argument that had exploded between him and Saint only a few days ago - still sharp.

"Shit."

He'd poured too much whiskey, and now it had spilled over onto the counter. He replaced the lid on the bottle and went to retrieve a cloth to clean it up with, as a low hummm filled the room. He noticed the glass of whiskey rippling, more of it spilling over of the rim - the hummm intensified until he could feel it in the soles of his feet. Then a high-pitched whine, growing in intensity, coming from his front door.

Reed ducked behind the kitchen counter just in time as the front door and surrounding wall exploded, filling the apartment with debris and smoke. Peeking his head up above the counter, he saw a figure enter the room - monstrously tall, with silver skin and a tall plume of silver hair, wrapped in a purple cloak that seemed to float around it as it glid into the room. Reed slid open the cutlery drawer, pulling loose a snub-nosed revolver that had been taped to the underside, and slid back the hammer. He burst out of cover and fired at the intruder, who responded with quick, lightning-fast hand gestures, deflecting each round by angling it away from him with a single metallic finger. The Arc bowed its head.

"Now, there's no need for that."

"Who are you?" demanded Reed, trying to send the mental signal to re-activate his VI to record the confrontation - but it was being jammed.

"I am an emissary of the New Order. I bring a message from Emperor Sefer. Your world, your confederation... has been granted a stay of execution."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The survival of your people, William Douglas Reed. The preservation of your way of life. The... continuance of your nation." responded PLUTUS, reveling in the irony. "You will instruct your candidate that he will pledge his nation's allegiance to the New Order upon the conclusion of this electoral farce. By doing so, you will be preventing the annihilation of your people. Perhaps there will even be a place for you in this New Order."

"I would rather die than serve Emperor Sefer - than betray my country. You hold no power here, Arc. This great nation is the rock upon which the spine of the New Order will be broken."

"Ha. Such bold words from someone who is about to fall a hundred metres plus to their death."

"What d-"

The hummmmm became a roar of energy as the room exploded, the glass window shattering, a massive wave of force emanating from PLUTUS's body. Reed flew out of the room as if he had been sucked out into space - instead he was blasted out into the freefall beyond, his body torn and battered by so much debris and shattered glass that formed a cloud around him as he fell. The floors of the apartment building rushed past him at lightning speed, his dazed, disoriented mind barely able to comprehend what had happened as the ground rose up to meet him.

---

[ Streets, Tanari Capital City ]

"Branley. Drive."

"Yes, Sir."

Commissioner Kinsler sat back and relaxed, savoring the first few moments off his feet in a long time. Policing the capital city of the Tanari Confederation was hard work; harder work still when nefarious political agents, undoubtedly with radical MRF agendas, summoned him to pointless galas to assail him with claims of police brutality and overt militarization. Politics, Kinsler reckoned, should stay out of policing; those same politicians never seemed to complain when the heavy-handed methods of the TCPD kept worthless vagrants out of their gated neighborhoods, drugs off their streets, and radical MRF terrorists locked away in off-world prisons.

"Remind me to have that man killed." mumbled Kinsler in a thick Kenyan accent, only half serious, turning his gaze to the window and looking out at the skyline beyond. Branley chuckled, replying in a thick Osdurandti accent - which for all intents and purposes was just a South African accent in space.

"Yes sir."

The police car turned a corner on its way back to police headquarters, when all hell broke loose. The car stopped, its automatic defense systems locking it in place, as glass, furniture, household appliances rained down around it. A high-pitched drone sounded from the dashboard - like all police cars in the Capitol, Kinsler's was fitted with a velocity intercept system that automatically reduced the mass of incoming objects to a safe level, and it was currently firing on all cylinders. Glass shards plinked off the roof of the car, reduced to just a metre or so per second by the advanced technology of the car; then came a soft thud from the roof. The drone continued to sound, then played an 'all-clear' chime.

"Stay in the car, sir."

Branley pulled his service pistol from its holder in the driver's side footwell, racked the slide, and slowly crept out of the door, checking all around. Shattered glass littered the road and sidewalk around him, and on top of the car lay a battered and bloodied man, struggling to breathe. Kinsler climbed out of the car, nervously looking around; when he saw the man, he immediately looked upwards and saw a plume of fire and smoke erupting from a single room in the apartment building next to them. Branley was already checking the man's pulse.

"We need to get him to the hospital, sir. He's hurt - badly."

"Then we have no time to lose." responded Kinsler, helping Branley as they loaded William Douglas Reed into the back of the car. The hospital was just a few blocks away - and they were in a police car. Kinsler and Branley climbed back into the car as the sirens roared into life, light and sound flooding the midnight street.

"Drive."

---

[ ES Base, Vesa Qatoria (Di-Jonn Massa) ]

"Osdurandt is very safe..." responded Massa, groaning in pain. "...even Vekhta... even Lilith... did not know... underground...."

Alarms sounded on Sinead's machines as Massa's vitals began to drop into dangerous levels, and blood came out of his mouth and ears.

---

[ ES Base, Vesa Qatoria (Lilith Heyerdahl) ]

Lilith looked around at her restraints.

"Oh, this should be exciting. Sefer always used to tell me stories about the time Allman captured her. Now I'll have some stories of my own to tell her. So... Blackout, what's the play here?"

---

[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

"There is no such thing as a coincidence."

Xavik spoke, somehow phasing through the walls of his cell to come and stand in a central position in the brig. He looked to Oblique.

"The fact that Guillame was murdered in the cargo bay means he was energetically aligned with that you, and that sword. This one cannot wait any longer - a great energy is pulling this one towards the pursuit of justice."

---

[ Le Club, Malchior Orbit ]

The fight was over. Oh Gabriel lay battered, defeated - his control over his limbs temporarily severed by Salem's masterful application of an Espiritu Santo martials arts technique. Salem was hardly in a better condition; he limped his way back up towards the dais where Malak sat, his companions seemingly having used the cover to the fight to depart the station altogether.

"Klak. Now." demanded Salem. He had come here to warn Klak about Malcovus - about Project Blackstar.

But something far worse had manifested itself - war had begun. Holographic news feeds surrounding the elevated dais showed the destruction of Narayanastra, the invasion of various border territories, and Ascheron's speech. Salem fell to his knees, defeated.

"Don't blame yourself." teased Malak, sipping from a wine glass. "Do you really think you could have said anything to Klak that could've prevented this war? This is all Sefer's doing, anyways."

"You bastard."

"Oh, you think any of this is my fault? Listen - whatever your name is - you're just a bit player in all this. Don't seek to rise above your station. This universe moves to whims of beings far more powerful than even I - I'm simply here for the ride. Now, kindly get off my station. You're killing the mood."

"I'm speaking to Klak. Connect me to him - now."

Malak smirked. "Ah. Well, when you put it like that..."

Malak flicked his wrist and with a gesture, summoned a holo-projector platform which Salem stood on. Malak nodded to confirm it was transmitting, and then Salem spoke.

"President Klak, my name is Juan Castillo Jr. I... I am the assassin who previously attempted to take the life of Gaius Malcovus, though I have since renounced my allegiance to Espiritu Santo, the organization that orchestrated the attempt. President Klak, whatever you think of my past and my actions, I need you to understand that Gaius Malcovus is not who he seems. He is conspiring with the Vykonian government-in-exile, and others, to steal this election. I do not know whether he intends to hand the Free States over to the New Order, or if instead he is simply seeking power for personal advancement. The Free States are currently voting to decide the next Secretary-General... and they are about to make a terrible mistake."

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

Prush facepalmed as Xavik, against the odds, somehow managed to get even more annoying by revealing that he could technically escape the brig any time he wanted.

-----

<Vesa Qatoria, Espiritu Santo Base>

“You’re presuming you’ll ever see her again,” said Blackout. “Right now, she believes you have been murdered by the FSA. There is nothing to indicate otherwise. She cannot find you here, and you will remain here for the rest of your life, however long I decide that should be. As we speak, the New Order’s forces are rampaging across the stars. The FSA are desperate, and grow ever more so by the minute. I’ve even given some of them an additional little push, so to speak. And you know what happens when you put people like that into a corner?”

Blackout grinned. “They will do stupid, reckless, incredible things. Sooner or later, they’ll head you off at the pass, this time anyway. And in their desperation, they’ll find a way to hit back harder. And then you will too. And so on, until the galaxy is nothing but fire.”

---

Sinead shook her head as Massa’s vitals began to deteriorate. Such a weakling, she thought. She reluctantly pressed several more buttons, suddenly flooding Massa’s system with an antidote and shutting off the simulation. When the bizarre swirls of colour and the fake Sefer were gone, she was once again standing before him.

“You will survive.” she snarled. “Count yourself lucky, you pathetic little man. If the New Order ever finds you again, I doubt your Emperor would be even an iota as merciful as we will be here… especially considering the last few minutes.”

“I’ll be back once you’ve had some time to recover.” she said, and closed the pod in his face.

-----

<Aluic-5>

“Shit.” Silver Eachan muttered at his terminal, on which he was watching Synis Lyndon Mantell’s speech. “Fucking traitors.” His anger was, of course, driven by the fact the Arcadian Federation had stabbed the FSA in the back. How could they do this, when the choice between good and evil could not be more stark? Sefer would not reward them, of that he was sure. They would be punished for their hubris.

Of course, he was also seething for another, rather more depressingly prosaic reason. As President, interstellar corporations often approached him, seeking help establishing themselves in the Confederation. As a pro-business President, as the President who had pledged to oversee a post-war economic recovery the likes of which the Confederation had never seen before, he was of course most helpful to them, and facilitated some deals that had been very lucrative indeed. Sometimes, he’d even received some small tokens of gratitude, and part of those assets was now stashed away in a foreign jurisdiction he’d assumed was safe and wouldn’t ask too many questions, under a shell company.

Said foreign jurisdiction was, of course, the Arcadian Federation, and Silver Eachan now felt very stupid. If all this came to light, especially in the current climate, it would be undoubtedly problematic.

Eachan gradually calmed down, partly with the aid of a drink. It was only money, he had more elsewhere, and the shell company couldn’t possibly be connected to him - he’d made sure of that. The only one with the information necessary to even try was his wife, and she would never do that. His secret would remain a secret. Perhaps he should call his wife, he thought. She was currently laid up on the Homeworld with a nasty bout of Tanari flu. Yes, he would. And then Reed. He had a bad feeling.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

The download complete, Shae Eachan took the data-chip out of her computer, and smiled.

-----

<Yari III, New Dalebridge>

As Jones Skydda made his speech, his fellow candidate, Johnny Carter, who was running for the seat covering another part of New Dalebridge, was at the other end of the city, wondering how he got into this situation.

In most of the Tanari Confederation, trade unions usually backed Liberal or MRF candidates. Despite the Liberal Party's myriad weaknesses, it was a natural alignment - despite the occasional vague populist move at the start to keep up popularity (Allman unsurprisingly having little interest in economics), Allmanism had soon proven to be nothing more than Unionism on steroids, a creature of and for the upper- and middle-classes, and not many people came out of it believing it had much interest in maintaining or boosting working-class wages, or protecting workers' rights, or any of the things labour might care about. This was even more true in most of the Trilateral, where, as best exemplified by the administration of Neil Donovan on Yorak, the Liberal Party tended to be effectively an outgrowth of the free trade union movement that sprung up in opposition to Allman's policies (in a coalition with former anti-Allman guerilla fighters), something that often put them at odds with Liberals from the inner worlds where the pre-war Progressive tradition lived on and dissidents and politicians who had spent much of the war abroad held more sway.

But, of course, Yari III, with its extremely high Shifter population and corresponding ethnic politics, had to be different. As one might expect, the local MRF was an outgrowth of Shifter trade unionism, but ethnic polarisation was strong enough that the generally less-well organised Stäbil end of the movement felt it needed to keep its options open to find the best way of advancing its members' interests when they were CUSP-Liberal swing voters at best and consistent CUSP voters at worst, which is how Carter, the former president of the Yari Teamsters, ended up a candidate for a party led by a man called ‘Baron Alfred Ernst von Budberg’.

While Carter knew that he was making a calculated compromise by doing this, and that power lay at the other end (even if the question of ‘power for whom?’ was an open one), he wasn’t quite prepared for some of the more baroque parts of campaigning as a post-Allmanite, such as the public meeting he was at right now, which was full of NatCons wearing bow ties and ugly shorts who didn’t seem to be particularly interested in what he had to say.

“Wait a minute,” one said, heading for the exit. “This isn’t the Jones Skydda meeting! I don’t want this!”

Yes, on balance, Johnny Carter hated his life.

-----

[ ES Base ]

"What a sad little man." responded Lilith, her mouth contorting into a smirk. "Or, sad little being - whatever you are. Seriously, that's it? Chaos?"

Lilith turned her head, gazing off at nothing in particular - there was very little to look at in her cell.

"Chaos is the natural order of the universe. You don't get any credit for reducing it back to that state - the thing with chaos is that it'll resurface of its own accord if left unchecked, anyway. Chaos - entropy - doesn't warrant an advocate."

She turned back to Blackout.

"You're an avatar for the underlying status quo of the universe. Your raison d'etre may as well be furthering the cause of coastal erosion. Do you actually realise how pathetic that is? All your power, all your fury and your hatred and this is all you can manage? You could be so much more than this. Or, maybe you just don't have it in you."

---

(Theme)

As he heard the pod close around him, Massa waited in silence, before finally opening a single eye and checking his surroundings to make sure Sinead had gone. His lips curled upwards into a gleeful, joyful smirk when he realized he was alone.

With a hissss, his prosthetic forearm rotated of its own accord and detached from his body, falling to the bottom of the pod. The incredibly realistic prosthetic - coated in synthetic flesh and dampened to prevent scanners from realizing both its artificial nature and just how '2007 BZPB' it was - opened up; a silver mechanism emerged from it, rapidly shifting and reconfiguring as it did, until it came to resemble a small, skeletal robot. Di-Jonn Massa looked down at it.

"You know... what to do."

The robot fired a small laser into the side of the pod, cutting a hole through which it escaped. It scuttled off into the depths of the Espiritu Santo base, searching for a computer console to hack...

---

[ Donald Slayton Memorial Hospital, Lyndon City ]

"Patient has a collapsed lung and blood oxygen levels are dangerously low."

"Heavy internal bleeding and massive spinal trauma - we need to begin nanite infusion before he loses full motor control."

"Does his insurance cover that?"

"Gee, I don't know, why don't we ask President Eachan that question?"

Reed was rushed into surgery, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Commissioner Kinsler and Branley, who had rushed him to the hospital, were left out in the waiting room, pausing to catch their breath. Kinsler sat down, struggling to compose himself. He had been away from front-line policing for over a decade, now - his body was no longer used to this kind of exercise.

"Do you think he'll survive, sir?"

"I'm not a doctor, Branley." responded Kinsler, curtly. "The man was seriously injured."

As the two men waited, a third entered, and sat himself down on a bench without saying anything. Branley cast a suspicious glance over to him.

"Who the hell are you?"

Le Shark turned his head towards Branley and Kinsler. "Reed's bodyguard."

Branley paused for a few seconds "Not a very good bodyguard, are you?"

<Vesa Qatoria, ES Base>

Blackout smirked, though deep down Lilith’s words rang rather more true than he wanted her to know. She was mostly wrong of course, but there had been a time, thousands and thousands of years ago, when his people had aimed far higher. Maybe there was a seed of truth to what Lilith was saying, and he could go that one step further and play the game. But it didn’t feel worth it anymore to him. Personal glory was irrelevant to him, the foot soldier turned final custodian of his people’s legacy. He could of course support that Akzer fellow, or find someone else entirely, he thought, as one last hurrah for the Voids. After all, while he was happy to create chaos, to some, chaos was a ladder, and even if he succeeded in dismantling the existing system of empires, something was inevitably going to replace it - Blackout had no illusions of that. So why not shape its evolution in a way that would at least be funnier?

But he also wasn’t going to let Lilith Heyerdahl have the satisfaction of knowing she’d maybe caused his thinking to evolve. “What you younger races haven’t figured out yet is that you’re all just playing roles. You don’t actually know the first thing about the universe you’re trying to rule,” he said. That, too, he meant, even if it was obviously a view tainted with grief and rage. “There are no happy endings! Order is something you strive for, and maybe even achieve for short periods of time… and you’re not even striving for it! There’s nothing wrong with declaring a holy crusade against the galaxy to avenge the murder of your wife, but there’s nothing unprecedented about it, either. If we’re talking about coastal erosion, then the New Order is just another tide, and it’s not even that good at it.”


Of course, Sinead had not actually left Di-Jonn Massa completely unattended. A battery of sensors monitored his vital signs and any movement in the room, and as soon as the pod was breached and the robot left, an alarm went off and a device weaved throughout the floor in that specific room began delivering a powerful electric current to whoever happened to be standing on it, while heavily armed Espiritu Santo guards assembled outside, waiting to see if they would be necessary. At the same time, the pod powered up again, and the supply of the hallucinogenic drug into Massa’s system suddenly resumed.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“So, a load of Takemik coffee… and a sword.” said the Terugan.

“Not just any coffee!” replied the hooded man sat at the other end of the table. “Sefer Yetzirah’s favourite brand! And just look at the sword! It’s clearly no ordinary sword! You can’t tell me this isn’t worth a lot!”

“Under any other circumstances, it would be.” the Terugan reasoned. “Except right now, that’s the hottest merchandise on the Coldest Story! It’s just not worth the risk to me.”

“Fine!” The hooded man slammed his fist on the table. “Then I’ll go to one of your competitors!”

“Good luck with that!” The Terugan laughed. “Amateur.” he muttered as the hooded man left.

-----

<Deep Space>

A cheer went up across the bridge of the Tanari cruiser David Galo, as the Semovente-class battlecruiser before them finally exploded. It wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of the war, but it was always nice to see a Semovente go up in flames.

The only one not cheering was Colonel Anna Luxon, recently reassigned to command the Galo - the odd incident involving Rain Sulrai having been forgotten. Partly she felt she had a responsibility, as the commanding officer, to maintain decorum, but also she struggled to feel as happy about the situation. She had long since gotten over the admiration for Sefer Yetzirah and the Takemikazuchi she had felt as a commander in the anti-Allman resistance, leading hit-and-run raids on deep-space outposts, but that she actually had to fight them, that they’d been denied a relatively uncomplicated liberation still rankled. And of course, the fact that the President’s security advisor and running mate, General Van Smoot, had just parked himself on her ship, on her bridge, attaching herself like a leech to her triumph rankled even more. He seemed to be content, and no doubt he’d brag about their victory on the campaign trail, even though her crew had done all the work - standard procedure for politicians in the Tanari Confederation.

Anna had always taken the old adage ‘my country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right’ seriously. And now, she wondered if the Tanari Confederation wasn’t once again reaching the point where someone - hopefully not her - would have to set it right, or for them, blowing up the occasional Semovente-class ship really would be the high point of the war.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

Oblique chuckled sheepishly, humbled by Sally's interest in his adventures. "Well, I did try to explain the situation to the officer on scene, but he did not seem very... receptive at the time. As for how the sword came to be here... as I can sense the spirits of others, Quolas can sense disturbances in time, such as those that may be caused or cured by the sword. I believe that is what a Sha'lythe is: a being sensitive to alterations in the flow of time. By pursuing a minor disruption in the time flow, as well as local myths and legends, Quolas found that the sword had recently left the hands of an eccentric collector, who had dispatched it to a buyer on this vessel. The buyer claimed that he would pick it up one month from now, giving us a wide window to steal it. Truth be told, I haven't seen Quolas or Melody since that day, but I believe Melody has since returned to the Fall. That sorcerer we faced was a sworn enemy of Quolas, and by extension, an enemy of me. He was a member of a cult dedicated to changing history in order to erase Quolas and his people. I do not know if such a thing is even possible; even my people at the height of their knowledge and power could not manipulate the past, but Quolas is an ally, and I trust him."

Oblique paused to look around the room. Upon seeing that Prush was still arguing with Ronald, Nexus West, and Mavis Deacon, he sighed and continued. "We must find the murderer and that sword, even if they are not connected. I may not be a true member of this community, but the loss of innocent lives hurts me as it would any other. You should inform your colleagues what you have learned, Sally. Share the memories of mine that you have experienced with them, if necessary. Unfortunately, the clock is ticking down. It may still take some time to convince them of my innocence and find a solution to work together. In the meantime..."

Turning to Xavik, Oblique scratched his chin and smiled.

"This one could check the cargo bay for the sword. It seems his phasing abilities would allow him to travel through the ship at a greater speed than any one of us. Upon his return, we could check his 'receipts' for proof of what he finds. What do you say?"

"Sounds like a good idea, boss!" Halo piped up.

-----

<The Enumcharad's Wake>

In almost every documented civilization of the universe, people have been inspired by visions that came to them in dreams. The first human physicist to discover the structure of the atom did not make his discovery until he had a dream of electrons revolving around the nucleus, like planets revolving around a star. The creator of the periodic table struggled with ordering the elements until a dream came to him where they fell perfectly into place. For the Tekkui, dreams played a similar, but much more prominent, role in their culture. Unlike human dreams, which usually depicted bizarre fantasies and were forgotten moments after waking up, Tekkui dreams were directly inspirational and clearly remembered. A family of Tekkui could flee from an enemy, go to sleep, and wake up the next morning having experienced a shared dream of a way to defend themselves. A Tekkui fisherman could fall asleep at his dock and wake up having experienced a vision of a new fishing device, down to the exact measurements. Going further back, the Tekkui built villages because their dreams told them to do so. The Tekkui armed themselves against the beasts because their dreams told them to do so.

Kakamu usually remembered his dreams, which is why he found it strange that he had no memory of one as he started to groggily return to consciousness. Either that robot must have hit him harder than he thought, or his subconsciousness was giving him a break after the stressful events of the past few days. Kakamu wasn't sure whether to be grateful or concerned. Either way, now that he had the Mask of Clarity, he didn't need his dreams to guide him anymore.

Lifting himself upright, Kakamu found himself sitting on a long beige sofa in front of a roaring fireplace, which seemed to be the only thing illuminating the room. Paintings depicting unfamiliar battles hung on the walls, which were decorated with old-fashioned patterned wallpaper. Kakamu counted at least a dozen books strewn randomly across the room, each in various stages of being read, sitting atop types of wooden furniture popular with humans. The room itself looked similarly to a late-20th century Earth living room, though Kakamu had no idea what that was. To him, this was only the inner sanctum of Arc Keylana, the home of the woman who had taught him almost everything he knew.

The Enumcharad's Wake was one of the very few spaceships in the New Order - no, the universe - which employed advanced dimensional physics in its design. The upper dimension of the ship, which contained most of its crew and existed on the same plane of existence as the rest of the universe, appeared identical to most other types of spacecraft in the New Order, with metallic corridors, sliding doors, and computers embedded in the wall around every corner. What most people would not realize, however, is that the Enumcharad's Wake actually contained several additional dimensions that occupied the same physical space as the ship but which existed on a different plane of reality. If the Enumcharad's Wake was boarded by a hostile force, the invaders could map out the entire upper dimension of the ship and find nothing out of the ordinary while never suspecting that there were hidden dimensions underneath.

The second dimension, which seemed to consist mostly of featureless metal walls, was mostly used to keep prisoners, and the third dimension was Keylana's inner sanctum. Only Keylana seemed to know how to travel between the dimensions, periodically transporting underperforming crewmembers to the second dimension and retiring to the third when off-duty. If there were further dimensions that had yet to be discovered, either Keylana had not discovered them, or she had neglected to tell Kakamu. Although she liked to think that she knew everything about the Enumcharad's Wake, that simply was not true; she and some of the New Order's best scientists had spent years trying to reverse-engineer its technology, to no avail. The New Order had only discovered an abandoned ancient treasure like the Enumcharad's Wake floating amid the cosmos once, and they had no reason to believe it would happen again.

Arc Keylana, clad in the black-and-gold patterned gown that she usually wore when off-duty, sighed as she stoked the fire with a poker stick, back turned to Kakamu. "Is this the moment where I tell you off for staying out too late?"

"Teacher, I apologize," Kakamu grovelled, quickly sliding off the sofa to kneel behind his master. "I can explain-"

"Can you?" Keylana replied sceptically, turning to face him.

Kakamu hung his head in shame. "No, I cannot."

Sighing again, Keylana placed the fire poker on the mantle and stepped over to him, resting her hand on his mask. "Show me."

Obeying, Kakamu opened his mind and allowed Keylana to enter his memories. This had been a fairly usual occurrence after his missions back when he was still new to the New Order; Keylana wanted to know everything about how her favourite student was performing in the field, and a debriefing could only be so detailed. But Kakamu had not been subjected to a memory scan from Keylana in a while, since the further he had begun to approach Archood, the more the relationship between him and Keylana had turned into one of equals. The mission on Nil'nara was supposed to be the final assignment that cemented his title as an Arc, earning him the approval of Arc Kyydan and a seat at the table of the Arcs Primis. There was no chance of that happening now.

Still, rather than taking a back seat and slipping into unconsciousness, Kakamu decided to accompany Arc Keylana as she browsed through his memories, consciously reliving the events of the past few weeks alongside her in the hope that she would be able to provide insight on things that he did not understand, or perhaps reveal memories of the Nil'nara mission that had been hidden from him.

Almost instantly, Kakamu found himself back in the jungle of Nil'nara at night. He could see the past version of himself standing in front of him, next to the White Torches and Arc Vekhta. Like a ghost, Arc Keylana walked through the memory of Arc Vekhta, passing through her body and standing next to Kakamu to observe the events unfold. Arc Vekhta ignited the Blade of Avalon to illuminate the environment and led the group towards the entrance to the caves of New Kaozu, each wondering what would await them at the site of the lost colony. "I want to caution you, Kakamu," Vekhta warned, looking back at him, "If rogue or malevolent psychics are behind this, you should prepare for the possibility that the minds and bodies of your kin may be turned against you. But I speak from experience when I say that a life as a slave is no life at all. We... must not hesitate in our task, regardless of what we find."

"You know, there's one thing I never understood about these trips," the present version of Kakamu commented to Arc Keylana. "If these are my memories, how can I see the past version of myself in third-person?"

"I've told you why before, but you seem to forget every time," Keylana replied stoically, crossing her arms. "Certain beings, like us, rely on more than just our eyesight to determine what we see and feel. This image was created by all your senses, so why would we be looking at it only through your eyes?"

Kakamu nodded, only sort of understanding. Meanwhile, the past Kakamu followed Vekhta, using some of his own elemental fire energy to ignite the tip Guardian Fire Spear to further illuminate the environment while the White Torches followed close behind. Irscha Inkar gulped and clutched her rifle close to her chest, but she was reassured by Deacon Sand, who placed his hand on her shoulder and moved past her. Niita grinned and twirled her spear, relishing the opportunity for battle. PAL said nothing, his red electronic eyes carefully scanning the environment as he trailed behind the others.

Before long, the group arrived at the cave entrance, a hole about thirty feet high that was partially obscured by leaves and vines in the side of a cliff. Futuristic construction vehicles bearing the New Order logo were scattered around the entrance, apparently abandoned mid-operation when their operators left to travel underground. "We're here," the past version of Kakamu said with a grim expression, taking his place in front of Vekhta as the leader of the group. Holding the Guardian Fire Spear high in front of him, Kakamu stepped into the shadow of the cave-

And then everything went black.

"Well, that's interesting," Arc Keylana commented.

"What is?" The present Kakamu asked, turning around to face her. He could still see Keylana, but everything else had disappeared.

"There are no memories here, not even suppressed ones. Whatever did this to you wiped your mind clean. Let's move forward a bit."

Keylana flicked her hand to proceed to Kakamu's next memory, but almost instantly regretted it. A deafening, high-pitched noise erupted from Kakamu's subconsciousness, temporarily shattering the mental projections of Kakamu and Keylana and forcing them to retreat to the real world. Keylana physically recoiled from the pain, crashing into the side of the fireplace and gasping. She came to her senses just quickly enough to pull her robe away from the fire. Kakamu similarly recoiled, wincing in pain as he waited for the echo of the noise to subside. When he looked at Keylana, he noticed that she had started to bleed from one of her ears. Following his gaze, Keylana wiped her ear, noticed the blood, and smirked in a way that seemed very reminiscent of her mother. "Huh. First time anyone's drawn blood from me in years."

