Imperium: Ends of Empire (IC)

[Imperialisium]

OOC

Imperium: Ends of Empire

"Its is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot have both."-2nd Millennium Terran Writer

To understand the Imperium is to understand the Galaxy. Its complexity ranging from the smallest of individuals to the vast conglomeration of Galactic Civilization. Its movements constant, its course an ever-progressing spiral, slowly shifting up and down the tracks of fortune. An Empire of over twenty-five million worlds. A vastness spreading the breadth and width of the Milky Way Galaxy. An Empire of several quadrillion sentients, species similar and wholly alien, ruled by the realm Humanity built. Humanity, the hegemonic species of the Galaxy for nearly the last twenty-thousand years. Builders, inventors, explorers, and conquerors. None can speak more of their achievements and mastery of the cosmos than the collective will, the combined might and ingenuity, of the Human species. Whether, via pride or via jealously. But, as with all things subject to the metaphysical sands of time, change is inevitable.

The Galactic Imperium has grown volatile. Warlordism, corruption, growing internecine conflicts, religious sectarianism, and social upheaval have spread like a cancer throughout the dominions of Mankind. The careful balance of power between the Imperium's pillars of society: The Tsaraj-Emperor's of Imperial House Valkoroi Rhoiamyno, the Imperial Combine, and the Senate, have grown unsteady. While chipping away at the facade of these illustrious supports are the collective woes besetting the Imperium as a whole. All Empires end, but the Ends of Empire need not be in extinction. For the Imperium to survive it is an uncertainty; or its death is assured. -Writings of Presate Juilhaume of Tenchare, circa late-25th Millennium.

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension.

The Anniversary of the Emperor's ascension to the Celestial Throne was always a festive occasion. Even during somber times. The gigantic towers and glittering cityscape of Nova Terra, a true planetary metropolis, was alight with the parades and festivals of the day. Each district of the Throneworld having their own unique flavor, based on their own microcosm of a culture. From the flowery, costumed, parades of the Mykere District to the fiery fanfares of the Remilon Foundry District's denizens. The space lanes of the Nova Terran system, already host to an endless stream of incoming and departing ships, grew to a fever pitch as the orbit of the world became choked with additional vessels. Millions if not billions making the transit to Nova Terra to take part in the largest festivities. From parades spanning many kilometers across multiple levels, to markets and bazaars stretching over a thousand levels. Hosting just about every beverage, food, and product no matter how exotic from across the Galaxy. Merchants and traders traveled or booked passage to the Throneworld of Empires knowing full well the profit margins of their sales could easily outstrip the losses of an entire year.

The Imperial District itself was the largest of the municipal zones of Nova Terra, despite the fact it was easily a continent sized locale housing the preserved remnant of Nova Terra's ancient ecosystem. Even with the monolithic, gargantuan, and varied architectural aesthetic complexes of the Imperial Palace. A structure whose exact dimensions have never been accurately recorded, and if they are, they were never made public. Surrounding on most sides by the even more vast Imperial Gardens, which in turn is enclosed by the Imperial Reserve, all within the Valerian Walls.

The Gardens and grounds of the Palace's Golden Domes, a mere portion of the palace, but itself rivaling many of the Palace Complexes of the attendees now striding about it. For crowds of debutantes, courtiers, nobles, and persons of import strolled the grounds. The air of the occasion was of course pompous and happy. Even if serene. For all the attendees no doubt knew that the Emperor was unlikely to show, having long withdrawn from much public affairs, and that this whole event was mere a formality of tradition. Indeed, some even had forgone the trip to Nova Terra and instead sent their well wishes or congratulations instead. But, for those eager to keep personal tabs on the affairs of the Imperial Court this was an occasion that could not be overlooked.

Not that the Emperor would be unaware of various happenings. What with the legion of servants attending to the guests. Even more, and much more secretively, was the security apparatus present yet hidden. For the Imperial Palace's defenses were varied and layered to the extreme. From listening devices to broad spectrum surveillance equipment. Spies and drones. Detectors and screeners. Guests having to exit their personal transport at the landing pads or dockyards adjoining the Valerian Walls. Under the watch of the Nova Terran Legion. Thence through the Valerian Walls under the watchful guise of the Imperial Guard units tasked to guard the palace. Only to pass into the outer palace grounds of the Gardens under the unyielding vigilance of the arcane Imperial Praetorians. Their ancient, byzantine, Solarian armored suits masking their visages. Their appearances large and imposing by the suits their wore. Their weaponry seemed medieval yet not primitive. Coursing with technology from a long-gone civilization. Their sleek golden-silver, electrum, armor adorned with the effigies of Dragons, Eagles, and Lightning bolts. Their black and red plumes flowing from their high crested helmets. Red capes subtly moving with the warm breeze.

All within the shadow of the Golden Domes sector of the Palace. Indeed, Gold crusted domes under with sleek black marble pillars spanned a height of over one hundred meters, jewels and elaborate painted ceilings showcasing various Imperial Heros and mythical figures in each interior. The floor was tiled in exquisite sandstone marble from the Ephretic Gulf worlds and separated by fine lines of silvered metal. Collonade's and fountains spewing crystal clear water added to the pleasant atmosphere. As the aromas of the Gardens, complimenting the succulent foods and drinks provided by the Imperial House.

Which, even if the Emperor was absent during this social gathering, and even after during the formal Ball, the Emperor's scions were present. Valeria, the Emperor's Executor and Imperial Crown Princess, sat off to the side in a simple blue dress. Gold jewelry simple and rather spartan. Her fiery red hair done up in a crowning braid, fitted with a jade comb depicting a rearing Terran Tiger. High cheek bones and piercing green eyes scanning the crowds about her. Soft fair skin mostly covered by equally fine fabric. Disguising her womanly figure.

Verina, the Emperor's younger daughter and middle child, was in an adjacent pavilion watching two teams of nobles engage in a tense game of Tiled Croque. Each team seeking to slide their discs into positions of mathematical importance for points or strike their opponents off to the side and out of play, to win the game. The enmity between the sisters was apparent and undoubtedly tense. Their respectful demeanors kept to a calm chill only by the importance of the day. Verina was more beautiful than Valeria, that was certain, but she was also less patient and magnitudes more zealous. The Ecumenical Apostalina of the Faith of Terra. Terraism. Heralded as Semi-Divine by members of the Clergy after the Miracle of Verantion. Where Verina miraculously survived a lethal wound from an assassin's toxic blade one month after her 18th birthday. Where onlookers saw a flash of light and her eyes glow with the light of a Solar Sun. Believing her to embody the holiness of the long-gone Saint-Emperor. Needless to say, her ascension to the top of the Terraist Clergy was nearly immediate. Where Valeria was Titian in appearance, Verina was very much of noble complexion. Golden blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, and a slighter if equally defined bone structure.

Within the Gardens, absconding with a trio of lovely court woman, were the much louder and obnoxious twin sons of the Emperor. The younger sons. Romeran and Rheman, their youthful faces entirely genuine, scarcely into their twenties, and very much the opposite of their siblings or even father. Lazy, pompous, arrogant, and entirely incompetent to the affairs of state. One might wonder why exactly the Emperor had allowed them to be taken from the pleasure complexes of the Imperial Sanctuary world of Odin to Nova Terra, to the public, at all. Perhaps, a fatherly soft heart for bumbling sons, but to the neighboring ex-Imperial Chamberlain and now current Imperial Seneschal, Ernest da'Zurgenfeld, it was all his willpower to not request their removal back to Odin post-haste. Indeed, the old, wisened, flaxen face of the Emperor's Seneschal could not hide his open loathing for the younger sons of Baldor. Quite frankly, if decorum had not prohibited it, he'd have proudly boasted to them that he would request both sons be sent to the arse end of the Galaxy to live out their lives as vagabond hermits. Luckily, he could distract himself with the various members of Great Houses, corporations, and Governorate officials near and far.

This, on the more conversational level, was where the real powerplays of the Imperium were developed. Created, formulated, and tested against the responses of their peers. The uppermost echelons of Galactic society spun a twisting and ever-changing fabric of plot, counterplot, move and countermove. Fortunes physical and immaterial could rise and fall by the end of this very evening. Vendettas ended and new ones begun. Friendships broken, alliances forged, opportunities never wasted. Some of this were translations from the happenings in the Imperial Senate where topics could be hotly contested for weeks, months, or even years. Some of these were more personal matters. At any rate one small aspect of solace laid in that the Imperial Palace was off limits to the vendettas of society's ever bickering and quite frankly, murderous, crowd. Outside of the Valerian Walls it was fair play, but inside, to perpetrate any aspect of internecine conflict was strictly prohibited by the Imperial Praetorians themselves. Which, to those who have met the guardians of the Celestial Throne, they'd know that no rank would stay their dispatching of threats within these walls. Even from the Emperor's own Household!

The Imperial Seneschal took a glass of Voulgierax Cognac from a passing servant and took a sip of the smooth, elegant, aperitif. Watching as various noteworthy patrons of the day came into view.

[Segmentia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Ah, Nova Terra! The beating heart of the galaxy spanning Imperium, home of the Celestial Throne, as well as hundreds of trillions citizens, vast districts of industry, and everything else one might expect of such a planet. The night sky was even busier than usual with the immense influx of people come to join the celebrations, a world that already never sleeps now even busier than usual.

Xevara Lancellum had spent many a year on Nova Terra, from her time in the most prestigious civilian academy on the sprawling city-world, to her time working for the Galactic Banking Corporation, and then her time with Imperial Combine, especially once she had reached the ever sought-after position as one of the Combines Directors. It was a world where all the influence and contacts someone like her spent amassing eventually ended up entwined in the halls of power and government, as her appointment to Imperial Viceroy roughly a year ago pointed to, with the added title of Guvernadur having been added a few short months ago.

Xevara scanned the sprawling room full of the Imperiums wealthy and influential, half listening to the conversation of the small group that had gathered around her, two ranking members of the Galactic Banking Corporation, one fellow Director of Imperial Combine, a few additional people she didn’t know, and of course the usual collection of sycophants. Xevara stood out in this august company by the simple fact that she was an alien. Aliens weren’t uncommon in the Imperium, certainly, but it was rare enough when one rose to the levels of influence and power as she had. Viceroys were rare occurrences, a xenos Viceroy, well, she was the first of those as far as Imperial history was concerned. She also stood out due to her stature, where she towered over the humans in the room, being 9 foot 6 inches tall by Imperial measurements. It was something she used too, a unique trait of the Meos species found only in those at the uppermost of her species civilization.

Xevara spotted Imperial Crown Princess Valeria sitting on a pavilion, seemingly alone. She knew the Crown Princess a little, Valeria acting in the Emperor's place as General Secretary of Imperial Combine. They had a friendly enough relationship, though professional, through that work, and Xevara intended to make use of that connection, though she would be careful to not overstep, especially not in such a public scenario as this. Losing face in front of all these vultures would be like a drop of blood in the water for a shark. She downed the frankly pitiful small glass of alcohol she held, and gave the gathered people a smile, friendly and genuine.

“If you will excuse me friends, I need to speak with some people tonight. You know it is, the wheeling and dealing never ends.” She said, getting a round of guffaws from the sycophants and more subdued nods from the people that actually mattered. She took her leave and made her way across the large room, greeting a few other individuals who called to her, but not stopping to make small-talk. Reaching the entrance of the pavilion, Xevara respectfully half-bowed.

