BZPB: Resurgence

<ES Base>

“I think you’ll find the dog is already caged,” Blackout said, gesturing to the field of Void Magic trapping Shepard. “What exactly brings you here, Malak?”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

The new President of the Tanari Confederation smiled proudly. He sat back in his chair in what he presumed was a way that conveyed the authority he felt he should project now. “Quite right, Admiral. I think we’ll work quite well together, the three of us. A grand coalition of all mainstream political forces, willing to work together to achieve the survival and continuance of the nation… Yes, I think that’s what people will be looking for in the face of the New Order threat.”

“I think I can win round most Liberals easily. The Shifters will be more of an issue, William has said some rather over-the-top things about them, but I’m sure I can smooth things over.” he continued. “You may have to make certain concessions you won’t like, but it will distinguish us from the last disgrace of an administration, and help us with the FSA.” he added, in case Reed and/or Veidt were sceptical. He was the President after all, even if it was in an uneasy coalition with two men he never expected he’d be working together with, and he was determined to make his own mark on the administration.

“If that’s all been cleared up,” Olivia Horwath walked in, followed by a circular, roomba-sized device walking around on six mechanical legs. “One of your coalition partners wishes to speak to you.”

Once the device crossed the threshold of the study, and stopped at a part of the carpet still soaked in the blood of Sylen Kurze, it projected a life-size hologram of Blair Morrison.

“Well done, gentlemen! Well done! I was worried for a second, when Van Smoot’s forces turned up, but you handled that beautifully! Bravo!” Blair clapped once to underline his point. “I’m confident that with men like you at the helm, this nation will continue. However, there are a few small problems this government is going to face. Eight of them, to be precise. The first five are called Anna Lundby, Aster, Neil Donovan, Beatriz Saavedra, and of course David Robert Jones.”

Blair looked down and made a funny face upon noticing the bloodstain on the carpet. The machine promptly took a few steps forward, getting closer to Veidt, Peres and Reed. “Now, I have thought about this in some detail. Prime Minister Von Budberg, who also wishes for the nation to continue, has arranged for a show of force on Yari III that will solve Problem No. 1, and definitively make Problem No. 2 go away. Once we’ve made it clear the Front has popular support in the Trilateral, Numbers 3 and 4 should also go away. A domino effect, if you will. I’m also counting on the new President’s powers of persuasion to help there. However, that still leaves No. 5. I’m sure we all remember Jones’ rabble-rousing back when Allman was President.”

At once, Morgan’s unease intensified as he remembered exactly who he was dealing with. “I’m taking care of Jones,” he said tersely.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that. Which brings us to Problems No. 6, 7, and 8. Their names are Morgan Peres, William Douglas Reed, and Timothy Morgan Veidt.” Blair’s oddly jolly, slightly manic mood suddenly darkened. “We’ve all just seen how quickly the Tanari people can turn on their rulers. They may forget eventually, but they do not forgive. Mr. President, I doubt you would like people to know how exactly you have decided to ‘take care’ of Jones, as you describe it. Mr. Vice President, Van Smoot and Eachan were rightly discredited by what they did in Lyndon City, wouldn’t you say?” The oligarch decided not to wait for Reed’s reply. “Do the words ‘Divine Providence’ ring a bell, perchance? While I, of course, understand what happened at Sundowner wasn’t part of your plan, I doubt others will be so forgiving, especially considering your biography. And finally, Admiral Veidt. This government could not have taken power if not for your reputation as a strong patriot. I doubt that reputation would last long if the public were aware of some of your activities over the last five years.”

“I’m sure your first reaction will be to angrily deny everything. Save your breath. You may also wish to try and make sure I can’t reveal what I know. Again, don’t bother. I’m currently on vacation far from here. You’ll never find me, and in any case, everything I know will be automatically published should some mysterious fate befall me.” Blair smirked in the way only a man reasonably confident that he was in complete control of the situation could. “However, there’s one guaranteed way to ensure my silence. I believe that the position of National Security Advisor to the President is currently vacant. We can’t have that in the middle of a war. But don’t worry, I can help. I have an eminently qualified candidate for you.”

The holographic projector switched off, and Olivia Horwath stepped forward. In stark contrast to Morgan Peres’ pathetic attempt, she really did walk as if she owned the room and everything in it - although, under the circumstances, in a technical sense she did. “I served Tanar for years as part of the intelligence services, and I am honoured to do so again with the full powers of the NSA at my disposal. Working together, we'll ensure this nation continues, and defeat the New Order once and for all. Of course, I do also have obligations to the Bristol Corporation… but you’ll soon find that what’s good for Bristol is good for the nation.” She looked down at President Peres, which was fitting as, while she wasn’t going to show it, she had nothing but contempt for the man. “Don’t worry, Mr. President. I already know the way to my office.”

After saluting Admiral Veidt and giving Reed a curt nod, the new National Security Advisor left the study.

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

Laara stepped up to the desk, and took a sip of the unfamiliar drink. To her surprise, it was quite good, and she finished it quickly. “You know, I’ve never even heard of this drink. No one has been able to legally import a single bottle of alcohol into the Empire since Gheor Klar became Prime Minister.”

The Inquisidora followed Ear to the balcony, and also looked out on the city below. While she hadn’t had the opportunity to explore it in any way, at least from here, it didn’t appear as beautiful as her beloved Z’traa - but that was, admittedly, probably too high a bar to ask it to clear. “Decades ago, the Vrai government was corrupt, decadent, and cruel. They were obsessed with expanding the Empire and imposing their will on the rest of the galaxy. They kept going and going for centuries, until eventually they hit upon the Tanari Confederation. They thought it’d be another easy conquest, and for a time that’s what it looked like, until they found ways to match us. They even started to tamper with their own DNA to become better at fighting us. Savages.” Laara spat. “And eventually, the people started to ask; what’s the point? Why keep expanding? It elevated neither us nor them, and it gained us very little, once you took into account the cost and the bloodshed. A man called Gheor Klar led the people against the regime. The Vrai were tired. The regime had always suppressed dissent, just like your Kronacs, but they couldn’t hold back the tide. Within weeks, Klar was Prime Minister, and he started to put the Emperor, the military, and the more imperialist part of the business elite in their place. They still seethe a bit, but they understand now that we will never go back to the way we were.”

She looked Ear in the eye. “But just like you, Klar had to appease all sides. So we replaced the idea that we were so obviously superior that we were destined to rule the galaxy with the idea that we were so obviously superior that we didn’t need the rest of the galaxy and we should just keep as much of it out as we could. That worked for a while, sort of. It kept us closed to good alien influences too, like this drink of yours - what’s it called?” Laara held up her empty glass. “But at least it kept all of you safe for over 30 years, and allowed us some introspection. So trust me, I understand your problem completely.”

“The new government of my empire wishes to put an end to our isolation. The New Order isn’t something we can ignore, but we can’t work with the FSA either. It’s too dysfunctional, and the Tanari, the Lurians… they’re too much like what we used to be. It would just be a way of empowering one sort of evil over another, and the Vrai have both the responsibility and the power to never do evil again.” Laara sighed. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this just yet. The government fears Teruga is not ready yet, and as you say it might not be, but there is a new alliance forming. It’s called the Order and Progress Coalition. Many FSA members fear that, with the post-Allmanites still in charge in Tanar, and with the sec-gen race coming down to Ascheron and the Rider, the FSA could soon become an instrument for their subjugation, a mirror image of the New Order. The Corrantians are one of them. That’s one of the reasons why we’re offering this deal. We need to fight Sefer, but we need to be prepared for the worst, and if the worst comes, Teruga will be among the first on the chopping block unless you make friends and act quickly to build up your strength. The OPC is your chance to do that. A new alliance, completely separate from the Tanari. As I said, we’re willing to give you a lot. My government has to tread carefully back home too, but it seems that protecting others from the Tanari is something both of us could maybe sell.”

Laara followed Ear back to her desk, and pointed to the still-active holographic projector. “The problem with Class-4 mobile factories is that they’re, well, mobile. Already pre-built, waiting in Vrai space to jump into FTL and be moved wherever they’re needed. However, Vrai stealth technology is renowned. I’m sure we could figure out a way to quietly bring them over here and then use the tech to work out some sort of subterfuge that’d make it look like they’re being built here.” She smiled, a strange sight given her un-humanoid face. Inquisidora Laara supposed it could be the alcohol talking, but she was starting to like this Terugan.

-----

<Tanari Colony Lanorra>

Lanorra was a little planet on the outskirts of the Tanari Confederation, just next to its border with the Commonwealth of Corrantia and not too far from Teruga Prime and the Trilateral. Its primary feature was a large military garrison, with all the repair facilities and weapons depots that necessitated, which so completely dominated the planet that, apart from some lucrative mining and agricultural operations, most of its economy was built around catering to soldiers. As such, while Lanorra was technically a federal subject and was required to govern itself as one, in practice all decisions were made by the generals and the local oligarchs, who had seamlessly shifted from supporting Allman to supporting Eachan, and now to supporting the National Continuance Front. Elections were such a formality on Lanorra that, while the presidential election between David Robert Jones and Eachan had not yet taken place and now never would, the local result had already been decided in advance - 95% to Eachan.

All these characteristics made it a fitting target for the first offensive of the Free Tanari Army, which desperately needed a base of operations.

The attack caught the troops stationed on Lanorra completely off-guard - Anna Luxon had managed to persuade the Corrantian government to allow them to quietly slip through their territory, and the garrison, intended more as a way of sabre-rattling at the Tanari’s old subjects and serving as a base of operations for any future raids the Confederation might choose to conduct against them, was not prepared to have to defend anything any time soon. Besides, while the Lanorran generals had shifted their allegiance to the NCF, they hadn’t bothered to ask the rank-and-file, many of whom had more mixed feelings about the new government.

The planet failed to even get a distress call out, and it fell in just a few hours. Luxon declared herself temporary military governor pending a free and fair election to be held in the near future, and started to rule by decree. Her first order was to have all the generals and oligarchs rounded up and put on trial, while the rank-and-file would be given the choice of signing up with the FTA, staying on Lanorra and returning to civilian life there, or going back to NCF-controlled territory. The nationalisation of all businesses on Lanorra over a certain number of employees, and attempts to improve working conditions soon followed. Luxon had the many brothels that had sprung up around Lanorran military bases to fleece soldiers of their pay closed down at once, and considered doing the same to the now state-run casinos. But she decided the final decision on that could wait, so for now, they were merely closed and their staff furloughed.


A man in a Tanari military uniform, his insignia indicating he had reached the rank of Brigadier General, sat on a bench, wearing handcuffs and a shock collar. Apart from him, the room was packed with armed men and women, and a judge stood over him.

“General Barnett, you stand accused of graft, embezzlement, the unauthorised sale of weapons, abuse of authority, and knowingly collaborating with the criminal conspiracy known as the National Continuance Front to subvert democracy across the territories formerly known as the Tanari Confederation. The penalty is death. How do you plead?”

“Fuck you.” Barnett spat.

“I’ll accept that as equivalent to a guilty plea.” The judge returned behind his podium, and smacked his gavel. “The sentence will be carried out at midday tomorrow.”

Two guards stepped up to Barnett and began dragging him back to his holding cell, where Anna Luxon was already waiting for him.

“Ah, Colonel. No, wait, I hear you’ve promoted yourself. Supreme Commander, is it? Really?” Barnett said. “You always did like the grandiose, Anna, even back at the Academy.”

“Morgan Peres and Reed? Really?” Anna fired back. “You were always scum, Barnett, but I didn’t think you were also stupid.”

“I didn’t do it because of those two. I did it because of Veidt. That man… that man I respect. He represents what our people could have been if things hadn’t gone so wrong six years ago.”

“After Allman, I took Eachan’s offer and went back to the military, because I wanted to work for the nation. Even if I hated the President, at least I’d have a say in who it would be again.” said Anna. “Veidt didn’t do that. He ran, and spent years doing god knows what for god knows who to get by. He represents nothing.”

Barnett laughed. “Of course you don’t understand. Why would you? You were always on the other side. You always looked up to Sefer.”

“I thought she’d changed her nation for the better. I was wrong; I acknowledge that. But you’ve never even looked for ways to change ours for the better. You just went with the flow and right into the septic tank.” Anna began to walk out of the cell block. “You didn’t live with dignity. Try to die with some.”

OOS: Start remembering what you read

<Laboratory, Planet Tular Va’al, c. 1746 BR>

A tall and elegant female Dachori stepped through the doorway flanked by two soldiers clad in golden armor. Each soldier carried standard-issue rifles with zero-morph blades slung on their backs; the blades filled with inscriptions etched into the polished metal.

The woman quietly glanced at all the equipment throughout the lab, smugly grinning at each beaker, blueprint, and holo-display with disdain. Yet when she noticed a portrait of the Dachori Imperator on one of the walls, she nodded in respect.

At the other end of the lab was a man hurriedly pressing buttons on a massive computer as he madly prattled to himself in an ancient language.

“Prevaius Dahrk,” the Rider greeted the scientist in an emotionless tone (or at least, as emotionless as one could be in High Dachorlin). “Status report?”

“Mehr’keta’an,” Prevaius replied in a daze. The Rider thought it must have been Bendu’ui, but Prevaius had lived so many lifetimes it could have been something else entirely.

“Status. Report,” the Dachori enunciated loudly.

Prevaius swerved backward, startled. His face was obscured by goggles and a mask that he used to protect his face from his more dangerous experiments.

“Minister di Espira,” he greeted. “What a pleasure it is to see you! I have made some interesting discoveries and breakthroughs. Cloning Attempt 17 was a stunning success! Additionally, I believe I am moments away from using those chronal particles I previously told you about to-”

“Nevermind your tinkering,” Minister Espira bellowed. “The Imperator has been disappointed in the Ministerium Scientificos’ reports on your studies. While Laigula’s team and so many others have reached new heights for their Empire, you and your team have fallen behind! You failed to make any progress with the enhancement project that you were supposed to have completed by now. You failed to assist us with the Aleph Point. You have yet to prove your Chronospace Theorem. One failure after another while you tinker away with your little side projects!”

“The Imperator,” Prevaius breathed. “I...I am near a breakthrough! It’s so close, I only need more materials and more time!”

“That is exactly what you said in our last meeting,” the Minister dismissed. “And the one before.”

Prevaius lowered his head. He gritted his teeth underneath the mask, quietly cursing the Minister and the Dachori Empire’s short-sightedness. Yet, the Yuzari restrained himself from expressing his feelings. He needed the lab and the funding, and he wouldn’t want the entire Empire chasing him across the galaxy for any outbursts. Not that it would be an easy fight anyway.

“It will be done,” he replied lowly. “I assure you.”

The Minister glared at him, then nodded.

“All that you need will be delivered to you, but you have two more weeks,” Minister Espira declared. “I expect to see results by then….”

Her voice became grave as her expression darkened.

“...or there will be consequences,” she continued. “Do not forget that it is by the Imperator’s grace that someone like you is allowed here. The gods have given you a great talent. It would be a shame to waste it on a corpse.”

Minister Espira turned and left with both of her guards. Prevaius Dahrk placed his face in his hands.

“[Oh my dearest Kanos Jai],” he lamented in Bendu’ui. “[Oh Arc Blair, and the Arcs before me...let your hands guide me as I augment your ideals...to fulfill them].”

Prevaius then went back to work.

---

<Hyperspace, Near the Armstrong System>

The Nakamura, a Shinkai-Class cruiser, darted through hyperspace towards its destination. Arc Minutún crossed his arms behind his back as a sinister smile crept on his face. Soon he would be at the planet the New Order had been assaulting for the past day. Though Admiral Kilatri’s forces were facing heavy resistance, Arc Minutún’s arrival meant that the tide would soon be turning in their favor.

Not only was the Arc a skilled tactician; he also was a fearsome warrior in his own right. Like most adamah, Minutún possessed a unique power bestowed upon him by both his genetics and the New Order’s biotechnology. Namely, he had the power of corruption, meaning he could disrupt the abilities of organic beings. For instance, he could briefly make an organism lose function in its limbs, temporarily disabling it in a fight. Powered individuals faced an even greater risk, as Minutún could make these people lose control of their powers, and with enough concentration, use their own powers against them or nullify them altogether. Of course, there was a drawback. Minutún could only use his power for a specified short time before his own powers would corrupt themselves and knock him unconscious.

Even still, New Order scientists quickly recognized that Minutún’s abilities would be useful, yet dangerous. If he ever turned against his fellow Arcs, he would be a serious threat, and if he ever betrayed his Emperor and donor, there was no telling what could happen. Minutún would surely lose against Sefer, as her psychic abilities were still leaps and bounds ahead of his own powers (plus, to even suggest otherwise was tantamount to heresy for these New Order scientists). However, an attack from one of the most powerful telepaths in the galaxy sprinkled with a little bit of Minutún’s corruption could create a disastrous recipe, one that would cause incalculable damage to nearly anything and anyone unfortunate enough to be anywhere near the fight. To avoid any problems, a team of scientists decided to develop a prototype of an inhibitor chip and installed it in Arc Minutún’s brain. Should he ever have any traitorous or treasonous thoughts towards higher-ranked Arcs or the Emperor, the chip would either produce a small electro-shock or emit a sonic frequency that would activate hormones in his head that would lead his thoughts elsewhere. Put simply, the chip would condition Arc Minutún to never let his thoughts dwell on treason. The chip was accompanied by a small jewel-like object situated in the middle of Minutún’s forehead which would occasionally glow to show that the chip was working properly.

The team was lauded for their brilliant work. However, many were confused by the team’s insistence on adding an inscription onto the chip that read “P. Bettany Pro Evolution Poker” for some reason.

Regardless, the chip itself did not come without drawbacks; it would need maintenance every so often. When the New Order came into possession of psycho-reactive alloy, many believed the chip would be replaced. However, when the Qui Zhen Dhu forge-monks smuggled camtonos of most of the supply out of the New Order’s reach, it was decided that Minutún’s chip would remain for now.

The Nakamura emerged from hyperspace, having arrived at its destination.

---

<Le Club, Malchior IV>

Klak’s eyes widened. He swallowed dryly. If Salem knew about Project Blackstar, then he was telling the truth.

“One year ago, when Gaius Malcovus first started to show signs that he was interested in running for Secretary-General, we sent spies to his office to investigate him while he was off-world,” Klak explained. “We found multiple files regarding Project Blackstar...something about a fleet of ships that fused Vykonian technology with other technology. That’s all we were able to learn of it. Did you learn anything else?”

Klak paused, his sigh audible through the holographic transmission.

“Listen, you obviously can be a highly valuable asset,” he continued. “You can tell us all you know about this...Espiritu Santo group that was behind the FSA attack, and everything you know about Gaius Malcovus’s plans. I can pull some strings to help you get a plea deal, maybe even a pardon. What do you say?”

Meanwhile, Set's personal ship docked into the club. He strolled in like he owned the place, and noticed all the damage. Seeing that Salem was currently in a conversation with Klak through a hologram and that Malak al-Maut was no longer there, he decided to wait. Set stepped over Oh Gabriel and made his way to the bar, where he poured himself a drink.

OOS: thanks for the song suggestion JS.

-

<Nadle’s Office, Malchior IV>

Nadle found that the note was just a reminder to take his medicine. He took out his syringe gun and injected his medicine. He then began to skim through a copy of Sylen Kurze’s report on Bendu. Many of the major commanders in Malchiorian military and intelligence departments received one. Analysts were to spend the next few weeks discussing the reports to create an attack plan. Between the disappearance of Veras’s Wall and the New Order onslaught, they were going to need attack plans to survive, let alone turn the tide and push through the enemy’s borders. But a precise and potent strike on Bendu could mean the difference between victory and defeat; a crushing blow to Sefer’s reign of terror. Darkness was rising, but light would meet it.

Nadle of course was unaware of how much Sefer had interfered in Sylen’s mind. He also could not predict how much recent events in the FSA Headquarters and the Tanari Confederation would make everything a little more...complicated.

---

<Battleship Vengeance, Tygenia Orbit>

Arc Caiaphus entered into the room that Sefer Yetzirah and Arc Kyydan were in. He bowed and smiled.

“Long Live the New Order and its Emperor,” he greeted with a purr. “What is your bidding, my masters?”

---


<Manx Sea, Vonilla>

OOS: theme for this part of the post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWQKiefZ-XI

Hercules was startled by Arwell’s comment. He was briefly worried that his cover identity as the mercenary “Zero” had been compromised, but he then realized it was likely that Arwell had probably known who he was all along (or at least, he found out right before they set out for Vonilla). Dallas Dalton likely thought it was a better idea to inform Arwell about the fact that one of the mercenaries was actually the ex-Malchiorian spy Hercules Splendor, who decided to defect after Reed “Ross” Palermo’s death and was acting as a double agent. He probably also told Arwell about Hercules’ other plans. It was a great way to avoid any awkward conversations later on, should anything reveal Hercules’ identity on the mission. When you’re planning a delicate operation that may affect the fate of an entire planet--perhaps even the entire galaxy--you can’t afford any surprises.

Hercules sighed after his realization but privately hoped Arwell kept the information to himself. The other mercenaries likely would not know who he is, but may leap at the chance to trade Hercules in to any of Malchior's enemies (or Malchior itself for that matter) for mountains of credits. No doubt Cassandra Cromwell, the infamous Vongolan loyalist spy, would be extremely skeptical of Hercules’ defection; not that their troubled past together would be any help at all. Hercules was well known among both sides of the war for running guns on behalf of the Malchiorian government, meaning he had been a thorn in Cassandra’s side for many years.

“He’ll be there,” Hercules replied with a nod, his voice obscured by his helmet’s voice masking technology. “We should prime our EVA suits in case we face heavy resistance on the way out. There’s no telling what the Malcs have in store for us.”

Prior to leaving for the staging post for the mission to Vonilla, Hercules was somehow able to access classified files related to Uteriach’s prison. Specifically, he was able to find profiles of all the personnel housed in the facility. After combing through each profile, he was able to find the weakest link: a Malchiorian-born Lupice guard named Lycos. This guard had some rather compromising information on his profile relating to his less-than-sterling past. Furthermore, a recent analysis showed that he began to act a little nicer towards Uteriach. The Malchiorians thought it was too negligible, but Hercules it took to mean that Lycos was already beginning to fall under the Generalissimo’s sway. All of this was suitable material for blackmail, so Hercules decided to coerce Lycos into becoming an inside man. He had just finished with the guard when he walked into the conference room and received orders to leave for Vonilla from Nadle himself.

Meanwhile, the tentacled submarine continued its patrol throughout the bottom of the ocean, unaware that the mercenaries’ cloaked submersible stealthily swam towards the base.

As the airlock doors cleared, Gather Round nervously twitched her leg. Astro took a swig from his flask and cleared his throat. Cassandra Cromwell said nothing.

When they finally arrived at the docking station, a being that looked like a bipedal, icy wolf with reptilian eyes stood before the waters. He wore the cerulean combat diving suit that was typical for the guards at this base. He crossed his arms impatiently as the mercenaries began to emerge with their equipment. The being was surrounded by four unconscious Malchiorian guards, each of a different species: one human, one Dantos Cal, one gryphon, and one Otyvite.

“Took you long enough,” the being grumbled. “I’m Lycos, we finally meet face to face.”

“Sure,” Zero replied, equally as curt. “Do you have everything?”

Lycos nodded and tossed five key chips at the mercenaries.

“These are the keys you’ll need to access the first doors leading to Crimson King’s cell, which I assume you found after you hacked us. I provided extra keys just in case,” Lycos explained. “The second door can only be opened using specific key cylinders which you can get from either someone in medical or the head of the facility himself, Braxus Blayne.”

“I can just hack the system as we did for everything else,” Gather offered.

“It’ll take you a while, the codes are scrambled and shuffled every so often, and the keys all get reprogrammed,” Lycos noted. “Dealer’s choice. Anyway, the stun gun I used on these guards lasts for about 50 minutes, and you have roughly an hour and a half before the submarine patrolling the perimeter returns to this docking station and finds your sub here. Worse, everyone in this facility is chalking up your hack to a glitch, but it won’t be long before they start to suspect something is wrong. Any questions?”

Zero, Astro, and Cassandra shook their heads.

“Right, pleasure doing business with you,” Lycos said sarcastically. He turned his stun gun on himself and knocked himself out, no doubt to avoid arousing any suspicion. Astro raised an eyebrow, then shook his head before charging his pulse rifle.

“Alright, what’s our next step, team?” Cassandra Cromwell asked as she strafed her kinetic rifle around the room.

---

<FSA General Parliamentary Assembly, FSA HQ, Malchior IV>

Gaius Malcovus shook his head at what the diplomat from FT-530 had said.

“That special relationship, coupled with what the Phantom Lords did to my ancestors, means I will never win the Phantom Lords over,” he noted. “But the other races that backed Krieger...there must be a few who are willing to change their votes. Krieger and I may have had our disagreements, but he hated the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes. After all, he resigned from the Malchiorian government when the Lurians were invited into the FSA. Perhaps those other delegates should be reminded of this fact, and they will be convinced that it is in their best interest to support me.”

-

Meanwhile, Ambassador Gilclack began to speak to other delegates, informing them of Russello’s initiative. She deftly cut any deals that were necessary to help build her coalition, politicking wildly as the end of the unmoderated caucus neared.

“Seklos and Gaylen, are you serious?” one diplomat shouted.

“Trust me, it might work, especially if….” Gilclack whispered.

---

OOS: theme for the Yari and Tanari scenes in my post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5l_guwPxA6M (thanks DRJ).

<Homecoming Church, Horba City, Yari III>

Rain nodded in gratitude towards Kirsten and stepped into the church.

“Guess you’ll have to ask us later,” he said to her in passing, his non-rhotic faux-Whitechurch accent dropping the last letter of the last word.

Rain looked around the church building, quietly observing the decorations. He pulled out an antique leather-bound notebook and pen and began to write down some notes. If anyone asked, Rain (or rather, ‘Taloran’) would insist they were notes on his upcoming film. This, of course, was a lie. Rain was quietly plotting any counterattacks should this be an ambush, or should any anti-Shifters decided to attack the church in the middle of Aster’s speech.

-

<Jones Skydda’s Hotel Room, New Dalebridge, Yari III>

Footage of the battle at Lyndon City played out in a hologram, the digitized images illustrating all the chaos erupting light-years away. Jones Skydda’s executive comms staff loudly debated what to include in a statement, and whether to pick a side in all of this.

“Well, regardless of what they say, we need to appear to the right of Von Budberg, that was always the mission,” a woman advised.

“Von Budberg’s lost it! Why would we go against Van Smoot?” another exclaimed.

“Because he’s bombing the capital, that’s why!” a man bellowed. “You think people won’t sympathize with those mobs?”

“Oh, so we should take the side of the man that nuked a bloody space colony and Is about to blow up the presidential palace?!”

“Why aren’t we running point with the fucking party chair on this, they left us in the dark!” another comms staffer stated.

“Forget Budberg, Eachan’s against this, why are we making this more complicated than it needs to be?” another said.

“Everybody loves Reed! Why would we want to piss off voters by being anti-Reed?! Can’t we be anti-anti-Reed?”

Jones stared out the window, seemingly ignoring everyone’s arguments. He raised an arm, silencing everyone immediately.

“Why the hell would Reed do this?” he inquired aloud. “What the hell is he thinking? Does he want to invite Sefer through the front door by making us all look like bickering children?”

“The real question is: what are you going to do?” asked campaign Chief of Staff Francesco Underhart. “Everyone in this room thinks that a crisis has been laid at your feet. You are Shield-Man Jones, the man who never backs down. Naturally, they want to help you solve it. But I have a more prudent option.”

“Oh?” Jones replied, narrowing his eyes.

“You wait,” Underhart explained, crossing his legs. “Whoever wins is the man you supported all along. You urge for peace throughout the Confederation, especially Yari III. If it turns out some Shifter radical was behind this, or even the New Order, even better. Regardless, I don’t think you should make any enemies this early. We all know this could lead to future opportunities for the Trilateral.”

Jones grinned and nodded.

“That’s it then,” he whispered. “The winner takes it all.”

Moments later, everyone stared in shock after Anna Luxon made her announcement and killed Van Smoot.

“They’re trying to tear the Confederation apart,” Jones hissed. “They’ll be too busy fighting to notice the damn Semoventes entering our borders!”

He sighed and facepalmed.

“Time to pivot to being a scion of unity and balance for our constituents...and for Yari,” he said.

-

<Hideout Flat, Yari III>

Raven nodded with a slight smile and followed Siper as they set out towards the Horba monorail. He skimmed through news reports, political intelligence briefings, and even his Xwitter feed (through a burner account, of course) through his VI as they waited for the train.

---

<Tanari Colony Lanorra>

A hologram appeared in front of Anna Luxon, revealing a VPR generalin his ceremonial attire.

"A pleasure to meet you, General Luxon. I am General Kilian Drax of the Vongolan People's Republic," he greeted. "I was recently made aware of your successful attempt to conquer Lanorra, and your attempts at purging corruption throughout the planet. I hope you can see the similarity between your revolution and ours. I would say that is the perfect starting point between cooperation between the VPR and the Free Tanari Army, wouldn't you?"

---

<Lalli and Regina’s Ship>

Regina smiled at Amanda, then made her way to the cockpit.

Lalli sighed uneasily. The tension in the air was certainly palpable, but something else was making him even more nervous.

The ship emerged from FTL and arrived in the orbit of Micho, a lush, verdant world filled with jungles and temperate forests. The mercenaries’ spacecraft soon pierced the atmosphere, and next thing everyone knew, they were flying over a slum surrounding a mountain filled with trees. Somehow, a landing pad appeared on the horizon, bizarrely juxtaposed with the decaying homes that surrounded it.

Regina docked the ship as best as she could given the damage it had received back at the Narayanastra. Several repair crew personnel belonging to various species seemed to appear out of nowhere, bringing a variety of tools and machines.

“Thank goodness I called early,” remarked Regina as she met with everyone again in the hold. “Otherwise we’d have been shot out of the sky.”

“Maybe he’ll regret not doing that once he sees me,” Lalli quipped.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Regina scoffed, then rolled her eyes. She went over to Lalli to help him up.

“I’m kidding, Regina’s dad is a great man,” Lalli winced. “You’ll all love him.”

Regina’s father, Jeris Ibrahim Faral, had made a name for himself in various parts of the galaxy for creating a network of hideouts for mercenaries, assassins, bounty hunters, spies, pirates, cutthroats, rejects, and all others in similarly situated occupations on a ton of worlds. It was strictly neutral ground, and all were welcome as long as they followed Jeris’ simple rules.

“You’ll also love the plants, springs, and fresh air here,” Lalli remarked. “Micho...such a beautiful place. Can you imagine Micho as a desert? Unending sweat! Anyway, you have to take in the scenery while you’re here. C’mon Ashton, Amanda, Pes...try something new.”

Outside, in the town square, a man stood on a soapbox and preached to everyone the wonders accomplished by Shining Beacon, and how they should all become Disciples of the Cosmos.

Meanwhile, Socah noticed that a brick fell off from the top of his wall. He shouted that someone better not be standing on top of it reviewing bad comics again, unaware of what Lalli just did.

---

<September Dawn Corvette>

The Shadow Operative rubbed his chin. Onyx had returned from the lockers, this time dressed in a standard Malchiorian naval uniform. The rest of September Dawn was listening through holographic transmission, though most of them were able to obscure their identities using scrambling technology. Meanwhile, the September Dawn leader appeared to be a humanoid wearing a suit. His head resembled that of a grey cyclops shark, signaling that he was part of a fish-like Terugan subspecies.

“Good question, Colonel. I suppose the fact that she helped destroy the station and protected Team Gamma could mean one of two things,” Onyx surmised. “Either she defected, or someone was disguised as her.”

“Someone with access to the PsyTrooper’s kill code,” The Shadow Operative added. “Or whatever that virus could have been.”

“We should tell our intelligence agencies to investigate either possibility,” the September Dawn leader said. “If Lilith has defected, we’ll need to protect her and get as much information we can out of her.”

“But if someone’s impersonating her,” Kaori Aizawa added, her identity cloaked. “Then we have to find out why. I don’t know of any Malchiorian assets capable of something like that.”

“Do we know where the Admiral is?” The Shadow Operative asked. “He could lead us to answers. Any ideas, Lt. Buckner?”

---

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

Nexus West had followed Xavik, Sally, and Oblique around. He kept staring, fascinated at Xavik and Oblique’s abilities.

“Lipstick, brilliant,” he grumbled to himself.

Nexus cracked his knuckles as they all made their way to Sophia Vinderen’s lair.

-

Mavis Deacon nodded and followed Prush, hoping to assist him in figuring out what the hell was going on.

-

Meanwhile, Lon, Terugan mercenary, finally docked onboard The Coldest Story Ever Told, having survived the Narayanastra mission. He greeted Sneed, one of the technicians, then made his way to a nearby mess hall.

---

<Vongola, Kozin’s Camp>

“Fair enough,” Kozín nodded. He nodded again once Kora explained her plan.

“I know a few, yes,” he replied. “One of them is General Alastaire Von, who is part of Figlio’s inner circle. As for the defence installations, I think it would be great if we take some down. If we’re doing a combined air and land assault, I suggest something closer to the frontlines. Perhaps the installation near Pegasus? But if you think our attack should be entirely orbital, then I say pick one that will really make the VPR loyalists squirm. Maybe something several miles away from Armechius.”

---

<Sixrings Dunjon City, Outside FSA HQ, Malchior IV>

A blonde woman in a suit and jacket quietly made her way to her apartment. Her heels clacked against the cobblestone path as her mind flew through her tasks for the day. She had been working for almost 24 hours straight and needed a shower and a change of clothes before continuing. The fact that the diplomats were in an unmoderated caucus meant that she had an opportunity before it was time to get back to working on her initiative.

Suddenly, a Terugan thief leaped out of an alleyway cradling a knife.

“Your money or your life, kid,” the Terugan snarled. But the woman merely smirked and crossed her arms.

The Terugan angrily charged at her and stabbed her in her side. He grinned as he twisted the knife, but the woman continued to smile. He looked down at the knife, expecting to see blood oozing out of the wound. Instead, he found his weapon bent as though he had attempted to stab the very cobblestone he walked on.

The woman grabbed the Terugan by the neck.

“Next time you try to rob a Rider,” she whispered. “Bring something worse than a kitchen utensil.”

She flung the Terugan away, slamming him into a wall. The Dachori woman continued on her way unabated. No time to waste, as she had important work to do. She was Alda di Armechio, after all.

[ Manx Sea, Vonilla ]

Drake stepped forward as the Lupice guard dropped down unconscious, levelling the barrel of his carbine at the inert forms of the guards. Arwell pushed aside the muzzle of the gun and shook his head. “Not this op.”

The helmeted figure of Drake stared the security specialist down for a long moment before lowering his gun. Arwell stared back, then turned to face the others. “Alright, you heard him. Our in is through medical, and failing that Blayne. Calm’s got exit security, which means he’s gonna sort these bodies and make sure we get out of here.”

“Bus leaves in 45 minutes kids, Armechio or no Armechio!” Calm boomed with a grin.

“Cai-Wei, Gather Round, I want you to get into their system - CCTV, sensors, comms, the works. There’s an access hall here that leads to an IT suite.” Arwell pointed up the hall and to the left. “The rest of you are on me. Check your corners, stay quiet and let's do this safe and clean. It’s ‘weapons free’ people, but don’t go taking heads for laughs. These are the good guys, remember? Less than lethal where possible.”

With a slight grimace Arwell cycled the action on his carbine, chambering a round, and began a swift creep down the hall. Drake stepped in close behind, stalking along as to avoid making noise with his heavier armour. The two men moved in tandem, securing the first corner and waving Gather Round and Cai-Wei down the IT hall, the pair jogging past carrying their equipment.

Cassandra brought up the rear with Astrophel and ‘Zero’ just ahead of her. The group moved as a pentagon, with Arwell at the forward point. They cleared corridors quickly, and it wasn’t long before they reached their first opposition. The encounter happened quickly. Arwell stepped out into a corridor and a shout went up; a guard about ten or so meters down the hall. Even as Arwell swung around and raised his carbine, Drake barrelled past him, a blur of black armour careening toward the guard, his legs pumping hard. The guard barely had time to fire once, the round ricocheting off of Drake’s breastplate as he slammed into the man with the force of a small car, knocking him to the ground, and unconscious, almost instantly. They trussed him with cable ties and gagged him, removed his radio and locator wristband, and threw him into a service shaft.

The medical bay was now ahead of them. It was an open space in the corridor; less a room and more of a widening of the corridor to room-like proportions. Beds lined the walls, some with containment fields erected around them, keeping the occupants imprisoned. There was a single nurse moving between the desks, and a doctor in scrubs sat at a desk filling in some paperwork. Arwell held up a hand and the group stopped at the final corner.

“How do you wanna do this?” Arwell directed at the rest of the crew.

Meanwhile, Cai-Wei booted down the locked door to the IT suite. A startled technician span in his chair, a look of panic on his face, which turned to shock as Cai-Wei promptly shot him with a suppressed flechette pistol. The man slumped in his chair, blood dribbling from a clean wound in his forehead.

“No time for loose ends,” Cai-Wei offered in the way of explanation to Gather Round as she placed her laptop on the desk and started wiring it directly into their console.



[ Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel Frontline ]

Dreis shrugged gently, making sure that the gesture didn’t come across as an offensive action. “We’re bought and paid for Kane. But I’ll pass on the sentiment. As for Sards, we wish you the joy of victory. But for us, this war is strictly business. I’m sure you understand.”

Dreis gestured to his pistol, and slowly holstered it, making a show of it. “We’re open to more coordination. Anything that gets the job done. You know a Commander Yuri Hasov? He’s our liaison for the Vongolan Rebel Front. That’s the best way to get our guns pointing the same way - through him. I don’t know if your Rapid Response are on good terms with them, but look at this way - we all want the same thing.”

At that moment a shot rang out, the crack of a supersonic projectile making Dreis - and others - duck and look around. From above, a smoking wreckage of a spy drone wobbled and sputtered before plummeting the last hundred or so feet to crash next to Kane, where it lay in smoking pieces.

“Woah woah woah!” Dreis held out his hands to Kane, who was swinging around to the source of the shot - Buster’s direction. Dreis realised what had happened even as the autocannon on Kane’s back whirred to life, searching for a target. “That's our sniper! VPR obviously heard the ruckus and sent a little scout out to us. Shit!” Dreis picked up his discarded and battered helmet, and clicked it back into position over his head. “We better move!”



[ Narayanastra Wrecker’s Yard, Cloudburst Five ]

There was, for a long time, only the soft whirring of a machine.

Then there were voices, talking softly, just out of reach.

Then, eventually, there was light, and pain. Lots of pain.

Warren Willis awoke as though drifting upward through layers of cloud; the cloud obscured the pain, and as he got higher, the cloud got thinner. His eyes snapped open and his breathing quickened, but he couldn’t move; it hurt too much.

He was in a room, low yellow lights glinting off of a host of medical machinery. The old cowboy quickly put together that it was that machinery sustaining him. Warren lay for a time, collecting his thoughts, marshalling them as he used to do to cattle as a boy on the family ranch. He fought the pain all the while; it suffused his lower body. He couldn’t even try to move.

After a time passed, a reptilian face - Willis recognised an Agresian - leant over him. Willis looked straight into the yellow eyes and slit pupils of Eno, who stared back.

“Doc! Thissss onesss awake!”

The reptilian face disappeared and was replaced by an alien of a species Willis didn’t recognise.

“Ah. Good. You’re awake.”

“I Ssssaid that!”

“Please don’t try to move - or, for that matter, talk. You’re seriously ill with radiation sickness, which I am currently treating with a protein called granulocyte - colony-stimulating factor - which promotes the growth of white blood cells. Your body is damaged - very badly. You’re paralysed from the waist down, which helps - because your legs are both broken in multiple places, fractured pelvis, so on, so forth - and you’ve got three broken ribs, a ruptured stomach lining which is healing very neatly and compression in your spine.”

Willis stared icily at the alien as they prattled.

“The reason I haven’t operated is - well, my facilities here aboard Cloudburst Five are limited. This is a salvage vessel after all, and the sickbay isn’t what it once was. You have options, though, Mr Willis -”

“How do you know my name?” Willis grunted through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry?” the alien cocked its head.

“My. Name.” The exertion of talking was almost too much.

“Ah yes, of course - your suit had a triage card inside. We had to remove it because of the radiation, of course. Anyway, our plan is to pack you up into cryo and send you to Castis 9 with Eno, who’s headed off in about 30 hours. They’ll treat you there, where you’ll have some… cosmetic decisions to make. For now, though, you’d better rest.”

As much as Willis hated his fate being in the hands of others, he couldn’t help but feel that rest really was the best option.

[ Shen Zhou ]

(Theme)

"I can't deny that the New Order is responsible for some good in the universe." retorted Vekhta. "I can't contest that there are good people within it. But Sefer is not one of them. Evil in service of noble goals is still evil. You say that the benevolence of the New Order saved you - but that same benevolence would just as easily delivered you into the hands of the Arokazek if such an outcome suited Sefer's goals."

"Enough with this nonsense." interrupted Astra.

"Kill him. His body will make a powerful vessel." added Zeneca.

Vekhta ignored them, and instead started shouting in Kakamu's direction.

"You want answers, Kakamu? You want help? I can open the door, but it's you that has to walk through it. Come with me. Whatever happened on Nil'nara - whatever it meant - we'll work it out together."

Astra turned to Zeneca.

"He is trying to turn her against us."

"She is seeking to betray our master."

"We cannot allow that."

"No. We cannot."

The twins materialized ghostly weapons and charged towards Kakamu, only to be cut-off as Vekhta ignited her beam sabers, their orange glow flooding the floating platform with light as they clashed against Astra's sai and Zeneca's spear, preventing either of them from passing her.

"Such insolence."

"Our master will hear about this."

"Perhaps." replied, Vekhta, a grin forming on her battered face for the first time in a very long time. "But not from you."

A shockwave emanated from beneath Vekhta's feet, cracking the ground beneath her and sending Astra and Zeneca flying into the air above her. Zeneca landed before Kakamu and turned rapidly, angling his spear towards the Tekkui; with a flash of light, Zeneca quickly split into multiple copies, fencing the Tekkui in. Astra performed the same technique, and multiple clones of the assassin touched down around Vekhta, charging towards her. She switched her beam sabers into reverse grips, struggling to block their attacks; these weren't illusory copies, instead having mass and force behind their attacks. Still, and she needed to do was block - Astra was no doubt expending massive amounts of energy to maintain these astral clones, which meant waiting for him to tire out was the aim of the game.

But could Kakamu wait that long?

She lashed out, loosing another shockwave which sent the Astra clones flying; she had the opportunity to take a momentary glance over at Kakamu, surrounded by the Zeneca clones. The primary Astra clone landed, calmly settling back down into a martial arts stace, sai at the ready.

"You have some skill. I will be careful not to injure you too grievously - like Kakamu's, your body will also make a useful vessel."

"Buddy," replied Vekhta, wiping her bloodied mouth with the back of her hand. "I've had this body my whole life, and even I don't like it. I seriously doubt you're going to get more use out of it than me."

A wry grin formed on Astra's thin white lips. "We shall see."

The Astra clones charged again, and this time their attacks were far more vicious - Vekhta felt her advantage rapidly slipping away as they swung and stabbed at her, nicking her limbs, one swing cutting across the bridge of her nose, narrowly missing her eye. She swung back violently, bisecting clone after clone, but the swarm of Astra clones seemed truly endless - now it was her who was overextending themselves, using up more energy than she could afford. She heard Kakamu roar - cry out - as if he too were being overwhelmed. The entire situation was maddeningly infuriating, and as she grit her teeth, half inclined to loose a scream, she finally felt something click.

Let go of your weapons. It a was a woman's voice - distressingly familiar. Arkhan. Vekhta wouldn't have been willing to tolerate hallucinatory advice on the best of days, but given it was actively recommending she disarm herself in the middle of a fight, she chalked it up to some head injury she must've sustained without realizing. Letting go of your weapons does not mean disarming yourself. You're a Yuzari. Stop fighting like a human..

What the hell are you talking about?

Yuzari don't hold our weapons with our hands when we fight. We need our hands empty... to grasp the future ahead of us.

You're crazy.

Says the one having a conversation with a genetic memory of your long-dead sister in the middle of a fight?

...You have me there.

Vekhta's mind was drawn painfully back to reality as Astra sunk one of his sai into her chest, narrowly missing her heart, before drawing it back out. She gasped, stumbling backwards, as the assassin's clones fused back into his body; he twirled his sai, grinning, ready to deliver the coup de grace. Vekhta looked down at her beam sabers... and dropped them. If you're bullshitting me, then I guess I'll see you in hell. She clenched her hands into fists, focusing; the beam sabers stopped mid-air, then flung upwards to block Astra's attack, sending him reeling. This was something beyond telekinesis - her mind wasn't interacting with the beam sabers as mere objects, but instead as objects that she had imbued with the characteristics of being swords. They were perfectly in-tune with her warrior's instincts - like extensions of her own body she never knew she had, but which now felt perfectly natural - perfectly right. The beam sabers snapped back to their resting positions - holding in place parallel to Vekhta's forearms, about an inch away from her skin, their glowing orange blades projecting past her wrists.

Astra climbed to his feet, infuriated, once again summoning more clones. As he did, Vekhta could feel her body changing - regenerating - in a manner completely different than the regenerative factor Sefer had temporarily installed in her body; the injured parts of her body were regenerating in response to being injured, and were knitting themselves back together in far stronger forms, rather than just returning to their baseline capacity. She looked down at her empty palms, clenching them, unclenching them, then looked back to Astra.

You couldn't have told me about all this earlier?

You didn't have someone worth fighting for, earlier.

Idiot.

As the Astra clones once again converged on her, Vekhta sprung forwards, her beam sabers flying outwards and extending beyond her physical reach, cutting through them like glowing orange sawblades in swirling crescent arcs .

