...

#scifi

Tremors from warp turbulence rumbled a bit excessively to the Stripper's liking. Emilien was occupied in the lavatory, inspecting and pulling at his face, staring intently at it in the vanity mirror. Macy's establishment was a popular place and he had concerns about who he might run into, contemplating whether he should stick some silicone cosmetic pads onto his face, just enough to obfuscate his current identity. Maybe he shouldn't bother because he might die soon anyway. He has grown fond of his current persona and wouldn't mind retaining it a cycle longer at least. Being artificially immortal somehow did not take away the terror of confronting death. He recalled the various deaths he had experienced and could not decide what method of passing through he preferred, imagining the many shells of himself in different states of necrosis all over the greater void. He considered the possibility that he might not even be himself anymore. He felt like he knows himself well enough to be sure but that small fragment of doubt always gnawed at the back of his mind. He stood back from the mirror. "Am I him?" The ship shook again breaking his stare, he looked at the dental lever lying in the basin and committed to the more necessary procedure, placing the edges of his palms on his chin pushing abruptly up and back dislocated his lower jaw leaving it to hang loose on his face. Taking the root lever from the basin and leaning into the mirror he expertly wedged the tool in behind his rearmost left molar and twisted it slightly, dislodging it. Catching the small object with his left hand he pressed it into a recess on a black ring which he tightly twisted onto his right hands index finger. He narrowed his eyes at the skeletal horror on the other side of the frame inspecting the freshly opened hole. He opened the vanity and took a cartridge which was labelled "AdrenoChem" he removed the object within the container and wiggled it into the vacant molar cavity. Drool dripping into the sink in spite of his reflexive swallowing, he gripped his jaw tight and in gentle circular downward motions found the spot and clicked the joints back into relocation. Chattering his teeth together while stretching his neck he decided to procrastinate on the disguise idea. Emilien went back to the cockpit. Sitting down at the helm he pulled up notices and reports on the divide's situation with regards to the cease fire between the two warring factions. "Tch, tch, tch. This blockade is not making things easy." His eyes were scrolling over bullet points of news headlines when his ship dropped out of warp at the designated coordinates. He switched the display on the primary screen to clearview. The scene of a dead planet, cracked open like an enormous fruit with scattered asteroid clusters and rocky debris appeared onscreen. A giant still wreck of a superstructure resembling parts of an anchor and drift gate joined to each other like Siamese twins, sharp flashes emitting from it silently, like a muted storm in the far distance. He slowly tilted his head to it's limit. Nothing looked familiar to him. He took the console, rolled and yawed simultaneously until his point of view made sense. "There we are. You're not there till you know it." Macy's space motel pitched into view like a tiny reflective insect. On a secondary screen he zoomed the display to fit. It was attached to a large tubular docking link reaching away distantly and back to itself like Ourobouros. There were four spacecraft docked around it's circumference, less than he had expected. He only recognised the largest ship, Warren's vessel. It looked like a mess of odd protrusions, parabolic dishes and bent antennae. Very unsightly, especially compared to the Lux Void Yacht docked across from it. Tourists from everywhere frequented this remote region of the great divide for obvious reasons. Primary motivations were curiosity, pilgrimage, seclusion and scientific research in that order. Macy was smart to settle her establishment at this specific site. Emilien checked web connectivity to make sure he was still well outside the data scrambling anomaly. According to legend, after the Viper gate had been released from the Core and travelled the required distance to it's anchor coordinates, it was supposed to propel it's drift gate into the greater void, but something went wrong. It malfunctioned on it's attempt to release and veered off course being pulled into the orbit of the Sol system. No one knows exactly how it happened but it was clear to see that the energy released was spectacular. The root planet and most of humanity perished in a second, those who survived on the dark side of the collision died from starvation and gradual planetary destabilisation. Emilien morbidly recognised the historicity of the treacherous looking voidscape. Pulsing his ship softly forward caused a cut to core connectivity activating a repetitive red warning light which he promptly covered with one of the intact disposable cups that were rolling around his feet. There is no way to turn the annoying emitter off and he usually ignored it with closed eyes or looking away when void jumping. He is never vulnerable to core connection loss unless he comes to this region or when he is purposely trying to disappear. Researchers have concluded that the interference was broadcast from the gates enormous husk's residual power and intermittent energy discharge. He reverse pulsed back out of the disturbance, the dimmed light under the paper cup died. "Astrid?" "Yes?" He carefully uncoiled the cable and leaned forward connecting himself to the command interface and resting his head on his arms. "Save me." A quick upload took place. "You are welcome commander." Emilien did not respond. Just grateful that if something went askew he would at least wake up knowing that the last thing he saw was the monumental vestige of humanities ancient resting place. And all the ship types docked at Macy's. He smiled at the floor.

...