"Teacher... what was that?" Kakamu asked, shocked.

Keylana frowned, dabbing her ear with a handkerchief. "An immensely powerful psychic entity left its mark in your mind. Don't worry, it's just... an echo. A memory of something that isn't there anymore. We need to move past it. Are you ready?"

Kakamu nodded, so Keylana placed her hands on his mask - both hands this time - and dove back into his mind.

A moment later, Kakamu found himself back in an environment he hoped he would never return to: the hellish, stifling world of spinning gears and twisting machinery he had found himself in immediately after Nil'nara. This time, however, he was reexperiencing this memory from a first-person perspective, although Arc Keylana was there now, falling through the void beside him.

"Ah. Very interesting," she observed, looking around at the vague red environment as she plummeted at the same speed as Kakamu.

"What do you mean?" Kakamu shuddered, noticeably unnerved at being returned to this world. The air - what little there was of it - was filled with the sound of clashing and grinding gears as they inched ever closer around them, threatening to crush them both, but Keylana did not seem to care that she was inches away from being ground into meat.

"Well, this is all fake, for starters."

"What? How can you tell?"

"I'm a psychic, Kakamu," Keylana shook her head disapprovingly, moving into an upright position and crossing her legs as she continued to fall. "A child of the most powerful psychic in the universe. You think I wouldn't be able to tell an illusion if I saw one?"

"Of course not, teacher, but-"

"But it seems so real?" Keylana finished his sentence, chuckling. "It doesn't take much to take someone's worst fears and use them to create a world to trap them. In fact, if these are your worst fears, I'd say you're doing a pretty good job at staying composed. I can feel everything you do, too. You feel fear, but you don't let it control you. You let it fuel you."

Keylana was then interrupted by the voice of the past Kakamu as the memory progressed to the point where he had decided to attempt to communicate with the architect of this hellish world. "Whoever you are... I'm not afraid. I've survived worse than this and I will escape. I am Arc Kakamu."

Arc Keylana smiled. "Keep up that attitude of your past self, and you might just make Archood yet."

"So, can you dispel this illusion?" the present Kakamu asked. "Reveal what's really going on?"

"No. This is a memory of an illusion, not an illusion. We're in your memories, not the past. I can't dispel an illusion if you don't remember me dispelling it. All I can tell you is that, from what I can feel in your mind... this entity was powerful. Perhaps even as-" Keylana stopped herself short of blasphemy, and continued, "Perhaps almost as powerful as Mother."

Kakamu looked away. He was disappointed that he had fallen for an illusion so easily, but if Keylana was right, this was the work of an entity that neither he nor the Mask of Clarity could have had any chance of resisting.

As the memory continued, Kakamu and Keylana watched as Kakamu tried to remember the events that had brought him to this place. Upon remembering Arc Vekhta, the booming voice that inhabited the world of gears resounded through the memory.

"Her. It can't be..."

As Keylana and Kakamu continued to watch, the chamber of darkness and gears melted away, replaced with a vision of a vast industrial cityscape with fumes spewing from chimneys into the sky. Kakamu landed on his feet and noticed that his hands had turned into the hands of a human child grasping a crudely-engineered blaster pistol. As Keylana landed beside him, a pair of Metalliconites walked past them, haggling with each other for parts in their native language as spacecraft soared overhead that bore the insignias of the Pirate Lords of Liquid-Metallicon. Kakamu supposed that this was their world, though he had never visited it in person.

"Wait, wait, these aren't your memories!" Keylana spluttered. "These are..."

"NO," The booming voice roared, unmistakable anger seeping into its tone. "This is not her. Who is she?"

Liquid-Metallicon vanished as quickly as it arrived, its skies of smoke rolling back to reveal white clouds beneath a burnt orange sky. The city receded into the ground, and in its place rose a new one, boasting architecture that was indescribably ancient yet shone as new as day. In front of Kakamu and Keylana, a column burst out of the ground that carried two beautiful women, one with blonde hair and one with black, clad in golden armor that seemed to reflect every ray of light from the two suns overhead. The women held hands, looked at the skies above, and smiled.

One by one, dozens of columns burst out of the ground behind them, each one carrying a humanoid figure clad in white. Kakamu and Keylana could barely make out the details of their forms from where they were standing - or floating - but from what they could see, the figures wore garments of pure white that intersected with thinner, silver armor, and wore masks that obscured their true features.

Suddenly, Kakamu and Keylana were launched forwards towards the column with the two women, landing roughly in front of them. Although Keylana quickly got to her feet, Kakamu realized that he was in a kneeling position in front of the woman with black hair. He looked up and recognized her face, though she did not seem to notice him at all.

Arc Vekhta.

"That is her," the ancient voice deduced.

Suddenly, the deafening screeching noise returned, but this time, Kakamu and Keylana had been prepared by its last occurrence. They braced themselves and rode it out, and when it was over, they found themselves in a small clearing of green grass that was encircled by trees. Birds circled overhead, and beyond that, a fleet of ships could be made out just beyond the atmosphere, innocently hanging in the sky like they had no less right to be there than the sun and moon. Instantly recognizing the place, Kakamu looked around himself and noticed that they were both standing in the ring of the vast portal device that had transported him to Alcanta Valley, Malchior IV.

"So, that's how you got there. I see," Keylana surmised.

"Well, I'm glad at least one of us does," Kakamu muttered. "Teacher, how did I get here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Keylana answered, pacing around the area and admiring the Malchiorian countryside. "The entity that you encountered on Nil'nara racked your brains to try and find out who you were, but once it found Vekhta, it lost all interest in you and threw you into a portal... most likely, one of the portal devices that the Yuzari left scattered all across the galaxy. And it led you here. That entity must have accessed Vekhta's memories at the same time. That's how you were able to see hers too."

"The Yuzari? Oh, the race that built these devices? I met a Dachori shortly after this who seemed to know a bit about them."

"Oh yes, your Dachori friend..." Keylana sighed. "I'm keeping him for questioning. He seemed strangely willing to come back with the Fellowship to the Enumcharad's Wake. He mumbled something about you revealing his hiding place, whatever that means."

"So, the Fellowship are yours," Kakamu deduced, pointing at Keylana.

"No, they're yours. They're calling themselves the Fellowship of Kakamu, not the Fellowship of Keylana. When I put the word out that you were missing, they were among the first to respond. Well, Voorak-Kah was, at least. Motrokh is just his crony. Muta is a state of the art android courtesy of Monarch ElectroDynamics, a gift of appreciation from Daniel Danssen, god rest his soul. They're big fans of yours. With their efforts combined, Voorak-Kah gave me a guarantee that he would find you within two weeks. It took him a little longer, but he still got the job done."

"What about the White Torches?" Kakamu asked, changing the subject. "Why didn't they come after me?"

"I'm sure they've thought about it, but I have no idea where they are," Keylana replied, shrugging. "We lost track of them at the same time as we lost track of you on Nil'nara, and haven't seen them since. I would send the Fellowship to find them, but those three have a more important mission ahead of them now. As do you."

"I'm listening," Kakamu said, sitting on a tree stump.

Keylana shook her head, looking off into space for a few moments before locking eyes with those of her pupil. "There are forces of this universe... ancient, indescribably powerful forces that threaten us all, even now. When the New Order was created to finally eliminate war and suffering, we knew that there were some threats we could not destroy... and others that we could, but would be much better controlled as one of our own. Arc Vekhta... was one of these forces."

Kakamu nodded, saying nothing but following along.

"Those memories you saw - Vekhta's memories of her childhood on Liquid-Metallicon - were fake. Implanted by my mother to assure her obedience. Before she was an Arc, Vekhta was a Warmaster of the Yuzari, a member of one of the most powerful castes of warriors that have ever existed in the annals of history. The Yuzari fell, but Vekhta remained. We couldn't allow her to oppose us, so she had to be... converted."

Kakamu felt his fists clench. This was not the kind of behavior he expected the New Order to be involved in, but perhaps if what Keylana was saying was true, then the ends justified the means. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because this will be your next assignment. Shortly after you disappeared, Arc Vekhta defected from the New Order."

"What?!" Kakamu exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"We're not sure why. We never even got the chance to debrief her about what happened on Nil'nara. All we know is that she defected, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you what happens to those who oppose us. She's far too dangerous to be left alive."

Kakamu dropped to his knees in front of his master, bowing his head as an excuse to hide his face. "Yes, teacher."

"Are you prepared to carry out this mission?"

Kakamu looked back up, emotion somehow seeping into his electronic eyes despite his best efforts. "As I live and breathe, Yetzirah's will is mine. Long live the New Order."

<Yorak, Town Hall>

David Robert Jones had misgivings about resuming his campaign. Something about doing so while Sefer Yetzirah’s forces rampaged across the FSA felt like fiddling while Rome burned. But a President had to be chosen, Eachan was still incompetent and had no intention of disarming himself, and so the show had to go on. This evening, Jones and Morgan Peres were hosting a packed town hall in one of Yorak’s larger cities, mostly fielding questions from the unexpectedly large crowd about defence policy. Occasionally, a NatCon heckler would pop up and say something about Khum Williams or Shifters, but Jones was feeling increasingly confident he had worked out how to defuse such encounters with witticisms.

One man, who definitely didn’t look like a NatCon, stood up and began to ask a question. “Mr. Jones, Mr. Peres, what are you going to do about the infiltration of our government? I voted Eachan last time, but I’ve never regretted a vote more in my life… the man is obviously conspiring with Yetzirah to sabotage us from within! Our defences are weak, there are political commissars everywhere… And his spin doctor...” The man lowered his voice. “Reed is ex-Shinsengumi! And they say he’s been secretly meeting with Arcs! His ‘hospital stay’ is obviously another hoax, just like Khum Williams!”

“Now, sir,” Jones began in an attempt to calm the commotion that was now beginning. People like this would be the death of him, he thought - he hated Eachan and Reed too, but he wanted there to still be a Tanari Confederation left after he was done with it. “I think what you're doing right now is exactly what Sefer Yetzirah wants…”

“But you’re right to be concerned, sir.” Morgan Peres suddenly yelled into his microphone, much to Jones’ consternation. “We’ll have to investigate this administration very thoroughly! We won’t allow national security to be compromised.”

A cheer went up from one corner of the room. All around David Robert Jones, a terrible beauty was being born, and he had no idea what to make of it.

-----

<Yari III>

Blair Morrison confidently strode into the meeting room, smiling slightly as was his wont. He was slightly late, but you would never have known it from his poise. A man in his position is never late, nor is he early - he arrives precisely when he meant to. He sat down at the head of a long table, and looked around. Sat all around him were representatives of the Thirteen Families; the descendants of those Tanari who had originally led the expedition that led to the colonisation of Yari III, who were now the most powerful people on the planet and effectively held a stranglehold on the colony’s economy, from vast swathes of land to the shipyards the planet was famous for. For most Tanari, the most terrifying words in the English language were ‘Sefer Yetzirah’, but for the Thirteen Families, the most terrifying words in the English language were ‘Prime Minister Anna Lundby’, and while they had all stabbed each other in the back countless times, they recognised a common enemy when they saw one.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Blair said. “I think I’ve found a solution to our problems, and his name is William Douglas Reed.”

At the far end of the room, several men broke into laughter. “I’m sorry,” one of them said. “You know as well as anyone that, unless the federal government is willing to take extreme measures, there’s very little that can be done for us if Lundby takes over this planet…and your solution is to buy one politician, who might not even be in power in a few weeks?”

“Not just any politician.” Blair continued, unbothered by the man’s mockery. “The man is more ambitious than all of you put together. And while he loves our culture, he isn’t hidebound by our sillier traditions. No matter what happens in the election, he’s the perfect choice to safeguard our interests.”

“And how exactly do you plan to ensure his cooperation?” asked another woman. “He could just as easily let the left and the Shifters have a little playpen in the Trilateral in exchange for peace in the rest of the empire.”

“One word: Sundowner. It’s never been in anyone’s interest to tell the full story of that tragedy,” Blair paused and smirked knowingly. Nobody else in the room had any idea what he was talking about. “But that doesn’t mean nobody knew. If Reed fails us, I’ll throw him to the hungriest wolves anywhere in the Tanari Confederation - the general public.”

-----

[ The City Upon A Hill ]

Vekhta awoke in a sweat, jolting upright as if pushing her head above water, her breathing rapid, panicked - dilated pupils scanned the room, but she was alone. Completely alone. In the small quarters aboard the City that she had taken as her own, no-one besides herself was present. She collected herself, willing her heart rate down, slowing her breathing - manually resetting practically every autonomous bodily function to its baseline level. She rolled her head backwards slightly, gazing up at the chronometer embedded in the wall above her.

She'd managed an hour and seventeen minutes of uninterrupted sleep. It was the most she'd managed since Nil'nara. She had never before in her life appreciated just how painful sleep deprivation was. Her body felt weak, useless - her eyes blurry, unfocused and her head slow, burdened with an unceasing ache. She had been drugging herself with anti-fatigue stims and it was a habit that was catching up with her.

"Fuck this."

Vekhta stood up, fumbling around in the darkness for a loose-fitting vest top which she pulled over herself, before leaving her quarters. The ship was quiet; besides Vekhta, only Astra and Zeneca were onboard, and the two assassins tended to not make much noise. Vekhta strolled through the gunship's central corridor, coming to the main airlock which lay at the end of it. She stepped in, closed the interior hatch behind her, and turned to face the exterior, her finger hovering over the release button - and then she caught sight of her reflection in the smudged, oily glass separating herself from the uncaring vacuum of space beyond.

She looked like shit. Pure shit. And not the 'hot girl in an action movie' type of shit, either; neither her face nor her body had really had the opportunity to recover from the fight with Drake aboard the Cormorant, which now felt a lifetime ago. Her right eye was busted, bloodshot; the left side of her face was swollen and lopsided, a gash running through her bottom lip. She hadn't quite noticed the point at which her regenerative capabilities had stopped working, but evidently they had. She raised a hand up and touched the glass, realizing in that moment that in spite of how battered and bruised her reflection was, it was her reflection.

Not Arc Vekhta's. Not Lena Ishikawa's. Not even Vekhta of the Yuzari - which rather than any true identity, instead just felt like a set of surface-level memories that Blackout had awakened in her. The Vekhta reflected in the glass in front of her was Vekhta - just Vekhta - and it was the first time she could genuinely say she'd seen herself that way. The smudged, grotty little blob of brown and black in the reflection was her, and now it was up to her to decide what that grotty little blob wanted to be. She cast her eyes down to the release button by the side of the exterior airlock door, almost disgusted at what she had thought about doing only moments ago.

Sighing, she turned, opened the interior hatch, and climbed back into the main corridor. Astra and Zeneca were waiting for her - she was almost startled by the sight of them standing there, near motionless.

"We believe we've found him." announced Astra.

"Who?"

Zeneca smirked. "Who do you think?"

Kakamu.

---

[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

Xavik nodded at Oblique's suggestion.

"This one agrees with your plan. A wise man once said; the major problem of life is dealing with costly interruptions."

Xavik left the brig, and using his phasing abilities, made his way back to the cargo bay. He began searching for any unexpected items in the loading area; the teachings of the Attendants made clear how much a threat such objects posed. His VI kept receipts of his discoveries as he searched at a rapid pace, and then he found something - not the sword, but a valuable clue nonetheless.

A suit of powerful armor was stored in a case in the cargo storage area, against one of the back walls - as if loaded centuries ago and forgotten about. A standard observer could have easily misinterpreted it as being conventional in nature and construction, but Xavik instinctively knew that this armor was capable of converting negative, hateful energy into power - it was covered in psycho-reactive plating. Why exactly it was aboard the Story was unknown - despite Xavik's repeated protests, the cargo crew had not allowed him to assume the responsibility for managing the inventory of the ship - but Xavik suspected that the psycho-reactive armor would contain some imprint of the murder that had happened here, and if so, some clue as to the identity of the assailant.

He flew in closer, confident that his elevated consciousness would be immune to the corrupting effects of the armor, but as he approach it began to stir to life, red veins of energy glowing.

"This one has no hate with which to fuel the armor..." protested Xavik. "This one... I..."

The armor exploded out of its container, surging with energy, pulling Xavik in as he screamed. It played out before him in horrific detail - the Grand Rising, the crash, the beacon - the Ta'har raiders surrounding him, the bodies of his crew at their feet. He had tried to warn them. He had tried so hard - given them every chance he could - but he had exploded, his anger and his hatred manifesting in such a perfect physical form and tearing the Ta'har limb from limb, atom from atom. His hatred had been so pure, inflicting hundredfold vengeance, an act of psychic reckoning not seen since-

Xavik flew backwards, thrown from the armor, forced back into physical form; he spun through the air, crashing into a series of crates and coming to stop in a pile on the floor. Any sense of harmony this one had held was disrupted, and his ability to transcend the material realm was stripped away from him.  He lay, dazed, then slowly sat upright.

As unpleasant as his journey into the armor had been, it had been worth it; the psychoreactive alloy had indeed retained an imprint of the murder, and that imprint was part of Xavik now.

"This one has seen the face of the killer." he muttered. "And, this one knows where the sword is."

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“Oh, where the hell’s he gone now?” asked Sally as Xavik phased out of the brig. While Prush was still distracted by his argument with Nexus West and Mavis Deacon, she opened Oblique’s cell, freeing the Lithan. “Come on, let’s go to Cargo 3. Now. I have a bad feeling.”

-----

<Yorak, After the Town Hall>

“Morgan,” David Robert Jones shut the door behind him. His tone of voice was, somehow, even colder than usual. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to win this election.” Morgan Peres said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not cruising anymore. That went out the window as soon as Lilith Heyerdahl died. We need to keep undermining Eachan’s credibility as a commander-in-chief. Why should Reed be the only one who gets to play with tactics that actually work?”

“You’re assuming they’re working. You’ve let Reed get under your skin. He’s just a thug.”

“Oh, wake up, old man.” Peres sneered. “For weeks before this we were hearing about nothing but this Cum Williams bullshit. This stuff works.”

Jones stayed silent for just a moment, pondering his options - but of course, as far as he was concerned, there was only one. “Morgan, do you remember our deal? You get me the Liberal nomination as quickly as possible, and let me run my administration as I see fit, within reason, and I back you as my successor when I retire?”

“Obviously.”

“Keep this up, and I may have to alter that deal.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Lyndon City>

Having visited Shae, who seemed healthier but certainly not particularly happy to see him for reasons he didn’t understand - bloody women, he thought - Silver Eachan stepped out of the Presidential Mansion, flanked by his bodyguards, heading for his limousine to check in on the other member of his inner circle who was currently ill, that being Reed. He would never let it be said that he was a terrible boss.

Standing on the other side of the fence was the typical array of gadflies - on the one hand, a few Shifter war veterans protesting about discrimination in healthcare and pension provision, and on the other, a few NatCons, dressed in supposedly smart but ill-fitting clothes, trying to drown out the Shifters by yelling pro-Allman and pro-Eachan slogans over them. Eachan rolled his eyes slightly - not at the Shifters, who he was used to ignoring, but at the NatCons.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate their youthful enthusiasm, per se, even if he could tell it had very little to do with him and everything to do with Reed, but he found them so dull, so one-note, they were almost as annoying as the MRF. Just like the MRF, he thought, they could never be sated by what he had to offer once Sefer Yetzirah had been defeated - the slow reconstruction of Tanari strength. Not purely military this time - that mad fool Allman had shown the folly of that - but economic, slowly buying back their stranglehold on places like Teruga or Corrantia before turning their attention even further. It was an unflashy plan, just like most things Eachan did, and Reed was training them to expect flashy. Hopefully they’d grow out of it.

He got into the limo, and headed for Donald Slayton Memorial Hospital.

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

“Madam President,” said Vrai Inquisidora Laara, who was clutching a thick black briefcase. “I’m here to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

-----

[ Donald Slayter Memorial Hospital, Lyndon City ]

A few days after Reed's admittance to hospital, what would go on to become the most liked, quoted and re-shared post in Xwitter history appeared on the holo-net:

"You know I had to to do it to em"

The post, showing Reed recovering in his hospital bed making a double thumbs-up gesture to the camera, attracted billions of likes within hours and served to calm the anger of many of his NatCon followers who, in response to the assassination attempt against him, had begun rioting and looting, proving a menace to J.Crew stores throughout the confederacy. His injuries had still put him off his feet, but he had sent Le Shark to retrieve his laptop - and so, sat upright in his hospital bed, another hard day of work began.

It started with him providing an (admittedly very flattering) candid image of Aster, caught at a rather compromising angle, to William Patrick-Morris, his inside man within a centrist Pro-Peres web forum known as The Shape of Democracy. With that seed planted, he then switched tabs to re-xweet a tacit endorsement for A Faceful Of Khum: The Khum Williams Story, an unauthorized (and materially unfounded) biography of would-be assassin Khum Williams. Whilst stressing that he felt the story occasionally veered too heavily into baseless speculation, he opined that it had an enjoyable writing style and 'would satisfy the public's growing interest in hard-hitting material that asks serious questions as to Morgan Peres's history and character'. A subroutine within his neural VI automatically analyzed his xweets to ensure that they would not expose him to potential litigation (and suggested alternate wording where possible); interestingly, said subroutine had been developed off the back of another subroutine that been previously built for him, which did the inverse - analyzing the xweets of others to see if he could use their remarks as basis for litigation.

After a short coffee break, Reed then devoted his efforts to destroying the reputation of the leftist politician Tim Muera-Morrison, who had been a thorn in the side of Commissioner Kinsler, Reed's new friend. He tasked an offworld 'data scientist' with hacking into Muera-Morrison's Xwitter account and posting compromising, doctored images of him, sat in a spa with some unsavory and inappropriate company. After regaining control of his Xwitter account, Muera-Morrison only had time to tweet "there are no words" before his account was suspended by Xwitter moderation, and law enforcement was sent to his residence. Reed grinned as he cast his eyes over to the real-time poll numbers - in his absence they'd dipped slightly, but now they were trending every so slightly upwards.

By then the seed he had planted earlier in the day had matured, as the image of Aster was doing the rounds on centrist and leftist Xwitter, with users affectionately describing her as "our queen" and "bae", whatever the latter term meant. With perfect timing, Reed launched into a feminist critique of the users' behavior just as similar sentiments began to be put forth by the left itself; he decried the chauvinist behavior of the so-called 'Peres Pals' for dragging down the tone of the election, and for reducing the contributions of a respected political activist to just her appearance. Whilst acknowledging that him and Aster would never see eye to eye, he stressed the need for civility and 'the values of decency and respect' and publicly pondered as to how 'an undercurrent of misogyny and objectification [had] become so heavily embedded in the liberal agenda'. He concluded that the fault could not lie with the 'austere' and 'respected' David Robert Jones, whose track record on such matters was nearly flawless (Reed also knew from experience that direct political attacks against Jones rarely translated into results on the polls), leading to the unspoken conclusion that Peres's camp were to blame.

It was as he was half-way through composing a series of xweets attacking Morgan Peres's recent Reed-esque outburst, describing it as a "low-energy imitation" and recommending he "ask [his] con artist campaign advisers for a refund" that President Eachan entered. Reed smiled warmly.

"Mr. President. I'd stand up to shake your hand, but unfortunately the Radical MRF Left doesn't like me having full usage of my legs." he said, gesturing to the extensive casts surrounding his lower body.

---

[ ES Base (Lilith Heyerdahl) ]

Lilith smirked.

"The point you're trying to make is that the New Order will fail just like every other would-be galactic unifier that came before it. And, statistically speaking, you'd be right. On the balance of probability, we lose."

She turned to look at Blackout, an expression almost approaching coy on her face.

"But you don't strike me as someone who is governed by statistics or probability. And if you are, then you should factor in that our odds of success are likely far better than any of our forebears. There's never been a force - a leader - better suited to unifying the galaxy. The Rider Empire enforced a hegemony based on the perceived supremacy of the Dachori race, which was inevitably destined to fail, as is inherent to any system of minority rule. The Takeshan Empire before it couldn't solve the issue of the increasing inefficiency of a single centralized government on a galactic scale, and lost its territories to uprisings at about the same pace as it acquired them. And the Lithans... well, the Lithans didn't have an answer to Arc Blair."

She turned away again.

"The New Order has no such weaknesses. And if we do fall, our mistakes will serve as a stepping stone for whichever galactic unifier follows us. Chaos may be that natural order of the universe, but chaos has to win this battle every time. We only need to win it once. And every time this conflict erupts, we get better at it. You sit there so high and mighty, but you've hedged all your bets on the safe option - the status quo - just like all those scared little politicians huddled together on Malchior, praying that the same old tired regime will deliver from the coming fire. You're no different, really - too scared to take any real risks - solely concerned with whether you win or not, and not concerned enough with whether the side you've picked is the right one at all. Like every one of those politicians you're a coward."

She paused, then continued:

"Sefer is building something that will stand for ten-thousand years unopposed. I dare you to try and leave even half the legacy she will."

---

[ ES Base (Di-Jonn Massa) ]

As the door opened to Massa's room, the smoke cleared to reveal Shepard, his body crackling with electricity; the destroyed robot lay in a smouldering, sparking heap on the floor, and the room itself had been near enough completely demolished, a huge hole blown in one wall as if a tunnel had been dug via use of repeated energy attacks. The guards were stunned as he emerged, holding the casing of Massa's prosthetic forearm in one hand, crushing it in anger. They lowered their weapons as their de jure leader approached.

"Sound the alarm. Vekhta has betrayed us. Vekhta has helped the prisoner escape."

---

Di-Jonn Massa awoke, still dazed, as the last remnants of the hallucinogenic drug wore off. He was outside - on the surface - in some kind of open-topped land vehicle, moving quickly. He rolled his head around to see Ben Kovacs sat in the driver's seat on a 4x4, speeding across the beaten earth of Vesa Qatoria's surface; Massa realized he himself was in the back seat, and strangely, was not restrained or bound in anyway. As Kovacs realized his passenger had awoken, he turned his head to address him, peering into the back seat of the car.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Admiral." drawled Kovacs. "We're gonna get you home safe and sound."

<Lyndon City, Donald Slayton Memorial Hospital>

Eachan smiled only slightly in return. He turned to the nurse who was checking on Reed, one Sputta Nikki Vincent. “Can we be alone for a moment?” he asked her.

“Yes, we can run with that line.” he continued once the nurse had left and shut the soundproof door. “Although what I’m hearing from my agents is that your visitor matched the description of Arc PLUTUS.”

The President adjusted his cufflink slightly. “Reed, if they’re trying to pressure you, to influence you in any way... I need to know and I need to know now.” he said slowly, trying to mask his concern that he was now facing a low, but definitely extant probability of a scenario he did not want to face, one of the few things that could potentially turn William Douglas Reed from a lifeline to a liability in his mind. Eachan was now on his second straight campaign partly based around painting Morgan Peres as a sinister fool, and the last thing he could afford was for him to be proven somewhat correct, even if it was by complete accident.

-----

<Espiritu Santo Base, Lilith’s Cell>

“I’ve heard all those boasts thousands of times from better people - including myself. All proven wrong in time.” Blackout snarled. “Everyone makes mistakes. They might learn from old ones, but they make new ones for the next generation to hopefully learn from. Even Sefer… are you her wife or her high priestess?”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to achieve galactic unity, of course.” he continued. “Maybe one day, someone will manage it, probably after I’m long gone. We all must die eventually, after all. I just don’t want or trust you, or any of the current major powers in this galaxy, to do it. You are failures and criminals, and I’m going to expose every single one of your weaknesses. I’m the biggest mistake the New Order will ever make.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the nearby commotion. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

-----

<Espiritu Santo Base, Massa’s Cell>

Having disappeared before Lilith’s eyes, Blackout reappeared behind Shepard, the electrified floor seemingly having no effect on him in the few seconds it was still active.

“A fascinating theory, Shepard.” he said. The Void gazed deeply into his subordinate’s eyes, his psychic powers gently touching Shepard’s mind, not entering yet but certainly toying with doing so. “But somehow, I’m not convinced you can actually prove it.”