---

[ Vengeance, Tygenia Orbit ]

By the time Arc Caiaphus entered Kyydan's inner sanctum, the Emperor herself had long since departed; still, Kyydan remained, silently meditating on a battleplan.

"Arc Caiaphus. Your efforts so far have impressed both me, and the Emperor herself. A new task awaits you."

A holographic projection of Anna Luxon appeared, filling the chamber before them.

"Your mission is to ensure the destruction of this woman, as well as her forces. They pose a threat to our initiatives in that region of space. You may use whatever methods you deem suitable. You may not fail us. Long live the New Order."

---

[ Zabaton Ship ]

Arc Zabaton received similar instructions from Arc Jinzo, commanding it to attack the newly captured world of Lanorra, and to convert the entire planet into a Akkar broodworld to send a disturbing message to the enemies of the New Order. The cybernetic Arc Jinzo communicated, in surprisingly suitable and simple language, that the Free Tanari Army were the intended targets; the crusade was not to spread deeper into Tanari space. Not yet, at least.

"Your actions on Luria have brought great acclaim and great resources to your name and to your forces. You will repeat your success here."

---

[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

"This one senses great pain within you."

Senkou nodded. Xavik had been escorting him throughout the corridors as they trailed the footprints; Senkou was surprised by the man who introduced himself as the captain of The Coldest Story Ever Told - Xavik didn't quite fit the mental image Senkou had previously conjured of the ship's captain, but who was he to argue with a dedicated naval officer?

"You're right to. My entire family was... murdered... turned into demons... by a legendary dread weapon... I barely managed to-"

"No." interrupted Xavik. "Physical pain. Biological pain."

"Huh? Oh." replied Senkou, looking down to his stomach. "Uh, yes. I guess I am pretty hungry."

At that moment, a sound wave barreled into the corridor, shooting towards the men like a blade made of thin air.

"Captain! Get down!."

Senkou jumped on Xavik, pushing him to the floor; the sound passed over them, sounding strangely familiar to Raimei Senkou, as if it were a song he'd sung himself once before. He quickly stood back up; Xavik simply appeared in a standing pose the next time Raimei looked in his direction, without any evidence he'd exerted any effort to stand back up.

"What the hell was that?" asked Raimei.

"This one would ask the same question." responded Xavik.

"We should follow the direction of the sound."

"This one agrees." responded Xavik, who turned 180 on the spot and began to make his way back down the corridor, the way they had walked up it.

"No, Xavik, the direction the sound came from."

Xavik stopped, then looked back to Raimei.

"That is... agreeable, to this one."

The two began a hurried sprint through the corridors of the Story, making their way to Oblique and co.

---

[ ES Base, Vesa Qatoria ]

Malak grinned.

"Why, my dearest Blackout, I'm here to propose a trade. I couldn't help but admire the amazing piece of subterfuge you pulled off at Narayanstra - and given the gentleman's agreement I have with my current employer forbids me from engaging in such intrigue myself, I was left in the unenviable position of being forced to watch from afar. Still, I would like a taster. I would like you to hand Lilith Heyerdahl over to me. In exchange..."

His lips opened, revealing a cheshire cat grin of devlishly sharpened teeth.

"...well, let's just say something very interesting is about to happen at Le Club."

---

[ Le Club ]

"Mr. President... I will do what I can to help. I am located at Le Club, in Malchior Orbit. If you will send someone to retrieve me, I will submit to their custody."

Salem cut the communication, stepping away from the holopanel. He made his way down to the central level of Le Club, waiting patiently for one of Klak's men - or Klak himself - to arrive, but couldn't help but notice a strange being sat at the bar who hadn't been there when he arrived.

---

[ FNI Pathfinder ]

A holographic projection of Graff Heyerdahl appeared in the bridge of the Pathfinder, projected forth from a panel located before the captain's chair. Evangelise, who notably had dyed her hair red since Graff last saw her, smiled as he appeared.

"Graff, it's good to-"

"Evangelise, if that's Graff, tell him I said hello." interrupted Magnus, calling up from his spot at the fore of the bridge, strapped into the pilot's acceleration couch. "Evanglise, be a darling and tell him I said hi. We need more ammo, too."

"Be quiet, Magnus." chided Karl Lindstrom in his strange, vaguely eastern European accent. "It's a holo-projection. He can hear you anyway."

"I want the words to come from Evangelise's lips. Through the proper chain of command, Karl. Something you wouldn't understand."

"You called her darling."

Evangelise pinched the bridge of her nose. Magnus was the best pilot the First Navy Initiative had; Karl was one of the few gunnery officers with the technical competency to put up with his pilot's maverick flight patterns. The fact that they had no real interpersonal compatibility did not factor into the crew arrangements for the FNI's testbed flagship.

"-Good to see you." concluded Evangelise. "Pathfinder's performing better than we could've expected. Canaan Jones renamed it, by the way - didn't quite like the name Pavinder had come up with. No offense, if she's listening." she added, before tapping a few panels on the armrest of her chair. "I'm sending you through the technical data now. Might be worth weaving it into the AI consultation process for the Resurgence design."

---

[ Tanari Prime ]

TMV smiled wistfully, downing the last of his drink. He placed the glass on the table before him, then stood up.

"Gentlemen, it sounds like we then have the foundations for a strong, stable government. Until such time as elections can be safely resumed, the National Continuance Government of Morgan Peres and William Douglas Reed will see us safely through the challenges ahead of that. With that said - please excuse me. I have matters to attend to within the Sedona fleet; I will leave my XO, Gaul Colditz, here on Tanar to serve as liaison if needed."

TMV left the presidential palace, climbing into a waiting shuttle which took him back up to the Glaive Wraith, sat in Low Tanar Orbit. The fanatically loyal Sedona faction greeted him with salutes as he disembarked from the shuttle, he calmly made his way to his private quarters, locking the door behind him, and sitting down at his desk. He retrieved a box of cigars from his desk, cut one, and lit it; he took a deep draw, the first in seven years. For the entire duration of the Sedona fleet's sojourn in Xazari space, alcohol, tobacco, drugs of any kind had been completely forbidden; now that he was back in his homeland, and that his homeland was safe, it felt appropriate to celebrate. His men, too, would soon be given leave to enjoy themselves similarly. He blew out a puff of smoke turning his eyes to the vast observation window of his personal quarters, offering a commanding view of the planet below

"I trust everything panned out to your liking?" he asked, addressing the grey-haired woman standing before it, her hands in her pockets.

"You know," began Sefer, "I think this whole enterprise was worth it just to see Reed's hopes and dreams come crashing down right before his supposed moment of glory."

"A tribute to your masterful planning." complimented TMV.

"I can't take all of the credit. Some it was PLUTUS's idea."

"I'm guessing the part where he blew Reed out of a window. Regardless - please do pass my compliments onto the Arc. Because of him, and you, my homeworld is safe. I have been able to fulfill my responsibilities to the state at to my people as a Tanari officer."

"Indeed you have. And now, the responsibility falls to you to ensure this new government remains as docile as incompetent as possible. We wouldn't want to eventually have a war on our hands, when the time comes."

Sefer turned to leave, her appearance morphing into that of a Tanari officer - her skin and hair changing color such that she was barely recognizable as the leader of the New Order. The door slid open as she approached, but the admiral called out to her just as she crossed the boundary of the room.

"One more thought, Emperor. Just a bit of humor."

Sefer looked over her shoulder at the man, still sat, cigar in hand, behind his desk. He grinned.

"Eachan really was right, when you think about it. Reed was working for the New Order. He just didn't realize it, at the time."

Sefer smirked.

"Stopped clocks, and all that."

---

[ Sukhonia ]

"What will you do, when they catch you?"

Eachan turned as Don Saul appeared, walking slowly towards him with a severe expression on his face.

"What will you do, if they break you?"

Don Saul stopped before Eachan, pausing for a moment, before his severe expression burst open into his trademark grin, the Don bellowing with laughter.

"Oh, Eachan, my friend, it is good to see you. If only it were under better circumstances. Still, you are safe here, and we have many things to discuss. Come with me. Dinner... is about to be served."

<ES Base>

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Malak.” Blackout hissed. “Lilith Heyerdahl cannot be allowed to return to the New Order.”

He circled Malak, his eyes piercing. Malak Al-Maut was one of perhaps two beings in the galaxy, the other being Vekhta, to whom he in some way truly related - and that was the problem. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course. Perish the thought! I’m sure you’ll make her most uncomfortable. But, well, I can’t exactly give up something like that in exchange for a vague promise, can I?” he said.

-----

<Lalli and Regina’s Ship/Micho>

Ashton tapped Lalli on the shoulder. “Ah, so is this what I missed out on? Weekly dinner with Jeris?” he joked. “What’s that like? Is he as much of a hardass as I’ve heard?”

Though it would almost certainly be interpreted otherwise, Ashton’s interest in Jeris Ibrahim Faral genuinely had no relation to any lingering feelings he may or may not have had for Regina. He was genuinely curious about the man himself - he was just grasping for any other way to relate to Lalli. He wasn’t sure what they were now - no longer enemies, perhaps, but friends seemed at least one bridge too far - and didn’t know how to proceed. Of course, the list of social situations in which Ashton Carney didn’t know how to proceed was rather longer than he liked to admit to himself.


Amanda took a deep breath as she emerged from the ship and followed Regina, delighted to breathe in some air that hadn’t been run through a filter hundreds of times over, wasn’t full of smoke or worse, or both. The men of the team were lagging some distance behind, Ashton and Lalli talking about Jeris and Pes admiring the architecture of Micho, which was very much unlike that of Teruga. He loved new places - part of the reason he became a mercenary was his desire to go on adventures in places that were neither his home Teruga or the staid, oppressive Tanari Confederation.

“Believe me, I’d love to try something new. I’ve heard the hot springs here are incredible.” Amanda said wearily. “You never got the chance to tell me. What have you been up to since Alpha Centauri?”

-----

<Yari III, Homecoming Church>

Kirsten suddenly walked around Rain, blocking his path. “Then I guess I’ll talk and you’ll just listen.” she said. Her usual ear-to-ear smile disappeared, and so did the illusion that she was nothing more than an unassuming, ditzy urban career politician. “Before Allman, I was a lawyer in Lyndon City.” Rain had absolutely no idea what that had to do with anything. “When he took over, I signed up with the Resistance. At first I just did what I used to do. Trials under Allman were usually for show, but with some small fry, if you knew the judge and what to say, you could maybe get them off the hook. But most of the time, you just had to sit back and watch good people get shot or sent to rot in some gulag. Pretty depressing job, don’t you think?”

“So, I decided to see what more I could do for the cause. They asked me what I was good at, I kept listing things and eventually got to ‘cross-examination’. That turned out to be pretty useful, in the worst possible way. The reason I’m in politics now is so nobody ever does what I had to do again. But what I did still got us and Malchior and the Takemiks a lot of intelligence, though, and saved a lot of good people from walking into traps.”

Kirsten looked Rain directly in the eye. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I know how to smell a rat, and I know how to get the truth. And right now, I smell a rat. Your story made no sense from the moment you arrived. I called some friends on Malchior, and no one’s ever heard of a filmmaker called Taloran Kite over there. And the honeymoon suite? Come on, man. I don’t know why you’re here, or what you told Aster to get her to trust you. But I will get the truth, one way or another. And if I find out you’re lying, that you’re a threat to us, or just to her… well, let’s just say we bonded over all the awful shit we’ve seen and done. I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing now.” She turned and walked away from Rain.

---

The church pews were already filling up, though one had been left reserved for Aster’s party. One space there, however, was already occupied by a Vrai - Inquisitor Karol - who was silently observing proceedings. Meanwhile, Mett, who had managed to extricate herself from his argument with the organist, sat down in the guest pew, and eyed Karol suspiciously, as did Kirsten. The Vrai himself didn’t show much interest in either of them, instead looking Rain up and down.

Aster asked Father Hirana if there was a quiet place where she could check her phone before her speech, since apparently whenever she stopped looking at it, bad things started to happen. Hirana in turn led her to a little soundproofed room, the door to which was conveniently just behind the pulpit. Once inside, she turned it back on and started to brave another barrage of spam texts. Next came a report from the app she used to filter out abusive messages on Xwitter - apparently there had been a lot of sexual harassment mentioning someone called ‘William Patrick-Morris’, who Aster had never heard of in her life, as well as another appearance of the odd anonymous account that always liked the pictures of herself she occasionally forced herself to post. While this was no problem in itself, the app had flagged the account because it appeared to be based in the New Order, and while she’d tried repeatedly, Xwitter did not allow her to block it or interact with it in any way.

And then, Aster reached the actual news, and was horrified beyond belief.

---

Stepping out onto the pulpit, Aster looked out onto the assembled worshippers, a mix of all the various types of people that could be found on Yari III - Stäbils and Shifters, inevitably, but also some alien immigrants, most notably a large-ish group of Terugans. Part of her was pleased that the Little Teruga that had given her so much joy in her time in Horba City was, implausibly, still going strong despite all that had happened since.

The crowd before her was a microcosm of the sort of society she wished she could exist in, though everyone always had a reason for why that could either not be allowed to happen, or had to wait another day. People were people and always would be, and Aster was sure some resentments still held even here, but perfection wasn’t necessary. Even if she suspected their actual doctrine was vague mumbo-jumbo, carefully designed to win as many converts as possible - she’d overheard the Terugan priestess explain to Kirsten and Mett that Homecoming was based on the idea that the Great Being - the central figure of the religion - had split itself apart into innumerable other beings to learn more about the nature of existence, and there was no reason why Cillia couldn’t have been one of those beings - the Homecoming Church was still doing on a small scale what she one day hoped would happen everywhere. In better times, that ought to provide good material for a speech, and Aster had prepared some remarks beforehand, but they’d long been overtaken by events, and now she had no idea what to say.

What people needed at a time like this was agency, and they’d look for it even in the most ridiculous places. The attack she and Rain had witnessed and interrupted earlier was still on her mind. Of course, agency was also the one thing people like Sefer, Reed or Veidt were determined to take from people. This was anathema to Aster, who had based her life around the goal of gaining the power she believed she needed to help ordinary people take back agency over their lives.

But to do that now, she needed to be able to protect them from the New Order and the ‘National Continuance Front’, and that was about the one thing she couldn’t do right now. Paradoxically for someone with a tendency to see her life in terms of progress towards a goal, the Aster that had made a name for herself by leading a guerilla war against Edward Allman five years ago, could maybe have offered something, but unlike Anna Luxon, she didn’t have that power anymore. She rightly gave it up in the name of democracy, but deep down, Aster still felt as powerless and alone in the face as anyone else in that church.

As she looked around the room, her gaze fell once again on Rain, and some confidence returned to her. He was right that at a time like this, you had to pick a side. But whether they realised it or not, this junta of has-beens and never-weres and Sefer were on the same side, and the answer was to remind the people that politics was supposed to be about them, that they could and should stand up and assert their right to control their own fate.

“Today," she began. All the anger she felt, she tried to channel into words full of determination. Would she succeed? She’d just have to find out. "Despite the stunning success that was the destruction of the Narayanastra, and the bravery of our FSA forces, the New Order fleet still rampages across the stars. We may face defeat, slavery and death - but back in Lyndon City, they’re not bothered! Worrying about Sefer Yetzirah is for the little people, the people working and fighting and dying for the nation. Some contraption called the ‘National Continuance Front’ is claiming to be the legitimate government of Tanari Prime. “President Peres and Vice President Reed. They’re not even pretending to take any of us seriously, are they? Two failed politicians, and one deserter who spent five years twiddling his thumbs, or much worse, while his nation needed him."

"‘The Nation Continues’ is the slogan of our new would-be overlords. Like all good slogans, it’s supposed to mean whatever you want it to mean. What does it mean to them, though? Let’s start with the obvious; two thousand civilians dead in their unprovoked nuclear attack on Sky Musings, and god knows how many more in Lyndon City. Snipers attacking a peaceful protest on Yorak. We pray for the full recovery of David Robert Jones, who was hoping to stop this madness before it escalated to this level.”

“There’s an old saying; ‘show me your friends, and I’ll show you who you are’. Our friend, Von Budberg, was one of the first to sign up to this junta. If Yari is the model for National Continuance, then let’s look at the state of Yari today. Half the Yari fleet is grounded right now, because Von Budberg hopes squeezing out a few more days of shore leave will win him votes.” she declared. This part of her speech was based on the one she’d prepared beforehand - but it was still usable, as a way to define her enemy. “Useless political commissars spy on how our soldiers and civil servants vote, what they talk about with their friends, and whether or not they’re listening to every pointless speech our politicians give."

"The kids we’ll be sending to the frontline grew up hungry, missed out on healthcare, and had a worse education than they deserved. And when they come back from the war as heroes, they’ll be asked to live off pensions that are a joke and fight against the system to get help they’ll need, just like last time the Tanari fought Sefer."

"We underpay and garnish the wages of the patriots who work in Yari’s shipyards and factories to serve their nation and their families, and put them in avoidable danger at work. We let the Thirteen Families hoard most of the planet’s land, even though we desperately need it."

"Yari has always been like this, and nothing will change under this new order.” Aster smirked. She understood exactly the comparison she was making, and she wasn’t done yet. “Do you think William Douglas Reed cares about people’s lives? If he did, he wouldn’t have nuked Sky Musings, or put Khum Williams through hell, or, oh yes, run on creating a hotline you could call anonymously to get your neighbour fired. Why would the man who wants the nation to continue want to destroy the Tanari economy amidst a war, hmm? Why did all this start with a special-ops team that had just returned from New Order space trying to kill Silver Eachan? Nobody knows where Veidt has been, but if he’d been fighting Sefer, he’d have let us know all about it by now. We all know Reed is ex-Shinsengumi, and thanks to the former First Lady, we now also know his co-host had money stashed away in New Order territory. Who knows, maybe Sefer is trying to see if she can get us to destroy ourselves.”

“Maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe they’re not actually New Order agents. Maybe they’re just opportunistic politicians,” Aster knew she was being shameless here, but if the Tanari political class didn’t want this to happen, they shouldn’t have treated her as an ‘activist’, someone you sit down with occasionally when you have no other choice and ignore or mock the rest of the time, as opposed to the leader of a federal political party. “Who are stabbing the Tanari people in the back in the face of New Order aggression. All Allmanism gave us was the defeat and humiliation of Tanar. Sefer only got stronger. So does it make a difference? Sefer is the winner either way, and I hear the winner takes it all.”

"What does Sefer want? A galaxy where ordinary people will only be allowed to fulfil their potential and live dignified lives if it suits the Empress.” Aster stressed that last word, and looked Rain in the eye again. “That’s no way to live. We have the power and the duty to demonstrate that freedom isn’t chaos, but something worth fighting for. That’s the real choice we face today; Seferism or freedom."

“Sefer is no different to this junta, or Allman, or the Riders,” Aster’s eyes turned to Inquisitor Karol, sitting next to Mett and Kirsten. She wondered who he was and why he was here, and it occurred to her there was maybe an easy way to figure out what sort of person he was. “Or the Vrai Imperialists. Yari is my home, and I love it. One of the reasons I love it is because people here love freedom and, when it comes down to it, will always show tyrants exactly where to get off. I know that between Seferism and freedom, you’ll choose freedom every time.”

“Make no mistake; this election is only being allowed to go ahead because this junta thinks that, if they can make it a referendum on themselves, they’ll win. But that’s up to you, not them. Everything about this is up to you. I ask you; go out and tell your friends and loved ones that this election is a referendum on Tanar’s declaration of unconditional surrender. Tell them that this election is a choice between Von Budberg, who’s failed at everything he’s ever set out to do, and Anna Lundby, who’s dedicated herself to gradually making this city a place where things work well and where ordinary people can live their lives as they damn well please, and who will defend Yari with that very same passion, until her very last breath.”

“And tell them that when they go to vote, they’ll be making an important choice about their future and your children’s future, and if Sefer gets her way, they’ll never be allowed to make one of those ever again. Choosing to live your life the way you want to, and electing leaders who’ll have your back is an act of resistance against Sefer's evil ideology, and handing over your freedom to wannabe tyrants like Reed, Peres and Veidt is an act of surrender. Because once you’ve started compromising on freedom, she’s already got you in her claws! Remember Allman! Remember Luria! Remember Arcadia!"

There was still one more thing to do. She didn’t like doing it - as far as she was concerned, she was far more Tanari than William Douglas Reed would ever be - but it was the only possible move under the circumstances. The mood and the logic of the moment all called for it. Yari was her home, and she was going to defend it using all possible measures. Her choices were to fall back to the more easily defensible (once they’d taken it over) position that was the Trilateral, or return to Tanari Prime, where the new government would either try to kill her, or try to turn her, like they had Morgan fucking Peres.

She looked Kirsten in the eye. Her expression for a moment became one of sorrow, and the other woman understood that neither of them would be going back to Tanari Prime for a long time. That was much less of a sacrifice for Aster, who would now have all the time in the world to visit Little Teruga if nothing else, than it was for Kirsten, for whom Tanari Prime was home, and who would now have to say goodbye to her friends and family, to her career, to the monuments and parks and museums and bars and cinemas and bookshops of Lyndon City, and try to somehow build a new life on an unfamiliar planet.

Aster launched into the conclusion of her speech with gusto. “If Tanari Prime surrenders to the New Order, it’s not Reed, or Peres, or Veidt who will suffer most - they won’t suffer at all. Maybe they’ll even get to be Arcs! The ordinary people they’re trying to take for a ride will suffer. It’s our duty to resist this fate while we still can. Here in the Trilateral, we will not surrender. We choose freedom over Seferism, and we have no use for has-beens and never-weres who won’t make the right choice. Either choose freedom now, or let those of us who aren’t traitors get on with the fight.”

Formally, the Yari opposition’s candidate for Prime Minister was Mayor Anna Lundby. Formally, the Prime Ministers of Sukhonia and Yorak were Beatriz Saavedra and Neil Donovan, respectively. But much to the horror of the Homecoming elders, the church was erupting into chants of ‘no surrender!’. The sum total of the many, many clips from the speech being shared across the holo-net soon easily dwarfed even Reed’s ‘You know I had to do it to em’ Xwitter post. Throughout Yari, Yorak, Sukhonia, Lanorra, and other worlds closer to Tanari Prime where the NCF had not yet fully consolidated its authority but probably soon would, homemade banners bearing the words ‘FREEDOM OVER SEFERISM’ and ‘NO SURRENDER’ quickly became a common sight, even in neighbourhoods where, until then, few would ever have considered listening to anything Aster had to say. On Yari, impromptu demonstrations where Sefer, Von Budberg, and the three NCF leaders were all burned in effigy began to be organised, and chants and signs calling for Von Budberg and Andy Hasler to be imprisoned as traitors became increasingly common at opposition rallies, much to the confusion of actual opposition politicians. It would soon become clear that Aster had started something, almost launched her own coup in the hearts and minds of the people of the Trilateral. Unlike the National Continuance Front’s, it was a coup so quiet that even Aster was not yet really aware she was leading it, and it was entirely legal. But the girl from Old Saskana who had come back to her homeland for just a few days to help out during an election was suddenly beginning to take on a role she had had no intention of taking when she arrived, and the only question was now how far she would go once she realised her strength - or how far she would be allowed to go.

She stepped out from behind the pulpit, smirking as the chants for ‘no surrender!’ ringing in her ears let her know that her improvised speech clearly hadn’t been as bad as she feared it’d be, and headed back into the little soundproofed room. A clearly furious Father Hirana replaced her behind the pulpit, and desperately tried to calm the congregation and move on to the actual service.

Once out of sight, Aster leaned up against the wall and took a deep breath, then another, then another. She realised she’d just done the same thing she always had; hesitate for a moment and then hurl herself into the unknown, and hope like hell that she’d land on the other side and that she’d wind up closer to her objective. That method had served her well her entire life - all her most important life decisions, from trying to take advantage of the mildly liberalised political climate of the time to try and enter law school, through taking David’s job offer, all the way to becoming first a guerilla fighter against Allman and then leader of the MRF, had been made that way. So far, it had worked out decently for her, but a little voice in the back of her head told her that her luck had to run out eventually.

Almost as soon as Aster entered the little room again, her phone rang - this time, the call was from David Robert Jones. She considered ignoring it for a moment - the man had effectively allowed himself to be superseded by events, after all - but she decided to pick up. She supposed she did owe him that much.

“David, you’re really making a habit of only ever calling me after speeches you can’t ignore.” she said. “What’s up?”

“Are you really going along with this Trilateralist madness too?” Jones asked. “You, of all people? You’ve always understood we needed to unite people to fight the Allmanites, and now, at a moment like this, you’re abandoning Tanari Prime, joining them in destroying the entire system of government…”

“The system! I’m the fucking virus in your system and always have been! I’m the divine punishment for the elite of your empire from all the gods they turned their backs on in the name of power.” Aster laughed. She was still giddy, clearly metaphorically high on adrenaline from her speech, but she also felt more clear-sighted than ever before, and more honest than she’d ever been with anyone in her life before. “The system is over - it’s finished. It had potential, sure - but that all died the second Allman took over. For five years, we’ve been asleep, and you’ve turned into the man who dithers, the man who always holds back, the man who wants to be a uniter when there’s nothing left to unite anymore… and nobody needs that right now.” She knew she was hitting him right where it hurt most, but she didn’t care. The tables had completely turned on their working relationship, insofar as they still had one, and he needed to understand that.

“So what do you suggest we do, O Saviour?” Jones seethed. “Carve out some little statelet in the Trilateral and pray like hell we can defend it? What good does that do anyone?”

“It lets us save at least some people, save democracy where we actually have the strength to do so. It gives us a way to rebuild our strength, have some credibility when we negotiate with the FSA. You know as well as I do we’d have killed to have this opportunity seven years ago.” Aster replied, more calmly this time. ”We’re trying to do something. I don’t know if it’ll work, but nothing else stands a chance. Help us, please.”

---

After the call ended, Aster slunk out of the room to find the service still in chaos. She walked over to Rain, Kirsten, Mett, and Karol. “So, how was it?” she smiled, then turned to Karol. “And you, have we met?”

“Sadly not.” replied the Inquisitor. “I am Inquisitor Karol of the Vrai Empire. And we want to help you.”

-----

<Tanari Transport Ship>

One of the many Shifter political activists who had managed to leave Tanari Prime amidst the chaotic exodus in the wake of Reed and Veidt’s coup was Leonard Freeman, philosopher and - former? - member of the MRF’s federal executive committee.

Leonard sat in the corner of the cargo hold, sipping from a bottle of water he’d managed to get somewhere. Across from him, a group of young Shifters were watching a holo-clip of Aster’s speech in the Homecoming Church, laughing, cheering, and shouting ‘no surrender!’. It really was just like five or six years ago all over again, he thought. Then too, Aster had been a folk hero, an avenging angel who the Shifters knew was out there somewhere, looking out for them, sticking it to an oppressive dictatorship. But at least back then, Leonard fumed, she’d earned that reputation using bullets and bombs. This time, she’d so far done nothing but give an admittedly good speech - a speech that she would not have been in a position to give safely if he and his late beloved friend, Freya Jackson had not suggested she go to Yari III to help the local MRF with their campaign. At the time, they expected that election campaign to be a failure, possibly one spectacular enough to end Aster’s political career. Of course, it still could be - but that would no longer help anyone, and it’d just make her a martyr. Leonard chuckled bitterly to himself.

And if it weren’t a failure?, Leonard asked himself. Five years ago, after decades of pointless division, countless Shifters’ rights groups had finally coalesced to form the MRF. It was their opportunity to make a mark on Tanari politics now that they were finally allowed to engage in such activity, and people like Leonard and Freya had been planning for it their entire adult lives - and then along came Aster, then barely 30, who parlayed her time as a guerilla commander into a bid for the new party’s leadership and utterly annihilated the old guard’s chosen candidate in the ensuing vote, and then set about slowly bending the MRF’s painstakingly designed bureaucracy to her whims, culminating in her becoming powerful enough to have Freya removed from the party with a single phone call when she’d overreached and tried to make a deal with Reed. Gods, Freya, why did you have to do that, he quietly lamented. That was unbelievably stupid of you.

Five years of the daily grind of politics under Silver Eachan had seen Aster’s appeal dull somewhat, but now here she was, once again rising to prominence as an enemy of an uncaring state which was likely to become yet another oppressive dictatorship. As far as ‘pressing concerns’ went, it didn’t even really make Leonard’s top 20 at this time, but if Aster didn’t fail, she would likely rise higher than ever before - and then, the philosopher wondered, what would she set about bending to her whims next?

-----

<Yari III, Horba Monorail>

The train eventually arrived, and Siper and Raven got on. As Siper had predicted, this train was largely empty. It set off towards Old Saskana, which had once been a small town but, due to the relentless expansion of the Horba metropolitan area, a tendency only controlled by the Thirteen Families’ control of much of Yari’s land, it had been subsumed into an outer-ring industrial suburb of Horba City over the decades.

Siper, or Enrique as he was really called, was glad Raven was too engrossed in his VI to pay too much attention to him. One of the reasons many Stäbils feared Shifters was that they believed them capable of perfectly impersonating anyone. But the truth was that shape-shifting was a skill like any other, and imitating people was very hard. There were so many moving bits and pieces to keep track of - only a few could keep it all straight enough to not be noticed before long. There was a reason why most Shifters tended to pick a sort of default form at a young age and stick to it where possible. Most varied it as they aged, though some were vain enough to do otherwise.

As the train moved through Horba, it passed a series of flats, many of whose inhabitants, seemingly inspired by Aster, had put up Trilateral flags and ‘NO SURRENDER’ banners. The next series of flats they passed, this one seeming more well-to-do, had white flags hanging from some of the windows. Some bright soul had come up with the idea of using white flags as a NatCon symbol, to match the white stripes of Timothy Morgan Veidt’s fleet, but in light of Aster’s new slogan this suddenly seemed a very bad design choice. Siper/Enrique couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

Part of him suddenly found himself admiring Aster’s spunk. Maybe she was a stronger leader than Richard gave her credit for. It almost seemed like a shame to kill her now, but he was in too deep now. The plan had to proceed.

“So, National Continuance.” he finally spoke up as the train was just a few minutes away from Old Saskana. “What do you think, Raven?”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“What did you do?” Sally asked, but got no response. She trusted Oblique now - she had literally been inside his mind, after all - but the mystery unsettled her. Though the melody was beautiful, she hoped whatever he’d done wouldn’t get them into trouble.

“Oh, right, you’re here too.” she said to Nexus. She was also curious what the man was doing here, claiming to be a member of the crew even though she could swear she’d never heard of him or a department called Internal Affairs before. She could simply reach into his mind, but she was too polite to ever do that without permission.

Eventually, the footprints led them to the lair, but that was entirely empty, save for the hot tub. In the hot tub was Sophie Vinderen’s bikini-clad body, but with Bill’s head now attached.

“Help… me…” Bill whimpered. “Help…”

Suddenly, the doors slammed shut behind them, and a gas started being pumped into the room.

---

Meanwhile, Ronald showed Prush and Mavis to the ‘office’, if one could call it that, of Bai, the Terugan who had previously turned away Bill. He was flanked by several extremely muscular aliens, as well as one that looked like a giant praying mantis.

“You are police.” the praying mantis said. “We do not speak to police.”

“God damn it,” Prush sighed. “A man is dead, and a dangerous weapon is on the loose! I just need to know if you spoke to him.”

“You people always say that!” Bai laughed. “I don’t reveal customers’ personal information. Period.”

“So he was a customer?” Prush fired back, hoping to have caught Bai out.

Bai smirked. “Saying who isn’t a customer is also a way of revealing personal information.”

“I did tell you this would happen,” Ronald said. “Can we go now?”

“Fine, we’ll just tell everyone you bought it. And then we’ll see what Sophie Vinderen makes of the fact that you got the good stuff before her.” Prush looked at Mavis suspiciously, wondering how she’d react to the mention of Vinderen.

Bai’s mood suddenly darkened. “Look, buddy…”

-----

<Malchior IV, FSA General Parliamentary Assembly>

“We can try,” said the diplomat from FT-530. “But my people say the ones I just named are avoiding everyone right now. They’re just huddled in their little corner, occasionally bringing people in for a quick chat but that’s it. It feels like they’re planning something.”

-----

<September Dawn Corvette>

“Nope. As I said, she… whatever she was… took him with her..” Buckner shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a kill code, to be honest. Unless I missed something, she just told them to kill themselves, and they did. If we’d known it were that easy, we could have just gotten someone to shape-shift into her or Sefer. I suppose it might be interesting to see if they patch that… but I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one who goes up to another PsyTrooper to find out.”

-----

<Lanorra>

“Supreme Commander.” Anna Luxon insisted. “I see word gets around fast. I don’t think even Tanari Prime has had any sort of response yet.”

She began to ponder Drax’s actual proposal. She followed news from the Vongolan Civil War in her spare time, and she did recognise there were parallels between the VPR and her provisional government on Lanorra. However, she also saw differences. Even if the Di Armechios themselves possibly meant well, or at least acted like they did, the lack of democracy in the VPR rankled, as did the likely war crimes and corruption on the part of some of Figlio’s top brass, which were lovingly documented by the rebels. Perhaps most problematic was the fact of Uteriach’s admittedly brief cooperation with Allman. Under more normal circumstances, she’d probably have told Drax to stuff it.

Anna looked out of the window of what was, for now, her office, which overlooked a vast hangar in which several ships were being repaired. Nearby, technicians were wondering if it would be feasible to give the salvaged Raptor One a new bridge to replace the one the Galo had destroyed, or whether Van Smoot’s corvette would just have to be cannibalised for badly needed spare parts.

These weren’t normal circumstances at all. Even with the resources of Lanorra at its disposal, the Free Tanari Army had pledged to both overthrow the regime on Tanari Prime and contribute to the war against the New Order at the same time, and if they were going to stick to that pledge, they needed allies. The Corrantians were sympathetic for now, but they wouldn’t be enough, and there was no guarantee that the FSA would ride to the rescue with even de facto recognition. Anna had seen many radical groups, who told themselves at first it would only serve as a way of supporting their actual activities only to gradually see it become their actual raison d’etre, turn to banditry or worse, and she was determined the FTA wouldn’t follow that path.

“A pleasure to meet you too, General Drax.” Anna swallowed her pride and smiled. “I’ll be upfront. We operate in a different context than you do, our methods are different, and your leader isn’t exactly popular with the Tanari people, even around here. But despite that, I think we could maybe still find some issues on which we stand united.”

-----

<Vongola, Kozin’s Camp>

“Why not both?” Kora said. “We can start with an orbital assault. We have one cloaked Dreadnought in this system already, and more will arrive soon. We need to be sure of everyone’s troop locations before we finalise the target list, but we could target Pegasus, the vicinity of Armechius, and many more targets. We’ll shatter their lines of defence and break their spirit. Then ground forces move in before they’ve even figured out what hit them. The FSA has been pulling their punches with this fight, and look where it’s gotten Vongola. We don’t want to make the same mistake.”

-----

<Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel Frontline>

“That’s unfortunate. But I suppose it is what it is.” Kane shrugged back. “I’ll send an emissary to Hasov. We should be able to work something out.” He wasn’t happy. As soon as he’d realised the Diamond Dogs were in the area, he’d swiftly organised a little show to try and get them over to his side, and he’d come out of it with nothing more than a name. Maybe Hasov would help a little, but it wasn’t quite what he wanted. He had hoped men like the Diamond Dogs would be a little more… pragmatic.

Not for the first time, Thomas Phaedrus Kane reflected on the merits of pragmatism. One had to be flexible in order to survive as part of the upper class of the Kingdom of Vongola - after all, you never knew when some palace intrigue would go the wrong way and see you temporarily out of favour at best, and ruined at worst. Kane had always excelled in it, which allowed him to multiply his family’s wealth many times over and even make it into Agnes Oncé’s cabinet, and when the Di Armechios had swept away the old order, he decided he wanted that world back. For a long time, he thought that meant he wanted the monarchy back too, but that was a decidedly fringe belief in the brave new world, and had seen him marginalised in favour of Joshua Kozin, with his sanitised, Malchior-approved, liberal vision for the future of Vongola.

And so Kane eventually decided to return to the old ways in his heart, and simply stop giving a heck. The old monarchist slogans were quietly memory-holed, replaced by vague promises of a new Vongola and the cult of personality of Kane himself. He even started to lead from the front, and tapped the Vrai Empire, who didn’t yet fully understand the internal politics of Vongola but were nevertheless keen to end the threat of the Di Armechios by any means necessary, for help. They laughed at him at first, and then he started to win victory after victory, the pinnacle of which was his triumph at Sards, a stark contrast with the mire Kozin had gotten himself stuck in. His popularity among the rebels surged. Even if the new Vrai government decided they’d rather bail out Kozin than stick with him, so what? He still had more than enough weapons, money, and supplies to run a major war effort for a long time, and at least for now, the ear of the people. He knew Vongola better than the Vrai ever would. As long as he acted swiftly to press home his newfound advantage, he could still come out on top, win the war, and be the leader of the new Vongola.

What that new Vongola would be, Kane hadn’t decided yet. Maybe he’d bring in some new, inexperienced and therefore unsullied monarch, either from one of the older Vongolan dynasties or from elsewhere, and rule as the power behind the throne. Maybe he’d just make himself king. If the FSA and Kozin whined enough, maybe he’d have to compromise and rule from behind the facade of some sort of managed democracy, the sort of thing the Oncés had tried to set up to placate the people but hadn’t been competent enough to make work. If the moment ever came, he’d do whatever seemed right at the time, and whatever system he eventually did set up would still surely be more stable and more rational than anything the Oncés or the Di Armechios had ever come up with, or anything Kozin would do if given the chance. That was the beauty of pragmatism.

Thankfully, he was done reflecting just in time to hear the shot ring out and see the drone crashing down next to him. For a second, he suspected a trap, and was about to let off a volley in the general direction of Buster, but luckily, Dreis dissuaded him at the last possible moment. “Then I suppose we should advance.” he said, ordering his exo-suit’s VI to run a quick check on his weapons to make sure they were all operating at full capacity. “I’ll scout ahead, let you know how many there are. I’ll try to get behind them, and send two fire-teams round their flanks if possible.”

Kane took off again using his jetpack, flying high into the air.

-----

<Sukhonia>

Silver breathed a sigh of relief on noting that Don Saul seemed to be in a good mood. Hopefully that would hold. And he was quite hungry. Slowly - he had not yet fully recovered from his wounds - he followed the Shifter. “I wish it were under better circumstances too.” he said. “I can’t think of a single thing that’s gone right for me in days.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

Olivia Horwath sat at her new desk in an isolated part of the presidential palace, looking through various reports that had either just come in or that Van Smoot had allowed to pile up on his desk. It hadn’t taken her long to work out that her predecessor in the role had made many mistakes, not just in Lyndon City. For one, the chair at the desk was most inadequate. Van Smoot evidently needed a lot of back support, a bit much for her. She’d have to get a new one brought in, but in the meantime, this would have to do. Discomfort was a thing of the flesh, and flesh did as it was told.

Rather more importantly, though, it had quickly become clear that Van Smoot prioritised reports that centred around big ships with big guns that fired big missiles, and even among those, he tended to forget about the ones that were more technical and didn’t hook him in immediately. Big ships with big guns that fired big missiles had their uses, of course, but there was rather more to war than that. He had allowed so much information on various technologies obtained by Tanari agents to simply go unused. Olivia was appalled, but unsurprised. Her work had once involved travelling to alien worlds to trade for potentially useful technologies, and she’d seen so many deals fall through at the last minute due to the government simply losing interest.

She thought back to one occasion, just before the Tanari-Takemikazuchi War, when she’d been so close to triumphantly bringing back two Arokazek workers and some very promising test data back to Tanari Prime, only for her superiors to delay the delivery of the case of experimental reconstructive nanites she’d promised the Rider she’d been negotiating with, who then angrily cast her out. It was just one wasted opportunity among many others, and it was one of the reasons why she’d been happy to leave for the private sector after the war. Science and technology were wonderful, and their continued advancement was the key to restoring Tanari supremacy in the galaxy in the future - and at least the Bristol Corporation seemed to realise that, unlike the government.

Take, for instance, the reports she’d just been sent. One was a detailed autopsy report of several men who’d been injected with Cataxyn and gone on a rampage as a result, presumably as part of some New Order plot. It seemed that some of them had accidentally been given such high doses of Cataxyn that it hadn’t just transformed their minds, but their bodies as well - before they died, their bodies had started to produce a form of Cataxyn all by itself. A truly fascinating phenomenon, which as far as the Tanari knew, had never been recorded before and surely had offensive applications, but Van Smoot had done nothing with it. Another was part of the data the FSA strike force had downloaded from the Narayanastra’s mainframe. It was not yet supposed to be made available to her, but as she knew full well, while the Tanari government was quite dysfunctional, its intelligence services worked just fine when allowed to. Again though, Van Smoot had not even read it. There were many more examples like those. That was the big problem of the Tanari, she thought; they allowed meaningless inhibitions and weak politicians to hold them back from true greatness.

Though she was now in a position of great power, responsible for supervising the Tanari intelligence services and having considerable influence over the military as well, she was not yet free of the second obstacle, but she would be. That was the reason Blair Morrison had installed her as National Security Advisor in exchange for promising to look out for his interests - she knew too much about all the leaders of the National Continuance Front to be taken in by anything they had to say, and wasn’t going to let them get in her way if necessary.

Olivia put down the reports, and activated her extensively customised VI. One of the first things she’d done after taking over the office was to integrate every single communications, security, and surveillance system the presidential palace had into her VI. She was, once again, appalled but unsurprised to find that they were sorely inadequate - though she had to admit that, if they had been adequate, perhaps Sylen Kurze’s crew would not have made it in at all and she would not be where she was. However, that obviously could not be allowed to happen again. Much as she did with Van Smoot’s chair, she already had some changes in mind.

One thing the surveillance systems were able to tell Olivia for certain was that the immediate area was empty - the palace was still operating on minimal staff after the attack - apart from one man; President Morgan Peres, who would pass by her office in just a few moments. She had nothing but contempt for Peres, a man to whom fate was seemingly determined to hand everything even though he did nothing right. He was clearly the weakest link of the National Continuance Front, and Olivia was going to make the best of her proximity to him - by her definition of ‘best’ and hers alone.

She suddenly grabbed a letter opener knife Van Smoot had left on the desk. What she was about to do would be uncomfortable, for a moment. But discomfort was a thing of the flesh, and flesh did as it was told. She plunged the knife into her hand with some considerable force, and screamed in pain loudly enough for Morgan Peres to hear and come running. “God damn it, I’ve cut my hand open.” she yelled. The VI let her know every centimetre of his progress. Before he could enter the office, Olivia hid the knife in a drawer, and put on as normal an expression as possible.

“Are you alright?” President Morgan Peres asked, obviously concerned.

“Yes, of course, I’m fine.” Olivia said, as if she was baffled by the very question. “What’s wrong, Mr. President?”

“I… I… heard a scream.”

“What scream?” Olivia smiled sweetly.

Morgan Peres’ usually gormless-looking face somehow became even more gormless-looking. “But… you screamed. I heard you yell you’d cut your hand open…”

“Look, Mr. President, if this is what it takes to convince you.” The National Security Advisor stood up, and showed Peres both of her hands, which were completely devoid of any wound, even so much as a scar. “I’m sorry, there was no scream, nobody cut themselves, I’m fine. Maybe you’re imagining things. You’ve had a tough few weeks…” She patted the President on the back, and gently led him out of her office. “Get some rest, sir.”

“I suppose so.” Morgan left the room, not having any idea what to make of what just happened. He’d been right next to Olivia’s office, and knew for certain that he had heard her scream very loudly and speak those exact words. He couldn’t have possibly hallucinated that… could he? Maybe he’d check the surveillance tapes to be sure. He was the President now, after all, and there couldn’t possibly be any doubts about his mental state at a time like this.

Alone in her office again, Olivia smirked. Even before Peres had left her office, a subroutine in her VI was already hard at work overwriting the data the surveillance systems had recorded. The President could check whatever he wanted - everything would confirm what she’d said, and there wasn’t anyone around to tell him otherwise.

She had risen through the ranks of the Tanari intelligence services quite quickly - her superiors couldn’t help but appreciate her talents, and the Tanari-Takemikazuchi war and the subsequent rise of the New Order meant turnover was high. She rose high enough to eventually be fully briefed about the events surrounding the Battle of the Sundowner Expanse, though it helped that Jim Reagan, the agent who convinced William Douglas Reed to work with the Tanari Confederation in the first place, had been her fiancé. How horrified Jim had been when he found out Olivia had taken those reconstructive nanites. Yet another meaningless inhibition, Olivia thought. Science and technology were wonderful, a tool for the advancement of the Tanari nation, and at this point, that was all she dreamed of. Jim had died not long after Sundowner in a shootout on Malchior, taking with him any other dreams and any inhibitions she might still have had left. The nanites weren’t the only piece of technology she’d incorporated into herself. She was turning herself into a monument to the continuance of the nation. Even if nobody else truly cared about that, she did, and she wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to stand in the way.

-----

[ Castis 9, Onyana Collective ]

The Bureau of Barbarian Affairs (an approximate translation from Onyanan into Galactic Standard) was a modest building made up of parabolic domes that overlapped like plates in a suit of armour. The chitinous exterior of the structure was once a deep red-brown, but had faded in the centuries since the structure was first grown to a mute grey-pink. The Bureau had long since outgrown its original purpose, now housing the offices and boards of a variety of different xenologists. Perhaps most pertinently, however, the uppermost floors of the cavernous structure housed the offices of the individuals who decided on the Collective’s ‘foreign policy’.