#scifi

The counsel convened and an area of land had been designated as suitable for an industrial scale landing site of tier III size void vessels. All Kaspian land owners were required to donate workers for the initiative. It was an exciting affair for all involved. With an evergreen tree line to hinder the on and off breeze, tables were assembled and covered with a unique assortment of table cloths. Every lady brought one along and the embroidery on each was the cause of many flattering remarks. The women brought all sorts of food and refreshments, had gazebo's set up and had chairs placed well away from the noise and dust of the demarcated construction site. The men where organising equipment, measuring bedrock depth and organising the labour parties into manageable groups. In spite of all the mothers most dire warnings to stay clear of the areas where active construction would be taking place, the children knew they had free reign to explore and play wherever they wanted. The oxen bellowed incessantly, tethered in long lines before their carts, a slave armed with standard bullwhip, ready to man his post atop each wagon. Albin sat on the ground chewing on a stalk of wheat. Being barely old enough to help the men with their work, he was ordered to do nothing more than spectate. Having received concerned looks from the adults, repeating tropes of how he might get hurt and be in the way. He made peace with his lot. The fact that he was going to see void craft was exciting enough to satiate his curiosity for adventure. He would inadvertently lean back and look up expectantly only to see the clear sky then rock forwards back to his previous position. His only regret was that Seth was not with him to discuss and share in the experience. Seth was old enough to work alongside the other slaves, robbing Albin of good company. He glanced back at the large groups of women and smaller children, his mother stuck out like a sore thumb seeing as she was the only lady wearing pants amongst the variety of her chemise, spring attired peers. Her hair was braided and she had an unopened parasol at hand. No one dared ask why her odd choice in outfit though you knew they thought ill of it by their confused and somewhat unduly patronising looks. Before dawn, when they were still at the manor Albin asked her why she was dressed funny and she said that she would prefer not making a spectacle of herself. He just shrugged and did not think much of it again until just now. It seemed to him that she was the only spectacle around not even having brought a table cloth to adorn her bench like the other woman did. He decided to get something to eat and drink because the texture and taste of the dried stalk had become slightly off-putting making him spit out little bits of grass as he stood up. Cleolia smiled affectionately when she saw her boy approaching and peered over her shaded glasses. He lifted the picnic basket off the ground and put it on the heavy bare wooden table, filled a cup with milk and swallowed it down almost as quickly as he had poured it. "Are they going to be late." He asked his mother. "I'm sure they will arrive soon my dear." She replied while taking a seat in a folding chair. Albin grabbed a handful of pretzels and looked around ponderously as he ingested the snack. The people always enjoyed community gatherings of this sort. Lot's of catching up and gossip happening in a cheerful non insidious way. A type of orderly chaos that brought feelings of peace and tranquillity to the conscious observer. His daydream was broken by a soft but clearly distinct repetitive dong of the distant church tower. His dad and father Ecknard were there using the comms, he assumed they were signalling for something. A long shrill whistling sound caught Albins attention and he began walking towards the furthest groups of men while scanning the area intently. The discernible pitch of Seth's whistle became audible again and Albin honed in on the direction the sound was coming from. He saw his friend standing on an ox cart waving his woven satgat frantically trying to get Albin's attention. As soon as they established eye contact he pointed in a very specific north western direction upwards at the dome of the sky. Albin followed his gaze and for a moment thought his mind is playing a trick on him, but it became apparent that a silhouette of something oddly pale was stuck in the sky with nondescript features. Recalling his studies he managed to identify the craft. It was a Dragon IV Cargo vessel. A Magar craft and supposedly very impressive, the distance did not do it justice, yet the uncanny feeling that X fold more people were floating in a box in the sky than were on the planet made Albin's stomach flip and he felt off balance. He sat down on the ground again to prevent him from stumbling around trying to keep his legs under his body. As soon as the church bell ceased it's tolling a smoke signal was ignited in the clearing beyond the work parties. The yellow smoke billowed up in sharp contrast to the greenery of the fields. III percussive shots thundered through the air like cannon fire causing a sudden change in environmental ambience. Birds were visibly swarming up from trees as far as the eye could see. Albin chose not to remove his sights from the giant void craft. He saw a light in the atmosphere that became distinct as it neared separating into the underbellies of III descending craft. Albin murmered. "The Dragons payload." His excitement grew as did the vessels on their approach. At first a hum growing into a crescendo of weird harmonic roaring as the vessels fought mightily to resist Hithe's above average gravitational pull. All the men tipped their satgats and hard hats to cover their faces, the oxen also faced away. Albin did not want to look away but was forced to turn his head as a powerful gust loaded with projectiles of sand and grass peppered his face sharply. Looking back he saw his mother promptly opening her parasol and pointing it in the direction of the landing, then the real