“Your Imperial Highness.” She said. Court protocol demanded no more than such, it would be up to the addressed Imperial royal if they wished to acknowledge someone who had presented themselves or not.

[Antimersia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)

Ferlon IV, of house Mensjen, strides along the sandstone marble tiles. His black leather shoes creating echoed taps that are just barely drowned out by the rabble of fellow guests. Guests he often must look down upon. Both due to his statuesque height, and due to a number of them being of non human origin. Ferlon IV is a Terranist, though drastically less radical than most who share his faith, he still harbors a strong distaste for non human sentients and how much favor they carry among the Imperium. You average Terranist would desire to eliminate these non humans by any means necessary. Although Ferlon IV holds a softer view. One that has caused him trouble with his own people. As he looks around the chamber, admiring the artistic depictions of Humanity’s heroes, he is perturbed by the sight of non humans standing in front of them. Though he doesn’t feel the hate that drive Terranism. Merely a distaste.

Walking just behind Ferlon IV, is his first born son, Ferlon V. The first of Ferlon IV’s many children. The size difference between them is shocking. On the Mensjen homeworld of Crux, the gravity is much smaller. Thus over millennia the Mensjen family, as well as other citizens of Crux have adapted to grow taller than the average Human. Ferlon IV himself, at six foot seven inches in height, is actually a short anomaly. He is flanked by Ferlon V who stands at seven foot 8 inches tall. Further, Ferlon IV is a rather lithe man. His thin frame, jet black hair, and pale complexion gives him a rather ghostly appearance. Comparatively, Ferlon V who seems to take a bit more from his mother, Lady Phella, is a burly man with gilded hair and fair complexion. Were you to not know who the two of them were, one would not be out of line to assume that they were not related. This truth is no more evident than in their temperament. Ferlon IV is a cool and calculating man. He never acts without thought. Ferlon V is almost the exact opposite. Choosing to act without thinking. A habit that Ferlon IV has tried to correct, but not helping his son with any of the consequences of his actions. But yet, making Ferlon V fend for himself when his recklessness harms him, has only served to increase his reckless behavior. A fact that makes Ferlon IV grind his teeth at night.

The Imperial palace is a gorgeous sight, as always. It is one of Ferlon IV’s favorite places in the galaxy. A shining monument to the success and capability of Humanity. Something he believed no non human species could ever accomplish. He gazed upon the Emperor’s praetorians, Their fortitude a testament to the pinnacle of the human condition. Then his gaze fell upon Valeria, daughter to the Emperor. Hidden behind a veil and cloths that obscure her. She gives off the feeling of being present against her will, in Ferlon IV’s eyes. As if she must be here but she’d rather not be seen or noticed. A sentiment that confused Ferlon IV. He oft thought that the family of the Emperor should be on full display. The leaders of this Imperium, are its shining lights. To dim those lights feels almost blasphemous.

As a servant passed by, Ferlon IV took a glass of cognac and sipped it slowly to savor the flavor. He preferred harder liquors, but none the less appreciated finer spirits. Ferlon V however, took an entire tray of food from a poor unsuspecting waiter, and began devouring it unceremoniously.

“Ferlon, cease your animalistic behavior. If you stain your jacket your mother will never forgive you.” Ferlon IV chides his son in a hushed tone. Their jackets were made with owlswarm silk. Fiber from a large insect native to Crux that has become something of a symbol of House Mensjen. The silk is not the strongest of fibers to use for clothing. But it is one of the softest.

“I will not stain it father. But I must eat, the gravity medication always makes me feel starved.” his son replies. With the more nominal gravity of Nova Terra, the Mensjens must take medication to temporarily stave off the negative effects of standing on a world with greater gravity than they are adapted to.

“I did not say do not eat. I said do not stain. Listen more, talk less.” Ferlon IV said, always teaching his son. “Mingle, boy. I have come with a goal, and I do not wish for that goal to be interfered with.”

“Yes father…” Ferlon V said feeling abandoned. He walks off, handing his now empty tray to the nearest waiter he sees, and taking the full tray of food he was carrying from him. Ferlon IV sighs, but the refocuses. He is here not just to celebrate the anniversary of the Emperor’s ascension. But he is also in search of an audience with the Illustrious Verina.

[Orostan]

Uzeras - More than 40,000 Light Years from Nova Terra

The festivities of the anniversary played out on the screen in front of the court of the Khaganate. It was a public feed, but held up by the massive holo-projectors it looked much more important. Khatun Zeras stared at it from the chair that was called a throne in this country until she couldn't stand it anymore and gestured for the feed to be turned off.

Her Prime Minister turned to her. "Could you not stand it?" he asked.

Zeran smiled slightly. "You of all people Ahren should know what I think about this nonsense. The empire is on the edge of annihilation and idiots continue on with their lives as if nothing is changing."

Prime Minister Ahren returned the smile. "It is good for us that they do."

Zeran moved on the throne underneath the banners of the Khaganate and the black flags of its ruling house. She wore the military uniform of a typical leader of the Khaganate of Uzeras which was modern anti-laser and projectile armor patterned to be similar to ancient sets of lamellar armor. It was much more mobile than the ancient armor and was worn to display the Khan (or in this case the Khatun's) military power. Uzeras still remembered the days before the empire where the blue banners of the Khaganate seemed to rule over this side of the galaxy and where Khans wearing the same armor bowed to no foreign emperor.

Her Prime Minister in his simpler but no less functional armor moved from her side to her front as did the other important bureaucrats. Their words almost imperceptibly echoed on the massive stone arches of the Grand Palace above them.

"Khatun, we did not come only to free you from watching the anniversary." said Prime Minister Ahren.

One of the other bureaucrats beside him, Heavy Industries Minister Hargen, completed the sentence. "A flaw has been uncovered in our new orbital industries."

Zeran's expression sharpened. "What do you mean?"

"The minerals we sourced from Horek have not met our standards. The armor on new warships has been significantly less strong than expected, nearly half as strong as required by early measurements."

Zeran looked to the Prime Minister. "How could this be allowed?"

Ahren quickly responded as if reading from a script. "We lacked the equipment to detect the faults before the armor had finished production. Similar faults may exist in other products of our industry, though none as severe as this."

Zeran sighed. "Do we have better facilities for mineral refinement on any other planets, or better quality minerals anywhere?"

"Neither exist, my Khatun. However, it may be possible to solve the issue through trial and error in the production facilities. It would take years though." the minister responded.

"Then we need to seek out friends, it seems. Bring me the foreign minister."

[Revlona]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)

Alora Fiora Vas Calmora, the High Queen of the Jewel Worlds of Calmora, smiled graciously as the idiot before her continued on with his drivel. "...and it's with that reasoning that my master bids you make an immediate move to support the military campaign against the Elrians. What say you?" The man said. He was a high ranking individual from a neighboring star realm, a count who commanded one of his lords lesser fleets, and was hoping to draw Calmora into one of their conflicts with barely veiled promises of riches and land. The only problem was that Alora had already weighed the pros and cons of entering that conflict the year before when it had begun and had seen little reason to do so then and even less reason to do so now. It was such a convoluted and messy conflict stemming around an ages old feud which had just recently boiled over into open conflict, tiring really.

It was as he was ending his spiel that Alora spotted a few people she would rather be conversing with. One of her vassals, a friendly High Lord, and even a imperial Viceroy. "Yes Count I will have to take all this into consideration now that you bring it to my attention, however I ask that you wait for any response from me until after the celebrations we are here attending have ended, it is a great day after all, why ruin it?" She said with a smile. The count could hear the obvious dismissal in her sentence, he was an idiot but still decent in social intelligence after all, and bid her a good rest of her night with a thinly veiled frown.

He looked her up and down, his eyes wresting on her chest for perhaps a second longer than was polite, as he bid her that farewell. The High Queen was in her eighties but looked scarcely thirty years old thanks to the rejuvenating medicines and procedures humanity had at its disposal. Her dark brown hair, which seemed almost black if viewed in the right lighting, was pulled back in a bun. She wore a tailored uniform that bore striking similarities to the dress uniform worn by the Calmoran Guard and Fleet but still possessed enough unique traits that spoke for her high station in life.

The High Queen left his company as quickly as she could without seeming impolite, even if it might be to late for that, and moved to stand a short distance away from the Imperial Viceroy in question, one Xevara Lancellum. She had business with the Viceroy that she wished to open here and talk about later and was making ready to approach the massive Alien when she was stopped in her tracks by who the Viceroy approached next. Alora couldn't hear the conversation the alien Viceroy was having with the Crown Princess of the Imperium, but she knew better than to approach and interrupt or to attempt to eves drop. That would be stupid.

It was with that knowledge that Alora leaned herself against one of the pillars of the palace and watched the conversation from a polite distance, waiting for the Viceroy to become free. As she waited she snagged a glass of wine from a servants tray as he passed and sipped at it. Her eyes scanned the crowd and came to rest as she spotted another odd couple. One was taller than almost any other person in the room while the other was well above average. She recognized them as the ruling Hierarch of House Mensjen, Ferlon IV, and his son Ferlon V. She wondered what they wanted and were up to as they approached another Imperial Princess.

[Imperialisium]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Valeria eyed the crowd with practiced precision. Even if seemingly aloof and alone. Until, and noticed by at least twenty-seven other of the Imperium's illustrious elite, the approach of Xevara Lancellum. An Imperial Viceroy and Guvernadur of Oversector Elysium. Valeria knew Xevara, at least as well as someone could in the cutthroat politics of the Galactic Imperium, from the days the alien was a director in the Imperial Combine. The Galaxy's largest publicly traded company and monopoly holder on the issuance of permit for interstellar trade. The Lancellum's were rich, from a species known for their affinity; or perhaps addiction; to the accruance of money.

When Xevara addressed her politely, Valeria slowly turned her head to the alien. Human eyes meeting Xevara's own. "Viceroy Lancellum, how good for you to travel from your Oversector to celebrate with us here." Valeria waved her right hand slowly in a graceful, horizontal motion, and a pair of sleek robot servants with polished gold and silver bodies hefting an oversized chair came into view. Their manufacture was like the chairs. Masterful. No servo whined, no part creaked, their movements graceful for machines. Placing the chair down for Xevara to sit while another robotic servitor hefting an oversized table with food and drink stood at attention. Overseen by the scrutinizing eye of a human butler. Wiring from a cybernetic implant under his shaved scalp. Allowing him to relay orders to other staff departments at the speed of thought.

The food and drink were all delicacies in the eyes of Xevara's species. Evidently, the Imperial Household's kitchen staff had conducted incredible research to compile dishes for the sheer variety of individuals attending this occasion. It also placed Xevara in a position were to reject the accommodation would be impolite. She was more or less tied to sit there until she spoke what she had approached to say. Yet, also shielded her from the possible depredations of those like the Mensjen who no doubt would enjoy a verbal conflict with the Xenos Viceroy.

A way from Valeria and Xevara sat Verina. The younger sister. Who scrutinized her nails when Ferlon and his son approached the younger Imperial Princess. Verina's sharp features and pervasive gaze shot up to the older Ferlon. Technically, his people followed a barely valid version of the faith she administered. Cries of Heresy having been levied against House Mensjen in the past. But Verina knew better. She knew agents of the faith were reporting accurate sentimental divides between the House and its people. The Mensjen were less radical and therefore key to keeping such fundamentalist forces at bay. When Verina spoke her voice openly carried an inquisitive tone, "Lord Ferlon. Far from your home you are, and your heir..."