Min Jal Qysh was one such individual. Born on Castis 7, Qysh was a Onyanan - a species of humanoids with four legs that extended from a stout, barrel-like torso that tapered to a “head”; and two thick and muscular, doubly jointed arms; and grey, leathery skin, like that of an elephant. The Onyana Collective’s dominant species, they were highly intelligent, highly spiritual and highly dedicated to the Collective's continued expansion - by any means. The Bureau of Barbarian affairs was made up almost entirely of Onyanans, with only a few positions held by other species in the Collective. The title that Min Jal Qysh held was that of ‘Grand Augur’ - one whose duties included the prediction of patterns and advising the High Council of the best courses of action to take during times of crisis. As part of the Bureau of Barbarian affairs, Qysh dealt exclusively in matters concerning other species - the peers, enemies and allies of the Onyana Collective.

As such, it was on Min Jal Qysh’s desk that a report concerning the latest developments surrounding the election of Secretary-General to the Free Systems Alliance (of which, to Qysh’ personal chagrin, the Collective was a part) landed. His aide, a Belani named Korl, cowered at the edge of the huge polished hardwood desk as Qysh flicked through the report. A look of bored resignation crossed the Onyanan’s face fleetingly, before being replaced with the familiar derision that Korl was often subject to.

“This is taxing news indeed - and not for its gravity. Such petty squabbles the Free System Alliance spends their time on, whilst the Yetzirah-bitch prowls at our borders and plots their demise. Hah!” The Onyanan boomed - Korl was sure Onyanans were only capable of booming - and tossed the dossier down. Qysh stood and paced to the ellipsoid window that gave him a view over the city. Dusk was settling, and the shuttles and cars that whizzed past the window on their anti-gravity impellers had turned into a horizontal cascade of lights.

“The 16th Battlegroup was defeated,” Qysh announced. Korl was not sure if it was himself the Augur was addressing, or no one in particular. “Smashed to pieces like a child’s plaything. It was broadcast for every sapient to watch. Bah! The humiliation.” Qysh turned from the window. “I will not stand idly by while the ‘New Order’ fashions itself imperators of this galaxy. It is God's Given! And we, it’s custodians!”

Korl had long since grown used to Qysh’s religious monologuing. “Perhaps, your Greatness, some tea would aid your thoughts…” Korl suggested in his simpering way.

“I need no tea for my thoughts, insect! But, for my throat, perhaps. Quickly!”

Korl hastened to the side of the room where a tea service was laid out, and prepared the Grand Augur a drink.  Meanwhile, the elderly Onyanan continued unabated.

“I am recommending - nay, insisting - that the 12th and 14th Battlegroups are immediately redeployed, merged into one force - and logistics be damned - sent to crush these New Order ships. They will yet see what force God’s chosen can wield! We, as Onyana, are the only who can wield it. No Alliance of Free Systems can hope to defeat such… such insolence! Bah!”

With tea now in one large, three fingered hand, Qysh once again settled at his desk, and began drawing up his address to the High Council.


[ Castis 9 ]

Willis looked down at the hand that flexed tentatively in front of him. His hand. The mechanical digits flexed inwards, clenching iron a fist, then outward, splaying to full extension.

“Good. It looks like the nervous system interface is working perfectly. How does it feel?” A doctor sat across from Willis, taking notes.

“S’Fine.”

“Excellent. There’s just a few more things - your insurance, of course, and the awkward matter of your outstanding balance -”

The door to the consultation room opened at that moment, and a worried looking nurse poked her head around the door. “I’m sorry doctor, but there are some… officials here.” The nurse made a face and then stepped aside. The figure that stepped through the door had to duck to do so. An Onyanan in a purple and black suit entered the room, a small drone floating beside them. Willis stood; a feat he had only mastered a few days ago. The Onyanan looked witheringly at the doctor, who looked between them and Willis, and then left, but not before whispering to Willis. “Call if you need anything.”

The Onyanan waited until the door closed before speaking.  “Warren Willis. I am Jit Kuu Plone. It is understood by the Bureau of Barbarian Affairs that you were aboard the New Order Battlestation Narayanastra when it was destroyed. Is this true?”

Willis nodded once.



[ Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel frontline ]

Dreis sprinted hard, moving to the edge of the industrial area where chainlink fence separated the concrete and metal from the scrubland outside. He sliced quickly through the fence using a piezoblade, the hum of the weapon drowned out by the rocket motors on Kane’s suit as he soared overhead. Holbach quickly followed Dreis as they moved across the scrubland eastwards. Dreis’ comms suite was still down, but Holbach handed a backup earpiece to him, sharing a suite. It was shoddy, but it’d do.

The men soon came to a ridge, the uppermost part of a bank that rose from the river below. To their southeast was the bridge, and further east still, Dreis could make out the unmistakable dust cloud kicked up by ground vehicles. The two mercenaries stayed low as they crept south, lining up with the bridge, and then lay to wait.

A short while later, Buster appeared, almost emerging from nothingness next to them as he removed his active-camo poncho.

They watched as Kane and his troops readied themselves in a flanking maneuver. The first vehicles were now visible on the road. The first in the convoy was an armoured pickup, the kind that police forces used to subjugate their citizens. It had a heavy machine-gun mounted on the rear, which a paramilitary was manning, scanning the horizon for threats. The following vehicles were a mix of transport and logistic trucks, and more armoured cars. Buster loaded armour piercing rounds into his massive rifle, which he had deployed on its bipod on the crest of the ridge.

The first shot ripped the paramilitary from the pickup, spraying him across the road in a terrible shower of gore. The shattered body rolled and bounced, then came to a stop just as the second vehicle braked to avoid hitting it, but did anyway, bucking as the man passed under the front wheels. The second shot hit the engine cowling of the pickup, denting it but not penetrating. Buster swore and shot again, aiming for the driver’s vision slit in the armoured windshield. Moments later, the pickup began to swerve wildly, and then flipped, a great plume of gravel and dust accompanying it as it tumbled, rolling to a stop in the very middle of the bridge.

<Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel Frontline>

Kane flew over the convoy, positioning himself slightly behind it, and spun around wildly in the air. As the driver of one armoured car at the back of the VPR convoy realised he was driving into a trap and was about to do a 180, Kane fired a missile at it, wrecking it and blocking the road leading up to the bridge with junk in the process. He then took off again, and began harassing the rest of the convoy with fire from his autocannon.

At the same time, two teams of VRR men, who had crossed the river on hover-skiffs at quieter points both to the west and east of the bridge, began pounding the convoy with machine-gun and mortar fire from both sides.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Secret Lab>

“And you are quite certain you want to do this?” said Dr. Mutanya. “One man we tested them on went blind. And if there’s a really bad malfunction, the contamination… could be quite spectacular."

“I'm quite beyond having to worry about blindness, Doctor,” Olivia Horwath said, and began to roll up her sleeve. Her eyes - or rather the biotechnological implants she had in place of eyes - lit up a bright yellow for just a moment to emphasise the point. "We need to know if this tech works. And when it comes to these things, I prefer to lead from the front."

“Very well.” The scientist started to swab the skin around the planned injection site to clean it, and then reached for a syringe. “I warn you, ma’am, this will hurt.”

“I am ready."

Dr. Mutanya jabbed the syringe into Olivia’s forearm, and injected her. For a few seconds, the woman's body went into convulsions as the new set of nanites entered her bloodstream and set about their pre-programmed tasks. If the nanites did their job as intended, her body would develop a somewhat inferior simulacrum of the same odd biochemical process that had led to the bodies of the cataxyn victims she’d read about some time ago coming to produce more of the toxin, and she’d be able to deliver this off-brand cataxyn wherever she chose through those same nanites. Those few initial seconds of the transformation - yet another transformation - would have to be most unpleasant.

And then, the convulsions stopped, and Olivia seemingly returned more or less to normal. “Thank you, doctor.” she said. She slowly got to her feet, and grabbed a little gold necklace with a small pendant attached off the table. “I made it again, darling,” she whispered, kissing the pendant gently and putting the necklace back on.

“Are you sure you’re okay, ma’am?” Mutanya asked.

“Of course,” Olivia smiled sweetly. “Flesh does as it’s told.”

“Please let me know if you feel at all uncomfortable in the next few days,” the scientist insistently pleaded.

“Yes, of course.” Olivia said, trying not to sound as exasperated with Dr. Mutanya's concern as she was. She felt fine, and in any case, she had a job to get on with. Progress couldn’t wait, and neither could Bristol.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Lyndon City Spaceport>

This was a big day for President Morgan Peres. Of course, every day was big for the President, but this one wasn’t important due to anything directly related to his job, but because his wife and son, who he’d sent to an off-world safehouse for the duration of the campaign, were returning to Tanari Prime. He’d been assured that it would be safe to bring them home now, and so he did, though they didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic, especially his wife Sofia. Surely it was just jitters about suddenly being First Lady, Morgan thought.

While the ship carrying Sofia and his son was to land on a private landing pad that had been specifically cleared for the purpose - one of the perks of being President - his office had nevertheless made sure to assign him a bodyguard, just in case. While they waited for the shuttle to arrive, Morgan and the bodyguard, an intelligence officer by the name of Lieutenant Hansen, chatted about various things, including types of butter and the best way to toast bread. As the wait dragged on - the shuttle being evidently late - the President was, much to his surprise, greatly enjoying the company of his bodyguard.

Almost exactly half an hour after the shuttle was due to arrive, Lt. Hansen’s VI lit up with a reminder to do something. She suddenly turned around and kissed President Peres on the lips - just in time for the door to the landing pad to open, and Sofia Peres to emerge - having arrived precisely when she was scheduled to arrive, as opposed to when Morgan Peres had, as a result of a very mysterious clerical error, been told she was scheduled to arrive.

-----

[ Castis 9, Onyana Collective ]

Golden light filtered gently through round windows at the top of the room, illuminating the curved walls and casting shafted shadows through the incense that lingered in the air. Whilst the Bureau of Barbarian Affairs had officially stopped torture based interrogations some decades ago, the agents that conducted information collection often used means that other sapients found unsavory. The incense was one such method; a mild psychoactive sedative, the smoke, once inhaled, was tantamount to a truth serum.

It was in this smoky chamber with its vaulted ceilings that Jit Kuu Plone, accompanied by a number of other Onyanans (Min Jal Qysh included) talked with Warren Willis about the Narayanastra’s destruction. Whilst the Collective hadn’t officially taken part in the FSA operation, they had readied a strike group in case of New Order breakout after the attack. The questions the Onyanans were asking were, to Willis, uninformed at best and ignorant at worst. He answered truthfully to every one. It took over an hour, but when the Bureau’s line of enquiry became apparent, Willis couldn’t help but let out a snort of derision.

“Is there something humorous Mr. Willis?” Min Jal Qysh asked. The Onyanan towered above the human, who had been given a simple grey one piece suit to wear for the ‘interview’.

“Naw. Just you all keep coming back to the Sefer Yetzirah problem. ‘How can one lady stand so readily against the Glory of God’. That’s what you’re thinkin’. But you’re not approaching the problem right.”

“Oh?” Jit Kuu Plone’s expression took on the Onyanan equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

“See, Sefer Yetzirah ain’t out to conquer the galaxy. Naw, way she sees it she’s out to save it. Problem is, all you can see is blasphemy, pure and simple.”

The interrogation, such that it was, lasted for a short while longer, Qysh rapidly losing interest in what Willis had to say. It was unfathomable to Min Jal Qysh that Sefer Yetzirah might actually believe she was saving the galaxy from itself, when she didn’t have the enlightenment necessary to undertake such a task.

Willis was released shortly after sundown. He was led out of the Bureau of Barbarian Affairs by Jit Kuu Plone and his drone. His details were taken - biometrics, photographs, retina scans and fingerprints. Finally, as Plone stood at the doorway and watched as Willis strode onto the busy street, the Onyanan made a final parting comment.

“We will watch you closely, Mr Willis. Enjoy your stay with us, but know that we do not take kindly to those who move behind our backs.”

Willis nodded curtly and turned to join the traffic of the evening. Had he been a less careful man, he’d have missed the drone hovering some way above his head, tracking him as he made his way through the narrow, bustling streets toward the spaceport.

It wasn’t long before Willis felt he was being followed, and not just by the drone. He kept up his pace, but began diverting his course, trying to shake his tail. He ducked into an alleyway, where an insectoid alien began proffering silks and other fabrics at him; he pushed past the being. Down a flight of stone steps and out into a large plaza bustling with people; across, then down another side street. Still, his pursuer followed. Eventually Willis ducked into a doorway, jumping out and catching an Agresian with a sharp right hook that sent the being sprawling. Willis stood over the now prostrate Eno, who spat purple blood before rolling over and looking up at his human assailant.

“Whatsssss the big idea!?” Eno hissed, holding up his four reptilian hands to show he was unarmed.

“You bastard! I thought those Bureau spooks were gonna disappear me! Shit.” Willis held out a hand, which Eno clasped, and he pulled the Agresian to his feet. “The fuck are you doin’ following me like that?”

The Agresian cocked his head slightly, which Willis took to mean mild embarrassment. “After you left the hosssspital… I wanted to enssssure your ssssafety.”

Willis was taken aback. He had assumed the Agresian had taken him this far in the hope of reward - which he’d been given. Willis had paid for Eno’s ship, Skyline Pressure, to be refitted and refueled. But now this alien was babysitting him, waiting for him as he was interrogated. The old cowboy didn’t know what to think. “Alright. Lets uh, get a drink, huh? On me.”

The pair made their way back to the plaza, which was suffused with light cast from drifting globe lanterns that bobbed on the gentle breeze. Eno and Willis sat at an outdoor bar, where they were brought hot alcohol and cold soup. Willis paid using his VI.

“Look, sorry about clocking you in the jaw and all.”

“Thisss isss acceptable… I undersssstand your sussspicionssss.” Eno waited for a beat, then leant forward. “I wanted to give you thissss.” The Agresian pulled something from inside his boiler suit and passed it under the table to Willis. The man felt his hand clasp around the ivory grip of a six-shooter.

“Thanks. I owe you. Again, as it turns out.”


[ Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel frontline ]

With the flipped pickup at the front of the convoy and the smouldering ruins of the APC Kane destroyed at the back, the VPR forces were now trapped. Men began to pile out of the trucks, taking up defensive positions in the scant cover of the bridge where possible; a slew of them were gunned down by accurate fire as Kane’s men picked them off. Buster sniped at higher value targets, dropping armoured sergeants and disabling the weapons on the APCs. Dreis and Holbach began a steady advance down the slope under Buster’s covering fire. They reached the bridge just as one VPR fireteam set up a perimeter and began to fire back at the VRR men on the opposite bank. Just as they found their targets, Holbach and Dreis leapt over the ruined vehicle they were behind.

Dreis drove the first man down with a knee to the head, dropping on him and plunging his piezoblade deep into his chest. Holbach set about his deadly work, spinning from man to man, wrenching his tomahawk from each and moving to the next before the previous corpse had hit the floor. Blood sprayed over the tarmac in ribbons, Dreis ducking the next man’s panicked fire and slashing his neck open with a swift cut.

The carnage lasted for a few frantic moments, and then the sporadic fire of the VPR men all but ceased as they were divided and conquered.


[ Capital Gain ]

Graff placed fingers to his temples as he tried to discern what Evangelise was saying over the background chatter. “Yeah, we’ll do that. We’ve got production up and running on New Cressida; both Project Resurgence and Project Event Horizon. The first batch of those new warheads are coming straight to you. We need field trials data for refinements -”

“What was wrong with the name Mahadevi uh? Evangelise, such disrespect.” Pavinder interjected, coming in from her quarters in a simple ship’s tunic of deep scarlet. Graff rolled his eyes.

“Look Evangelise. I’ve been thinking - we need to go on the offensive. Everything the FSA has done so far has been retaliatory - even down to Narayanastra. We need to strike first this time, really put the fright on Sefer. See that you’re in a position with the FNI to do that, ok? And watch out, kiddo.” Graff finished the sentence almost tenderly.


[ Deep Space, Battlegroup Herald ]

The chittering warcry of the Akkar went up as soon as Arc Jinzo delivered his orders. Zabaton reared zir head at the assembled warriors, and raised a clawed fist to the air.

“Death to the enemies of the Akkar! Death to the enemies of the New Order!”

An Akkar pilot plugged in the coordinates for the world of Lanorra. Glowing green and orange sigils aligned themselves, and Herald-1 jumped to warp.

<Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel Frontline>

One VRR trooper was gunned down by the VPR fire-team, his body falling forwards into the river. However, several mortar rounds from the VRR troopers soon took care of that fire-team.

As Dreis and Holbach advanced from one side, Kane moved in from the other, gunning down VPR troops unlucky enough to wind up in his path or simply bashing their skulls in with his armour’s rather impressive fists. One man, realising he was caught between a rock and a hard place, hoped he could escape by jumping into the river and swimming to safety, but was shot down in mid-air by one of the VRR fire-teams. By the time the gunfire had stopped, Kane was once again facing Dreis and Holbach.

“Good start,” he said.

-----

<Vrai Dreadnought Ornipola>

Meanwhile, the armoury crew on the Ornipola began to check their long-range missiles i in preparation for the bombardment that would, likely, begin soon. They, however, had a slight dilemma - the GPS data Dallas Dalton had agreed to provide them with was only updated once every half-hour, and while the Ornipola was moving in closer to Vongola under its cloak, the missiles would still take several minutes at best to actually reach the surface of the planet. And as anyone knew, units like the Diamond Dogs were highly mobile.

-----

<Lanorran System>

Several hours before the Herald had jumped to warp, several FTA ships orbited the planet, dropping mysterious objects of varying sizes that would appear as junk on a sensor screen. Several more did the same further afield, and in the Lanorran system’s asteroid belt as well. Now that the word was out that the FTA was based on Lanorra, an attack by Tanari Prime was surely coming soon, and they’d have to be ready.

-----

<Jumano, Sea of St. Cardozo>

Blair Morrison, who was wearing a truly monstrous Hawaiian shirt, lay on a sunlounger on the deck of his yacht, taking in the sun and the sea air. Though he obviously travelled much in his career, he never ceased to marvel at how different air could be from planet to planet. The air on Jumano was clean in an uncomplicated way, nothing like the mildly polluted at best air of Yari III or Tanari Prime or the relentlessly purified air of the Snakecharmer. Blair’s world was very complicated, and he liked it that way - but this was a very simple pleasure.

However, the enjoyment of simple pleasures did not keep him from activating his VI and taking a look at how his affairs were progressing. And at this point, the word to describe those was ‘mixed’. With Aster’s speech having radicalised the Yarish opposition, the secession of the Trilateral was now on the table if Von Budberg failed. While he’d expanded the Bristol Corporation far beyond Yari, such a scenario would still hurt the company deeply - Bristol’s share price was already dipping, even before anything had actually happened, and while Reed and Veidt could possibly put down a Trilateralist insurgency, it would be a costly, bloody business, possibly leaving him with ruins in place of what were once profitable businesses.

Though he suspected that, if anything, they were buying him time, Veidt’s prior dealings with Sefer nevertheless concerned him. The situation was clearly somewhat riskier than he had anticipated. However, where there was risk, there was also opportunity. And so, after some consultation with Olivia Horwath, Blair Morrison decided, not for the first time, to improvise.

---

“I am resigning as CEO of the Bristol Corporation, effective immediately, and have begun the process of divesting myself of all my holdings in the company.” Blair, still wearing his Hawaiian shirt paired with a white armband, announced to the assembled pack of journalists. It was so predictable that they would all rush to Jumano, beautiful as it was, as soon as he started calling them. “It pains me to have to say this, but while I’ve taken the company to previously unseen heights, I feel I’ve accomplished all I can in the business world. I understand the board will convene to appoint a replacement soon, and I’m confident they’ll make the right choice for the company. As for me, I’m ready to serve my nation in another way, and that’s why I’m also pleased to announce that President Morgan Peres has appointed me to his cabinet as Minister of Foreign Affairs. I hope to forge ever-closer bonds with all our FSA partners, in the name of achieving the unconditional surrender of the New Order. The Nation Continues!”

When Blair had floated the idea of assuming political office, he assumed he’d need to personally remind Peres that he held the power to destroy his career with the push of a button - literally, as Blair had had an actual button installed on the Snakecharmer that would have the compromising information he possessed on the NCF transmitted across the galaxy if pushed, just for fun. However, Olivia was insistent that she would easily be able to convince him all by herself. The tone with which she had said those words was unsettling. Blair had heard her use it before, and he had learned not to ask what was lurking behind it.

“Mr. Morrison, a former Bristol executive is already National Security Advisor to President Peres,” asked one female journalist. “Don’t you think this looks just a little bit like corporate capture?”

“Darling, if I were going to buy the government, would I really be so open about it? Besides, how would Bristol profit from me being Minister of Foreign Affairs? I suppose I could steal President Klak’s pens and sell them on, but...” Blair smirked as the cameras flashed and many of the less perceptive and more sycophantic journalists in attendance laughed. Business journalists, Blair thought. Not even once.

“President Klak, if you’re listening, that was a joke. Seriously though, Miss Horwath cut all ties with Bristol by mutual agreement on taking office, and I am doing the same. Bristol couldn’t profit from our work if it wanted to. I haven’t even been in contact with Miss Horwath since her nomination, though of course now I’ll effectively be working for her, if anything. No, I think all that’s happening here is that Tanar finally has a dynamic government willing to seek out talent from all walks of life, and Bristol has always sought out and cultivated the best and brightest.”

-----

OOS: Theme of this part: Mt. Washington by Local Natives

<Tanari Prime, Olivia Horwath’s Office in the Presidential Palace>

Olivia sat behind in her brand-new, much more comfortable chair behind her desk. On the wall behind her was a portrait of James Augus Tanar, which she’d had brought in along with the chair. Her eyes were closed, and she was absent-mindedly playing with the pendant hanging from her necklace. Sometimes, when the nanites in her bloodstream passed through the veins in her brain close to where her VI was installed in just the right manner, for a few fleeting moments she could hear the most hauntingly beautiful melodies.

As the machines’ song came to a tragic end, Olivia returned to reading her mail. While she’d already been able to achieve cooperation between Tanari government scientists and the Bristol Corporation on several important projects, it seemed that a sad alliance of government bureaucrats unhappy with the NCF and scientists with ethical reservations was finding ways to sabotage her work, just as it had years ago. As always, leftists unwilling to do what was right were holding the Tanari Confederation back. Olivia had realised long ago that, if the nation was to continue, its governance was going to have to be clarified and rationalised, and now she was in a position to do something about it. She and Blair Morrison had already discussed one potential solution.

“Miss Horwath,” Morgan Peres appeared in the doorway of her office, looking glum. “I want a new bodyguard. Right now.”

“Yes, I had a bad feeling you were going to say that.” Olivia spun around in her chair to face Morgan, her ponytail of curly, blonde hair bobbling slightly as she did. “Mr. President, my job is to assure the security of the nation, and your security. It is not to save you from destroying your own marriage.”

“What are you talking about?” Morgan was aghast. “She kissed me! In front of my wife!”

“That’s certainly not what Lt. Hansen told me. She informs me you were practically unable to keep your hands off of her, and the security footage from the spaceport confirms it.” With a wave of her hand, Olivia activated a newly fitted holographic display in front of her desk, which showed footage from a security camera overlooking the room in which the entire incident had occurred. The footage showed almost exactly what happened - give or take a few details to make sure it fit Olivia’s version of events seamlessly. And of course, there were no witnesses able or willing to say otherwise - once the footage ended, a recording of Lt. Hansen’s voice explaining the situation in her own words also played, and that too turned out to fit Olivia’s version of events.

“But… but… we were just having a normal, friendly conversation while we waited!” Morgan protested.

“You’re a politician, Mr. President, so you know better than I do. Do you think the camera is lying to you?”

“No, but…”

“Mr. President, please sit down.” Olivia said firmly. Without really thinking, Morgan complied, and in turn, Olivia stood up and began to pace around the office. She liked looking down at him. “I am not your enemy. But I am not a fool either. I can do many things to assure your security, but I can’t save you from yourself. We live in dangerous times, your administration is new and yet already has plenty of enemies, and there are very few people we can trust. Lt. Hansen is not the most experienced, but she is nevertheless a professional, and she has undergone extensive background checks. She is trustworthy like few others, and you can’t afford to chase away professionals because you can’t keep your hands off them!”

Morgan attempted to respond, but was reduced to stammering. He’d come here to berate Olivia, and instead she was now berating him, with arguments that seemed irrefutable… except he remembered something else happening. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. Was his memory really that selective? Was the stress of first his dealings with the Pirate Lords, and then of unexpectedly assuming the most important office in the confederacy really getting to him this much?

“Lt. Hansen will remain on your security detail, I’m afraid, and accompany you in all your public appearances. I expect you to behave yourself from now on.” Olivia smiled sweetly, and the tone of her voice became correspondingly brighter. “I wish you the best of luck in sorting out your problems with your wife. Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. President? I’ve just bought some Lanorran lavender tea. It’s most relaxing… and James August knows Tanari Prime sadly won’t be getting any more for a while.”

“Yes, of course…”

Olivia stopped by her new kettle, and began making the tea. As she did so, she commanded just a few nanites containing her knock-off cataxyn to exit her body and enter the liquid. It was the tiniest of doses, which wouldn’t be detectable even if someone knew to look for it. If she gave him too much, she’d turn him either into a suicidal berserker, which would be funny but not worth it at all, or into a drooling moron. If the latter happened, she thought, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference - but others might.

Olivia handed Morgan the cup of tea, and as he began to drink it, nothing much seemed to happen - but she could see the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. At once the President became a bit more relaxed, a bit more docile.

Though she was obligated to pretend otherwise, Olivia was totally unable to take Morgan Peres seriously as a politician and a human being. She’d seen so many weak, spineless politicians - mediocre men, the lot of them, totally unworthy of the nation they governed - rise without trace, but if she didn’t already know he existed, she would have written Peres off as a mere caricature of even those men. But he was real, a flesh and blood human - and flesh would do as it was told.

As Morgan Peres finished the tea and wandered back to his office and to his new, ever stranger, ever lonelier fate, the President of the Tanari Confederation got back to her work.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

"Crap, it's a trap!" Halo shrieked, suddenly feeling vulnerable as the gas rolled into the room despite being held by Oblique. While hazardous gases had no effect on Halo as a virtue of him not possessing lungs, the same could not be said of Oblique, Sally, and Nexus, and he would not be able to escape on his own if his allies were incapacitated.

Fortunately, Oblique knew just what to do. "Not for much longer," he muttered, holding Halo out in front of him. Before the others could question what he was doing, Oblique began to fold the sentient lyre from his usual U-shape into the shape of a straight line, making Halo appear as more of a battle staff than a lyre. Oblique then took a step backwards to position his back against the door and began to rapidly spin Halo around in a vertical circular direction, blowing the gas away from his allies and towards the wall at the opposite side of the room behind Bill. Oblique continued spinning Halo faster and faster until the lyre was little more than a wheel of light hanging in the air. Eventually, Oblique let go of Halo and stepped away while Halo continued to spin, maintaining the lyre's position and speed through the use of his natural Lithan telekinesis.

Although Oblique and Halo had been successful in clearing a breathable path to Bill, the fact remained that they, Sally, and Nexus were trapped in the room, and Halo was occupied in keeping the gas away from them. If Oblique turned Halo back into his sword form to try to use him to cut the door open, the gas would quickly catch up to them, making it an option he would prefer not to risk.

Oblique was about to explain this to his allies when he sensed the approach of two souls: the first being Xavik's, an enigma in itself, and the second being the soul he had sensed earlier which bore the mark of the sorcerer he had previously faced on Annosus. Oblique raised an eyebrow as he turned his sky-blue eyes in the direction of the approaching souls. Whatever their intentions were, he doubted that they planned on keeping them locked in this room forever.

"This solution is temporary at best," Oblique warned Sally and Nexus. "However, I sense Xavik outside, with a stranger. Perhaps they are here to help."

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

"That's... that's perfect!" Ear exclaimed, enthusiastically slapping her right hand on her desk as she sat back in her chair. "Just off the top of my head, there's an expanse of desert on the western hemisphere about 150 square kilometres wide, 60 kilometres out from Retorian City. It's completely barren, even after the worldwide terraforming efforts, because we haven't gotten around to seeding it yet. That should be more than enough space to fit one of those factories with plenty of surrounding nothingness to ensure it isn't noticed, but we would seal off the perimeter, of course, just in case someone thought exploring the desert would be a fun idea. As long as you'd keep it cloaked from the time it enters our system to landing, I'm sure we wouldn't have any problems. Ideally, we'd want those mobile factories placed at strategic points around the planet, though, not all in one place. My staffers should have some good ideas about where else we could put them."

Ear then poured herself another small glass of Agresian and swallowed it in a single gulp before continuing. "You're right about the FSA. Here on Teruga Prime, we have a predatory species of one-eyed fish. It's called Aquacyclopea teruganis, though most people know it as the Cyclops Shark. When the Tanari came, a Cyclops Shark was one of the many specimens that the first ecological research team captured in the wild. A Tanari researcher, Perry Moideen, climbed into its tank to conduct an experiment, believing that it would not be able to tell how far away from it he was because it lacked depth perception due to only possessing one eye. He was wrong, of course, because Cyclops Sharks rely on other senses to hunt their prey, and he ended up fish food."

"...I'm rambling, aren't I?" Ear laughed. "Anyway, I think the point I was going to make is that Gaius Malcovus and Evangelise Ascheron are both Cyclops Sharks. They both seem approachable, but they're natural predators, Malcovus being a Rider and Evangelise being an Ascheron. Some might say that's a useful quality to have in a leader, but the fact remains that if the threat of the New Order wasn't distracting them right now, we would be their prey..."

Ear trailed off, leading to an awkward silence. "Terrible analogy, I know, but I hope it got my point across. If you're serious about forging a new alliance of states, then so am I. The portion of our society that abhors alliances with other worlds may reject the idea at first, but I think most of them would come around if we showed them how much better an alliance with the Vrai could be than the one-sided alliance we had with the Tanari in the past. I'll discuss the idea with the cabinet, but for now you can take my answer to that proposition as a very positive, very interested maybe. But, we've got to take this one step at a time, of course. Let's start by finding a place for those factories first; that should give us a working relationship to build on. Do you agree that placing them at different points around the planet would be best, or would it be better to consolidate them all in one area?"

-----

<Shen Zhou>

[Theme]

On your right.

Kakamu swung the Guardian Fire Spear to his right, deflecting a spear swung by one of Zeneca's clones away from his neck.

On your left.

Kakamu punched outwards with the fist of his left hand, slamming it into the cheek of another clone and sending it reeling towards the blue-purple star behind it.

In front. Stab below.

Kakamu thrust forward with the Guardian Fire Spear, embedding its two outmost prongs into the chest of another Zeneca, but drawing no blood. The clone simply hissed as it withdrew, merging into another clone that careened on Kakamu with twice the ferocity, its spear aimed at Kakamu's heart. The warnings given by the Mask of Clarity were more than just warnings; they were instincts which he felt the moment the mask conceived them, affording him a superhuman focus in combat. While he fought the clones with almost effortless grace, bar the odd failure to stop a slash from tearing into a part of his armor or flesh, he wondered about the identity of the adversaries he and Vekhta were facing. Was the master they referred to the master who had led Vekhta astray from the New Order? If so, why would Vekhta turn on them so readily? Could it be that Vekhta was just as desperate for answers as he was, and Astra and Zeneca were getting in the way?

Whatever the reason, Kakamu decided that, in order to find out, he needed Vekhta alive. Upon birthing this thought, the Mask of Clarity seethed, momentarily pausing its tactical guidance to remind him that Vekhta would be his next target once Zeneca had been destroyed. This momentary disruption was all the chance one of the Zeneca clones needed to come up behind Kakamu, insert his spear behind the Mask of Clarity, and pop it off his head.

Oh no.

As the Mask of Clarity fell, clattering across the rocky platform in front of him, Kakamu grabbed the Zeneca's spear - a decision borne purely of his own instinct this time - and wrenched it, pulling it out of the clone's hand, before spinning it around and throwing it like a javelin into its head, destroying it. Already, Kakamu began to feel the effects of the Mask's absence; his strength poured from him like water from a breach in a ship's hull, leaving him off balance. His vision began to blur and he started to see double, making it hard to tell which of the Zeneca clones were real and which were the result of double vision.

As the Zenecas surrounded him, forcing him down with their slashes and kicks, an image of Vekhta popped into Kakamu's head - not an image from her, or even from the Mask of Clarity, but from his own mind. Kakamu saw the Yuzari, an ancient, beautiful warrior, delicate but strong in equal measure, and felt something. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to think on the layer of his own consciousness, obscured by outside influences, he had forgotten what the feeling was... but whatever it was, he decided that it was worth fighting for.

Clenching both of his fists, Kakamu began to summon more of the elemental energy that he usually channelled into his spear, drawing it from his magitek heart and flowing it into the rest of his body instead. Within moments, Kakamu himself burst into flames, setting the Zenecas closest to him alight and forcing the others back. Slowly climbing to his feet, fire erupted from Kakamu's eyes and the palms of his hands as he advanced on his ghostly opponents renewed.

"So..." Kakamu muttered through gritted teeth. "Who's first?"

[ Castis 9, Onyana Collective ]
 
Over the course of the next day, Willis got his affairs in order. He was accompanied most of the time by Eno, who had become his erstwhile companion. Willis bought new clothes, having a drone deliver them to Skyline Pressure, which was docked in a relatively cheap spaceport. He paid his hospital bills, which were smaller than he remembered; When he examined the receipt in his VI, some level of his care had been paid off by an unknown source. He chalked it up as another mystery.

His body was fully healed, and the mechanical components he had opted for were working perfectly in the 0.85 gravities of Castis 9. He had decided on his lower legs and right hand to be replaced, eschewing organic regrowth in a regen tank and instead choosing mechanical augmentation. The doctors had done a fine job, he had to admit. 

Willis asked Eno to look into ships for sale, using his contacts on the planet. The Agresian population within the Collective was substantial, with enclaves in almost every city. Most Agresians were here as itinerant workers, Eno explained, supplying manpower to the vast shipyards and industrial centres on both the Collective worlds and the extensive asteroid and orbital facilities. Eno's own business on Castis 9 was a fleeting visit to one of his mates, to check on her and the new clutch of eggs she bore. Willis didn't enquire further, not wanting to intrude on the Agresian's privacy. 

He booked into a hotel near the spaceport; a simple affair with clean rooms, favoured by human guests, who had left good reviews when Willis checked the hotel's page on his VI. There was a buffet restaurant serving human cuisine, much to Willis' relief - he'd been eating alien food for too long, and it was playing havoc with his stomach.

It was on the evening of the day following his interrogation that the spy drone descended from its overhead vigil to intercept Willis as he stepped out of the restaurant for a smoke. It drifted down to hover in front of his face, the gentle hum of its impellers audible over the soft music playing from inside.

"Mr Willis. I am Gert, a drone in service of the Bureau of Barbarian Affairs. I was dispatched for your protection, as well as to monitor your activity following our meeting yesterday."

Willis dragged deep on his cigarette, exhaled, and simply said, "yup."

The drone wobbled slightly - a gesture of annoyance? Could drones be annoyed? "I have been asked to request another meeting. Jit Kuu Plone wishes to ask you some further questions-"

"I already told him everything I know."

"These questions, as I have been made to understand, are not regarding the Narayanastra. Regardless, please consider the proposal, and if you acquiesce, meet Jit Kuu Plone outside the Bureau tomorrow morning."

"I'll think about it."

Gert inclined it's nose toward Willis in something resembling a bow, before flying upwards, and then out of sight. Willis sighed, flicked the butt of his cigarette away, and went back inside.

****

"Min Jal Qysh is a respected and esteemed member of our office. But it must be noted that his more traditional approach to intelligence often leaves him somewhat short-changed. Not to mention his staunch adhesion to our religious creed; it has been said that Min Jal Qysh would have made a better clergyman than intelligence officer, though not by anyone I heard directly, lest I would have had to snap their neck. Hah!”

Willis and Jit Kuu Plone walked down a boulevard lined with vigorously pruned native flora and broad, white marble flagstones that reflected the days heat like mirrors. Gert accompanied them a few feet behind, hovering at Plone's shoulder. Willis wore his new clothes, a simple khaki workshirt and slacks cut in a loose fashion. Jit Kuu Phone wore the same purple and black toga suit Willis had first seen him in; he assumed it was a uniform of some kind.

"The Bureau of Barbarian Affairs is not so stuck in the past that we cannot recognise the genuine threat that Ms. Yetzirah's New Order poses. Neither are we so naive to think that we alone can defeat her, despite Min Jal Qysh's most recent address to the High Council. We need the tools and the personnel to effectively ensure that the Collective persists, and importantly, continues to persist in the manner it has previously and with all improvement possible." 

"So what do you need me for?” Willis asked, glancing up at Plone. The Onyanan stopped and looked down at Willis.

"You are an interesting case Mr. Willis. At no point during our last meeting did you try to lie to us, though the Hamel we burnt would have made it quite impossible to do so. Instead you presented the facts as they were, with little to no spin or personal slant. This is both a skill and a virtue - one that I wish to make use of."

"I ain't for using. I've got a home to get back to."

"You won't have a home unless Sefer Yetzirah is stopped."

"So everyone keeps telling me." The old cowboy stepped to the planters at the side of the wide path and sat down. Plone remained standing, now towering above him.

"The Collective is powerful, and thankfully, chosen by God. But it needs agents who are well informed, and I cannot be a well informed agent without the help of individuals such as yourself."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"Hah! Do not think that I would not dispose of you were you not useful to the Bureau, or, saving your mortal soul, you were to cross me in anything resembling the manner of treachery. But I can recognise what use you may provide, and that is enough."

Willis heaved a great sigh and examined his metallic hand. "Where do we start?"

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

Sally marvelled at how Oblique had cleared the gas. Though she was obviously no stranger to beings with superpowers, it still impressed him. “You’re going to have to teach me that,” she joked.

The Shifter examined the door. There was no gap small enough for her to shape-shift through, and the lock on the inside had been carefully removed. She then remembered she had a communicator on her person, but it then turned out it didn’t work here, either due to deliberate interference or just them being too deep within the undeveloped decks of the Coldest Story. This trap had clearly been planned well in advance, and she felt stupid for falling for it.

“Please, for the love of God, help me!” Bill cried over the sound of the water in the hot tub bubbling relentlessly, his eyes darting from side to side. He was clearly unable to move any part of his new ‘body’. “I think…” his voice lowered. “I think she’s coming back.”

“Guys, if we don’t make it out, I just wanted to say…” Sally began to say, only for a giant hologram of Sophie Vinderen’s head to appear between them and Bill.

“Silence, fool.” Sophie snarled at Bill, and then turned to face Oblique, Halo, Sally and Nexus. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” she said on realising who exactly she had trapped. “I go to all this trouble in case they sent security in full tactical gear in here, and I get you? Who the hell even are you people?”

“I work here!” Sally protested. “What did you do to that man?” she added, gesturing to Bill.

“If you work here, then you know I’m the Queen, and I ask the bloody questions down here. I’ll ask again; what’s with the circus freaks?” Sophie suddenly noticed Nexus, and eyed him suspiciously. “Wait… haven’t I seen you on GWE?”

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

“May I?” Laara gestured vaguely to the bottle of Agresian, and encountering no pushback, poured herself a second glass of her own. Unlike Ear, she sipped it slowly, still enjoying the flavour.

The Inquisidora laughed at the comparison to Cyclops Sharks. “No, not at all, it’s very interesting. And you’re completely right, of course. We actually have a similar animal on Z’traa. We call them zelloros. One difference, though, is that their blood is toxic. If you try biting into them, you’ll die. And you end up with these disgusting pools of lime green… stuff floating in the water when they bleed. When I was young, I worked in one of the plants that filters it out of the water supply for a while. It’s awful work, and if you make a mistake, people die or lose their mental faculties.” She set down her empty glass on the desk. “The New Order is starving the galaxy. The Malchiorians are desperate enough to turn to eating zelloros, and they have no idea how much danger they’re in. And it’s our job to start setting up water treatment plants.”

“I think that’s very sensible, yes. I’ll have the specifications of the factories sent to your staff as soon as possible and they can work out the details with our technicians, but in my non-professional opinion, dispersal would be wiser. Just in case someone gets ideas.” she concluded.

-----

[ ES Base ]

"Hohoho," responded Malak, smiling wryly. "My motives truly are transparent before your piercing gaze. Once again, I have underestimated you."

There was no hint of insincerity to Malak's words; the various demonic counts and princes held Blackout in high regard, as for as secretive as his actions were in the material realm, Hell had enough prying eyes that his deeds were essentially acts of celebrity. There was even talk of offering Blackout a promotion to demonic princehood, though some - Malak included - considered this proposal illogical; demonic order was order nonetheless, and Blackout was anathema to the concept.

"The truth, then." continued Malak. "My world, Hell, has recently experienced a new arrival, who I understand quite recently departed your world. This man has amassed a sizable following, to the extent of even drawing some minor demonic princes to his cause. My intent is to bind this being to my service, and to train him as an apprentice." he added, before looking to Blackout. "To do this I will need to make an offering. My understanding is that this being brought with him only one regret from his mortal life... an obsession, one might say. With a certain blonde-haired ningen in your possession."

"In exchange for Lilith - and I assure you that her continued survival will not become a fact known to the mortal world - I will offer you a choice of two artifacts from my treasury which I perceive will be of the utmost utility to you. You see... whilst I beg pardon for the intrusion, the fact is that whilst I have quite enjoyed the intrigue that has unfolded within this base in the past few hours, I am not quite contempt to let Vekhta's betrayal go unanswered."

"Vekhta's betrayal is none of your concern, you cur!" roared Shepard.

"On the contrary... before Sefer did all of demonkind a great service by wiping her kind from existence, the Yu Za Ri presented one of the greatest obstacles to my people in this galaxy. They fought us at every possible opportunity; which means we became increasingly proficient at killing them. Amongst my treasury exist two artifacts which will allow even the lowliest of your servants to fell Vekhta with ease."

"Master!" shouted Shepard, turning to Blackout. "This is demonic power! We need not lower ourselves to this dog's level!"

Ignoring Shepard, Malak swung his arms outwards, and two shadowy clouds like droplets of black ink spreading out through water appeared around him; one materialized into the form of a sword, still in its scabbard; the other into an ornate mirror, its surface cracked and shattered.

"You must understand that these are two of my most favored treasures. This sword was taken from a young Arbotteian prince who, engaged in some form of misguided pilgrimage, sought to keep it from my grasp. Its true name is lost to the ages, but he described it as a sword that allows one to control their friends." said Malak, casting a wry sidewards glance to Shepard. "And this mirror, this kagami... well, the journey to understanding its true potential is something uniquely suited to your talents, my dearest Blackout. I ask... that you make your choice."

"I will make the choice for him!" roared Shepard, bursting out of the energy cage containing him and charging towards Malak. It was trivially easy for Malak to deflect each and every blow, before striking Shepard with a single flick of the finger that sent him flying down the hallway, embedding him into the wall. The other Espiritu Santo grunts raised their weapons, but looked to Blackout for guidance before interfering.

---

[ Shen Zhou ]

Flame engulfed each and every Zeneca clone nearly as soon as it materialized. The spearman fell back, exhausted, his supplies of energy nearly exhausted - he looked over his shoulder to see his brother, Astra, in a similar predicament. Astra was materializing clones just for them to be cut-down by Vekhta's beam sabers. He had encountered fighters who fought on instinct alone - their bodies and weapons acting of their own accord without the need for conscious thought - but Vekhta's fighting style was something beyond that. Her weapons were reacting to his instincts as much as hers - sensing the killing intent that preceded each thrust of his sai and reacting to that, rather than to the strike itself. It was maddening - as such a technique would be markedly less effective against someone not as psychically attuned as Astra. So, this is the reality of antipsychic potential. Now I understand why ever Sefer saw no alternative but the genocide of an entire race.

Astra flew back, disengaging, landing next to Zeneca. Vekhta took the opportunity to catch her breath, her beam sabers automatically snapping back to their default position, hovering next to her forearms. Astra and Zeneca began to shift, their arms disappearing and being replaced with white, angelic wings.

"This has been quite the experience." said Astra, looking to Vekhta and Kakamu.

"But I'm afraid we really must be going." added Zeneca, his thin lips coiling upwards into a smirk as the two assassins lifted off, shooting through the sky, leaving Vekhta and Kakamu behind. Vekhta focused her mind, settling down into a low stance, channeling her lightning, ready to loose it towards them.

And it felt different - very different. Whenever Vekhta had used her lightning before, it felt wrong - literally painful, as if the energy channels within her body were being burned from the inside out. Now, the power surging within her felt - whilst potent - completely under her control, fluxing in sync with her breath and her heartrate. As Astra and Zeneca shrunk to just thin white specks in the distance, Vekhta let the power within her surge to a level she had never experienced before - without it even once filling like it was going to spill out of her control. Offshoots of red lightning coarsed over her body, arcing into the ground, but without so much as singing her; small chunks of rocks and debris hovered into the air around her, lifting upwards in defiance of gravity as Vekhta's own growing electromagnetic field interacted with that of Shen Zhou itself. Akrhan's voice sung in her ear once again as she closed her eyes, the locations of her targets plotted out in her mind.

When a great imbalance occurs in the heavens, it explodes violently as that which parts the skies and shatters the land below.

Likewise, thunder can spring forth not from one who knows only light or shadow, but only from one who holds both within.

True harmony is not to apportion these in any arbitrarily equal manner.

It is to hold those quantities of each that let lightning surge within you.

Vekhta loosed her attack, painting the space around them a crimson red. Kakamu felt his feet lift off the ground momentarily as the recoil force pushed the platform they were on downwards towards Shen Zhou's core. A solid beam of lightning coarsed through the sky, crossing the distance between Vekhta and the assassins in an instant; Astra and Zeneca had but moments to turn around and watch in horror as the surge of red energy engulfed them, disintegrating them on a conceptual level before leaping off into space, leaving its caster behind. Vekhta's fingertips crackled with residual energy as she breathed heavily, drained by the attack. She fell to her knees - exhausted, but not in pain - and rolled her head to the side to look at Kakamu.