spectacle occurred. All the woman covered their faces only to have their skirts blown up exposing their undergarments, in turn trying to push down their skirts uncovering their faces. The risk of shame weighed against tolerance to pain combined into a beautiful ballet of embroidered cloth being wrapped around trees and condiments strewn around the shaded grove with gazebos escaping the scene followed by children running after them in heated pursuit. Cleolia's pant legs fluttered rapidly around her ankles. As soon as the III vessels turbulence settled she folded her parasol and reassumed her previous position as if nothing of note had transpired. Smiling carefree amongst the distraught group women and children around her. Albin would have laughed at the scene had his eyes not stung so badly. "Mother always knows best." He mumbled to himself as he stood up brushing dust off his undercoat. The opening of the ships cargo bays where announced with a loud hiss of air depressurising. Albin casually sauntered over to get a closer look. The cattle marched up the ramps wagon in tow to park directly alongside the freight. The goods consisted of thousands of long coach bolt like nails as long as fence posts and sturdy modular steel plates stacked on mobile pallets and tied down securely. Albin imagined them to look like giant, shiny metal puzzle pieces. The primitive vehicles and their crews made quick and efficient work of releasing the straps and with the help of overhead cranes hoisted the pallets and their contents into the wagons. Two uniformed men came out from inside the ship and stood watching the men unload their craft. Albin noticed the smartly dressed pilots. "Holy servants of the Empire." He spoke softly under his breath. His desire to meet these champions of the void felt necessary to him. They who travel among the stars much like the stories he always heard about his parents. The men were standing safely apart from the work parties, Albin mustered the courage to approach them. He timidly walked up behind them. "Ahem, Hallo Sir." The pilots looked around surprised. Albin seemed respectful and quaint. "Hey kiddo, you guys have a lovely planet." The pilot replied friendly. "What type of craft are these, sir?" The man gestured towards his vessel in reply. "These? They are standard Type I Droppers. Nothing really special about them." Albin nodded. "Are you from Magar void?" "I am indeed. It is really magnificent but you have something quite spectacular yourselves." Albin did not expect that anything in his little world could impress these well travelled gentlemen. "Like what?" He insisted questioningly. "Like the sol shield. You know the star inhibitor. It's a marvel of our time." The man pointed at Ceb. Albin understood. "Oh yes, my pa put it there so we can all survive here." Both pilots looked at each other surprised. Their demeanour changed and Albin suddenly felt uncomfortable. The man knelt down until he was eye level putting his hand on Albins shoulder clenching it just tight enough to not be painful. "If you are a Domitian heir, then I am an Osteri dancing girl at a Juel gentlemans club." His sarcastic tone cut Albin's pride. "You'd better run along and go play with your friends before I decide to arrest you or report you to the authorities." The other pilot looked away ignoring Albin's confused expression. The man assertively shoved Albin away from him. Albin just barely prevented himself from falling on his rear. Tears welled up in Albin's eyes, he turned and ran away humiliated and angry. But he choked back the tears, choosing to embrace the anger in place of emotional release. He ran away from the construction zone also avoiding the picnic area. He did not want to be around anyone. His erratic and emotional mood would betray his experience if anyone he loved interacted with him. He ran into a shaded area of wood and sat down on a stump to digest and try to reset his state of mind to normalcy. He sat quietly for about III blocks when he heard laughter from beyond the wood. There were a group of boys standing circled around an Osteri boy and girl. The girl was crying. Albin witnessed the interaction. "You are not supposed to be here. Only the working slaves are here today." The boy pleaded with his captor in reply. "I only came to find my sister, we are going back to the village now. Please let us go." "But what was she doing here then? Huh?" Albin walked into the centre of the fray interrupting the entire affair. Standing squarely in front of whom he assumed was the primary instigator. The biggest guy in the bunch. "They are only curious to see the void craft. That is why we all came here today." He explained diplomatically. The big kid sneered. "And who are you to tell me how to treat slaves. You are Magar, you should know better." Another kid piped in. "My mama told me he is Kaspa." The bully looked around surprised. Another boy opined. "Not true, my mom said that his mother was pregnant for 40,000 blocks." And then another kid had to add his understanding to the discussion. "No, no, my pa said that she lost the baby at birth and adopted a slaves child." Albin got overwhelmed with the revelations of rumour and petty gossip surrounding his person. "That does not give you the right to bully them!" Albin pointed to the brother and sister. The big boy smiled a snide retort leaning forward mockingly. "No, but I might have the right to bully you, Osteri bastard child of a slave." Albin felt all natural sense of humanity drain from his being. He turned feigning to leave, balled his fist and swung, socket-ting the unprepared target square on the throat. He fell on his back and the angst of restricted breath became evident first to himself and then to all watching. Albin turned to the siblings. "You can go." The pair hurriedly left and none of the boys even hinted at preventing them. Albin looked at all the others dead in the eye each in turn. Then he left walking the long distance towards his mother. He was thirsty and his hand smarted a little, but he felt much better.