In truth Verina had never met the younger Ferlon. Who was now attempting to mingle off to the side. The boy, unlike his father, was more stricken with the effects of growing up on a low gravity world. She could see the barely controlled pain behind his eyes. His appetite reflecting the sheer effort of his body to remain upright against what would no doubt feel like the crushing force of Nova Terra's atmosphere. Like the very air was trying to push him into the ground.

"...perhaps you should introduce me to your son?"

The pair of clerics flanking Verina exchanged looks. This was an entrapment. She was forcing Ferlon into the submissive role of this conversation by putting him at the back foot. Baldor would be proud. Like Valeria had done to Xevara, Verina had done to Ferlon, and it would be rude for him to decline.

Imperial Palace Red Chamber

The Red Chamber was far from the festivities of the nobility. Deep within the bowels of the main Palace complex's North quarter. Built into the side of a low mountain ridge. Its windows open eyes to the airy environment as gentle snowflakes drifted outside. Yet, the room was warm and draft less by the adept artisanry of the heating system built into the floor and walls. High enough in elevation to still have snow in the snowcapped mountains that the northern district of the palace spread into.

Inside, a small group of individuals sat around a sleek black obsidian table. The red walls and ceilings inlaid with rubies and red flagstones. Warm orange light from hanging lumen globes provided a comfortable atmosphere. A woman with raven black hair fringed with blonde, the head of Imperial Intelligence, Quintara. Sat left to the head of the table. A man in a simple white uniform unadorned of rank or medals. Unlike Quintara, who seemed rather young by possible rejuvenation treatments, the man in the white uniform seemed to have no problem showing his age. Her lineless face met his weathered visage. To the right of the man in the white uniform sat a trio of Imperial military offices.

"You know why we are here." The voice of the man in white spoke softly.

"The threat of House Minora Krispin to the food supply of Nova Terra," Spoke the furthest man on the right.

"House Minora in name only. There have been stirrings of them being accorded the status of Domina Majora, and share anti-Emperor political sentiment against our Imperial Majesties' stances."

"Is the food supply not possibly going to be secured by deals with neighboring Oversectors?" said the man closest to the right of the man in white. The man in white shifted in his seat while responding, "Yes, Grand Admiral Varenov. But that would still mean 19 percent of the Nova Terran food supply is imported from the worlds of House Krispin. The Emperor himself wishes this matter to be dealt with pre-emptively."

"I take it you mean by destroying House Krispin as a valid threat?" responded Varenov with raised eye brows.

The furthest man spoke again, Grand Marshal Armenio Spada, "What justification do we have? This is close to the Jewel Worlds. Surely, they will voice concern at this."

The man in the middle also spoke, the man from the Imperial Security Directorate, "We've intercepted Sideral Astrocommunication Array messages between House Krispin and their representatives here on Nova Terra. From what we can gather they wish to form a bloc that could work successfully in undermining the Emperor's party in the Senate. Shipments from the seventeen agriculture focused worlds of House Krispin have lessened. This will lead to price increases and a weakening of popular support for the Emperor."

The man in white glanced at Quintara who flicked her eyes meekly back. Clearing her throat, she pressed a part of the table which brought up a holographic display of Krysmere. The Krispin homeworld. "Imperial Intelligence operatives have been operating on Krysmere for a long time now. As per policy of deploying operatives to major import regions supplying Nova Terra to protect such vital lifelines. What we have is nothing less than surgical in the initial phase. House Krispin has been fighting an insurrection due to the succession crisis they had at the onset of Marquis Vomiere's ascension between himself and his older brother, Viscount Carrlin. Carrlin has retreated with his supporters to the world of Dagybar, a hostile jungle planet at the edge of Krispin territory. We portray this as a simple inter-house regime change. Carrlin strikes Krysmere and overthrows his brother in a bloody purge."

"What if word gets out?" voiced Spada.

Quintara continued, "Intelligence has infiltrated the energy grid supplying the defenses for the capital city and the worlds two Sidereal Astrocommunication Arrays. Both will be captured by Imperial Special Forces strike teams before the Imperial Navy Taskforce dedicated to this secures void supremacy. At which point the 15th Army will make planetfall alongside contingents of the Viscount's own forces."

"This will take some time to pull---," Spada was cut off by the man in white.

"Imperial Special Forces are already planet side. Taskforce 171 is within one Sidereal jump and the 15th Army is with them as of last week."

"The fighting will be bloody," grimaced Spada.

"Possibly. The Emperor has authorized the deployment of the 9th Legion to ensure the success of the operation." All three men raised their eyebrows. Tsaraj'kar. The Tsaraj-Emperor wanted this done as fast and efficient as possible it seemed.

"The Tsaraj'kar will deal with the proper removal of Vomiere and his family. Viscount Carrlin only need assume responsibility."

"The Great Houses will not go for this," spoke Varenov mirthlessly.

"Evidence has been planted that House Krispin is in league with separatist forces from neighboring polities," finished Quintara.

The man in white nodded, "Have your commands ready."

"Yes, Lord Fenn."

[Antimersia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Ferlon IV gave a small and courteus smile to Verina. She had taken the first word. And was beginning to dictate the conversation. It was common among members of the Imperial family. And though tedious, it is something Ferlon IV was prepared for. He stood proudly as he answered the venerated woman. “Of course, your eminence. Ferlon, to my side!” Ferlon V looked rather bewildered by the sudden call to action. He rushed to his father’s side, downing a glass of wine as if it were water to wash his food down before reaching Ferlon IV’s side. In a feat worth noting, Ferlon V managed to not get a single stain on his clothes in the sloppy process. They remain stark white, with the exception of the crest of House Mensjen patched onto the right shoulder. “My lady, this is my son and heir, Ferlon, fifth of his name. Ferlon, it is my honor to introduce you to Lady Verina, the very pinnacle of Humanity’s holiness in the flesh.” Ferlon IV adds, being as complimentary as possible in feint hopes of turning the flow of the conversation in his favor, as Verina herself aimed to do.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your Eminence.” Ferlon V says, bowing slightly to show respect, despite the pain it causes him when he must return to an upright standing position. Even with drugs to mitigate the effects of the higher Nova Terran gravity, it is still a pain for him to fight against it. As a mere son of a lord, he should feel honored just to be able to speak to someone with the standing that Verina possesses. But the honor he feels comes more from what she means for the Terraist, and by extension Terranist faiths. Ferlon V, being much more fundamental in his Terranist views, bears a love and respect for Verina that matches even the most devoted. Though, he knows that these views would alienate him from his father. So he fights hard not to show or express them. Although, the bright and awe filled eyes that he looks at Verina with, undoubtedly betray any attempt at keeping all of those beliefs from her.

“If you have the ability, my lady,” Ferlon IV begins, “I did hope to speak with you in depth on a matter I believe you would be most interested in. I have hopes of converting Terranism across the galaxy into a far less… destructive form of itself.” He says, hoping to peak her interest. Ferlon IV's goal tonight is simple. He intends to propose Imperial recognition of Protestanta Terrana, his own off shoot of Terranism, at the next meeting of the Imperial Senate. And he believes that only with the public support of the head of the Terraist faith, could he ever accomplish such a feat.

[Segmentia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Xevara bowed her head slightly once again as the robotic servants brought out a chair, clearly made for one such as herself, and another robotic servant stood ready with a plate of drink and food that the alien already identified as Meos in origin. Gracefully sitting, Xevara partook of the drink and a few of the smaller pieces of food before she began speaking again, it was only polite to do so after all. One did not scorn their hosts, especially when their hosts were the Imperial family. The food and drink were perfect, a classic blend of Meos and Imperial flavors that Xevara favored. If she hadn’t known better she would have thought her own kitchen staff had prepared it.

“My genuine and heartfelt compliments to the staff, my lady.” Xevara said, setting down a glass that was to her size. “And to you, as hostess.” Pulling a paper thin holo-sheet from one of her pockets, she handed it to one of the waiting servants. It would have been impolite to just hand the Crown Princess something directly in a public setting, though Xevara felt that Valeria probably wouldn’t stand on such strict decorum if it could be helped, but it was to be expected. “A gift for your father.” She said, waiting to allow the princess to read over the display should she desire too. It would be the details of an incoming shipment of five standard industrial units of exotic materials from Oversector Elysium. It wasn’t as if the Imperial Houses actually needed the resources, the only thing they weren’t abundantly self-sufficient in was feeding Nova Terra, but the Emperor had approved her position and Xevara felt that a gift of her appreciation wasn’t unheard of. She could have made a large spectacle of it, but sometimes such things lost more than they gained in the end. If the Emperor or Valeria saw it as trading favors, well, Xevara would be happy with that as well. There were worse things than trading favors with the Imperial House.

Xevara partook in some more food and drink before continuing, giving Valeria time to read over the details if she so wished.

“But I suppose I should go forward with business and not waste your time, your majesty.” Xevara smiled slightly. “Nova Terra is a ravenous, insatiable beast. Understandable with how densely urbanized it is. It imports food from a frankly migraine-inducing amount of sources, which in these turbulent times we find ourselves in could lead to severe problems, should enough petty lords, or something more serious, start some war or other. As you are well aware, nearly a year ago I was made the Viceroy of Oversector Elysium. In that year I’ve been looking over tens of thousands of reports with my administration team, and found that the oversector is seriously under utilizing its agricultural potential.” Xevara said, taking another sip of her drink before continuing.

“What I’m proposing is that Oversector Elysium can, if your father so desires, take over the bulk, even the entirety, of Nova Terra’s food imports. This would simplify the matter, as well as save a considerable amount of money, and be all around more efficient. As you know, the sectors that comprise the Oversector are a relative stones throw away from here. I have more details, if you’d like to view them yourself, your majesty.” She said, taking a data-slate from her pocket and again handing it to one of the robotic servants, should Valeria desire to take it.

[Revlona]

Krysmere, Palace of House Krispin
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)

Jonathon Aros was an older man by modern human estimations, at one hundred and eighty-six he had seen twenty-two wars, eight purges, and three monarchs, but none of those had been under the House Krispin. No, he had been and was still in his own mind a proud Guardsman of the Calmoran Guard. He had served his High King as he now serves his High Queen, with pride and unquestionable loyalty. Under the former High King he had risen to the illustrious rank of Master Sergeant after many years of service he had won the Jewel Cross twice and had been wounded enough times to fill an entire room back home with Gallant Wounded awards should he have wished to receive them and live in retirement as he had been offered. Instead he served under his High Queen in the Royal Jewel Observation Service, the intelligence apparatus for both foreign and domestic affairs for the Jewel Worlds.

Aros had left the Guard some 55 years in the past but had joined RJOS ten years prior to that as a informant within the Guard, tasked with finding and reporting malcontents, traitors, and their ilk. A five years "retirement" in which he had unfortunately died during a fire at his home saw him grieved for. This allowed him and his handlers to be assured he was nothing but a memory to his old friends, he had no living family after all.

He arrived in Krispin space 50 years ago, an old man no one knew or cared to get to know. His scars had been surgically removed and his mannerisms trained to be different than his old self, the person he had been in the guard was dead after all. He applied for citizenship and was granted it after a lengthy wait. It was then that he was put in touch with the cell he would be operating in while on world, he was to be their most important asset in the future, but for now he was just another info gatherer who worked a street job and cared for two adopted children he had taken in for his cover, and who he had also come to love greatly.

