Evenstar: The Last Full Measure of Hell [MT, IC, Semi-Open]

[New Azura]

The following story contains scenes of implied adult situations and violence. Those with a weak constitution, or those who prefer not to read disturbing imagery and dialogue are advised to hit the back button on their web browser now. Reader discretion is encouraged, if not strongly advised. OOC Thread.

Dreams of the Destroyer
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
The Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Sunday, the 7th of September, 2012 — 3:55 AM

In her dream, she wasn't fast enough.

Calixte had been having the same nightmare, over and over again for months—ever since her unsettling phone call from the Inquisitor, Nemesis. Though it had been nearly four months since the fateful conversation, she could still recall every single word that was spoken in utter detail. The clarity of the day was not lost on her remembrance; she meant to hold onto the words from that verbal encounter, using them as fuel for an ever-growing fire in the pit of her soul. Her wrath had been dipped with an anticipation that ate at her very core. She would find the man that had taken so much, and ensure that she took every last ounce of him before grinding him into nothingness...

"You can't stop what's coming," Nemesis replied, brandishing a long blade in his hand. Calixte stared after him with a look of intense hatred in her eyes, brandishing a pistol at his head. "You cannot defy that which is fate, young lioness. Fate will have its way in the end, whether it suits your pithy little needs or not."

Calixte screamed at the man, firing into his face with every round that she had. Pulpy remains tore from the Inquisitor's skull, and yet still he proceeded at her, brandishing that long knife. Five rounds, six, then seven hit their mark, destroying his eyes and taking out wads of flesh from his cheeks, and still he could not be stopped.

"What the Hell are you?"

Nemesis moved towards her, reaching for her as she began to back away, attempting to reload her clip. The wordless beast looked at her with blank, unseeing eyes, and she could feel the tension begin to rise up inside of her. She backed away as far as she could go, hitting the far wall with a thud. He was right over top of her, as he lunged for her—

"This is your reckoning, Vänæzriná..."

—And she blocked his dive with her arms, pushing away from him with all of her strength. She wrestled with him, trying to remove the knife from over her heart. With as much strength as she could muster, she put the gun up to his chin, firing wantonly into the base of his skull. Blood flew everywhere, and still the man wouldn't die. She began to lose her grip on his wrist, as his strength began to overpower her. The knife slowly began to inch towards her chest, and she could feel the cold metal bearing down on her.

"N-n-n-no," she stammered, feeling the tip make contact with her flesh. His force was renewed with the sensation, as the tip began to slowly work its way into her chest. The pain radiated outward as it began to gouge into her, sending her heart racing into overdrive. She began to lose focus, forced into shock as the knife began to tear through the lining of her chest. Her last stunned visual was of Nemesis, glaring at her. And yet it wasn't his face... it was her face, gleaming at her with the pride of life burning in her eyes.

"N-no!"

No...

No...

"No!" Calixte shouted, shooting up from the bed in a huff, searching the room wildly for her would-be attacker. The commotion jolted Dariea awake beside her, startling her somewhat.

"Baby, are you having it again?" She muttered, moving to sit up beside her. Calixte swung her legs out from underneath the silk sheets, bringing her feet gingerly down to the floor as she doubled over, trying to regain her composure. Her body was drenched with perspiration from the intensity of the dream.

"I'm sorry, love," Calixte whimpered, running her hands through her hair as she rose up from her hunched position. "I didn't mean to wake you up, I swear. I just lost track of myself for a minute there..."

Dariea shushed her, crawling on her knees over to where Calixte sat. She rose up behind her, wrapping her arms lightly around her lover's chest. She softly caressed her matted hair off the back of her neck, gently kissing her there before resting her head on her shoulder. "Baby, please. I know what you're going through. I know how hard it's been since you learned the truth. But we have to get you help for these dreams; you're going to tear yourself up thinking about this so often!"

Calixte turned her head slightly, nestling her cheek up against Dariea's before sighing. She shook her head, raising up from the bed gently enough to allow her paramour the opportunity to lean back away from her. Calixte walked steadily towards the balcony window of their private quarters, looking out into the darkness of the deep night engulfing Tsyion. The moon was still high enough in the sky to bathe the opening in a soft, milky light, casting a faint reflection of Calixte's face in the window. Her fingers gently traced the mask that she now wore, to cover the damage which had been done unto her, her thoughts racing in an absolute madness. A madness from whence there was no escape, nor absolution.