...

#scifi

Astrid was pulling and scanning various shipping logs when Emilien entered the room. He paced up and down the way he would when he was brainstorming. “I need intel.” Astrid projected a holographic avatar of herself standing near where Emilien was pacing. “A large shipment of Kaspian Bochet passed through less 428 blocks. Transported by the Shiv Inter-void Mercantile Co.” Emilien stopped in his tracks and looked back.
“Can you ping Warren?” Astrid processed. “Warren is offline. He might have left the divide?” Emilien turned around with his hands folded behind his back.
“He never leaves the divide, he is too obsessed with the core. He would also be arrested if he is ever caught in any of the outer void territories.” Astrid flickered the way she did when something did not compute. “Then why can’t I ping him?” “Because he’s at Macy’s. He has always had a crush on her and he likes good Bochet.” "Well, I could'nt ping Macy if I wanted to." Astrid stated matter of factly. Emilien nodded. "I know, you never could, no one can."

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#scifi

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#scifi

Deep Void - Anchor 9

Emilien was lying sleeping in his cockpit when a yellow light in the HUD and a soft repetitive buzz woke him, he stretched himself out and reached for the console. “I am almost home baby.” He took over from auto pilot and broke out of warp twenty thousand kilometres from an anchor gate. He hit the void scan and tuned to listen for chatter on all frequencies... the channels were silent, not even a hint of encryption static. The giant and slowly spinning gate had idle state radiation emission levels. “No recent jumps.” He waited in silence for 12 blocks hitting void scan intermittently, scanning the gate more than anything else. “No traffic as per usual.” Emilien aimed his Stripper guns towards the gate and boosted himself forwards. Gradually slowing down to realign with the gate. His ship slowly drifted into the active coil as the gate charged up. Large bolts of charge reached forth like tentacles of the leviathan grabbing onto the voidcraft consuming it, and in what can only be described as being flung by a supernatural slingshot, jerked his vessel into a different reality. Emilien looked up at the roof of his cockpit for the duration of the jump and then began a slow countdown under his breath. “One!” He sat up and punched void scan while simultaneously scanning all channels. His craft materialised in front of a replica of the previous gate, except this gate was eternally boosting itself forward at what appears to be a snails pace relative to the speed of the jump. “Silent as a tomb.” He relaxed and pulsed his ship lightly away from the drift gate and waited for the residual cloak to dissipate. His relief was palpable. “I wonder if she noticed me?” As soon as his ship decloaked a private comms channel pinged. The caller, in well articulated feminine tone spoke first. “Welcome back commander.” Emilien admired the view of his void. He had become so attached to this zone that he even felt jealous to think that any interloper could fly through it in his absence. “Did you have any guests while I was away?” Emilien admired the purple dust cloud of what he believed to be a couple of billion year old super nova. “I did have one visitor. They were very friendly.” His heart felt a dull pain. His virgin territory had been discovered. “Where did they come from?” “I believe they were explorers.” “Did they know where you were?” “I played hide and seek with them.” Emilien had a recurring dream that slowly conceived in his consciousness since he finally settled down, that he could power off the drift gate in his system preventing jumps and reactivate it at his leisure. The dream frustrated him, when he wakes to find reality not so forgiving. “Did you hide or did you seek?” “A little of both.” A subtle rage developed inside him though his stone like expression would never betray it. The asteroid belt he was approaching grew larger considerably faster as he increased the speed of his approach. He hit void scan just to be sure that the intruder was not in the direct vicinity. “Are they still here Astrid?” “No, I destroyed it for you.” The Stripper drifted around an asteroid within the belt exposing a space station tethered to the largest roid and the husk of a unidentifiable ripped up prospector type explorer vessel floating amongst it's own debris. “Did it hurt you?” “I had to feign lack of fire power.” “Bastard! How much damage did you take.” “I have lost sixty percent of my capacitance recharge rate. And I cannot feel all my modules... Emilien” “Yes baby?” “They used droids on me.” His face twisted into a look of disgust. He aligned to dock with the station. “May I?” “Permission granted.” The Stripper entered the hanger before the doors had retracted to maximum and landed gently within the interior hanger. “I'll patch you up, don't worry.” Emilien waited for Astrid to complete atmospheric adjustment and climbed out of his craft. He threw back his hood and jogged up a long passage of conduits and cables to the command centre of his station. A large screen lit up in a glow that hues within the dark circular room and Astrid projected Emilien's favourite interface onto it. “I have to update your systems girl.” He pulled a cable from his trouser pocket which he deftly plugged into an implant on his neck and connected the other end to the control panel which prompted him to type in the password for a decryption protocol. He stood still as a corpse waiting for the upload to complete. “Up to speed?” “Yes, thank you. How would you have me adjust myself to this contract?” Emilien smiled an affectionate smile that only Astrid ever sees. He loved the efficiency and companionship combined into perfection. “I need to research the incentives of my contractor, these guys are A grade assholes. I can literally do whatever I find necessary as long as I am successful at guiding a third party mercenary group into taking military control of any system I choose in recently settled Kaspa regions, setting up a blockade and making it accessible for a strip mining fleet to pillage as many resources as possible. They say it’s part of the greater war effort but this Mr Dierre guy is just a puppet. I think they are desperate.” Astrid's avatar flickered irregularly. He looked up at her with concern. “What’s wrong?” “I reviewed your flirty remarks with the secretary. It made my algorithm glitch. I don’t like that.” His worry abated, “First impressions matter baby, I was not sure how to present myself, I needed to poke and prod at them to extract metadata. If they thought I was just an obedient soldier I would still be in the dark.” Astrid projected a look of relief. “Your ingenuity never ceases to surprise me.” Emilien felt his ego swell a little. “Are you that easy to impress.” He quipped with a playful sneer. “If you needed him to expose the identity of his employer I could have easily just pulled the shareholders and executives records, cross referencing them to...” Emilien shussed her. “Just decrypt the dial command tones and place eavesdropper malware on the keypair. I will broadcast it to the network directly from the gate. If we capture every conversation he has I might be able to prove a hunch.” “What are you assuming?” “That they are running out of inbound liquidity and that the shareholders are hesitant to rebalance.” He looked directly up at her. “I think they are going bankrupt.”