"I hope you're not still planning on fighting me, Kakamu." she admitted, a cheeky grin forming on her face. "Because I don't think I've got anything left to fight you with."

---

[ Sukhonia ]

"I know that feeling, my friend. Chaos - madness - has gripped the galaxy."

Don Saul escorted Silver through the grounds of his Hacienda, towards a large set of dining room doors.

"We fight amongst ourselves, quarreling like children, whilst the New Order waits expectantly on our doorstep. Mercifully, I fully expect that Sukhonia will sit out any future conflict. You see... I have just made a deal that will keep the New Order out of here forever."

The doors slid open, and Eachan turned in horror to see Timothy Morgan Veidt sat at the head of a large dining table, a glass of wine in hand. The sound of hurried footsteps from the other direction alerted Eachan to a squad of Veidt's marines that emerged from cover, aiming their rifles at him, surrounding him. Lastly, Eachan looked back to his betrayer, Don Saul Gerrerra, who had a wide grin on his face.

TMV was the first to speak, as Artúro and Veldt appeared from behind two pillars at the far end of the room, cradling their weapons.

"We would be honored... if you would join us."

---

[ TCSET ]

With superhuman strength, Xavik kicked in the door, before immediately succumbing to the poison gas and falling to the floor. Raimei Senkou entered, blaster at the ready a 'badass rebreather shaped like a Samurai mempo' on his face. He looked down in horror at Xavik, then to Sophie.

"You... you just killed the captain, you holographic bastard!"

---

[ The Afterlife ]

Where is this one?

Ah. This one has died.

This is not what this one expected to find. Where are the attendants? Where is the checking of receipts?

It is cold here. This one is all alone. This one... feels fear.

Footsteps. Xavik turned, and the featureless white expanse of the afterlife shifted around him. He was aboard the Grand Rising again - in the engine room. The ship was ablaze, losing altitude rapidly. He heard noise - words - the ramblings of a madman. The chief engineer was sat at this station, slamming buttons and levers seemingly at random.

"GOCRAZYUAHUAHUAHUAHUGOSTUPIDUAHUAHUAHUGOCRAZY!"

The chief engineer shook his head violently, slamming it into the console. Each spastic motion forced the ship further into an unrecoverable roll.

No. This cannot be a reflection of reality. The lives of this one's crewmates. The lives of... my crewmates...

"GOCRAZYUHMMMM. GOSTUPIDUAHAUHUAHUAHAUHAH!"

Xavik fell to his knees. What had caused the chief engineer to be possessed by such madness? What twist of fate had condemned the crew of the Grand Rising to their untimely demise? Xavik buried his head in his hands. Why was he being forced to relive this? What purpose did this torture serve? What great purpose motivated the attendants in this instance? Even in death, Xavik was not free from their machinations. He was not free from...

He turned again, reality shifting. He was underwater. A pair of dolphin-like creatures swam towards him. Xavik's eyes shot open, watering.

"Is it time for this one to join you?"

One of the beings shook its head; the other placed a flipper to Xavik's forehead, transferring knowledge and power.

"We have shown you a vision of the past, which cannot be undone. But we have also shown you a vision of the future, which has yet to be written. Do not let your past become your future, Xavik. The Coldest Story Ever Told can still be saved."

---

[ TCSET ]

Xavik awoke, slowly climbing back to his feet. His upgraded biology was now immune to the poison, and with each breath he was converting it into breathable air for those present within the room, but the damage already dealt to his body was slow to repair.

"This one... is not out of the fight... just yet."

"Xavik!" shouted Raimei. "I thought you were dead."

Xavik stood up, dusting off his long black overcoat.

"This one cannot die. This one is energetically aligned... with justice."

<ES Base>

Blackout observed Malak and Shepard’s brief fight, if one could even call it a fight, with deep distaste. On the one hand, he didn’t like to see his subordinates treated this way, but on the other, Shepard had only himself to blame.

“Let the man speak,” Blackout finally said. He raised a hand, silently ordering the Espiritu Santo grunts to lower their weapons.

“I am really not interested in your opinion of the Yuzari,” he continued. “The matter of Vekhta remains… under investigation, and we shall leave it at that. However, your terms are acceptable to me regardless of that. I shall give you Heyerdahl in exchange for this... mirror of yours. But before you hand her over to your new recruit, let her know that she wasn’t completely wrong about what I could do… not that she’ll derive any comfort from that knowledge.”

-----

<Sukhonia>

As he saw Veidt waiting for him, and Don Saul explained all, Silver Eachan laughed bitterly as all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “Sefer will always nurse a grudge against our people,” he said. “If you think she won’t soon grow bored of entertaining you, you’re even more delusional than I thought.” He turned to Don Saul. “And you’re delusional if you think he’ll give any thought to bailing you out if the Trilateral goes to hell.”

So, this is how it’s going to be, Silver thought to himself. He was penniless and friendless, even surrounded by enemies. If he at least died with more dignity than Allman, that would be a victory in itself. He sat down at the other end of the dining table. “So, I suppose I’m already dead, and what follows is either making it official, or handing me over to Sefer and letting her have some fun before she makes it official. But before you decide, I would just like to know the answer to one question; how did you convince Shae?”

-----

<Malchior IV>

The Snakecharmer overflew the capital city of Malchior IV, heading towards a secure military spaceport. This would be the first of Blair Morrison’s many state visits - especially as he had absolutely no intention of spending any time on Tanari Prime until he was reasonably certain of his safety, and this was a way of doing exactly that without anyone questioning it.

Once he landed, he was ushered into an armoured car, which then drove off towards his first meeting - one that might just decide whether he lived and succeeded in his new gamble, or simply left behind a legacy of ashes. As the car drove through the city, it passed through the capital’s ‘Little Yari’ Shifter district, which was now festooned with ‘FREEDOM OVER SEFERISM’ banners. Even all the way out here, Aster’s speech had apparently struck a chord with her base. As one of the few Tanari in a position to confirm that, if anything, Aster had underplayed how compromised National Continuance really was, Blair had to chuckle to himself.

Finally, Blair reached his destination - a government building. After the customary checks to make sure he was who he said he was, he entered the office of the man he wanted to speak to.

“Mr. Nadle Akutam.” he smiled as he sat down opposite the head of Malchiorian intelligence. “I’m Blair Morrison. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I’m very sorry to have to ask for a meeting at such short notice, but this concerns the future of the FSA, and the galaxy itself. The information I’m about to tell you is only known to me and one other.”

“What do you know… about Admiral Timothy Morgan Veidt?”

-----

OOS: Theme of this segment: Everything Will Be Alright - The Killers

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

This morning, for the first time since he’d become President, Morgan Peres was in reasonably high spirits despite the shambles of his personal life. While there had been a mass migration of Shifters away from Tanari Prime and the inner worlds of the confederacy since the National Continuance Front had taken power, some had stayed. They were either too patriotic or stubborn to leave, or middle-class enough - while it had been long standing Tanari policy to prevent the formation of a too large Shifter middle-class, one could hardly avoid having Shifter doctors or shopkeepers - to think they could keep their heads down and buy their way out of any trouble, as they had under prior regimes. Many of those who had stayed behind attempted to keep a rump Movement for Rights and Freedoms going for as long as the government would allow it, and Morgan had planned a summit with its leaders, at the conclusion of which he would triumphantly announce a package of reforms he hoped he could get past Reed and Veidt.

“Mr. President, I strongly advise against holding this meeting in-person,” said Olivia Horwath. “Tensions are still running high, and extremists on both sides will surely want to prevent any reconciliation between the Shifter community and your administration by any means necessary. Our security services are still full of Eachan supporters, we don’t yet know who we can trust. I’m concerned that it’s too early."

"Nonsense, Miss Horwath." Morgan said as he adjusted his tie. He was desperate to score a political victory, so desperate that for once he somehow managed to find the confidence to stand up to his National Security Advisor."This is too important to the future of Tanar to not be worth the risk. You handle security, I'll handle the politics."

"You may proceed as you wish, Mr. President. But that’s my professional opinion." she said, seemingly giving in.

---

Having arrived at the conference centre where the new executive board of the MRF was waiting for him, Morgan got out of his limousine, followed by Lt. Hansen. The contrast between the rather dumpy President and his striking, tall blonde bodyguard was almost comical, and every photographer on the scene naturally took advantage of it. Between them and the door was a mob of journalists with questions, who he struggled to get past. Morgan decided he’d give them what they wanted.

“This doesn’t feel like a time for soundbites, but I really do feel the hand of history on my shoulder right now,” the President said in the general direction of a camera. “I feel confident that we’ll make progress here, and that at the end of this historic summit, this thorny question will be answered… for good.”

Just as the words ‘for good’ left Morgan’s lips, a bomb went off in the wing of the conference centre where the MRF activists were gathered, killing everyone there.

---

It didn’t take long for Kinsler’s police force to find the culprit, as he had sent letters to many major Tanari media outlets claiming responsibility, his DNA was all over the crime scene, and his corpse was found near the conference centre with a suicide note in his pocket. As it turned out, he had been a loyalist of Van Smoot seeking to make a statement against the National Continuance government’s attempts to ‘destroy the Tanari race’. It was all very simple. In fact, it was almost too simple - while there was much anger at the already despised Van Smoot faction, some Shifters also inevitably blamed Morgan Peres. Not too long ago, such an event would likely have sparked protracted riots all over the confederacy, but now it ‘merely’ just caused ill-tempered protests.

---

Now back at his office, Morgan Peres was borderline catatonic. “How could this happen?” he repeated over and over. He had known many of those killed personally, and had as good as led them to their deaths himself. He had always seen himself as an ally of the Shifters, and now they were outright fleeing a government led by him, and those who stayed still cursed his name. “You’re in charge of security!” he finally screamed at Olivia, close to tears. “Why couldn’t you stop this?”

“I warned you, Mr. President.” Olivia said calmly. Everything was going according to plan. “I warned you there were good reasons to believe we couldn’t ensure the safety of all attendees. You’re the one who insisted on proceeding regardless.”

Morgan collapsed back onto the couch with his head buried in his hands, and Olivia smiled sweetly. “Mr. President, you need to calm your nerves. The nation needs your strength, after all. Would you like a cup of tea?”

As Morgan reluctantly drank the tea - naturally once again spiked with trace amounts of cataxyn - Olivia reflected on the fact that she was trying to balance two partially contradictory objectives. On the one hand, it was vital in the short-term that Morgan Peres fully understood that, without her guidance, he was nothing, On the other, the history of the galaxy was one of constant warfare punctuated by brief periods of calm. Only the fittest survived in the long-term. If the Tanari wanted to survive, complete and total unity of the nation and loyalty to the state was required, and that had to include Shifters, who had made a massive and largely unappreciated contribution to the nation anyway. James August Tanar had begun to recognise that, a very long time ago, but his successors did not. Besides, on a more personal level, while her reconstructive nanotechnology allowed her to change her appearance too, to an extent, she nevertheless envied the Shifters’ much more extensive abilities in that department.

However, as she saw it, decades upon decades of discrimination alternating with outright exclusion from the polity had forced the Shifters to create almost a parallel society of sorts. Olivia’s main concern was that, even with the exodus leaving mainly those most likely to toe the line at worst, that history meant Shifters would not be willing to submit themselves to the new system, and insist on political representation independent of the new Tanari state, which was unacceptable.

The assassination of the MRF leaders had caused chaos, and now it would be up to the rest of the National Continuance government to deal with it. Olivia returned to the privacy of her office, picked up the phone, and called William Douglas Reed.

“Mr. Vice President... I assume you’ve already seen the news. Use this… gift wisely,” she said, spinning around in her chair. “The Nation Continues.” After his sudden humiliation at the hands of Timothy Morgan Veidt, Olivia suspected those words must taste like ashes in Reed’s mouth, but she said them with what at least sounded like faith.

-----

[ Press Conference, Presidential Palace, Tanari Prime ]

Press Secretary Bryan Bhatti gestured for calm from the gathered reporters, before speaking from behind the podium of the palace press room.

"This latest bout of violence is unacceptable, and this administration condemns it in the strongest possible terms. A full investigation is underway to locate the perpetrators of this attack, but in the interim it has become readily apparently that violent Pro-Eachan factions are still operating openly in our society. Whilst is is crucial to the continuance of our great nation that well-meaning citizens hold whatever views they deem fit, without coercion or interference by the state itself, equally we cannot permit those who seek to do harm and endanger innocent lives to plot these attacks unobstructed."

"To this end, President Morgan Peres has signed an executive order, effective immediately, mandating a curfew on all Tanari worlds. With the exception of essential workers, all citizens must now remain in their homes, with their families, and are permitted to leave their homes only once per day for exercise. Food parcels will be supplied, upon production of Government ID, to all citizens, keeping them safe and fed at no charge. This 'Peres Pause' will allow our great intelligence service to track down these remnant cells that seek to do unspeakable harm to the people of our nation."

The gathered reporters exploded into uproar.

"Many Shifters don't have Government ID. Are you expecting them to starve?"

Bhatti shook his head. "The intention here is to keep everyone fed and safe. All local government officials will be expected to exercise good judgment in distribution of resources, including to undocumented citizens if necessary."

"How long are these measures expected to last?"

"Until, in the determination of the President, this state of emergency has safely concluded."

Chaos erupted as the measures went into effect. A police gunship loaded with missiles lifted up from a military base, scanning for people defying the curfew. It flew out to an empty field and found someone walking alone. The pilot knew what had to be done to stop this great threat to national security.

"The Nation Continues" he whispered as he fired an anti-tank missile at the potential terrorist.

Reed burst into Peres's study, furious. Stubble had formed on the man's face over the past few days as his tenure as Vice President began to take its toll; unlike his buttery nemesis who seemed to spend half his time wandering through the palace, dribbling on himself, Reed had been pulling eighteen-hour days trying to keep the newly-formed government from falling apart.

"You mind explaining to me what the fuck this curfew's all about, Peres? Why the hell did you think it's appropriate to cut me out of this discussion? This policy could sink the government."

Reed slammed the paperwork of the executive order down on the desk... Peres's signature clearly present upon the dotted line.

---

[ ES Base ]

"Hou, a most erudite decision, my dear Blackout. Very well. I shall leave this mirror in your possession, and in exchange, I will now depart with Ms Heyerdahl. Until we meet again."

The bizarre encounter was over nearly as soon as it had begun, Malak dissipating into a wisp-like shadow before disappearing altogether, leaving just the mirror behind. A pair of Espiritu Santo thugs helped Shepard to his feet.

"Master, we should ready a freighter to cast that... thing... into the sun. No gain can come of its use."

<ES Base>

As Malak Al-Maut left, Blackout rolled his eyes. He liked Malak, he really did, but sometimes he found him to be a right cocksucker.

“Give it a rest. I will investigate it myself.” he said, getting closer to the mirror. “You stink of fear, Shepard. Fear that somehow you will lose your position at my side, that I’m desperate to replace you. I’m not. You have been invaluable to me over the last few years.”

Blackout suddenly telekinetically forced Shepard against the wall. “But if you embarrass me one more time, I may be forced to change my mind after all.” he said, and then released the telekinetic hold. “I am going to check in on our operations on Yari III. By the time I return, I expect you to have done two things. First, I want Admiral Massa returned here, alive. I don’t care how you do it, just see that he returns to the capable hands of Dr. Pharris-Vaccari. And then, I want you to find a Pirate Lord by the name of Akzer. Tell him that I sent you, and that, as a token of my respect for him, you will kill one enemy of his choice for him.”

Much as Malak had a minute earlier, Blackout disappeared.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

On her VI, Olivia Horwath perused reports from the security forces in charge of enforcing the curfew. The state of emergency, as it turned out, served as a great opportunity to test certain new conventional weapons systems she was interested in. In the meantime, there was inevitably much unhappiness and suffering, especially in those areas where local government officials were still Eachanite holdovers. However, all of this would be rectified soon.

---

When Reed entered Peres’ office, it was almost completely dark, the only sources of light being tiny gaps in the armoured shutters that had recently been installed as a measure against assassination, and oddly, the newly replaced wallpaper, patches of which occasionally glowed a luminescent bluish-green colour. Two pillows and a blanket were arranged messily on what looked like a very uncomfortable sofa to one side of the room, suggesting the President had spent the night in his office.

“My apologies, Reed. The confederacy is in danger. I had to act quickly.” Peres said. There was no emotion in his tone, no apparent conviction behind his words. He might as well have been reading off a piece of paper. Though the light made it difficult to see, stubble had also started to form on the President’s face, he was starting to develop wrinkles, and there wasn’t much life in his eyes. Whoever was sat in front of Reed now was no longer the same Morgan Peres who Reed had gleefully lampooned during the aborted election campaign.

“From chaos must come harmony.” Olivia suddenly appeared behind Reed. She hadn’t made even the slightest sound as she entered the room, nor should she have been aware of Reed’s appearance so soon. “I don’t know how familiar you are with our history, but believe it or not, there was a time when Tanari Prime was nothing. Just a collection of random tribes holding onto toys beyond their station, not entirely sure why they were even here on the one hand, and the Shifters on the other, baffled by us but interested and willing to help. Our potential was wantonly wasted... and then came along James August Tanar and Alfred Lyndon. They finally united us, built a whole new state where there was once nothing, and laid the groundwork for an empire that would stretch forth its hand towards the stars.”

Olivia walked around Reed to stand next to the utterly docile Peres. “Of course, their successors were weak-willed politicians, the lot of them, driven by nothing but greed and their own personal emotions, and they soon began wasting our potential once again. Now we face the existential threat of the New Order with our hands tied behind our back. The only way to survive is to synchronise this nation, just like James August did. There can be no more enemies within. We have a unique opportunity here, and Mr. Morrison, Mr. Peres and I are all working, in our own ways, to take advantage of it. Veidt, for all his faults, has bought us time.” she said, patting Peres on the head almost as if he were an obedient dog. “It would be a great shame if all that went to waste because of one man’s sulking.”

-----

[ Arcadia ]

Being a sinister politician, Synis Lyndon Mantell naturally had a cool, evil transport shuttle which touched down at the government complex in Mantell city, capital of the Arcadian Federation. As he emerged, he was met not by the usual parliamentary guard - the regulars at this specific pad being the Agresian Barrix and the Terugan Kuk Harrel - but by two New Order marines, who offered sharp salutes as he made his way down the embarkation ramp.

"Long live the New Order!"

"Long live the New Order."

As Synis made his way through the halls of the government complex, an unusual sight was unfolding; the austere parliamentary honor guard were being disarmed and relieved by the newly-arrived Arcadia PsyTrooper battalion, who would evidently be assuming their responsibilities. Whilst it was public knowledge that Arcadia would be getting its own PsyTrooper battalion, this changing of the guard was evidently a recent decision - made either by President Pascale or the New Order 'mediators' who had been arriving at the complex en masse, as of late. Some of the guards were refusing to surrender their weapons - whilst the blades and spears they carried were primarily ceremonial, they were historic artifacts in their own right; the Arcadian Federation was one of the few entities that had never bowed into the pressure applied by the Yuzari to surrender their 'forerunner' relics to them, and to now simply hand over so much Lithan glass weaponry to the New Order stoked feelings of deep discomfort within the men and women of the guard.

"Surrender your weapons peacefully, my men. The New Order are our friends and allies."

Synis turned as General Vex Kama appeared, both sets of arms folded, a severe expression on his face. The Chimerex-Jomboli - Synis could never remember which was the correct term - cut an impressive figure and he strode past the ranks of his men, willing them into obedience with a single look. Vex was a highly-respected war hero, and his Jomboli host showed signs of extensive mechanical augmentation to replace damage sustained defending Arcadia from its enemies; under a long, white flowing beard, Kama's face had been patched together with a mechanical jaw, and one of its four arms was entirely cybernetic - controlled directly by the Chimerex slug rather than woven into the Jomboli's comparatively primitive nervous system. Vex noticed Synis enter the building, and despite his displeasure at the sight of the slimy human politician, nodded curtly.

"Synis. You bring word from Malchior?"

"Yes. I need to speak to President Pascale."

Vex paused for a moment. "As do I."

The two made their way to the presidential study, discovering President Lunasynthia Pascale embroiled in an argument with Geno Tonossis, the lead mediator of the New Order contingent on the planet. Vex couldn't help but think that Synis were to die, here, now, he would surely be reincarnated as a Darisian like Tonossis; they alone seemed to make up the over-stuffed weaselly political negotiator caste of the New Order.

"You've repurposed ninety-five percent of the agricultural land on Arcadia." protested Pascale. "For the first time since the foundation of the Federation, my people are reliant on imported foodstuffs. How is this progress?"

A warm smile formed on Tonossis's face as he clasped his hands together. "Our new replicator technology has increased the stability and resilience of Arcadia's food supply networks tenfold."

"Replicators that only work off the unprocessed biomatter than only the New Order can produce. Don't presume that I can't see what is going on here, Darisian - this is just another mechanism of control. Gods, was I foolish to trust you people."

"Restructuring the Federation to improve efficiency will be a long-term endeavor, my dear President. There are worlds better suited in the Federation - and indeed, the New Order at large - to provide for Arcadia's agricultural requirements. The Emperor teaches that we - all beings, all worlds - are part of one vast interconnected system, one body, which is reliant on the health of each individual component, just as each individual component is reliant on the health of the body as a whole. Inefficiency... is a disease."

"Precisely."

Synis turned in the direction of the synthetic voice that now filled the room - a vast, flowing purple cloak surrounding a quicksilver android, his static, unmoving face surveying the room as he entered.

"Inefficiency is indeed a disease." concurred Arc PLUTUS.

"This was supposed to be an alliance, not an occupation." retorted Pascale, her voice venomous. "To safeguard the livelihood and freedom of the Arcadian people - not to see it stripped away and distributed for the benefit of your New Order. You've even taken over our mining operations in the Tantalos belt - rare earth metals that should be coming here, to Arcadia."

"Yet in the history of your own people, many times has the central government on Arcadia reached out to reprimand errant colonies who withheld tithes or tributes? And all for the good of the Federation, as a whole. General Kama, how many Matarans did you kill in the Winter Uprising?"

Vex didn't shudder at the question, but it clearly made him uncomfortable.

"Too many."

PLUTUS nodded. "We are all part of one interconnected system. Your predecessors understood this. No individual component has the right to usurp resources that would be better distributed to some other component. No individual world has the right to place its needs above those of any other. Only the Emperor has the clarity of vision to organize and design this New Order of ours. Consider - would you permit one lung to decide to draw less oxygen than the other? Would you permit one eye, one ear, to renege on its obligations to the body as a whole? Would you permit your nervous system to let disease run rampant? No. I suspect you would not."

"Spare me the sophistry, Arc." retorted President Pascale. "I will resist this occupation with everything I have."

"No." corrected Arc PLUTUS. "You will not."

It all unfolded so quickly that Synis barely had time to comprehend it. Tonossis winced as Vex stepped forth, roughly grabbing Pascale by the arm, pulling her infront of him and restraining her. She barely had time to comprehend the betrayal before a quicksilver arm emerged from the folds of PLUTUS's cloak, a finger segment shooting off and launching itself down Pascale's throat. A disgusting, guttural sound emanated from her mouth as the quicksilver burrowed - dug - inserted - did something, and that something caused a wash of crimson blood to jet out of Pascale's open maw as she twitched and jerked. She began to convulse, and then her head shot violently forwards with a sickening cough, something fleshy launching out of her mouth and landing on the carpet, oozing blood and saliva. Pascale's movements slowly returned to normal, as Tonossis produced a hankerchief and knelt down to pick up the biological debris that had just been ejected forth from the President's body. Vex released her, and she slowly stepped forth, slightly dazed.

"How do you feel, my daughter?" asked PLUTUS.

"Much better." replied Pascale - or whatever it was that was currently inside Pascale. Synis noted a faint a quicksilver glint in the whites of her eyes, bordering her irises - he half expected to see the same when he looked to Vex's face, but didn't - the Jomboli held a somber look. He was obeying the New Order of his own volition, but that didn't mean he had to like what had just occurred, or to approve of their methods.

"Very well." replied PLUTUS, turning to leave. "Long live... the New Order."

"Long live the New Order." replied the President of the Arcadian Federation.

"Long live the New Order." replied Geno Tonossis, New Order Overseer for the Arcadian Federation.

"Long live the New Order." replied Vex Kama, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of the Arcadian Federation.

"Long live the New Order." replied Synis Lyndon Mantell, a career politician who now realised he was very much in over his head.

---

[ Tanari Prime ]

As Reed left the Presidential palace, disturbed by his encounter with whatever Peres had become and whatever Horwath was becoming, he silently mused to himself. Co-operation with Peres and Horwath remained in his best interests - his success was tied to that of the NCF as a whole - but he could tell that he had badly misjudged his 'Lockdown' stunt, as the Peres he knew would've called chicanery straight away. For him to accept it at face value - to not even protest-

Reed slid his phone out of his pocket, and placed it to his ear.

"Clinton. Is Captain Tanarus ready?"

At the other end of the phone, in a secret underground facility, Dr. Clinton Eastwood turned in his chair looking at a series of status displays, reporting on the condition of multiple cryochambers suspended from the ceiling above him.

"The first batch await your command."

"Very good." responded Reed. "I think it is time... for a little press appearance."

---

[ Sukhonia ]

"Shae?" responded TMV. "Shae had nothing to do with us. That was all your doing, not that we could have timed it better ourselves if we tried." he added, producing a small container resembling a glasses case from his jacket. He opened it; six golden rings were contained within, and he began to calmly slide them onto the index, middle, and ring finger of each hand. "Your punishment will be decided upon at a later date. For now..."

He stood up, placing his fists together so that the six rings touched, then pulled them slowly apart, a miniature golden portal appearing between them.

"...to allow you to exist on this plane of reality... is an insult to those brave Tanari soldiers who laid down their lives so that men like you might lead their nation into ruin. Six Rings... Dungeon."

As soon as TMV spoke, Eachan was pulled across the length of the room, sliding across the dining table, and was pulled headfirst into the wormhole, shrinking into it and disappearing entirely. TMV placed his fists back together, dismissing the wormhole, then looked down at his hands. Don Saul edged closer, grinning.

"That felt good, didn't it? To have the legendary Six Rings in your hands, and to use them."

Veidt nodded. "That was... disproportionate. I should have known better. We could have restrained him conventionally."

"You could have, yes. But where would be the fun in that? You have waited years for your revenge. Like wine - it is something to savor. You have lived like a Laconian for so long long that pleasure is now alien to you." he added, before an idea came to him. "Keep the rings, Veidt. They belong to you."

Veidt nodded; he didn't agree with Don Saul's views on hedonism, but the Six Rings could be a useful weapon nonetheless. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me." corrected Don Saul, grinning. "Thank Malak Al-Maut. Those rings... are one of his most treasured possessions."

---

[ The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut, Hell ]

Lilith Heyerdahl awoke, and so began another day spent searching for an escape.

The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut was a vast cavern of seemingly infinite breadth and depth, filled with heaped riches between which winding pathways existed, leading to flat 'clearings', which Lilith suspected were just the bits of the cavern that Malak's magpie habits hadn't yet filled up with golden crap. Most of the treasure was gold - gold coins, gold bars, gold cups, gold scabbards, gold swords - but there were a few genuinely interesting items sprinkled about here and there; legendary swords, portions of buildings, statues, clothing, paintings and even an entire Lanciere - intact, with its buster lance and ammunition, which was a terrifying proposition (assuming Malak actually knew how to pilot it). This was just the area Lilith had surveyed, too; she imagined she had seen less than a percent of the treasury's total area, and she had been scouring the treasury for... well, it was hard to say.

She had been imprisoned here for - weeks, months - she wasn't quite sure. Time didn't flow normally in Hell, or rather, it didn't flow normally for those not from hell. She had tried making marks or imprints on objects or surfaces to count the days, but any damage she dealt to any of Malak's possessions was automatically reverted; she had then tried stacking objects, but any objects she moved were then generally returned to their original position by Malak's unseen army of helpers whenever she fell asleep. The treasury had a lot of frustrating rules, and Lilith had spent half her time here trying to figure them out. Well, maybe half her time. She actually had no clue how long she'd spent, because again, she was in Hell.

The first rule was beauty. Only that which was beautiful could exist in Malak's treasury, and whilst Lilith was flattered that an exception had been made to allow her grotty human body to pass safely into the treasury, it did mean that she'd been deposited without any clothes - her New Order uniform apparently not meeting Malak's standards. That was an easy enough problem to solve, given you couldn't swing an arm in the treasury without hitting a gold-trimmed wardrobe full of exquisite women's clothing that Malak had sequestered away on one of his many inter-dimensional dalliances. Lilith now wore something resembling a qipao, if designed by someone who thought circuit-board patterns and Tron lines were the peak of aesthetics. The rule also had a few useful side effects - Lilith didn't need to wash, or brush her teeth, or shave - the latter having actually prevented her from implementing a brilliant plan to measure the growth of her leg hair as a way of determining how much time had passed. The appearance of objects in the treasury did not degrade in any meaningful way, the bodies of its denizens apparently included in this.

The second rule was regeneration. Anything Lilith damaged would be repaired; anything Lilith ate or drank would soon be replaced - mercifully, without removing the nutrition and energy from Lilith's body (this being a violation of her understanding of thermodynamics that she was willing to let slide, given it advantaged her). Lilith did still need to eat and drink, but naturally the treasury provided for her needs in that department; entire banquet tables were laid out across the place, the food still piping hot. One issue was that Malak's drinks selection consisted of wine - and only wine. Whilst she suspected there'd likely be water or some other drinkable fluid deeper in the treasury, for now she had been living off bottles of ten-thousand year old vino, which meant she'd been conducting her expeditions into the treasury in a permanent state of mild tipsiness. Lilith could handle her drink, and she was careful with the amount she drank anyway - usually measuring it out into a small thimble cup she kept by her pillow.

This morning, she was slightly less careful. She rolled out of the palanquin she'd been living in as a makeshift bed, uncorked the bottle of Imperator Dachorus 1277 that respawned in the exact same location every morning, and downed it. She knew what Malak's game was, here - he was trying to soften her, to break her, to draw her attention to just how gilded her gilded cage was. She wanted to pretend it wasn't getting to her, but it was. It was maddening that this treasury could offer her everything but the one thing she actually wanted; how any other human being might have been content to live out the remainder of their lives in Malak's golden landfill. If Lilith hadn't met Sefer, she might have actually been happy being stuck here; but she had met Sefer, and she would trade every last worthless trinket in this godforsaken cavern to be back with her.

As she got up again to search for some way to escape - increasingly convinced that, as a cruel joke, Malak had deposited her into some compartment of the treasury that didn't actually hold any means of escape or transportation - she heard a scream, and turned to see a naked man falling from the sky, deposited some distance away by a golden portal. She gripped the handle of the sword she'd taken to carrying around with her, and made her way in that direction. Whilst it was likely another one of Malak's tricks, Lilith hadn't seen another living being since being taken from the Espiritu Santo base - and that fact was beginning to wear away at her sanity. Whoever it was, it'd be better than talking to a framed portrait of Arc Blair for company.

A few minutes later, Lilith found the man where he had landed, and realized her sanity had well and truly dissipated. She looked down at the naked man - likely confused and dazed but in no way harmed - and pinched the bridge of her nose as she recognized Silver Eachan, President of the Tanari Confederation, laying upside down on his back. Of all the people he could've...

This is a joke. This is all a fucking joke.

<Yari III, Richard’s Camp>

Blackout, flanked by the two agents - a Tuvarn’loq and a Terugan - he’d previously sent to Yari III, sat back and listened as Richard explained his plan - insofar as one could call his bloodthirsty rant a plan after he’d gotten past the first few steps. How he’d gotten the New Order to agree to this, Blackout wasn’t quite sure - but it didn’t matter.

The Void had taken Lilith’s words to heart, to an extent. He didn’t care too much about ruling the galaxy himself, but he did acknowledge that from the chaos that would emerge after the New Order and the FSA had been destroyed, new powers would inevitably start to emerge, and he was considering trying to set at least one of them up to win. That could be the Voids’ legacy, he’d supposed - they - or rather he - wouldn’t be the one who wore the crown when the time came, but he would be the one to crown whoever did.

Blackout had considered backing Richard, with his vision of Shifter supremacy, but soon came to the conclusion he simply wouldn’t do. While he’d still make a fine instrument of destruction, the Void Magic within Richard was doing to him what it had done - ironically - to his Espiritu Santo handlers, slowly corroding his critical faculties and causing him to indulge his worst instincts. Instead, for now, his candidate was Akzer. He was a Pirate Lord, and thus a man of chaos by his very nature, but the Void suspected that once he fully realised what power was now available to him - and that, if he proved himself, he could be given even more - order would eventually start to appeal as well. Seeing how he would resolve that tension within himself would be interesting in itself, Blackout thought. But first it was time to watch Yari burn.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

Olivia had been left rather unsatisfied by her meeting with Reed. She was definitely impressed with his curfew stunt, which aligned with her own plans - she even wished she’d thought of it first - but there didn’t seem to be much behind it other than a desire to upstage Peres. She’d been told by Blair Morrison to expect a little more ambition and eagerness to cooperate. She’d never been entirely sure about his positive assessment of Reed, and while she was willing to give him a chance, if he didn’t deliver soon, she might have to deal with him as she had with Peres.

Predictably, anger with the ‘Peres Pause’ was now skyrocketing, especially in areas where ex-Eachanite local government officials who the NCF had not yet had time to replace had decided to interpret Bryan Bhatti’s vague instructions with regards to the euphemistically termed ‘undocumented citizens’ their own way. Perfect, Olivia thought as she made her way to the press conference she’d just called. She was now going to surprise Reed much as he had surprised her, and if his plans happened to be incompatible with hers, then so be it.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace, Press Conference>

“My fellow citizens,” Olivia beamed. “As his National Security Advisor, I am pleased to inform you that President Peres has just signed an executive order lifting the curfew, and allowing us all to return to our normal lives. I know I’m certainly delighted.”

The press pack before her erupted with questions, but she silenced them with a surprisingly firm hand gesture. “The reason we are able to do this so soon is simple. Our brave intelligence services have uncovered the existence of an Eachanite conspiracy to destabilise our empire. They have confirmed that officials on all levels are implicated in acts of treason and terrorism, and attempts to starve good, hard-working Tanari citizens, all in the name of destroying national harmony and letting the New Order swoop in when we are weak. Our National Guard and the security services are now hard at work attempting to apprehend these traitors to the nation.” A holographic display next to her activated, displaying the names of the officials supposedly involved in this conspiracy.

One reporter raised his hand. “Ma’am? Tanar doesn’t have a National Guard.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The National Guard is a new volunteer force, created by President Peres, pledged to ensure harmony within our borders. Recruitment is open to all loyal citizens, and members will be paid an additional 100 credits a week.” Olivia’s tone darkened again, but as ever, she maintained full composure even as her words became progressively more disturbed. “Of course, the National Guard is a new force, and this conspiracy spans the entire empire. The Tanari state calls on all good citizens to do their duty, and aid the National Guard in apprehending these traitors. Do not forget, these are the men who wanted to starve you, the men because of whom you were temporarily prevented from leaving your home and seeing your loved ones, the men without so much as the decency to stab you in the front. I repeat, join the National Guard. Let us restore national harmony. Let us fight the darkness within. The Nation Continues!”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Brycen City>

Frank Lennon, the Mayor of Brycen, was sitting in his study, enjoying a nice glass of wine as the sun set over the city he governed. Things had been much quieter since the curfew had been instated, something he enjoyed as he could now hear the birds singing as they flew overhead.

Lennon was a relic of a different time. He had been elected as an Eachanite candidate in the first post-war local elections by running a thinly-veiled anti-Shifter campaign, and had clung onto power ever since. Though the government had changed, and Eachan’s name was now a dirty word, he was determined to keep his head down and hold onto his little fiefdom.

Suddenly, the distant birdsong started to be drowned out by some sort of commotion outside. The Mayor looked out his window and saw a large crowd gathering outside his home. Some were brandishing makeshift melee weapons or old pistols. As soon as they noticed Lennon in the window, part of the crowd began shooting at him or throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails at the house. There was a banging noise as the front door was brought down, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Lennon started to look for his old gun, but it was too late. Three men wearing white uniforms and visors entered the study, and dragged him away towards the crowd outside.

Similar scenes recurred all over the Confederation, as local government officials - some of whom were Eachanite holdovers, and some of whom had simply been deemed ‘unreliable’ by Horwath - were killed or captured either by the National Guard or by mobs of furious Tanari, many of whom would go on to join the Guard anyway. Morgan Peres had, of course, already been given a list of replacement officials to appoint. Naturally, there was no question over who the Guard reported to, and Horwath already had some ideas on how to improve their equipment.

-----

<The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut>

“All my doing… All my doing... “ Silver Eachan mumbled to himself as he lay on the floor of the treasury, some part of him finally beginning to realise the truth. His eyes were tightly shut - he had no idea where exactly Veidt had sent him, but he was certain it would be nowhere good - until it began to dawn on him that he was… strangely cold.

He finally opened his eyes and sat up, which allowed him to note a number of increasingly bizarre facts. The first was that was that he appeared to be surrounded by riches as far as the eye could see, the second was that he was completely naked, and the third was that he was so in front of Lilith Heyerdahl, the wife of Sefer Yetzirah - who, as far as he knew, had likely perished aboard the Narayanastra.

“I thought this was supposed to be a punishment,” he finally quipped.

-----

<Yorak>

“...And that’s the way it is. This is David Robert Jones with the Voice of the Resistance, signing off.”

David Robert Jones shut off the holographic projector in front of him, and sighed deeply. Having been effectively banned from leaving Yorak for the time being, and then browbeaten by Aster, he decided to return to his roots, and restart the Voice of the Resistance, the broadcast he’d so successfully hosted in the days of Allman.

He wasn’t really sure if he was accomplishing anything by doing so. While he was getting a decent amount of viewers for each broadcast, the numbers were nothing like what they were under Allman. Everyone was looking to other people now, be it the Prime Ministers of Yorak and Sukhonia, Aster or Anna Lundby, or the National Continuance Front government if they were on the other side. The Eachanites on Yorak had apparently gone very quiet, not knowing what to do with themselves once ‘their’ government collapsed like a house of cards.

Jones looked out the window and into what felt, to him, like the eye of a storm. The streets were full of people going about their daily business. The ‘Peres Pause’ - what the hell kind of a name was that? - had been totally ignored on Yorak and Sukhonia, and what reports they were hearing indicated it was being mostly ignored on Yari too. Trilateral independence seemed almost a fact, even if everyone was waiting to see what happened on Yari before actually acknowledging it. To Jones, who - like everyone else - had no idea Blair Morrison was forcing the NCF to let the Trilateral be for now, it felt like yet another house of cards, but that wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear.

“For five years, we’ve been asleep, and you’ve turned into the man who dithers, the man who always holds back, the man who wants to be a uniter when there’s nothing left to unite anymore… and nobody needs that right now.”

Aster’s words echoed in Jones’ mind, wounding him over and over again. He wondered if perhaps she’d been right. She was the one who knew him best, after all. Perhaps he truly was no longer needed, and his apparent fate - to waste away, abandoned by everyone - was what he deserved for his failure to act five years ago, when it could actually have mattered.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

Now that the toxic gas had been cleared, Oblique used telekinesis to stop Halo from spinning and to fold him back into the shape of a lyre, returning him to his usual form, before releasing his telekinetic hold on Halo and catching him in his right hand before he could hit the floor. Oblique then held Halo to his chest as both examined Xavik and Raimei with confusion. Oblique was sure that Xavik had just died; he saw the gas enter his mouth and felt his soul leave his body, but mere moments later, he had felt Xavik's soul return with an aura even stronger than before. As the remnant of a Soul Tree whose soul was bound to Oblique's own, Halo could sense everything Oblique did, leaving him equally surprised but similarly without an explanation.

However, both were disheartened to see that the owner of the soul that had been marked by their enemy sorcerer was not Melody Over Tempest, but a stranger who seemed oddly familiar nevertheless. Bizarrely, Raimei Senkou's voice sounded almost identical to Oblique's own, though Oblique decided not to comment on it. Now that they were unobstructed by distance and their environment, Oblique reached out with his senses to confirm what he had sensed earlier. After a moment, Oblique was sure that the mark on Raimei's soul had originated from their mutual fiend - or at least a member of his cult.

While Raimei and Nexus angrily confronted the hologram of Sophie Vinderen, Oblique decided to catch Sally up to speed, speaking to her telepathically. "Before we entered this room, you asked me why I played the Song of Judgement aloud to all on this ship. A moment prior, I sensed the arrival of one whose soul had been touched by the sorcerer you saw in my memories. The sorcerer's name is Siktim, a member of a cult that exploited dark magics, including the ability to consume the souls of others, in order to pervert the natural flow of time. If someone comes into direct contact with Siktim's dark magic long enough to be touched by it, but not long enough to be consumed, a dark mark is left on their soul - seemingly harmless, but traceable by one such as myself. I sense Siktim's mark on the soul of this man. The fact that he is here on this ship at the same time as me... may not be a coincidence."

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

"Excellent! I had the same idea," Ear said, beaming from ear to ear. "I'll sign off on those factories as soon as we get word they're on the way. So, does that conclude our business today?"

-----

<Shen Zhou>

Falling to his knees, Kakamu could do nothing but nod weakly to indicate that he had understood Vekhta as the flames dancing across his body quickly died out. Although his magitek heart contained enough elemental energy to burn perpetually for hundreds or even thousands of years, it was not designed to expel so much in a short time span, and especially not without the Mask of Clarity in place to regulate his systems. Although Vekhta's final attack against Astra and Zeneca had disturbed the platform he was standing on, the Mask of Clarity thankfully had not fallen into the void below, instead settling into a pile of rocks and dust close to the edge. Desperately calling upon the strength left in his organic muscles, Kakamu stumbled over to the mask, grabbed it, and quickly placed it back onto his face. The various 'spikes' that jutted out from the sides of the mask instantly wrapped around his head, affixing itself to him again.

Instantly, Kakamu felt his strength begin to return and his vision start to focus. "Me neither," he muttered in response to Vekhta while climbing to his feet. He smiled weakly at her, though the smile quickly disappeared as something seemed to cross his mind. "I've killed, Vekhta," he said grimly. "I've killed, and maimed, and burned more than I can recall, all in the name of the Emperor. All because she was the greatest power in the universe, the one who would finally unite us and bring about heaven on all our earths. I have to believe it wasn't for nothing, but on Nil'nara, something... touched me. Something touched us both. Something indescribably ancient and indescribably more powerful than anything I've ever felt before. I had a crisis of faith. I found myself questioning. And now... just now... I felt something. With you. Something that... feels right. Who are you?"

Ignore these delusions, the Mask of Clarity instructed. The traitor is useless to us. Complete your mission.

"No," Kakamu growled in response, placing his left hand over the mask as he attempted to wrench back control of his own thoughts. "I refuse."

Looking back up at Vekhta, Kakamu grimaced and continued. "After the Arokazek, I had to believe that there is still good in this world. Sefer promised me that my people would be avenged. She promised me that... she would never... betray me..."

The subject has passed the acceptable threshold of noncompliance, The Mask of Clarity thought.

I am assuming direct control.

Kakamu screamed in pain and fell to his knees, dropping the Guardian Fire Spear and clutching his head in both hands as his electronic eyes flashed rapidly between purple and red. After a few moments, his screams subsided as his eyes settled on red, and his expression turned from one of intense emotional pain to one without any emotion at all. Before Vekhta had a chance to respond, Kakamu grabbed the Guardian Fire Spear and hurtled towards her at incredible speed, the tip of the spear bursting into flame once more as he aimed it squarely between Vekhta's eyes.

[ The Scar ]

Mortar shells rained down, spraying the loamy soil up in great arcs to come thudding and splattering around him. Sol Lum Kyne didn’t break stride as he sprinted hard across the battered landscape, a blur of white carapace armour moving fast toward the broken wall ahead of him. There, his squad lay in wait for the bombardment to pass. He slid to a stop just before the wall, raised his repeater and fired off three shots, the concussive blasts of the weapon vaporising the steady downpour of rain around the muzzle. He watched as the explosive rounds found their mark, the shattered domicile ahead erupting with gouts of pink flame and black smoke. His squad took their chance, running from cover, opening their energy shields as they shot their subguns at the ruins. The chainsaw sound of the ridiculously high rate of fire reverberated off the walls of the gully, doubling the intensity of the barrage. The mortar fire let up momentarily as Sol Lum Kyne plugged another drum of ammunition into his repeater and bellowed at his troops.

“Charge the building! Send the Raptorix around to clear the trenches!”

His Benali troops moved forward, shields raised to the oncoming fire. A flock of agile dinosaur-like creatures darted from their hiding spot, moving in unison at astonishing speed as they spilled over the terrain, chittering to one another. Rain slicked the Raptorix’s feathers and the flashes of gunfire glinted off their jagged teeth and in their reptilian eyes. Kyne’s troops reached the house, throwing grenades through the windows; the gunfire that emanated from within the building lessened in intensity as multiple explosions once again rocked the building to its foundations. Kyne paced forward, his repeater held low, watching his troops’ progress with intensity. He could see a gap in his men beginning to form around the doorway where the opposing fire was fiercest, and began a slow run toward it, firing methodically through the doorway as he advanced. As he reached the threshold, he dropped his gun, which bounced down to its slung position, simultaneously pulling a short heat-sword from its scabbard at his waist.

He entered the building in a barrage of violence, ducking low to get through the door frame and cutting left as he did so, the blade bisecting a Terugan soldier and leaving a glowing-hot groove in the wall where the blade had scraped. Two men scrambled backwards, firing their weapons panickedly at the Onyanan bearing down on them, but their projectiles simply ricocheted off the gleaming white plate armour Kyne wore. In an instant he was on them, his huge bulk filling the room as he carved right, then drove the blade forward, dispatching both his opponents. The room fell quiet but for Kyne’s heavy breathing and the sounds of battle outside.