-----

<Yorak>

Sitting alone in his hotel room, Morgan Peres looked at the photo of his wife and teenage son, and smiled sadly. Outside of the occasional heavily encrypted holo-call, he hadn’t seen them since the campaign began, having sent them to a safehouse where Eachan’s goons wouldn’t be able to find them - something the Khum Williams and Tony Dalton sagas, as well as whatever the hell was happening on Yari III had proven very prescient.

He took out his phone, and began to dial, only to stop as his eyes came across the photo again. The thought that they certainly wouldn’t approve of what he was about to do made him hesitate. But he and Jones had to win the election. Eachan had to be beaten, so Sefer Yetzirah could be beaten and honour could be restored to the Peres name. They would certainly approve of those things, and there was no need for them to know exactly how they’d been achieved.

Morgan finished dialling. A pleasant female voice came from the other end of the line. “Hello, New Dawn Amalgamated, how can I help you?”

“Hi,” he gulped. “I need to speak to Mr. Black.”

-----

<Neutral Space>

While Morgan Peres made his call, at the same time, a ship called the Wild is the Wind, officially registered to the New Dawn Amalgamated corporation of Tanari Prime, was hosting a guest of honour.

“I thought I was coming here to speak with Desmond.” said Willis, a lieutenant in Don Saul Gerrerra’s cartel, who had, to his surprise, been confronted with two women in some sort of black armour, one short redhead, one much taller brunette. Willis himself was flanked by a tall, white robot of some sort.

“My husband is off dealing with FSA business,” Larissa Zaragoza smirked. “So instead, you’re stuck with the smart one.”

“Look, the boss authorised me to negotiate with Des...” Willis said, obviously confused. This was not at all what had been briefed to him.

The short redhead walked over to the robot, and touched it on its arm and torso. “We’re not the ones who turned up with a Sukhondese police droid.” she smirked. “Maybe Don Gerrerra isn’t taking this deal seriously?”

Willis chuckled. “That droid is all mine. Call it a trophy, if you like. It won’t harm you… unless I tell it to.”

The redhead brushed the droid’s arm again. “All yours, is it?” The droid’s single eye suddenly flashed red, and with unexpected speed it grabbed hold of Willis and, before he could shape-shift into a form that would allow him to escape its grip, or even one in which that particular form of trauma would not be an issue, snapped his neck and let his corpse fall to the floor.

“Droid, go to his shuttle and bring me the data core.” she commanded. “Tanari are so fucking self-centred, I swear to God…” she added as the droid, its eye still bright red, walked off.

“That’s exactly what we’re counting on.” Larissa put her arm on the redhead’s shoulder, then drew her into a passionate embrace. “Good work, Castor. And we’ve only just begun.”

[ Donald Slayton Memorial Hospital ]

"The New Order did try and threaten me." acknowledged Reed, turning to gaze out of the window of his hospital room. Hovering above the Lyndon City skyline was a commercial blimp, displaying a billboard-sized advert which both insulted Morgan Peres and made a pun based on Khum Williams's unusual name, which put a warm smile on Reed's face. "Some chrome Arc, so maybe you're right. I don't know who he is - he certainly wasn't around back when I was in Shangri-La. Another one of Sefer's bizarre creations, perhaps."

The blimp turned, drifting towards the sunset, as Reed's face took on a somewhat more wistful expression.

"When I refused to serve him, to serve the New Order, he tried to kill me. He was... angry. Furious - beyond anything I've ever seen. He had been so sure that I would bend the knee - that I would serve the New Order. It was a complete miscalculation on his part - on their part. My loyalty is to the great Tanari people who offered me refuge when none else would - to this great nation that has become my home. To the confederacy, and the confederacy alone."

Reed sighed.

"If only the same could be said for some of your other companions. I'm sorry, Eachan, but no-one outside our little camp knew where I was on that evening. Not even Saint did. Someone sold me out. Someone tried to have me killed."

---

[ ES Base ]

As Blackout appeared, Shepard turned and, hearing his words, rolled up a sleeve and held the underside of his wrist out towards Blackout.

"Master - if you suspect my words are untruthful, my life is yours." he replied, emphatically. "As my name suggests, I am a man with nothing to hide."

<Espiritu Santo Base>

“Put your arm down. You look like an idiot.” Blackout said coldly. “You’re certainly right about one thing though, Shepard. You have nothing to hide from me.”

With that, Blackout suddenly forcefully entered Shepard’s mind, looking for his recent memories, specifically those involving Vekhta and Di-Jonn Massa, with no intention of being distracted by anything else he found there - unlike the Narayanastra, this really would be a surgical mission.

-----

<Donald Slayton Memorial Hospital>

Eachan listened in silence, and remained silent for some time after Reed had finished. He turned to the window, and became lost in thought. His poker face only broke for a second, when he smiled at the blimp.

“This affair is troubling. And now of all times…” Eachan’s voice trailed off. He didn’t like having to do this - he did like Reed, after all, and up until now they’d worked well together - but his mind was made up. As long as the assassination attempt remained unsolved, doubts would linger in his mind. The blimp served as a convenient reminder that it was hardly beyond Reed’s ken to stage an attempt on his own life for his own advantage, or to cover up a nefarious deed - indeed, much to his satisfaction, Allman had found the same thing seven years ago. Besides, it would allow him to pivot back to the centre and paint himself as a unifying figure in the face of a threat to the Tanari people’s survival, and buy him a little time to figure out how to integrate Reed’s fandom into his own coalition.

“I’ll have Intelligence investigate this thoroughly. In the meantime, I’m putting you on leave until after the election.” he finally said, in the same carefully measured tone he usually used around people like President Klak. “You’ve done me and the nation a great service, but I need you out of the line of fire for the next two weeks, so you can rest and reflect. I think you have a bright future ahead of you, but we can talk more about that after I’m re-elected.” And with that, he left the room and returned to his limousine.

Eachan had been very diplomatic about it, even slipped in a non-committal offer of a future job, but Reed had, for all intents and purposes, been sidelined. In the next few hours, the news spread rapidly, and Xwitter in particular went mad. One particularly viral reaction was a post by, of all people, disgraced independent MP Freya Jackson, clearly still smarting from her own recent sidelining by Aster - a still from a popular Tanari movie, showing a man with a noose around his neck smiling slightly and asking ‘First time?’.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“If you put us in the brig,” Nexus exploded as he got in Prush’s face. “I’ll report you to internal affairs faster than you can say ‘oops’, pal!  And I’m sure they’ll be very concerned about your interest in that Malchiorian’s black market connections!”  

Mavis stepped between the two and sighed.

“Look, the more we argue the farther away we are from catching the killer. Let’s help each other out, then go our separate ways,” she offered. “Sound fair?”

Xavik phased out of the brig and Sally opened Oblique’s cell. Nexus nodded.

“Time to move,” he hissed as he sauntered out of the room and towards Cargo Bay 3.

“Don’t worry about Nexus,” Maven dismissed. “I think he likes you!”

She nodded, then began to look around for the nearest coffee machine. It dawned on her she would need all the caffeine she could get. Her eyes suddenly widened as her eyes met Halo.

“Did...did that thing just talk?” she breathed.

--

<Near Anh-Dante Cemetery, Malchior IV>

Dr. Pa Vell fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, then sighed in a paradoxical blend of pain and comfort as he died.

Nearby bystanders stared in shock. Police sirens echoed throughout the town as a reinforcement platoon of Presidential Guards arrived. They were too late, having arrived in time to see Lilith Heyerdahl wink at them and disappear, having already committed the gruesome crime.

Paramedics rushed to Dr. Pa Vell and checked his vitals while loading him into a mobile gurney. They pronounced him dead shortly afterward.

Moments later, the news reached the Presidential Palace.

--

<Presidential Palace, Malchior IV, a few days later>

The room was in pandemonium as multiple generals, admirals, and other Vell administration personnel coordinated the Malchiorian response to the New Order invasion on multiple fronts. Reinforcements were rushed to various systems in an attempt to counter the threat that the crew that survived the wreck of the Gladius had warned them about. Some desperately urged other intergalactic FSA leaders to pitch in to avoid stretching the Malchiorians too thin. Despite having enough units to assist in the fighting, Malchior wanted to ensure it had enough to protect its own planets...just in case.  

President Klak sat dejected in his chair, seemingly numb to all that was going on around him. He was trapped in a daze that only occasionally broke whenever he was asked to approve any military or policy action orders.

“Klak,” Vice President Merlyn Weir whispered gently. “You know you don’t have to be here, you’re allowed to take some time.”

“No,” Klak dismissed, blinking and smiling. “Malchior needs me. Just...excuse me for a moment.”

He quietly stood up and stepped out, making his way to a nearby restroom. He bent down to wash his face and suddenly broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

He had just attended the funerals of Admiral Kamarov and Blake Olivio Krieger when he heard the news about his adoptive father, Dr. Pa Vell. He had to remain composed for a moment to prepare more holographic condolences to all those who had perished in the fight on Vonilla as well as other recent tragedies. It was only after this moment that he was given a sliver of time to grieve.

Despair and despondency swirled, blending with memories of Dr. Vell. He then remembered the one behind the death: Lilith Heyerdahl. Certainly, the reports stated that one of the people who attacked Vell’s car chanted Sieg Luria, but intelligence suggested this was nothing but another New Order ruse.

Klak (mistakenly) believed his father’s death was the New Order’s fault, just like everyone else...save for Krieger. And now, the New Order was tearing the edge of the FSA apart. It wasn’t enough that they killed innocents on Vonilla, Geihmurs, and countless other worlds. They had to take more, and more. Sefer’s bloodlust would never be satisfied, even after she struck at Klak’s own heart.

Klak balled his fists around the sink, the metal buckling under his fingers. His stomach twisted into a knot. The feelings of despair, despondency, and wistful memory churned, this time mixed with rage and hatred. A flame inside of Klak flickered as he felt his veins burn.

He glanced up at his own face, realizing that the skin underneath his eye had cracked, forming a razor-thin violet line that went down his cheek. His tears, once clear as rain, now seemed tinted purple. A voice began to whisper in his mind, speaking in languages he understood and in one that he did not understand. It tempted him and urged him to embrace the darkness.

Klak restrained himself with all his might until he felt the flame subside. The rage was still there, though perhaps slightly contained for now. He exited the bathroom and stormed into the conference area.

“Continue to send reinforcements,” he commanded. “Accelerate our efforts in weaponizing the Aleph Point and the Infinite Blight. Also, prepare a task force to find Lilith Heyerdahl. Not dispose of her...find her. I will deal with her myself. Sefer wants total war? She will get it. Maintain our position on the FSA election.”

“What about the Vrai?” Weir queried intently.

“Tell the Vrai they are either with us or against us,” Klak replied tersely.

“Just a moment,” Jefferson Bethlehem objected. “I have a plan. We can handle their Coalition like we’re handling the Amun Collective. An arms-length military alliance. Two coalitions of worlds, separate but united in arms against the New Order. We can peacefully coexist, no need for anyone to annex the other.”

“Fine,” Klak grumbled. “You reach out to the Vrai and propose that, and talk it over with the new Secretary-General, whoever they were.”

Jefferson nodded, thankful that he was able to talk Klak off the ledge for now. He could tell that the President was fuming, so he decided not to pursue the matter any further.

Klak looked to the generals and admirals.

“Alright, what else?”

Suddenly, Klak received a call from an important source. He once again stepped away to a secure room.

It was from Malak al-Maut. Klak’s mind reeled. Was he calling to gloat? Was he the true puppet master, pulling all the strings? Impossible. Malak al-Maut was no angel, but his relationship with Klak--reluctant as it was--meant that he would never hurt the Vells. No, it had to be Lilith Heyerdahl. Klak was sure of it.

Klak answered the call, realizing it was not Malak al-Maut at all. He heard all that Salem had to say, then shook his head.

“Mr. Castillo, as much as I appreciate you bringing us this vital intel on the perpetrators of the FSA attack, I’m going to need you to give me more,” he fumed. “You’re telling me the man you tried to kill a few days ago is bad, not exactly the most convincing argument from a credible source. I’m no fan of Malcovus, believe me, but I’ve got more on my plate right now. Either way...if he plans on giving the FSA up to the New Order...he will be dealt with, I can assure you about that. So where’s your proof?”

--

<Classified Base, Undisclosed Location, Malchior IV>

Nadle realized that once again there was a note on a datapad at his desk. He then started to read it.

---

<FSA General Parliamentary Assembly, Malchior IV>

Some of the diplomats stood up in rage. They shouted objections at Synis Lyndon Mantell in a sampling of languages. Others seemed to nod as they pondered on his words. Havoc descended upon the chambers. Vanna rushed to the podium pod and slammed the gavel multiple times.

“Order! Order! We will have order!” she roared. “Order! Ambassador Mantell, unless the Arcadian Federation wishes to become an Observer of these proceedings, we ask that you and the rest of your delegation leave immediately. The unmoderated caucus will continue!”

A pair of guards encased in exosuits sauntered up to Synis Lyndon Mantell whilst cradling plasma guns that resembled P90s.

“Sir, we’ve been sent to escort you from the premises,” one of the guards said to the sinister minister.

-

Meanwhile, Gaius Malcovus raised his hand as he assured a large group of diplomats gathered inside of a conference room.

“Everything is alright,” he conveyed. “This is only a minor issue, a mere bump in support for Evangelise Ascheron.”

“Did we hear the same speech?!” a human diplomat boomed. “The Pinaculese Orcs are on Ascheron’s side, and apparently the human on the Iotunort trio board is starting to feel a bit rogue. This is just the beginning! And to make matters worse, there are rumors that Gabriel is somehow back from the dead. What if it’s true?! You realize that the candidateship forms only listed last names?! Gabriel can wriggle through that and make himself Secretary-General instead of Evangelise. Either way, the fucking Lurians will be running this place if we don’t get it together!”

An elephantine alien shook her head. Her four trunks pointed towards Gaius.

“I think what my human ally is attempting to say-do, is that we need to promise something that will pull in more supporters-do,” she declared. “There are doubts that you can lead us during wartime given your background-do.”

“I have striven for peace for many years, in both the Galactic Government and in the FSA,” Malcovus dismissed with a forced smile. “But I am fully prepared to be a wartime Secretary-General for as long as necessary.”  

“Some of the other delegates we have spoken to are concerned about that though,” a crustacean diplomat sighed. “They….” The diplomat stopped, then gulped.

“Oh?” Malcovus cawed. “Say it. Go on, say it.”

“They are...concerned about your Rider heritage,” the diplomat confessed.

Malcovus laughed then shook his head.

“Too many of you have been speaking with the Vrai,” he scoffed. “Yes, it is true, I am half Dachori. And I am also half Pasajem. Both my parents were dedicated to peace for multiple reasons, and they instilled those values in me growing up. My career is proof of that. Anyone who does not believe this is perhaps far too similar to the Lurians than they realize.”

Some of the diplomats shifted uncomfortably. A robotic diplomat nodded in agreement.

“I am prepared to perform my duties,” Malcovus continued. “I am prepared to do what is necessary and to act within the confines of this sacred office to protect all of our worlds. If I ever act out of turn, this august body can always act to restrain my office. But a Gaius Malcovus Secretariat will always abide by these words: Long Live...the FSA.”

OOS: anyone else can include characters in this meeting, feel free to hop in.

-

The pirate shrugged at Turel, nervously looked back to Maven, then looked back to Turel.

“Probably not, but I suppose we’ll have to figure out what to do then,” he gulped.

-

Meanwhile, Secretary Russello met with the Malchiorian Ambassador to the FSA at her office. Her name was Marianna Gilclack, daughter of Malchiorian food and beverage magnate Henry Gilclack.

“This whole damn election, it gives me agita,” she muttered, sipping a cup of her father’s most exclusive brew.

“I don’t give a shit about your agita, Marianna,” Russello replied neutrally. “I just want the FSA in one piece after the vote.”

“Fuck you too, Russello,” she cursed, rolling her eyes. Both of them blinked in silence. Despite their bickering, they considered each other valuable allies and friends.

“The vote’s going to be closer than we thought,” Marianna digressed. “Our abstention is really starting to get on my nerves. Why don’t we just endorse Malcovus?”

Russello pondered what Marianna had said. He paced the room and looked out the window. Suddenly, a thought dawned on him, and he swerved towards the ambassador.

“Because there is a better option,” he declared. “One that only a humble, wisened, and experienced Secretary of State such as I could have come up with.”

Marianna rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Humble indeed,” she scoffed. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

--

<Kirby Mansion, Outskirts of New Zebulon, Malchior IV>

A man and woman dressed in equestrian outfits dismounted a pair of horse-like creatures, laughing at a joke one of them had just told the other. Their boots crunched on the gravel path that led to the stables. They passed a series of thin pine trees then halted. In front of them stood a Malchiorian general accompanied by an ensign. The medals on the general’s suit and beret shone in the light of Malchior’s sun.

“Colonel Peter Tal Ardennes and Lieutenant Shaora “Jinx” Ardennes,” the general greeted the pair with a smile.

“General Kwent!” Peter replied cheerily. He and the general shook hands. Jinx hugged the general.

“So good to see you,” she chimed.

“Wish it was under better circumstances,” the General sighed. “I’m here with orders from the President himself.”

Peter’s mood darkened.

“We’re retired, General,” he told Kwent.

"I thought we made that clear six years ago," Jinx added.

“You were retired,” the ensign countered.

“Who the hell is this?” Peter chuckled.

“Commander Anatoliy Carter,” the ensign nodded. “Things have changed. Both of your records in the Sarellius Incident and Tanari War have made you legends. Now, your planet needs you again.”

Peter shook his head. Jinx crossed her arms.

“Let’s talk somewhere inside, shall we?” she offered.

---

<Icala District of Horba City, Yari III>

Rain tilted his head as he peered at the Homecoming Church. He was not a devotee of the Homecoming religion; he had recently begun looking into a local synagogue given his parentage. Nevertheless, he somehow seemed mesmerized by the building, despite its unimpressive and unassuming nature.

When the attacker ran past him, Rain briefly considered screwing with the man by revealing his adamah face but decided against it.

“Things fall apart; the center cannot hold,” Rain muttered to himself. He then glanced up at Aster and the others and spoke up. “Is the victim alright?”

--

<Hideout Flat, Yari III>

Raven nodded and picked up his coat.

“Good work, gentlemen,” he purred. “I suppose we’re off to Old Saskana then.”

---

<September Dawn Corvette>

The Shadow Operative rubbed his chin after having returned to Buckner and Hawkes.

“No one who was officially part of the FSA had been ordered to infect the PsyTroopers with a virus,” he ruminated. “If it was anyone on our side, it had to have been one of the mercenaries. If it was one of the mercenaries, then they are likely going to claim credit for a monetary bonus. Wait...did you say Lilith Heyerdahl gave the self-destruct order? Is that what destroyed the Narayanastra?”

---

<Lalli and Regina’s Ship>

A breathy laugh escaped from Lalli’s nose as he eyed Ashton. He started to understand what Ashton meant but decided not to say anything about it.

“We all did things we might regret back there,” Lalli replied intently. “But we’ll have to live with them. At least that terrible place is behind us.”

“Right,” Regina agreed, unaware of what was happening. “At least we got out of that hell in one piece. Wish I could say the same for some of the others.”

Silence filled the room. Regina cleared her throat.

“I’ve...set coordinates for a hideout run by an old friend of mine,” she warbled. “It’s a great place to rest. Plus, we can get medical care, supplies, and anything else we might need. It might take a little while to get there, but it’s far enough from the New Order.”

“Good thinking, the last thing we want is anyone trying to kill us...again.” Lalli chuckled, still staring at Ashton.  

“After that, I’m thinking we should all head back to Jumano, find an isolated beach, kick back, and relax!” Regina beamed.

---

<Kozín’s Camp, Vongola>

“We have a deal!” Joshua Kozín cheered. “Should we sign something?”

He glanced over to a plasteel container, planning on reaching for a datapad that had been stored in there, one that often used for important documents.

---

<Laigula Secundus, Somewhere Near the Edge of Malchiorian Space>

The Laigula Secundus didn’t carry the fearsome weapon of its namesake. Nevertheless, the ship was uniquely crafted to be the Generalissimo’s personal yacht, as it was capable of slipping by most intergalactic sensors undetected thanks to a combination of unique alloys in its hull and a vast array of cloaking and scrambling systems onboard. Other ships in the VPR military began to increasingly use the technology for off-world engagements.

Yet, despite these countermeasures, Figlio felt it was better to answer this holo-call in the secret cloakroom that was situated behind a bookshelf in his quarters. It was an encrypted call, meant to keep the participants’ locations and identities a mystery. But the extra layer of security was always helpful in case any unwanted onlookers decided to hack into the call. Furthermore, Figlio felt that it was inevitable that both the FSA and New Order would find a way to pierce his ship’s cloaking systems; yet another reason to add that extra layer. Better to be safe than sorry.

Once Figlio was certain that the line was secure, he accepted the transmission. A hologram appeared behind him.

“You have a lot of nerve calling me after what you pulled,” he snarled. “Local crime. Very clever. But attacking the Young Partisans for Vongola? Clearly a ploy for my attention. So, to what do I owe this pleasure, Arc Caiaphus?”

“Amazingly, that incident was unrelated to this call,” Caiaphus grinned. “I am merely here on an inquiry.”

“The New Order is attacking half the damn galaxy, and Sefer has you asking little old me questions,” Figlio taunted. “I’m flattered.”

“I am on my way to receive new orders from Arc Kyydan, if you must know,” Caiaphus scoffed. “But interestingly enough, our new onslaught may have been sparked by false pretenses.”

“How do you mean?” Figlio asked, turning around.

“Lilith Heyerdahl was allegedly on the Narayanastra moments before its destruction,” Caiaphus noted. “Yet, not long after its destruction and her disappearance, she somehow appeared on Malchior IV and kills Dr. Vell, father of our mutual Malchiorian friend.”

Figlio blinked in surprise and nodded.

“So the boy scout lost his father,” he replied. “Suppose that’s what the humans would call karma.”

“How is your father anyway?” Caiaphus sneered. “Did you find him yet?”

“That’s none of your concern, Caiaphus,” Figlio bemoaned.

“Anyway, why would Lilith escalate the war and disappear?” Caiaphus continued. “If this were something that the New Order wanted to happen, we would have broadcasted it everywhere. Instead, we are all supposed to believe that Klak impersonated her and is the true puppet master behind these recent events. But you and I both know he is not capable of that.”

Figlio scoffed.

“You would be surprised,” he snarked. “He’s changed a lot since we all met in that cave all those years ago.”

“Certainly,” Caiaphus conceded. “But to impersonate Lilith Heyerdahl and kill his own father? That is beyond him...for now. I suspect there may be a third player in this game.”

Caiaphus raised an eyebrow, as if attempting to divine a confession out of Figlio with a mere glance. But the Rider merely laughed.

“Ha!” Figlio chuckled. “I wish I had thought of that, honestly. But no, I couldn’t pull any of that off, not in my wildest dreams. I’m afraid I’m stuck with one war, no sense in meddling in another.”

“But you possess the technology to remote command androids linked up to a neural shunt,” Caiaphus retorted. “All you have to do is create a gyndroid that resembles Lilith Heyerdahl, and the rest is simple.”

“Except I had no idea where the Narayanastra was, and none of my black-market contacts cared to inform me of its location before the FSA strike,” Figlio enunciated.

“Hmm,” Caiaphus grinned. “Very well.”

A tense silence followed. Caiaphus peered into Figlio, who responded in kind with a
darkened stare.  

“I will reach out to you once I learn more,” Caiaphus rasped. “In the meantime, I trust you will continue to abide by our deal.”

Figlio nodded, saying nothing.

“Long live the New Order,” Caiaphus greeted.

“We stand united,” Figlio replied.

Caiaphus’s hologram disappeared. Figlio stepped out of the cloakroom and sauntered to the bridge. He briefly wondered about this “third player”, but rather than arrive at any conclusion, he dismissed these thoughts as possibly being another one of Caiaphus’ lies.

“Set coordinates for Malchior IV,” he ordered as he crossed his arms behind his back.

<Yari III, Icala District of Horba City>

“Fuck, not another one,” Aster thought to herself on hearing Rain quote Yeats. “Yes, sir, is everything okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” said the man, who was a bit bruised but no more than that, as he retrieved his hat from the ground and slowly rose to his feet. “I was just trying to get to church - hi, by the way, I’m the organist -  when this sad, deranged guy came at me out of nowhere! Thank you for chasing him off.”

“It’s not a problem...” Aster said.

“Wait, I recognise you!” the organist suddenly said. Aster was about to awkwardly say something in response, only for him to walk past her and towards Mett, who had appeared behind them along with Kirsten. “You’re my MP!”

“Nice to meet you.” Mett smiled.

“Likewise, I’m voting for you. Now, what are you going to do about the sidewalks on Johnson Street?” the organist continued, and Mett’s expression turned considerably grimmer as he attempted to politely explain that there wasn’t much he could do and that the organist should really take up the matter with the city council instead.

“So, everyone okay?” Kirsten asked. Judging by her facial expression, something was clearly on her mind.

“Yeah.” said Aster.

“Listen, I need to ask you guys something…”

Before Kirsten could actually ask Aster and Rain whatever her question was, a side door opened, and Father Hirana stepped out, flanked by a similarly-dressed Terugan woman. “Goodness!” Hirana exclaimed. “We heard some commotion. What’s happening here?”

“There was a minor incident,” Aster decided to wait until she’d known the man for longer than two seconds before worrying him. “Everyone’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Well, by all means, come inside then.” the Terugan priest said, stepping aside to let them into the church. From inside, one could faintly hear the footsteps of the first few arriving worshippers. “We’ve been expecting you all.” Aster went in immediately, while Kirsten stayed behind to let Rain pass through first and poor Mett continued to argue in vain with the organist.

-----

<Yari III, Hideout Flat>

“Sounds good,” Siper said. He finished off his glass of rum, then packed Igor’s gun into a bag which seemed to contain a few other items. “There’s a monorail going straight there. I know a guy who’ll let us stay the night.”

“You’re gonna go on the Horba monorail?” Igor chuckled. “Always full of Shifters. Sure, good luck with that.”

“Shut up.” Siper had something venomous on the tip of his tongue, but thankfully for himself, managed to avoid actually saying it. “It’s not that bad at this time of day. Besides, it’s quicker and we’ve had a bit to drink. Raven, shall we?”

-----

<Lalli and Regina’s Ship>

“Live with them, yes.” Amanda, who had also realised by now more or less what had happened, muttered under her breath, emphasising the first word. She gave Lalli a meaningful look, then gave the same one to Pes, who could feel the tension in the room in more ways than one and was looking mildly distressed. Someone was going to get yelled at as soon as they could have a private moment, she thought.

“Anyway!” she then said cheerfully. “That sounds great. Two places where we kick back and relax after this… and spend the huge payout we should be getting soon! Punch it, Reg!”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

“We don’t even have a department called Internal Affairs on this ship!” The exasperated Prush threw his hands in the air. “In case you haven’t noticed, Nexus, if that’s even your real name, there’s possibly a stolen magical weapon out there, along with a shitton of very valuable Takemikazuchi coffee! Checking up on the black market is, like, step one. You’d know that if you were a real cop!”

Prush sighed and nodded in response to Mavis, then released the lock on Ronald’s cell door. The petty crook breathed a massive sigh of relief, then grabbed Prush’s hand and, despite the officer obviously resisting and resenting it, shook it vigorously. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir!” he said, and tried to nonchalantly walk out of the room, only for Prush to grab him by the shoulder. “Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “The deal was that you lead us to your usual buyers.”

“Come on, man!” Ronald whined. “They’re not going to talk to cops! I’m doing you a favour by not telling everyone just how much you all suck at your jobs anyway.”

“Would you rather take your chances with the nearest airlock?” Prush said. He had no intention of ever actually spacing anyone, but the threat seemed enough to make Ronald cave. “Okay, I’ll take you to my boy Ean. He can take you from there.” the thief finally replied.