My God, what have you become woman...

Dariea rose from the soft bed herself, staring after Calixte. Her slender frame had been cast in a delicate silhouette in the moonlight, illuminating the curvature of her figure by the window. Calixte pulled the doors open slightly, feeling a rush of cool night air flow through. It was extraordinarily mild for a late November evening—it made no matter to Calixte, of course. It could have been near zero degrees Celsius, and still she would've stood by the window, staring off into the long night.

"Please come back to bed with me," Dariea pleaded as she walked towards her. "I promise you this, if you find it in your heart to come back to bed with me, I'll wake you up in the morning with my body pressed against yours."

Calixte turned her head towards her, grinning slightly. "I figured you would wake me up like that anyways. You normally do, my love."

Dariea scoffed at her, moving to stand beside her. The cool air was a bit refreshing this early in the morning; yet as beautiful as the serene night was, she couldn't help but feel worried for her lover. Calixte had never been the same person since the phone conversation from the terrorist. Her love for Dariea had not been overly affected so much—if anything, it had grown considerably since their engagement. But behind closed doors, away from the leering eyes of the public, Calixte was being rent asunder by the unseen force of an evil that was breathlessly waiting to rip at the very essence of her being.

"Calixte," she said with a more serious inflection. "Please come back with me. You need your rest. You have the formal revue tomorrow morning with the Horizon VII crew, and that could last you for several hours!"

Calixte sighed, nodding with her back turned. "I know; believe me, I know. I just..." She trailed off, unwilling to finish her statement. Calixte stared off into the night, wrapping her arms around herself as she leaned against the door gently, her body wired with stress. Dariea placed her hand on her shoulder, drawing close as she found a way to finish. "I just can't shake it, Dariea. He's out there somewhere, and he's waiting for me. He has something conjured up, something planned. I don't know how to find him before he finds me."

Dariea rubbed at her shoulder, letting her hand drop down across her chest. "Whatever happens, baby: I'm here. Okay? I'm with you, always."

Calixte nodded. "I need you."

Dariea gently turned her around, moving in close to her. Her lips touched Calixte's, reinvigorating her spirit if only for a moment. Her love was like a tonic for her soul, enriching everything that the Inquisitor sought to devastate. She wrapped her arms around Dariea, bringing her ever closer for a tender embrace. The porcelain touch of her skin was so soft and delicate against her own. It was the intensity of her love, and her affection for her mistress that kept the fear from ravaging her whole.

Dariea motioned for Calixte to follow her back to the bed. "You can have me." Calixte nodded gently, looking after her.

Always...

[New Azura]

An Audience with the Marauder
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
The Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Sunday, the 7th of September, 2012 — 11:30 AM

Standing in the presence of Her Graceful Elegance was an honor that no man deserved, least of all a test pilot-turned-astronaut. Captain Tia'ryn Voreul stared wildly around him, feeling his pulse pick up as the crew of the Horizon VII moonshot began touring the hallowed halls of Praeclarus. The four man crew had assembled at Vandengaarde at 0700 for an unexpected audience with the Most Dread Sovereign Vänæzriná, Calixte I. The Marauder, Tia'ryn thought proudly, wishing me well on a voyage to the stars. It was almost too great an honor to imagine, all things considered. Seven years of training for the proud day when an Azuran would first set foot on another world, and boldly look beyond to the next one had taught him to value every single moment. This moment was more than he could possibly have imagined.

Things had been so chaotic in the wake of the failed coup attempt in May; for awhile, there had been talk that funding from the Imperial Space and Aeronautical Commission, or ISAC would be canned. After all, manned space flight was but an afterthought when the government itself had endured so horrible a blow. Yet to her credit, the Vänæzriná had insisted on carrying on with the flights. Project Horizon was an initially ambitious, overarching project to put an Azuran on the Moon; now, it had become a symbol of restoration, and one of national hope. Yet it was not lost on Tia'ryn, or those with him at Project Horizon that the true symbol of hope and restoration was sitting upon the Throne of Az'ra Vor in Praeclarus. Calixte was something of an internal hero as it was, having saved the program from the chopping block in the wake of the failed coup. Yet it was more than that—her resolve upon taking the throne, uniting the country around her... she was indispensable, and rapidly becoming a successful ruler charting novel territory for her Kingdom.