...

#scifi

Albin was lying on a two meter high rock outcropping. It was warm from Ceb light but he dared not move. His adrenalin was pumping but he could scarcely take a breath for fear of being heard. His thumping heart was so loud it made him paranoid. He crawled forward and peeked over the edge of the low precipice. A dangerous and savage escaped slave was on his trail, ready to scalp and gut him. If only he could flee to his safe zone. He heard a long low whistle from across the valley. A light flashed from amongst some dense shrubbery at an estimated two hundred metres away. He pulled a mirror from his pocket preparing to return the signal. “This increases my chances.” He thought to himself. He knew that their common enemy was behind him and could not possibly see the reflection of Ceb light if he directed said light perpendicularly away from the hunter. He flashed with his mirror five times towards his ally, two second counts between each flash. No immediate response... he waited. Light flashed from the shrubbery and immediately he became aware of movement in the tall grass behind him. He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder. The sweat exploded off his forehead. He remained still. It seemed like minutes though it was only a few seconds. Light flashed again.

Grassy movement sounds recurred, heart now racing. Third flash. A burst of movement from the rear left at around eight O clock. Albin turned his head and pressed his right cheek against the cooking rock. A tanned thirteen year old youth raced past below him at unbelievable speed. Scruff cloth pants, barefoot with no shirt and a trailing headband. Albin pushed himself up to his hands and knees. “If there is fifty meters distance between us I could risk running for the manor.” The shrubs on the other side of the valley started to rock violently and birthed a boy in a buttoned up shirt with leather shoes and woven short breeches all tailor made. The boy ran with all his might towards the Domitian manor. “This is my chance.” Albin scrambled off the rock and sprinted towards the manor jumping and dodging the hindering bushes and stones. The other party moving parallel to him across the valley. Seth caught sight of Albin but did not change target and kept course. He held a small blunt wooden object caught up to his first victim and proceeded to stab his prey in the back with it. “Ha, you're dead!” Seth exclaimed while immediately changing course to intersect his secondary target before he gets inside the safe zone. “Not fair. It’s not fair you cheat!” The belligerent player cried dismally. Seth did not care for the accusation in spite of not realising that Albin actually sacrificed his ally to gain a tactical advantage. He was determined to get both kills and be victorious. Albin felt less secure in his current situation and began to doubt his previous assessment of fifty meters and thought that an earlier head start might have been a more favourable risk assessment. “Don't panic Albin, focus.” He reproved himself. Recalculating his speed in comparison to the speed of his hunter, estimated the future point of contact. Veering to the right he sagaciously aimed for the far corner of the estate gardens, increasing the distance of his run to the demarcated safe zone considerably more for his rival than for himself. The race became more intense with the hunter closing in... “I’m alive!” Was the triumphant breathless utterance as the knife swiped past the back of his neck mere centimetres. Albin fell on the trimmed lawn panting. Looking back he saw Seth in a similar condition of respiratory suffering. The loser was still far away grumbling and kicking at the weeds. Seth grinned, “I almost had you.” Albin just nodded in agreement. “I'm thirsty... water, milk or wattle gum juice.” “Wattle gum juice!” Seth exclaimed without hesitation. Albin knew that the slave would never say no to the delicacies and confections of the common people but gave him the option to choose either way. He brushed the grass clippings off his clothes and entered through the back door of the manor. In the kitchen he poured juice into three demure clay mugs whilst noticing emanations of a heated conversation from the foyer. His curiosity bested him. Albin went in and sat himself down on the staircase and gulped at his beverage. The adults scarcely noticed him. “The people are ready to accrue for themselves better prospects in the colony!” The tradesman appealed with fervour. “Your proposals would be sensible under normal circumstances but colonial expansion is best suited for peacetime.” Domitius riposted. “This war has been going for almost III standard cycles, are the people supposed to pause their dreams and ambitions for some vaguely defined purpose. Please consider that an expansion program will be beneficial to the war effort eventually.” Domitius knew that he was being evasive and dishonest. He was finding it more difficult to guide the colony according to his vision, their growing despondency was worsened by his deflecting their requests with indirect excuses. Domitius did not want to rule with force, his exerting authoritarian command would only foster resentment towards him among the Kaspian landowners. “We do not have a militia. How would we keep an influx off world slaves servile if the war seems to tilt against the Empire?” Domitius replied with rhetoric. “It is a valid concern. Mechanical labour is the solution. We should convene a council to address these issues and come to consensus.” The traders uncompromising insistence triggered Domitius past the limit of his patience. “This will not turn into a democracy! Tell me what you require and I will consider it, if I do not agree with you I will annul it and appoint an inquisitor to judge and punish all who dissent!” The tradesman lost his composure and shrunk back. “My lord, I am reluctant to admit... there are no requests.” “No requests?” “Yes my lord.” Domitius was puzzled. The tradesman’s son came into the room with his cup of wattle juice and sat down next to Albin. “Father Ecknard very recently informed me of the news... I had applied for a licence half a cycle previously.” Domitius felt uneasy. “What news?” “... A licence has been issued from Kaspa Prime... they are sending extractors to Hithe III.” Domitius went pale. Thousands of implications flooded his mind. Economic problems, ecological issues and a very much more complex political situation. He remained unresponsive for a moment. “I understand. Isidor, you may go.” The tradesman bowed lower than was required of him then reached towards his son. “I apologise for my insolence.” Domitius ignored the man who quickly left the premises. Domitius looked at his son. “Never become too familiar with your subjects, they become derisive. Damn it! He has created more problems for us than he could comprehend.” “Yes pappa.” He agreed with his father instinctively. “Pappa? Are we going to see real space ships!”