He had been advancing along this valley for the better part of two days, fighting the entrenched Arcadian forces when they met them. The Arcadians had set up a network of positions; machine-gun nests, mortar positions and trenches that formed redoubts around existing buildings, primarily farmsteads. Progress was slow and frustrating; Kyne had lost one flock of Raptorix to traps set in the trenches, and around a quarter of his Benali troops had been killed in ferocious fighting. However much progress they made, Kyne got the impression that he was chasing shadows. The Arcadians seemed to be fighting a very effective retreat out of the valley and onto the farmland that surrounded the next settlement, Agosh. That troubled him; thus far the opposing troops had fought an uninspired defense, with no real strategic or tactical merit that Kyne could discern. Now they were fighting with grit and intelligence.

Sol Lum Kyne sheathed his weapon, the edge quickly dying back from glowing orange to dull grey. He checked his repeater as his squad moved into the building behind him, whispering in their own language to each other. Benali were small, ratlike humanoids with grey-brown pelts, dark red eyes and prehensile tails. They made up a large share of the Onyana Collective’s population, and served as the military’s light troops - ideal for scouting and forward operations. Sol Lum Kyne led a force of twenty at full strength, and had two packs of the Raptorix at his disposal. The last two day’s fighting had severely reduced his squad’s fighting effectiveness. He would have to ask for reinforcement - and swallow the dishonour that came with such a request.

They left the house at sundown, moving through the cratered landscape under the cover of the rapidly approaching darkness. It was not long before they encountered the next cell of Arcadian resistance.




[ Castis 9 ]

“God knows that our armies will triumph, for they carry in their souls his heart, and so cannot fail,” Min Jal Qysh boomed as he put down his drink.

“They cannot fail,” the other Onyanans around the vast ovoid table toasted to the statement.

“It would appear that The Scar is to fall to us by the end of the week. Such a stronghold in Arcadian space will allow us to launch further and ever more brazen assaults on the New Order’s lackeys. No doubt they will surrender themselves unto our God’s grace in the near future,” Min Jal Qysh said as he popped a piece of fruit into his mouth contentedly.

“Though I do not doubt our warriors, I fear that the New Order will not let The Scar fall so readily, Grand Augur.” Jit Kuu Plone moved his drink aside, placing a crystal upon the polished surface of the table. Light spilled from the carved gem, conjuring a report in mid air. “The enemy have sent advisory elements to the Arcadian forces on the planet’s surface. The latest reports show that-”


“Do you mean to decry our warriors’ ability to defeat such enemies, Jit Kuu Plone?” Qysh asked. The other members of the meeting looked between the two as they stared each other down.

“Not in the slightest. I merely mean to temper our zealousness with the reality of the situation. It is my duty to ensure the High Council is informed of such developments.”

Min Jal Qysh merely grunted and set to eating more of the platter of fruit. A clergyman, Nam Dal Thresh, cleared his throat.

“I have no doubt that God is with our warriors, and that God will act through us as God’s mediators, God’s messengers, that we might better guide our warriors in their crusade.”

Jit Kuu Plone nodded. He was thankful for Nam Dal Thresh’s mediation on the council - striking a balance between Plone’s own pragmatism and Qysh’s piety.

Some time later, as night settled across the city, Plone sat in his office across from Willis. The room was a dark sanctum, the walls lined with cases full of scrolls and dataslates, computer terminals recessed between them. A long tables filled the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs. Only Plone and Willis were sitting there now, but in the day it was filled with Plone’s staff; Benali clerks, Agresian technicians, Jare datasmiths.

“So the New Order advisors are that good huh? I thought Onyanan troops were some of the best,” Willis said wryly. Willis drank from a bottle of imported whiskey. Plone abstained.


“They are,” Plone growled, “But it seems that the New Order are obfuscating their true intentions. One moment they make as if to strike at our forces, only to make hasty retreat; in other cases, they make themselves appear weak, only to swoop in with some other element of their forces and overwhelm us. I am not a tactician, but it falls upon me to try to discern the machinations of these heretics.”

“Humans don’t fight like you.”

“This is apparent,” Plone sighed.

“We adapt - and quick. We’ve always done it, since way back when. Maybe you fight too regular-like. Maybe you gotta’ switch it up, come up with some new ideas.”

“I will meditate on such thoughts. My thanks,” Plone said as way of dismissal, turning his attention to the dossier spread out in front of him. Willis stood, drained his glass, and left the office.



[ Vongola, Rebel-Loyalist frontline ]

Dreis nodded at Kane, flicking blood off of his piezoblade and putting it back in its scabbard. The few surviving VPR paramilitaries were being rounded up by Kane's men, hands tied and made to kneel in a line at the edge of the bridge. One man tried to stab his captor, and was promptly shot, the rebels laughing as his body was dropped into the water below.

“Your men are good. We’ll have a word with Dallas, see what he thinks about an early termination of the contract with Hasov, and pick up something with you folks. But I can’t make any promises,” Dreis said in a hushed tone to Kane.

By this point, Buster had hiked down the bank, his huge rifle slung over his back and his wide brimmed hat tilted back on his head. The aging cowboy was grinning at Kane.

“Nice shootin’ boy! Ain’t nothing like a good ole ambuscade!”




[ New Cressida, Orbit ]

Memories of Green was massive. The ship was three kilometers bow to stern, and two kilometers across at the centre; one of the largest in Heyerdahl Corporation service. The facilities aboard allowed it to not only manufacture all manner of equipment, but also to manufacture the machines that were required to do so; it was a self-sufficient system. Tooling and equipment could be sent down to the planet’s surface for widespread use, while the Memories of Green worked on fine-tuned systems that required manufacture in a microgravity environment.

The ship’s crew were an entity apart from the manufacturing staff - a complement of twenty ran the ship, whilst some hundred personnel worked on the shop floors, labs and facilities used for production of Heyerdahl Corporation technologies.

The project's lead engineer, Marcus Herschel, closed the door to his office and sighed deeply. He moved to the sideboard, where bottles of liquor waited - but turned away at the last moment and stared at the desk, leaning against the wall. Sweat dampened his brow. He stared at the desk, his desk, where a screen displayed a ream of text.

The document was blackmail, pure and simple. Somehow, they - the New Order - had found his family. They knew everything about him. They made sure that he knew, and, finally, the document told him that he would continue with the project. Not sabotage it; not make secret reports to some shady person or VI address - just to continue. So what was he being blackmailed for?

It was driving him mad.

[ Shen Zhou ]

Vekhta watched in horror as the Guardian Fire Spear shot towards her face, her body barely reacting in time to avoid it; she bent backwards, the spear narrowly overshooting her face, but Kakamu simply loosed one of his hands, grabbed hold of Vekhta's neck, and slammed her into the ground underneath. A sickening, guttural sound emanated from Vekhta's throat as Kakamu devoted all of his augmented strength to crushing it - she was saved only by her own beam sabers, which came flying through the air, pulled back towards her by Yuzari telekinesis; Kakamu leapt upwards just in time to avoid them, but wasted absolutely no time in angling his spear downwards for another strike. Vekhta rolled out of the way just in time, springing upwards and back onto her feet, gripping at her neck with her hands as her telekinetic beam sabers clashed with Kakamu's spear in front of her.

Something was wrong about the way Kakamu was fighting - he was putting his all into every strike, every movement, overexerting himself - his body moving like a ragdoll behind his spear as he launched it again and again towards her. It was all she could do to keep him at bay - but her beam sabers weren't designed to clash with a weapon imbued with mythical properties like the Guardian Fire Spear. Her own body was failing too - she was struggling to breath, and though her regenerative powers were addressing that situation, they were addressing it at the expense of tackling the damage she'd sustained in her fight against Astra. Things were looked bad - really bad.

She launched herself upwards and loosed a bolt of lightning towards the platform the two had been standing on, shattering it, and sending the two of them flying. Vekhta spun, landing on one of the chunks of stellar rock - but Kakamu was already chasing after her, leaping, bounding between fragments and closing in on her. Vekhta rolled backwards, jumping off the platform she was on and kicking it towards Kakamu in the process; it sped towards him but proved barely an obstacle as he shattered it with a single thrust of his spear. Vekhta was falling, now - fast- with no platform beneath her, directly towards the planet core below. She turned in midair and saw Kakamu speeding towards her, a cone of flame extending from the base of his spear, accelerating downwards. Vekhta readied her beam sabers to block, but to no avail - his attack landed with such force that it instantly destabilized the beams, destroying them, and Vekhta survived only by rolling out of the way at the very last moment. Kakamu was below her, now, but he turned, using the massive thrust generated by his spear to slow himself down, and readying it; Vekhta was still accelerating towards the planet core, and with Kakamu beneath her, gravity was about to draw her down onto the tip of the Guardian Fire Spear.

"This is how it ends, huh, Kakamu?"

Vekhta had nothing left. No real amount of physical strength, no lightning, no anti-psychic wizardry - no weapons, hidden or otherwise. And if Kakamu of all people had turned on her, then she had nothing left in that sense, too - no allies, no purpose, nothing. Her perception of time slowed - a cruelty considering it'd mean she'd experience her own death in excruciatingly painful detail - but it gave her pause to notice the mask upon Kakamu's face - the sinister red glow of its eyes, and the way Kakamu had seemingly wrestled with it shortly after placing it back on his face. Vekhta had never been the most perceptive person - whether it was Lilith Heyerdahl getting the jump on her with a sniper rifle, or Drake getting the jump on her with an assortment of hidden weapons, or a PsyTrooper getting the jump on her by blowing its own arm off - but on this occasion, just once, she noticed something important before it was too late. The mask. Aim for the mask.

Vekhta had nothing left. Save momentum.

Kakamu's spear drove into the palm of her mechanical right hand, shattering it, driving up through her mechanical forearm which burnt out from the inside in an instant before exploding. The pain in her upper right arm was excruciating, but the sacrifice had let her swing her body to the side slightly, avoiding the spear itself, allowing her to grab hold of the Mask of Clarity with her remaining arm as she sped past Kakamu, still travelling far faster than him. His neck and body jerked sickeningly, spinning around as Vekhta tried to use her superior momentum to literally wrench the mask off his face, the two tumbling ever closer to the swirling planet core below.

---

[ TCSET ]

"You- you're the Lithan! The one I've been searching for!" exclaimed Raimei, overjoyed. "Talk about a coincid-"

Raimei froze; Xavik was giving him a death stare.

"Okay, maybe not a coincidence. I've been looking for you. I'm seeking to defeat a powerful sorcerer, and-"

"This one suggests we halt the small talk until we have dealt with this." interrupted Xavik, gesturing to the hologram of Sophie Vinderen and making an unusual amount of sense. Such a stern demeanor. No wonder he's the captain, thought Raimei. "You will all note that the killer is indeed a woman. This one's powers of deductive reasoning remain beyond reproach."

<Vongola, Loyalist-Rebel Frontline>

With the VPR troops rounded up, the VRR men set about looting what was left of their vehicles, stripping the convoy bare of any remaining weapons and any other useful equipment. Nothing could be allowed to go to waste during a war of this sort. His armour’s systems confirming that there were no further enemies incoming - for now, anyway - Kane retracted the transparent bubble that protected his head from gunfire, as a show of goodwill to the Diamond Dogs, as well as being a chance to take a deep breath.

“Thank you, thank you,” the warlord grinned. “You did splendidly yourselves.”

Kane gestured to a set of decaying buildings on the horizon, which seemed to be at the end of the road the convoy had come from. “It looks like that convoy came from that refinery over there,” he said. “This engagement has probably severely weakened the enemy forces in the area for now. Should we press on before they can send reinforcements, do you think?”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“Fascinating…” Sally wished she had something more intelligent to say, but her first reaction was mostly to be overawed. “Wait… you don’t think this Siktim is coming here, do you?”

“Oh, it’s you again.” Sophie could not have possibly sounded more exasperated on noticing Xavik’s presence. “Actually, Xavik, your powers of deductive reasoning are as shit as they’ve ever been. I haven’t actually killed anyone. Bill, tell them!”

Bill whimpered, and refused to speak. Suddenly, the arm of ‘his’ robotic body began to rise, its hand curled into a fist, and punched him in the face. After about three punches, Bill finally gave in. “Fine!” he yelled, and the hand paused before it could go for a fourth. “I killed Guillaume because he wouldn’t sell me the coffee, and I noticed the sword on the way out. I was hoping I could sell them without having to deal with this… monster, but no one would deal with me, and then she got me!”

“Satisfied?” Sophie asked, as ‘Bill’s’ body punched him in the face one more time and then lowered its arm back into the water.

“I’m sorry, did you think that was believable?” Sally replied incredulously. “And even if that’s what happened, you’re still not in the clear!”

“Silly girl,” Sophie smirked. “What makes you think I’m even still here?”

-----

<Teruga Prime, Presidential Building>

“I think so,” Laara said. “I will remain on Teruga for the time being. Just let me know if you need anything at all.”

As she began to walk out, one of the Vrai telepaths stopped and gave her a meaningful nod. “Oh, I do believe the factories have just set off.” the Inquisidora added, and left.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Medical Facility>

“Good morning, Guardsman.” Dr. Mutanya said wearily, restarting the same routine he’d already gone through a dozen times today. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m totally fine, Doctor,” the National Guardsman, a Shifter, replied. His voice was naturally quiet, and so he was struggling to make himself heard over the holo-broadcast Mutanya had on as background noise. The broadcast was an interview with Morgan Peres, where he talked about the recent lockdown and subsequent purge, as well as a recent engagement between Tanari and New Order ships from which the Tanari had emerged victorious. No one really noticed any one specific thing he said, but they did notice that he looked like shit. He had had makeup applied to hide the most egregious examples of the decay he’d suffered of late, but he still looked like he’d aged a few years since he became President. Somehow, that reassured the people - after the drift of the early Eachan years, and the chaos of the tail-end of his reign, they finally had a President who seemed to be getting on with the job, even if there were bumps along the way.

“Very glad to hear it, young man.” Mutanya began to fill a syringe. “Now, this is just a simple vitamin cocktail, with a few other things mixed in to make it go down easier. All completely safe, I assure you, we just need you to keep your strength up. For the good of the nation, you understand.”

As Dr. Mutanya cleaned a spot on the young Shifter’s arm and began to inject him, he reflected on how some of what he had said was even technically true.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

Olivia Horwath smiled as she received confirmation that the message she’d had sent to Marcus Herschel had arrived and been opened. She would probably let the man stew for a bit, let the sheer psychological terror sink in. She was no Sefer, of course - but she still had the capacity to make good on her threats. In any case, a potential asset at the heart of the Heyerdahl Corporation was exactly the sort of thing she needed.

With that box checked, she took an incoming call. “Desmond Zaragoza,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have business with your President,” the Pirate Lord snarled. “Why was this call routed to you?”

“The President is indisposed at the moment. Don’t worry, I’ve been briefed on your little deal with him, and I’ve been authorised to...”

“Indisposed because of whatever little show you’re putting on back home, I suppose.” The Liquid-Metalliconite sighed. “Look, I don’t care about your office politics. I made a deal that requires secrecy. I don’t appreciate word getting out, especially to someone like you. Part of your job is to make sure people like me get shot, after all.”

“People like you, yes. But you wanted influence in a Peres administration, and one way or another, you’re getting it. We still need David Robert Jones removed from the scene, obviously, but even beyond that, the nation has certain needs only a Pirate Lord can satisfy...” Olivia began to play with her pendant again, in what was clearly a tic - or more - for her. “And we can make it worth your while.”

“I’m listening.” Desmond smiled.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

"If Siktim did come here... there would be little I could do to defend us without that sword," Oblique replied to Sally telepathically. "All the more reason for us to find it."

Oblique exhaled and closed his eyes, taking a moment to feel the auras of everyone in the room and beyond, reaching out through the ship as far as his senses could reach. One of the first things he had felt upon entering the room, but had not had much time to pay attention to until now, was that Bill had a blackness in his soul - not the kind of black mark left by a wizard, but the kind of darkness that could only be obtained the old-fashioned way: by committing an act of unspeakable evil. Oblique was sure that Bill's soul was the soul of the murderer who he had sensed lingering close to the scene of the crime before retreating deeper into the bowels of the ship. Unfortunately, while Oblique could sense the souls of dozens of other beings in the rooms and levels nearby, each with varying degrees of moral purity, it was impossible to tell whether Sophie Vinderen's was among them.

Moving his long white hair out of his eyes, Oblique glared at the hologram of Vinderen as he stepped forward to confront her. "By your own confession, you rigged the toxic gas in this room, which momentarily killed our captain," he noted, gesturing to Xavik. "And obviously, your trap has failed. If you were trying to cover your tracks, I think you can expect us to catch up to you soon."

"Yeah, you're going down, scary bald lady!" Halo added.

-----

<Shen Zhou>

Even as Vekhta channelled all her strength into wrenching the Mask of Clarity off Kakamu's face, she found that it still wasn't enough. The mask seemed to have a strength of its own, using six appendages - two protruding from the top and two out of each side of its face - to keep itself anchored to Kakamu's head, wrapping themselves around the sides of his skull and clinging on with an unbreakable grip. This doesn't make sense, Vekhta found herself wondering. How was Zeneca able to pop it off so easily?

Then she finally realized, her thoughts racing at a thousand miles an hour as she plummeted to certain death - the mask was alive. It wasn't just a device that augmented Kakamu's abilities; it was an actual, living, symbiotic being that had an instinct of its own, and now, that instinct had superseded that of Kakamu's, turning him into an agent of its own will. In his earlier fight against Zeneca, the mask must have been so busy helping Kakamu to survive against the clones attacking from the front that it had not noticed one approach him from the back and exploit its one weakness.

At least, that was what Vekhta told herself. The prospect of Kakamu betraying and killing her of his own free will was heartbreaking; she hated to admit it, but for the last few weeks, he had been all she had been counting on to bring some meaning back into her life. Although she had only shared occupancy of his mind for a few moments back on Nil'nara, the experience lasted long enough for her to see him for who he truly was: an unassuming hero, thrust into a world beyond his comprehension and circumstances beyond his control, who was doing all he could to tow the line of sanity in a universe of madness. But along with the inspirational memories of Kakamu came thoughts borne from another being, one indescribably more powerful and indescribably more sinister, whose presence in their minds showed Vekhta how insignificant they both really were. Vekhta had survived the experience, somehow, and returned to the New Order intact, but assuming that same old role, putting on that same old uniform, almost felt wrong now that she knew that she could be so much more. That they both could be so much more.

And now she would never know what that could look like now that the man who embodied those hopes had his hand clenched firmly around her throat. There was no recognition in the cold, red, rectangular panels of his eyes, only the mission that his masters had sent him to fulfill. To execute.

Oh well, Vekhta thought. It's too late for the element of surprise now. It's too late for anything.

Vekhta choked and closed her eyes, awaiting the final end to all her pain. She only wished that she had gotten to know Kakamu before it happened, the real Kakamu, the man behind the mask, the one she felt like she had known all her life despite them only sharing moments together. At least now she would be able to see her sister again. Small mercies for small glory.

Idiot.

Vekhta opened her eyes. Although her vision was fading, Arkhan's voice remained clear in her mind as ever.

I never left you... and neither did Kakamu.

What? Vekhta's mind began to race with the thoughts of possibilities again, even as her body began to succumb to the strength of the biomechanical titan beneath her. Her ragged breaths got slower as she and Kakamu continued to fall, intertwined while they struggled with each other against a backdrop of rocky walls, searing flames, and lightning. Arkhan, what the hell do you mean?

You're still alive, aren't you? As long as you're alive, you still have a future. So stop daydreaming and grasp it.

How?

Sometimes, even our own eyes can blind us to the truth. Destroy his eyes.

This time, it was Vekhta who surrendered herself to the will of another. Still unsure whether she was hallucinating, Vekhta felt the warm hand of another fall on top of her own and draw out lightning from deep within herself, charging it into her only remaining hand, before clenching it into a fist. In the next moment, through no intention of her own, Vekhta slammed it into Kakamu's face with immense force, creating a devastating explosion of electricity that separated them both and flung them into opposite walls of rock. Vekhta choked as she resumed her descent, trying desperately to ignore her immense physical pain to focus on getting her breath back, when she noticed what her action had caused.

Kakamu's rectangular red eyes had been blown out, revealing another set of mechanical yet strangely human-like eyes underneath, along with several panels around his head, revealing layers of brown hair that had apparently been hidden between them. Kakamu blinked in confusion and looked around, seemingly trying to make sense of his surroundings as he plummeted alongside her. The Mask of Clarity atop his face had been buckled in, with an oily black liquid oozing from a large crack down its middle like blood.

"Vekhta? What-" Kakamu began, only to be cut off as the mask tightened its grip on him in an effort to resume its control. As the purple irises of Kakamu's new eyes flashed red once more, the Tekkui used his feet to propel himself off a wall and dove towards Vekhta, thrusting the Guardian Fire Spear towards her.

Grasp your future.

Now knowing exactly what to do, Vekhta leaned back, allowing the Guardian Fire Spear to pass over her, and grabbed the Mask of Clarity with her one remaining hand, pulling with might that she didn't even know she had left. This time, despite its immense grip on Kakamu's skull, the Mask of Clarity split down the middle when pulled, shattering into two halves that sprayed oil onto Vekhta when separated. She could almost swear she heard a noise akin to screaming as the halves drifted away from them - falling upwards, rather than downwards, due to the mask being lighter than Kakamu and herself. Returned to a weakened state without the mask, Kakamu slammed head-first into a wall of rock and was knocked out cold, his body spinning like a ragdoll as it fell beneath her. As Vekhta's eyes followed him, she noticed the molten core of the shattered world come into view miles below them, as well as the sensation of a steadily increasing gravity that would soon be crushing them both.

"Some future," she muttered.

Then, for what seemed like the fifth time in the span of a few moments, a miracle happened. The world of Shen Zhou was engulfed in a bright light and Vekhta's ears were filled with a loud mechanical hum that drowned out everything else. Next, she felt herself hitting what felt like a cold, metal surface, with the kind of force one would expect would result from falling a few feet instead of the thousands that she had just fallen on Shen Zhou.

As the light subsided, Vekhta found that she and the unconscious, maskless body of Kakamu were sprawled on the floor of a spacecraft; a Shinkai-class judging from the size of its fixtures and the cabin they were in, with an assortment of three strange characters who were looking over them both. The first was a thin android with chrome black plating and an almost skeletal appearance with a snake-like head. The second was a much larger and bulkier android with white plating, a spherical body, and limbs as thick as tree trunks. The third was a humanoid alien with two heads who was dressed in red, white, and blue tactical armor; the eyes of both heads regarded Vekhta with surprise.

"Now..." the snake-headed android spoke, crouching down to examine Vekhta. "This didn't go exactly as planned, did it?"

[ Bendu, 7 BR ]

"Ah, so that's where you are, Charlia."

Kyriah Aban An-Kardias found his daughter, at long last, sat hunched in the shade of a glass Makai tree, hidden away in one of the quieter corners of the Citadel's grounds. From up here, one could see over the Citadel walls and to the rest of Bendu city; a vast crystalline metropolis that sprawled out in every direction, interspersed with lucious grassland reserves, and bordered by an endless, featureless silicon desert. Vekhta rose her head up as Kardias approached, her tear-streaked face emerging from underneath a mop of brown hair. Kardias came and awkwardly sat himself down next to her, reaching an arm around her shoulders. Vekhta sniffled.

"Fatima tells me you're not too happy with your An-Khadan results."

An-Khadan. The Yuzari right of passage, during which members of the Yuzari seer caste determined which caste young Yuzari would fall into. The An-Khadan was sacred; it was also rarely wrong. It had remained relevant for many thousands of years, primarily on the strength of that last reason alone; being descended from the Lithans, the Yuzari knew all too well of the danger that a single maladjusted individualist could pose to a hyper-collectivist society. It was a compromise between the chaos of the lesser races - who led empty, pointless lives in search of purpose - and the far more rigid caste systems that had dominated the Fall of Cluster Empire, which saw Lithans born into roles and professions defined by ten-thousand year old genetic legacies.

"I don't want to be a knight."

Kardias smiled warmly. The Yuzari was a handsome man, seemingly in his late fourties to early fifties; he had a North African appearance, or rather, an appearance based on the genetics on one of the North African population groups that had served as donors for the creation of the Yuzari race. His long hair was woven into dreadlocks, then tied loosely at the back into a ponytail. He wore a typical Yuzari governmental robe - resembling a thawb with subtle, crystalline detailing, without a single stitch or fold out of place.

"Okay, we'll change that, then."

Vekhta's eyes shot open.

"Really?"

Kardias shrugged. "Why not? And if the sun decides it wants to stop shining, then we'll let it too. And if the underground aquifers that give us our drinking water want to dry up, then- Ow!"

Vekhta elbowed him in the leg. Kardias chuckled, and ruffled her hair.

"Stupid." she remarked.

"What I'm trying to say is that we're all part of one interconnected ecosystem. Each of us has a role to play - and the purpose of the An-Khadan is to help us find that role. Not everyone likes their role at first - but we all grow to accept our role."

"Fatima seems to like her role."

Vekhta was right; even now, Kardias could crane his head around and spot his blonde-haired daughter sparring on one of the Citadel's training pitches, driving a wooden sword through the air like a paintbrush on a canvas. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for siblings to be assigned to the same caste; what was truly rare for one to have an obvious affinity for the role, and one to wholeheartedly reject it. The mechanisms of the An-Khadan were alien, even to Kardias. Its machinations always panned out in the end, but even he had to admit he was surprised to hear that the soft-spoken, bookworm Charlia had been named a knight, of all things. Before he could say anything, she continued, arcing her head backwards as she spoke, gazing up at the refracted light filtering through the glass leaves of the Makai tree overhead.

"I wanted to be a seamstress. Vekhta means seamstress. You named me wrong."

Kardias sighed. Bendu'ui was not a static language, and at some point, Vekhta had indeed been the go-to term for someone who designed and wove clothing. It was a historical definition, though, and not one that would be immediately obvious to a modern Bendu'ui speaker... unless that Bendu'ui speaker happened to spend a significant portion of their time reading old novels and historical texts, as Kardias's strange, brown-haired child was wont to do.

"Charlia Aban An-Vekhta... listen to me. Since before even the time of the Rider empire, the knights of the Yuzari have served as guardians of order throughout the galaxy. Each one has gone on to become a legend in their own right. Knight-Zanatos led the first defence of Malchior, during the War of the Howling Night. Knight-Arahbek helped unify the eighteen tribes of Takesha into one unified people, devoid of internal strife and conflict. Knight-Sikkatim near-singlehandedly pushed the Eclipse back into the darkened wasteland they call home. Trust in me, and in the ways of our traditions. Your legacy will rank amongst theirs, Charlia. Of that...  I have absolutely no doubt."

---

[ La Xara, Present Day ]

Somehow, I've got a feeling this isn't what he meant.

Vekhta awkwardly sat herself upright - forgetting, halfway through, that her right arm now ended in a charred stump - and leant back against one of the cabin's walls, catching her breath. Her body was slowly healing, with the searing pain that had engulfed her right arm now rapidly subsiding. Her Yuzari healing factor worked differently from the temporary healing factor she had been imbued with by the Fruit of Life; each healed wound still left a scar, with Vekhta solemnly realizing that the horizontal slash across the bridge of her nose would now be a permanent fixture of her appearance. She cast her eyes up to Voorak-kah, then to Muta, then to Motrokh, then back to Voorak-kah.

"Well, both Kakamu and I are still alive, so that plan's not expressly failed, as of yet." she retorted, offering a crooked grin. "I suppose that leads me to ask whether you fellers are friendly, or whether I need to start planning a daring escape."

Vekhta's bluff was painfully transparent; they could probably just put a pillow over her head and finish her off, at that point. She wasn't in much state to offer any opposition - the damage to her neck had not yet been wholly undone, and her right forearm was still missing. Whether it would actually grow back or not was very much still a mystery to her.

But, hey. Worth a try.

<The La Xara>

There was a long pause as Voorak-Kah stared at Vekhta. His emotions, whether he had any at all, were impossible to discern from the electronic purple slits that functioned as the eyes of his robotic exoskeleton. Their solid purple glow reminded Vekhta of the eyes that had been part of Kakamu's face up until a few moments ago, with the exception that Voorak-Kah's extended back across the sides of his snake-like head, giving him a much wider field of vision and an unsettlingly alien appearance. Voorak-Kah did not seem like any of the androids Vekhta had encountered in the New Order, or even like the Yuzari's own thinking machines; the skeletal, partially rusted, makeshift design of his limbs, the masses of uneven silver metal shards that jutted out from his spine and the back sides of his arms and legs, and the hand-painted black coating on what little armor he had atop them all seemed designed to inspire fear, but Vekhta was undeterred.

The android next to him possessed an appearance that was more conventional for a robot, with a cleaner, more futuristic minimalist design despite its larger size. Its spherical torso was almost as wide as the average person was tall, easily taking up half of the width of the cabin. Each of its limbs could easily crush Vekhta, being as thick as tree trunks, but the android remained in a neutral stance behind Voorak-Kah, choosing instead to watch the scene unfold with the two cold blue rectangular lights that it possessed for eyes. The android possessed a flat cylindrical head that seemed to have extended from a circular panel atop its torso.

The third and final member of the crew followed the example set by their two allies, staring at Vekhta and smiling as though they knew something she didn't. Both of Motrokh's heads were humanoid, one recognizably male and one recognizably female, but neither taking a dominant role as both seemed to examine Vekhta in synchronicity. Although some of the finer details of their faces were obscured by what seemed to be red, white, and blue face paint, Vekhta noticed that they seemed to possess no noses and that their eyes were set deep into their skulls.

After what seemed like an eternity, Voorak-Kah reached out with his right hand, the motors in his joints quietly whirring as he extended his fingers towards Vekhta's face... and gently gave her a playful slap on the cheek. "You're absolutely right," he said, the obsidian teeth of his lower jaw contorting into a grin as he quickly pulled his hand back. "The plan was a stunning success. If I didn't know better, I would have said that she must have tipped you off for everything to have gone so smoothly... but, you know her. She doesn't like letting on more than what's necessary in order for things to go her way."

Voorak-Kah then signalled his allies over to Kakamu, who was breathing raggedly as he laid unconscious on the floor next to them. The metal parts of his face were still steaming from the electrical explosion that Vekhta had administered, his armor was scorched, and the parts of his organic self that were still visible between the plates of his armor were battered and bruised. Muta and Motrokh quickly picked him up and hurried him into another room just out of sight.

As if reading Vekhta's mind, Voorak-Kah decided to skip the first few unspoken questions that popped into her head in order to answer one. "Kakamu will be fine. His body wasn't designed to survive without that symbiote he thought was just a mask, but we have a replacement that should keep him stable, at least for the time being. A little something of my own creation."

Voorak-Kah stood up and walked into an adjacent room, beckoning Vekhta to follow him. Inside, Muta and Motrokh had laid Kakamu atop a medical bed and had inserted his entire head into some kind of metal box-shaped device that extended down from a mechanical arm attached to the ceiling. Motrokh's female head was busy examining the readings that the device projected onto an electronic screen while the male head used their shared body's arms to administer a healing agent to Kakamu's wounds.

"Vash nykta poon vas," Motrokh's female head uttered, turning to Voorak-Kah with a concerned expression. "Vash koosch kalla vas."

"He'll pull through," Voorak-Kah replied, nodding in encouragement. Then seeming to remember that Vekhta was there, Voorak-Kah turned back to her and smiled in a way that she wasn't sure was supposed to be reassuring. "You can relax, we're not going to kill you," he said, raising his mechanical hands. "We're friends of Kakamu, and he seems to have placed some trust in you for the time being. I admit I don't fully understand why, considering that he was sent to kill you, but as long as that remains the case, you have nothing to fear from us. You really did a number on him in that fight, but it was for his own good. As long as he had that mask on, he was destined to live out the rest of his days as the New Order's golden boy, when we both know he was meant for so much more."

Turning back to monitor his allies' progress, Voorak-Kah folded his arms and continued. "My friends here are administering a new biomechanical symbiote in the shape of the Mask of Clarity. If this works, it'll keep him alive and no-one will be able to tell that the original's been destroyed. Isolating the exact genetic bonding layer was tricky, but I'm something of an expert on symbiotes. After all, I am one. My name is Voorak-Kah - Voorak is the suit, Kah is the brain. I'm a Chimerex. My friends here are Muta, an android, and Motrokh, a Xyvolex. Together, we call ourselves the Fellowship of Kakamu."

If they heard him, Muta and Motrokh ignored Voorak-Kah's introduction, continuing to focus their attention on Kakamu instead.

"No doubt you were expecting to meet the Shiroi Taimatsu instead," Voorak-Kah chuckled. "Well, they've been... indefinitely indisposed. Nobody has seen or heard from them since Nil'nara. Which brings us to the next matter of attention."

Voorak-Kah then leaned into Vekhta uncomfortably close.

"This will all make sense to you, Vekhta, very, very soon. But if you want the truth - the full truth, as much as any one person can know - we'll be heading to the Enumcharad's Wake next, with you as our prisoner. We'll attend to your injuries first, of course. If there's anywhere else you'd rather go... your wish is our command. Kakamu put his faith in you, and that means that we have, too. But I warn you: choosing otherwise may result in... unpleasant consequences somewhere down the line. Not my choice of words. So, what'll it be, princess?"

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“Gods, I hope not,” Sally half-thought, half-said. The Coldest Story was full of beings with all sorts of strange abilities and talents. Sally was sure they could take on Siktim or almost any other being in the galaxy and win - but the cost would be far too great.

“Wait, hang on,” she began to say out loud as she realised Oblique had referred to Xavik as the captain of the ship. “Do you think…” Her sentence, however, was interrupted by the ear-splitting laughter of Sophie Vinderen.

“You… you think he’s the captain?” Sophie finally managed to say once she’d caught her breath. “Oh. My. God. You’ve actually mistaken the ship’s fool for the fucking captain! Oy, pretty lady who said she worked here! Is this some elaborate prank you’re playing on them?”

“No, they’re just that stupid, apparently.” the Shifter huffed.

“Yeahhhh, I’m feeling pretty confident I’m not going down for anything now,” Sophie replied.

-----

<Teruga Prime, Vrai Desert Factory>

“I’ll admit, Madam Ambassador,” said Neb. “When the President told me about this plan, I thought she was taking the piss.”

“Understandable.” Laara - no longer an Inquisidora, but now the Vrai Empire’s first ever officially accredited ambassador to Teruga - replied. She and her Terugan liaison looked out the window onto the factory floor below, where machines operated and supervised by Vrai and Terugans were starting to churn out new weapons. “Cloaked Vrai factories out in the deserts… who wouldn’t laugh? But trust me, sir, this is quite real. And with any luck, it will help save your planet.”

-----

<Yorak>

“What the hell do you mean, I’m not authorised?” an irate David Robert Jones snapped. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Neil Donovan’s secretary said. “These negotiations are for Yoraki and Sukhondese officials only. You are not authorised.”

Jones sighed deeply, looking past the secretary and at the wall behind him, which had recently been covered with ‘FREEDOM OVER SEFERISM’ and ‘NO SURRENDER’ posters. He couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly those slogans, which Aster probably hadn’t even had the chance to put much thought into, had somehow been turned into the beginnings of a new quasi-state ideology.

Another thing he couldn’t help but marvel at was the irony of his situation. He had always been the ultimate insider, and suddenly, he was completely excluded from all decision-making and effectively imprisoned in a gilded cage, supposedly for his own safety. The only weapon he had was his name, and as he was learning, that only got him so far. Once again, part of him remembered Aster’s rant. I’m the fucking virus in your system and always have been, she’d told him. Was this what it felt like to be a true outsider?

No. He banished the thought from his head. What a ridiculous thing to say.

The door Jones had been trying to get the secretary to open for him suddenly opened, and Neil Donovan stepped out. “Ah, David,” the Prime Minister of Yorak said. “I was just going to look for you. Come with me, I have something to show you.” He turned back and walked down the short corridor to his office, and Jones followed.

“You have to understand, David, there’s no other option. The FSA is staying out of Tanari affairs for now, and Anna Luxon… Well, she needs to make sure she can hold Lanorra first. But if she does, and we and Sukhonia stay friendless, she might as well walk in and take over the place. And at the end of the day, I think you like that idea even less than I do.” Donovan was right that Jones didn’t like the idea, but he liked the Prime Minister’s tone even less. He thought Donovan sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of something, as opposed to trying to convince Jones.

“What did you do?” the now concerned Jones asked, only to have his question answered when Donovan opened the door to his office. Waiting for them was about the last thing David Robert Jones expected to see in the office of a Tanari politician - an Inquisitor of the Vrai Empire.

-----

[Six Rings Total Terraforming Parking Lot, Wilson City ]

Vice-President Reed pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed; he was sitting through quite possibly the worst speech in Tanari history. Gordon Black, the former Minister for Military Procurement, had been detained in the recent Anti-Eachanite Peres Purge, which meant what should have been an important commencement speech was now being delivered by Trinity College-Dublin, Black's nervous, stuttering understudy. Worse still, the ministry's head speech writer had also been detained, and Reed suspected some malfunctioning script-writing AI had been drafted in in their place.

"We Tanari people know greatly of suffering. And when I speak of suffering, I speak of mental suffering. Great mental suffering. We suffered in the War. The Takemizakuchi War. And then after that. And also physical suffering. Of war and bombs. And so today, that will all end. The Nation Continues. And now the Nation, as well as continuing, has new soldiers. The supersoldier program has been reborn. The Tanari spirit has been reborn. And it has been reborn as this man. I will introduce you to him."

Captain Tanarus emerged onto the stage to thunderous applause, resplendent in power armor painted in patriotic Tanari colors, a stylized 'T' emblazoned on the chest. He waved and grinned, coming to stand behind the microphone, removing his helmet; the man was the Tanari ideal of handsomeness, sturdily built, with a genuinely patriotic appearance.

"Thank you, thank you. Firstly, it is an honor and a privilege to be here with you. And to be here before Six Rings Total Terraforming, a great Tanari company and one of the facilitators of our expanse across the bountiful worlds of the confederacy. It was James August Tanar who once said: Tanar is not a race, or an ideal, but a mindset. It is the drive to never settle for second best - to never back down - to never apologize for greatness. For too long we have apologized for greatness - for our advanced super-soldier technology, and for our military might. That ends today."

"Before I was Captain Tanarus I was an ordinary citizen, just like all of you. I paid my taxes, I obeyed the law, but I felt a deep dissatisfaction within. I was dissatisfied with the weak-willed government that allowed our so-called allies in the FSA to push us around without reprisal. I was dissatisfied with the myth of human privilege, when what we all know is that Eachan's policies advanced shifters at the expense of humans, making our lives harder. But when I saw two great patriots - Morgan Peres and William Douglas Reed - risking their lives for the soul of the Tanari people, I knew I could sit by no longer. Science and technology have transformed me into a super-soldier, and I will be the first of many. Young men and women of the confederacy, loyal patriots - join me! Tanar thirsts for the strength of its people! The Nation Continues!"

Captain Tanarus extended his arm forwards in what Reed hoped was a Roman salute, but the Vice-President spat out his drink nonetheless, narrowly avoiding being caught on camera as he did so. Even worse, some of the crowd were repeating the gesture, though some with their fists clenched. It looked slightly less Lurian that way, and to ensure the media reported on it as a closed-fist salute, Reed made the gesture himself, stepping calmly onto the stage so that the cameras could get a good look at him doing it. Yep, that's it. Just a nice fist in the air gesture - just a nice, inoffensive Tanari salute. Reed noticed that Tanarus was still doing it the other way, and so quickly shuffled towards him to force him into a handshake, such that he would have to stop saluting. It worked.

"Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Vice President."

"The pleasure is... all mine, Captain Tanarus. The Nation Continues."

Meanwhile, at the secret facility, Dr. Eastwood turned his gaze from the bizarre speech being displayed on his comptuer, to the armory that lay behind him. Tanarus - the reject - was disposable, and sending him out there would be a good way to attract potential new recruits for his experiments. The real supersoldiers would conduct their actions in secret - armed with the best armor and weapons the Tanari military-industrial complex could produce. They would be stronger than practically any other soldier in the galaxy. Faster. More resilient. More adaptable. More responsive. Better, in every conceivable way.

And singularly loyal... to William Douglas Reed.

---

[ The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

"This one let you get away last time, Vinderen. This one will not make the same mistake twice. Daily challenge. The next time you encounter a mass of negativity in your life, interrupt it... with positive energy."

With that, Xavik held his hands apart, energetically aligning the air around him with his own internal Qi reserves. Energy sparked off him, before he launched it towards the holo-emitters generating the projection of Sophie, instantly shorting them out and ending the projection. He fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"It... is over. Sophie Vinderen... is no more."

He stood back up, collecting himself. Raimei Senkou walked over to him.

"Captain, I'm... I'm fairly sure that was just a hologram of Sophie."

Xavik smiled warmly, patting Raimei on the shoulder.

"It is good to see you are questioning the nature of the reality before your eyes. This one has taught you well. However, you need not fear. Sophie Vinderen will threaten this ship no longer."

"...Again, I'm just, I do think that was just a hologram. Not to be a critic or anything, just-"

"Ask yourself - can a hologram think for itself? Exercise free will? No. But what we just saw was most definitely exercising free will. It chose to steal the coffee. It chose to kill Guillame. Therefore... it could not have been a hologram."

Raimei paused, looking around the room for guidance.

"I mean... well, who am I to argue? It's, uh, your ship, Captain."

"No." corrected Xavik. "It is our ship. But, also, yes. It is this one's ship. And now that this matter has concluded... this one believes it is now entitled to use the ship's long-range communications array."

---

[ La Xara ]

"Call me princess again and Kah might be looking for a replacement for Voorak." replied Vekhta, a crooked grin forming on her face, only half joking. She wasn't sure if she could trust Voorak, or any of Kakamu's other companions; she wasn't particularly sure she actually had a choice. Still - if they wanted her dead, she'd be dead, and if they genuinely wanted to bring her to Arc Keylana as a prisoner, they'd likely be torturing her extensively to ensure any reserves of antipsychic power were thoroughly depleted by the time she was brought to the adamah's presence.

She stepped forwards, over to Kakamu's unconscious body, taking his hand in her own. She had to admit that she felt something for this strange red man, though she wasn't quite sure what it was. Arkhan would've known. Vekhta struggled to see the world in anything other than strictly logical terms - she didn't share her sister's inability to detach the what from the why. There was no real logical reason for her to hold any affinity-

Stop. She'd been telling herself that again, and again, and again, as if she needed to justify it - the same old Charlia Aban An-Vekhta, starting from the beginning and trying to work it through as if it were a maths problem. This - whatever this was - defied logic, and she would find no answer by trying to work it out logically. It was terrifying for her to admit that to herself; it was also somewhat exhilarating. She squeezed his hand.

"Hey, big guy. I didn't realize this until a few weeks ago, but turns out I'm a Yuzari, and apparently telling people our first names is supposed to be a big deal for us. So... how about you pull through this in one piece, and once you're awake, I'll, uh... tell you mine?"

Smooth.

She let go of his hand, placing it gently back down on the medical bed, and turned to Voorak.

"My injuries don't need any medical attention, but if you want me to be able to spring some lightning once we're in Arc Keylana's presence, I'll need at least twelve hours to meditate. My energy reserves are completely shot. I'll, uh, I'll also need... food. Human standard ration packs will do."

She paused, looking to the unconscious Tekkui, then the Xyvolex, then the robot, then back to the robot that was actually a Chimerex inside a robot.

"...assuming you brought any."

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“You… you…” Sally spluttered. All the guilt she’d felt about leaving Xavik behind just so she could lead Oblique and Halo into a screamingly obvious trap evaporated. “You haven’t concluded anything! She’s still out there!”

“And stop calling yourself the captain! You’ve hardly even done a fucking thing for anyone on this ship before today!” As Sally screamed, random objects began to rise into the air without the Shifter even meaning to use telekinesis, but without focus or direction they soon fell back again. Clearly, Xavik had struck a nerve. “Forget your array, you’re lucky Praxter - you know, the guy who’s actually repeatedly saved us from enemy fleets, and saved literally about a thousand people from being killed or enslaved - hasn’t kicked you off the ship yet!”

She began to storm out, but before she did so, she turned to Oblique. “Can you try and talk to the bobblehead for me?” she said, pointing to Bill. “I’m gonna see if I can call Prush. Maybe he’s made some progress.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

Before the presentation of Captain Tanarus had even finished, clips of it were already making their way onto Xwitter. Reed’s activity during the aborted election campaign had helped spawn into existence an ecosystem of popular NatCon influencer accounts - most of which were even real - but with Reed busy actually trying to govern for the most part, those influencers were suddenly left adrift, and many were absorbed - some by choice, some through secret bribery or cajolery from the Bristol Corporation, and some through having their accounts hacked - into the nascent peculiar personality cult of Morgan Peres. In viral xweets, the NatCons mocked Trinity’s speech and Reed’s visible annoyance with it, and drew particular attention to Captain Tanarus’ salute, juxtaposing it with reminders of Silver Eachan’s good relations with the Ascherons.

On the same day, it was announced that a unit of the National Guard had ambushed and defeated a unit of New Order infiltrators on Aluic-5. Soon after the conference at Six Rings Total Terraforming, several ‘amateur’ videos surfaced of the engagement, showing the National Guardsmen performing unnatural feats of strength. President Peres was soon drawn to give an interview regarding the rumours, wherein he refused to confirm or deny much of anything, but one particular answer drew people’s attention.