“Good.” Prush smiled. “Mavis, come with us.” He didn’t really want to take Mavis all along, but she seemed the least annoying of all the strangers who’d kept bothering him since this case had started, and he was starting to think that, as much as he hated to say it, maybe Xavik had a point. Maybe there really was no such thing as a coincidence, and all these odd encounters were supposed to lead him somewhere. Hopefully, that ‘somewhere’ would be the location of the killer.

-----

<Malchior IV, FSA General Parliamentary Assembly>

On listening to what he considered to be the pirate’s very uninformative reply, Turel quickly shot May Graven a look best summed up as ‘can you believe this fucking guy’. “Man, where I come from, you wouldn’t have lasted five fuckin’ minutes with that level of forward planning, and you think you’ll make it in the FSA?” the Vongolan said dismissively. “For your sake, I hope at least your bosses know what they’re doing.”

Resolving to ignore the pirate from now on, Turel continued talking. He was always happy to give people he’d just met a chance, but he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the pirate was uninformed and had little self-confidence, and he had no use for that sort of person. It wasn’t that Turel was just fishing for intel on behalf of the VPR - though he certainly wasn’t going to hide anything valuable from Figlio if it just so happened to fall into his lap - he just enjoyed being challenged and stimulated, be it by an interesting conversation or by an actual fight. May seemed straightforwardly much more interesting in that respect than her hanger-on, and besides, looking at her, Turel thought, he certainly wouldn’t mind if she fell into his lap and stimulated him in an altogether different fashion.

“I remember one time, me and my crew got into this scrap with these mafia types from Wojtek because they were trying to squeeze our favourite bar for protection money, and only we get to do that. They were really throwing their weight around back then. Turned out they had us way outnumbered and they’d bought off the police commissioner! You can tell this was before the revolution.” he recounted. “Anyway, you know, we were sort of shitting ourselves for a bit when we realised, and then my bro, he had an idea. His friend was working in this big ammo factory back then, and there was a business expo coming up. So we sneak in in the middle of the night, and we find a fuckin’ new model tank! We couldn’t pass up that opportunity, so we just took the tank, drove it right through one of their houses, and put it back! They were so scared they went back to Wojtek the next day. No one ever figured out it was us, or maybe they were just glad we solved that problem for us. Either way, I’m glad the di Armechios started cleaning up the place, but that... man, that was fun.”



“With all due respect, sir, I think you’re underestimating the scale of your problem.“ one diplomat spoke up. The man was from the planet FT-530, and the government was apparently satisfied enough with whatever Gaius Malcovus had offered them for their support to not just vote for the Pasajem, but also actively try to drum up support for him. “The Phantom Lords have gone very quiet.”

“Oh, because the Phantom Lords are so talkative at the best of times.” someone else replied.

“It’s a figure of speech, I just mean they won’t take our calls anymore.” the man from FT-530 continued. “Throughout this caucus, their ambassador has been spending all his time with the Alpha Centaurians, the Alainese, the Corrantians, and a few others. All races that were backing Krieger before he died and won’t be happy with either you or Ascheron. I’m not sure what they’re plotting, but I doubt it’s good for your campaign.”

“Haven’t the Phantom Lords always been hand in glove with the Vrai?” someone in the back of the room observed. “The ‘special relationship’ and all that?”

“Yeah, ever since the Rider Wars. Crap, they probably think Ascheron is the lesser evil at this point.”

-----

<September Dawn Corvette>

“That’s right.” Lt. Buckner said after a moment. “When Team Gamma and I got to our target, what must have been most of the station’s PsyTrooper complement was already there, active and waiting for us. The Admiral was about to sic them on us, and then Heyerdahl turns up out of nowhere and started giving this spiel about the virus and how they need to kill themselves to stop it. Next thing I know, they’re all blowing up all over the station and right in front of us. The only reason we survived was that she put up this… shield or force field around us all. Then she grabbed the Admiral and teleported away or something.”

Colonel Hawkes gave the rest of September Dawn a meaningful look. “Now, why the hell would Lilith Heyerdahl do that?” he said, putting his cigar back in his mouth.

-----

<Vongola, Kozin’s Camp>

“We’ll have a proper document delivered to you soon.” Kora shrugged. “Bureaucracy takes time, I’m afraid.”

“I’d like to ask you a few more strategic questions." she continued, all business-like. "How many dissident generals are you in contact with? Also, our stealth units have located many of the VPR’s defence installations. To the best of our knowledge, Figlio has no idea the Vrai Empire is involved in this theatre yet… we could probably surprise him and take out a lot of them, if you think that would help.”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Brig>

After making sure that Halo was securely strapped to his back, Oblique glided past the commotion to follow Sally out of the brig. They were halfway out the door when Mavis noticed that Halo seemed to be a little more animated - and talkative - than most other wooden instruments she had seen, causing her to audibly wonder if Halo had just talked. Halo's wooden eyes swivelled around in their sockets to lock onto Mavis's as he gave his response.

"Uh... no?"

"Shh!" Oblique huffed, pressing a slender finger to his lips to silence Halo as they exited the brig.

---

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Cargo Storage 3>

Before long, Oblique, Halo, and Sally arrived at the entrance to the storage room, which had been sealed off by the ship's security forces shortly after the murder suspects were whisked away to the brig. Two humanoid security officers clad in grey-black armored uniforms were idly chatting while leaning against the door. Although their features were obscured by black helmets with visors, their voices suggested that they were male humans in their 20s-30s.

"So that's when I said, Vongola? I hardly know her!" the guard on the left said. The guard on the right immediately burst into a fit of laughter, bending over to lean on his knees while he recovered, almost approaching tears. However, the guard on the left did not seem to find it as funny, remaining upright and tilting his head to the side. "What?"

"Ah, hahahah, Vongola... ah, good one," the guard on the right replied between laughs, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Wait, what do you mean, 'What'? Don't tell me you don't get your own joke!"

"What's there to get?" the guard on the left responded, irritation creeping into his voice. "It's no joke! You ever been to Vongola the past few years? There's nothing funny about it!"

"Of course I have, you numpty," the right guard said, standing back upright and gently whacking the other on the shoulder. "We go everywhere together."

"So what's so funny about it?"

"Well, the joke is 'Vongola' sounds like 'Vongol-her', right?"

"No, you numbskull, I said Vongola because... wait, were you even listening to the story?" The left guard put his hand over his visor in frustration.

"What story?"

"Excuse me," Oblique said sternly as he approached the two men. "We must enter this area. There is a murderer on the loose. Step aside."

"Hey, listen pal," the left guard retorted while pointing a gloved finger at Oblique, "The last time someone told me to step aside, it didn't end well for me. So I'm gonna have to ask you to-"

"Look, Mike, it's Sally," the right guard pointed out. "We can let them through."

"God damn it Dave, for the last time, there's nothing Sally about it!" Mike raged, turning on his partner. "It's deadly serious!"

This time, it was Dave who placed his hand on his visor as he physically pointed to Sally. Mike followed his finger, and, upon realizing what he meant, uttered a simple "Oh". "Okay, you can enter," Mike decided.

As soon as Mike pressed a button on the door to unlock it, Oblique barged past Mike and Dave into the storage room. The layout of the room had changed somewhat since the last time he was there, with several crates having been knocked over and sparks of red electricity dancing across the surface of a suit of black and red armor that stood against the wall of the room. Although he had not paid this armor much attention the first time he was here, he now noticed that it seemed to glow with a red energy that crackled and danced across its surface like electricity. Across from him, Xavik climbed to his feet, muttering something under his breath. Oblique looked at Xavik, then back to the suit of armor, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Don't touch that armor," Oblique warned the others. Saying nothing else, he hurried over to a long metal container near the center of the room which looked almost like a coffin. Noting that the container's locks were in an open position, Oblique flipped the lid open, peered inside, and found... nothing. The entire crate had been cleaned out, without even so much as packaging or a receipt as proof of what had been inside.

"The sword is gone," Oblique concluded, an angered expression appearing on his face. He took a moment to swallow his frustration before turning around and heading back over to Xavik, hoping that Xavik could provide some answers.

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

President Ear Lornus looked up from her desk, resting her tired-looking eye upon Vrai Inquisidora Laara. Her eye immediately widened as she processed the appearance of her visitor - it was rare that a Vrai visited Teruga Prime, and even rarer that one would pay a visit to her office. As was the law for visitors to the presidential building, Laara was accompanied by two heavily-armored guards in the Terugan Special Operations Service (TSOS), each wielding mechanical spear-like weapons, while two bald and stoic humanoid members of the Psymancer's Guild stood behind Ear at her desk, arms behind their backs.

Members of the TSOS performed many different roles for the Terugan government - personal security, espionage, and even offworld search and destroy missions - but they were most commonly known in the galactic community under the informal name of "Terugan Elites". Back in the days when Vok was personally scouring the galaxy in search of Yon, the Terugan president had taken members of the TSOS everywhere with him as his personal security escort, causing them to be immediately thought of by many members of the galactic community whenever Teruga Prime was mentioned in the media due to the infamy of Vok's interplanetary exploits. Ear was not too comfortable with the TSOS being regarded as one of the most iconic elements of Teruga Prime in the rest of the galaxy, but she had yet to come up with something iconic enough to replace them. The appearance of the TSOS with Laara reminded her that she needed to work on that, so she made a mental note to do it later.

"An offer I can't refuse? Well, I'm listening," Ear said, standing up. "After all, they do call me the Ear of the people. And you are?"

<The Viper King>

Sylen Kurze looked out the viewscreen, and for the first time in at least a day, smiled faintly. After what seemed like an eternity, several bizarre adventures along the way, and the deaths of quite a few crewmen, Tanari Prime was in sight. Thanks to Sefer, they were doomed, but at least they’d get to see it one last time. Of course, it wouldn’t be any of the nice bits, or their families and friends - their plan would almost certainly get all of them killed, and if any of them survived, they’d likely be going straight to the worst prison the government could think of, or worse. In that context, the crew of the Viper King figured that, on balance, the ‘almost certain death’ part was more of a feature than a bug.

The ship’s radio crackled into life. “Tanari Prime Orbital Traffic Control to incoming ship. Please identify yourselves.” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“This is Sylen Kurze of the Viper King.” Sylen replied. “Authorisation code: Gamma-Bravo-238520. I need to speak to the President ASAP.”

-----

OOS: Theme of this part of the post: Break It to Me - Muse

<Tanari Prime, Lyndon City, Presidential Mansion>

“Excuse me, you can’t come in here!” said the guard, faced with two men wearing shades and Tanari military uniforms with Viper King patches, who seemed intent on barging past his checkpoint and into the mansion. “Where are your papers?”

“Relax. I got your papers.” one of the Viper King crewmen said. “Riiiiight here.” He suddenly pulled out a silenced gun, and shot the guard several times in the chest. Another guard tried to leap into action, but was quickly gunned down by the other Viper King crewman.

“Exit one secured.” the man said into a walkie-talkie.

---

“Did you hear about Reed? Man, Eachan really screwed him over.” said a man standing by the water cooler.

“Good.” replied Giorgio Camminatore Cespuglio, sipping his coffee at his desk by the window. “Reed’s an asshole.”

“I dunno, I quite liked the idea of keeping my job…”

Suddenly, the large window next to Giorgio’s desk exploded, sending shards flying everywhere. As the surprised Giorgio fell out of his chair, spilling hot coffee everywhere, three men with rifles burst in through what used to be the window and began shooting at everyone in the office.

---

“Mr. Kurze, this is highly irregular.” Silver Eachan said, pacing around his office. “Your report was very concerning… even if it was one of the most deranged-sounding documents I’ve ever read.”

“Well, we live in deranged times.” Sylen shrugged.

“Go on then.” Eachan said, looking down at his desk. “Why did you ask to speak to me?”

“Mr. President… I sincerely apologise.”

Eachan looked up to see Sylen Kurze pointing a gun at him. He just about managed to press the alarm button under his desk, but that was it - Sylen shot him in the chest, and he fell to the floor, bleeding heavily.

---

Shae was sitting in her bedroom, reading a book, when she heard the sound of distant gunshots, and a siren started blaring. Though paralysed by fear for a second, she suddenly realised that whatever was happening now was her chance. She dived under her bed and pulled out a bag she’d prepared for the occasion. After hesitating for half a second, she grabbed her half-finished book and stuffed it into the bag as well, and made for nearby Room 52, hoping no one would spot her in whatever chaos seemed to be erupting.


---

Sylen approached the fallen Eachan, poised to fire one more time and finish him off. He could see the fear and the complete lack of comprehension in the President’s eyes. It was a bad way to die, but he had a job to do.

Just before he could pull the trigger, though, he was hit in the back with a series of machine-gun rounds, and collapsed, revealing another guard behind him, standing in the office’s doorway. As the guard ran to check if Silver Eachan was still alive, Sylen Kurze smiled, genuinely smiled, for the second time that day.

“Fuck… you… Sefer…” he managed to mumble before finally dying.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Cargo Storage 3>

“Come on, guys.” Sally smiled at Mike and Dave in a basically kind but nevertheless vaguely pitying manner. “Oh, by the way, don’t forget board game night at Asved’s on Friday.”

She walked past them, and into the storage area, to find Oblique despairing at the empty box. “Shit,” she said. “So it’s gone. How much damage do you think it could do in the hands of an untrained user, Oblique?”

She noted the armour, and being vaguely aware of some of its properties, then walked over to Xavik. “Xavik, what happened? Did you see something?” she said, giving him much the same smile she had given Mike and Dave a minute earlier.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Unknown Location>

The Coldest Story Ever Told was an extremely large ship, and thanks to several upgrades over the years, it had actually expanded since its construction in order to accommodate the ever-growing crew, albeit in a very haphazard manner. However, much of this space either couldn’t or had yet to actually be developed into something useful, which meant there were plenty of places for the ship’s criminal element to hide.

One such room deep in the bowels of the Coldest Story was currently occupied by the killer, a young Malchiorian man with blond hair named Bill. It was a rather cramped place at the best of times, and the large sword and multiple large bags of coffee lying along the wall weren’t helping. He was listening to music using an app on his VI, and thus mostly unaware of his surroundings. What was left of his conscious mind was idly wondering what to do with his merchandise - other than Ean, he had now been turned down by two other major players on the ship’s black market, and was increasingly at a loss on what to do.

Doubly distracted as he was, Bill wasn’t in much of a position to fight back when two burly men, both of whom had the same complicated tattoo pattern - three swords pointing upwards at a defiant-looking eagle - on their left shoulders, barged into his hiding spot, grabbed him from behind, and hit him with a stun baton, knocking him out cold.

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

Behind Inquisidora Laara stood two more Vrai, both of whom were wearing yellow hooded robes and necklaces with bright blue gems hanging off them. They were silent, but looking very intensely at the Psymancers. If any of Ear, the Elites or the Psymancers were sufficiently familiar with Vrai culture, they would be able to recognise their clothing as the traditional uniform of Vrai telepaths when employed directly by the Empire.

“My apologies, Madam President. I’m Inquisidora Laara of the Vrai Empire, here on behalf of the High Representative for Foreigner Policy and the Imperial Ministry of Industry and Trade.” Laara said in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could manage, ignoring her host’s pun. Introducing herself had made her feel almost as awkward as the presence of the TSOS made Ear feel, if for a different reason.

At first glance, both the names she had rattled off were simply bureaucracies with grandiose names, but with the Vrai, almost everything bore layers of symbolic meaning. It was no accident that what would be called ‘foreign policy’ almost anywhere else was instead described using the odd and alienating term ‘foreigner policy’ by the Vrai government, or that it was left to a ‘High Representative’ rather than an ‘Imperial Minister’ - traditionally it had always seen as a thankless job, managing foreigners on the rare occasions they became annoying enough to be relevant despite the Vrai’s steadfast attempts to ignore as much as of what went on outside the Empire as possible. That wasn’t a legacy the current Vrai government was happy with, and it certainly wasn’t the best message to send to the foreigners who had to be ‘managed’ - but then, neither was turning up to a meeting flanked by Terugan Elites.

“I’ll get straight down to business.” The Inquisidora set her briefcase down on Ear’s desk, and opened it. Within was a holographic projector, which promptly displayed an image of what looked like a vast factory - which seemed to somehow be floating above a generic landscape. “We are looking for a suitable planet to place four or five Class-4 mobile factories. With the New Order on the march, we need components for ships, as well as weapons and orbital defence platforms. IMIT has identified the Terugan sector as an ideal place for this, given your skilled workforce and certain specific natural resources found here.”

“We understand you value your independence. We have no interest in annexing you.” she continued. This was also the reason she wasn’t planning to mention the Order and Progress Coalition just yet - while the Terugans would undoubtedly make good members, she thought, it had been judged that, given their history, it would probably be wiser to gradually convince them of the benefits. “Much as your hero Yon overthrew your old regime, a revolution within our empire stamped out such… deplorable practices decades ago. We’re fully prepared to offer quite a generous offset in exchange  - of course we’ll inevitably have to hire Terugan workers and subcontract Terugan companies, but on top of that you could have the option to purchase a portion of the output at a substantial discount, and we may also make the blueprints of certain technologies available to you so you can eventually ramp up production of your own systems. With our help, you could quickly build up your defence industry far beyond what it is now.”

Before Ear could get a word in edgewise, Laara revealed she wasn’t done offering carrots - though the last one she had in mind was perhaps a little bit more cynical. “I understand the Commonwealth of Corrantia has been blocking imports from Teruga in recent years due to some legal issues. That’s quite deplorable, considering your nations’... mutual history with the Tanari Confederation. Being neighbours with Silver Eachan is like living next to a sleeping dragon. You’re affected by every twitch and grunt, and eventually it will wake up and try to eat you both. Our relations with the Corrantians have improved greatly, and we could apply some pressure to get the embargo lifted and try to get you two sitting around the same table. What do you think, Madam President?”

-----

[ The Nation ]

Chaos, Reed knew, had no master. Like flame, it regarded its creator no different than any of the other kindling which surrounded it; it could summoned with great ease, dispelled with great effort, but under no circumstances bound to the will of any living being. The fact that he did not know who orchestrated the attack on Eachan's life did not dissuade him from utilizing the chaos the attack had sown. That chaos - all chaos - was simply a natural, living resource that was there for the taking.

And today, Reed's appetite was insatiable.

He emerged from his hospital room dressed in a black suit, under a charcoal grey longcoat, with a thin white scarf draped over his shoulders; a pair of cufflinks molded in the image of the titan Prometheus adorned each of his sleeves. Two police bodyguards flanked him - two of Kinsler's men who had become deeply loyal to him over the past few weeks as he solidified his stranglehold over Lyndon City, thanks in no small part to the assistance of one Blair Morrison. Doctors and other hospital staff parted as Reed and his entourage made their way to the elevator; patients were being rushed in, victims of the rioting in the streets outside. Some viewed the assassination attempt as a coup in progress - a prospect a decent chunk of the population were actually enthused by.

The elevator emerged onto the roof of the hospital, where Reed's police gunship was waiting for him, two door gunners scanning the street below in case any rebel elements decided to launch any projectiles in their direction. He climbed into the passenger compartment, and was greeted by Commissioner Kinsler, who shook his hand and handed the man a tablet with a newsfeed being displayed on it.

"The timing couldn't have been better." opined Kinsler.

The police gunship took off, and Reed turned his attention to the newsfeed. A riot had broken down at Impel Down prison after a group of Osduranti mercenaries had attacked it, killing multiple guards and inmates in an apparent mission to rescue Khum Williams. A manhunt was underway to recapture him, complicated by the intense rioting breaking out in the surrounding neighbourhoods. Reed overhead the gunship's pilot communicating through the radio as the gunship rose up into the cloud layer, climbing ever higher.

"Continuance control, this is Romeo two-one-niner. Requesting priority landing clearance - VIP is onboard."

"Roger that Romeo two-one-niner, proceed to main control tower landing pad."

"That's an affirmative, Continuance control."

As the gunship cleared the cloud layer, Reed angled his head around to get the look at the Continuance, a medium-sized, flat-decked Oliver Fortis-class helicarrier hovering high above Lyndon City. Formerly a prototype warship class that had seen limited service during the Takemikazuchi war, the few remaining examples had been demilitarized and handed over to the various police departments of the confederacy as mobile command-and-control centers; in the Continuance's case, that demilitarization process had not been so thoroughly implemented and so the ship still possessed a limited armament of four 20mm point defence turrets on the ventral hull, and a single 15mm light railgun turret, refurbished and re-calibrated by Bristol corporation technicians. The gunship rose up above the deck of the Continuance and touched down on a landing pad next to the aircraft-carrier-style control tower that sat alongside the main runway; as Reed and Kinsler emerged they were met with salutes by an honour guard composed of hardline Kinslerite police officers, NatCon mercenaries, Bristol corporation 'advisers' and even a small contingent of Tanari army men who had deserted their posts in the patriotic interest of the continuance of the nation.

Reed's response to the salutes came spontaneously, as he offered his own salute in response. "The Nation Continues."

The group made their way to the bridge as Reed once again looked down to the newsfeed on the datapad in his hand. Khum Williams was being shown on a broadcast - evidently being held in an undisclosed location, as footage apparently showing New Order Gideon-class warships operating in Tanari space played alongside him.

"My name is Khum Williams. I have... I have been liberated from captivity by an organization devoted to the pursuit of justice throughout the Confederacy. This attack on the President's life has been organized by the evil Morgan Peres, working in concert with his brother, the New Order officer Juan Peres, who..."

He paused, hesitating. Reed's lips coiled upwards into a smirk. The moment of truth.

"MORGAN PERES HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT!" screamed Khum Williams. "I'M BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL! IT'S ALL VAN SMOOT! IT'S ALL VAN-"

Thunderous gunfire sounded out through the datapad's speakers as an off-screen assault rifle opened fire into Khum William's torso at near point-blank range, turning the poor man from a living, breathing human being to something more closely resembling an Unreal Engine 4 tech demo; bits of bone and meat coated the screen as any resemblance of a human silhouette dissipated in an staccato sequence of muzzle flashes. The feed was near-immediately terminated by network broadcasters. He didn't blame them. After all - the screen was literally covered in Khum.

Reed and Kinsler emerged onto the bridge, a moderately sized, semicircle-shaped room with various crew consoles occupying a forward, lowered pit and a long, executive-style table positioned against the flat rear wall of the space. Three command seats sat side-by-side in the centre of the space; Reed claimed the captain's chair as his own, quickly adjusting it to his liking and bringing up an array of computer screens showing various areas of the ship. As Kinsler went around the horn, confirming that the ship was ready for operations, Reed flicked through the ship's internal surveillance cameras. As a retrofitted police vehicle, the Continuance possessed extensive internal holding cells for criminals; after a few button presses he arrived at the feed showing Tim Muera-Morrison's cell, and grinned. The disgraced politician was banging his fists against the energy field that served as the gate of his cell, imploring his guards to try something new by letting him go, and describing his freedom as one thing he really missed. Reed suppressed a chuckle as he contemplated the fact that, even if they were to let Tim out of his cell, there'd be nowhere for him to go - he was still stuck in a flying aircraft carrier, a few thousand feet above the planet's surface.

"Captain." spoke Kinsler, taking the first officer's seat next to Reed. "All stations report ready for duty. We await your command."

Reed nodded appreciatively, and pressed a button on the arm rest of his seat, opening a broadcast channel for him to address the entire crew with.

"Crew of the Continuance. This is William Douglas Reed. What we are about to do is unsanctioned, illegal, and very likely unsafe. We are not a military force. We are a coalition of citizens who go forth with one goal in mind; to ensure the continuance of our great nation. Our mission objective is to secure the arrest of the traitorous Van Smoot and his accomplices, and to prevent any further degradation of law and order. The Nation Continues."

His bridge crew replied in unison. "The Nation Continues!"

Reed smiled. "Take us in."

The engines of the Continuance roared to life, and the ship began to descend, cutting through the clouds and emerging into the skyline of Lyndon City. As Reed's instruction, police gunships launched from the ship to provide a close air escort; two high-altitude fighter-gunships were also dispatched to patrol the airspace above Lyndon City spaceport, with the expectation that the traitorous Van Smoot's spaceplane would be arriving from his off-world campaign visits shortly. As the Continuance crept closer to the Presidential Mansion, Kinsler tapped Reed on the shoulder, and pointed to a bird's eye view of the city below; in particular, he was gesturing to a specific house in a moderately well-to-do neighborhood, close to the central government areas of the city.

"Weapons test?" asked Kinsler, his face contorting into a perverse grin. Reed smiled wistfully, nodding in agreement.

Freya Jackson MP emerged from her house as the massive form of the Continuance came to a halt above her street, the massive downblast of its engines sending dirt and debris flying outwards. A sharp blue light shot down from a point somewhere on the lower hull, casting a holographic projection of Reed before Freya. At the same time, a corresponding holographic projection of Freya appeared before Reed's command chair in the bridge of the ship high above her.

"Reed? What the hell are you doing?" exclaimed Freya, a panicked expression on his face.

Reed smirked. "Protecting this great nation from all enemies - both foreign and domestic."

The realization dawned on Freya, her expression turning to one of forced joviality as she realized she would have to barter for her own life. "This... this isn't like you, Reed. What the hell are you doing in a military vessel?" she asked, forcing a smirk. "You're a man of drama. You love antagonism. You... you can't do this. Not to me. You need people like me."

Reed nodded in agreement.

"People like you. Not you, in particular."

"Keep telling yourself that." she replied, forcing a chuckle. "Admit it. You'll miss me."

Reed thumbed a button on his armrest, signalling for the 15mm railgun turret that had been trained on Freya's position to accelerate an 180 gram depleted uranium slug to a mathematically significant portion of the speed of light; the actual heat of the incoming warhead incinerated Freya's body before it even had chance to make physical contact with her. The street below him exploded, and when the smoke cleared, only a blackened crater marked where the former opposition MP once stood.

"Not at this range, I won't."

The Continuance turned and, its combat capabilities assured, made its way back towards the Presidential Mansion.

---

[ Story, Cargo Hold ]

"This one has seen the killer's face. However, this one has not seen the killer's motives. Therefore, this one cannot bring itself to infringe on the killer's privacy by revealing their identity."

Xavik stood up, dusting himself off.

"However, should this one be adequately compensated - say, by being given exclusive use of the ship's long-range communications array - then this one may see fit to reassess its current perception of morality."

---

[ Le Club ]

"Mr. President... I admit that my evidence is far from substantive. At the same time, I know you are someone who, throughout your life, has often encountered many strange, inexplicable things that defy rational thought - that defy evidence and reason. I cannot expect you to blindly accept my judgments as fact. I also cannot judge you for choosing not to believe me. But I know that before there was a President Klak there was a Klak - and it is to that man I make my plea."

Salem paused, then spoke again.

"Project Blackstar. That is the name of Gaius Malcovus's plan. I think that it will be the end of the Free States Alliance, and of freedom itself."

---

[ Espiritu Santo Base ]

As Blackout entered Shepard's mind, he saw it all play out as he described with no evidence of artifice. No, some artifice, but not in the memory itself - in the reality it portrayed. He saw Sinead Pharris-Vaccari writhe as Vekhta's consciousness seemingly forced itself into her body - overwriting her like a virus entering a cell - and enthralled by this traitorous mind she seemingly facilitated Massa's escape. The psychic deception was so powerful and potent that it beggared belief - if these memories were true then the Yuzari Vekhta possessed abilities far beyond Blackout's initial reckoning, and a capacity for betrayal even further beyond that.

---

[ Shen Zhou ]

The City Upon A Hull touched down on the thunderbolt world of Shen Zou, a mass of floating continents orbiting a sparking neutron star affording it some approximation of gravity and atmosphere. Lightning bolts shot out from its core, lighting up the darkness of space beyond the edges of each continent, firing off into the cold vacuum of space in a pattern that was slightly too orderly to be truly random.

Vekhta emerged, followed by Astra and Zeneca. Vekhta's Yuzari biology allowed her to survive in such a thin, poisonous atmosphere - Astra and Zeneca seemed to exist in a realm beyond biology, and so strolled out onto the surface in their trademark white suits and longcoats.

"And now..."

"...we wait?"

Vekhta nodded.

"And now we wait."


[ Battleship Vengeance, Tygenia Orbit ]

"You've felt it too, haven't you?"