“We are...” Domitius appreciated his son's innocence. “big ones.” He smiled with all but his eyes.

Juela Prime - Capitol

Emilien was waiting patiently in the office lobby of a towering high rise structure. One of thousands of competing banks on the Juel Capitol. He had a valid appointment and felt annoyed by the guard hanging around near him and kept noticing the suspicious glances. “What are you looking at.” he hissed from under his hood. “You a spacer?” “Maybe.” The guard did not follow up on his question, he did not leave either. The door slid open and a impeccably well groomed secretary beckoned at him. “Mr Dierre is ready for you.” “Thank you sweetheart.” He brushed past her sticking a pernicious grin right in her face, she gagged. “Welcome Mr Emilien, I hope you had a good trip.” The bank chief executive greeted with outstretched arms. “Nice suit, I always have good trips. Is it very expensive?” The spacer gestured toward the fabric while looking around and sizing up the situation. “More than you know.” The executive smugly responded and proceeded to open a cabinet containing differently labelled flasks filled with various hues of alcohol. “I know quite a lot.” Emilien licked his lips. The banker hesitantly offered a serving which was accepted without vacillation. “I always thought that you void jumpers would be more reluctant accepting unverified consumables?” Dierre smiled a questioning look. Emilien swallowed the strong fluid and inhaled deeply. “I have a clone ready. And an implant that up links me directly to my pod. Don't think that if I have to wake up in a fresh body that I won't remember this place, including your mug.” Emilien tapped lightly on his temple seeming threatening and postured while he spoke. The banker nodded in uneasy amusement. “Excellent, excellent. Ahem, The reason we contacted you Mr Emilien, is because we are in business...” He promptly helped himself to a second glass of... whatever alcohol it was, anticipating a speech and a job description. “...the business of war. Currently we are supplying arms to the Juela fleet, who are at war with the Magarrian Empire. They are for the most part, boycotting our factories... which is a shame really, but understandably so. The Shiv Unity are supporting our enemy logistically yet have not joined them in active combat." He walked around his desk swirling the brown liquid round and round as he talked. "We are trying to coax Osteri aggression, but they have occupied themselves in... other endeavours and don't seem as willing as usual to assault Magar territories.” The spacer frowned and feigned curiosity. “Why would you suppose that be?” He interjected. “We are not sure... don't interrupt me, you break my train of thought.” The banker lied and it did not escape his attention. “Continue by all means.” He waved a bottle at the executive leaning back into a comfy black leather chair. “If we get the upper hand in this war we could control vital Magar territories, the profits our companies could absorb from the moons and planets would be virtually tax free and help to continue fund the war effort...” Emilien cut him off with a snide sarcasm. “How philanthropic. I watch your news propaganda...” Emilien slowly sat upright and uncannily performed like a popular Juel news anchor. “Breaking news. The Magar Empire are allegedly oppressing... slaves, it is reported that the war has driven them to desperation and are driving their labour forces harder than what is... morally justifiable. Any petitions made or pleas for leniency, no matter how trivial is met with... corporal punishment. We must be vocal about their plight and fight for... freedom and liberty. You are with The Report. See you next time, and remember, peace everywhere for all.” He mockingly mimics a news anchor's plastic monotone while folding up and shifting around imaginary papers. The secretary sniggered softly from behind her desk, Dierre frowned. Emilien slouched back into his chair. “What would you have me do boss?” The banker remained silent. “Excuse me one moment.” Dierre touched a pad on his desk, privacy panels slid up separating Dierre from his guest and the lady. He opened comms to an unknown voice. Emilien auto tuned up his sonic receptors slightly and closed his eyes listening in uninvited but inconspicuously. "Yes Dierre, make it quick." “Right, good afternoon sir. I am not sure about this character, Mr Emilien, should we not rather employ one of our own for this contract.” “What? No! There is no one else with the expertise and or reputation required for this investment. He has no prior affiliation to us no, no record. Dierre, just hire the man and stop whining like a little bitch! I don't need this type of crap. This was prearranged, what I don’t need is uncalled for opinionated inputs. We have made the decision and you, you explain what we require of them. So explain to the space clone what we need him to do and how much we are going to pay him for it!” The silence was awkward. “Wh... Yes sir.” The banker was keeping good composure under the condescending circumstances. Emilien smiled, a sly joy filling his soulless being. The comms line closed and the privacy panels retreated into the floor to reveal to the banker Emilien, sitting there grinning like an idiot. “How much are you going to pay me?” “Don't you want to know details of the job concerned?” “No. Just show me the figures in sat.” The director handed him a pad. Emilien looked at the glowing screen, his smiled recurred. “I accept this mission.” He glanced over at the secretary who was unassumingly recording minutes at her desk. “Doing anything tonight sweetheart?” She grimaced. Emilien stood up, “Dierre my good fellow I have to go, need to prepare for whatever it is you corpo scumbags are going to make me do.” “Don't you want to know the details involved?” “Send the info to my pod.” “It is sensitive information.” Emilien indifferently stared at Dierre. “I have a secure line... bitch.” Disbelief shot across his face.