Twenty years ago was when his big break happened. He was recommended for a government job in the Palace as a clerk, a routine administrative job to most and a hot bed of information straight from the Krispin government for him and his handlers. He accepted the job and that is where he has been ever since, slipping information to the Jewel worlds right after it was handed to him at work. He had fond enjoyment in the work, it was dreadfully boring but he did it for his country, he was a fine patriot.

Now however, he was hiding behind his desk within the Krispin Palace. Chaos had reigned for the past hour as it felt like everything that could have gone wrong in a day had gone wrong. It had started with a frantic uptick in action on Krysmere garrison channels, something had happened and it took Aros about five minutes to learn what it was as a contact in the garrison alerted the other members of his cell. Several key locations around the planet had apparently been seized in a coordinated attack by rebel forces, rebel forces who had just appeared in orbit with a fleet apparently.

The rebellion between the current Viscount and his brother had been a stressful situation to be sure, but nobody had expected the elder brother to launch such a reckless attack on the home world. He was supposed to be losing after all. But here he was, his forces apparently already in the Krispin Palace if the explosions which had rocked the palace told of. Aros knew his duty however, to gather information, and he meant to see it through no matter the cost. The High Queen would want to know the details of such a precise and sudden takeover after all.

It was with these thoughts in his mind that Aros left his hiding place, personal communicator in hand. He ran through the hallways which had been filled with staff and Krispin Military, his military training coming back to him as he slowly moved from one spot of cover to another. He could hear fighting ahead and resolved himself to move onward, it was then that he started to record a video using his communicator. It jerked up and down as he moved, a perfect picture not yet found as it tried to focus and refocus during his movements. What could be heard in the video was what Aros himself was hearing, automatic weapon fire, screaming and shouting, the cries of the wounded, all those and more.

He turned the last corner of the long and winding hallways of the inner palace and found himself on the verge of entering the inner courtyard. Near to him he could see a barricade, members of the Krispin Military crouched behind it as they traded fire with the enemy. Aros couldn't see who exactly they were firing at, they were hidden from his view as he was further back, that was about to change however.

A gasp could be heard escaping him as he came to a stop and the video focused. Half a dozen men had come into view, blades in hand as they charged the barricade. The men at the barricade turned their full attention to them and let loose a hellish torrent of automatic fire at them, it did nothing. The personal shields of each man easily withstood the projectiles thrown at them and before the offending Krispin guardsmen could even blink, their enemies were upon them. It was a brutal display and one that barely lasted three seconds, the poor Krispin men stood no chance against Tsaraj'kar after all.

[The Empire of Tau]

The Semi-Autonomous State of Sora - a far-flung region of Imperial space of very little relevance in the grand scheme of things. Barely anyone cares or knows much about its existence in reality. This is made worse as Hirotin has no plans to actually attend the current celebrations of the Anniversary. No purpose for him to arrive - why would he? Aside from the occasional bureaucrat that might know who he is, Hirotin does not have much of a taste for the high-ride of going to fancy balls and parties. Hirotin is content to simply be in the background - unseen and unnoticed. Besides, Hirotin is a busy man. He has committee meetings almost every day, paperwork, audits, readings, cabinet meetings, and the works. There is very very little time for him to do anything but work.

While Hirotin might not be attending the Anniversary, a few others will. More of a reward for his best-serving civil servants than actually attempting to do any form of political maneuvering or the likes. So - what is Hirotin doing now? Of course, it is work. But what kind of work? Well, the economy of Sora still needs plenty of improvement. This comes in the form of heavy investment into the infrastructure of both its solely inhabited planets. Stacks of paperwork on Hirotin’s desk with such exciting titles as “Infrastructural Analysis of New Public Housing” to “Industrial Zoning in Near-by Inhabited Areas.” Exhilarating stuff.

The concerns of the Imperial Houses are well..not of his concern. Of course, these concerns will very likely be of his concern in due time but that time has yet to come. The political shit-show is known as the Great Houses is something that Hirotin rather not get himself into. Likewise, the Wider Impierum is distant from Sora itself - given how small Sora is and the fact that Sora is far-far away from any form of major Imperial stronghold. Eventually, things will not be so distant as the future holds uncertainty over the stability of the Imperial.

[Imperialisium]

Krysmere System

The trinary star system of the Krysmere system, home territory of House Krispin, was relatively quiet in terms of interstellar traffic. Much of the House's industry and population spread out among its holdings. Even the breakaway world of Dagybar at the far fringe of the System's smallest star of Helios Krysmere C. The small Garrethymn Nebula that spung a hazy fog in the midst of the system, wreathing Krysmere and other inner worlds and partially blocking the light of Krysmere B and C from the metaphorical centre of the star system provided a phenomenal sky show of colors. It was quiet and normal. The nobility of the House idling within the palace as the Lord of the Krispin Household, The Marquis Vomiere, having retired to his chambers early. While his daughter, the Baroness Nymerilla, strode the garden, lovely blonde locks in the breeze, with her suitor, a wealthy Magnate from the Jewel Worlds.

Trading laughs and smiles as the world turned slowly. Day becoming dusk and thence to night. The Moon of Kryluna hanging low with pale azure glow of its borealis. Clouds drifted in the from South, weaving a light matte over the planetary capital and its billion lights. They were about to sit on a bench within the palace gardens when a second sun erupted into being...

Above Krysmere

"Hourly scope check is clear, Rear Admiral. Battlegroup Krysmere is passing through the Garrethymn Corridor now. A narrow channel in the nebula often used by pirates and brigands hiding out in the asteroids and mineral-gas clouds. A never-ending bane on the House for generations. Standing behind the ratings checking the scopes searching the star system for intruders was man dressed in the crips sea green and blue uniform of House Krispin's Navy.

"Detail to Admiral Radder on the Marthyrmn," the House's prized Battlecruiser, escorted by eleven Frigates and thirteen Destroyers with a screen of four gunships fore and aft, was maneuvering into the corridor to begin a sweep of the nebula, "tell him to send data back on a fluctuation in the Nebula. Possibly drive signatures we picked up earlier in the day."

"Yessir."

The rating pressed a button, and the screen went black. The rating paused, "Uh, sir, we have a malfunction. My terminal is gone." The Rear Admiral turned quickly, "Get engine-,"

Another voice, "My terminal is gone."

"Gone?" voiced the Rear Admiral.

The rating just shook his head. One by one in rapid succession the screens on the orbiting station died. "Do we have comms?" The voice of the Rear Admiral now gravely concerned.

"Yessir."

"Send priority alert to Planeta-." A new star winked into being far off in the Nebula. Then another, and another, multiplying with each passing moment. Those were reactor detonations.

"Get me Admiral Rad-"

A single Cruiser, the Conqueror-Class vessel Adamant Fury, leapt from Sidereal space in a wave of crackling energy. Its screen of seven Frigates, five destroyers, and eleven gunships flowing with it into realspace. A single beam of light leaping forth to smack in the command module of the station. Evaporating the Rear Admiral and its staff in pure energy. As if the attacking fleet knew the exact layout of the station. As if they knew where and when to strike. As if they knew were the now drifting wrecks of Battlegroup Krysmere, ambushed in the corridor by the rest of Taskforce 171, would be. Reuniting in a quick Sidereal jump into orbit to join the Adamant Fury. Bringing two Conqueror-Class ships, eight Frigates, nine Destroyers, and twenty-three Gunships in total over the planet.

The Krispin Cruiser Meror coming around the curve of the planet with three Frigates, four destroyers, and six gunships. The rest of the Krispin fleet in tow. An attempt to contest the orbit above the planetary capital. But despite a constant barrage of cries from the Meror and other ships to the surface. No response came...

Amid the planets Sidereal Astrocommunication Hub a series of weapon discharges sounded after every single networked computer in the Krispin military network went dead. A massive and precise mutagenic virus having been inserted days before by Imperial Intelligence operatives disguised as Krispin technicians. Imperial Special Forces, long lying-in wait, stormed the various planetary and sidereal communication stations in a matter of minutes. No communication of the attack got out before the void battle above began, and by then the first Imperial landers were already burning through the atmosphere.

Screaming on wings of fire as Taskforce 171 began to exchange concentrated fire with the remains of the Krispin system defense fleet. Bulk landers, assault craft, and squadrons of atmospheric fighters streamed to the surface. The 15th Imperial Army beginning its assault by a coordinated missile and bombing campaign against the planetary capital defenses. Pinpoint strikes. Surgical. No shield snapped to shield the Krispin AA batteries, no shield denied the payload of a space to ground missile protecting a hangar, the defense grid was down. Redundant generators only snapping on as the first volleys detonated on impact.

The planetary capital began to burn as the House's forces scrambled. Often meeting their end as Imperial landers disgorged their regiments right in the face of the shocked defenders. Gunning them down in their depots, mustering areas, and barracks.

Palace of the Marquis

Vomiere rushed out into the gardens, boots slapping the flagstones, as he ran to embrace his daughter. Still shocked next to her lover. "We need to get you off planet."

"What? Is it your brother, father?"

"I believe so. How he was able to hack and shut down our communications and defense grid we do not know." In truth Vomiere had a hunch. There were few militaries in the galaxy that could overrun a worlds defense in a matter of hours in any coordinated fashion. Few indeed. The rattle of heavy weapons discharges let up the sky as the few Krispin attack craft able to launch from burning runways took to the air. Engaging in a fatalistic duel with their enemy counterparts.

An AA battery on the curtain wall of the Palace opened up into the night sky. Drawing attention of the trio to that location. Descending from the sky, a large gray Cruiser class vessel of a sleek angular form broke the cloud layer, unleashing squadrons of plain gray craft. Beams of light, and the battery exploded in a ball of orange light. Its ammunition cooking off in crescendos of snapping white embers. Vomiere's face blanched, "Go, go!" He ushered her into the arms of a pair of guardsmen in sea green and azure plate armor. Their shields active. Not hesitating to affix a shield belt to the Baroness as they began moving her down a narrow flight of stairs. Her lover remained transfixed as the craft slowed smoothly, their doors opening, a droplet gracefully drifting from their hatchways. Soldiers in white with red markings. Vomiere didn't even realize a company of his own guard has moved into the gardens around him. As the mysterious warriors made contact with the ground throughout the palace, the screaming began.

...

The first to fall was the curtain wall and palace outer court yards. The Palace Guard, 4,000 strong and all shielded, suffered eight hundred killed within the first ten minutes of engaging the assailants. The warriors in white with red markings only speaking in sharp whispers or smooth serpentine hand gestures. The silent warriors calmly advancing deeper into the palace. Krispin Household army troopers falling back through the capital finding their way into the fortifications blocked by the warriors in white. Caught between the guns and blades of the Imperial Army, and the sleek sabers of a warrior order that brought unbridled fear the Galaxy over: The Tsaraj'kar. The Emperor's Blades. The Imperial Household's Legions of Warrior-Zealots. House Krispin radio transmissions were alight with the cries of shock and panic before falling silent as the night drew on.

The second phase of the Palace assault commenced shortly after the outer courtyards fell. When the middle ring of the palace, an oblong, terraced, edifice roughly ten meters higher than the previous ring and split by a raised moat, was the sight of a brutal blitzkrieg. The Tsaraj'kar, utilizing their supporting craft, fired incendiary rounds to burn through gatehouses and small murder-hole filled passages. Setting the luxurious gardens and their thousand species of lilies alight in harsh red flames. Within forty minutes the Tsaraj'kar had penetrated into the inner Palace structure, completed with a fresh suspensor assault from above. By now the Palace Guard, led by Vomiere himself, were down to four hundred soldiers and barricaded in the throne room.