"I have." Sefer replied, folding her arms, gazing listlessly at the gargantuan form of Arc Kyydan's bio-tank, and the translucent liquid swirling within.

"Is it him?"

Sefer didn't have the physical reflexes to twitch - she'd burnt out those nerve clusters a few years ago - but had they still been present, that might have been her reaction. The New Order only had one him - and it certainly wasn't Klak. She instead shook her head.

"The Narayanastra array's reported no movement in the direction of Andromeda."

"Then somebody else." concluded Arc Kyydan, as his gene-progenitor began to pace the perimeter of his inner sanctum, inspecting the various arms and armor the decorated it. Something resembling an appreciative look formed on her grey face; Kyydan's deep appreciation of art - his seemingly paradoxical love of aesthetics in spite of his own appearance - was a truly emergent property that had not been intended when she had created him; like all adamah, an amount of randomness had been woven into his genetic structure. That same randomness, however, accounted for his disfigured, near-monstrous appearance. The Emperor giveth, the Emperor taketh away. As she paused to inspect a pair of Yuzari battle-spears, Kyydan continued.

"Something on the fringes of my enhanced senses. Some element - some entity - throwing the mathematic of our script off. Like an invisible rounding error - observable only by the chaos left in its wake. I cannot focus on who or what - like a shadow with nothing around to cast it."

"An anathema." remarked Sefer, gently wrapping her fingers around the haft of one of the spears, feeling the weight of it in our hand.

"A vast predatory bird on the edge of my mind. Even with Massa's arrogance, we should not have lost Narayanastra. We should not have lost Vekhta. We..."

"Vekhta was my mistake." retorted Sefer, firmly. "Not yours. And it is not a mistake I intend to repeat."

With that, the doors to the sanctum slid open, and Domino entered, newly transformed into an Arc and transfigured by the artisan gene-smiths on Kharabad. Having sensed his hesitation during the battle in Asukara, Sefer had ordered him to be reconditioned by the Arokazek; more powerful, more intensive mental conditioning had been applied to him, and to further ensure his loyalty to the New Order, his forelimbs had been replaced by the very same prosthetics installed on PsyTrooper bodies, so that more of his body belonged to his new masters than belonged to Domino himself. As a final touch, to avoid a repeat of the disastrous betrayal of Arc Vekhta, he had been given a mask forged from psychoreactive alloy to wear; a small, white, angular face covering resembling a domino mask, with thin circuit-board-esque veins of red psycho-alloy running through it.

After all, Sefer couldn't afford to lose two of her reprogrammed Yuzari. She regretted that the mask he wore was all the psychoreactive alloy the New Order had left; the bulk of it had been used to forge a suit of power armor, originally intended to both protect and control Vekhta, but which had been smuggled out of New Order space by the traitorous Qui Zhen Dhu forge-monks that had been tasked with creating it. The location of the armor was unknown - but ultimately, Sefer had far greater concerns.

"Whatever stands in opposition to us is not a creature born of the evolutionary path we ourselves have followed." intoned Kyydan, his synthetic voice echoing throughout the sanctum as Domino approached, resplendent in a custom red New Order uniform. "Any carbon-based life form that evolves to the point that it is able to travel beyond the limits of the gravity well that birthed it, will invariably begin to develop extrasensory abilities. These abilities manifest in certain beings as pure psychic potential. The list of sapient organic species that did not follow this path is so narrow as to effectively be a rounding error. Any chiral, alternate evolutionary path would lead to the rise of a category of biological life that do not possess any psychic potential, instead possessing something wholly... anathemic."

"Like the Yuzari." remarked Sefer, not that she wasn't already intimately aware of the nature of their existence. The Yuzari, having been seemingly woven from the fabric of spacetime itself by Lithan remnants nearly ten-thousand years ago, were one of the few races that possessed anything resembling true anti-psychic potential; of the entire race, she had only been able to force two individuals to her service, one of which had already betrayed her, and the other of which she was now forced to send out into the galaxy to hunt an unknowable, undefinable, unthinkable enemy.

Enemy. She was already ascribing sentience - intent - to it. For all she knew, it could be nothing more a wandering dark energy cloud, passing through the Milky Way galaxy, throwing off her psychic predictions. But she needed it to be someone - she couldn't be angry at piece of natural phenomena; she couldn't lay the blame for the death of the only human being she truly cared about at the feet of a random happenstance. Klak's death was already assured - his was ultimately the hand that swung the sword that felled Lilith - but the fact remained that she knew nothing of that sword itself, and that disturbed her. Perhaps it was some misguided soul that had been called to his service - swayed by his seemingly lofty ideals and noble goals. The fact of its motivations mattered little to her; she simply needed to know how to kill it - to tear it limb from limb, atom from atom, concept from metaphysical concept until it was wholly undone.

And that led her to the present situation; she was about to send Domino, and a team of six newly-individualized PsyCommanders, each attuned to a different element, off into the cosmos with the most superior arms and armament known to modern civilization, to hunt down the sole unknown factor in the entire galactic conflict.

"You have your instructions, Arc."

Domino nodded, smiling wistfully.

"Long Live The New Order."

<ES Base>

Blackout took in the scene Shepard purported to be aware of without a word. If true, then as much as he didn't want it to be true, Vekhta was much more powerful and much less trustworthy than he'd anticipated.

But something didn't ring true. He hadn't felt any trace of that sort of power when he was in Vekhta's mind. If Vekhta was still working for Sefer, then why would she free an admiral who, as an Arc, she had to know would be doomed upon return to New Order space, but not even try to find a way to free Lilith Heyerdahl? And if she was working for someone else, or had her own agenda, then again, what was the profit in that? True, these memories appeared to be what Shepard had sincerely seen happen - but as Blackout knew very well, there were many ways to manipulate one's perception.

As he pulled back, as much as Shepard clearly wanted to hide it, Blackout couldn't help but sense the merest taint of jealousy associated with the memories. Something was very wrong indeed.

Blackout physically stepped back from Shepard, then narrowed his eyes. Walls of bright light began rising up all around his agent, trapping him in a relatively small cube of Void Magic, too hot to even touch.

"You really don't like Vekhta, do you?" the Void asked.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Cargo Storage 3>

Even by the standards of the Coldest Story, Sally had a massive amount of patience for even the strangest and least cooperative alien lifeform. What led her to stay with the ship was her almost boundless curiosity, her desire to see what was out there, beyond the bounds of her sleepy village and the staid, oppressive Tanari Confederation, and getting huffy when faced with new things was anathema to that.

Faced with Xavik, however, Sally could do nothing but facepalm and say 'Oh, for goodness' sake.'

Even though she knew it was probably in vain, she tried to explain the situation one last time. The long-range communications team had always been opposed to letting Xavik use the array, mostly because they suspected it would cause a mutiny for which they'd be blamed. "Xavik, you are aware whoever it was stole a load of expensive coffee and a magical sword. Right? I think we have a pretty good idea of the motive." she said.

-----

<Yorak>

After yet another rally, David Robert Jones was sitting down with a cup of tea, being briefed by his pollsters on the latest developments. Apparently, the presidential race was quite close, but his well-publicised tour of the Trilateral was already beginning to pay dividends as he was poised to comfortably overperform Morgan Peres' already strong result on Yorak and Sukhonia in the last election. Yari III, however, remained something of a black box, as the election outcome there would ultimately depend on whether Anna Lundby's coalition would be able to win a majority in the colony's election and start removing Von Budberg's voter suppression measures in time.

Another phenomenon the pollsters noted was the apparent rise in voters who, in the  face of the New Order onslaught and the conspiracy theories that seemed to be constantly multiplying, no longer seemed to trust politicians at all. Likely turnout was dropping, and there was a rise in the number of people planning to vote 'against all'. While the presidential election was a two-candidate affair, there were actually three options on the ballot - anyone unhappy with all the choices on offer still had the option to nevertheless vote 'against all', and if that option somehow won more votes than any of the candidates, it would be up to Parliament to select a new President. This option had been suggested when the post-Allman constitution was being drafted, as a failsafe in case of another Allman-esque figure emerging - quite how it was supposed to help it wasn't quite clear, seeing as Allman had never won or even run in a free and fair election, but the logic seemed to appeal to enough delegates that the feature made it into the constitution. In the last election, the vote 'against all' had been around 2.5% - mostly Liberals disappointed by Morgan Peres - this time, the pollsters thought, it might rise to around 5 or 6%.

Speaking of Morgan Peres, he wasn't present at the meeting. This was by Jones' explicit orders - he decided to start the process of shutting Peres out from all influence early. He figured any media reports of a rift between the two couldn't be as dangerous as anything the idiot himself could do with further sensitive information.

Just as one of the pollsters was beginning to explain that, despite the closeness of the presidential polls, there was a good omen in that Liberal and MRF candidates seemed to be leading in many key CUSP-held marginal seats, another aide burst in.

"Mr. Jones," the man stammered out. "Very sorry to interrupt you, but the President's been shot. Seems like his mansion was invaded."

"Good lord." Jones' head sank into his hands. "Do we know who did it yet?"

"Nothing from official sources or from our contacts yet."

"The options are: the New Order, or a coup." Jones rose from his chair. "Either way, nothing good. Get me Donovan on the line. The Confederation and the galaxy have to know we stand united against this. We should organise a march, or a vigil."

-----

<Tanari Ship Raptor One>

"General on the bridge!"

General Ernest Van Smoot walked onto the bridge just in time to see the familiar sight of Tanari Prime emerging into view. He smiled as he took in the twin sight; he loved Tanari Prime, but he liked it on the bridge of the Raptor One almost as much. The corvette had been painstakingly adapted to his exact specifications over years - its weapons and propulsion systems, obviously, but also little details like the name. Many Tanari cities and most Tanari warships were named after deceased famous citizens of the Confederation, but Van Smoot had little interest in that. Ancestor worship was the most conservative of religions - which perhaps explained why it was one of the few that still retained roots among the Tanari - and in a galaxy where endless war was the only way to survive long-term, conservatism was a luxury one couldn't afford.

As soon as he had heard the news about the attack on Eachan, he had cut short his tour of the frontline and headed back to Homeworld as fast as he could, to prevent a power vacuum in the middle of a war and to supervise the investigation into the attack. As National Security Advisor, his job technically only involved the latter, but with Peter North having handed in his resignation and fucked off to Yari, the Vice Presidency was vacant, and so he was having to effectively assume the position slightly ahead of schedule - not exactly as he'd imagined it.

"Status report." Van Smoot asked.

"Everything working normally, we're on a normal approach to Homeworld." the ship's navigator replied. The man was a Shifter, and Van Smoot was no fan of Shifters, but he was also a decorated combat veteran who had piloted several successful bombing runs against Takemikazuchi bases, and things like that went a very long way in Van Smoot's mind.

"Good. Any word on the President?"

"The President is still alive and is being prepped for surgery. Fifteen people are dead and three still unaccounted for, plus all the attackers are dead. All wearing navy uniforms with Viper King patches."

Van Smoot raised an eyebrow. "That's the ship we sent to Bendu. Their report said they met Sefer and still survived," he said. "Although that report did sound like it had been written during a Liquid-Metallicon bar crawl."

"Fake, then." a Lieutenant spoke up. "They hijacked the ship to get to Tanari Prime undetected and sent false intelligence ahead to cover their tracks."

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Lieutenant. We live in a deranged world. That's one possibility. Sefer Yetzirah is more powerful than any of us can imagine." Van Smoot replied. "Or… it's an inside job. Has Orbital Traffic Control sent us our flight path yet?"

"Aye, sir." said an officer.

"Scan ahead. Are there any ships along it?"

"Hmm…" the officer looked at her sensor screen. "Looks like there are two Ladipo-class fighter-gunships patrolling the area around Lyndon City spaceport. A security measure, I imagine."

"No." A clearly concerned Van Smoot shook his head. "That's not the protocol for a situation like this."

"General, with all due respect, there's just been an attempt on the President's life. They're probably just trying to keep things ticking over until someone starts figuring out the situation, not tick all the boxes…"

"Soldier, I wrote the god damn protocols!" the General snapped. "Something is wrong down there. Turn on the news, now."

A second later, a suitable newscast was found and displayed on the viewscreen - showing Khum Williams' speech accusing Van Smoot, and subsequent death.

"Well, I'll be damned." Van Smoot hissed. "Break from our flight path, start charging weapons, and find some available fighter squadrons and tell them the NSA is ordering them to scramble."

"Scramble to do what, exactly?" the comms officer said as the ship turned sharply.

"Why, hit everything in Lyndon City airspace that looks like it might have so much as a kitchen knife on board, of course!" Van Smoot laughed, even though what he was saying wasn't remotely funny "Clearly some dickless wonder down there thinks they can pull off a coup. Well, ladies and gentlemen… not on our watch."

-----

<Tanari Prime, Hospital>

Silver Eachan awoke - after a fashion. He was lying on a stretcher in a moving ambulance, an oxygen mask fitted over his face, his body hooked up to some sort of machine he couldn’t see but could faintly hear was beeping every now and then. With him were two paramedics, both of whom were facing away from him for now. Were he really in a position to do so, he would breathe a sigh of relief. A guard had arrived in the nick of time, and now he would surely be saved. He would live to see Shae another day, be re-elected, and see Sefer Yetzirah vanquished once and for all.

The paramedic to his left turned back to him, and leaned over to check on the machine. Though he could only really see her out of the corner of his eye, Silver could swear she looked just like Aster. Surely a coincidence, he thought, until the paramedic looked right at him, and grinned. He could also see now that the other paramedic was not, in fact, a paramedic at all, but Sefer Yetzirah, and she was laughing at him. The laughter was oddly muffled, as though it were coming from far away and not from someone right next to him. Silver started to panic, though he was too weak to really do anything but moan into his oxygen mask. The beep of the machine sped up again, and the President passed out again.

---

When Silver Eachan came to again, insofar as he was lucid enough to have any opinions on the matter, he wished he hadn’t. As far as he could tell, Sefer or Aster were not lurking anywhere around him, mocking him and planning to finish him off, nor was he annoyed at being pulled away from his dreams of glory; quite simply, he was more disorientated than he'd ever felt before, even during his worst binge-drinking sessions. He was being rushed on his stretcher through the corridor of a hospital, and not only did he feel like he was moving at a million miles per hour, but the world seemed to be spinning around him. Two doctors were looking down at him as they tried to keep up with his stretcher - for a second, Eachan could swear they were David Robert Jones and William Douglas Reed respectively. Why would they be here, though, Eachan asked himself just before he blacked out again.

---

"So, after all, we meet again." said Edward Allman, who was standing opposite Silver in an unbearably white void. Were it a physical location, it would make one's eyes hurt - thankfully, it was not, but even if it were not, that would be the least of Silver Eachan's problems.

"Am I… dead?" Silver tentatively asked. "Is this it? Is there really an afterlife?"

Allman laughed. "After a fashion, maybe… but you're not there yet. This is just the waiting room, if you will. And I've been waiting for you for a long time."

"Little old me? I'm flattered." Silver said. "Although don't you really have anyone else to wait for?"

"Well, my only real love is Tanar. And thanks to you, she might be coming this way soon after you."

"I saved Tanar." Silver hissed. "You left us on the brink. The only ones who benefited from your war were Sefer and the Shifters. I kept the nation together, and I'll pull through this, and I'll beat Sefer, and I'll make us strong like you wanted to but you never managed! I don't have to answer to you, Edward. You failed, but I won't!"

Allman smiled faintly. "Maybe you don't have to answer to me. But maybe you should answer to her."

Before Eachan's eyes, Edward Allman morphed into his wife.

"Why, Silver?" Shae hissed. "What the hell's the point of you?"

---

Several long, tense hours later, Silver Eachan woke up. A doctor stood over him - not Sefer, not Aster, not Jones, not Reed, not Allman, not Shae - just, as far as the  President could tell, an ordinary doctor.

"Good evening, Mr. President." the doctor said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just got shot." Eachan moaned. "Where's Shae? Did she-"

For what seemed like an eternity, the doctor said nothing. And that was enough for Silver Eachan.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Somewhere Underground>

For what seemed like an eternity, Shae Eachan wandered through a tunnel carved into stone. Its walls were extremely smooth, and there were electric lights fitted at regular intervals, indicating it was not only man-made but also relatively recent. But that didn't particularly interest Shae at the momeny. As a young secretary, she had been dazzled by what she saw as Silver's worldliness and charm. What the last decade and a bit had taught her was how easy it was for a man like that to buy simulacra of those things - but, frankly, she would have traded that knowledge for not having to crawl through mysterious tunnels in order to escape mysterious gunmen and her own decaying ogre of a husband.

Finally, she arrived at a metal door, which opened as soon as she approached, revealing the cockpit of a small shuttle. She put her bag down on the floor and sat down to rest her weary bones. On top of the controls, she noticed, lay a note from Peter North, which explained that the escape route she'd used had been set up under Allman but forgotten after his death until North accidentally discovered it, and that she should head for Yari III, from where he could help her find a more permanent home elsewhere.

Shae smiled as she took stock of her situation. She had some money, a ship, a temporary hiding place, a good book to pass the time, and information that could destroy Silver Eachan's career - assuming he'd even survived. In the short term, what more could a girl need?

-----

<Sukhonia, Orbital Monitoring Station>

Castor, wearing a pilfered Tanari navy uniform, grinned and rubbed her hands as she approached the unguarded mainframe. When people heard about her powers, they usually expected them to be accompanied by some sob story about how she 'had always understood machines better than people', or something, but that was silly. While her skills had, in the distant past, made her a hell of a mechanic, bullshitting her way all the way to the core of a facility like this required considerable charm and chutzpah, things Castor had in spades. You didn't get to date a Pirate Lady or become, for all intents and purposes, second-in-command of one of the most powerful clans on Liquid-Metallicon without those things either, but somehow people never learned. Well, she'd just have to keep bringing back things they couldn't possibly live without from missions like this. Such a bother that would be, she thought and chuckled to herself.

She ran her hands over the keyboard, and the mainframe soon began to reprogram itself - internalising two specific subroutines devised in Castor's own mind. Some information popped up on the screen for a few seconds, then vanished, leaving no trace that it had ever been searched for in the first place.

Castor's suspicions, already aroused by some data she'd found in Willis' ship's data core, had been confirmed - a particular ship had indeed travelled along a particular flight path they'd need to take in order to end up in a certain location on the surface of Sukhonia at roughly the correct time. This was both good and bad news for her and the Zaragozas; good because it meant their two short-term objectives in the Tanari Confederation were almost one and the same, and bad because it meant they'd now have to overcome a much trickier obstacle. But the prize - full reign over a bountiful yet insular market like the Tanari Confederation - was well worth it.

The mainframe's screen briefly flashed green as the other subroutine fully took root. Now, if a certain other ship ever approached Sukhonia, as it surely would at some point, Castor would be immediately warned by an encrypted signal from the station she was now on. Yes, the plan is coming together very nicely indeed, she thought.

-----

<Luxury Cruiser Snakecharmer>

"Reed is targeting Van Smoot. With Eachan out of action and North… wherever the hell he is, that's pretty much the last piece of the puzzle." the hologram of Olivia Horwath, the Bristol Corporation executive who'd been posted on board the Continuance, explained. "He already basically has control of Lyndon. Unless they throw us a curveball, soon they'll have to start acknowledging his authority. Who else is there?"

"Excellent, excellent. Keep me posted." Blair Morrison said. He was a decent multi-tasker, which was fortunate as he found Horwath quite distracting. He hadn't lied to Anna Lundby when he told her he was a progressive businessman; unlike most of the Tanari corporate or political worlds, he was happy to promote the occasional female executive, especially when they were a former Tanari intelligence officer with the ability to tell him everything he'd ever wanted to know about the Battle of the Sundowner Expanse, the associated deaths of hundreds of thousands of Tanari, and William Douglas Reed's involvement in it, but he certainly wasn't some sort of Asterist radical who wouldn't allow whether they were easy on the eyes or not to play any part in the decision-making process.

Once Olivia's hologram turned off, Blair spun around in his chair, still grinning. Standing next to him was Laura Schroeder, another one of the Thirteen Families, who was looking distinctly less impressed.

"Having fun, Blair?" she sneered. "This isn't a game. The chances of whatever this little scheme is succeeding are tiny, and then you've blown your shot and we're doomed for sure, as opposed to only about 97% doomed."

"Nah." Blair made a gesture as if to wave Laura's point away. "I know his type. His type founded Yari. Even if this doesn't work out, he'll just learn from his mistakes, consolidate, and try again. There will be a new order. A real new order, not Sefer's insanity. The nation will continue… And so will the Families."

[ Ruins of the New Order Battlestation Narayanastra ]

The craft wove its way carefully between the blistered ruins of Hangar 3, dodging jutting spars of semi-melted plasteel girder with short bursts from its cold-gas maneuvering jets. A flurry of cutting lasers fanned out from the small craft, slicing a container unit from its vacuum welded resting place, and a long tendril-like mechadendrite grasped the unit, transferring it to a magnetic clamp on the belly of the vessel.

Scavengers had been tentatively probing and prising at the now derelict hulk of the Narayanastra since its destruction. The ruined battle station attracted flocks of salvagers, but only the hardiest dare venture this deep into the maze-like tangle of metal and ceramite; the radiation levels this far in still posed a serious threat to all but the most well equipped of vessels. The gains, however, weighed neatly against the danger. The mere scrap value of the New order station was vast, and that didn’t account for the sheer quantity of equipment and modules left (relatively) untouched by the nuclear devastation.

It took a keen eye and a seriously kitted out ship, but those were two things that Eno had. The Agresian piloted his craft with deft ease, and had the technical knowledge of all Agresians worth their salt - he had, after all, worked his youth in the shipyards of Madrigal Orbital Engineering. Eno’s ship, Skyline Pressure, was a restomodded Celani mining vessel; composed of squat, truncated trapezoidal shapes with rounded, bulbous edges. The true genius (in Eno’s less than humble estimation) of the vessel’s modification was a series of interlinked tracks that circumferenced the hull, zigzagging across the vessel in a multitude of directions. Along those tracks ran the cutting lasers, individual nozzles able to redistribute themselves at the pilot’s behest along virtually any surface of the ship. This not only gave Skyline Pressure an incredibly flexible toolset; it also gave it virtually 360 degrees of protection - useful for warding off some of the more rogue elements that now stalked the derelict battle station.

As Eno worked, slinging yet more cut plasteel into the stowage bin on the belly of the craft, a ping in the cabin alerted him to a pulsing screen set to his right. He turned his head fractionally - it must have been malfunctioning. The screen was a life signs scanner, and was displaying a positive read on the stowage room Eno was currently cutting into. The lizard cursed in Agresian and flicked the switch for the screen off. He’d look at a cockpit overhaul when he was back at a spacepo-

The door that Eno had been methodically slicing through blew outwards in a shower of sparks and vented gasses. In the dark doorway stood a humanoid figure, and Eno had to scramble to turn the cutters off lest the figure be sliced into twelve separate pieces at once.

Warren Willis, body wrecked and broken, suit’s radiological alarms on constant sound, (Willis had mentally blocked that out after the 6th day) slipped into unconsciousness even as the mechadendrite grasped him and tugged his ragged form toward Skyline Pressure's airlock.



[ Manx Sea, Vonilla ]

The submersible dove, its complement of mercenaries and agents sat in the cramped interior cradling weapons and observing the outside through the screen walls of the vessel. The images were supplied by the subs’ sophisticated sensor suite fitted for this mission by Arwell. The sea was dark, and little moved outside the hull, save for some native eel-analogues that darted around the intruder to their watery home like elongated missiles.

Deeper and deeper the vessel crept, its stealth suite constantly monitoring the hull, ensuring no radar wash or tight beam was directed against it. They descended deeper until, finally, at last, a twinkle of light could be seen through the murky darkness. The prison facility grew in size below and ahead of them. It was made up of a linked series of pentagonal buildings that clung to the sea floor like crustaceans, each surrounded by a curtain of water that was energized in some way, providing a near impenetrable barrier of water. There was one entrance; a single corridor of stone that had a series of irising airlock doors recessed into it. Their final approach took them closer to this tunnel, and the submersible’s passengers waited with bated breath. Arwell placed a hand on Hercules’ shoulder.

“I hope your inside man has done his job, or we’ve got something of a problem on our hands…”


[ Iotunort ]

Deep rolled from cover, raising an antique looking silver pistol at the darkness where the New Order soldiers had emerged. “Well,” the crystal man said, addressing no one in particular, “Better forward than backwards.” He began to move deeper into the tunnel, without waiting for his compatriots.


[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

Ral Patha loped down a dimly lit corridor before emerging into the relatively bright canteen. There were a few individuals eating between shifts, and a couple of groups drinking more heavily and playing games at the larger tables. Ral Patha ignored them and moved to the food replicators, ordering a ‘Gresh’ stew with more garlic than standard. While the machine produced their meal, Ral pondered what they had seen on the news broadcasts. If Luria had fallen, but Gabriel Ascheron was ascendant, he stood a solid chance at trouncing Malcovius in the election. People tended to flock toward demagogy in times of strife. Not that Ascheron even had to use such rhetoric to appeal to the votership now; he just had to appear as taking action, which Malcovius had seemingly managed to avoid thus far. Either way, it impacted Ral Patha little. The alien took their meal from the machine, Patha cradling the steaming bowl carefully with one set of hands while the other set knuckle-walked them over to a secluded spot in the corner. They watched as a small group of officers began to run from the hall, headed to the cargo bays, in piqued curiosity, sipping at the stew.


[ Luria Supercluster, Remnants of Battlefleet Herald ]



Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes lay in smouldering ruins some AU behind the still accelerating remnants of the Battlefleet Herald. Whilst the Akkai warbarge had been broken apart, effectively destroying it, the smaller parts of the huge asteroid ship, though diminished in power, had their own engines, life support modules and shields. After bombarding Luria, the fractured remnants of the warbarge had fled the system, burning hard to put distance between them and the dying empire.

Aboard Herald-1, the detached command sphere that once was the bridge of the larger vessel, Zabaton hung in suspension in a fluid tank that was knitting zirs wounds back together after the battle with Burn Gorman. In similar, smaller tanks surrounding zir, zirs' honour guard also healed, save for Za’atar, who instead had opted for biomechanical “augmentations” after the battle. The Akkar warrior now resembled a giant mechanical mantis, strange new systems channeling chemical fluids into huge, rippling banks of muscle that powered cleaving blades and strutlike legs.

Zabaton awoke some days later and, fully healed, set to hailing zirs New Order overlords. The Akkar opened a communique channel with Arc Jinzo, who was conducting a crusade against the forest worlds of the Marian system, whose inhabitants were conducting a guerilla war against the New Order occupants. The hologram, distorted by distance, flickered and sputtered as Zabaton explained the situation. As ever, the Akkar’s voice was warped and mechanical, an approximation of galactic standard that the alien’s own biology could never replicate.

“We have...annihilated these Lurian pretenders! We… Akkar… have proven to you that we are the greatest warriors. Let us conquer, for you, more of these… pathetic… enemies of the New Order!”

<Yorak, Friesen City>

In spite of the heavy rain, a crowd of what, from the sniper’s vantage point, looked like thousands and thousands poured through the streets of the city. Some of them carried flameless candles or banners, but overall the crowd was very silent - partly in a solemn way, but also partly in an awkward way, as though they just had no idea what to say. All but one - standing on a podium at the square where the march seemed to be headed was a man who was giving a speech full of righteous indignation.

“The galaxy faces its greatest threat in decades. It is a threat that wants nothing more for us to be divided and chaotic, because that’s what proves Sefer right in her belief that we cannot govern ourselves and we need an overlord to do it all for us! And while President Eachan fights for his life in hospital, wounded by a likely agent of the New Order, what is his entourage doing? Fighting over scraps in Lyndon City!” the man declaimed. The sniper had been told his name was David Robert Jones, and he was a candidate for Tanari… Prime Minister? No, that didn’t sound right. He hadn’t really been paying as much attention during that bit of Larissa Zaragoza’s briefing - the Pirate Lords always paid good money, and this particular bounty was even more head-turning than usual. All that mattered was that his employers’ employers wanted the man out of the way, and the sniper was going to get that done, collect the money, and be on his merry way.