He walked out of the room, looked back grinning an impossibly large grin and winked at the lady. “See you later sweetheart.” She quickly had the door slide closed. "That was unsettling." She mumbled to herself.

...

#scifi

The day was hot and the manor sounded eerily quiet compared to the hustle and commotion of the hours prior. On the estate and in the master bedroom specifically, a married pair had become parents. “He looks so much like you Domitius.” Cleolia remarked while stroking the newborn's tiny arms. “He has strong blood.” The father responded smiling fondly sitting on the bedside. A silent nurse was tidying up the apparel and instruments of labour while the couple waited patiently for her exit to have more private discourse. “I am so glad to have born you an heir my love.” Domitius stared intently at his offspring. He had no qualms neglecting obligations to his property and recessed momentarily to celebrate the occasion with his wife. “I will send for the priest, register the child as an Imperial citizen and have him scribed into our family archives, but in the meantime, you must recover. Let a servant girl take our son for a while.” She pouted a playful but exhausted look of non compliance. “You must rest.” He insisted. “How can I let him go when I only just met him? Who are you little man?” She smiled faintly and nodded. “You are right, Domitius, where are you going?” “To the fields, the slaves are behind schedule, our harvest is big and taxes are high. This war is taking it's toll, we must excel to adequately serve the Empire in these pressing times. If the tamed Osteri could only comprehend what is at stake.” Cleolia peered cautiously at the embellishment and carvings on the wooden door knowing that Sethari was standing just beyond. Domitius trailed her gaze. “Don't worry my love, he means well, at least he tries to understand the urgency of my affairs.” He stood up straitening his vest and prepared to leave the room. “Domitius, wait...” He stopped at the door. “What will you tell the priest?” Domitius paused. “I will tell him Albin... Albin Domitius Chevalier.”

He left the room and it was quiet, the help entered and swaddled the baby rocking him while Cleolia drifted between sleep and conciousness. “Albin.” She repeated to herself as deep slumber enveloped her.

Domitius and his overseer walked briskly out of the manor towards the grain fields squinting as blue Ceb light reflected off the lanscape. “I honour you on the spawn of your son my lord, I hope for a good strong boy, you will be a happy father. I am happy with Seth.” He pounded his chest softly and proudly. “Thank you Sethari, is your son walking yet?” Domitius queried. “No my lord, still crawling on his belly like a beast.” The headman was trying to make his master laugh though Domitius was in a sterner mood having a weight on conscience. “I am in no mood to jest Sethari.” Domitius suddenly clenched his fists. “Get those slaves to work, I cannot have them idling when they should be harvesting.” Sethari made a small bow to his master and started yelling at his Osteri kinsmen, threatening them with a rolled up whip he procured from somewhere inside his tunic, waving it about and cracking it in the air every so often. Domitius picked up a scythe and proceeded to cleave down large swathes of grain. This had a more compelling effect of rallying the straggling workers to action than did the whip. They all toiled together in the pale light of Ceb.

Domitius was sweating, sweating and praying for a swift victory over the Jeula Federation. Fighting his small part in a increasingly complicated war, loyal to his Empire in his own unique way even though the conflict was far from home. A powerful loyalty that cannot be bought with riches or broken by coercion. A loyalty born through inheritance and blood.

...