Throne Room

Vomiere gripped the molecular bladed war axe in his grip. His shield shimmered ever so lightly. His guard aiming their weapons at the heavy, reinforced, doors of the throne room. By now his daughter should be deep in the catacombs making for the small escape boat ten kilometers away. Of her lover, that Jewel World noble of whom Vomiere kept forgetting the name of, something pompous, had last been seen attempting to North through the Palace to a landing pad. Not that that would help him much for the Tsaraj'kar were in the way. He was likely dead already. The Guard tensed. A spot on the doors began to glow. Dull red, then orange, yellow, white, blue. A thin beam of energy lanced through the door and struck a pair of cowering courtiers to the right and back. Eviscerating them into two steaming chunks as the beam moved ever so slightly back and forth before winking out. They were going to breach.

The doors exploded inwards as explosives had been packed into the hole and detonated. Yells and cries as the directional explosive sent heavy metal fragments flashing across the room. Striking down Guardsmen, who numbly rose again, saved by their shields. A flurry of darts came through the dense dust cloud. Striking an equal number of Guardsmen. The darts spinning as they tunneled through the membrane of their shields. The guardsmen that could swatted them away. Two unfortunately fell before they could swipe away the darts. By then the Tsaraj'kar were through. Silent wraiths meeting the chorus of war calls from the Krispin House Guard as they committed to their last stand. The Marquis swung at a Tsaraj'kar, who effortlessly side stepped and slashed down. The timing was like machinery. Perfect. Vomiere only saw the world tumble forward in a spin. Severed head flopping to the flagstones in a juicy slap. His Guard met a mixture of equally graceful or more horrific ends as they were hewn through like fire in a wheat field.

By the time Viscount Carrlin and his own retinue of Household troops had arrived, Vomiere would be dead for two hours and twenty-three minutes. The planetary capital and all major Krispin assets neutralized within a single night.

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Verina smiled at the younger Ferlon, at least till the elder continued speaking.

Don't you think if I could convert the radical sect of our faith into a less destructive form, all the multitude billions of believers in that militant doctrine, I would? Old fool must be as dimwitted as his gentled looking Son. Verina pushed that thought aside. "My interest is of course peaked." She ignored the platitudes. A telltale sign that Ferlon was already annoying her by the mere opening statement of his pitch. "I have no qualm if you wish to scour the Galaxy seeking to convert untold billions to a less militant version of our faith. You need not my permission for that Lord Ferlon." Imperial Recognition. My Father would have your dismembered corpse shot into a star for such a suggestion. Does he not remember the Civil Wars that plagued Civilization over such political moves? Verina was agitated now and she turned her head to the side. "Perhaps you should speak to your Emperor on what the Imperial House itself should and should not recognize. I speak for the Faithful of the Church of Our Most Divine Homeworld. I cannot speak for my House."

Valeria

Valeria grinned for a minute straight at Xevara before leaning in, "You're a funny one. Always have been." Valeria knew her father would never let a single power monopolize Nova Terra's food supply. But with Nova Terra being of great asset and weakness for the Imperial House its food supply was always of paramount importance in any policy related to it. She leaned back and only then did she realize Xevara was still serious on providing large quantities of the agricultural market share to the Throneworld. "I can agree to the amount needed to avoid potential deficiencies. I assume you have come with a price?"

To an outsider it would almost seem like the two were antagonistic. In truth they were very old acquaintances. As close as women in their position could have in terms of friends. Not that either would publicly say such a thing due to the political target such a statement would cause for the other. Valeria, as per their dynamic over the years, was if anything courteous in cutting the courtly bullshit for the brass tax. Xevara was here to make a deal, and she would doggedly pursue such prospects which could solidify her Viceroyalty in the eyes of more senior officials in the Imperium's upper echelons. A direct contract with the Imperial House? Brokered in person with the Emperor's Executor? The political clout that could bring would make removing her of the Viceroyalty by anyone but the Tsaraj-Emperor himself quite difficult.

[Antimersia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Ferlon IV furrowed his brow. He felt talked down to. A feeling that burned within him brightly. Yet he knew better than to act on such feelings. "I am no so foolish as to think i can convert every unhinged zealot. But, my hope is simply to offer another path towards sanity. You're support, I believe, would further this cause greatly. I seek only to aid Humanity with this gesture. Not permission, but rather support and approval. Your word matters more to the militant among our faith, than the Empire itself does." Ferlon IV replied. He is rarely a stubborn man, though when he believes he can do what he believes is right, he can be unrelenting.

"Come now Father, do not take up Her Grace's entire evening." Ferlon V suggested, lightly pulling on his Father's arm. "She already suggested that we speak with the Emperor instead." Ferlon IV rips his arm away from his son's grip, looking back and up at the younger man with dagger eyes. Considering the Emperor's absence, Ferlon IV knew the truth behind to suggestion was that Verina was trying to tell the Lord to fuck off in the most politically neutral way possible. Yet his actions show that he refused, likely dragging on Verina's good will.

"You forget your place boy." Ferlon chides, "Apologize to her Holiness."

"Your Eminence, I sincerely apologize for any offense I or my Father might have caused this evening." He says as he bows. Staying bowed, he looks up, flashing a sly smile to Verina before standing once more. Ferlon IV saw the smile, angering him more. A simple conversation is all he was hoping to have. Yet he is left standing there, mocked by his own son and spoken down to by Verina. He is left wondering why he bothers doing good at all. Wondering why he takes such painstaking efforts to curb the genocidal tendencies of the minor houses that pay fief to him. Wondering why, when he gets nothing, not even respect in return. Ferlon V, meanwhile, wonders similar things. He wonders why his father cares so much about Xenos when he claims to place Humanity above all else. Ferlon V wonders why he wants so badly the support of someone who appears to have no care for him or his cause. But inevitably Ferlon V's mind wanders from the important topics and he quickly begins thinking of other things, like how attractive the women at this party all seem. The father and son, could not be more different.

"Please forgive me as I speak plainly, your Eminence." Ferlon IV begins. "But, I have already fought a war over this very issue when I ascended to the Lordship of my house. I wish to stop the constant battles and genocides however I can. And I know I cannot stop them all, but I believe that every action taken to stop it must be taken where reasonable. So I come to you and humbly ask, that when I propose this pathway to deradicalization to the Senate, you show some form of support for it. No matter how small." He bows to her as he makes his final request, hoping a self humbling will restore even an inkling of good will within her.

[Segmentia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Xevara smiled back at the crown princess, before taking another drink from the tray and sipping until Valeria came to the realization that she was being serious. She finished her drink before replying to Valeria.

“Have you ever known me to come unprepared, your highness?” Xevara said, chuckling slightly. She gestured to the data-pad she had handed over. “All the minute details are in there, but not to waste your time, if Nova Terra could provide the industrial fertilizer needs for the project, then I could provide the Imperial House standard industrial units of food at somewhere between twenty to twenty-five percent of standard rates. Quite the steal.” Xevara said, again scanning the large room to give Valeria time to read the basic proposition if she so desired. Her eyes found Princess Verina and her current company. It took a moment before she recognized the pair of men but she scoffed lightly when she did.

“Hopefully not an indication of changing views of the church.” She mused. House Mensjen were followers of the Terranist faith, a highly xenophobic, xenocidal, and exteramist off-shoot of the Terraist faith, the majority faith of the Imperium. House Mensjen itself had voted against her appointment as Viceroy, with a few snide remarks by Ferlon IV, though its vassal minor houses were much more vitriolic. It hadn’t stopped her appointment, clearly, and she imagined that ruffled some feathers, as the humans said.

[The Empire of Tau]

Whilst the celebrations occurring at Nova Terra chugs on, the Republic of Sora occupies itself with ensuring its internal workings are run smoothly and that all concerns are swiftly dealt with. The greatest of these concerns are, not surprisingly, the economic realm of finance and industry. Thankfully, Sora is blessed to have a relatively stable political foundation. Those checks and balances and the ideas of doing one’s public civic duty appear to be paying off. Congratulations to Janar. Of course, the political scene is only stable for time being. It is not a matter of if, but when. Underlaying political issues and concerns are simply…too far away, so to speak - distant. The gears of bureaucracy are too-embedded in the sticky mess known as economic planning and policy. At the heart of the growing economy of Sora is the Economic Development Committee (EDC) - the “gentle” hand that guides the economy where it needs to be. Its main tool is intervention and its ability to offset deficits with state loans, bail-outs, and direct-financial and resource Injections - a safety net and support entity for major state corporations.

But what kind of major state corporations exists in Sora? That’s a good question. Under the direct control of the Economic Development Committee is the Sorainian State Corporation (SSC). The formation of the SSC is a simple one - a merger of all nationalized key assets and corporations. Anything that was considered of certain strategically important value to the EDC was deprivatized and transferred to the public sector, under the central federal government. This includes telecommunications, electric power, fuels, transportation, postal services, and much more. Of course, there still exists the private sector that manages everything else not nationalized - entertainment media, consumer goods, retail, food services, etc, etc. On top of that also exists the layers of regulation that dictate minimum wages, worker safety, the right to Unions, and other such entities of law.

What about private corporations? There are hundreds of thousands of them that exist but only a few are widely recognized in Sora. Aico Virtual is the largest Sorainian media company that has its hands in news, entertainment studios, social platforms, broadcasting, and likewise. Elsewhere is General Business Machines, a rising star in Sora for its R&D and streamlined production of computers (and its products), information technology, and electronics. Sorainian citizens speak of potential nationalization but the EDC is happy enough to contract whatever products it needs from GBM. Electric-Motors is another heavy-hitter as its main rise to frame is its promising ventures into cybernetics. Now, these developments are quite isolated and, at current, insignificant to the Imperium. Sora is nothing but an odd-Semi-Autonomous State out in the middle of nowhere. What can it even do? Well, who knows. Time will tell.

[Imperialisium]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension
Valeria
Twenty to twenty-five percent of standard rates was a good deal. But the amount of industrial fertilizer required would be significant. Valeria, however, was not amiss to business proposals and took the data-pad. Looking over the details and calculations from Xevara. No doubt painstakingly collected by a staff of analysts and computed by a half dozen AI cores. Xevara's scoff caused Valeria to look over her shoulder at her sister. Seeing the two members of House Mensjen there. Both the elder and younger Ferlon.

"I would not expect much. Verina only tolerates the Terranists to an inflexible degree. She'd brand them all heretics if their support were less," responded Valeria with reassurance. That being said it was a disturbing notion that the Terranist sect of radicals within the Church of Terra had enough support to avoid a wide scale persecution.

Valeria continued looking over the details. "I will sign off on an immediate 10% stake in Nova Terra's food supply to your Viceroyalty. My father will want to see your data here before agreeing to a larger market share. How long will you be staying on Nova Terra?"

Verina

Verina watched the altercation between Father and Son with a neutral expression. Merely raising a hand to accept the younger Ferlon's apology before speaking. "Your well wishes are appreciated. However, it is not the responsibility of the Church to govern the religious policies of your vassals. Terranism is tolerated to a degree so long as it's more xenophobic tendencies remain checked to the private territories of its own adherents. I will not publicly support a non-Orthodox Protestanta branch sprouting off from an already radical sect of the Church as a counterweight. The Orthodoxy of the Faith itself is more than enough for that. My suggestion to you, and all the Faithful toward Terra, is to channel the energies of the radical away from violence and more to productive projects or external enemies of the Imperium. Perhaps even against rumor of a Vyreg Hive Fleet spotted along the Northern rim."