Jones was in his sights. He’d gone over this a million times in his head. A single shot, right through the heart.

He confidently pulled the trigger, but at the last possible moment, Jones moved slightly. The shot still hit him, but it wasn’t quite on target. The sniper cursed internally, but he figured it would still do the trick. For a few seconds, Jones lay still on his platform, and the crowd’s silence turned into panicked screaming, but then the Tanari... opened his eyes wide?... and… began to get up?... and continue his speech? His voice was raspy and he was clearly breathing heavily, so he clearly wasn’t invulnerable, but something was clearly very wrong.

In the distance, the sniper could hear sirens and loud footsteps. The authorities were probably looking for him now, and if he didn’t get out of there quickly, they’d probably find him.

Shit, he thought as he realised he would be leaving Yorak empty-handed.

-----

<Spaceport on Planet Thabdor, Tanari Confederation, February, 1 AR>

Theo walked through the train, glowering. On the one hand, he’d been taken off the frontline, which was unambiguously a blessing as the Takemikazuchi were on the offensive again and the frontline was turning into hell. However, his job was now checking people’s tickets before they were allowed to get on a ship off Thabdor, which was the sort of job he’d been hoping to decisively leave behind when he joined the military.

Of course, this wasn’t just busywork. The authorities on Thabdor had been tipped off that a courier was coming through Thabdor with secret military intelligence the Resistance was trying to sneak out to the Takemiks or the Malchiorians, and his unit’s job was to catch the courier, who their intelligence suggested was a woman travelling under the alias ‘Morgane Peretz’.

Finally, Theo came to one traveller, a Hispanic man with some stubble wearing glasses and eating a sandwich. The man happily gave up his ticket, and Theo put it through his handheld scanner.

“Morgan Peres.” Theo whispered, reading the passenger’s name off the screen.

“Yeah.” Morgan Peres said in-between bites of his sandwich. “I used to be a politician, you know, before all this. You might have seen me on the holo-net?”

Theo did not, in fact, recognise the man from the holo-net or from anything else, but his name was suspiciously similar to the one they’d been told to look for. Of course, they’d also been told the courier was a woman, but it wouldn’t be the first time Tanari Intelligence hadn’t been entirely correct about something. He blew a whistle, and two other plain-clothes guards suddenly emerged from the crowd and tackled Morgan Peres to the ground, sending his half-eaten sandwich flying across the train.

“Morgane Peretz, or whatever your real name is,” one of the guards said. “You are under arrest in the name of the Tanari Confederation and President Allman.”

“What the hell?” Morgan stammered out as the guards dragged him away. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Theo furrowed his brow. As a pro-Sefer traitor and terrorist, the man would now be undoubtedly imprisoned and tortured in order to make him give up as much information on the Resistance’s activities as possible. However, he did seem almost genuinely confused. Oh well, Theo thought to himself as he walked off the train, not my problem anymore.

At the same time as Theo got off the train, a smirking short brunette wearing shades and holding a black briefcase got on.

-----

<Somewhere on Malchior IV, Shortly After the End of the Tanari War and the Proclamation of the New Order>

“I don’t understand.” the man said. Apart from him, five or six other men and women were sitting around a table, all of whom seemed equally bemused. A projector placed in the middle displayed a rotating hologram of Morgan Peres’ face. “The man just seems like a stupid backbencher who got unlucky. Sefer could invade at any time, and you’re telling me this guy could be the one we need to lead the Tanari into another war?”

A besuited blonde woman, who was the only one standing as opposed to sitting, and also the only one who didn’t seem baffled, smirked. “Of course not.” she replied.

“You’re going to have to be clearer, Miss…”

“My name isn’t relevant.” the woman bluntly cut him off. “The point is that all our intelligence indicates the only people who know the whole story for certain are in this room. His past as a political prisoner,” She smirked again at that description of Peres. “Is already very attractive to our friends in the Tanari opposition. They just need a little push, and we either get someone we can control in charge of the Confederation, or we ensure the victory of the candidate we all know is more likely to pose a threat to the New Order - Silver Eachan.”

-----

<An Office Somewhere in the Tanari Confederation, Present Day>

Sick of watching the video of the sniper failing to kill David Robert Jones, Morgan Peres exited out of the video player. At least there’s no way this could be traced back to me, he thought. Not with all this chaos. He was considering trying to back out of his deal with the Pirate Lords. He was probably in too deep, and they no doubt had a list of things they wanted him to do for them once he was in power, but it was them who had screwed up, not him.

He stopped to look at his desktop wallpaper, which was a poster he’d used in his first presidential campaign - a black-and-white picture of him looking thoughtful - and swore. No, Morgan said to himself. He had to get into power, by any means necessary. Just winning would vindicate him at last, and then he could accomplish great things. The name Peres would go down in history.

He was Morgan Peres, and he would not be denied.

-----

[ Lyndon City ]

Reed cursed as Raptor One appeared in orbit, and rapidly banked the Continuance around into the shadow of the FedEx skyscraper, hoping to use it as a shield against any orbital attacks that Van Smoot might wish to launch. On the flight deck of the Continuance, Branley Astrophel completed the initial start-up sequence of his fighter when a holographic projection of Kinsler appeared in the cockpit.

"Branley. You don't need to do this. You fought alongside these men in the war-"

"That's exactly why I need to do this, Commissioner. I had friends and family on Atuar Sadiares. Van Smoot needs to be stopped."

"...I understand. Good luck, officer."

Branley gunned the throttle, and his fighter jet lifted off from the deck of the Continuance. By now, Van Smoot's forces were closing in, and the Reed Faction gunships pivoted around, taking up positions near the various skyscrapers that littered the Lyndon City skyline, effectively using them as cover. Whilst Van Smoot's fighters easily had the advantage in a straight-up gunfight, the hovering gunships could make use of the terrain to their advantage, hiding behind the buildings as they shot off their guided missiles in fire-and-relocate attacks.

A holo-net broadcast suddenly appeared on screens across the confederacy, broadcast from a media room aboard the Continuance, showing Reed behind a podium.

"Citizens of the Confederacy, this is William Douglas Reed. Our president has been gravely injured, and our government incapacitated, by a coup attempt launched by Ernest Van Smoot. A rogue special ops team acting on his orders earlier tried, and failed, to take like life of our leader; now, a ship under his command has arrived to finish the job. Simultaneously, forces under his command have also launched assassination attempts against David Robert Jones and Khum Williams, the latter being the key to unraveling the entire conspiracy - the latter having paid for his patriotism with his life."

Reed paused, collecting himself, seemingly struggling for words. Explosions rocked the ship as Van Smoot's fighters launched bombing runs on it, shaking the camera about.

"Van Smoot has woven an elaborate fiction to destabilize and derail this election. Even I have fallen for it - this sinister attempt to fracture and polarize our society, to sow discord and discontent. David Robert Jones was right when he said that the New Order wins when we give in to chaos and division. It wins if we allow Van Smoot to do exactly what he's about to do. We cannot allow that to happen. Today we must hold the line. Morgan Peres - if you can hear this broadcast - come to Lyndon City. We must show Van Smoot - the New Order - that they can never sow division so great that our nation cannot heal from it. If we fail to do this, we fail to hold the line. We fail those who came before us, and those who will follow after. We fail the nation itself. We cannot fail. The nation continues!"

---

[ TCSET ]

"A wise man once said: All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions. To you, that coffee may be a simple commodity, yet did you know that in many human and human-adjacent cultures, coffee forms the core of a morning awakening ritual? Perhaps this individual is trying to use the coffee to free an innocent being from the peril of stasis. If so, he is no villain at all - he has taken one life to save another."

Xavik rose to his feet, brushing himself off.

"There are only two possibilities; either this one is right, or this one is wrong. Therefore, there is a 50% chance this one is right."

Before he could continue, a vast image troubled his sight; he gripped his forehead, wincing in pain, before jolting back to his usual, hyper-alert state.

"This one has been granted a vision. Hurry!"

Xavik turned and ran, Naruto running towards Bill's location. He had been granted a psychic vision of two men headed towards Bill's location, burdened with sinister intent, and whilst the possibility existed that the vision and their presence aboard the ship were merely coincidental...

...well, Xavik didn't believe in coincidences.

[ FSA planet New Cressida, Ordon V locale ]

The heat that beat down from New Cressida’s star was unrelenting, and even the super-luxury car’s air conditioning struggled against the onslaught. Graff Heyerdahl shifted slightly in his seat, unsticking his sweating lower back from the leather. Across from him, the bespectacled man gave him an apologetic smile, before continuing.

“... The last time we entertained such esteemed company was a Xazari delegation - have you had many dealings with the Xazari Mr. Heyerdahl?”

“Yeah,” Graff replied gruffly, shortly. “Those are some slimy bastards.”

It was the bespectacled humanoid’s turn to shuffle uncomfortably. He glanced out of the window. “Oh look, here comes the shipyard elevator, on our left.”

Graff looked disinterestedly out to the elevator; it was impressive, but Graff had seen a hundred space elevators on a dozen worlds more interesting than New Cressida. No, space elevators were not the purpose of his visit. He was here, ostensibly, to unveil the newest class of stealth frigate the Cressidans had manufactured under license from Heyerdahl Corporation. The more important reason for his visit would take place away from the journalists' cameras, in a soundproofed boardroom underground. The preliminary designs for a new gravitonic warhead had been submitted a month earlier, and Graff had himself personally reviewed them (after Pavinder, naturally, had vetted them for their potential.)

The car completed the rest of the journey across the tarmac apron of the spaceport in near silence, all conversation inside dried up; only the rumble of the departing and arriving spaceplanes could be heard faintly through the cars bulletproofed windows. Graff Heyerdahl stepped from the relative cool of the cabin onto the sweltering concrete of the ceremony ground, and Pavinder stepped out next to him, promptly opening a parasol to shade herself. Graff grunted annoyedly when he saw the dark skinned woman grin at him. He was already burnt.

The ceremony was over in a flash; Graff was detached in his delivery, but the locals and media lapped it up. He always put on a good face, even when his thoughts were a million miles elsewhere. The stealth frigate was a  neat bit of engineering, anyway; it was the culmination of almost a decade's worth of R&D, reverse-engineering the best Tanari black-ops and Takemikazuchi Shinsengumi stealth tech. The frigate that squatted like a vast, predatory bird on the scorched tarmac behind Graff as he delivered a half baked speech was clad in dull black nulltherm foam all over, making it look as though swaddled in a oddly boxy winter coat. Short sensor booms and blisters projected through the foam in some areas, and there were a series of ominous holes along the stubby, fin shaped wings of the craft; the torpedo tubes. The stealth frigate represented more than a new ship; it was proof that Annor Industrial could deliver on black ticket goods; supervised by Heyerdahl of course.

News drones and actual physical camera-men finished the photo ops and Graff climbed back into the dark limousine, which sped away in a screech of tyres, racing across the tarmac to a squat building the other side of the apron. A large hidden service ramp began to recess into the floor and a security tower buzzed the car, scanning it down to its constituent atoms, before letting it pass into the cool dark of the underground tunnel.



“So you can imagine the practical applications; this warhead can practically rip a ship out of warp speed, slowing it to real time, where it’s practically a sitting duck. The direct fire application of the warhead is even more devastating; I’m not fucking around when I say this thing will hold and crush a Semovente class quicker than you crushed Daniel Dannsen - pardon the comparison.”

Graff grinned across the table, relishing the comparison instead. “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that.” The CEO stood and walked to the hardlight projection of the disassembled warhead. “What's the turnaround? Full package.”

“No red tape?” asked Edison Weyer, Annor Industrial’s Chief engineer for “Covert Projects”.

“I can cut the tape.”

“6 to 8 months. Give us some of your staff and I can get it down to 5.”

“I’ll do one better, Weyer. You get 10 of my technicians, and I’m sending the Memories of Green to sit in orbit." The Memories of Green was a Factory ship; it alone outclassed practically the entire manufacturing capacity of New Cressida. "The Zero-G manufacturing capacity aboard will massively accelerate the production time. But-” Graff leaned over the conference table, hands splayed wide, and glared at the engineer. “If you don’t deliver in 4 months, we cut you clean out of this deal. There is no room for delay, understand me?”

“You got it,” Weyer breathed with palpable excitement. Pavinder rolled her eyes. She hated these types, bowled over by Graff’s threatening charisma to practically worship the ground he walked on.

The other people in the room, all suits and spooks, nodded agreeable satisfaction at the closure of proceedings, and the room's AI waiter brought in glasses of a local alcohol and platters of pastries. The board toasted and drank.

<Bunker near Lyndon City>

“Mr. President, I still really very strongly advise against this. The stress...”

“Thank you, doctor, I’ll think about that when there isn’t fighting in the capital city of the empire I’m president of.” Silver Eachan snapped. Having recovered a little bit after his surgery, watched Reed’s absurd speech and listened to a military intelligence briefing on the situation in Lyndon City, he decided he simply had to travel to a secure location, give a speech and do whatever else he could to put this affair to bed. His doctors insisted it was too early, but the only concession they’d been able to extract was getting him to give the speech sitting down.

The holo-cameras rolled. Eachan’s speech would be projected to the furthest corners of the Tanari Confederation as well as much of the FSA, and he hoped it would go some length to repairing the damage Reed had already managed to inflict. Part of him felt stupid. He should have recognised Reed’s potential for treachery sooner - his CV spoke for itself. “My fellow citizens,” a visibly exhausted Eachan said as the broadcast began. “I am pleased to say that I have begun to recover from the wounds my would-be assassins inflicted on me. I am, however, much less pleased that while I was undergoing surgery, fighting broke out in the skies of our beloved empire’s capital.”

“Many lies have been told about what happened to me, so let me set the record straight. The assault on me, my wife, and my staff was the work of Sefer Yetzirah, who captured a task force we sent to spy on her activities and bribed, brainwashed, or otherwise forced them to commit the evil deed. My National Security Advisor, General Van Smoot, is acting to preserve order in the Confederation, and I endorse all his activities towards that end. To all those who have been or will be caught in the crossfire, I apologise, but order must be preserved.” he continued. “The information I’m about to reveal, I did not disclose because it had not yet been confirmed beyond all reasonable doubt by our intelligence services, and because I feared damaging the reputation of a man I, wrongly, still hoped would turn out to be the honourable patriot I originally believed him to be. But what has happened to me, what has happened to David Robert Jones, and what is happening in Lyndon City as we speak has eliminated all reasonable doubt. William Douglas Reed was sidelined in my administration because he was suspected to be under the influence of the New Order. Soon after I began to take steps to deal with him, I was attacked, and my wife was murdered, along with many other loyal and brave servants of the empire.”

“I repeat: William Douglas Reed is working for Sefer Yetzirah. He is lying to you, and his coup is doing nothing but making us vulnerable in the face of the New Order offensive, and making us the laughing stock of the Free Systems Alliance just as a new secretary-general is about to take office. Sefer is trying to make fools of us, but we are not fools. We are Tanari. All Tanari patriots,” Silver visibly hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Stäbil and Shifter alike must unite behind General Van Smoot in the name of restoring constitutional order. David Robert Jones, if you are listening, hopefully you’ve recovered better than I have. I ask you to work with me until this crisis has passed, as we did in the past. The people will decide which of us is best placed to lead our nation, but if we do not defeat this enemy within and ensure our nation’s survival, none of that will matter. Long live Tanar! Death to the New Order!”

The broadcast over, Eachan slumped back in his chair.

-----

<Yorak>

“Well, Mr. Jones,” the doctor said, running the medical scanner over David Robert Jones’ body for what seemed like the hundredth time. “It seems you’re almost perfectly fine. Though I still don’t understand how…”

“A gift from a friend.” Jones sat up, and turned to the two people standing at the other end of the room. “Do we have any idea who the hell tried to do this to me?”

“We still haven’t found the sniper,” said Neil Donovan. “In the meantime, we have to assume this, the attempt on Eachan’s life, and Reed’s coup attempt are all connected. Eachan’s already gone on the holo-net to claim exactly that, and he may know more than we do. He’s also called on you to work with him.”

“Of course he has. I suppose it makes sense under the circumstances.” Jones sighed. “Of course, so has Reed. I know who I’d rather temporarily work with, but Christ...”

“Speaking of Reed,” said the aide standing next to Donovan. “We’ve lost contact with Morgan Peres.”

“What?”

-----

<Battle of Lyndon City>

The fighters summoned by Van Smoot approached Lyndon City in a pincer movement, one flight incoming from relatively deep inland and not yet appearing on the gunships’ scanners, and the other from over the sea, much closer. The pilots approaching from over the sea recognised the gunships’ ploy, but opened fire regardless, having no option but to force them to move and hopefully drive them towards the other, incoming flight.

---

Shortly after his speech, Reed’s phone rang. At the other end of the line was Morgan Peres.

“Reed, I’m not sure I believe what you’re saying about Van Smoot, but honestly, the man’s a butcher and should be kept out of power anyway.” Peres said. “Still. Prove to me you’re not bullshitting. I’d rather not go down in history as Freya Jackson squared.”

---

The Raptor One stopped its descent at a comfortable altitude over Lyndon City. Two missile pods emerged from its sides and rotated so as to fire downwards, and its front-mounted railgun began charging. The ship fired eight guided missiles, each one aimed at a different fighter, followed by two railgun blasts aimed at the Continuance, then began to slowly descend again.

-----

<Yari III, Victory City>

In an upper-class Stäbil neighbourhood in Yari’s third-largest city, several firefighters were putting out the last remains of a fire, the latest of Paul Fizer’s schemes, while Von Budberg delivered a piece to camera, pledging to bring the perpetrators to justice. Once the interview had ended and walked back to his limo, his phone rang.

“Ah, Blair. How can I help you?” the Prime Minister said.

“I take it you’ve been following what’s happening on Tanari Prime.” replied Blair Morrison.

“Somewhat. It seems very confusing, and honestly I have my hands full over here.”

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for, Alfred. Who are you backing; Reed or Van Smoot?”

“Well, I don’t know or trust Reed, and Van Smoot’s a good army man. But as I said, I have no idea what’s happening…”

“As of now, the official position of the government of Yari III is that you recognise William Douglas Reed’s provisional government of national unity.“ Blair hissed. “Unless you’d also like me to remind you who pays your bills.”

Von Budberg sighed. “Very well. So you think this saves us from the left. I suppose you’d like me to declare a state of emergency and postpone the election too?”

“No, no.” Blair said calmly. “Carry on as you are. We need this victory too.” Morrison’s calculation was simple: Von Budberg running as himself, warts and all, would be destroyed by the MRF. However, Von Budberg running as, for all intents and purposes, a stand-in for the new and improved Reed at least stood a chance. If he lost, it would still serve as a useful test of the popularity of Reed’s actions and message, and if he won, it would help neatly sidestep some of the inevitable questions about the democratic legitimacy of Reed’s future government. “Also, I’ve been in contact with Andy Hasler. It seems he and many of his friends have now seen the light. You’re in Victory City, right? Get yourself down to the Conference Centre ASAP.”

Von Budberg smiled at the thought of the leader of the Yari Liberals defecting to his camp. It was all happening as Paul Fizer had predicted, even if he hadn’t seen this coming.

Within half an hour, the PM of Yari had arrived at the Victory City Conference Centre, where Andy Hasler was already waiting, surrounded by a throng of journalists. Once Von Budberg had arrived, Hasler proudly announced that, due to the ‘fascist’ Ernest Van Smoot’s attempted coup and the ‘takeover of the Yari MRF by Anna Lundby’s radical faction, who were no doubt also behind the assassination of William Preston’, he would be following Morgan Peres’ lead and supporting William Douglas Reed’s attempt to restore order, and after the election, he and twenty other Liberal parliamentary candidates - twenty was far lower than the number of Liberal candidates who were believed to be loyal to Hasler, evidently news of his legal troubles and Kirsten Bluth smacking him down had gotten around - would support a Von Budberg government ‘in the name of the continuance of the nation’.

-----

<Yari III, Horba City, Mayor’s Office>

Anna Lundby looked in the mirror, making sure her appearance was exactly perfect before the broadcast began. The right would always find some way to attack her no matter what she did, but she tried to avoid leaving hostages to fortune anyway. Satisfied, she sat down behind her desk, and cleared her throat as she prepared to give what would go down in history as the most important speech of her life. Three flags had been positioned behind her - the usual flag of the Tanari Confederation and the usual flag of Horba City, but also the unofficial but traditionally recognised flag of the Trilateral, three white five-pointed stars in a triangular pattern against a navy-blue backdrop.

“My fellow citizens, this is Anna Lundby. As we speak, there is fighting in the streets of Tanari Prime’s capital, and we are being asked to choose sides. Power can only change hands through a democratic process. We saw what happens when people pretend otherwise, and it leads to nothing good. We reject both the false siren’s song of William Douglas Reed, and the butcher of Atuar Sadiares’ dubious claims that he means us no harm. One way or another, if I am given the chance to serve Yari as your Prime Minister, I will continue to insist on this, and safeguard the interests of the Yarish people throughout whatever happens in the coming days and weeks. I also warn Prime Minister Von Budberg; if you do anything to interfere with the conduct of a free and fair election, you will face the wrath of the people.”

With the broadcast over, Lundby began to make a series of calls. She had a long list of people she needed to speak to, starting with Neil Donovan and Beatriz Saavedra on Yorak and Sukhonia respectively, followed by David Robert Jones and Aster.

-----

<Yari III, Horba City>

However, Mayor Lundby’s speech was somewhat overshadowed by a stray remark made by someone else. René Lasalle was returning from a door-knocking session, when several journalists mobbed him and began asking him questions about the events in Lyndon City and on Yorak.

“They’re traitors, all of them.” René shrugged upon being asked a question about Andy Hasler's defection. “True Liberals will never support a coup, no matter what.”

“But what do you think of President Eachan and Reed’s mutual allegations?” one journalist desperately tried to extract something more from his victim.

“Well,” René smirked as he sensed the moment had come to say what he’d been hoping to say his entire political career. “If the Tanari Confederation can’t even get its act together in the face of the worst New Order offensive in history, then Yari and the Trilateral ought to consider all other options to protect our interests and our national security. If our coalition wins a majority in the coming election, and this crisis still isn’t resolved in a satisfactory manner by then, then I will advise Mayor Lundby, as well as the governments of Yorak and Sukhonia, to pursue a unilateral declaration of independence. This is a crisis, and a state that behaves like this just can’t be taken seriously.”

-----

<Yari III, Radical Camp>

Among the few places in the Tanari Confederation where the reaction to the attempts on Eachan and Jones’ lives and the chaos that followed was one of unambiguous jubilance, were the Radical training camps seeded in relatively remote locations throughout on Yari III.

Richard, who had just arrived in one of the camps to inspect it ahead of what was planned for the day after, smiled as many of the assembled Shifters laughed at a news broadcast explaining, for the umpteenth time, what was happening in Lyndon City and on Yorak.

“Well, I’ll give you this,” Cedric Av-Kartin said. “You might just be the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. Maybe this’ll work out after all.”

Richard turned, his eyes beginning to faintly glow with an eerie energy. Av-Kartin had no point of reference, but if he did, he might have recognised it as a manifestation of Void Magic. “You doubted me, Mr. Av-Kartin?” he snarled. “This is just the beginning. Your Emperor was completely correct. The Confederation is a rotten structure… and you and I, we’re about to kick the door in.”

-----

[ PanSys News Network broadcast, outbreak of the New Order’s offensive after Narayanastra ]

“...on over a dozen worlds, New Order vessels have taken offensive action. In some systems, capitulation has been the only option; in others, last-ditch efforts at defence have been crushed by the merciless advance of Sefer Yetzirah’s legions. In what is being dubbed the most devastating assault on the freedom of the galaxy since the days of the Dachori empire, billions of people are expected to die or have their freedoms stripped from them at gunpoint in the coming months…”

The newscaster continued presenting more specific examples of the New Order onslaught. The report switched to drone footage of New Order stormtroopers storming government buildings on Selinac II, dragging the officials out into the plaza, and then executing them. Another piece of footage showed a minor Arc shaking hands with a grinning Zachu Empire delegate, and then a fireworks show lit up the sky behind them. Cut again to a different world, where riots tore through a vast megacity, complete with shaky VI footage of New Order soldiers being beaten to death with clubs and their vehicles firebombed. Cut, this time showing New Order Semoventes engaged in a one-sided firefight with the Onyana Collective navy; cut to the same Semoventes weaving through smoking wrecks, picking up lifeboats.

The report flicked from planet to planet, sector to sector, as if the whole galaxy burned.


[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

Ral Patha, having finished their meal and watched the latest PanSys broadcast to its completion on the mess hall’s screens, stood and loped back to their cabin. They packed light; a rucksack that strapped snugly against Patha’s back, carrying a few bits of equipment and the tea set, and a belt with a defensive maser pistol and piezo blade.

Navigating their way through the ship to Hangar 7A, where their shuttle was parked, Ral pondered the disparity with which the New Order were dispensing with their foes. In some cases, it was near genocide, with entire civilisations wiped out. But then, in others, mercy and peace that almost seemed gently dealt. Ral could only assume the differences were down to the Arcs themselves. It had resolved to do what they could to alleviate the suffering on the front. That was Ral Patha’s purpose now. The Coldest Story had provided a home for the last few months, but in such a time it sat heavily with Ral to sit idly by as others suffered.

No one seemed to notice as Ral Patha left the huge cityship aboard their shuttle, Limited Liablity. They seemed to be preoccupied with a debacle unfolding over coffee, anyhow. Patha stretched back languidly in the pilot's seat and settled to rest. Ral spoke for a while with the ship’s onboard drone, CC280, before going into a meditative state.

Limited Liability jumped to warp, headed for the most devastating conflict the galaxy had known in centuries.

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Cargo Storage 3>

After Xavik ran out of the room with his arms stretched out behind him, somehow kicking up a cartoonish trail of dust in the process, the gemstone embedded in Oblique's forehead flashed blue. The Lithan immediately touched the middle and index fingers of his right hand to it, appearing to caress the gemstone as he closed his eyes. A moment later, he turned back to Sally with a wide-eyed stare, somehow seeming even more alert than before. Oblique seemed to grimace, although his beautiful, almost porcelain-esque face seemed to be unable to contort as much as a human’s would, resulting in something like a pensive frown instead.

"Oh, man!" Halo shouted from over Oblique's shoulder, breaking the silence before Oblique could. "We gotta head after him!"

"Yes, we must," Oblique agreed, his long robes rustling in the air as he wheeled towards the exit. "That... creature... may be many things, but a liar is not one of them. We shared that vision too. We feel the murderer's aura, but also those of others... close to him. Perhaps close to approaching the same sin. Let us show them all the ways of our justice."

As Oblique hurried through the cargo doorway, he noticed that he was running across dried footprints that seemed to have been made with some sort of oily blue substance. He made a mental note of this for later, in case he would help him to discern the murderer from the other threatening figures that had been encroaching on the murderer in his vision.

-----

<The Enumcharad's Wake>

Upon withdrawing from the depths of his own mind, Kakamu was all too glad to find himself firmly anchored back in reality - or more specifically, one of the realities of the Enumcharad's Wake. Looking around, he noticed that Arc Keylana had been courteous - or impatient - enough to teleport him to a bed in his old personal quarters, located in the second of the three inner dimensions of the ship, following his ordeal. This dimension mostly contained interrogation cells for prisoners of war and cargo that was too precious to allow to exist in the same level of reality as the rest of the universe, but it was also where Kakamu had lived during most of his tutelage under his enigmatic mentor. Like most of the rooms located in this dimension, Kakamu's quarters consisted of four metal walls, a bed that was little more than a raised platform and a pillow, and a sliding metal door for an entrance. There was little difference between it and a prison cell, but it served Kakamu's needs just fine. Gladly seizing the opportunity for rest, true rest achieved the old fashioned way, Kakamu climbed onto the bed, laid the back of his head against the pillow, and quickly fell asleep.

In the room next to Kakamu, an Arokazek twitched and looked up from its cage as if sensing a change in the environment. Seeing nothing, it bowed its head and went back to sleep.