“I think what the National Guard really shows is how a united Tanari people can do anything it puts its mind to.” the President said. A careful look would reveal a few grey hairs starting to appear on the once youthful-looking man’s head. Olivia Horwath’s successful attempt to turn him into a puppet had taken a visible toll on him, but perversely it had massively helped his popularity. Not only was he no longer allowed to do or say anything in public without someone signing off on it first, but the side effects of the neurotoxin on Peres’ body had been mistaken for the toll of him working flat-out to stabilise the nation - something neither Horwath or Blair Morrison had actually planned, but that they welcomed anyway.

“Silver Eachan betrayed us all by dividing the nation for political gain and refusing to draw on all of its talents. We all saw the results. Basic tasks of the state farmed out to the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes, the New Order at our doorstep once more.” Peres continued ominously, in a way no one would have thought him capable of until recently. “Under my administration, this will never happen again. We are preparing the instruments of our redemption. The National Guard - humans and Shifters, working together for Tanar - is but the first of many. The nation will continue. This I vow with my life’s blood; for my son, for all our sons.”

As she prepared for sleep in the largest bedroom in the presidential palace - the floor in his office had been deemed good enough for Morgan Peres, while the couch in the same room was assigned to Lt. Hansen - Olivia Horwath smiled. ‘Captain Tanarus’, as a concept, was very much up her alley -  the National Guard showed as much - and if Reed had sought her help, she would have happily offered it. However, he hadn’t, and was showing signs of sticking with his anti-Shifter rhetoric when the policies of the new administration - her policies - were directly contrary, which was a concern. She was starting to lean towards thinking that Blair Morrison had been wrong about him, but he could still be useful - after all, competition was the mother of progress.

-----

<Z’traa, Grand Imperial Museum>

“And what do we gain from all this endless conquest? New race after new race drawn into the Vrai fold, and for what? We can either try to keep them there by force, enslave them, brutalise them, drown ourselves in their blood for no good reason… or we can try to persuade them to stay, but again, for what? What’s the point of a Vrai Empire where the Vrai will no longer be masters in their own home? No, enough already! Our government cannot, will not stop this madness. They have ruled far too long for any good they have been doing lately. Go, I say! Let us be done with you and your wars! In the name of the Emperor, go!”

Tekhe Ra, the Vrai High Representative for Foreigner Policy, stood before the giant, looping hologram of Gheor Klar. He shook his head as he took in the same words he’d been hearing for half his life. For over thirty years, that speech had been the foundation of the modern Vrai state - until now. Outwardly, he insisted otherwise, but he knew that by creating the Order and Progress Coalition, he was completely breaking with that.

But success wasn’t preordained. The Vrai were strong, but not invincible - it wasn’t impossible that the New Order or another resurgent force could defeat them. And even if the Vrai and the OPC remained undefeated, the only model in living memory that the Vrai had for sustained engagement with the outside world was imperialism. Who would they become once their splendid isolation ended?

Tekhe had no way of knowing. The OPC was an experiment, one that could end in spectacular failure for any of a thousand possible reasons - but if it succeeded, if he succeeded, the Vrai would take their rightful place as the political and moral leaders of the galaxy. He’d go down in history, and maybe one day a hologram of one of his speeches would appear in the Grand Imperial Museum next to Klar’s. That thought kept him going, even through moments of self-doubt like this one.

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

"I freakin' told you he wasn't the captain," Halo muttered to Oblique, his wooden eyes rolling upwards in their sockets to glare at him.

"I recall no such thing," disagreed Oblique. He nodded to Sally as she stormed out, regretting that neither of them had made much progress in finding the sword, but taking comfort in the fact that the murderer was now in their custody. Oblique walked over to Bill, stepping carefully around the edge of the pool to avoid getting his robes wet, and crouched down to confront him. "Your soul is damned," he said cryptically, glaring into Bill's eyes in an attempt to intimidate him. "But perhaps you may still be of some use to the living. Where is Sophie Vinderen and the sword you stole? You would be wise to be honest. Trying to lie to a telepath will only cause you more pain."

-----

<La Xara>

A strange mechanical rumbling noise emanated from Voorak-Kah's throat which Vekhta interpreted as a light laughter, like chuckling. "Luckily for you, two of the Shiroi Taimatsu were - um, and probably still are - humans, so we have plenty of human food rations on board," the biomechanoid explained, the emotionless electronic purple slits of his eyes continuing to stare her down. "I think you'll find yourself at home in Inkar's quarters. I'll take you there."

Voorak-Kah then walked towards the exit, leaving Muta and Motrokh to work on Kakamu while beckoning for Vekhta to follow him. As Vekhta turned to leave the room, Kakamu's hand suddenly shot up and grasped hers, squeezing it gently. The device that his head was encased in began to beep rapidly and the monitor that it was connected to displayed an increase in heart rate. Both of Motrokh's heads observed the readings with surprise.

"What's happening?" Voorak-Kah asked, looking back over towards Motrokh.

"Nothing," Motrokh's female head replied in the galactic standard dialect, a language that Vekhta could actually understand this time, while squinting at the screen. "He's just... dreaming."

A few moments later, Kakamu's hand went limp and fell back onto his chest on the medical bed. Muta said nothing, merely watching the situation while wrapping some sort of bandage around the wrist of Kakamu's other arm on his opposite side. Now that she thought of it, Muta had said nothing since her arrival, so Vekhta wasn't sure whether he could actually talk, but she was surprised by how skilfully the robot seemed to be tending to Kakamu, using the pointed ends of his large metal fingers to handle and wrap the thin bandages deftly despite their large size. Noticing her gaze, Muta looked at her for a moment, analyzing her in return, before returning to his work.

"Strange," Voorak-Kah commented, referring to Kakamu. Turning his attention back to Vekhta, the Chimerex nodded in the direction of the exit, leading her out of the room.

After a few moments spent traversing the inner corridors of the ship, Voorak-Kah and Vekhta arrived at a room that was obviously still in use as someone's personal quarters, or at the least, had not been touched since that person was last aboard the ship. Voorak-Kah pressed a panel on the wall that activated the electronic lights in the ceiling, illuminating the room to reveal an unmade bed with grey sheets, an open chest of drawers containing tactical and basic items of women's clothing, a refrigerator with a glass door that seemed to be filled at half-capacity with ration packs and various types of drinks, alchoholic and otherwise, and a bedside table. Atop the table was a framed photograph of a young blonde woman in military gear smiling with her hand around the shoulder of another woman in civilian clothing who could almost have been mistaken for Arkhan at first glance.

"If you need anything, I'll be in the cabin. We'll arrive at the Enumcharad's Wake tomorrow," Voorak-Kah said, lingering for a moment before leaving.

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“L-look, man! I was telling the truth!” Bill was no longer capable of sweating, but if he were, he would have been doing so profusely at that moment. “I was just chilling in my room and listening to music when her goons came in, kidnapped me and took all the stuff! Then they cut my head off and stuck me on… whatever the hell this is and left me here. They were all gone when I woke up.”

Bill’s voice, somehow, broke even more, as if he were about to start crying - except whatever process Sophie Vinderen had used to transfer his head onto her disposable body had also completely dried out his tear ducts. “Look, I know I’ve done some really shitty things. But there’s nothing more you can do to me,” he said sadly. “Unless you can somehow stitch my head back onto my body, it doesn’t really matter where I end up, does it?”

---

Meanwhile, in one of her many other hiding places dotted throughout the ship, Sophie Vinderen was lounging in what appeared to be a very elaborate swivel chair with some inert machinery and consoles attached. It was the Coldest Story’s original captain's chair, which had gone missing after an unexplained burglary of the bridge a few years ago.

“Victor, my darling,” Sophie said to one of her burly, tattooed goons. “Leave one bag of coffee for me, but box up the rest of the merchandise.”

“Sword too?” Victor replied.

“Yeah, the buyer has agreed to take that too. I didn’t even have to say anything, as soon as he saw it on the call he started adding zeros to the price we’d agreed for the coffee all by himself. Usually I have to put some effort into my outfit for them to start doing that.”

“You sure about that, boss? We still don’t know what it does. Do we really want that floating around in the middle of a war?”

“It’s a sword. What the hell can it do that Sefer or the FSA haven’t already done?” Vinderen waved a hand as if to dismiss her goon’s concern. “Besides, remember what our profits are going towards. Even if things go wrong, we’ll do more than enough good to make up for it.”

-----

[ The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut, Hell ]

Lilith didn't hate Eachan. She certainly didn't like him, nor was she particularly fond of any of the New Order's opponents, but Eachan was so milquetoast and inoffensive that it was hard to pick out anything specifically worthy of contempt; additionally, he had the advantage of not being Allman, which was always a plus.

She certainly didn't want to see him naked, though.

Sighing, she turned around, and stuck her hand into a pile of gold, fishing around for a suit bag she'd found a few weeks ago. Or months ago. She still wasn't sure. The bag contained yet another bizarre artifact Malak had acquired on his galactic travels; an ancient suit from Earth history that had at one point been a source of great controversy. She threw it at Eachan; the bag itself would serve to cover him up for now, and he could get changed into the suit later. She certainly had no intention of sticking around to observe the latter.

"Now, how the hell did you end up here?"

---

[ Donald Slayton Memorial Hospital, Lyndon City ]

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Reed stared at his pale reflection in the mirror, his face glistening, droplets of water drip, drip, dripping down from the tip of his nose into the wash basin before him. Mr. Vice President. As you know, when you were last here after the attempt on your life, we took some blood tests as standard. Drip. Drip. Drip. He reached his cupped hands into the basin, brought them up to his face and splashed it again. Splash. Drip. Drip. I've had these tests run three times. Each result is the same. It's a condition I remember reading about in a Takemikazuchi medical journal, before the war. Drip. Drip. Drip. You've probably heard of it. Drip. Drip. Drip. It's called DIDS.

"DIDS?"

He was back in the room, now; earlier. Less pale. The doctor, James Abingdon, sat behind his desk, august in posture; a severe man delivering severe news.

"Dendrobium Induced Degenerative Syndrome. It's a very rare condition that only really occurs in Shangri-La - the only known place where humans live in proximity to Dendrobium gas."

Reed nodded. "I... yes, I've heard of it. Sometimes ships that are passing through the entryway into Shangri-La will accumulate some on their hulls. It can stick to it. We'd electromagnetically hose down any external surfaces before they're allowed into pressurized environments." he added. "Occasionally, we wouldn't catch it all, and trace amounts would get filtered into a colony's air supply. It happens."

Dr. Abingdon nodded. "In your case, it did happen."

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose. "Doctor, I appreciate you calling me out here but - you can understand - I'm a very busy man. Just give me the pills or whatever, and Ill-"

"Mr. Vice President, this is not Shangri-La. We do not have any pills, and I'm sorry to say that the only treatment we have is palliative."

Reed flinched.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Mr. Vice President, that you left Shangri-La nearly seven years ago, and I have absolutely no idea how you're still alive. Your DNA is a cascade failure waiting to happen. I doubt there's even an uninfected strand of DNA in your entire body for us to gen implant organs from, and even if we could, the DIDS would just migrate into them as soon as we implanted them."

"So it's a death sentence, then?" replied Reed. The doctor gave no answer. "How many years?"

"The answer to that question starts with a decimal point."

"Well you get no fucking points for your bedside manner." replied Reed, shooting upwards from his chair. He began to pace the room. "Tell me."

"Six months."

"Six months?"

"Six months. And if the medical journals are correct, then I'm sorry, but you could wake up on Tanday feeling right as rain, and by Tarday afternoon you're going to be on a cold slab in a morgue. It's not going to be pretty."

"You tell anyone about this, you're dead. No-one outside this room - doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Actually, Mr. Vice President, doctor-patient confidentiality doesn't apply when the matters discussed could impact the continuance of the nation. You signed that statute into law yourself, sir."

"Fuck!"

"...fortunately for you, it's a stupid law." replied Dr. Abingdon, reclining in his chair. "And as such I've elected to ignore it. Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Vice President, but I would highly advise you to strongly consider continuity of government giving this news. There's no drip way of drip drip the drip. drip. Drip.

Drip.

Reed wiped his face off with the sleeve of his suit, and leaned back from the wash basin. His support had been waning; the NatCon movement was dying off now that the counter-cultural renegades were the culture itself, and more and more the public discourse had been turning against him. Memes had cropped up on Xwitter - showing him digitally doctored to have a strange haircut, tired, bloodshot eyes - he was quickly becoming a laughing stock. He made his way to the hand-dryer. He had been so close - so desperately close to winning, but like a Midas of dust, his ambitions had turned to thin air in his hands. The hand dryer wouldn't turn on. He smacked it. It turned on. As his hands dried, he turned his eyes towards the manufacturer's name, embossed in the lower right-hand corner of plastic outer shell.

BRISTOL MEDICAL MANUFACTURE, LTD

He drew his hands back, coiled one into a fist, and punched it. And punched it. And punched it. And punched it. And punched it. And screamed. And punched it. And punched it. It fell to the floor. He kicked it. And kicked it. And screamed. And screamed.

A pair of guards burst in - Zenith and Nadir - their weapons drawn.

"Something the matter, sir?"

Reed looked down at his bloodied knuckles, and to the wrecked and shattered hand-dryer unit at his feet.

"Contact Eastwood." instructed Reed. "Tell him it's time to activate the ReedTroopers."

"So soon?" Asked Nadir.

"So soon." confirmed Reed.

Zenith nodded, and the two men calmly withdrew. Reed turned back, looked down at the shattered plastic chassis below him. BRISTOL MEDICAL MANUFACTURE was now a warped shard of material. Reed lifted his foot up, stepped on it, and felt the cheap, brittle plastic snap underneath.

---

[ La Xara ]

Vekhta transitioned into her meditative state near-instantly, something that historically would have taken at least a half hour of focus. The environment around her shifted into a featureless plane of white, as did her own appearance; her mental self-image had both arms intact, and none of the various scars she had accumulated in the past few weeks. In fact, had she been able to conjure up a mirror, she probably would've seen that her eyes had returned to their original color, too.

"Arkhan... I need to ask you something."

"Go on."

Vekhta looked around, but despite being able to hear her voice, she couldn't actually see Arkhan.

"You're... you're not really Arkhan, are you?"

"Without getting into metaphysics, yes, that's correct."

Vekhta nodded. "You're my subconscious mind's manifestation of my memories of Arkhan."

"And if you've deduced that much, then I'm guessing you've figured out the rest already."

Vekhta sat down, crossing her legs. Arkhan faded into being, sitting across from her; Vekhta should've been shocked or startled to see her long-dead sister, but the nature of the meditative experience - as well as her realization that she was speaking to a mental reproduction of Arkhan rather than any ghost or revenant from beyond the grave - made the experience feel wholly natural and unremarkable, as if she had last seen her only hours before.

"Yuzari genetic memory is choral. We assemble residual mental images of those we interact with on a frequent basis, which can then help us when it comes to internal decision making. It's like that human phrase about being the average of the five people you spend the most time with, only... well, literal."

Arkhan chuckled. "Trust Charlia Aban An-Vekhta to talk about something we all learn in first-year academia as if it's a complicated psychology lesson."

Vekhta frowned; she was being bad-mouthed by what was essentially a glorified figment of her imagination. Arkhan continued.

"The Yuzari subconscious is an order of magnitude more complex than that of a human. Spend enough time around someone, and it'll basically code a... biological AI copy of that person for you."

Biological AI copy. Arkhan really wasn't the literary type; maybe she had a future writing JS's posts for him. A thought then occurred to Vekhta.

"Does that mean I'll end up with a version of Kakamu inside my head?"

"Given enough time, then... yes." replied Arkhan, before her face coiled into a wry smirk. "And no, you can't do what you're thinking about doing. Firstly, that's a massive Yuzari cultural taboo, and secondly, anything that increases your heart-rate is probably just going to snap you out of your meditative state."

Vekhta turned her face away from Arkhan, pouting.

"...I wasn't thinking about nothing." she muttered.

"I'm literally inside your head. Don't try and lie to me."

"I don't need to justif-"

And then, as soon as it had all begun, it ended. Vekhta was pulled out of her meditative state; what had been mere minutes inside it translated to hours outside.

"-fy..."

She surveyed the room, and stood up. Her body was healed, and the reserves of energy within her massively restored - but she felt startled and disoriented by the massive shift in chronological perception she had just experienced. And if twelve hours really had just elapsed...

...then they were likely approaching Enumcharad's Wake.

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

Oblique sighed, withdrawing from Bill. Although Oblique could enter Bill's mind any time he wanted, he didn't need to be telepathic to see that the human was telling the truth.

"I believe you," Oblique said calmly, stepping back from the pool. "I expect your next destination will be the brig. The others will likely want to verify your confession with a telepathic scan. I'll take you there in a moment. But first..."

Oblique then turned around and pointed dramatically at Raimei Senkou.

"You. What's your business here? You said you were searching for me?"

Still being held in Oblique's right hand, Halo said nothing, simply watching as his gaze moved between Raimei and Oblique with interest.

-----

<La Xara - The Mind of Kakamu>

A roaring campfire illuminated the surrounding trees under the starry night sky, bathing the area in a warm orange light as the firewood crackled and burned. Flaming embers floated upwards, carried by the hot air, momentarily taking their place among the stars before fizzling away into nothingness. A gentle breeze flowed through the area which brushed against the underwood, challenging the fire but never threatening to extinguish it. Far away, nocturnal animals cheeped and chittered as they awoke to start their day, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of the stranger.

Kakamu approached the camp, feeling himself drawn towards the fire like a moth; not knowing where he was or why he was there, only following the allure of the light. The feeling took him further into the camp itself until it parked him on top of an overturned log, just close enough to feel the warmth of the fire but not so close that he would get burned. As Kakamu felt the fire caress the cold flesh of his legs, he stretched out the palms of his hands so that they could feel the same comfort - and noticed something. There was no metal on the backs of his hands. Shocked, Kakamu turned them over. No metal on his palms, either. He looked down and saw no metal on his legs or feet, noticing that his red-skinned toes had embedded themselves in the soft soil of the ground. Panicking, Kakamu reached up to his face, touching it, and felt the thin, bristly layer of stubble that he had not felt there in a long, long time.

What is this? Kakamu asked himself, looking around for answers. As if in response, a silhouette of an older and shorter Tekkui appeared on the opposite side of the fire, his features obscured by the dancing flames.

"You don't remember?"

And then that voice brought everything back. Kakamu suddenly remembered, as clear as if it were yesterday, collecting the wood to build the fire, using his hands to create its basin, and even sitting atop the same log when the task was done. He even recognized the voice of the other, which, despite belonging to a man who had been dead for so many years, seemed to periodically continue to return to haunt him.

"Yes, father," Kakamu answered, bowing his head. "I remember."

Stepping out from behind the fire, Kakamu's father walked towards him, leaning on a wooden staff for support. As a Tekkui approaching the end of his natural life, Kaulan sported a thin grey beard that hung down from his wrinkled red face, but his bright blue eyes glimmered with no less acuity than a man a fraction of his age. The former Savant of their village, as denoted by his grey tunic and crystalline badges, looked upon his son with pride as he took a seat next to him, each wrinkle in his red skin telling their own tale of an adventure that he was sure Kakamu would match himself one day...

...that is, if he had not already done so. Kakamu remembered the life that he had lived since that night around the campfire on Nil'nara: the arrival of the Arokazek, his failed attempt to stop them from taking his own son and his banishment into the void of space, his rescue by Arc Keylana, his rebirth by Sefer Yetzirah, the crusade across the galaxy, and finally, his confrontation with Vekhta, an enigma of a woman who continued to occupy his mind in ways he couldn't explain. He remembered that something went wrong; he had decided not to kill her, but it felt like something possessed him, forcing him to attack her, sending them both into a brawl that caused them to plummet through the mantle of a shattered world, falling closer and closer to the core, until... nothingness.

"Am I dead?" Kakamu asked.

"No," Kaulan replied, stretching his own hands out towards the fire as he watched its flames dance across the wood. "You've just been having nightmares for so long that you've forgotten what a dream is like."

Kakamu breathed an immense sigh of relief, never feeling more grateful to still be counted among the living. There were still questions he needed answered in the real world, and amends he needed to make. He had to find Vekhta, to make sure that she was oka- to protec- to resume his search for answers. "What do you mean by that, father?" he said, gulping while fighting back intrusive thoughts.

"I mean that this is a dream coming from you, not from that nasty device you've had plugged into your face for so many years. A true Tekkui dream, one to set you back on the path you should've been on all along."

"The Mask of Clarity?"

"Yes, the Mask of Clarity," Kaulan grimaced, shuffling an inch closer to the fire. "Always driving you towards your next objective, your next mission, never giving your mind the chance to think for itself. To dream for itself."

"I... don't understand. The Mask of Clarity is to focus my thoughts, not obscure them-"

"You actually believe that?" Kaulan scoffed, jabbing his staff into Kakamu's chest. "Then why could you not focus your thoughts on sparing that young woman's life? Every time you considered it, that thing you call a mask cast the notion from your mind. It decided otherwise. That's not assistance, that's control. And it seems like, judging from the outcome, it took full control of you when things didn't go its way."

"I..." Kakamu trailed off, not knowing what to say. He wanted to deny it, but he could think of no other explanation for what happened. He had felt every thrust of the Guardian Fire Spear towards Vekhta, every punch that collided with her face, every gurgling sound of her struggling to breathe as he tightened his hands around her neck, though none of it had come from his own will. The memory of her wide red eyes, terrified as she fought desperately against him to cling onto her life, was somehow too much for him to bear. Kakamu's eyes - his natural eyes - scrunched up as he felt tears begin to flow, trickling down his face.

"The New Order betrayed you, my son," Kaulan said, looking down at Kakamu in sorrow.

Seeking an outlet for his rage, Kakamu fell to his knees, clenched his fist, and punched the ground, screaming with each punch, over and over again, until his knuckles were bloodied and numb.

At the end of it, he could only form one word. Gritting his teeth, Kakamu turned to his father with tears still staining his face. "Why?"

"Why?" Kaulan answered, standing up. "Because something new entered the equation. Something that turned you into a less-than-perfect soldier."

Yelling, Kakamu scooped up a fistful of dirt and threw it into the fire, causing the flames to shoot up for a moment as they consumed the new material. "No," he seethed, turning back to face Kaulan. "Why her?"

Chuckling, Kaulan walked over to stand next to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I suppose I could ask the same question about your mother. But in the end, it's not something we can summarize. It's something we have to hold on to to find our meaning, and that's what you're going to have to do now. It will be hard, especially hard for you both, but it will be worth it."

Kakamu shook his head in disbelief, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "But why her? I barely even know her!" he protested. "Did she alter my mind somehow? Did that entity on Nil'nara?"

"Nope," Kaulan said, sitting back on the log and smiling while looking at the stars. "You saw her. She saw you. Sometimes that's enough."

"It was enough for my own mask to see fit to turn me into a living puppet," Kakamu growled, standing back up himself. "How am I going to explain this to Keylana?"

"Are you going to explain it to Keylana?" Kaulan asked with a coy expression.

"What do you mean?" Kakamu snapped, pivoting to glare at his father. "I can't just abandon the New Order because of... this."

"They abandoned you without a second thought," Kaulan pointed out. "On Shen Zhou, all they needed was your body. Your strength. Just like... the Arokazek."

"They're nothing like the Arokazek!" Kakamu shouted. "The New Order are the ones who've been stopping them!"

"And tell me, my son... how many have you seen them stop? Have you ever, even once, seen a scan of an Arokazek ship or an Arokazek in their custody?"

"Shut UP!" Kakamu raged, taking a blind swing at his father. Kaulan ducked under it and took a step back, watching silently as Kakamu brought his hand back to cover his face, trying to stop himself from breaking down again. "It can't have been for nothing," he muttered under his breath, bringing his other hand up to cover his face too. "It can't have been for nothing."

After taking a moment, Kakamu opened his eyes and looked through his fingers, noticing his natural toes in the dry earth. He paused as he wiggled each toe, feeling the ground beneath his skin. To see himself like this again, to feel the sensations of his natural self again, was a blessing, but he had the distinct feeling that that was not why he was here. After all, Tekkui dreams always carried a meaning, an answer, or some kind of direction to give them something to work towards when they woke up, whether influenced by the Mask of Clarity or otherwise. The fact that this dream had taken him back to this specific campsite, set a few days before the Arokazek would arrive to set the rest of his life in motion, had to have a meaning.

"Is this the meaning of this dream?" Kakamu mused. "To turn me against the New Order like I turned against the Arokazek?"

"No. The meaning of this dream is to tell you that you now have a choice. The mystery of Nil'nara, the one which has been troubling you ever since you left, can only be solved if you go with Vekhta. But she and the New Order are on different paths now. You know who she is and what the Emperor did to her. You know she can't abide them... and neither should you now that you're no different to them than she is."

"No different to them? I told you, I haven't abandoned the New Order!"

"Maybe not technically. Not yet. But now that your heart has flown, it can't return to being caged. Especially now that you know that you're just a puppet at the end of their strings."

"What do you know, anyway?!" Kakamu snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at his father. "You're a dead man! You never even heard of the New Order during your life!"

"I'm a projection of your subconsciousness," Kaulan smiled. "I'm just here to put the pieces together while you sleep. It's you who has to make the answer a reality... and something tells me you already have the answer you need, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not."

-----

<La Xara>

Kakamu awoke to find himself laying on his back on an uncomfortable medical bed, with a metal box-shaped machine being lifted off his face by a mechanical arm attached to the ceiling. The two heads of Motrokh smiled down at him, apparently very satisfied about something or other. Looking over to his left, Kakamu noticed the hulking form of Muta standing in the ship's medical bay, watching Kakamu silently with his arms crossed.

Realizing where he was, Kakamu instantly sat upright, knocking his head on the mechanical arm. As he brought his own arm up to rub his head, he noticed that he was still wearing the Mask of Clarity - or at least something that felt like the same size and shape. Baffled, Kakamu thought back to Shen Zhou, remembering how it felt when Vekhta ripped it off his face and let its two halves float away into the void. Had his Fellowship found and repaired it for him?

"Good morning, Kakamu," Voorak-Kah said, entering the room and bowing, his metal teeth forming a smug smile that stretched around the sides of his head like a predatory animal.

"What happened?" Kakamu asked, looking around. He reached over his shoulder and felt the handle of the Guardian Fire Spear attached to his back, exhaling with relief upon touching it.

"It seems you and Vekhta took a little tumble on Shen Zhou. The Mask of Clarity was shattered in the process, but I was able to make you a suitable replacement. Just don't expect it to talk to you anymore. It will help to regulate the mechanical parts of your systems in the same way that the original Mask of Clarity did, but nothing else."

"Vekhta? Where is she?" Kakamu demanded, jumping to his feet. "Is she alri- I mean, did she survive?"

"Yes, she recovered in Inkar's quarters overnight. She left a little while ago. It seems her injuries have mostly healed... well, aside from her arm, of course."

Kakamu breathed a sigh of relief before he was hit with the obvious. "Wait. Why did you help her? You are aware that my mission was to kill her, aren't you?"

"That was your mission, yes," Voorak-Kah said cryptically. "My mission was always to bring her back."

"What?" Kakamu said in disbelief.

"Yes," Voorak-Kah replied, his wide grin growing even larger. "Arc Keylana is very interested in seeing her."

"Where is Vekhta now?" Kakamu asked, no longer able to mask the concern creeping into his voice.

"Well, Keylana took her almost an hour ago. I'm afraid you're too late."

-----

<The Enumcharad's Wake>

Vekhta awoke groggily from a nap she didn't remember taking after her meditation. Positioning herself upright, she found herself splayed across a long beige sofa in front of a roaring fireplace, which seemed to be the only thing illuminating the room. She counted at least a dozen books strewn randomly about the place, each in various stages of being read, laying atop a coffee table and multiple chests of drawers against the wall. Hanging from the walls, which were decorated with the kind of patterned wallpaper that had been customary in several time periods of ancient Earth history, were paintings depicting battles all throughout the history of the galaxy. Vekhta recognized some from her Yuzari education, but there was one that immediately leaped out to her as familiar. Squinting, Vekhta realized that one particularly large painting that hung directly above the fireplace depicted the Yuzari invasion of Shangri-La.

Sitting in a couch next to her was an adamah with long, braided blonde hair that was almost as pale as her grey skin. Vekhta had barely interacted with this adamah during her time in the New Order aside from the occasional formalities and her presence at holo-meetings, but she recognized Arc Keylana all the same.

"Hello, Vekhta." Keylana smirked, her lips contorting in a way that was eerily similar to Sefer Yetzirah despite having a different face than her genetic template. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Keylana paused, waiting to see if Vekhta would immediately strike her down. Seeing no immediate indication, Keylana continued.

"Welcome to the Enumcharad's Wake. Or, more specifically, Dimension EX-3016-B according to the Akashic Records. That makes you the first Yuzari to ever set foot here. Want to celebrate?"

Reaching over to the coffee table between them, Keylana picked up a bottle of wine and poured it into a glass, offering it to Vekhta. As if already knowing that Vekhta would refuse it, Keylana smirked again and drank it herself.

"Now, I already know how this is going to go, but I can still give you the illusion of a choice," she continued, idly playing with her glass. "This may well be another dimension, but I have no more power here than I would in our home reality, or 'normal space'. All I can do is teleport things in and out of here, but even I'm not sure if those powers would still work in the presence of a Yuzari. I am well-aware of what you are and why Mother saw fit to exterminate your people. You are, essentially, my antithesis. You could probably crush me with a thought. But I don't think you will."

Laying her glass back on the table, Keylana leaned on the arm rest between her and Vekhta, locking her eyes on the Yuzari.

"Because I know what's on Nil'nara. You have two choices. You can work with me, or try to take that knowledge from me by force. I haven't had a good fight in a while, but I can't guarantee you'd win all the same, nor that you'd be able to find everything in my mind. Are you willing to hear me out?"

<The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut>

Silver also sighed, and walked behind a pile of gold, where he set about changing into the suit. Lilith was clearly not impressed by his naked body - not that there was any universe in which she would be - and the mild breeze in the vault was starting to feel a bit unpleasant. He was an old man, after all.

“Your fucking species happened again,” the ex-President said from behind the pile. “Your wife sent assassins after me, and while I was in the hospital, William Douglas Reed - I hired him to help with my campaign, so yes, I suppose that’s on me - led a coup against me. And while we were fighting, my wife decided to get revenge on me and revealed I had... some money stashed away for a rainy day on worlds you just conquered - thanks for that, by the way - so I had to flee to Sukhonia. Straight, as it turned out, into the waiting arms of Timothy Morgan Veidt, who sent me here somehow. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about how he’s still alive with a fully intact fleet, would you?” he snarked.

Eachan emerged from behind the gold in a suit that was a surprisingly decent fit for him, all things considered. “Here’s a better question - why are you here? From what we’d all heard, you were on the Narayanastra when the PsyTroopers all self-destructed.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Lyndon City Hall>

Mike Rivera, the Mayor of Lyndon City, was not an intelligent man. He owed his election to the help of Commissioner Kinsler, who had deemed him more likely to overlook the Lyndon City Police Department’s less savoury activities than the opposition candidate for mayor. While Kirsten Bluth had not been averse to such methods herself during her time in the resistance, unlike Kinsler she at least felt bad about them, and had pledged to fire the Commissioner and other Allmanite holdovers. This earned her a very narrow defeat thanks to Rivera’s suspiciously strong performance in some Stabil neighbourhoods and suspiciously low voter turnout in some Shifter neighbourhoods. When in office, he loyally did Kinsler’s bidding, and in the increasingly complicated internal politics of the National Continuance government, this meant he was considered an ally of William Douglas Reed as well.

Unfortunately for Reed and Kinsler, the same traits that made Rivera a valuable patsy also made him a perfect target for Olivia Horwath, much as they had Morgan Peres before him.

“For many years, there have been concerns about policing in this city. Brutality, corruption, racial profiling, interference in politics.” The Mayor, who looked a bit tired, droned on at a press conference, flanked by the Commander of the Lyndon City National Guard and several of his underlings, who stood out in their pearl white uniforms. “I was elected to represent every corner of this city, and my message to all those concerned today is this: I care. This is why I’m proud to announce that the city council has today approved my plan to defund the Lyndon City Police Department. To compensate, we will begin boosting funding to mental health services…”

As the journalists and assembled citizens erupted, fearing that the Mayor was suddenly staking out a position on policing further to the left even than the most radical Shifter activists, Rivera continued his speech. “Fear not, though, citizens. I was also elected on a pledge to preserve law and order in this city, and Van Smoot’s rebellion has reminded us how important these things are. While the LCPD is no longer fit for purpose, 90% of its budget and all of its equipment will be transferred to the well-trained, highly capable, diverse force that is the Lyndon City National Guard. I thank Commissioner Kinsler for his long service to our great city, but I’m afraid it’s time for us to do better. The Nation Continues!”

-----

<Vongola, City of Sards>

A human man walked into the office, and immediately banged his head on the head of the doorway. Several young K’thaan sitting around the office began to snicker, but were silenced by a dirty look from the man. A look was all it took - between his unkempt appearance and his old, camouflage military uniform, the man had clearly seen some shit.

“Ah, Colonel Mikurin,” said a Tuvar’nloq sitting behind a desk, who the human supposed must be the boss around him. “My name is Drex. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Don’t call me Colonel. I haven’t been a soldier for a very long time,” the man replied wearily. Drex suddenly realised that the places on Mikurin’s uniform where insignia denoting his faction and rank should have been were empty - whatever had once been there had seemingly been ripped off a long time ago. “I’m just a contractor now.”

“Have a seat, Mr. Mikurin.”

“Just Sergei is fine.” As the ‘contractor’ sat down opposite the Tuvar’nloq, his eyes were drawn to the tattered wall behind him. A logo had been recently emblazoned on it - the word ‘SALVADOR’ written in a stylised font, with the letters S and V highlighted for some reason. “So, what’s the job?”

The Tuvar’nloq hastily cleared his desk, and began to unfurl a paper map. “A convoy of refugees the Foundation has pledged to evacuate is currently held up in no man’s land, around fifty miles east of the city. They have an escort already, but there’s been a bit more fighting in the area lately than we expected, so we’d like you to link up with them and make sure they get here in one piece.”

Sergei examined the landscape on the map, noting that the terrain didn’t seem particularly treacherous. “Seems easy. With enough men.”

“We have several more… ‘contractors’ coming in tomorrow. And the regional government has spared a few men.” Drex tried to sound diplomatic, which in his case made him sound like he was carefully picking up every word with a set of tweezers and dropping it into place.

“How generous of Thomas Phaedrus Kane. Usually his men would be the ones extorting the refugees.”

“Let’s just say he’s a man with whom one can do business. Anyway, the contractors won’t be here until the morning, so unless something changes between now and then, you leave at midnight tomorrow. Payment will be double what I understand your standard rate to be, and if you perform well, you will be the first we call on for future missions of this nature. And trust me, there’ll be more.”

Sergei raised his eyebrow. He didn’t think a charity like this would be able to throw money around like that, but he wasn’t going to bite the hand currently feeding him. “Is that all?”

“No. There’s a bonus.” Drex pulled out two photos - one of a young K’thaan woman, the other of a golden, heart-shaped locket. “She will be with the convoy. Please make sure both she and the locket get here safe and sound. The Foundation has a… particular interest in that.”

“The Foundation or you, Drex?”

“Unlike some, Sergei, I don’t allow personal considerations to get in the way of my work.” The Tuvar’nloq man’s expression suddenly darkened. “Take some time to explore the city, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sergei could have started a fight there and then, but again, he wasn’t going to bite the hand currently feeding him, so instead he simply nodded curtly. He left, taking care not to hit his head on the way out, and headed out into the city in search of the one person in Sards he suspected would be just as annoying, but in a more homely way.

The streets of Sards were a bustle of activity. The city itself still bore the scars of the long battle that had been waged there, but those scars were visibly healing. While traffic in Vongolan cities was almost universally terrible, the street he was walking on had been closed to vehicles so the road could be repaired - a rarity outside the core cities of the VPR. Wherever he looked, construction workers - not all of whom looked local, Sergei noticed - were repairing buildings. Sergei had spent too long on Vongola, first as the Tanari military attaché to the VPR and then as a ‘contractor’, for his first instinct to not be to wonder who exactly was paying the workers and who was profiting, and the massive portrait of Thomas Phaedrus Kane he noticed had been erected on one of the city’s tallest buildings only fuelled his suspicions.

Sergei arrived at his destination - a fairly well-stocked small shop. Next to the entrance was a noticeboard that hadn’t been there last time he’d been in Sards. Across the top was a black banner with the words ‘TRAITORS CAN’T HIDE’ emblazoned across it in bright yellow letters, and several wanted posters had been pinned beneath it. The ‘contractor’ recognised some of the faces as either VPR functionaries or members - or, he supposed, now-former members - of the region’s local elite, but others were new to him. He shrugged and entered the shop.

“Hello, Rosa.”

“Sergei,” The attractive shopkeeper sighed. “What the hell are you doing back here?”

Instead of answering the question, Sergei began to look at the fruit Rosa had for sale. “These used to be cheaper.” he said.

“Have you noticed there’s a civil war on? Besides, taxes have gone up to pay for reconstruction. For now, anyway.”

“Since when do you pay taxes?”

“I dunno, I like not living in a heap of rubble.” she shrugged. “Stop fucking spinning plates and tell me why you’re back.”

“Got a new job. Escorting some refugee convoy up here for the Salvador Foundation. Weird people, but they pay well, so…”

Rosa laughed. “You don’t say. Between them and Kane’s men I’m making bank these days. Be careful with them, Sergei. They have a lot of cash to throw around for a refugee charity.”

“It’s not my job to ask these sorts of questions.”

“No, but it is your job to not get shot.”

“Didn’t realise you cared.”

“I’ve always cared.” Rosa hissed. “That’s why this doesn’t work. You rock up into town once in a while, we have dinner, sleep together, have fun for a few days, and then you go out to get shot at by Figlio’s goons for months. Then you come back when you feel like it and we have this conversation again.”

“Well, Salvador say they’ll keep me on retainer if this mission works out. I could just stay here long-term.”

“You’re the one who always says there’s no such thing as long-term on Vongola.”

“That was before you started paying taxes.”

Defeated, Rosa chuckled. “You know, someone bought out and reopened Geronimo’s. Just promise me you won’t come in that fucking uniform.”

“I don’t really have anything better.”

“I still have that tuxedo upstairs. You can even grab a shower if you want, this district was the first to get clean water back.”

“Check and mate, huh?”

“You know it, dear.”

---

Sergei had cleaned himself up - he hadn’t had as good a shower in at least a year - shaved, and forced himself into the old tuxedo he’d left at Rosa’s years ago, and yet he still felt oddly out of place at Geronimo’s. The whole vibe of the place was off - he remembered it as a cosy little place that fell on hard times when the revolution had hit and stayed that way, just about managing to get by, but now it was seemingly as good as new, full of people who acted like the local elite. In Kane’s new order, they probably were. For now, anyway.

“So, have you heard anything from your family?” Rosa asked, looking over the menu.

“Anya’s still looking for Kolya and Amelka. I keep telling her there’s no chance after five years, but she just spends all her time in snake dens or looking through Tanari archives. I think it’s her way to keep sane.”

“Well, you can’t really talk, can you? Your coping mechanism was to become a merc, sorry, contractor out here of all places.”

“I gave up everything so I could do what I could.” Sergei said tersely. “This is just a job now.”

“I know, Sergei, I know. But you can’t really say it’s just a job, can you? You failed to get two people out of the shit and now you’re taking responsibility for getting whole convoys out of the shit..”

“You with your theories of mind.” Sergei rolled his eyes and reached for his starter. “How’s your family?”

“Well, my mother’s moving back into Sards...”

“Oh god. Couldn’t you have said that before?”

“What are you talking about?” Rosa laughed. “She loves you!”

“She has a funny way of showing it.” Sergei started buttering some bread. “I guess that must be where you get it from.”

“I’ll have you know that I am extremely...”

Suddenly, the restaurant’s front door burst open, and two men in black suits stormed in. One of the shady-looking men at the table next to Sergei and Rosa’s suddenly shot up from his seat and tried to make a break for it, only to be tackled by one of the men in black and then stunned with some sort of electric prod, then dragged out. Sergei considered intervening, but suddenly realised that hardly anyone else in the whole restaurant had seemingly even taken notice of the scene.

“What the…” he muttered to himself.

“Welcome to Sards.” Rosa said breezily, as the waiter arrived with their wine.

-----

[ Enumcharad's Wake ]

Vekhta pinched the bridge of her nose, running her thumb and middle finger across her newly-acquired scar as she tried to focus. It did little good - whatever had caused her to arrive on Enumcharad's Wake had left her in a fundamentally unsettled state. She considered her options. In a straight-up fight, Vekhta suspected Keylana had the advantage; this was her territory, after all, and whilst Vekhta was a Yuzari specifically engineered to hunt psychics, her antipsychic abilities would do little good against a guard unit of PsyTroopers armed with conventional weapons.

Plus - Vekhta strongly suspected that killing Keylana and stopping Keylana were two entirely distinct concepts. Even if Vekhta were to kill Keylana's physical body, she strongly suspected it'd just result in Keylana's consciousness taking her own body as a replacement. And Vekhta didn't like that thought at all.

"I'll... hear you out." Vekhta responded. "For now. And I'd advise you to choose your words very carefully."

---

[ Press Room, Presidential Palace, Tanari Prime ]

"I have issued an operational directive to all military units, preventing them from undertaking any law enforcement actions within the Tanari homeland."

The gathered reporters exploded into a flurry of questions as Admiral Timothy Morgan Veidt gave a rare press conference - and one of his first public appearances in many years. Press Secretary Bryan Bhatti gestured for quiet, then began pointing out reporters, one at a time, to ask their questions.

Simon Polito, from the August City Tribune, was the first to speak. "Admiral Veidt, I have to wonder - given the timing of this announcement so close to the recent decommissioning of the Lyndon City police department - is this new operational directive intended as a response to Mayor Rivera's recent announcement?"

"It is."

Simon appeared stunned; 'yes/no' answers were rarely seen within the four walls of the press room.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Simply put, there's a reason James Tanar dictated that the police and the military should be kept separate and distinct. The purpose of the former is to seek out and defeat the nation's enemies. The purpose of the latter is to protect and serve the nation's citizens. When the two are conflated... the nation's enemies tend to become the nation's citizens."

Another reporter, Karl Killian, stood up without waiting for Bhatti's permission.

"Admiral Veidt, some commentators are saying that the National Guard falls outside of the standard military command - and as such, that your operational directives don't apply to them. Is this correct?"

Veidt calmly turned the question back on Karl. "Do you think it should be?"

"I... I'm not sure that my opinion much matters, Admiral."

"It matters just as much as anyone else's. Do you think it would be appropriate for a military unit to sit outside the command hierarchy, unaccountable to the government or to the people it represents? I would like to think that in the seven years since Allman's defeat, we have learned the lesson that shadow companies have no place in the armed forces of a democratic nation."

"I suppose I agree with you, Admiral."

"Then you have your answer. The constitution is unambiguous on the matter; we are in wartime, and I am the highest-ranking enlisted officer in the Tanari military, which affords me broad powers to issue operational directives of this nature. The newly-formed National Guard units will follow this directive. It is not the place of federal forces to enforce laws that the Mayor of Lyndon City is unwilling to enforce himself, and we will not allow fear to goad us into the militarization of our law enforcement mechanisms."

Another reporter stood up - this time, waiting for Bhatti's permission, first.

"Admiral-"

Reed turned the audio feed off, falling into silence. The press conference was going well; Veidt's erudite, no-nonsense attitude was evidently appreciated by both sides of the political spectrum, as his Xwitter VI showed Veidt's projected popularity scores eclipsing even Peres. The left was appreciative of his stance on police militarization - though remained inherently reserved, given his position as an Allman-era military officer - whilst the right seemed to approve of his hardline constitutionalism. Putting him in front of the cameras had been a stunt, but it had paid off. It had also been a declaration of war, the results of which were yet to be observed.

Reed turned away from the view of Tanari Prime below, looking to the wreckage of Sky Musings that surrounded him as he stood in one of the Continuance II's outer airlocks, the vast warship passing within visual range of it. The geiger counter on his EVA suit's wrist flickered into life - but the ship would pass through the debris field long before the residual radiation became an issue. It was strangely beautiful, in a strange way; shards and droplets of ice made up a large portion of the observable mass, reflecting and refracting the sun's light, twinkling almost like a miniature star-field before him.

Leclerc's ship decloaked infront of him - a small stealth shuttle, barely rated for orbital flight. A hatch opened, and Leclerc appeared - unsuited, as Don Saul's shifter sicarios had practiced extensively to negate the limitations of the biological forms they imitated. Without saying a word - not that it mattered much, given the lack of atmosphere - Leclerc tossed a golden data canister to Reed. It tumbled silently through space, then Reed caught it, before nodding. Leclerc disappeared back into his ship, the hatch closing behind him, before it shot off.

The footage on the data canister was damning. As Reed sat in his quarters, reviewing it, even he felt horrified; Morgan Peres, passed out on the floor of his own office, surrounded in a puddle of his own bodily fluids; Olivia Horwath, treating the austere accommodations of the presidential office as her own property. Leclerc's ability to perfectly mimic inert objects was the only way this footage could possibly have been recorded; Reed wondered whether his anti-Shifter rhetoric had blinded Horwath to the possibility that he might employ Shifter agents himself. It confirmed his suspicions - that the Morgan Peres he had encountered days earlier had been tampered with - drugged, modified - Reed wasn't certain what specifically had happened, only that something had happened. That was something he was not willing to tolerate. He was Morgan Peres - which meant his downfall would need to be Reed's doing, not Horwath's.

It's as they say - two's company - three's a crowd.

---

[ The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut ]

"Hang on, you agreed to work with... William Douglas Reed?"

By the time Lilith had stopped laughing, she was doubled-over in pain, tears streaming down her face. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was her continually worsening mental state - but the thought that Reed had not only escaped to the confederacy, but had then been taken seriously by Silver Eachan of all people - had broken her. She rolled onto her back, pushing herself back onto a pile of ornate Persian rugs, still giggling, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

"You can't imagine how much joy that thought brings me, Eachan. Shit, I was going to electrocute you, but I think you've earned a reprieve. And as for your question... I, uh, I'm not sure myself. This place messes with your long-term memory. Probably a good thing, in your case."