The Vyreg. A xenos species of pseudo-arachnid and insectoid creatures originating in the South-Eastern fringe of the Galaxy. The Galactic Imperium had all but purged the species. Rendering the core worlds of the species to glass lifeless surfaces. Yet, like the ancient Terran cockroach they had survived as fragmented and small hive fleets meandering through space. Preying on isolated freighters and every once in a while, usually decades between such an event, attacking a small outpost or colony on the fringes of civilized space. Verina was not trying to occupy House Mensjen with a fool's errand either. Several polities in the Northern Fringe had spotted the fleet transiting along the sectors of the Northern Rim of the Milky Way. They'd be skirting into the Northern fringe of the Mensjen and possibly cross paths through the home system of the Sora Republic in a matter of weeks.

[Segmentia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Ten percent? That was actually more than Xevara had been expecting for their first meeting. It spoke to the trust in her competence and her record, at least in Xevara’s mind. Who else in the galaxy would have been able to come in and in less than an hour of discussion secure a deal to cover ten percent of Nova Terras food supply? This would make her enemies, certainly, but it would make her allies as well, not even counting whatever favor she might gain with the Imperial family and the Emperor himself.

“A few days, at most a week. I essentially scheduled a year's worth of meetings while all the high and mighty of the Imperium were here on Nova Terra.” Xevara answered Valeria with a chuckle. “Of course, should you or the Emperor require my attention I’d be more than happy to tell half of the people I need to meet to go away.” Xevara gave the Terranist father and son another look before ignoring them. Thankfully Oversector Elysium was a mostly religiously moderate span of space, though there were a few Terranist dominated planets that were most certainly not pleased with having an alien as a Viceroy, even if there was an incredible degree of separation between planetary governments and the government of an oversector. She already had plans in motion to deal with the worst of them, which she knew would draw in even more of the fanatics. All in good time, however.

[Antimersia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Ferlon IV bowed his head respectfully to Princess Verina. "I understand your Eminence. I am sorry to hear your answer. But I understand and respect it. Thank you for generously providing us with your time." Ferlon IV give his son a side eyed glare to indicate to him to bow and thank the Princess along with him. Ferlon V had begun to stare off at the alien Viceroy that had been speaking with Princess Valeria and scowling at them for some time now. His distaste for non humans being much greater than that of his father's, made the looks from this woman instill a great rage within him. Something he had to quell at his Father's behest. He returns his attention to Princess Verina and bows along with his father.

"Yes, thank you so much for speaking with us." Ferlon V clearly is not ready to be the head of house Mensjen. But he at least does have the good sense to play the part of lord. Even though he doesn't usually say the right words.

The father and son wait for the Princess to dismiss them before heading back to the main floor. The celebration continues, and Ferlon V returns to scarfing down food as if he had not been fed in weeks. It was then that Ferlon IV had noticed Xevara, the Imperial Viceroy of Oversector Elysium. A stain on the Imperium in his mind. Non humans given positions of such power. Though his protests were made clear long ago. The decision had been made and he no longer harbored any care at all for the Visceroy or Elysium. As far as he was concerned, the Oversector is nothing but a blank spot in Imperial space. And an occasional talking point among his fiefs that declare open desire to remove Xevara from her post by force. Something that Ferlon IV forcibly stifles whenever the topic arises. He moves along, finding food of his own to enjoy. He was not sure how much longer he would spend at these festivities. His had made the moves he had hoped to in this gathering already. And without Verina's support, his proposal will likely end up dead in the water. But he would hope, that in the end the attempt will shine a more favorable light upon House Mensjen going forward. His focus, as such, from now on would be on drafting the proposal. It will have to be worded perfectly, for it to have even an iota's chance of success.

[Imperialisium]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Valeria smiled at Xevara, "Expect a summons soon then." Grasping a goblet she sipped the fine liquid therein as her xenos friend was excused to leave. Casting a sideways glance at Verina who was still speaking to the Mensjens. At least until they too leave the company of her sister. She could not help but notice the scowling look of the elder Ferlon. Leaving Valeria to wonder what exactly the conversation was that passed between them. Shoving the thoughts to the side a bell chimed and tables were brought out. Finest silks, food, and drink being dolled out as the recess of the celebrations was temporarily halted. The main course of the evening dinner about to begin. Not, that the main course was anything but ostentatious and multiple servings. Appetizers from a hundred worlds. Cheeses, meats, fruits, vegetables, and everything in between. Expertly paired by Palace Sommelier's with a variety of aperitif beverages both alcoholic and non. Followed by an absolute cavalcade of main course dishes. Fine stuffed roasts from Kerrismoor, delectable pasta dishes steeped in flavorful sauces from the rolling hills of Vantrielle Quintus, and platters whose contents filled the nostrils with the most prosaic of pleasurable aromas from a thousand more planets. This was not even to get to beverages which were so numerous that Valeria rapidly lost count of how many bottles of what type or even language were present upon them.

The Princess herself sat at the head of the one of the high tables. Her sister sitting across the pavilion at another high table. Their attendants sycophants and supporters among them. While no less than thirty other tables each one hundred meters long were laid out between them or off to the side. This was not even to consider other tables outward for lesser attendees which Valeria could no not remember the number of but possibly several dozen, or a few hundred. She truthfully didn't care and merely laid siege to the fine dishes custom arranged for her by Imperial chefs.

All of which was subtly brought under the scrutiny of those around her. Politicking and intrigue never ended. Opponents eyed each other from other tables. Friends warily watched each other's backs, and one another for betrayal, disguised hand signals to servants and bodyguards giving the most subtle of non-verbal orders. Watch that man there, watch her, any danger? The list went on down to the minutiae of possibilities. The paranoia of the Imperial elite was unquestionably as large as the Imperium is vast. Valeria assaulted the beverage, a fine brandy from the vineyards of Voltanis Prime. The rich grape aroma tingling her nostrils, its sweet flavor washing over taste buds, she could barely taste the alcohol by how smooth the vintage was. The celebrations continued, and her father, predictably, was not present.

[Bentus]

Nailara bint Zufara
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923
Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District

---

The vaulted ceiling stretched high above the assembled tables, with the intricate mosaics and murals that adorned the domed surface appearing like angels painted upon the sky. Grander than any other structure in the galaxy, and saturated with a storied history stretching back through humanity’s illustrious history, the Imperial Palace was a monument to the Imperium’s achievements as well as a testament to what it could achieve. Nailara could hardly believe that it was located in the midst of Nova Terra, within the densely populated heart of humanity’s empire. She couldn’t have imagined feeling further away from Falnora.

It was all that Nailara could do to maintain her composure and focus on the proper etiquette while eating her food, rather than gaze around gawking in disbelief at her surroundings. Fortunately, her sheepish grin could masquerade as a polite smile, burying the overt signs of her excitement. Despite being no stranger to wealth and lavish lifestyles, the banquet took her breath away. Every dish was deliciously unique, representing the best that the Imperium’s range of worlds and cultures could provide, while the drinks were similarly vibrant on the tongue.

And then there were the other attendees. To be present meant that they were someone of import on a galactic scale, and Nailara had been able to recognise more than a few of them. Flowing gowns made from the finest silk, to uniforms adorned with galleries of glistening medals, the mingling guests added a whole additional layer of vibrancy to the celebrations. Their casual laughter and conversations made the experience feel even more surreal to the young woman, still struggling to fully believe the whirlwind of events that had led to her even being present.

Or rather, why she had been brought.

Slowing in her meal, Nailara hesitated before she risked a stolen glance towards the head of the table. Even among the esteemed guests of the hour, the Crown Princess captured the attention of the room. Nailara could feel her chest skip when she looked upon the near-mythical figure, her eyes lingering as if to look away would break the entire mirage.

Nearby sat the looming figure of the Patriarch. Bakahim dissected his meal with a calm efficiency, his bulky figure causing him to loom over those immediately seated beside him. The head of the Zufaran dynasty eschewed the popular fat-trimming treatments that were practiced among the wealthy, instead using his bulk as a visible display of his wealth. Nailara had heard that he would have been unable to even stand were it not for the biomechanical enhancements that had been grafted onto his body.

Wondering why her grandfather had sat her so far away from his own place at the table, but aware that her gaze had already lingered for a little too long, Nailara turned her focus back to her meal. Taking a sip from her goblet, her chest tightened as it dawned on her that she was being tested. Seated where she was, alone but perfectly in view: were they trying to see how she’d handle being thrown into the midst of one of the Imperial family’s social functions?

Idiot. She thought to herself. Of course it was a test. The whole journey to Nova Terra was a test for her. And so far she’d sat more silent than one of the servants, gaping at the palace walls and her plate like a tourist. What kind of an impression would that make, to all the eyes that were doubtlessly evaluating her performance? A poor one, no doubt. Unless Nailara did her best to rectify the situation.

“The food truly is amazing.” She declared, flashing her kindest smile towards the older woman beside her. “I can scarcely even recognise half of the dishes.”

The meal: a shared topic for conversation, at least. Even so, Nailara cursed herself for picking such a forgettable and mind-numbingly bland topic. She’d had to start with something, and it didn’t help that she recognised the woman that she’d turned to address.

“I am Nailara bint Zufara, of the Zufaran dynasty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

---

“She is a capable young woman, I assure you.” Bakahim said, his gravelly voice addressing Valeria. “Well educated and in a good state of health. A fine partner for the young prince, by any reasonable metric.”

The older Patriarch spoke plainly by the head of the large serving table, speaking casually of business while partaking in the festivities of the day. He’d dispensed quickly with the pleasantries, having stripped them down to the barest of necessities. He was a busy man, and pointlessly cordial words were rarely an effective use of time. By the same token, he knew that he was hardly the only one that Valeria planned to speak with that day and he had no desire to waste the Crown Princess’ time any more than his own.

Of course, most of the groundwork had been laid well in advance. Bakahim’s agents had broached the potential engagement months ago. Conversations had continued through the appropriate channels, hammering out details and discussing both sides’ lingering concerns. Ultimately, Bakahim saw the arrangement as one of great mutual benefit. He was sure that the palace had been looking for a way to improve the prince’s maturity in the eyes of the wider public, and a marriage would remove a potential thorn from Bakahim’s own domain.

While the bloodline connection to the Imperial family was a powerful incentive, Bakahim knew better than to tie such a bond too tightly, lest other noble families cry foul. But Nailara’s heritage was the perfect combination of sufficient historical prestige to avoid any appearance of the prince marrying below his station, while not being so prominent as to make other influential families feel threatened.

“Her father’s death also cuts her immediate ties to my own bloodline. It should help to avoid the unwanted appearance of any divided loyalties.” Bakahim had little doubt that the Princess’ own agents had made certain that he wasn’t seeking to implant a spy in her midst. Despite his history with the woman’s father, he understood the need for caution. Especially with times as they were. “I will of course publically revoke any inheritance between future children and my dynasty, should you wish.”