---

Kakamu awoke the following morning... or did he? One quirk of this dimension was that there was no day or night cycle active here; the few crewmembers who patrolled the featureless metal corridors were made to do so in the dark, with only the gloomy ambience of electronic fixtures to guide them. Although time passed here at the same rate as it did in the rest of the universe, there was no way of telling how much time had passed since Kakamu had fallen asleep. Climbing out of the bed, Kakamu noticed that he felt well-rested, and even though he could not remember the dreams of the previous night, he had a feeling that he had experienced some, but that he had just forgotten them.

Deciding that that was good enough for him, Kakamu walked through the entrance to his quarters, which slid open to accommodate his exit, and looked around. The darkness was trivial to him, as his electronic eyes afforded him night vision, but he noticed that there was nobody around - even less so than usual. Usually, there would be at least one tired-looking human made to stumble through the darkness, puppeteered by Keylana as a punishment for some perceived slight, in normal space, but now there was nowhere to be seen. Dismissing it, Kakamu stretched his arms, hearing the distinct metal clicking sound of some of the gears in his joints, and audibly broke the silence.

"Teacher, I am ready to begin my duties."

In the next moment, Kakamu was pulled between dimensions, landing feet-first on the floor of the colossal hangar bay of the Enumcharad's Wake, which was thankfully located in the same dimension as the rest of the universe. On this level, the interior of the Enumcharad's Wake appeared no different than those of most other types of advanced New Order carrier ships, featuring a sleek, futuristic silver-on-white design for the floors and ceiling and computer panels built into the walls. The hangar bay was easily hundreds of feet long, containing bays for at least half a dozen individual ships, half of which were presently missing - but Kakamu was relieved to see that the one closest to him was still occupied.

In front of Kakamu was a Shinkai-class cruiser, measuring about 200 feet long from nose to tail. Shinkai-class vessels were often used as personal transport for people of significance within the New Order, boasting engines powerful enough and fuel reserves deep enough to allow it to jump to warp speed despite its relatively small size. Although it, too, boasted a futuristic design, with a blocky central body and a single aesthetic tailfin at the back, four of its engines were built into its wings, giving it an appearance almost reminiscent of old Earth cargo planes. Much like its owner, the ship had a black and dark red color scheme with chrome gold highlights. On its right side, behind one of the wings, the name La Xara was engraved into its hull.

Although Shinkai-class cruisers were meant to be operated by a crew of 5-10 people, Kakamu preferred to fly solo - unless the White Torches were there to accompany him. This way, he could complete his assignments without having to take the wellbeing of others that he barely knew into consideration. The White Torches were exempt from this rule, as he knew they could handle themselves. He hoped that, wherever they were now, they were continuing to prove him right.

Kakamu smiled and walked towards the La Xara, happy to be reunited with his ship after so long - until the Mask of Clarity alerted him to the characters standing next to it. The group of three equally bizarre beings noticed him at the same time and walked up to him, each appearing to greet him in their own bizarre ways. Kakamu groaned, putting his hand over his mask. The first time he had met these characters, he had been severely disoriented as a result of a fight with a creature from his nightmares, so a part of him hoped that he had hallucinated them all, but now that he was lucid, and rested, he had no choice but to accept that they were definitely real.

"So good of you to finally join us, your majesty!" The group's leader said sarcastically, speaking in a strangely-Scottish accented, but still electronic-sounding, voice that carried significantly more emotion than that of a typical robot. He appeared to be an android with a thin, almost skeletal appearance and a black, snake-like head with an articulated lower mouth and jaw. His metal limbs were adorned with chrome black armor, and a dozen sharp spikes protruded from his back, starting at the back of his neck and continuing down to a robotic stump of a tail. The only thing resembling a weapon that the robot seemed to be carrying was a two-pronged staff that was not unlike Kakamu's own Guardian Fire Spear, but much shorter in length.

Standing next to him was another robot that was completely different in appearance. This one was a white-colored android who possessed a huge spherical torso, thick cylindrical limbs, proportionally thick fingers, and a flat cylindrical head. It seemed to have been designed so that its head and all of its limbs could recede or fold back into its torso in order to allow it to form a ball, but for what purpose, Kakamu couldn't be bothered to guess. The third and final member of the group was an organic humanoid alien of a species he did not recognize, with two large club-like weapons attached to its hips, two heads that were decorated with blue, white, and red-colored face paint, and heavy tactical armor that had been painted with the same color. Both heads seemed to regard Kakamu with interest, glancing at him and whispering to each other.

Once every few moments, a human member of the crew walked past them, attending to their various duties around the hangar or coming to and fro from other parts of the ship. Compared to the mostly-human crew aboard the Enumcharad's Wake, the four of them seemed out of place, almost like they had come from another era entirely. Perhaps, in a way, they had.

"So, has Keylana told you who we are, or will we need to introduce ourselves?" the leader robot said, somehow seeming to grin with its snake-like mouth.

"You're the... Fellowship of Kakamu," Kakamu surmised, hardly believing he had to say that name out loud.

"You can say that again!" the robot replied excitedly. "We're big fans of y-"

"Big fans of mine. Yes, I heard," Kakamu said, unimpressed. "But that doesn't explain how you were able to find me. How did you find that network of portals, let alone know how to activate them?"

"All in good time my friend, all in good time," the robot said, taking a step closer to Kakamu. "We've got a long journey ahead of us. Plenty of time to chat before we go Arc hunting."

"That may be the case, but I'm not going anywhere on that ship with anyone I don't know I can trust," Kakamu asserted. "You knocked me out and kidnapped me."

"Recovered you," the robot argued. "It was a necessary precaution. We had no idea whether that psychic entity on Nil'nara had messed with your brain, turning you into a potential threat. As it turns out, it had messed with your brain, but not in the way we were anticipating. Rest assured, we're on your side. In fact, I've pretty much been waiting to meet you my whole life. The man behind the legend, the Star of Nil'nara, the Butcher of Krace..."

"Well, you got your wish," Kakamu remarked, gesturing to himself. "Now, since you know so much about me, how about telling me a little about yourself?"

"I'd be honored," the robot said, walking closer to Kakamu and bowing its head. Kakamu assumed that it was doing so in a gesture of submission, until the robot reached up with one hand, grasped the surface of its head, and pulled, peeling off its metal scalp to reveal a translucent purple slug-like creature embedded in a sea of wires that connected it to the rest of its robotic body. The otherwise-featureless slug looked up at Kakamu with tiny red organic eyes, but spoke using the voice box of its robotic vessel. "Good to meet you, face to face," the slug said. "I am Kah. Voorak-Kah. Voorak is the body, Kah the brain. I'm a Chimerex, if you know what that is."

"I... I don't," Kakamu stammered, clearly taken aback. He had never seen a creature like Voorak-Kah before, but the unnatural fusion of organic material with robotic equipment was bringing back bad memories.

"As you can imagine, my kind possess a... limited natural mobility. A few evolutionary cycles ago, we gained the ability to bond with organic hosts, specifically, the pathetic apes that also occupied our planet. We acted as their brains, using their bodies to explore greater reaches of our planet and the universe. I've lived for hundreds of years, possessed dozens of hosts, but never once have I found one that was not... disgusting."

"Disgusting?"

"This... biological matter that you beings are forced to inhabit every day. I know how it feels to be chained within a prison of the flesh; I had to subject myself to such torment in order to keep myself alive. Eventually, I decided I would suffer it no more. I used my last host's hands to build the Voorak and channelled what meager electric current that its ape body could provide to breathe life into my masterpiece. Since then, I've never looked back... and you shouldn't, either."

"What do you mean?" Kakamu asked, unsettled by this creature's story.

"What the Arokazek did to you was a blessing. Through their efforts, you have taken one step away from organic suffering closer to the pure, mechanical perfection that awaits us at the end."

Kakamu grit his teeth - most of which were still made of bone - and pointed at Kah. "You should be very careful what you say to me about them."

"In that case, I shall say no more," Voorak-Kah said, placing the metal panel back onto his head to conceal Kah again. "Just consider that there are some who would regard your abilities as a blessing instead of a curse. After all, they are what has allowed you to serve the New Order this much and this far. One day, I hope we can all be as pure as Muta."

"Muta?"

"My purely mechanical friend here," Voorak-Kah clarified, gesturing towards the bulky white robot next to him. "A creation of Monarch ElectroDynamics that was leased to us to help us track you down."

Muta said nothing, but the blue electronic slits he had for eyes inside his flat cylindrical head gazed at Kakamu with an undiscernible emotion.

"Muta can process information at a rate previously thought impossible for any android. He can decipher the structure and meaning of any ancient language from a sample of text within seconds. It was through his divine genius that we deduced how to activate the portal that we found within the caves of Nil'nara. We hoped that it would lead us to you, and I suppose it did, in the end. The network just took us on a few detours first."

"That's incredible," Kakamu mouthed while looking at the bulky android, genuinely impressed. At about ten feet tall, Muta towered over his seven foot frame.

"And of course, I need to introduce you to Motrokh," Voorak-Kah continued, pointing at the two-headed alien in the group. Motrokh instantly fell to one knee in front of Kakamu, bowing both heads in reverence. "Motrokh is a Xyvolex, a species where the male and the female share one body. I won't go into more detail; the specifics of biology disgust me enough as it is, but Motrokh is a skilled warrior and a faithful servant of the New Order. He and she had been observing your career for some time before I found them attempting to mimic your conquest. I think you would be pleased with their results."

"As you said, we'll have time for that later," Kakamu noted. "Are you all ready to go?"

"Of course," Voorak-Kah said, bowing. "As instruments of your conquest, we are yours to command."

"Good, because this will be your toughest mission yet. We're going after Arc Vekhta."

"Oh, I know," Voorak-Kah said gleefully. "It will be a privilege to fight at your side. To watch one Arc topple another... you will make history."

"Then let's get going," Kakamu announced, heading off towards the La Xara without looking back. "History isn't going to make itself."

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Cargo Storage 3>

“That’s… that’s not how coffee works.” Sally said helplessly as Xavik ran out of the cargo bay. “Gods, sometimes I really wish it did. Would come in handy on days like this.”

Sally turned to Oblique. “He’s not a liar, but he is pretty deluded. But, well, I don’t really have a better idea.” She followed Oblique out of the door, waving to Mike and Dave as she left. Dave was cute, she thought. Shame he was seemingly shackled to Mike.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Bill’s Hideout>

By the time Xavik, let alone Sally and Oblique, could make their way to the lower levels of the Coldest Story and through the confusing maze of the ship’s lesser used decks to Bill’s ‘quarters’, the killer and his assailants were both gone, and so were the bags of coffee and the sword.

“Great.” Sally scoffed at Xavik. “Over an hour of following you and some blue footprints, and where do we end up? An empty storage closet! Gods, I hope Prush is doing better than we are.”

As Sally was about to storm out in exasperation, she suddenly noticed that, much as a patchy set of blue footprints had been leading all the way to Bill’s hideout, there was a patchy set of red footprints that started around the door and led in the opposite direction. Furthermore, she noticed that there were several pots of paint lying by the door, close enough that one could easily trip over them while leaving. “Guys…” the Shifter said, pointing to the red footprints.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, ???>

Meanwhile, one of the burly men dragged Bill, now handcuffed and with a bag over his head, into a room where a bald woman in a bikini was sitting in a hot tub. The man shoved Bill to his knees, then removed the bag from his head. At the same time, the other burly man entered, pushing a large trolley which had been covered with some tarp but which obviously contained both the bags of coffee and the sword. He was panting; clearly Bill’s stolen goods were heavier than he’d expected.

“Ah, Mr. Wilson.” the woman said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m warning you,” Bill said, half-heartedly hoping to scare his kidnappers even though, under the circumstances, this was obviously not a credible threat. “I’m a big guy. And I have a sword.”

“For you, maybe.” A mechanical arm slowly descended from the ceiling, and gently locked around the woman’s head. It then began to move up again, but even though this should have terrified the woman, it did not in any way. Her head simply popped off, as a mannequin’s might, revealing a circuit board and some wires behind where her neck would have been, and the arm then moved the head to another, headless mechanical body, this one dressed more appropriately for the occasion, which had just emerged from behind a retractable panel in the nearest wall.

The woman walked over to the trolley, opened one of the bags of coffee, took a sniff, and smirked. “Wonderful, wonderful. Good stuff.” she said, moving on from the coffee and picking up the sword. “Bill, you’re new to the ship, aren’t you?”

“Sort of, I guess?”

“Figures. My name is Sophie Vinderen.” she said, still playing with the sword. “Look, Bill, you need to learn some ground rules. The deal for the last two years has been that I get right of first refusal on anything this good that turns up on this ship’s black market. And you didn’t even offer. We can’t have that, can we?”

-----

<Yorak, David Robert Jones’ Ship>

David Robert Jones looked at an old painting on the wall of his office. It had been there since Allman had first emerged on the Tanari political scene, as a reminder of what he was up against. He had never really gotten around to taking it down once Allman had been defeated, and now it was possibly relevant again.

“David,” said Neil Donovan, who had seemingly entered the office without Jones noticing. “I understand you’re planning to leave Yorak.”

“That’s right.” Jones replied. “I’m going to the inner worlds. Maybe I’ll make stops on Yari and Sukhonia on my way...”

“I strongly advise you to not go anywhere other than Yorak and Sukhonia for now.” Donovan cut in. “The Yari government has pledged allegiance to Reed, and some of the inner worlds are apparently considering the same. Not just Eachanites either, some Liberals are following Peres’ lead and defecting. Whatever you need to do, do it from here.”

“Neil, in the face of this madness, someone needs to be out there, putting forward the case for democracy! If I die, I die, but at least…” Jones barked as he rose to his feet.

“You’re no good to democracy if you’re dead. I’m telling you, stay in the Trilateral. We can protect you here, but not out there.”

“I don’t need protection!” Jones continued. He looked Donovan in the eye. “You agree with him, don’t you? That Yarish dwarf Lasalle. You want to use this as an excuse to declare independence, don’t you? I serve the Confederation, not one region’s selfish interests…”

Ever the practical man, Donovan shook his head and gestured for Jones to calm down. “For all the problems I have with Homeworld, I don’t care for Trilateralism at all. That’s why I need you to help me, Beatriz and Anna avoid having to go down that path, and for the last time, you can’t do that if you’re dead.”

-----

[ Shangri-La, AR 4 ]

As much as the New Order would later claim that the rapid development of the Semovente-class was intended to exploit the glaring tactical weaknesses presented by the naval forces of the Free States, the reality of the matter was that they had been hastily designed to replace the immeasurable losses the Takemikazuchi Navy had suffered during the Yuzari invasion of Shangri-La.

The sky was ablaze as the white-and-orange frames of Takemikazuchi frigates traded railgun and guided missile fire with the crystalline forms of the Yuzari Battleseeds, which retaliated with targeted bursts of their explosion induction cannons, sending ice blue beams coursing across the ever-present pink backdrop of the Dendrobium nebula which surrounded, and had until very recently entirely protected, Shangri-La. From within Melchior 07, the space colony capital of the Takemikazuchi Empire, Sefer observed the battle raging above in complete silence. There was no wry smirk on her face, no smug grin, no backup plan - just something very dangerously close to true anger.

Arkhan and Vekhta approached, the low hum of their glowing orange blades filling the air around them, their blades themselves casting warm glows across their dimly-lit surroundings. The hilltop they stood on was deserted, as was the colony itself; it was dusk, or as close an approximation to dusk as the colony's artificial night/day cycle could manage. Sefer stood un-moving, her back turned to the two would-be assassins, her hands in her pockets. She was situated amidst a small Shinto shrine - an almost comically antiquated sight given the high-tech nature of the colony's construction, but one that seemed strangely fitting for the events about to unfold.

Arkhan spoke first. "Emperor Yetzirah. I appeal to your nobility - let us bring an end to this bloodshed. Surrender."

Sefer slowly turned, her red irises practically aglow in the gloom of the colony. Arkhan and Vekhta edged closer, veering off in opposite directions to surround their quarry. Sefer's half-open eyes made no attempt to track them.

"Nobility." replied Sefer, her lips pushing upwards into a pout. "You Yuzari have sat on your crystal throne for ten-thousand years, never so much as lifting a finger to stop the endless cycle of chaos that has run rampant over this galaxy ever since your creators set it in motion. You have no right to speak of nobility."

"And you have no right to speak of chaos." retorted Vekhta. "Look around you, Sefer - this chaos is your doing. No-one else's."

"Perhaps it is. But when this chaos has concluded, there will be peace - order. I will drag this galaxy to a better tomorrow... whether it likes it or not."

Arkhan stood, drawing her fingers up the side of her blade, the glow intensifying as she channeled her energy into the blade. She spoke calmly.

"But there is no peace without justice."

Sefer smirked.

"Yeah. I had a feeling you'd say something like that."

(Theme)

A high-pitched whine filled the air as Sefer's outriders decloaked - each one was an unmanned weapon about the size of a rifle, hovering in mid-air, equipped with an onboard railgun and controlled entirely by Sefer's psychic instincts. Arkhan and Vekhta dodged just in time - flying upwards - as psychic weaponsfire converged on the ground beneath them; the weapons traced them as they flew upwards, loosing glowing cobalt projectiles towards them, which they deflected with rapid motions of their blades, before Arkhan extended an open palm towards them. One of the outriders twitched, then its compatriots did, then they suddenly jerked - angling their barrels towards Sefer rather than the Yuzari. Sefer's eyes shot open and she sidestepped just in time as her own weapons fired on her - she reached a hand out, crushing the entire array telepathically, as Arkhan and Vekhta landed across from her. A confident grin formed on Vekhta's face.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you, Sefer?"

"It's an impressive party trick - I'll give you that. Your race can't generate psychic energy, but can change the nature of psychic energy that already exists."

"You're outmatched." replied Arkhan. "Surrender. You have the power to end this."

"You're right. I do."

Sefer shot an arm out to the side, the Blade of Avalon materializing in her hand, casting a wicked crimson glow across her body. Anathemic lightning crackled across the surface of the blade, sparking off into the space surrounding it in strange, circuit-board esque patterns. The sound as she drew it through the air was wrong - artificial - and Vekhta felt a deep, deep unease settle into her body at the sight of the weapon. The weapons of the Yuzari were many hundreds if not thousands of years old, each one a legend in its own right, most forged by the master forge-monks of the Qui Zhen Dhu - but the Blade of Avalon was a work of complete artifice, undeserving of its power.

The warriors shot forth in motions so fast it was impossible to determine who had actually charged first. Orange blades clashed against red - shockwaves broke and leveled the surrounding environment, each swing, each block cutting a swathe through the ground around them, sending debris flying into the air. Arkhan was by far the more artistic of the two Yuzari - Vekhta's attacks were instead ones of mathematical precision, yet the two combined could not find a single opening in Sefer's defense. The Emperor fought in the way that someone with no formal weapons training, but an abundance of intelligence and physical mastery, would - there was no elegance, no passion to even a single motion in her swordplay, but it was instead mechanically perfect, the work of a genius-level understanding of physics and probability. Dueling Sefer was like playing a game of chess against a supercomputer - she had no real concept or interest in the history or artistry of the endeavor, felt neither joy nor pride, and was all the more deadly for it.

At the same time, Sefer was purely on the defensive; Arkhan and Vekhta's attacks were perfectly timed, synced then off-synced to push Sefer's defensive multitasking to its absolute limit. That intangible terror that had gripped Vekhta earlier began to subside, and she pushed the offensive.

She paid for it with the bridge of her nose. The tip of Sefer's blade passed through it, and then Sefer's boot rose up and shot out into Vekhta's chest - the Yuzari angled herself backwards just in time to avoid the instant liquefaction of her internal organs, but was sent flying back nonetheless, blood pouring from her mouth. Arkhan disengaged, and Sefer obliged, holding her ground as Arkhan leapt backwards - a flurry of mirage blades shot forth from the latter as she swung her sword in a series of violent, rapid gestures, with Sefer calmly deflecting each of the energy projectiles, sending them reeling off into the night sky. Arkhan landed and, drawing the tips of her fingers up the side of her blade, pulled each of the deflected projectiles around, angling them towards Sefer's position and re-imbuing them with power and momentum. They converged at Sefer's location and exploded in a wash of golden light, punching a hole through the side of the colony.

Sefer had, naturally, dematerialized just in time. Vekhta had, naturally, predicted the exact spot she would rematerialize, and the Emperor was met by a bolt of red lightning that struck her the second she reappeared in the physical realm, sending her flying backwards, shooting down the side of the hill. Arkhan dematerialized and rematerialized in her path, blade ready to bisect her - Sefer turned, blocking, a shockwave practically cracking the colony in half as their blades met again. They traded blows, Arkhan pushing the offensive - Sefer's body had been damaged by Vekhta's earlier attack, introducing a rounding error defect to her reflexes. It was all Sefer could do to avoid Arkhan's blade, as she was pushed backwards, the two fighting further down into the hill into a stream that ran around the base of it, the additional water resistance hampering Sefer's already faltering footwork. Arkhan's swordplay was perfect - she was at the absolute zenith of her existence as a living being. At the same time, a forlorn expression had hold of her face, even as she pushed the battered emperor further and further back, consolidating her advantage over her enemy. She forced a break in Sefer's defenses, launched her foot forwards, and bent Sefer's knee inwards, snapping it. Sefer didn't have the pain reflexes a normal human being would, but it diluted her sense of proprioception to the extent that Arkhan was able to fully capitalize on the opportunity - driving her blade through Sefer's right hand to forcibly disarm her, then slipping around her body and grabbing her arms, kicking her to the floor, locking her into a nelson hold.

"Do it!"

Vekhta wasn't quite sure who had spoken, but she was ready to oblige nonetheless. As soon as it had become apparent that Arkhan was now a match for Sefer in solo combat, Vekhta had pulled back, charging up a second lighting attack. Power surged through the young woman's body - more power than she had ever held at any one point in time before - lightning crackling across her form as she struggled to contain it within herself. Killing Sefer was of questionable use - a psychic entity like her could simply reincarnate into a new body, if she even still required a physical form at all. Vekhta - the entire Yuzari race - had instead been granted a power intended to bring a final, permanent end to psychic beings such as Sefer, annihilating them on a conceptual level.

Time seemingly slowed as she held out her fingertips in Sefer's direction. There was no fear on the Emperor's face - no pain, in spite of her body being battered and disfigured beyond any extent to which a normal human being could survive. Instead, she looked utterly content. Was this what she truly wanted - a permanent end that she was unable to give herself? Could it seriously have been the case that this entire conflict had been orchestrated to bring about this duel - this moment - this execution? Vekhta pushed the thought from her mind as the anti-Qi within her body passed into her right arm, leaping beyond her fingertips and taking physical form in the space beyond them. And then, as Sefer's face contorted back into a wry smirk, Vekhta realised she couldn't have been more wrong.

The lightning bolt coursed through the air, missing both Sefer and Arkhan, and lancing into the skyline behind them, leveling the Takemikazuchi Parliament building far off in the distance. Vekhta had missed. The term impossible, so widely overused, well and truly applied here - it was inconceivable that the Yuzari warmaster had miscalculated. Inconceivable - until Vekhta noticed the state of her arm.

Sonotori da.

A railgun shot, timed perfectly to strike in the near-inconceivable interim period between Vekhta committing to the attack and the energy leaving her fingertips, had shot her forearm clean off, severing it just below the elbow. Her arm rolled around on the grass beneath her, smoking and crackling from the energy discharge. Vekhta turned and noticed, standing beside the Shinto shrine, a blonde-hair woman aiming down the scope of a highly customized railgun sniper rifle, the muzzle still crackling with energy, heat venting from the side of it. Lilith fired again, and this shot hit Vekhta in her left-shoulder, throwing her to the ground with enough force to cracked her skull as her head smacked into the ground. Her vision began to fade, and the last thing she remembered seeing through failing eyes was the grey and purple blur that was Sefer Yetzirah, reduce the gold blur that was Arkhan, to so much fine red mist.

---

Vekhta awoke, disturbed. Meditation here - on Shen Zhou - produced memory recalls that were far more vivid, more potent than anything she had experienced before. She climbed to her feet, her panicked stance drawing the attention of Astra who stood, statuesque, nearby; Zeneca was onboard the ship, monitoring the long-range scanners - not that they worked this close to the thunderbolt world's surface.

"Are you alright?"

Vekhta looked down at her right arm, flexing and clenching the fingers of her mechanical red right hand.

"Does it make a difference if I say 'no'?"

Astra's pale lips coiled upwards into a wry grin.

"No, I don't suppose it does."

---

[ Lyndon City ]

The deck of the Continuance exploded as a railgun round tore through it, another narrowly missing... and impacting an office building below. It exploded in an instant, sending debris and rubble flying out in each and every direction, as guided missiles swooped down low, some hitting the Reed faction fighters, some overshooting and striking targets on the ground - killing dozens, if not hundreds of innocent people in the city below. A collective pause sunk through the populace of Lyndon City - if not the entire planet, as the violence was being broadcast live to the entire confederacy.

Who said it first did not matter - all that matters is that as soon as it was said, the sentiment was echoed across the entire city; Van Smoot, the butcher of Atuar Sadiares, was bombing Lyndon City.

Any political nuance of the situation evaporated immediately, and just as Lyndoners surged towards the battle zone, desperate to rescue survivors and render aid, they too surged towards the outnumbered military patrols and military checkpoints seeking to maintain order - Van Smoot loyalists radioed for guidance on whether to hold fire or not, but angry mobs descended on them before they received their answers; beating them to death with rolling pins and planks of wood, taking their guns and vehicles.

"There's your answer, Peres." responded Reed, trusting that Morgan was watching the footage at his end and was equally horrified. "Van Smoot needs to go down. We can address whatever personal differences we might have once the people of this great nation are safe. Get to Lyndon City. Please."

Reed hung up on Peres, activating the ship's intercom and saying the one phrase he had never expected to say during his tenure in Tanari Politics.

"All crewmen, this is William Douglas Reed. We are now heading into orbit to engage Raptor One. All hands to battlestations."

The Continuance rose up, lifting higher above the city - Reed noticed a single radar signature on the long-range scanners accelerating high above him, climbing to engage Raptor One.

"Branley, what the hell are you doing?" roared Kinsler. "Your jet's not rated for trans-atmospheric flight."

"I know that, sir." responded Branley, his breathing heavy as his life support systems failed in the thin upper atmosphere of the planet. "But my missiles are."

Four nuclear-tipped air-to-air missiles lifted away from Branley's jet and rocketed upwards, spiraling out in different directions before sharply angling and accelerating hard towards Raptor One. Branley's engines sputtered and jet stalled, falling downwards, spinning out of control as it sped back towards the ground.

"BRANLEY!" roared Kinsler, his voice full of fire and fury. Reed sympathized, but could direct no attention to the personal drama unfolding in the first officer's seat behind him. Raptor One far outclassed Continuance, and this was likely a suicide mission - but Reed was tired of running. He had run from Shangri-La, and it had gotten him nowhere. If he failed now, there was no life for him after this - and he reckoned it was better to go out in a blaze of glory than live the rest of his miserable life in a prison cell in some Tanari gulag. He watched at Branley's missiles accelerated towards Raptor One, praying for a miracle.

---

[ Vesa Qatoria ]

"It's simple, master." responded Shepard. "A dog that bites the hand of every master it's ever had... must be firmly restrained."

---

[ TCSET ]

"Red footprints can mean only one thing." announced Xavik. "Lipstick. Which means the killer is a woman."

Xavik stroked his chin; he knew most of the women aboard the ship, as he had tried to speak to most of them about Aquafarians, but he didn't know many women who could be killers. Sally, he thought, but no, Sally was helping them with the investigation, not obstructing it - which would be unlikely if she was the culprit. Prush, he thought, but then he remember Prush was not a woman - he was a man. Sophie, he thought - Sophie Vinderen, who had previously tried to have him assassinated - but no, Sophie didn't wear lipstick. It couldn't have been any of those.

"If anyone has any suggestions..." said Xavik, turning towards the team. "This one would most like to hear them."

<The Coldest Story Ever Told, Bill’s Hideout>

“Xavik…” Sally said. She was almost impressed by Xavik’s twisted logic, but mostly it just compelled her to imagine what it would be like to walk out of an airlock. “They’re footprints.”