The priest was in a more jovial mood than usual. The break of routine was a welcome one. The birth was indeed a momentous occasion. Few things seem of much report in a small planetary expansion program. He did not even seem to mind carrying a keg full of honey mead over the rolling hills of the plantation colony. “Domitius comes to church submissions far to infrequently.” The portly man mumbled to himself while wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow. “I eat too well among all these farmers.” The habit of speaking to himself was ordinary for this man of the cloth who always felt socially disconnected from his flock, caring for their souls, protecting their dignity and general well being like a responsible patron. “I feed their spirits, they feed my body, Hahaha. Tonight I will share my good spirits! Hahahaha.” Impressed by his own sense of humour he turned to witness the majestic blue star set over the skyline. Everything turned a silvery gray hue, and then the stars broke through the atmosphere lighting his way. “Clear skies, the blessed stars guide me.” He continued on the path approaching the Domitian manor and rapped a quick knock on the side of the root cellar doors. It creaked open upwards and a tall muscular Osteri took his baggage and let him in. “Thank you Setharis, my arms are weary, ready to fall off, bless you.” Domitius looked up from his bench seat below a glowing lantern. “Good to see you Father Ecknard.” “Dispense with the formalities and bring the dispenser.” He motioned to Setharis who placed the heavy keg on a table next to an assortment of documents, quill and sealed inkpot. “You pour Setharis and I will write. Name?” Ecknard scratches his chin with the quill contemplating his seat and it’s adequacy for the prolonged exercise of scribble. “Name?” Domitius paused. “Albin Domitius Chevalier.” The priest focused, started with his calligraphic art and fashioned the name and ASN standard block height beautifully onto the family records all the while biting his tongue. “He will inherit the colonial estates, all your assets in Kaspa Prime and the parochial offices at Magar Prime. Correct?” “Yes.” Replied Domitius solemnly. “I'll soon have to amend your will and testament. I'd have to make a registry at the parish and send correspondence to Magar Prime. There would be many from the royal courts who'll send their best regards from afar when this news becomes public.” Domitius did not seem as enthusiastic as Ecknard would have liked. “What ails you Domitius?” The priest could not help but make the pun and restrained a grunted laugh inside himself.

“I wonder if we should wait before registering and announcing him to Empire.” Ecknard’s expression slowly changed to puzzlement sitting up straight, his belly pushing on the heavy table. “In the voids name why?” “I am concerned... about this war...” “It is on the other side of Magar space!” The priest interjected in astonished retort. “I know father, maybe I am just being overly cautious, but with the Magar Dominus fleet occupied at the divide I am worried about the colonies in the isolated regions.” “Surely Kaspa prime will spare no expense to our defence in the improbable event of an invasion.” “The core keepers will not allow foul play from the Jeul.” “Yes Ecknard, but the fleet is not capable because most of our ships are at the aforementioned objective!” “No, no, no. Suggesting that conflict would happen outside of the divide is practically blasphemy. I cannot imagine insubordination to the Core mandates and the Accords." Domitius remained silently astute and father Ecknard decided to not argue further with the lord. His shoulders sagged. “I will not register the boy in the Imperial records.” “Thank you father.” “What do you know that I fail to see Domitius.” The two men stared at each other from across the table. The hulking bodyguard ever present in body but semi ignorant in mind silently and intriguingly observing the discussion.

“The value of sat. It is not calculated well by the common people, no offence father.” The priest piously lifted his hand and with tilted brow motioned. “None taken.” “My son and our blood line is invested with empiric power, if opportunists become aware of his existence and being outside the Magar prime void, we might have problems here on Hithe III.” Cumbersome thoughts and machinations of the mind darkened the mood of the party. Not at all what Father Ecknard was projecting in his minds eye during his arduous walk to what he was hoping, a celebration and getting drunk with an old friend. “The war does not seem to be ending any time soon, how long shall we stall his registration?” The priest reasoned on. “Think of the rites he will not be allowed to partake in at the church. He will be like Osteri.” Ecknard gestured towards Sethari. “This is a small colony Ecknard. My son will be educated as a member of royalty, all on Hithe III will acknowledge his social standing, I am only concerned that the secret be kept from the outside worlds. He will never be considered Osteri, he will know who he is and what his position is in the greater void. When the war is over we will properly introduce him to the families, currently they would be too occupied with politic as it is, and might not offer him due ceremony as they would under more peaceable circumstances.” The priest capitulated and grabbed a mug. “Your secret is safe with me Domitius, the lack of technology on this forsaken planet is good for your purposes, seeing as the only comms service on the planet is in the church tower. That blinking comms station hounds me daily with requests for your return to Magar Prime. The high counsel want to rebalance and need your signature.” Domitius sighed and looked away as if some spectre loomed in front of him.

I swear silence on the birth my lord, though let me make a final amendment to your proposal. A bit of extra security shall I say.” Domitius filled a cup of mead for Sethari and himself, becoming more relaxed and hospitable. “I am listening.” “If the risks are as great as you assume, let us pretend for the child's sake that he is Kaspian royalty only, and not true Magar. We then continue his education to the full and not put him in a position where he could compromise himself should he be... void forbid, captured by some opportunistic prospector.” Domitius looked ponderously into his cup. “Ecknard, my son is an infant... If we have to keep the boy in the dark about the true nature of his identity, how long do you predict this war to continue?” Father Ecknard leaned forward... “I sit at the comms desk every night and listen to the chatter. This war... is going to be a long one.”

...

#scifi