[Imperialisium]

Nailara bint Zufara
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923
Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District

---

The vaulted ceiling stretched high above the assembled tables, with the intricate mosaics and murals that adorned the domed surface appearing like angels painted upon the sky. Grander than any other structure in the galaxy, and saturated with a storied history stretching back through humanity’s illustrious history, the Imperial Palace was a monument to the Imperium’s achievements as well as a testament to what it could achieve. Nailara could hardly believe that it was located in the midst of Nova Terra, within the densely populated heart of humanity’s empire. She couldn’t have imagined feeling further away from Falnora.

It was all that Nailara could do to maintain her composure and focus on the proper etiquette while eating her food, rather than gaze around gawking in disbelief at her surroundings. Fortunately, her sheepish grin could masquerade as a polite smile, burying the overt signs of her excitement. Despite being no stranger to wealth and lavish lifestyles, the banquet took her breath away. Every dish was deliciously unique, representing the best that the Imperium’s range of worlds and cultures could provide, while the drinks were similarly vibrant on the tongue.

And then there were the other attendees. To be present meant that they were someone of import on a galactic scale, and Nailara had been able to recognise more than a few of them. Flowing gowns made from the finest silk, to uniforms adorned with galleries of glistening medals, the mingling guests added a whole additional layer of vibrancy to the celebrations. Their casual laughter and conversations made the experience feel even more surreal to the young woman, still struggling to fully believe the whirlwind of events that had led to her even being present.

Or rather, why she had been brought.

Slowing in her meal, Nailara hesitated before she risked a stolen glance towards the head of the table. Even among the esteemed guests of the hour, the Crown Princess captured the attention of the room. Nailara could feel her chest skip when she looked upon the near-mythical figure, her eyes lingering as if to look away would break the entire mirage.

Nearby sat the looming figure of the Patriarch. Bakahim dissected his meal with a calm efficiency, his bulky figure causing him to loom over those immediately seated beside him. The head of the Zufaran dynasty eschewed the popular fat-trimming treatments that were practiced among the wealthy, instead using his bulk as a visible display of his wealth. Nailara had heard that he would have been unable to even stand were it not for the biomechanical enhancements that had been grafted onto his body.

Wondering why her grandfather had sat her so far away from his own place at the table, but aware that her gaze had already lingered for a little too long, Nailara turned her focus back to her meal. Taking a sip from her goblet, her chest tightened as it dawned on her that she was being tested. Seated where she was, alone but perfectly in view: were they trying to see how she’d handle being thrown into the midst of one of the Imperial family’s social functions?

Idiot. She thought to herself. Of course it was a test. The whole journey to Nova Terra was a test for her. And so far she’d sat more silent than one of the servants, gaping at the palace walls and her plate like a tourist. What kind of an impression would that make, to all the eyes that were doubtlessly evaluating her performance? A poor one, no doubt. Unless Nailara did her best to rectify the situation.

“The food truly is amazing.” She declared, flashing her kindest smile towards the older woman beside her. “I can scarcely even recognise half of the dishes.”

The meal: a shared topic for conversation, at least. Even so, Nailara cursed herself for picking such a forgettable and mind-numbingly bland topic. She’d had to start with something, and it didn’t help that she recognised the woman that she’d turned to address.

“I am Nailara bint Zufara, of the Zufaran dynasty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

---

“She is a capable young woman, I assure you.” Bakahim said, his gravelly voice addressing Valeria. “Well educated and in a good state of health. A fine partner for the young prince, by any reasonable metric.”

The older Patriarch spoke plainly by the head of the large serving table, speaking casually of business while partaking in the festivities of the day. He’d dispensed quickly with the pleasantries, having stripped them down to the barest of necessities. He was a busy man, and pointlessly cordial words were rarely an effective use of time. By the same token, he knew that he was hardly the only one that Valeria planned to speak with that day and he had no desire to waste the Crown Princess’ time any more than his own.

Of course, most of the groundwork had been laid well in advance. Bakahim’s agents had broached the potential engagement months ago. Conversations had continued through the appropriate channels, hammering out details and discussing both sides’ lingering concerns. Ultimately, Bakahim saw the arrangement as one of great mutual benefit. He was sure that the palace had been looking for a way to improve the prince’s maturity in the eyes of the wider public, and a marriage would remove a potential thorn from Bakahim’s own domain.

While the bloodline connection to the Imperial family was a powerful incentive, Bakahim knew better than to tie such a bond too tightly, lest other noble families cry foul. But Nailara’s heritage was the perfect combination of sufficient historical prestige to avoid any appearance of the prince marrying below his station, while not being so prominent as to make other influential families feel threatened.

“Her father’s death also cuts her immediate ties to my own bloodline. It should help to avoid the unwanted appearance of any divided loyalties.” Bakahim had little doubt that the Princess’ own agents had made certain that he wasn’t seeking to implant a spy in her midst. Despite his history with the woman’s father, he understood the need for caution. Especially with times as they were. “I will of course publically revoke any inheritance between future children and my dynasty, should you wish.”

Imperial Palace
Valeria

Valeria nodded and smiled to the young Nailara, "I am in doubt as to her competence, though I trust which of my younger brothers she'd take fancy too are to be seen." After all, her younger brothers were twins, Romulan and Rheman. In truth Romulan was the more talked about candidate during the discussions with Bahakim's representatives. For he was simply more fit than Rheman who admittedly was overweight and gluttonous. Romulan, by contrast was fit and lithe if very much the womanizing immature hedonist. There were reasons neither of the princes were allowed off Odin unless the Emperor allowed it.

At the mention of inheritance and divided loyalties Valeria's mood took a more serious note. She leaned closer across the table and pressed a small barely noticeable glyph stud on her side of the table. An audio dampener field springing up to mask their corner of the table from eavesdroppers. The Palace had run countless checks both biometric and non-biometric on the young Nailara. She was who Bahakim marketed her to be. As callous as that sounded, and Valeria could not help but feel ever so slightly for the young woman. She was a pawn in a much larger, constantly evolving, game known quite frankly as Imperial politics. Speaking normally, yet to others outside of her and Bahakim it would be barely audible noise, "Father would accept nothing less. He also, has grown concerned about production output..." Valeria need not mention the products in question. Bahakim knew. His entire dynasty was founded on the wealth of said production quotas being met year after year. His protection and constant and immediate access to the Emperor, was laid on such a foundation. Bahakim knew, and knew Valeria knew, that if his family's holdings ever depreciated rapidly the sharks would begin circling.

Valeria resumed speaking after taking a sip of wine, knowing full well she had Bahakim's undivided attention, "Father would want figures, cost and expectant output, for a 10% increase in exportation of exotic materials to Vulcana."

Vulcana, the inhabited moon orbiting the cursed Tsaraj'kar world of Demimonde. A pinprick of light in an otherwise dark star system. Details of either were kept secret and crews of starships were not allowed to bear witness to either world. Indeed, a trip to Vulcana was more or less terminated at the edges of the system by docking at an Imperial way station. Offloading cargo, then leaving under the watchful vigilance of prowling Imperial warships. A 10% increase was unprecedented and while it would bring a sizable profit for Bahakim it would be hard to meet such a demand efficiently. Valeria knew this, and surely the Emperor did as well. Bahakim could only wonder what his old friend was up too.

[Bentus]

-snip-

Bakahim bin Zufara
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923
Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District

---

The Duke simply grunted in response to Valeria's comment on her two siblings. Offering him the choice between the two young princes was a friendly gesture, but there was only one logical decision. Being so young and far down the line of succession, the princes would likely spend their lives as ceremonial figureheads. Romulan was far easier to market to the public than his brother, and a wife would help distract from some of his more unseemly traits. Given time, he was the better investment.

Taking a sip of his wine, Bakahim’s gaze shifted to meet the Princess’ as she continued to speak. His outward reaction was minimal, knowing that keen eyes would be watching their conversation all the more carefully now that Valeria had lowered the audio dampener around them. But even so, the corners of the Duke’s mouth pulled downwards, only slightly avoiding the appearance of a frown.

He studied the Princess’ gaze, appearing to be in no rush to respond as he weighed up the potential hidden meanings behind what Valeria had asked him to do. It was a significant request, one that couldn’t be completed without significant cost. That such a conversation necessitated the use of a dampener field only added to the sense of unease brewing in Bakahim’s chest.

“It can be done.” Bakahim’s throat rumbled when he eventually spoke, and he leaned back into his chair. “But the manner in which it is done will depend upon the Emperor’s needs. A slower increase in production will be more sustainable over the long term, whereas a more time-sensitive request could lead to inefficiencies.” He presented them as two possible options, but Bakahim suspected that the request wouldn’t have been so severe were time not of the essence. “A higher unit cost would be necessary to cover the expenses.”

Bakahim wouldn’t waste his breath asking Valeria what the additional output was for. She would have told him already if she’d had any intention of doing so. Bakahim would try to find out through alternate means, and the Emperor’s own agents would try to stop him. Such was the way that the galaxy functioned.

“How is your father, Princess?” Bakahim said after a further pause, taking another sip from his goblet. “I was hoping that he might make an appearance this year.”

There was an unspoken concern underlying the Duke’s question, a concern that meant that he wouldn’t have asked had the dampener field not have protected his words from prying ears. He knew that Baldor had been left reeling from the disappearance of his son, and Bakahim was one of countless that had sent the Emperor their condolences. The Emperor deserved to grieve and mourn, as any father would, but Bakahim could feel the tension in the air. The Imperium was entering into dangerous times, and while Valeria and her sister’s presence was a soothing balm to the galaxy’s woes, neither could wield the same authority as their father while he sat on the throne. And his absence was being noticed.

[Segmentia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Rising from her seat and bowing respectfully, Xevara took her leave as the crown princess excused her. She left the pavilion and soon found herself invited to a conversation with a few old associates of hers from the Galactic Banking Corporation. She still had quite a few connections in the GBC, ones she had been careful to keep and foster over the decades from when she worked there, before she had moved on to her role as Imperial Amtsbeg, and then onto Imperial Combine, and now that she was a Viceroy? Well being friendly with an Imperial viceroy and one of the 53 directors of Imperial Combine was a significant boon.

They conversed for a few minutes until tables and chairs were brought out. Seated next to the crown princess’ table, her size making normal seating difficult, she was dining with other various xenos species who likewise would have had difficulty with normal seating. Still, it was close enough to observe and overhear some conversation. It was mostly mundane, though the real interest came with the conversation between Valeria and Duke Bakahim bin Zufara. Or rather, the lack of hearing it, suddenly cut off from eavesdropping by an audio dampener. It was certain to fuel the intrigue and gossip, but Xevara didn’t really care too much. Xevara knew little of the Duke, and what little that was was about his house's exports of exotic materials. It was a market she was very well informed of, and one she had an intention to corner as best she could with the resources of the oversector behind her. In her first year she had made it a production priority. What she knew for certain, however, was that the man wasn’t a competitor, not really. It was no insult to him, at least in Xevara’s mind, since she had heard the Duke was calculating and pragmatic, more so than he was prideful. Certainly as an individual House the bin Zufaras’ were well entrenched in the market, but against the resources of an oversector? They simply couldn’t hope to compete.

Xevara tuned out most of the idle gossip though, she had already accomplished what she had desired from this party, and it was time to enjoy the hospitality of the Imperial Family. The foods and drinks were indeed exquisite, and clearly great care had been taken to serve to the myriad of palates present. Xevara was served the finest Meosian dishes and drink, clearly expertly prepared, second perhaps only to her own personal chef, but that was to be expected. Her personal chef had been cooking for her for several decades, after all. She was especially pleased with the Meosian wine, made from specific sea-weed from Meos, rather than grapes, and mixed with a delightful honeyed vanilla. She had entire stores of the best vintages, but every sip was exceptional. It was a bit thicker than the average human wine, but humans were known to enjoy it.