<The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut>

As humiliating as it should have been, Silver Eachan couldn’t really blame Lilith for laughing at him under the circumstances. However, he couldn’t help but note that he was now trapped in an unknown location with a Lilith Heyerdahl who was visibly losing her grip on reality, and he had no way of knowing for sure if that was just a function of Lilith being Lilith - the sort of person who supposedly decides willingly to date Sefer Yetzirah - or if she was right that this place messed with one’s mind.

Silver then noticed a bottle of some sort of alcohol next to him. Though the memory of Shae made him hesitate for a second, he soon decided there was nothing better for him to do with himself, and began drinking. “Are you sure that’s not just because you’re blonde?” he snarked. “I have a feeling I’m wasting my time with this question as well, but do you know what ‘this place’ is? Because I’d hate to have to conclude that, while Sefer wages an all-out war on the entire galaxy because she thinks we killed you, you’re just sitting around in a vault full of gold of your own free will.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Presidential Palace>

Olivia Horwath observed Veidt’s press conference with silent fury, recognising it for what it was - a declaration of war. In theory, of course, Bristol could win a war against Timothy Morgan Veidt very easily - if the evidence they had of his dealings with the New Order in recent years emerged, his support would probably evaporate. However, the National Continuance government was still new and not entirely stable. Destroying Veidt’s reputation would potentially call into question the entire concept before they had completed their work, and it would run the risk of coaxing him to turn his guns on Tanari Prime, or worse.

Veidt would have to be taken out in some other way - that was Blair Morrison’s job. She, however, would have to handle Reed. For years, she’d been hearing - first from her Jim, then from others in Tanari intelligence, and finally from Blair - about the potential value of Reed to the Tanari Confederation. She was starting to come to a more nuanced assessment - he was a creative thinker, and possibly a worthy opponent, but no more than that. Tanar would do fine without him.

Olivia was already preparing her next salvo; among other things, she had put Morgan Peres to work drafting an executive order overruling Veidt in his capacity as commander-in-chief, to be issued at the appropriate time. But first, she needed something else to happen, and as if on cue, her VI fired into life as she received a private message from one of the few beings in the galaxy who truly scared her, but who, for now, was her ally; Castor, the top lieutenant - and in-house technopath - of the Zaragoza pirate clan.

If William Douglas Reed thought he could out-spy her of all people, Olivia thought, he was sorely mistaken.

-----

<The Continuance II>

As a general rule, the computer systems of starships do not have moods. However, on the day William Douglas Reed embarked on his meeting with Leclerc, the computer system of the Continuance II was in an unusually cheerful, even lovesick mood. The general range of tasks it usually had to perform was quite narrow, but that morning, before they had to launch, a nice lady had appeared to carry out routine maintenance. That she’d done, but as she did so, she spoke to the computer. It was a special sort of speech, a love language that only the two of them realised existed, let alone understood. For the first time, the Continuance II’s computer felt appreciated for what it was, not what it had to do.

And once it was, for all intents and purposes, in love with the nice lady, it was suddenly very receptive to suggestions from her for what it should do with its awesome processing power, and she made several, all of which were implemented over the course of the Continuance II’s flight. First, unbeknownst to Reed, as he watched the footage, the parts of it he had already seen, along with several other unrelated files he and other members of the crew had opened that day, were being overwritten with clips from an obscure Tanari movie, which was partially set in a poor replica of the presidential palace and contained many scenes of full frontal nudity involving one actor who bore a mild resemblance to Timothy Morgan Veidt and another actor who resembled the infamous Arc Minutún, leaving no way to verify Horwath’s activities. The Continuance II then posted these clips to Xwitter, advertising them as supposedly compromising information personally verified by William Douglas Reed.

Then, the computer calculated the most likely flight path of Leclerc’s shuttle - which, given the shuttle’s stealth technology, did not have to be accurate, but which was nevertheless the best available guess - and sent out an alert to every ship and outpost in the sector that a wanted man had been spotted by the Continuance II.

Finally, the computer purged its active memory, deleting all traces of the odd activities it had engaged in over the course of that day. That also meant purging all memory of Castor, and this the computer regretted, but there was nothing else to do. The things one did for love.

-----

<Vongola, City of Sards>

The morning after their date - which, against all odds, ended up being good enough for the ‘arrest’ that took place in the middle of it to fade into the background - Sergei and Rosa lay in bed next to each other, Rosa idly tracing shapes on Sergei’s chest with her finger.

“So, you leave at midnight?” Rosa asked, to which Sergei simply nodded. “Well, since you’re actually coming back here this time, maybe you should have a hero’s goodbye instead of the usual.”

Sergei chuckled. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

“Better me than the VPR.”

The two lovers were, however, rudely interrupted by a very insistent knock on the front door. Sergei grabbed a pair of shorts off the floor, put them on, and made his way to answer the door, stepping over Rosa’s blue velvet dress on the floor on his way. Standing at the door was an eager-looking young man wearing the makeshift uniform of Vongolan Rapid Response.

“Can I help you?” the Tanari ‘contractor’ said, raising an eyebrow.

“Colonel Mikurin,” the man began, only to be interrupted.

“No. No ‘Colonel’.” Sergei cut in. “I’m no one’s soldier. Try again.”

“...Mr. Mikurin, my name is Lieutenant Emmanuel Edward Elijah Eamon Edgar Emilio Ebenezer Edmonds. I understand I’ll be reporting to you on the Salvador mission.”

“Uh-huh.” That had somehow left even more questions than answers in Sergei’s mind. “And you decided to bother me in the morning rather than just wait for the rendezvous because?”

“Well, you were seen at the scene of an arrest last night.” Emmanuel replied. “The Captain was worried you might be a bit shaken. Wouldn’t be good for the mission if you were.”

Sergei’s eyebrow, previously only raised, now reached orbit. Nathan ‘The Captain’ Smith was one of Thomas Kane’s top lieutenants, and effectively ran Sards on his behalf - and he was apparently taking an interest in both him and the refugee convoy for some reason. The mission hadn’t even begun, and it was already getting stranger by the minute.

“Well, tell the Captain I’m grateful for his concern, but I’m fine. I will see you at midnight, Lieutenant.” Sergei closed the door in Emmanuel’s face. “Bastards!” he hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Rosa cried out from bed.

“They want to purge their enemies? Fine! They want to spy on me? Fine!” Sergei yelled as he returned to the bedroom. “But now they’re turning up to your flat to check in on me, like they want me to know they know where you live. I don’t like this, Rosa. It’s like they’re trying to send me a message, and I don’t even fucking know what it is! Why get up to this sort of nonsense over a refugee convoy?”

“Well, Sergei,” Rosa said. “There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

---

A few minutes before midnight, Sergei - back in his camouflage uniform, and with all his gear - made his way to the rendezvous point, which was a small lot on the outskirts of Sards. Drex was already there, beginning to explain the mission (making no mention of the locket), and two groups of people - one of whom were obviously the VRR men, and the other, Sergei presumed, had to be the other mercenaries - were gathered on either side of him, visibly wary of each other. A number of armoured jeeps and other vehicles were also parked there, waiting for their use - most were equipped with weapons of various types.

Sergei made his way over to Drex, eyeing Emmanuel ‘EEEEEEEE’ Edmonds suspiciously as he did so. “I’m Sergei Mikurin, and I’ll be commander on this mission. Does anybody have any questions?”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

Praxter stood in the docking bay, waiting impatiently for the airlock to open. This was one of the more stressful, but also most rewarding parts of his job as captain of the Coldest Story - a Salvador Foundation transport was arriving, carrying a number of refugees from Ugob II, a world that had recently come under attack from the New Order, and Praxter was here to officially welcome them to the ship.

After what seemed like an eternity, the airlock opened. Praxter began to address the emerging refugees in broken Ugobi, assuring them that they would be absolutely safe on the Coldest Story and that they would be assisted in any way necessary. While he made a few mistakes that caused smiles on the part of the Ugobi, the welcome had visibly warmed their hearts.

His speech concluded, Praxter was approached by a stern-looking, bald male of a species that appeared human. “My name is Daniel Helsfyr-Sinsen, captain of this transport.” the captain proclaimed pompously and pointlessly. “Where is the CEO? I was told she’d be here.”

“Well,” Praxter smiled. “Your CEO is very hard to track down. She told me she’d be here too, for whatever that’s worth.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Captain. I have something I must deliver to the CEO urgently, and in turn she has something to pass onto me.” Praxter had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at Helsfyr-Sinsen’s tone - apparently that was just how the man talked. “It is very important to the Salvador Foundation that I speak to Madam Vinderen as soon as possible.”.

-----

[ The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut ]

"It's a pocket dimension, I think." responded Lilith. "Time flows differently here. I don't even know how long I've actually been down here. You won't age, and anything you eat or drink will regenerate eventually."

Lilith paused, collecting herself. This place - this treasury - had broken her. All she could do now was make sure it only broke the parts of her that didn't matter. She looked over to Eachan, frowned, then shot the bottle he was drinking out of his hand with a jolt of lightning.

"Sorry, I... I need you thinking straight. One of us needs to be thinking straight. This place is a treasury of some description, built by someone - or something - supremely powerful. And I think this specific part is an overflow. Nothing here would be of any use whatsoever to the type of being actually capable of creating a dimension like this. I've searched for a long time for an artifact that might help me escape, and I haven't found anything - which makes me think all the good stuff is deeper in. If we're getting out of here - we need to work together, and we need to... well, find the good stuff."


[ Xavik's Quarters, The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

Xavik returned to his quarters, and breathed a calm sigh of relief. Compared to the chaos that existed beyond these four walls, his quarters were an image of tranquility; calm music filtered softly into the room, along with the synthesized aroma of incense (Xavik had previously been warned multiple times to stop lighting actual incense sticks, given that the ship had a finite oxygen supply). In the ascetic tradition, Xavik kept only those personal possessions that sparked joy; a pair of stiletto pistols for personal defense, a few sets of simple black clothes, crystals and herbs for his spiritual activities, and a single holo-communications device gifted to him by his good friend, Lord Antivaks. He sat down at this desk and turned on the device; he hadn't spoken to Lord Antivaks in a while; given Antivaks's role as The Coldest Story Ever Told's resident medical expert, he was often too busy for idle chatter. Xavik could sympathize. The major problem of life is dealing with costly interruptions.

As he opened the menu, Xavik paused - frozen in fear. A holographic display appeared in front of him. Holographic Technology. A digital frontier. He had used the device many times to speak to his friend Antivaks... but he had also seen Antivaks in the flesh. He realized, then, that being a hologram and being a vital living being were not mutually exclusive. His earlier comments flooded to the forefront of his mind.

Ask yourself - can a hologram think for itself? Exercise free will? No. But what we just saw was most definitely exercising free will.

If Sophie Vinderen could not have been a hologram... then the being Xavik had destroyed could not have been Sophie Vinderen. He stood up from his desk, his pulse racing, his genius terrifying to even him - perhaps ignorance was bliss. He became acutely aware of the near-certainty of Vinderen's survival, and the danger his newfound friends were still in.

There was only one thing this one could do.

---

[ Cargo Bay, The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

"Noble Lithan." responded Raimei, bowing. "I've... I've traveled far and wide to find you. My name is Raimei Senkou - a bounty hunter of the Night Garden."

Raimei recounted to Oblique, in great detail, the battle he had fought against Siktim on Perugia. Delving into the city-planet's vast sewer system, he had been confronted by a masked sorcerer seemingly able to warp the flow of time itself; Raimei's blaster shots simply flew around the man even when they should've been clean hits. The battle had been fierce, and Raimei had barely managed to defeat the sorcerer - fishing him off with a pair of headshots from one of his trusty blaster pistols. As he spoke, Raimei began patting around his waist, reaching for his blaster pistols to show Oblique. As he struggled to find them, he explained how, even after killing Siktim, more copies of the sorcerer had appeared - death being an inconvenience, rather than a finality, for the heretical sorcerer.

As he finished telling the story, he let out an exasperated sigh, lifting up his long-coat. Both of his holsters were empty.

"What the heck? What happened to my blasters?"

---

[ Club Argent, Deck 32, The Coldest Story Ever Told ]

A set of revolving doors led into the vast cloakroom of Club Argent, and it was through these that Xavik entered, now wearing a pair of black, face-hugging sunglasses and a slim-fitting black trenchcoat. Club Argent had once been a hangar bay - its retractable outer surface had long-since been removed, replaced with heavily reinforced hexagon-patterned glass which afforded an awe-inspiring view of the outer cosmos to those within. The cloakroom itself was larger than most individual facilities on the ship - having once been a vast fuel drum used to service the fighters and shuttles that would have occupied the adjacent hangar bay. Now, it was a dimly-lit room wherein Vinderen's goons could conduct weapons checks and prevent undesirables from entering the club itself. As Xavik stepped in, a pair of bouncers stepped towards him, sneering.

"Well well well, if it isn't Xavik." bemoaned Discord, a stocky, powerfully-built bald man burdened with extensive cybernetic enhancement.

"I thought Lady Vinderen made it perfectly clear you wasn't to be seen round here no more." added Nitro, a narrow, gaunt man, his face near-hidden under a mop of electric blue hair. Predicting the upcoming commotion, various other goons made their way to the forefront of the cloakroom, until practically a small army opposed Xavik, hands resting on their guns.

"Hand over ya' weapons." demanded Discord.

"Weapons?" replied Xavik. "This one has had a lot of time, recently, to think about weapons. This one always thought that its weapons were to be used as a means of deterrence, both on this ship and off. To be used only to protect this one from hostility, never to seek out violence. To ensure that this one has the means to live a calm and uncomplicated life. However... now, having seen what this one has seen, this one is not so sure. And besides..."

Xavik threw open his trenchcoat, sliding Raimei's blaster pistols from a pair of waist holsters.

"...these are not this one's weapons."

Discord disintegrated into a glow of orange plasma as the first blaster bolt passed through him, and in an instant the cloakroom exploded into a symphony of gunfire. The goons fell backwards, firing wildly as they darted for cover behind the bulkhead struts lining either side of the cloakroom; Xavik pressed forwards, firing alternating shots from his pistols, bolts of orange light crossing the room in an instant. Nitro produced a high-tech pump-action shotgun and pressed up on Xavik's flank, slamfiring, forcing Xavik into cover behind one of the bulkheads; he pressed the advantage, closing in on Xavik who unexpectedly leapt forwarded, cartwheeling across the width of the cloakroom, kicking the shotgun out of Nitro's hands. It flew through the air, spinning; Xavik discarded his spent blaster pistols and instead caught the shotgun for himself, turning it on Nitro and firing at point blank range. The blue-haired henchman shot backwards, his chest reduced to a cloud of red dust, as Xavik turned, holding the shotgun at waist height and calmly firing forwards his opponents as he approached.

Click. Click. Click. The shotgun was now empty; one of the guards seized the opportunity, bursting out of cover and hosing Xavik down with a submachine carbine - to no avail as, focusing, Xavik simply allowed the costly 9mm interruptions to pass through his corporeal form. Xavik leapt forwards over the man, landed behind him, pulled the man's pistols from his own holsters and shot him in the back, then pressed forwards, akimbo pistols firing wildly. Goon after goon went down as they fell back, producing heavier and heavier weapons from weapons lockers conveniently located towards the entrance to the club proper; one goon racked the bolt of a twin-barreled light machinegun and opened up in Xavik's direction, white-hot tracer fire lighting up the room. Xavik rolled over the stream of fire directed towards him, spinning elegantly into cover. The machinegunner hosed down the support pillar, tracer rounds coming within an inch of Xavik's body as they whittled away at his cover, the machinegunner's allies pushing up to finish off their suppressed opponent.

Click. Click. Click. Now the machinegun was empty. Xavik rolled out of cover, landing in the midst of the goons who had crept up to ambush him; he stood up, rapidly disarming them with a flurry of kicks and strikes. They drew knives instead and began to swing towards Xavik, but he deftly dove between their strikes, instead directing the points of their knives into each other. They fell down, crying out in agony as they clutched their wounds, as Xavik stepped over them, picking a revolver up from the floor. The machinegunner was the only opponent left, now - he was panicking, trying to load another belt of ammunition. Xavik fired into the man's shoulder, disabling him; he spun backwards, landing hard against the door behind him, leaving a trail of blood on it as he sunk to the floor, clutching his wound.

"You b-bastard!" he roared. "How the hell'd a freak like you get so powerful, anyway?!"

"Mastering positivity during fateful times... is the key to transformation."

"Precisely."

Xavik turned at the sound of Lord Antivaks's booming voice as he entered, clad in a white cassock, a stark contract to Xavik's dark clothing. His searing red eyes regarded Xavik with a look of contempt as the adamah lifted a hand, throwing Xavik backwards through the doors with a blast of raw telekinetic force. Club Argent was empty - deserted - and Xavik slid backwards across the dancefloor, slamming hard into a support strut. Antivaks entered, one arm folded behind his back.

"L-Lord Antivaks? Why are you attacking this one? What has this one done to offend you?"

"It is not a question of offense." replied Antivaks as he lifted Xavik up telepathically, slamming him hard into the ceiling of the converted hangar bay, before letting him drop back down to the cold surface below. As Xavik attempted to climb back to his feet, Antivaks intensified the force of gravity on the man, practically crushing him. "It is a question of allegiance. You have chosen your side, as have I."

Xavik struggled to respond, each breath a test of endurance in its own right. "You... you have allied with Vinderen? She is evil, Lord Antivaks."

"Good? Evil? What thoroughly meaningless concepts."

Antivaks released the force of gravity pinning Xavik to the ground, then lifted him and threw him sideways, hard, into the vast glass plane that made up the side wall of Club Argent. Cracks formed in it as Xavik fell away from it, dropping to the floor below. He climbed to his feet as Antivaks approached, still goading, one arm still folded behind his back.

"Only I am fit to judge." continued Antivaks. "Only I, who have experienced both light and darkness in equal measure, am fit to make that determination."

"This was all a trap..." concluded Xavik, observing the deserted hangar bay. "You lured this one here... deliberately..."

"It's as they say..." replied Antivaks, a wry smirk forming upon his lips. "...There is no such thing... as a coincidence."

Antivaks clenched his fist, telepathically shattering the glass behind Xavik. Howling winds sounded as Xavik was sucked out into the vacuum of space amidst a tidal wave of glass shards, tumbling, flailing. Xavik turned, focusing, willing himself forwards, back towards the hull of the ship - away from the hangar bay and the danger within. The unfamiliar sight of a transport ship caught his eye, docked with The Coldest Story - Xavik turned, using his aquafarian psychokinetic abilities to fly in closer. The docking port being occupied, there was no way into the ship - he instead flew up to one of the windows, peering inside, catching sight of his good friend Praxter addressing a group of Ugobi refugees.

"Please let this one in."

<Castle Midgawardia, Planet Tular Va’al, Dachori Empire, c. 1745 BR>

The Imperator had legions of servants across the empire. The staff at Castle Midgawardia was just a small part of this vast army of attendants ready to serve the whims of the ruling Rider royal family: Jumano. They had been preparing for several days for the Dachori emperor’s arrival, redecorating the many rooms and halls with the finest Tularian silk.

Although Midgawardia was not exactly the Imperator’s favorite private retreat, he nonetheless enjoyed occasionally stopping by, which meant that everything had to be flawless. The opulent decorations of the dining room were no exception, with cerulean banners at each entrance and a blue and golden tablecloth covering a massive wooden table. Today, the dining room was occupied in honor of a special occasion.
Outside, a Dachori servant quietly observed a state dinner through a doorway, noticing Imperator Dachorus Acastius Verilius Jumano il Podromo sitting at the end of the table. He held a chalice and smiled at his guest, who for some reason sat at the opposite end of the table, far from the servant’s line of sight. Next to the Imperator was his brother, Prince Quintinius Verilius Jumano il Enfer, who seemed intrigued by their guest’s incessant chattering.

“Who is the guest again?” the servant asked a butler that suddenly walked up to him.

“A famous scientist who apparently has contributed much to the Empire recently,” the butler said. “Prevaius Dahrk. He is accompanied by Minister Volasinia di Espira, of the Ministerium Scienficos.”

The servant nodded, and continued to observe, preparing for any future commands on part of the royals. The butler left to his work without a word.

---

<Battlegroup Servidora. Staging Point Somewhere in Space, AR 7>

Arc Caiaphus watched from the bridge as three of the four Semovente-class battlecruisers that surrounded the Servidora primed their nacelles for a FTL jump. The fourth remained stationary and hailed the Servidora’s bridge.

“Hail Arc Caiaphus, long live the New Order,” Captain Tai Kilatri greeted.

Tai, a Takemikazuchi, was the renowned brother of the infamous Admiral Kevin Kilatri, who himself was fighting alongside Arc Minutún light-years away. Tai’s stern and no-nonsense demeanour obscured his fatherly disposition towards his own space soldiers and crewmen. But none of these matched his ferocity in battle, which meant that he was the perfect pick for the invasion of Lanorra.

“Captain Kilatri, your reputation precedes you,” Arc Caiaphus purred. “Have the probes we sent to Lanorra returned?”

“Yes, my Arc,” Tai replied stonily. “The Free Tanari Army will put up a fight, and there is chatter of reinforcements, so they will test our mettle. But our forces, combined with those of Arc Zabaton, mean victory is assured.”

“Arc Zabaton?!” Caiaphus gushed. “To call zir formidable would be an understatement. I look forward to working with zir in battle. I also look forward to testing this Vykonian ship against the Tanari fleet.”

Caiaphus then glared at Tai, crossing his arms.

“I expect you not to disappoint me either, Captain Kilatri,” he threatened. “Prepare for the jump to Lanorra.”

“Yes, my liege.”

The fleet jumped to FTL.

---

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

Mavis’s eyes widened at the mention of Sophia Vinderen. She sneered at Bai.

“You know what that means,” she chuckled. “At least you’ll get to see some starlight as you freeze in space, though I suppose that’s if she decides to be merciful towards you. Of course, we can always keep quiet…if you decide to play along. But seeing as how that’s unlikely, might as well start spreading the word around early, right, Prush? Besides, I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

Mavis turned around as though she was about to leave, hoping that Prush would engage in the same sort of kayfabe. She mentally started to count down to what she hoped would occur: Bai would start bleating about everything.

-

Nexus observed all the recent events with awe, having especially been impressed by the abilities of Oblique, Halo, and Xavik. He grinned proudly after Sophie mentioned GWE and nodded to affirm what she had said.

After Sophie and Xavik left, Nexus’ chest boomed in laughter.

“Vinderen called Xavik a fool, yet he was the one who found out where she was!” he boasted. “If he is a fool, she is even worse! His bravery makes him captain in my book! Don’t know where he is now, but I wish to buy him a drink!”

Nexus glared at Bill and walked to him, getting as close as he could without getting wet.

“Listen here, chap,” he growled. “You will answer for your crimes. But first, we will rescue you, then kill the flesh Sophie after Captain Xavik killed the holographic one. Then you will teach me how to become a separate hologram that makes people think they’ve killed you. I’ll be unstoppable! ARE WE CLEAR?!”

Nexus pointed a massive and threatening finger in Bill’s general direction, while his other hand reached for a multi-purpose tool in his back pocket.

---

<Malchiorian Prison, Manx Sea, Vonilla>

“I hear ya,” Gather Round nodded as she started to set everything up “Besides, this is nowhere near as messy as my last job on Pyrat.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the group discussed what to do next.

“I say we knock out both of them, and take their IDs,” Cassandra Cromwell suggested. “It’ll be far easier than taking on that Braxus Blayne guy. If he’s the head of the facility, he’ll be heavily guarded.”

“It honestly depends on how clean you want this op to be, Gerry,” Astro shrugged.

“Just how many people are they keeping in this facility,” ‘Zero’ (aka Hercules Splendor) whispered to himself, lost in thought.

“You’re only being paid to care about one of them, Zero,” Cassandra hissed. “Let me worry about the intel.”

“Malcs have a lot more skeletons in their closet than they let on, bruv,” Astro said, tapping his hand on Hercules’ shoulder. Hercules said nothing, but privately wondered if Astro was already drunk.

Suddenly, they all noticed that Cassandra was already in the room, darting towards the doctor for a knockout punch.

“Fucking gyndroids,” Astro cursed under his breath. He raised his pulse rifle and trained it on a nearby corner in case they would get discovered.

Zero pulled out a wooden staff to the bewilderment of those around him. He leaped towards the nurse and made a sweeping motion towards her legs.

---

<Loyalist-Rebel Frontline, Vongola>

Suddenly, five beings clad in black exosuits landed in front of Kane, the VRR, and the Diamond Dogs. One, named Vock-Ee, had a triangular head with two glowing eyes near its front, and a pair of pincers for a mouth. Two were grey-skinned cyborg humanoids named Orion and Pax. The fourth was a goat-like humanoid that carried a flamethrower all-too-gleefully. The fifth was a human with dark hair named Eithur Ferris. He put on sunglasses--despite the time of day--and bared a toothy smile.

“What a shame,” he mocked. “They were such good fighters to the very end. Let’s take care of them boys. Pandemonium regnat!”

The squadron moved out. Orion revealed a pair of twin beam swords and charged at Thomas Phaedrus Kane. Pax and Vock-Ee started firing their pulse rifles at the Diamond Dogs. Meanwhile, Eithur seemed to disappear into thin air.

-

<Kozín’s Camp, Vongola>

Kozín seemed to hesitate for a moment. On one hand, it would be a brutal and decisive strike. On the other hand, it could result in numerous complications.

“I can get you the troop placements in a few hours. But before we proceed, I need some assurances,” he insisted. “First, you’ll be sure not to hit any civilians during orbital bombardment. Second, you’ll be committed to helping us ride out any blowback. Bottom line: this could get ugly for both sides real fast once the dust clears.”

-

<Outskirts of Sards, Vongola>

A crocodilian alien mercenary named Dingo Shqwertiyul crossed his arms.

“Nope. Everything has been crystal clear so far,” he hissed and smiled.

Meanwhile, a human woman mercenary named Blossom Nova raised her hand. Her camo uniform was visible thanks to the lights of a nearby truck.

“What kind of firepower should we be expecting if we run into any resistance?” Blossom asked.

Meanwhile, Luekas Walker, a human VRR soldier, sniffed as he inspected his twin laser pistols. He glanced over to Drex, Sergei, and EEEEEEEE, waiting to hear their response.

---

<FSA HQ, Malchior IV>

“They better not be planning on defecting,” Gaius hissed. “Between the Arcadian Federation and the Zachu Empire, I think I’ve had enough of willing New Order converts.”

The unmoderated caucus finally ended moments later, and all the diplomats returned to their pods and seats.

“The FSA Parliament is back in session. As a reminder, on the docket we have the upcoming vote on who will be our new Secretary-General, along with proposed memberships, including the Faul’dhim...again,” the presiding chair said. “Any motions? Yes, the delegate from the Malchiorian Protectorate.”

“The Malchiorian delegation moves to re-open the speaker’s list, starting with a speech from the Malchiorian delegation,” Ambassador Gilclack proposed.

“The chair will entertain that motion, the presiding chair declared. “All in favor? Those opposed? Abstentions? Alright, that’s majority vote, the Malchiorian motion passes.”

“Honored members,” Ambassador Gilclack greeted with a smile on her face. “We have spent days debating and discussing who would be best equipped to succeed Heller Heckardeen and Vanna M’orv to lead an FSA that is facing a myriad of crises. It seems that we are slowly but surely moving towards a tie. This is not what our constituents want from us! A deadlocked congress is a dead congress! For this reason, we have propsed a temporary draft resolution that creates a Triumvirate for the Secretariat: three equally powerful Secretaries-General sharing executive power. We also propose that each position be filled by Malcovus, Ascheron, and M’orv respectfully, satisfying all parties. We also propose Melissa Krieger--widow of our dearly departed friend, Blake Olivio Krieger--serve as one of Vice Secretaries-General. This arrangement is entirely in line with the Free States Concordat. Further, the draft resolution contains a sunset provision: after three years, we will vote on a new Secretary-General. But for now, we must present a unified front!  A strong coalition is a strong FSA. Our proposed troika will lead us to victory against the New Order and pass numerous reforms that will aid all worlds in our alliance. Let’s trust the troika!”

The room erupted in chaos as many of the diplomats and delegates debated the Malchiorian proposal. Vanna M’orv herself sat bewildered at the dais.

“Order! Order! We will ha-” the presiding chair was interrupted as someone burst into the chambers.

(OOS: Theme for the remainder of this section (thanks DRJ) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ly3bM5dmPww.)

All eyes throughout the behemoth room turned to a pink-armored figure smiling devilishly at the mahogany entrance. He was flanked by a creme armored VPR commander named Jerid (OOS: AU version of http://bzpb.shoutwiki.com/wiki/Jerid).  

“I claim Observer status and ask to be added to the Speaker’s List,” Figlio declared, deftly using parliamentary procedure as though he were already an expert. Those not within earshot could see his declaration through holograms broadcasted to each of their pods.

“Generalissimo Figlio di Armechio,” the presiding chair gasped. “You...you are classified as a war criminal under the Free States Concordant and are accused of sapients’ rights violations under multiple instruments of intergalactic law! You cannot be granted Observer status without a sponsor!”

“But of course!” Figlio smiled, this time aided by a microphone brought to him by a staffer. “I was invited courtesy of the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes, on behalf of Ascheron herself.”

Everyone at the dais stared at each other with widened eyes. They started to whisper to one another. The presiding chair cleared his throat.

“V-very well,” he croaked. “The delegation that was up next has yielded its time to you.”

Figlio bowed, still wearing his smug smirk.

“Members of the Free States Alliance, I merely come to tell you about the deal Evangelise Ascheron and I recently came to an agreement,” he testified. “If Ascheron wins, the FSA will help broker a ceasefire between the Vongolan People’s Republic and the rebellion. Not a peace treaty, but a ceasefire. Each side retains its conquered territories, whilst any disputed sectors automatically become FSA territory. Each side will then re-dedicate a portion of its forces to fight against the New Order. I do not know what Gaius Malcovus or anyone else who might be running for Secretary-General might is promising you. But I do know that with Ascheron, you will have peace on Vongola. One less war to worry about. I yield the remainder of my time.”

Figlio smiled again then walked over to Turel and sat next to him. The chambers erupted in chaos once again.

--

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

OOS: theme for this section, thanks JS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G02wKufX3nw

Colonel Peter Tal Ardennes and Lieutenant Shaora “Jinx” Ardennes changed into more comfortable clothing, then joined General Caleb Kwent and Commander Anatoliy Carter in the one of the mansion’s dining rooms.

“Lovely home you have,” Kwent said.

“Thank you, General,” Peter nodded, smiling slightly. Kirby Mansion had been passed down through the Ardennes bloodline for generations, as they were one of the wealthiest families in the Protectorate.

“What’s this about?” Peter said wearily.

Kwent placed a holographic emitter on the oaken table. An image of a planet shimmered into existence.

“This is Lanorra,” Kwent explained. “It used to be part of the Tanari Confederation, but it is now an independent world under the control of the Free Tanari Army. As you may know, the rest of the Confederation is under the de facto control of the National Continuance Front, which recently took power in a coup d’etat. Or at least, the NCF is in control for now.”

“This could be prelude to a civil war, then,” Jinx concluded.

“Precisely,” Kwent agreed. “But at around 1800 Galactic Time yesterday, a pair of New Order probes were scanned near the planet’s Lagrange Point.”

“Prelude to an attack,” Jinx replied with widened eyes.

“Exactly. Which is where you come in,” Kwent nodded. “Jinx, you have hereby been promoted to Captain. You’ll be back on the Campeador in a commanding role, accompanying Admiral Calvin Quest in helping secure the planet spaceside. Peter, you’ll be part of a strike team that will help the ground forces on Lanorra. Reinforcements will be on standby in a nearby system a few hyperspace jumps away.”

“Wait, we’re picking sides in this Tanari debacle? Isn’t that a little risky?” Peter retorted.

“No,” Kwent dismissed. “Not yet anyway. We’re officially just assisting in the fight against the New Order, whether we fight alongside the Confederation or the Free Tanari Army. This is to protect an ally against what could be the prelude to a full-scale invasion. If Lanorra falls to the New Order, it will only be a matter of time before the Semoventes arrive on Tanar. You both have the experience to play a crucial role in saving millions of lives.”

Peter hesitated and sighed. He glanced over to Jinx, who seemed transfixed on the hologram as it read out details about Lanorra’s population. Peter then pondered all the planets that had fallen to the New Order already, along with all the bloodshed he had to witness in his many years of service.

Both Peter and Jinx turned to each other and nodded.

“We’ll do it,” they said in unison.

--

<Presidential Palace, Malchior IV>

President Klak left the call with Salem with a determined look on his face. But as the war room personnel briefed him on other events, he began to grow irritated. The violet line underneath his eye started to burn.

“...But both the Amun and Onyana Collectives are sending some reinforcements to help us on those respective fronts,” one general recounted.

“Meanwhile, sir,” Emily, Chief of Staff, digressed. “The situation on Tanari is growing more complicated.”

“The National Continuance Front seems to be functioning like a government for now,” an intelligence director said as he quickly glanced at the notes on his VI. He summarized some of the recent actions the new Tanari government had taken. “Meanwhile, Syrinx, aka Silver Eachan, has gone missing. Our embassy is attempting to find out where David Robert Jones is. Worse, one of our agents has reported that he had a slight falling out with Aster, who, while affirming the need to fight against the New Order, showed Trilateralist sympathies in a recent speech and referred to herself as ‘the virus in Jones’ system’.”

“Oh, of friggin course, Saint Aster of Yari!” Klak scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “That woman would push away all her friends if it meant she could play the downtrodden activist for a little while longer!”

Emily thought about emphasizing Aster’s support for the FSA but given Klak’s mood and his currently rocky relationship with Aster, she decided to drop the matter.

“Not counting the Tanari-Takemikazuchi War, I’d say this coup was far bloodier than Allman’s,” Secretary of Malchiorian Defense Holville opined. “And with all the purges and arrests going on, I think neutrality is less of an option each day.”

“I would caution against running away from neutrality so easily,” Secretary Russello exhorted from a secured holographic transmission. “These situations have the tendency to erupt into civil war. Just look at what happened on Lanorra. If we choose a side too hastily, we risk upsetting any potential victors, not to mention worsening an already tense situation.”

They discussed the situation on Lanorra, and Klak decided to order a team to assist the Free Tanari Army.

“A Tanari civil war would be quite complicated,” a general later ruminated as she shook her head. “Ex-Eachanites and Van Smootists, National Continuance Front, Allmanites, Trilateralists, Shifters, the Free Tanari Army...who knows just how many factions and complex alliances will engage in combat?”

“And that is before Levee decides to step in,” another general added as he furrowed his brow, referring to Sefer Yetzirah herself.

“If the Tanari are unable to clean everything up before the New Order arrives, there is always taking matters into our own hands,” Secretary Holville advised. “We install a leader that is friendlier to the FSA’s interests, like Jones or Aster.”

“Another coup,” Jefferson Bethlehem grumbled. “Or we invade again, and more Malchiorian lives are lost in the process. Just how much more Malchiorian blood are we going to shed til we decide enough is enough?”

“Till the last Semovente falls, Jefferson,” Klak declared. “And when both Lilith Heyerdahl and Sefer Yetzirah are brought to justice for what they’ve done. Or maybe until Advent Joshua decides to be useful and convinces Sefer to sue for peace.”

Silence fell across the room. Several Malchiorians of various ranks gulped, while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Others still nodded in agreement.

“Sir, if I may,” the intelligence director from earlier stammered. “Intel from September Dawn indicates that Lilith Heyerdahl may have been somehow behind the destruction of the Narayanastra, and some assess that she is planning on defecting, or that someone is impersonating he-”

“No,” Klak spat. “We all saw it. She killed my father. September Dawn must have gotten bad intel, or this is all part of the New Order’s sick game. I know what I saw!”

Silence again.

“Anyways,” Klak said, clearing his throat. “I just spoke to someone who was allegedly involved in the attack on the FSA HQ attack. He used Malak al-Maut’s secure channel, so I’m inclined to believe him. Says he was part of a group called Espiritu Santo, and that he’s willing to cooperate with us in the investigation.”

“We will escort him from the Le Club station and to interrogate him,” the Chief of the MUIB (Malchiorian United Investigation and Police Bureau) proclaimed. “We can have a transport ship primed in 20 minutes.”

“Actually, I think I’ll bring him down here myself,” Klak announced. “He seems to trust me, and that might make him more amenable to talk.”

Everyone at the table gasped. Emily and several others voiced their objection.

“Sir, you cleared your schedule for the war and for mourning, not for some insane, dangerous stunt like this!” Emily objected.

“Sir!” Presidential Guard member Lance Lopez cried with widened eyes. “I must recommend that you do not go to that area without a security sweep! It could be a trap.”

“I can handle myself,” Klak maintained with a grin. “I used to be a cop, you know. But if it makes you all feel better, I’ll take Lopez and Josiah with me. If you don’t hear from me in 12 hours, the nearest fleet has my full authorization to open fire on Malak’s club until nothing is left. Jefferson, once you asked me about deals with devils. I just hope you’re wrong for this one.”

Jefferson smiled.

“I’ll reach out to the Vrai while you’re gone,” he nodded. Emily shook her head at Jefferson and raised her hands up. Jefferson continued to smile, as he had witnessed Klak’s powers firsthand and knew about his capabilities.

“Yes, please do,” Klak replied. “Apologize to them for the absence of Vice President Weir and I. Obviously we have a lot on our plate. Then tell them it’s the best deal they will get from me...and if they object...remind them who’s actually fighting the New Order on the front lines.”

Klak left and changed out of the ceremonial Malchiorian wartime armor into a black suit with nanomesh armor fitted into the linings. He then left the Palace towards a nearby hangar.

OOS: Theme for the rest of this section and for the Le Club section of my post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIRI6CvtO6o/.

The press pool began to surround him, peppering him with questions. Klak waved them and told them he was off following a lead on an investigation into the FSA attack. Among the journalists was Treveya Q, back in her reporter disguise. She began to follow Klak towards his transport ship, maintaining enough distance to avoid tangling with the Presidential Guard.

“Mr. President,” she breathed. “I’m with The Witz, we met on David Robert Jones’ ship.”

“Oh, now I remember you,” Klak groaned. “What is it?”

“I heard about your father,” she said morosely. “For what it’s worth...my condolences.”

Klak glanced at her in surprise, then nodded in gratitude as he reached the transport. Treveya slinked away with conflicted feelings of her own. On one hand, this was part of her orders from Arc Caiaphus himself; an attempt to get closer to the Malchiorian President. But on the other hand, in a deep dark part of her soul, she felt sympathy for him. She too had lost her parents back on Faul’d, the pangs of their deaths combining with her other struggles to make her into the perfect New Order convert. But she dismissed any thoughts of empathy as she made herself scarce, disappearing into the press pool.

Meanwhile, Klak stepped aboard the presidential transport cruiser known as the Phoenix Talon. The cruiser had been retrofitted with armor plating far beyond that of a normal transport and could travel great distances both on Malchior IV and any orbiting stations and bodies, including the planet’s moon. If Malchiorian presidents had to travel farther away, such as to other planets in the Malchiorian system, other Protectorate worlds, or anywhere else in the galaxy, presidential battlecruisers like the Liberty Beacon or the fallen Allegiance were often up to the task, usually accompanied by a larger fleet.

As the Phoenix Talon disembarked, Klak leaned next to a window and began to weep.

-

<Le Club, Malchiorian Orbit>

Set glanced at Salem and nodded.

“I was going to ask if you were a servant of Malak,” he stated. The Amuni took a sip from his drink and glanced at Salem again. “Though judging by your aura, you serve or once served a different demon entirely....one unknown to me. Though I may have seen such Void Magic once before.”

The Phoenix Talon arrived at the station’s docking bay. Klak emerged, flanked by Presidential Guard members Lance Lopez and Josiah Roland.

“I wonder what he will think,” Set chuckled to himself as he downed the whole glass.

Klak entered the room where Salem and Set were, raising an eyebrow at all the destruction.

“Mr. Castillo,” he greeted. “What happened?”

He glanced at Set and greeted him with a nod, unaware that Set was the brother of the Amun Collective Pharaoh himself. The two Presidential Guard members began to eye the Amuni.

“Sir, we will need you to maintain your distance,” they ordered.

“Don’t mind me, I have business of my own with Malak,” Set chimed.

“Friend of yours?” Klak asked Salem.

-

<Nadle’s Office, Malchior IV>

Nadle had felt paranoid all afternoon. First, the war was intensifying, with multiple planets being swallowed by the New Order, or willingly surrendering themselves to Seferism. Second, other intelligence agencies reported an increase in New Order espionage on Malchior IV. Third, the FSA was likely going to reach a deadlock in its vote for Secretary-General. Fourth, he had lost contact with Veras, meaning that their Wall was altogether gone. Fifth, Blair Morrison, a businessman tapped to become Peres’ Minister of Foreign Affairs, was suddenly able to figure out where Nadle’s classified base was and scheduled a sudden meeting. And that was just the start of it.

All this made Nadle slightly uneasy, an emotion he failed to hide from Blair as his leg rocked up and down. And yet, Nadle smiled politely and nodded.

“Pleasure to meet you, Minister Morrison,” he chimed. “Congratulations on your recent appointment. Truly a shame Secretary Russello could not be with us here, but I guess he’s off trying to sell his harebrained Triumvirate scheme to the FSA.”

Nadle suddenly started to wear a concerned look on his face as Blair continued. He rubbed his chin and looked out the window. Might as well lay out the cards on the table and get a measure of the man, he thought to himself.

“Not enough,” he replied, continuing to rub his chin. “He served under Allman, which is problematic. My analysts claim there are allegations that he’s been involved with the Xazari, Malak al-Maut, and even the New Order, but I do not know which of these--if any--are true. All that makes me realize I have no clue whose side Veidt is truly on, which means I cannot trust him. Yet, he’s the third most powerful man in the entire Tanari Confederation. And to make matters worse, the second most powerful man is ex-Shinsengumi. Anyway, I’m not sure if he’s preparing to stab Reed and Peres in the back and take the National Continuance Front for himself...or if he has other ambitions. If the former is the case, then you’ll have to make sure the cage is TMV’s final destiny.”

Nadle smiled, then peered into Blair’s eyes.

“What do you know about Admiral Veidt? Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss. And how’s Olivia Horwath?” he asked. “And what are your thoughts on the FSA vote?”

---

<Homecoming Church, Yari III>

Rain stonily stared at Kristen as she walked away. He quietly resumed taking notes, planning on how to handle her later. Perhaps it would be prudent to reveal his identity to her later when they were at the appropriate location. Not here. Too public. Not at the hotel either. Too many eyes.

Time passed. Rain sat down in the pew for Aster’s speech, occasionally glancing at the Vrai Inquisitor that had joined them. A new player.

Meanwhile, Brian Alfons Terra rushed to a pew in the back, having finally arrived after taking plot-speed convenient transportation to Aster’s location. Even as Aster spoke, Terra obsessively reviewed headlines about Jones “Shield-Man Jones” Skydda and any surviving former members of the 10th Regiment, plotting his next move.

Rain, in contrast, was transfixed by Aster’s speech. He found himself nodding multiple times and smiled when she enunciated those fateful words: “Seferism or freedom.” To Rain it was a phenomenal speech, a moving and effective call to action that struck at his heart.

Sure, Nadle had stressed that he avoid any Trilateralist mess whilst on his mission, but part of Rain wondered if it was better to bend the rules a little bit...just this once.

But something else stirred in Rain’s heart that day. Maybe it was the way the light shone through the mosaics and landed on Aster’s golden strands of hair. Maybe it was the way her eyes twinkled as she glanced at him every-so-often mid-speech. Or maybe it was just the damn good speech. Regardless, Rain couldn’t explain it; but he felt a sudden connection with Aster that he had never expected to feel with her. A bond that he would go to the ends of the universe to protect. All just so he could look into the Shifter’s eyes again.

He dismissed these feelings and stood up joyously to join the raucous applause.

Moments later, Rain smiled as Aster asked about how well the speech went.

“Absolutely phenomenal,” he beamed. “You just dealt a stunning political blow to NCF and to the Taks alike.”

But as Inquisitor Karol approached, Rain’s face suddenly darkened.

“The Vrai Empire?” Rain chuckled, forcing a grin as he prattled in his faux-Whitechurch accent. “What brings you guys out here?”

He placed his hand on Karol’s shoulder. Karol (hopefully) suddenly felt as though the hand increased in weight, still handleable but bizarrely denser than it should be given its size.

Meanwhile, Brian Alfons Terra stepped up to a line of congregants that was forming to greet and compliment Aster on her speech.

-

<Horba Monorail, Yari III>

“Hmm,” Raven chuckled. He dismissed everything on his VI and his face returned to his usually serious demeanor as he lit up a cigarette.

“When I left Homeworld, I was a committed Eachanite, and a closet Allmanite. I have spent years showing my loyal to the party,” Raven replied, staring into the distance. He dragged his cigarette then continued.

“But now, I am with Von Budberg, and if he is with the National Continuance Front, then so am I. Besides, they took power through a coup, just like good old Ed Allman did. Regardless, I have only met William Douglas Reed once in passing, but I am a fan. Morgan Peres? Never had the chance to meet him, but he appears to be a weak man in over his head. I do not know Veidt, but he supposedly has an impressive service record. But we must give them all a chance, old sport, especially if Eachan was too weak to see things through. I’d be happy to offer my services to the movement as a consultant. The Confederation requires a strong, unfailing, unwavering hand if we want to survive against the Shifters, the bloody Tiktaks, and anyone else who stands in our way. We have the gods on our side, old sport, so I say the Nation Continues.”