However, one thing he’d said did catch her attention. Sophie Vinderen was a notorious black-market trader on the Coldest Story, the self-styled Queen of the ship’s underground. It’d be unsurprising if she were involved, and even if she weren’t, she might be willing to quietly implicate a rival out of spite.

“Okay, Xavik, we just need to call Prush, but there’s no reception here. You wait here and guard the place in case anyone shows up. If they do, yell very loudly.” she said. Part of her felt guilty for what she was about to do, but this was getting silly. She sent a quick telepathic blast to Oblique, telling him that they’d need to speak to Vinderen and that he should follow her, and then left the room, trying to make it look as though she weren’t just following the red footprints.

-----

<Morgan Peres’ Ship>

“Very well,” said Morgan. “I’m on my way.”

Morgan ended the call, and reprogrammed his ship’s autopilot to take him to Tanari Prime. As the shuttle pulled away from Yorak, he began to compose a brief statement explaining that, while he hoped David Robert Jones would make a swift recovery, the situation was urgent enough that he felt he needed to go to Tanari Prime and open negotiations for a government of national unity immediately.

-----

<Battle of Lyndon City>

“Sir, we’re getting lots of reports of collateral damage.” said a crewman on the bridge of the Raptor One. “Lots of dead and wounded, unrest on the ground. Maybe we should pull back.”

“Soldier, if we fail now, the next ships that come through here are going to be Semoventes!” Van Smoot bellowed. “The place won’t look any better when they’re done with it. Press on!”

“Sir, four missiles closing fast!”

“Fire forward interceptors!”

The Raptor One’s forward interceptors opened fire, hitting the first three of Branley’s missiles and detonating them at a relatively safe high altitude. One, however, only took a hit to its guidance system, and veered out of control.

The immediate aftermath of the Tanari-Takemikazuchi war saw the unexpected confluence of two trends. On the one hand, Edward Allman’s defeat had not really quelled their desire to continue expanding their empire, and on the other, some Tanari, and not just liberal-minded ones, had begun to theorise that permanent Spacenoid living, as was common in the Takemikazuchi Empire, could ultimately produce a superior breed of human. While this mostly stopped dead after the words ‘New Order’ had left Sefer Yetzirah’s lips, it had still resulted in the creation of a number of space station colonies, which were home to thousands of mostly happy civilians and scientists.

One of these colonies was located in Tanari Prime’s orbit, and the missile struck it directly, destroying it completely.

A dead silence fell across Raptor Ones’ bridge. “How many…” someone finally managed to stammer out after a few seconds.

---

“Starting to receive some reports as the EMP is clearing. Seems like our friend Branley hit Sky Musings station.” said Olivia Horwath, who was standing on the bridge, supervising the operation on behalf of Blair Morrison. The Bristol Corporation executive walked up to Reed. “2000 civilians nuked by a fighter from the Continuance. I hope that’s not the sort of headline you were hoping for, Reed.”

---

“I am going to personally tear Reed limb from limb when we get him.” Van Smoot snarled. “Lock onto his ship and fire on my mark.”

-----

<ES Base>

“A very fair point.” Blackout mused. “But if that is the case, and now the dog is loose, then we need a tracker.”

“In which case, I trust you won’t mind calling Ben Kovacs and telling him to drop whatever he’s doing and come here,” he said.

-----

<Somewhere near Vongola>

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just blow them out of the sky.” the Vrai moaned as sensor data on the Stairway to Heaven flashed in front of his eyes. “They’re just xeno mercs. Besides, revealing ourselves at all is an unnecessary risk.”

“Tell that to the politicians.” replied another Vrai, evidently more high-ranking than the last. “Status of the beacon?”

“Beacon will be within range in 3… 2… 1…”

A small probe suddenly decloaked several hundred kilometres off the Stairway to Heaven’s starboard bow. Its purpose was very simple - to allow the Vrai ship, which was cloaked pending orders to attack Vongola, should they come soon, to ‘bounce’ its message to the Stairway off it, and make it much harder to trace its location.

“This is the Vrai Dreadnought Ornipola to the mercenary vessel. On behalf of the Empire, we have some questions to ask you… and our orders are such that your lives may rely on how you answer.”

-----

[ Vongolan Orbit, Stairway to Heaven ]

A youthful looking Ancellian waved down the Signals Intelligence officer to his station, where the Vrai message was being analysed by the onboard AI. 

"Looks like we've got subspace entanglement; it's not a tight beam or radio message. They must be using a relay."

"Can we break it?" The officer asked, leaning forward over the console to pore at the screens.

"The AI is running deep decrypt now. Until it's done there's nothing to do but respond."

The officer picked up the headset, but a hand on his shoulder made him pause and turn. The officer snapped a quick salute as Dallas Dalton took the headset from his hands and placed it on his head.

"Vrai vessel Ornipola, this is the Free Systems Mercenary vessel Stairway to Heaven. I hadn't realised you folks were still interested in this backwater; old wounds, huh? 

Frankly, I've got some questions for you - what actually remains of the Vrai Empire, and what is it doing hanging out over the last Rider held planet in the galaxy?" Dallas turned to the SigInt officer. "Send transmission. Don't bother sending it to the relay though; the Ornipola is in deep cloak over the dark side of the moon."

****

[ Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel frontline ]

The men moved quickly through the dark shadows cast by the industrial equipment that rose around them like great mechanical beasts. Chains clinked softly in the wind, and a breeze blew foul smelling moisture from rusty puddles that pooled an the cracked concrete floor. 

Dreis stopped at the corner of a corrugated metal shed and peeked the corner, his rifle raised and ready. There were no visible threats; he waved Holbach round the corner. The mercenary loped forward, clutching a large projectile pistol and his tomahawk. 

Just as Holbach reached cover by a cluster of oil drums, the unmistakable sparkling flash of a laser slashed across the yard. The corresponding "whoop" sound put Dreis' head into cover, and when he looked back over to Holbach the man was laying perfectly still on his back, his head raised fractionally and scanning for the source of the shot.

"We've got one ahead of us - must be by that mining vehicle," Dreis said across the encrypted frequency he shared with Buster Breaker. The old cowboy responded by blitzing the vehicle with explosive rounds, huge gouts of flame and smoke and sparks pouring from each impact. Laser fire spat sporadically back, but the shooter didn't know where they were being engaged from. Dreis only just caught sight of a figure dash from the rapidly dwindling cover of the mining vehicle, and snapped off a single shot, which echoed off the metallic surroundings. He'd missed.

Holbach had used Buster's fire as cover, crawling forward on his belly along the side of a warehouse wall. He was now mere metres from the laser shooter's new cover. Dreis saw him shift into a position to pounce, like a predatory animal.

Dreis leant from cover and began to aim at the corner from which he expected the shooter to resume their attack, but didn't get to pull the trigger. His armour locked up rigid as he was thrown backwards by an explosion that ripped the concrete out from under him. The blast punched the air from his lungs, and the blast lifted him off his feet, to come crashing back down in a plume of dust and smoke. Warning icons lit up the inside of his visor like a cacophony of red stars. He lay there, stunned, before a haze of red filled his vision, his suit alarms ringing incessantly. His suit turned the colour of quicksilver as laser fire washed over him, stabbing from multiple directions. His suit was almost overwhelmed, but then the staccato rhythm of Buster's fire drove the attackers to cover, and there was a pause in the vicious onslaught. 

Limbs moving as though through wet concrete, Dreis pulled himself upright, swaying on his feet. The servos on his armour were shot, making his movements sluggish as he stumbled from the scorched crater he had laid in to the relative safety of a concrete barricade. His armour glowed with the excess heat from the lasers, and one panel had buckled completely, pressing painfully into his abdomen. The suits' Comms were also down; hazy static came over every frequency. He flicked the Comms suite off with a mental command - useless now.

It was only in the lull that dreis realised his rifle had been sent in the opposite direction to his short flight after the explosion. The weapon lay in the yard, buckled and broken. Dreis swore, and pulled his pistol from its holster on his thigh.

Whoever these guys were, they were good.

<Vongolan Orbit>

As it dawned on her that, despite the relay, they had received a direct transmission, the captain of the Ornipola swore - the word was untranslatable, but ‘shit’ would more or less capture the gist. “Is something wrong with our stealth?” she said.

“Engineering says no.” replied an officer. “They must have some way of detecting us anyway.”

“Well, I guess we might as well make the best of it.” the captain said, beginning a transmission in response. “Stairway to Heaven, there’s plenty left of the Empire. We abandoned all the parts that were just dragging us down and got on with our lives.”

“Sadly, xenos won’t just let us get on with our lives. Even confined to one planet, the Dachori are one of the greatest threats to the galaxy, and they must be stopped. Our ships have been here for some time, just like you, airdropping weapons and supplies to the rebels. But the High Command has decided that’s not enough, which is fine with me.”

“Mr… Dalton, is it? Our agents on the ground appear to be close to a deal with Kozin to escalate, and we need access to any and all systems you use to track your people on the ground. While it is part of their job description, bombing your Diamond Dogs would hardly serve the mission objective.”

-----

<Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel Frontline>

“Cease fire!” a loud voice bellowed, and Dreis’, Buster’s and Holbach’s attackers ceased. A figure in hulking, bright red power armour - the signature weapon of one Thomas Phaedrus Kane, the same one he’d used at Sards - flew over the mining vehicle using its jetpack, and began to gently land next to it.

“Diamond Dogs, I apologise for my troops, these are trigger-happy people for trigger-happy times. I’m sure you understand.” said the leader of Vongolan Rapid Response. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding. After all, we are all friends here… aren’t we?”

-----

<Shae Eachan’s Ship>

With her ship at FTL and her autopilot set to take her to Yari III on the most roundabout, confusing course she had the fuel for, Shae Eachan twirled her data chip in her hand. She’d already sent the contents - which were more than capable of hurting the Tanari political class on a good day, and during a time as fraught as this could have the force of a nuke - to a large number of media outlets throughout the FSA, but they would probably take a bit of time to process the information.

North would be annoyed that she hadn’t waited, but that wasn’t a big deal, she thought. In times like these, people needed to support themselves with whatever they could, and Shae had one thing they could use - the truth. She began a broadcast - the holo-net was already chock-full of takes on the situation, but she was pretty certain this one would cut through. If nothing else, it would be coming from a dead woman.

“Attention, people of the Confederation. This is Shae Eachan. I’m happy to inform you that reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Sadly, I can’t tell you anything about who attacked us. But I can tell you about something else.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Silver Eachan’s Ship>

Silver Eachan sat in the captain’s chair of a shuttle preparing to take off. He was going to Yorak - as much as it pained him, he was going to have to work with David Robert Jones to resolve this, and he couldn’t do it from here.

“Sir, there’s something on the holo-net I think you’ll want to see.” said one of the bridge crew.

“My god, woman, it’s a civil war. Every politician in the confederacy is looking for a camera.”

"No, sir, I think you really want to see this.”

The President sighed. “Fine.”

A hologram of Shae Eachan appeared in the centre of the bridge. For a second, Silver beamed. His wife was alive and well, it seems. But why hadn’t she told him? Where was she?

“I wanna be honest with all of you,” Shae said. “As First Lady, I’ve had some access to government and corporate systems all over the Confederation. What I have found will shock you.”

“What the hell?” Silver yelled, as his happiness suddenly turned to sheer confusion and a vague sense of dread.

Shae brandished a data chip of some sort. “This chip contains files and supporting documents, which I have just released to no fewer than fifty media outlets throughout the Free Systems Alliance. They prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that many members of our elite have taken bribes to forward the interests of corporations, both alien and domestic.”

Silver sat back in his chair, floored by what he was hearing. What had he ever done to deserve this? What had he ever done to deserve this?

“What’s worse, they also prove that many of those same people have secretly stashed away substantial amounts of money in the Arcadian Federation, and on other planets now part of the New Order.” And then Shae really stuck the knife in. “Here are a few names you might recognise. Silver Eachan. General Ernest Van Smoot. Oriel Matthieu Saint. Confederate Finance Minister Jerovsky. Aluic-5 Prime Minister Zhao. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“I will not be available to answer any further questions. I was as surprised to find out about most of these things as you will be… well, not as surprised. I had to see all these snakes in person for years. The data speaks for itself, anyone who has any doubts needs only refer to all the articles and reports I’ve been assured will be published soon. I know I’m only pouring petrol on the fire of what’s already a fraught political situation, but sometimes you just need a good, cleansing fire. In case you’re wondering why I did this, well… just ask my husband. Goodbye, Tanar!”

The broadcast ended, and as Shae's revelations began to circulate, the credibility of the Tanari government somehow collapsed even more.

“Change our course immediately.” Silver said after a long silence. He knew when he was beaten. “Take us to Sukhonia.”

“Sir?”

“I said what I said.”

-----

[ Lyndon City ]

Explosions rocked the Continuance as Raptor One's attacks slammed into it; bridge consoles blew apart, scattering polystyrene rocks across the set and sending crewmen flying. A giant overhead cable swung down and electrocuted someone. With a grim expression, Kinsler looked to Reed.

"Looks like this is the end."

Reed looked to Kinsler, then to his bridge crew who were looking to him for orders, then back to viewscreen. And then it started - a piano melody being broadcast over the ship's internal speakers, as if someone's idea of a practical joke given the chaos unfolding before them. Reed furrowed his brow as if trying to place the melody - then it clicked. He grinned.

I don't wanna talk / About things we've gone through
Though it's hurting me / Now it's history

"All hands... set a direct course for the presidential palace."

"We won't make it, sir." reported one of the crewmen. "We're falling apart."

"We have to." reiterated Reed. "We've just won."

Aboard Raptor One, the same song was being played directly into the bridge. An ensign reported to Van Smoot on the source of the transmission.

"New contact in orbit- no, five con- multiple contacts, captain, exiting FTL. They're Tanari ships, sir, but these IFF codes are... seven years out of date."

I've played all my cards / And that's what you've done, too
Nothing more to say / no more ace to play

Aboard the Glaive Wraith, flagship of the Sedona fleet, Admiral Timothy Morgan Veidt observed the holographic battle-map as the remaining ships of his battle group reported in following their FTL jump from Agresia. He tapped a button on the battle-map kiosk occupying the center of the battleship's vast CIC, broadcasting a message on all military frequencies."

"All military forces on Tanari Prime, this is Admiral Timothy Morgan Veidt of the Sedona fleet. We will now begin offensive actions against the traitorous Van Smoot faction. The National Continuance Front of Morgan Peres and William Douglas Reed is the sole legitimate governmental authority on the planet. Under the powers vested in me as Admiral, by the Emergency Responses Act and the Military Codes of Justice, I hereby formally relieve Silver Eachan of his presidency for conspiring with the Van Smoot faction to pervert and overthrow the outcome of the election."

Ensuring that the intentions had been made clear in this initial broadcast, TMV then switched to a slightly more empathetic tone, appealing to the hearts and minds of the forces on the planet below that were likely still making up their minds as to which faction to side with.

"Each of you now has a choice to make. The Tanar that Silver Eachan and Van Smoot are seeking to create is not the same Tanar that we fought to protect against the Takemikazuchi empire. If you must ask the question of what it is we have to lose... then let the former first lady's broadcast serve as your answer. Veidt out."

Veidt's appearance in orbit sowed mass confusion amongst the military forces on the planet's surface. Veidt was a war hero, and his exploits against the Takemikazuchi during the war were legendary; yet, neither him nor his fleet had been seen for seven years, having disappeared entirely on the day the armistice was signed. The fleet in orbit was like something unearthed from within a time capsule - a fragment in time of what the Tanari had once been, at the height of their power as a confederacy, before their humiliating defeat to Sefer Yetzirah.

And for some, that was enough to make the decision for them.

"The Nation Continues!"

Pro-NCF forces, wearing white armbands to match the white 'invasion stripes' that had been painted on the hulls of Veidt's ships, rose up across the planet. The phrase had a new meaning, now - not just the continuance of the nation as it existed currently, but the revival and continuance of a Tanar that had existed once before - before the staid realpolitik and creeping corruption of Silver Eachan's milquetoast governance had, slowly but surely, reduced a once great power to a second-rate FSA lackey, unable to even secure its own borders without the assistance of the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes.

Oriel Matthieu Saint remained composed as he watched military trucks pull up into the driveway of his country retreat, knowing what fate awaited him now that he had been named in Shae Eachan's broadcast and documents. The inherent irony of the situation - the fact that he of all people had actually coined the phrase The Nation Continues - did not escape him. He took one last sip of his whiskey, before stepping outside to meet his executioners.

"Well played, Reed." he murmured to himself. "I guess the winner really does take it all."

Meanwhile, in Lyndon City, Branley awoke dazed and confused on the roof of a high-rise building, having been ejected from his craft by the onboard safety systems, but heavily injured by the subsequent landing. He felt his life fading from him as he gazed up at the sky above, watching the faint glint of railgun tracers as the newly-arrived Veidt fleet traded fired with Raptor One. The Continuance swooped down low overhead, heavily damaged and listing to one side, powering towards the presidential mansion and leaving him far behind. That was fair enough, he thought - they probably assumed he was dead. He rolled onto his back to make himself slightly more comfortable as he passed - and then like a thunderbolt in a blue sky, a shadowy, void-like presence appeared above him, sinking into his dying mind.

The Continuance made a crash landing, touching down in a vast, artificial lake besides the presidential palace, skidding across the lake bed and rising up onto the shore before finally coming to a rest. Smoke billowed from the damaged helicarrier as Reed emerged from the control tower, his longcoat blowing in the wind as he set his sights on the presidential palace before him, and grinned.

The winner takes it all / The loser's standing small
Beside the victory / That's her destiny.

---

[ Hacienda Gerrerra, Sukhonia ]

A grin formed on Don Saul Gerrerra's face as the observed the chaos from the comfort of a poolside lounger, witnessing it as a series of curated data-feeds projected onto the interior of his trademark sunglasses.

"Leclerc." he said, summoning his trusted majordomo (and, as demonstrated in the case of the Tony Dalton assassination, most competent sicario). "Prepare the southern landing pad and associated guest suites. I suspect we'll soon have visitors."

---

[ ES Base ]

"Ben Kovacs?" retorted Shepard. "Respectfully, master, what does Ben Kovacs have to do with any of this?"

<ES Base>

“You think highly of his abilities.” Blackout said. “And he is on your mind. Unless there is some reason why you don’t want me to speak to him?”

-----

<The Raptor One>

“Sir… we can’t fight this many ships.” a crewman said as the Sedona fleet dropped out of FTL all around them, and began to lock weapons on the Raptor One.

“Well-played, Reed. Well-played. Get us the hell out of here.” Van Smoot finally said.

The fast little corvette deftly maneuvered its way past Veidt’s fleet, trading fire with them as it did so, and jumped to FTL almost as soon as it was clear. As Tanari Prime vanished into the blur of brilliant blue light on all sides of them, Van Smoot stood up.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

-----

<Lyndon City, Presidential Palace>

“La Nación... Continúa.” said Morgan Peres, wearing a white armband he’d been handed by somebody, as he approached Reed. “William… I think we have a great deal to discuss.”

-----

<Sukhonia>

Silver Eachan had decided to head to Sukhonia for three reasons. The first was that his ship had just about enough fuel for a single trip to the Trilateral. The second was that the Sukhondese government, in a joint statement with Yorak, had strongly denounced the National Continuance Front’s coup, openly stated they had no plans to obey the new government, and appealed to the FSA for recognition and assistance. While Beatriz Saavedra was, to put it mildly, unsympathetic to Eachan, she was at least unlikely to shoot him down as soon as he reached orbit as long as he also left quickly.

Luckily for Prime Minister Saavedra, the third and most important reason was that the planet was also the base of operations of Don Gerrerra’s cartel, and Eachan suspected Don Gerrerra, while a dangerous criminal (and a Shifter to boot), was about the only person in the Confederation willing to help him after Van Smoot’s bungled attempt to restore order and Shae’s revelations.

As Eachan’s shuttle dropped out of FTL near Sukhonia, it passed the same monitoring station Castor had tampered with some time ago.

-----

<Zaragoza Pirate Clan Base>

“I just got a ping off the Sukhondese monitoring station,” Castor said. “Important guest.”

“Is it Jones? Do we go after him?” Desmond Zaragoza, who had returned from whatever his negotiations had been, asked wearily. He had been very displeased indeed with the failure of the sniper he’d hired to kill David Robert Jones - said sniper was now floating in the vacuum of space - and decided he was going to take care of the matter personally, especially since his client was now, at least on paper, the third-most important person in the Tanari Confederation.

“Nah.” Castor smirked. “I think it’s the presidential shuttle. Eachan… heading straight to Don Gerrerra. I’ve saved the trajectory and location, obviously.”

Desmond laughed for an uncomfortably long time. “Sucker,” he finally said.

-----

<Sukhonia, Hacienda Gerrera>

Eachan’s shuttle touched down on the southern landing pad of the hacienda, and Eachan stepped out, accompanied by two guards. They stood there, awaiting Don Gerrerra or one of his lackeys to step out to greet him. They were lucky to arrive when they did - the shuttle didn’t even have enough fuel to launch again.

As they waited, it suddenly occurred to Eachan to check his accounts. After all, Don Gerrerra probably wouldn’t help him for free. Money in itself was no object, of course - while, as Shae had been so kind as to reveal, some of his assets were trapped in New Order territory, and thus useless to him, the majority of his funds were surely safe.

Eachan activated his VI, and opened the subroutine that allowed him to securely view his accounts. However, the balance on all of them was nil. At first, he figured it was a glitch, and deactivated the VI and reactivated it. The balance was still nil even after this, and the erstwhile President of the Tanari Confederation suddenly realised that revealing his corruption and offshore assets was not the full extent of Shae’s revenge after all, and that he was now stuck with no money and no way off the planet, entirely at the mercy of Don Gerrerra.

-----

<The Tanari Confederation>

One group on Tanari Prime decidedly not enraptured by the promise of the National Continuance Front was Shifters. William Douglas Reed had spent much of his Tanari career attacking them, Timothy Morgan Veidt, as a leading neo-Allmanite, had never been seen as a pro-Shifter figure, and nobody had any confidence whatsoever in Morgan Peres’ ability to protect them. Veidt had barely finished his speech when Shifters had already begun looking for ways to get themselves and their families away from Tanari Prime and the inner worlds of the confederacy before the junta of Reed, Veidt and Peres consolidated its grip on power. Within days of the proclamation of the National Continuance Front, many Shifter urban neighbourhoods and villages started to border on ghost towns as their inhabitants struggled to get away from NCF-controlled territory. Many politicians and activists of the Movement for Rights and Freedoms joined the exodus too - everyone remembered what Allman had done to opposition politicians upon his takeover, as well as what Reed had recently done to Freya Jackson, and they generally preferred to stay alive to fight another day.

The typical Shifter migrant’s destination was either the Trilateral, where the strong opposition of the Yoraki and Sukhondese governments to the new regime reassured worried Shifters, or the Malchiorian Protectorate, which was a longstanding destination for Shifters seeking to emigrate from the Confederation due to its traditions of tolerance, to the point where many major Malchiorian cities now had notable Shifter neighbourhoods of their own, and the incumbent Vice President was even famously married to a Shifter. Some tried their luck on ships heading to Teruga Prime or Corrantia, planets traditionally antagonistic to the Tanari, while others tried for more exotic destinations still. Many simply got on whichever ship would take them, not really bothering to ask where it was going. Some brave Shifters found themselves trying to locate the Coldest Story Ever Told, while some who were brave in a rather different sense found themselves headed for the Vrai Empire, either unaware of its very strict caps on the number of aliens allowed to immigrate in any given year (which was nevertheless a very liberal policy by Vrai standards, as there had been a time when alien ships trying to enter the Empire without prior authorisation were simply fired upon) or hoping to somehow bullshit their way in regardless. Some groups of Shifter Radicals even headed for the New Order or the Vongolan People’s Republic, in the hopes that those regimes would be willing to harbour them, or, as far as anyone knew, simply disappeared.

Most transport ship captains were more than happy to take advantage of the unexpected surge in business, and Shifters of course found it much easier to stow away on ships than most other species. However, demand simply outstripped supply, and organised crime found it easy to take up the slack. While many organisations, both alien and Tanari, tried to take advantage, it soon unsurprisingly turned out the Pirate Lords of Liquid-Metallicon, now operating legally within the FSA and, as Pirate Lords, being able to mobilise a large number of ships very easily, were best-placed to take advantage of the sudden exodus. Many a desperate Shifter found themselves handing over their meager life savings to a seemingly legitimate freighter captain, only to be either spaced on the way or as good as forced into slavery.

-----

<Deep Space>

The Raptor One dropped out of FTL in the vicinity of a vast nebula. The makeup of the nebula was such as to render most attempts at scanning through it ineffective, but Van Smoot already knew what was inside. As the warship penetrated the thick clouds of gas and dust, it soon came within visual range of the David Galo.

“Colonel Luxon,” Van Smoot began. “I’m very pleased to see you haven’t succumbed to the madness.”

“I took an oath to serve the nation.” the captain of the Galo replied tersely. “The nation is the people, not a cover for someone's petty interests.”

“Good, good.” the General said. “This is just the beginning. We’ll need more ships, many more. We will restore order in the Confederation...”

“Who’s we, Ernest?” Colonel Luxon replied, and terminated the transmission.

“What the hell?” Van Smoot wondered. He knew Luxon was a lefty, but she was a patriot, and a good soldier. Surely she wouldn’t abandon her superior officer at a time like this.  “What does she mean?”

A vast armada of Tanari cruisers, carriers, gunships, transports, tankers and other vessels from all corners of the empire, all bearing the insignia of the Confederate Navy began to emerge from the bowels of the nebula. Anna Luxon began another broadcast, this one not aimed at the Raptor One, but both at the Tanari Confederation and the galaxy as a whole.

“My name is Anna Luxon, captain of the Tanari warship David Galo. Up until recently, I was a Colonel in the Confederate Navy. By the common agreement of all the crews assembled here, I hereby proclaim the creation of the Free Tanari Army. All of us agree that to serve this so-called ‘National Continuance Front’ would go against the oath we all took when we joined the military. Even more importantly, it would go against basic decency. We remain loyal to the Free Systems Alliance and will continue to fight the New Order with every fibre of our being, but we also stand for the restoration of democracy, law, and order to Tanar. We welcome all those willing to join us in this endeavour.”

“By the gods.” Van Smoot muttered. He had had no idea the fleet was there - all he knew was that Anna Luxon was willing to meet with him.

“The entity currently proclaiming itself the government of Tanari Prime has led a coup under false pretences, murdered innocent civilians, and brought in a fleet of unclear origin led by a known traitor to enforce its will. It has made it clear it has no need for our services, and we’re taking the hint. However, the previous government also did not distinguish itself. It, too, is responsible for the murder of innocent civilians. It engaged in severe corruption, pardoned war criminals who knowingly dishonoured the uniform, violated the Constitution by refusing to treat its citizens equally, ignored its duty to defend our national sovereignty and allowed the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes to do as it pleased on Tanari territory, and sabotaged the galaxy’s fight against the New Order through wanton mismanagement. As such, we consider the Tanari Confederation and the Confederate Armed Forces to have been dissolved. Anyone still claiming to represent these entities is a pirate at best and a traitor at worst, and should be treated accordingly. Allow me to demonstrate.”

As the broadcast switched to a camera mounted on the outside of the ship, allowing all viewers to see the now-infamous shape of the Raptor One, the David Galo fired a single railgun round. Van Smoot's crew not expecting a fight at this location, and the ship itself having been badly damaged in its fight with Veidt’s fleet, they took no defensive action. The precisely targeted round blew out the Raptor One’s bridge. As the corpse of Ernest Van Smoot floated out into space, his expression was still akin to that of a deer caught in headlights.

“Should a stable, democratic government with a legitimate claim to represent the Tanari people arise again, we will serve it loyally.” Luxon continued. “But until then, this is Supreme Commander Anna Luxon, signing off. Sic semper tyrannis.”

A carrier floated up to the disabled Raptor One, and scooped the corvette up into its bay. The Free Tanari fleet then left the nebula, and jumped to FTL.