All in all, it was a delightful night. After the meal she would remain for a little while, striking up a few conversations, but she would depart fairly early. Parties like these usually went on all day, and she had known a few to go on for several days, and while she was sure the crown princess wouldn’t let that come to pass, she still decided to leave fashionably early. She sent her regards to the Imperial Family and to their staff before leaving, of course. It was all part of the game, really. Staying would allow her to have more conversations, get involved in more plans and schemes, and hear more gossip, but leaving would make it so those seeking to speak with her would have to seek her out, make appointments, and generally give her a slight upper hand right from the get-go.

Leaving the party, Xevara’s driver would return her to her sprawling Nova Terra residence, a palace in its own right really, taking up the top fifteen stories of a vast, luxury hab-block, with an open air garden on the roof of the building itself, shielded from the noise, smog, and sights of Nova Terra, if so desired. Landing in the private landing bay, Xevara retired to her rooms for the night, freshening up before bed. Her week or so on Nova Terra would be busy, but she was quite content that she would possibly get a summons from the Emperor himself, a rare honor, especially in recent years.

[Antimersia]

Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)
95th Anniversary of the Tsaraj-Emperor's ascension

Ferlon IV had to nearly drag his son away from the opulent spread of food laid out for the party goers. He had need to make his leave for the evening. Some might leave their heir behind to continue to represent their house at the festivities. But Ferlon IV has so little trust in Ferlon V's political temperament and skill that he could never feel comfortable doing so. The pair began to head to the center table, hoping to give a proper farewell and best wishes to the Princess Valeria, and to pass on the symbolic well wishes to her father, the Tsaraj-Emperor, as well. But unfortunately for Ferlon IV, the Crown Princess was already engaged in a conversation with Duke Bakahim bin Zufara. In another circumstance, he would simply wait. Give the Princess and the Duke time to conclude their conversation, and say his farewells before leaving. It is typically the polite, and political thing to do. But he was now on a time crunch. Ferlon IV had attempted, and failed, to gain a powerful ally in his fight for reformation. And now he would need to adjust his proposal for the Imperial Senate, as well as find a new source of support by which he can convince other members of the Senate to support his proposal. The pair speed walk, practically at a jog, as they make their way through the crowds back to their landing craft. Ferlon V begins to question his Father's actions.

"Father why are you suddenly so concerned. Didn't you say getting the Princess' support was a lofty goal to begin with?" Ferlon V asked his father as they walk up the ramp to enter the landing craft.

"Of course it was. It was a leap of faith at the very least." Ferlon IV snapped. "But my hubris got the better of me. I was so sure that her exasperation with the more stringent and radical Terranists, would make my proposal of a moderate form of the denomination seem like a godsend of a suggestion. And to have a Major House leading the charge of this reformation, with the backing of her Eminence herself, I felt it was almost too perfect of a proposition. Apparently I was correct."

"So what are you going to do now?" the son asks, sitting down in the craft as Ferlon IV commands his men to take off.

"We have little time before the next session of the Imperial Senate. It is imperative that we garner some sort of support from a major player within the Empire. Someone with significant standing, power, funds, and attachments with many members of the Senate. We need more support, or we risk the motion not even being seconded. And I will not embarrass our house in such a way." Ferlon IV declared adamantly. His craft took off. Lifting from the ground and ascending towards the Nova Terran orbit where the small fleet of Mensjen transport and defense ships were waiting.

"I think you are embarrassing us already with this foolish proposal. I don't understand why you feel such sympathy for these non humans. They hate us, we hate them. It's the natural order of the galaxy." Ferlon V stated indignantly.

"The Emperor values them. And to call him wrong is treasonous and foolish, boy. And yet still, we do not hate cows. We do not hate Chickens. We do not hate Owlswarm. These are just animals. Lesser beings that we accept in our worlds for what they can provide us. These non human species are no different. To want to eliminate them is no different than to want to eliminate all bovines. its a foolish notion." Ferlon IV explained.

"If cows spoke our language, and were trying to engage in our commerce, and waged war against us, then I'd suggest we eliminate them as well." Ferlon V said angrily.

"And that exact thinking is why House Mensjen is on the fringe of this Empire. We sit at the center of this galaxy and yet few if any other Major houses wish to even acknowledge our existence. We must reform, we must be better. Or we will be left in the dust. Which is why, i believe something drastic might be in order." Ferlon V pulls out a data pad and begins scribing a missive.

"what are you planning?" The son asked confused.

"I am going to contact Xevara Lancellum. I am going to see if she will potentially support my goal of deradicalization of the Terranist faith." the father answered.

"A xeno?" Ferlon V asked in disgust.

"A Xeno Imperial Visceroy. She is not the ideal candidate in terms of power. But she has sway or many more worlds that we do. She is relatively close to the royal family, in terms of location. She is wealthy, and most importantly, she is a non human. If a non human supports a plan of deradicalization of a faith that is genocidal towards non humans, then the Senate would have to listen with open minds and ears." Ferlon IV, said, educating his son.

"An attempt like this will mean another rebellion of our fiefs." Ferlon V stated, almost proudly.

"I quashed them before, and I shall do so again, if necessary. Leave me, I have to write." Ferlon IV commanded. his son left and went into another section of the ship. And the Lord Mensjen wrote his missive, inviting Visceroy Lancellum aboard his transport vessel, with the hopes of discussing his proposal before he leaves to return to his homeworld.

[Imperialisium]

-snip-

Bakahim bin Zufara
January 25th of Imperial Year 19,923
Nova Terra, Imperial Palace District

---

The Duke simply grunted in response to Valeria's comment on her two siblings. Offering him the choice between the two young princes was a friendly gesture, but there was only one logical decision. Being so young and far down the line of succession, the princes would likely spend their lives as ceremonial figureheads. Romulan was far easier to market to the public than his brother, and a wife would help distract from some of his more unseemly traits. Given time, he was the better investment.

Taking a sip of his wine, Bakahim’s gaze shifted to meet the Princess’ as she continued to speak. His outward reaction was minimal, knowing that keen eyes would be watching their conversation all the more carefully now that Valeria had lowered the audio dampener around them. But even so, the corners of the Duke’s mouth pulled downwards, only slightly avoiding the appearance of a frown.

He studied the Princess’ gaze, appearing to be in no rush to respond as he weighed up the potential hidden meanings behind what Valeria had asked him to do. It was a significant request, one that couldn’t be completed without significant cost. That such a conversation necessitated the use of a dampener field only added to the sense of unease brewing in Bakahim’s chest.

“It can be done.” Bakahim’s throat rumbled when he eventually spoke, and he leaned back into his chair. “But the manner in which it is done will depend upon the Emperor’s needs. A slower increase in production will be more sustainable over the long term, whereas a more time-sensitive request could lead to inefficiencies.” He presented them as two possible options, but Bakahim suspected that the request wouldn’t have been so severe were time not of the essence. “A higher unit cost would be necessary to cover the expenses.”

Bakahim wouldn’t waste his breath asking Valeria what the additional output was for. She would have told him already if she’d had any intention of doing so. Bakahim would try to find out through alternate means, and the Emperor’s own agents would try to stop him. Such was the way that the galaxy functioned.

“How is your father, Princess?” Bakahim said after a further pause, taking another sip from his goblet. “I was hoping that he might make an appearance this year.”

There was an unspoken concern underlying the Duke’s question, a concern that meant that he wouldn’t have asked had the dampener field not have protected his words from prying ears. He knew that Baldor had been left reeling from the disappearance of his son, and Bakahim was one of countless that had sent the Emperor their condolences. The Emperor deserved to grieve and mourn, as any father would, but Bakahim could feel the tension in the air. The Imperium was entering into dangerous times, and while Valeria and her sister’s presence was a soothing balm to the galaxy’s woes, neither could wield the same authority as their father while he sat on the throne. And his absence was being noticed.

He is weighing his response. When the response came in the detailed affirmative Valeria smiled. It was one that she could see as the most probable. After all, for Bahakim to say it cannot be done could be seen as a sign of weakness. To respond with a simple affirmative was to be sign of possible ulterior goal. But one detailing a realistic concern was one of astute probability, given. "A high unit cost is necessary but the Emperor believes it is worth the cost."

When the topic moved to her father the Crown Princess' demeanor shifted to one of reserved glance. "The Emperor is well. As well as one could be given the troubling loss Valerian has imposed, but his willpower has not dimmed. The Throne and He are still strong." The Throne and He. If only people understood such a phrase for what it was. The Throne, what a Throne it is, for there were none like it. None which could match the splendor, majesty, and ethereal art of ancient esoteric construction. Polished smooth and bearing the semblance of a universe unto itself. The Throne was an edifice which at the core sat a simple chair wreathed in the embric light of starry expanse. To pear into The Throne was to gaze at galaxies near and far. Vision swimming into the darkness of the Universe, and should one be unable to keep themselves find that in the darkest of stars, eyes look longingly back. For should one stare long enough into the maw of oblivion they would find that oblivion looks back into thy self! Indeed, Valeria and Bahakim had seen it. The Throne, what a presence it has, a coaxing and intoxiciating thing it was. An artifact of Mankind's bygone past. Akashic Record of Unknowable. Voices whispering the most eldritch into the ears of bystanders. For The Throne was not before you. You were before it!

"I should wish to visit your demesne sometime in the near future," spoke Valeria politely as she disengaged the audio dampener. The festivities were dying down as plates empties and platters ran bare. Outside the booms of a billion fireworks lit up the Nova Terran skies. Fired from buildings, ships, and the mighty emplacements of the Imperial Guard.

"But for now, I must take my leave." Valeria rose and bowed to her guests. "The Emperor extends his warmest wishes and appreciation in all of your coming!" Taking one last sip of wine the Crown Princess retired.

[Segmentia]

Nova Terra, Viceroy Lancellums’ personal apartments
January 26th of Imperial Year 19,923 (25,709AD)

Xevara had slept well, awaking fairly refreshed from the celebration the night before. She had retired before it had become too late, as her first meetings began in the mid-morning. She enjoyed an exquisite breakfast as a servant held a small holo-projector up for her. She glanced over the headlines of the major news stations for a short while, though any news that was truly impactful she would have heard about it before it went to the press. After a short time of skimming the news, she switched to personal correspondence. A few updates from her government in Elysium, all very run of the mill. A few others, but only one that really caught her attention. A missive from Ferlon IV of the Great House Mensjen, inviting her aboard his ship to discuss some matters before he departed. She could guess what those matters were.

House Mensjen were Terranists, extremist zealots who believed non-human species should be exterminated. It was a fringe religion, but zealots were zealots. They had made a great deal of fuss about her appointment to the position of Viceroy, and all for nothing. That a Terranist would want to speak to her was amusing to say the least, and most likely it meant that his talk with Princess Verina hadn’t gone well, and that did make her chuckle. However even if she had felt the desire to go and speak with Ferlon, which she didn’t, she was far too busy to be able to leave her residence. Not only thanks to the dozens of meetings she had scheduled, but also because she wanted to be present and ready to go whenever the Emperor summoned her.

Still, she sent a quick but polite reply, declining the offer and more or less telling Ferlon that if he wished to discuss business then he was more than welcome to make an appointment, like everyone else had too.