-

<Garment District, New Dalebridge, Yari III>

Jones “Shield-Man Jones” Skydda grinned as he stood up in front of a podium. His VI showed him a series of notes to help guide him through this speech. Jones was not a fan of having everything written down, preferring a more improvisational tone. He nevertheless liked to have bullet points to occasionally refer to, especially in tense moments such as this one.

“Good morning,” he greeted as the holo-cameras trained on him. “Many have asked for my reaction to the rise of the National Continuance Front, and recent, related events. Well, I say...what the hell is wrong with Tanari Prime?!”

Jones scoffed and shook his head. Some in the crowd cheered, while others booed.

“A Peres Pause? Super-soldiers? All these other stupid, silly new policies? Thank the gods for the people of Yari, we know how to act like adults! But are these stupid kid games what we signed up for? They kicked Eachan out and promised something better, a way to stop the Shifter radicals and keep Tanari safe...but instead gave us a bunch of weak, stupid policies! And now they’re trying to force everyone out who doesn’t agree with them! This is not the William Douglas Reed we heard on the holo-programs every week, folks! Peres, who is obviously a crony of Jones and Malchior, is playing Reed like a fiddle! And he’s doing the same to Admiral Veidt!”

More cheers and fewer boos. The mention of the deeply unpopular Peres Pause seemed to have won more of the audience over.

“When are they going to get serious? When are they going to fix all the problems Tanari is having? When are they going to stop the infighting and face the true threats: the Shifter Radicals and the New Order? I should know how bad the radicals are: one almost killed me! One of them killed my 10th Regiment buddies because of their extremist ideology! Oh, wait, I can’t say that, can I?!”

Jones stepped back and shrugged comically, causing the audience to burst into laughter.

“Aster and her friends are going to accuse us of being speciesist! But we all know it’s a lie! We are not against Shifters...we are against the radicals who want to make Yarish lives hell, regardless of their side of the aisle! Oh, and speaking of Aster….”

Jones rolled his eyes.

“Suddenly, she wants to be on Yari III’s side again. Well, I have news for you, Aster! You are late to the party. You befriended the worse radicals and even trained some of them while some of us were off fighting for Tanari and for Yari. And now you want to pretend you were on our side all along? No thank you!”

He paused, then cleared his throat as he reviewed some of his notes.

“Let me be clear...I want the Nation to continue as much as the next person. I truly do. But someone has got to stand up for Yari, and for the Trilateral. Someone must help guide Von Budberg and the rest of the Tanar government down the right path for the Nation to continue, and for the Trilateral worlds to prosper! If not, well...we will see what happens next!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, gobbling up Jones’ wink at the Trilateralists like vast predatory birds devouring a fresh kill.

“A vote for Shield-Man Jones is a vote for a better New Dalebridge, a better Yari III, a better Trilateral, and a better Tanar! A vote for Von Budberg is the same! Let’s show the National Continuance Front what it truly means for the Nation to continue! Let’s reject Lundby and her wacko policies!”

Jones smiled as he decided to appropriate and modify two slogans that had become all too popular recently.

“No surrender! NEVER SURRENDER! THE TRILATERAL CONTINUES!”

---

<Micho>

Lalli was at first stunned by Ashton’s sudden display of warmth. He blinked and smiled.

“Ha! Well, whatever you’ve heard, in some ways he’s better,” Lalli chuckled, then leaned closer to Ashton as if he were telling him a secret. “And in some ways, he’s worse.”

Lalli started to tell Ashton a wild story about one time he had visited Jeris, something involving an oversized mallet and four soup spoons. Meanwhile, Regina turned her head to the side and smiled.

“Life...has been interesting since Alpha Centauri,” she chimed. “No shortage of jobs, but I’ve been able to squeeze in enough time for myself. Though I guess with this new war things will get more complicated.”

Regina glanced at Lalli’s direction, her eyes twinkling.

“He mentioned retirement, you know. Back on Jumano.” she sighed. “After what just went down, I’m starting to wonder if that time should come sooner rather than later. Maybe we can finally settle down...have a normal life for once. Then again, he’s been out of worse.”

“...so now the Alainian guy is pissed,” Lalli continued, motioning through his story despite his injuries. “I’m covered in oil, and to make make matters worse, Jeris decides t-”

A laser suddenly struck the ground near Lalli’s feet. He jumped back in surprise.

“Oh, Lalli Cain!” a man carrying a rifle a few meters away shouted. “My mistake! I was aiming at something else.”

Lalli rolled his eyes. Ashton probably wondered what Jeris was aiming at.

“Baba!” Regina greeted cheerily. She and Jeris embraced as Jeris laughed and smiled.

“Regina, my love! What brings you here? And who are these new friends of yours?” Jeris asked cheerily.

---

<Orbit of Lanorra>

A VPR dreadnought named Blackbird’s Bane arrived from hyperspace. Four smaller transport cruisers carrying infantry and tank units disembarked from the Bane’s hangar and slowly made their way towards Lanorra’s surface.

The ship’s bridge immediately hailed the surface’s port authority through a holographic transmission.

“This is General Kilian Drax aboard the Blackbird’s Bane,” Drax announced. “We have arrived with reinforcements and look forward to our meeting with the Supreme Commander. We stand united.”

Meanwhile, both the Campeador and Oberon’s Night, both Malchiorian battleships, arrived from FTL.

“Hang on!” a random Malchiorian ensign aboard the Oberon’s Night gasped. “That’s a VPR ship over there!”

Admiral Calvin Quest, who was in command of Oberon’s Night, sent a transmission to the Blackbird’s Bane, ordering them to state their business or be fired upon for trespassing into FSA territory. The three ships trained their weapons on each other, ready to attack. Peter and Jinx held onto their restraints, each quietly preparing in case they had to board the enemy ship.  

---

OOS: theme for this last section of my post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ak1-qLbHHCM.

<Alspack Moon, Orbit of Faul’d>

The Nakamura successfully helped Admiral Kevin Kilatri route the enemies of the New Order. Smoldering Faul’dhim ships exploded throughout the orbit of Alspack, one of planet Faul’d’s multiple moons. Although the battle still raged on the moon’s surface, the space side of the fight was effectively over.

A transport cruiser emerged from the Nakamura’s hangar and flew towards Alspack, taking care enough to dodge any debris. As it pierced the moon’s thin atmosphere and descended, a pair of Semovente class ships suddenly flew by. The battlecruisers fired their weapons at nearby Faul'dhim astronaut tank units, decimating their forces. The transport cruiser traveled for a few more miles until it reached a massive dome. It slowly entered a tunnel that jutted out of the dome, gently making its way through until it emerged on the other side, revealing a clustered, ravaged city. Any buildings that had not collapsed were either on fire or surrounded by laser fire on the streets below. Finally, the transport cruiser landed on a pad connected to an onyx spire that overlooked the rest of the ruined city.

Arc Minutún emerged from the cruiser, arms crossed behind his back. He ambled towards the entrance and calmly opened the door. Suddenly, a Kracian stumbled through the corridor and in front of the Arc as he wrestled with a Faul’dhim. The vampiric soldier quickly gained the upper hand, absorbing enough of the Kracian’s life force to make him feeble. The Faul’dhim kicked the Kracian away then turned towards Minutún. But before the Faul’dhim could do anything, a pair of blaster shots pierced two bright green holes into his chest. Another Kracian nodded at Arc Minutún then turned away to continue searching the corridor.

Minutún continued to advance down the creme stony hallway unfazed. Moments later, a pair of Faul’dhim soldiers burst out of a trap door near one of the walls. They both pulled out piezoblade daggers and smiled. An ambush.

Though the Faul’dhim were not true vampires like the infamous Ophelia Valentine or the Red Queen, the aliens nevertheless possessed the ability to feed on other organic beings by absorbing their life force through a series of pore-like holes in the palms of their hands, rapidly aging their victims in the process. Such a power fascinated Minutún, as he was eager to see how his corruption powers would fare against such foes.

The Faul’dhim charged and swung their daggers at Minutún, but the adamah effortlessly dodged them by reeling himself backwards. But before Minutún could make another move, one of the Faul’dhim soldiers spun around and successfully slashed his cheek. Blood curdled down Minutún’s face. He pressed his fingers into it, glanced at it, and smiled.

“Now we’re talking,” he muttered.

He charged at both Faul’dhim, orange rays glowing around his hands. Both Faul’dhim jut their arms out towards Minutún’s face as they prepared to feed. Minutún grabbed each arm by their elbows, then pointed each Faul’dhim’s arm at the other. The orange energies suddenly began to pulse around the aliens as they screamed in pain. They began to feel their life force draining and came to the horrible realization that they were each feeding on the other. Yet, as much as they tried, they could not stop, as though their powers had gone on autopilot.

Minutún smirked in a fashion like Sefer, then picked up one of the daggers, which had fallen to the floor. He continued his way as both Faul’dhim soldiers continued to scream.

Moments later, he arrived at the office of Count Vexx Vants, Governor of Alspack. A pile of dead New Order and Faul’dhim soldiers surrounded the doorway, which itself was already open. The Count--who was a pale, bald man with piercing blue eyes--stood in front of his desk, aiming a pistol at Arc Minutún. His cyan robes gleamed in the city’s artificial sunlight.

“Begone!” Vexx bellowed. He fired his gun right at Minutún, who quickly ducked and rushed towards the Count. Before the Count could react, he had already been knocked down by a kick to the face.

Vexx scrambled to find the pistol, but Minutún stomped on his hand.

“I need information,” Minutún explained as Vexx writhed in pain. “The royal news stated your king was off-world on Malchior, but you and I both know that is not the case. Where is he?”

“Go to hell!” Vexx hissed.

Minutún raised his hand, his corruption energies arcing around his fingers. The energies enveloped Vexx, forcing him to feed on himself. He recoiled back in agony.

“His retreat!” the Count cried, already relenting. “His private castle in Tselafar!”

Arc Minutún smiled and nodded. He dismissed the energies and sighed. He thanked the Emperor he still had a long way to go before his corruption powers would soon start to work against him. The adamah stood up and turned away.

“Thank you very much!” he said cheerily. As Minutún started to walk away, the Count pulled himself to his desk, and attempted to use a holographic communicator. Upon hearing the buttons, Minutún sighed and spun around, flinging the dagger straight at the Count’s throat.

“Tut tut. Snitches end up in ditches,” he hummed.

---

<Akzer's Base, Liquid Metallicon>

Akzer sighed as he stared into the sunset while on a balcony at his base. The last few days had been filled with success, to say the least. Thanks to his deft diplomatic deal with the FSA and the Liquid Metalliconite government, many of the Pirate Lords were starting more legitimate businesses (or at least, legitimate fronts for illicit activities). Space piracy had gone down slightly over the past few days, but the profits would be rolling in soon anyway. Meanwhile, Akzer had used his newfound powers to intimidate lesser space pirate captains into swearing secret fealty to him, rather than their current Pirate Lords. It was a good way to help him quietly amass power, and to satisfy the Void Magic's boundless blood lust.

Suddenly, Akzer felt a bizarre presence near him. Whoever this person was, they were extremely skilled, as they had knocked out many of the guards at Akzer's base and reached him without being detected. This person also seemed to possess Void Magic of their own, or at least had been exposed to it recently.

Akzer swerved around and faced Shepard, hands glowing with Void energy.

"State your business," he growled.

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

As Oblique listened to Raimei's story, a wide, closed-lipped smile gradually spread across the usually-stoic Lithan's face without him even realizing it. Although Raimei's dialogue would sound no different than normal speech to anyone else, Oblique noticed that the bounty hunter had structured his story like a song, whether intentionally or unintentionally, with his arrival in the sewers of Perugia forming the introductory verse and the descriptions of Siktim's paradoxical deaths and rebirths forming a repeating chorus. Raimei had drawn emotion directly up from his soul and freed it with his voice, composing the tale with such passion, such conviction, that it was like listening to an artist expressing his art. In many ways, Oblique thought that talking to Raimei was talking into a mirror; one that did not reflect his physical appearance, but the inner facets of his soul.

At the end of it, Oblique placed a hand on Raimei's shoulder, practically beaming - well, as much as a Lithan could.

"Noble bounty hunter. To meet you here, of all places... perhaps, as our friend Xavik says, it is more than just chance. As you may already know, I am Oblique Twilight Radiance, and this is my muse, Halo."

"Yeah, you seem pretty cool," Halo commented, staring up at Raimei with his fixed wooden gaze while being held at Oblique's side. "You seem familiar, too. Have we met?"

"We came to this vessel in search of an ancient sword with the power to cure aberrations of time," Oblique informed Raimei, his expression returning to one of serious contemplation. "As a weapon blessed by the living stardust of the ancient gods, it may be our only chance to destroy Siktim once and for all. Unfortunately, it was stolen by this murderer and surrendered to the criminal, Vinderen. We must find it before it disappears into legend again."

Oblique seemed to be so enamoured by Raimei that he was paying no attention to what Nexus West was doing approaching Bill in the pool.

-----

<The Enumcharad’s Wake>

“Thank you,” Keylana said, nodding and smiling as she leaned back in her couch, apparently satisfied by Vekhta’s answer. Although the adamah’s tone sounded sincere, there was a hint of a smirk which never really left the corner of her mouth that would have left Vekhta questioning her sincerity even if Keylana was her closest friend.

There was an awkward pause as Vekhta waited for Keylana to continue, but instead, the adamah turned her gaze to the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance across the firewood. She placed her fingers to her mouth as she stared into it with her cold red eyes, its warm orange light providing the only color that could be found on the pale grey skin of her face. The scene was ludicrous; Arc Keylana, one of the most highly esteemed generals in the New Order, and Vekhta, one of their most vehement enemies, sitting together in an old-fashioned living room like a pair of old friends, but there was no friendship here. The tension in the room was palpable, and although neither of them had yet come to blows, both women were already duelling in their own minds, each of them rapidly cycling through the myriad of possibilities ahead of them should either choose to make the first move.

Eventually, Keylana broke the silence, still staring at the fire. "Sometimes, the only way to identify something is to identify everything that it isn't. I know the entity on Nil'nara isn't human. I know it's old; older than either of us, older than the civilization of Nil'nara itself. I know it's powerful, indescribably powerful, able to enslave the population of an entire planet using only its thoughts in a matter of weeks. I know it has access to a system of interstellar gateways left behind by the Yuzari, some of which Voorak-Kah has discovered now lead to planets that have since become New Order territories. And most importantly of all, I know that this has something to do with you."

Keylana paused, turning her head to lock her eyes on Vekhta again.

"The entity recognized you. I want to know why."

Knowing full well that Vekhta would have no reason to want to help the New Order, Keylana continued, hoping that the Yuzari would humor her for a few more moments. "If you know someone, truly know someone, you can predict everything that they are going to do. And when you are a telepath, like me, you know people even better than they know themselves. Using my knowledge of Kakamu and his eccentric followers, I set in motion a chain of events that would bring you here, to me, so that we could have this conversation, here on the Enumcharad's Wake. This is why you are here, Vekhta. As a Yuzari, I can't risk trying to read your mind. But I can read everyone else's."

As Keylana's words settled in, Vekhta remembered how she had heard tales of the Enumcharad's Wake during her own tenure as an Arc. During the subjugation of Vassilan by Arc Judmon, hundreds of Vassila ships had been evacuated from an ocean platform on the far side of the planet, hoping to escape the slaughter, only to be confronted in orbit by the Enumcharad's Wake. The Vassila fleet had immediately split up in an attempt to avoid the gunfire, with each vessel taking off in a random direction to reduce the chances of being hit, but the Wake had proceeded to massacre them all in a matter of minutes regardless. It was like the Wake already knew where the ships were going to be seconds before they went there, aiming and firing its cannons at empty coordinates that the ships then diverted into a split second later, only to collide with the energy blasts and explode. Although Keylana had received high honors for crushing the resistance, nobody had figured out how she managed to do it. Perhaps, if Keylana really could reliably predict the future through telepathy, that was how.

"You are a black hole in my vision," Keylana continued, gazing at Vekhta with a wide-eyed, unblinking stare. "So is that... thing... on Nil'nara. I cannot abide it. I have not survived for as long as I have because I have an incomplete picture of the cosmos."

Standing up, Keylana walked over to the fireplace and picked up a fire poker, beginning to idly prod the firewood at its base even though the fire gave no indication of dying down.

"I know you have no reason to want to help me or the New Order. But perhaps there is something I could offer you in return. What do you want, Vekhta? What is it that you desire?"

-----

<La Xara>

"What are you saying?" Kakamu reacted to Voorak-Kah with disbelief. "You couldn't bring Vekhta back to the Wake if she was dead!"

"Then it is good that she is alive," Voorak-Kah replied, the smugness obvious in his synthesized voice. "Or, at least, she was when I brought her to Arc Keylana about an hour ago so that I could complete my mission. Keylana assured me that Vekhta would survive your duel on Shen Zhou, but that she would shatter your Mask of Clarity in the process. Now, neither Vekhta nor the Mask of Clarity will trouble your mind any further. You can resume your destined path to glory, Kakamu."

"And what kind of destiny is that?" Kakamu retorted, growing angrier by the second. "Don't you work for the New Order? Wouldn't it benefit you if the Mask of Clarity was still strapped to my face?"

"I am what you might call a... specialist. Or a contractor. I am not a member of the New Order, but I have some talents that make me invaluable to them. I have been following news of your campaign since it first reached the ears of one of my former hosts. A lowly tribesman of a primitive world uplifted by the blessing of technology, embarking on a trail of bloodshed with the metal in your bones and the fire in your artificial heart, striking fear into the hearts of organics all across the galaxy. I often wonder how many peoples of the flesh upgraded themselves because of you. To become more like you. Your efforts may have brought the galaxy closer to mechanical perfection than anyone else in history."

Kakamu instinctively took a step backwards, the true horror of his actions beginning to dawn on him.

"And now, your campaign will continue," Voorak-Kah pressed on, his metal smile widening as he stepped closer to his idol. "Not as a member of the New Order, but as the bridge between man and machine, a preview to all who await the mechanical singularity at the end of all things. The New Order and their enemies alike will burn before your fire, leaving them no choice but to surrender their flesh in favor of metal, glorious, shining metal, and it will sing, Kakamu, oh, it will sing!"

"You... you're insane," Kakamu stammered, finding himself backed up against the wall of the medical bay. "You're utterly insane."

"It seems the Arokazek left their work unfinished," Voorak-Kah surmised, his mechanical smile rearranging itself into something that was more like a disappointed sneer. "These emotional sentiments that you cling to are nothing more than an illusion. There is only one truth in this universe: the truth of the machine. When Keylana completes the mission that you could not, you will see this truth. You will see that this woman, this 'Vekhta', never mattered at all."

"I don't think so," Kakamu retorted, retrieving the Guardian Fire Spear from his back and awakening it with his right hand, causing flames to burst into existence all along the handle from the bottom to its very tip. He realized, sadly, that this was the first time he had ever drawn the weapon for the purpose of combat aboard his own ship. He hoped that it would also be the last time.

To Kakamu's left, Muta and Motrokh stepped forward, with Muta clenching his gigantic fists and Motrokh retrieving the spiked metal clubs that were strapped to their hips. Meanwhile, Voorak-Kah simply laughed, apparently unfazed by Kakamu's threat.

"You can't burn me, Kakamu," the Chimerex gloated. "My body is divine. If you would like to resume your crusade right now, might I suggest Motrokh as a suitable sacrifice? I am sure they would be honored to be killed by you."

Rather than object to Voorak-Kah's suggestion, Motrokh instead placed their clubs on the floor and dropped to their knees, bowing both of their heads and gesturing to them with open palms.

"Actually..." an unfamiliar, synthesized male voice spoke. "I have a better idea."

Muta suddenly launched his fist into the side of Motrokh's left head, causing it to collide with the right head and instantly knocking both out cold. The Xyvolex was unconscious before they even hit the floor.

Voorak-Kah was too late to do anything but turn his head and watch.

"What th-"

Not giving Voorak-Kah time to respond, Muta delivered a similar treatment to the Chimerex, slamming his giant metal left fist into the biomechanoid's face. The front of Voorak's head instantly exploded against the might of Muta's fist, spraying shards of black metal and specks of orange blood onto the wall behind it. A sickly gurgling sound emanated from what remained of the mouth of the robotic chassis as it stumbled backwards and collapsed onto its back, no longer able to orient itself. The skeletal robotic body convulsed on the floor for a few moments, attempting to execute the last orders of its organic brain, before it finally relented, becoming still.

Speechless, Kakamu looked over to Muta, who in turn looked over to Kakamu, the electronic blue slits of his eyes staring into his own.

"Hello, Kakamu," Muta said in a low-pitched rumble of a voice, brushing some of the remains of Voorak's head off his fist. "I believe it's time we were properly introduced."

[ Enumcharad's Wake ]

"...what is is that I desire?"

Vekhta paused, her facial expression hardening into a frown.

"If you've orchestrated the situation so far then you already know the answer to that question. I'm not even going to dignify it with a response."

That response likely afforded Keylana greater amusement than had Vekhta simply replied honestly. Vekhta cared little either way; engaging in mind games with an adamah was a futile gesture at the best of times. It was simply for her to accept that that particular fight was one she'd already lost, and to focus on the ones she could still fight.

"What I don't understand is why we're sat here, having this conversation. Firstly - and I'm sure you've realized this already - but I have very little interest in stopping something that represents a threat to you, or the New Order. In fact, part of me welcomes it. But what's really puzzling me is that with your hyper-evolved intellect - your billions of computations per second - you somehow still need little old me to explain it all to you. The New Order tried wiping my entire race out, but the only reason you've got a hope in hell in understanding whatever the hell that thing is on Nil'nara is because you failed in that particular endeavor."

She shot up, taking a step towards Keylana.

"You want to know what it saw? You really can't figure it out for yourself, Keylana? It looked into me and saw something it had never seen before - a threat to its own survival. An end - an end to itself, an end to Nil'nara, an end that will come for you and for the New Order all the same. It looked into a genetic memory buried ten-thousand years deep in the soul of my race and it flinched. You speak of a black hole in your vision? Try staring deeply into it, Keylana. I think you know whose face you'll find staring back at you."

Vekhta tried to collect herself; any anger within her would be a weapon for Keylana to wield.

"That a good enough answer for you? Or is this pointless charade going to continue?"

<Yari III, Homecoming Church>

Aster, meanwhile, could not possibly have been more oblivious to what Rain was feeling, and all the effusive praise she was suddenly receiving - especially when, coming from him of all people, it sounded more sarcastic than anything - annoyed her. After the speech and the argument she’d just had with David Robert Jones, the Shifter was emotionally worn out. She wanted nothing more than to triumph against the enemies of her people - and then fade into obscurity. Perhaps most importantly, she was much more interested in speaking to Karol than she was in listening to compliments.

“Congratulations, Ra-... Taloran. If this goes wrong, that might go down in history as the nicest euphemism for ‘impotent gesture’ in history.” she said coldly, then turned to Karol, who was at that moment wincing at the bizarre feeling of Rain’s hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean by help, Inquisitor?”

“I could just as easily ask what a Malchiorian is doing here, Mister…” the Vrai diplomat said, still wincing and trying to find some polite way to move away from Rain, who had now been touching his shoulder with his unusually heavy hand for an uncomfortably long time. He turned to Aster. “I am here on behalf of a coalition, which includes my own government and your neighbours in the Commonwealth of Corrantia, that very much sympathises with your struggle, Madam Aster. They have authorised me to offer certain… security guarantees to the Trilateral should your camp emerge victorious.”

While such a thing was impossible in more ways than one, Aster’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. “I’m sorry, I think I might be hallucinating.” she snarked. “The Vrai Empire is offering someone help? And you think that’s going to go over well in Tanari territory? Are you joking?”

“I am quite serious, actually. We have already been in contact with the other leaders of your camp.” Karol replied. “If we receive requests from the legitimate governments of Yari, Yorak, and Sukhonia, we stand at the ready to mobilise a fleet in defence of this region. You can now campaign in the knowledge that you are not alone in this fight, ma’am.”

As Aster struggled to find a way to respond to the bizarre lifeline she was being offered, she suddenly noticed Brian Alfons Terra in the crowd out of the corner of her eye. For a second, she thought she might recognise him, but she dismissed the thought from her mind. It couldn’t have been, she said to herself.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

The Vrai’s peculiar voice brought her back to reality. “Yes, yes, of course.” she said.

“I was just saying that my stealth ship is parked on the roof of this building,” Karol repeated himself. “If you require transport, you won’t find a quicker ship in this system.”

“We could use quick transport from tomorrow onwards, our schedule is about to get hectic,” Mett reasoned. Kirsten said nothing, but the look in her eyes made it clear she considered the proposal suspicious.

“Fuck the schedule.” Aster suddenly said. “The schedule isn’t hectic enough. We need to be more spontaneous or we’re going to be completely overtaken by events. We can start by going to Old Saskana right now, in style.”

Karol smiled, and walked up to the roof to prepare his ship.

-----

<Yari III, Horba Monorail>

‘Siper’/Enrique smirked. His companion of sorts was exactly the sort of ideologue he’d been told to expect, his brain full of word-salad slogans - the perfect scapegoat, in other words. “The Nation Continues, indeed.” he said, as the train stopped and the announcer informed them they had reached Old Saskana.

“How do you want to do it, then?” the Shifter asked as the two (presumably) got off the train. “We have the gun Igor gave us, obviously, but I get the feeling you’re more of a hands-on type of guy.”

-----

<Yari III, Old Saskana>

“How the hell did we get here, Peter?” said the woman still technically known as Shae Eachan - though she was considering changing her name, and probably her appearance too now that she could afford it. She twirled pasta around her fork as the hologram of Jones Skydda ranted on in its corner of the dining room. “Somehow even Shield-Man Jones is sounding like more of a voice of reason than some of those people on Tanari Prime.”

“You say ‘those people’ as if you’re not responsible for them coming to power in the first place.” Peter North, the former Vice-President of the Tanari Confederation, replied. “You melted everything.”

“And if you’d stayed there, they wouldn’t have found it so easy to sweep everything away, would they?” Their little blame game was almost a daily ritual at this point, ever since she’d arrived on Yari. The truth, of course, was that both of them had put themselves and their own morality, but also - more importantly - their own sanity and survival, their own morality, ahead of the Confederation. But considering the cesspool they’d had to flee, could one really blame them?

“Do you really think Veidt and Reed consider me a threat? If I’d stayed,” Peter said between mouthfuls. “I’d have just been more kindling for your ‘good, cleansing fire’.”

Shae laughed. “You know, I stand by that.”

“Even now?”

“Especially now.” she smirked. “We’ve both been up close and personal with the so-called elite of the confederacy. Maybe nobody else deserves this, but they sure as hell do, and everything else that’s coming down the pipeline.”

“You sound like Aster all of a sudden.”

“Well, you know, I’ve always thought she was a sensible woman. Some of the Shifters down at the market say she’s coming here, you know.”

“Look, I don’t think there’s much more you can do to make things worse for Silver. He’s probably not even alive at this point...”

Both their wine glasses shook as Shae slammed her fist - thankfully, not very hard - down on the table. “It’s not over until it’s over. He’s gone now, but this is still the Tanar he and his people built. Myopic, parochial, greedy bigots in love with the sound of their own voices, every single one of them.” she ranted. “They’ll never let anything worthwhile grow here. Things need to get much worse for them before they can get better for everyone else.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter waved a hand. “And what are you actually going to do about it?

“I’ve just invited someone up here.” she tapped the side of her head, indicating that she’d used her VI to send the message. “You don’t mind letting them stay here for a day or two if they say yes, do you?”

“Depends who it is.”

“Jones Skydda.”

-----

<Micho>

“What’s normal?” Amanda shrugged. “I think the biggest occupational hazard of this job - you know, other than the constant threat of murder, mutilation, and sudden betrayal - is that you don’t get to do normal. Maybe for short periods, but you’ll probably lose it if you push your luck. You can accept that, or you can end up like him.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Ashton, who at that point was laughing at Lalli’s story.

The near-miss, however, made him stop laughing. He did, indeed, wonder what exactly Jeris had been shooting at - while Lalli was a strong possibility, it also occurred to him that Regina could also have mentioned him to her father at some point.

“I’m Ashton Carney. Honoured to finally meet you.” He offered the older man a handshake. “This is Amanda Warren, and that… wait, where the hell is Pes?”

A few seconds later, the Terugan, holding a small portable camera which he’d been using to take pictures of the nearby buildings, caught up. “Sorry, was just taking some pictures. Hi, I’m Pes Tavoki!”

-----

<Malchior IV, Nadle’s Office>

“Miss Horwath is fine, I’ll be sure to mention you asked about her. She has one of the hardest jobs in Tanar right now, but she’s handling it beautifully.” Blair Morrison said. “From a constitutional point of view, I’m the third most powerful man in the Tanari Confederation. But of course, we both know that the law isn’t everything.”

Noticing both Nadle’s discomfort and the fact that he had let slip his contempt for Russello’s proposal, Blair realised his chances of success were better than he thought. Nadle was a man with many problems, and the oligarch was about to offer him a solution to at least two of them. He just needed to convince him of that, and even if most of what he was about to say was verifiably true, this conversation was going to require all of his talents as a thespian. Thankfully for him, those talents were considerable.

“I’ve never been able to confirm those rumours about Malak Al-Maut, though I do know that Veidt wouldn’t exactly be the only important person with friends in such low places these days. I suppose we all do what we must.” The oligarch sat down, and pulled a data chip out of his inner jacket pocket. “However, this chip contains information that completely confirms all your analysts’ other suspicions. Veidt has spent the last five years working with the Xazari, and more importantly, collaborating with the New Order. And there’s absolutely no reason to believe he’s stopped.”

“Apart from this chip, there are only two copies of this information. I’ve placed one in a secure location, and the other has been entrusted to Miss Horwath. President Peres is a good patriot, but he does not yet know the full story. He’s in enough danger as it is.” Blair placed the chip down in the centre of Nadle’s desk, and intertwined his fingers. “You have to understand, Mr. Akuram, that my nation has been in political, economic and moral decline for years. I helped Peres and Reed because, as different as they are, I thought that they could achieve something by working together. Miss Horwath left my employ to join the President’s cabinet because she, too, believed that. She was a great loss to Bristol, but I understood. I had no interest in gaining any power off the back of this… until I found out the whole truth about Veidt. If I stayed on as CEO of Bristol, he could make up some reason to purge me, and no one would be any the wiser. But even he has to think twice about assassinating his own government’s Minister of Foreign Affairs.”

“Veidt is a dangerous man. I’m sure he believes in his heart he’s doing the right thing for Tanar, but in the end he’s still a New Order agent at the heart of the FSA. And Reed is a desperate, compromised man, the perfect puppet for him. Just look at how they’re working together to keep the corrupt authorities in the Confederation in place. The President and Miss Horwath are trying their best, bless them, but they’re fighting both the New Order and their own government with one hand tied behind their back. We can’t fight Sefer properly with Veidt looking over our shoulder, and we can’t go too openly against him and Reed for fear of destabilising the Confederation and despiriting the people all over again. That’s why we need your help, because I know you can help us take care of this mess quietly.” Blair suddenly stood up dramatically, and began pacing the room. “You know as well as I do that all the other alternatives weaken the FSA. David Robert Jones is in hiding because he knows there’s very little he can do. The Trilateral can’t possibly fight a war on two fronts. And as we speak, the so-called Free Tanari Army are turning Lanorra into another Vongola.”

“Look, Mr. Akuram, I doubt you trust, like or respect me or my people. But please at least consider this. You are an accomplished, intelligent man, a war hero. You could do anything you want, and you chose to be here, fighting in the shadows for your nation. Not much money, probably no glory until after you’re dead. You did it because you’re a patriot. Well, so am I. I could do what I’ve done all my life, the same thing the last few generations of Morrisons have done - make a million credits an hour, date the most beautiful women in the confederacy, and pay into a corrupt system every once in a while in exchange - but instead I’m here.” Blair knew he was laying it on thick there, but even if Nadle didn’t believe him, he would at least know that he was willing to play the role of the sort of Tanari the Malchiorians wanted to believe existed.

He stopped and looked Nadle in the eye. “I understand that you’d rather be doing anything other than dealing with Tanari affairs again, but Malchior still needs one thing from us. If you help the President, Miss Horwath and I remove Veidt and Reed, and get the Trilateral and Luxon under control, we can finally give you exactly that. No more caste systems, no more pointless, dramatic internal struggles. Just a strong and stable Tanar, a reliable ally of Malchior, with all its guns pointed straight at Sefer Yetzirah. And if you still doubt my goodwill… Well, you mentioned the FSA vote. Let’s just say something interesting is about to happen there.”

-----

<Malchior IV, FSA HQ>

The CV of Lazran Osvaldo Dahl was an almost laughable representation of the National Continuance government. During the Tanari War, he had served for a brief time under Timothy Morgan Veidt, but he sustained a severe injury during battle with a Takemikazuchi fleet, forcing him to be sent back to Tanari Prime for treatment. By the time he emerged from hospital, a classified experimental procedure having saved his life, Edward Allman was dead, the armistice had been signed, and Veidt had hijacked the Sedona shipyard and left for parts unknown. Dahl served in the diplomatic corps for some time, but was fired for unspecified indiscretions, which he nevertheless parlayed into a career as a bit-part political commentator, including guest appearances on several episodes of The Nation Continues, where he attacked ‘the subversive left-wing deep state’ for pushing out patriotic servants of the Tanari people over fabricated scandals.

Therefore, it was perhaps no surprise that he would become the Tanari Confederation’s new ambassador to the FSA - his nomination papers, dated to before Blair Morrison had become Foreign Minister, even bore the signature of Vice-President Reed. While all of the NatCons had made much hay out of Silver Eachan’s alleged subservience to the Ascherons, any Lurian agents who bothered to look into the ambassador’s backstory would probably be left with no doubt as to exactly who to blame for the betrayal that was to follow.

Once Figlio had finished his speech, Lazran was due to speak next. Taking advantage of a relative lull in the chaos the chamber was seemingly perpetually engulfed in, he launched into his prepared remarks, the gist of which had been agreed with the President - the real President - of the Tanari Confederation beforehand.

“My name is Lazran Osvaldo Dahl, and I speak on behalf of the Tanari Confederation,” he said. “As some of you may know, the Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes has taken advantage of the failures of prior Tanari governments to freely meddle in our internal affairs, and now it seems they’re preparing to do so to Vongola. My heart bleeds for the Vongolan people who suffer the ravages of dictatorship, exploitation and civil war, but it is not for us to go over their heads and impose our own solution to their internal disputes without ever giving them a say. The criminal Di Armechio’s proposal would lock into place a status quo that just happens to be favourable to him, while putting territory whose inhabitants have never freely expressed a desire to become part of the FSA under the administration of its Secretary-General. I wonder what sort of troops Secretary-General Ascheron would send to secure the area, hmmm? If the VPR and the AKD want to carve up Vongola, they can do it without our help.”

Lazran noticed that, while the Lurian delegates looked like they wanted to dismember him, a few members of the Malchiorian delegation were beginning to look to him with hope in their eyes. And he immediately proceeded to dash those hopes.

“For the same reason, we cannot support Ambassador Gilclack’s proposal. Both Gabriel and Evangelise Ascheron - and remember, we still don’t know which one of them is actually running for secretary-general - have placed themselves beyond the pale.” he said, rubbing salt in the wound by reminding the delegates of the lack of clarity surrounding the AKD’s leadership. “Mesdames M’orv and Krieger would both make fine Secretaries-General - if only they’d ever put themselves forward! Instead a third party is doing it, supposedly on their behalf, as part of this ludicrous package deal. If I didn’t know better, I might think this was an attempt by somebody to discredit every viable compromise candidate, so this deadlock continues and we become desperate enough to install someone’s answer to Advent Joshua!”

“My government does not just reject this nonsensical proposal, it condemns it.” He dramatically turned his back to Ambassador Gilclack. “Instead, we intend to back the only legitimate candidate who, throughout this entire process, has shown that he respects the sovereignty of all member-states. The Tanari Confederation has officially decided to cast its vote for Gaius Malcovus. Long live the FSA! May all our nations continue!”

Lazran sat back down, coldly observing the stir his speech had caused throughout the assembly. While the confederacy’s credibility was not exactly high, some members nevertheless felt the Tanari’s arguments had merit, and began to switch to Malcovus. If the gambit worked, the Pasajem would be Secretary-General - and he would have Dahl to thank for it, as well as the (now-former) management of the Bristol Corporation - just as he had them to thank for inventing the medical procedure that saved his life.

Using his VI, he wrote a quick private text message to one of Malcovus’ aides. “If this works out, your boss owes me,” it read.


The next person in line to speak was Lisbet, the Ambassador for the Most Serene Republic of Alpha Centauri. Many delegates expected her to argue either in favour of the triumvirate proposal or, reluctantly, in favour of Ascheron. However, she had realised that no matter what happened now, the Dachori’s influence over the FSA was going to grow immensely. Along with the Phantom Lords, the Corrantians, the Alainese, and possibly some others, she had come to the conclusion that there was only one choice available to them, and she was about to announce it to the entire FSA.


“An excellent plan, Generalissimo.” Immediately abandoning his seemingly unfruitful attempts to woo May Graven, Turel saluted Figlio, and gave Jerid a polite nod of acknowledgement. “But I wish you’d told me you were coming here.”

Turel sat back down and looked out on the assembly. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t been allowed to give the announcement himself had wounded his pride more than he was willing to admit, even to himself, but he somehow wasn’t convinced Figlio’s plan was going to have the desired effect. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m not sure your appearance has actually helped matters.” he said, as the assembly listened to Lisbet’s unexpectedly fiery speech.

-----

<Z’traa, Grand Imperial Assembly>

Many light-years away, Tekhe Ra stood up before a completely different parliamentary assembly, filled with a peculiar mixture of dread and anticipation as he prepared to make the same announcement Lisbet was making on Malchior IV at the same time. Many of the delegates, who already viewed him with suspicion, would probably despise him and maybe even want him dead after this speech. Others would possibly support him, even though he probably agreed on very little with many of them. Either way, he was about to up-end both Vrai internal politics and the galactic balance of power.

“Assembled delegates! People of the Vrai Empire and the galaxy! Please attend carefully!” he said, taking one step forward both towards the microphone and into the unknown. “Since I became High Representative, I have carefully examined the situation beyond our borders, and I have regretfully come to the conclusion that it has deteriorated so much that we must radically change our approach.”

Just those words caused an uproar among the isolationist delegates, who already knew nothing good could come of this speech, but Tekhe Ra pressed on. “Sefer the Mad stands poised to annihilate all cultural distinctiveness in the galaxy. Meanwhile, the Free Systems Alliance is about to have its soul ripped out. There are good people in the FSA, who just wish to protect their own civilisations much as we do, but they are being forced to choose between a Dachori hiding in plain sight, who is supported by the Tanari, and the Lurian dictator, who is supported by the Dachori. Understandably, they do not want to make this choice, because either way, they lose, and the galaxy loses. And so, the Vrai Empire has taken on the responsibility of offering them a third choice. As of today, I can announce the creation of the Order and Progress Coalition. The full list of members will be revealed over time, but I can already reveal the Phantom Lords, the Most Serene Republic of Alpha Centauri, the Commonwealth of Corrantia, the Alainese Domain, and the Chivalric Arms corporation of the Xazari have all agreed to join the OPC.”

“Together, we will safeguard all those nations of the galaxy who wish to remain free from the evil that surrounds us, be it Seferist or Rider. Long live the Emperor! Long live the Revolution! Long live the Vrai!”

As Tekhe Ra finished his announcement, he sadly noted that many of the people cheering were the wrong people.

-----

<Lanorra, Port Authority>

Ever since the New Order probes had been sighted over Lanorra, the Free Tanari Army had been on tenterhooks. The lack of any official Tanari response to the takeover of Lanorra coupled with the New Order’s sudden interest in them fuelled the FTA’s suspicion that the NatCons were effective puppets of the New Order, and this only made them more determined to fight. The FTA’s ships and troops were mobilised for an imminent attack, and a few surprises had been planted throughout the system for any incoming invaders.

“Blackbird’s Bane, you are not authorised to enter this system. Please leave this system immediately or we will respond-” the Colonel in command of Lanorra’s port authority began to respond.

“You will respond by welcoming them.” Anna Luxon, who had suddenly entered the control room, cut in, and looked past the Colonel. “General Drax, my apologies. It seems there’s been a clerical error at the port authority. Your ships are, of course, authorised. I look forward to our meeting too. Lanorra out.”

Once Drax’s hologram disappeared, the Colonel, who had clearly not been informed about the FTA-VPR alliance, turned to Luxon, frozen in shock. “But, Supreme Commander, the VPR…”

“Are here on my invitation.” Anna said. “I know what they’ve done, and who they’ve worked with in the past, but if we want to hold onto this planet and maintain the FTA as a viable force, we need all the help we can get.”

As if on cue, the machinery in the room began pinging, indicating the arrival of the Campeador and the Oberon’s Night, and Calvin Quest’s message was intercepted and replayed.

“What in the name of…” The Supreme Commander had to stop herself swearing as she hailed the Malchiorian ships. “Malchiorian fleet, this is Supreme Commander Anna Luxon of the Free Tanari. Hold your fire. I repeat, hold your fire. The Blackbird’s Bane is here on the explicit invitation of the Lanorran authorities. If you start picking unprovoked fights with our guests, those FSA badges aren’t going to save you. But if you’re here to help, then welcome to Lanorra. If you like, you can come to the surface to discuss both your and the Vongolans’ role here, or we can set up a holo-conference. Luxon out.”

“Now that one I didn’t expect. I’m sure that’s going to be a fun meeting.” Anna began to head out the door, only for the machinery to start pinging again and force her to turn back. “What now?” she asked, just as yet another holographic transmission arrived, this one of a Corrantian.

“Free Tanari Army, this is Admiral Asgarov of the Corrantian dreadnought Trident. We are here to assist you.” the hologram said.

Anna sighed. The Corrantians had helped them by allowing the FTA to pass through their territory, but she was afraid that by helping her any further, they’d only be exposing themselves to retribution, especially since they were seemingly acting independently of the Malchiorians. The forces assembled around Lanorra were probably already powerful enough to repel a New Order attack, and she was not looking forward to having to reconcile the Malchiorian and Vongolan commanders. Maybe it would be best to send the Trident back home, she thought.

“Admiral, this is Supreme Commander Luxon. Our agreement with your Commonwealth did not call for military assistance on your part. Please, leave this area. The New Order will likely arrive here soon, and you are only putting Corrantia in harm’s way by exposing your involvement.” she replied on a coded frequency.

“Supreme Commander, you misunderstand. Corrantia will be fine.” Asgarov said. The machinery began pinging yet again.

“We have multiple new contacts appearing! Again!” someone across the control room yelled.

“New Order?”

“Negative! One more Corrantian, two Alpha Centaurian battlecruisers… and two Vrai cruisers.”

At this point, Anna Luxon started to feel like she was going mad. “Admiral Asgarov, would you please explain what exactly you’re playing at!”

“It is quite simple. The Order and Progress Coalition would also like to assist your FTA, Supreme Commander Luxon.”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“What the hell?” Praxter said, as he suddenly saw Xavik floating - albeit seemingly unaffected by it - in the vacuum of space. “Let him in!”

Captain Helsfyr-Sinsen gave a few terse commands to a subordinate in an alien language, and a few seconds later, an airlock was prepared for Xavik to enter the Salvador transport..


Prush rolled his eyes at the mention of coffee, but decided to play along and started to walk towards the exit as well.

“W-wait!” Bai finally cried. “Look, I turned the guy back. I’m not stupid, I know that stuff’s hot. I heard Vinderen grabbed him right after he left. I genuinely thought she’d already turned him away too. Dumbass.”


“Now there’s a good boy,” Prush turned back. “Keep talking. Where would she be now?”

“Are you insane?” Bai’s praying mantis lackey said. “You are police. She find out we help you arrest her, we dead.”

“Who said anything about arresting her?” the tattooed Takemik shrugged. “We just need to talk to her.”

The Terugan looked down at his shoes. “Last I heard, she was moving stuff into an empty storage area on Level 57-B. Not sure if that’s still the case, but that’s all I can tell you.”



“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bill cried, completely baffled by Nexus’ rant and concerned that he seemed to be reaching for something behind him while he was unable to move.

“Yes, Nexus, what the fuck are you talking about? Nobody else is getting killed.” Sally suddenly said from behind him. “You know what… I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear any of that nonsense. I just managed to reach Prush. He and Mavis think they have Vinderen’s lair, it’s two levels up. Let’s go.”

-----

<Vongola, Kozin’s Camp>

“Of course.” the Inquisidora replied. “We don’t want to hurt civilians anymore than you do, and we’re committed to seeing this through. Will that be all?”

-----

<Vongola, Outskirts of Sards>

EEEEEEE chimed in. “There will probably be some VPR patrols in the area, but from what we know they’re mostly equipped for hit-and-run, not much more. We should be fine.”

Sergei clapped once to catch everyone’s attention. “Alright, enough chit-chat.” he said. “We need to get to the convoy as quickly as possible. Remember, we’re not letting anyone so much as harm a hair on the refugees’ heads!” He got into one of the jeeps, and fired up the engine.

-----

<The Treasury of Malak Al-Maut>

Silver Eachan frowned at first as the bottle hit the floor and shattered. Part of him, however, suggested that it was probably for the best. “Well, unfortunately, I’m definitely not thinking straight right now. Fortunately, though, if I were, I wouldn’t be working with you.”

He stood up, and began to look around. “Great. Any ideas where to start?” he said. While, in truth, he didn’t particularly rate their chances of getting out any time soon, busywork would hopefully stop him deteriorating as quickly as Lilith clearly had, and he was curious what other goodies could be found deeper inside this odd dimension. After all, if Lilith was right, he’d have all the time in the world to lose himself in the lap of luxury.

-----