"What do you say, Tia'ryn," his colleague Captain Ris'toth Temyn whispered as an armed sentry led them through the cavernous main foyer through a residential hall. 'Big Ris' as the crew had come to call him appeared to be as awestruck as he was. "You ever seen anything like this before, miho? I say we need to have ourselves some digs like this built when we're famous."

Tia'ryn slapped him hard, albeit playfully on the back. "Ris, mate, I would prefer to actually get my ass up there and get back on the ground before I start talking about rewards. Spam in a can doesn't get a say in compensation, compadre."

"Shit, I don't even care," Ris'toth chided him loosely. "When I get back, shit's gonna get real then my friend. I want a big house on the big side of town; a nice broad with big titties that doesn't complain when I tell her to get in the kitchen and cook. That's what I want out of this partner; that, and lots of cash."

"What about pride, you ignorant ass?" Mission Commander Ard'an Neust was none too pleased with Ris's chauvinistic demeanor, nor his cavalier approach to the goings-on within Project Horizon. "Isn't pride enough of a motivation to risk your life up there on the Moon?"

Big Ris nodded solemnly towards the Commander. Neust was a veteran of the program, having flown four different missions in both the Pegasus and Ares Projects. He was effectively bulletproof, and had handpicked the crew to fly with him on Horizon VII. Unfortunately for the Colonel, his original choice for Science Officer on the mission, Dr. Cael Valaran had been a late scrub just two weeks before the launch. The only backup qualified to fly was a career fighter jockey—Ris'toth Temyn. Neust had made his displeasure known about the selection, and wasn't one to mince words for the sensibilities of those around him. Tia'ryn liked him well enough, but he did have a tendency to become something of a boy scout when it came to the space program. All things considered, a man who had given as much as Neust had probably deserved the extra leeway.

"I want all of you to pay your respects to Her Graceful Elegance as soon as we approach her Throne, understood?" Neust turned towards the mission's Service Module Pilot, Lieutenant Dyn'ti Imque, mellowing his tone: "Dyn'ti, you take the lead in presenting the crew, understood?"

"Aye, sir," Imque motioned in the affirmative. As the lone astronaut not landing on the Moon, Neust had convinced the crew to allow Imque the opportunity to take the lead in dealing with the press, or at political functions where esteem was to be gained. It was a token gesture to the man who'd drawn the short end of the stick, and would be orbiting in space while the rest of the crew touched down at Mare Marginis to begin thirty-six hours of extravehicular activities. Imque was a solid enough pilot and a career military man like Tia'ryn was; still, he could sense that there was a considerable amount of disappointment when he'd been assigned as the orbital point man for the lunar excursion.

The sentry ahead of them veered off to the right near a large, gold-inlaid set of doors which extended some twenty feet up from the floor to the high, marble-vaulted ceiling. The sheen off the doors in the bright light of the corridor was radiant, to say the least. As if on cue, the doors opened before the four astronauts, revealing an incomprehensibly large hall before them. Compared to the rest of the large mansion, the Throne Room was likened unto a giant. As they walked under the arching doorway, they entered into a cavernous audience hall, with what had to be thousands of uniformed Legionnaires from all service branches standing at attention. Regimental flags were interspersed throughout the crowd as a silenced hush resonated, and he noticed that the various mission flags from ISAC's past were hung above the path that they now walked, extending some fifty yards up to the podium. As the soldiers standing at attention turned as the astronauts passed by, Tia'ryn was suddenly awestruck by the majesty set out before them.

The black marble flooring was flecked with gold and silver, and cut a straight path all the way up to the permanent riser upon which the throne sat. It was surrounded by a narrow channel of water, modeled after a type of serene reflecting pool that collected water from a wall fountain on either side of the throne; crystal clear liquid running down the mirrored surface. Vast windows set into the ceiling allowed natural light to dance across fluted sconces and the intricate scroll work of the cherry balustrade above them. The throne itself was magnificent—a large, indomitable seat with deep blue padded velvet set into a gold frame with silver guards around the legs. A ring of pearls and diamonds ran up and down the sides of the chair back, gleaming in the light which shone down from above. A narrow canopy was set up over the throne, hanging with garland and roses upon the mahogany wood which composed it. Ivy and rose bushes were draped from the wall behind the podium in between the two fountains.

Oh, my God... the Vänæzriná...

Once he set his gaze upon her, it was the only thing that he could look to. Tia'ryn had seen pictures and video of the Vänæzriná before, obviously; he knew that she was an attractive young woman. Yet he was dumbfounded by her radiant beauty, understanding at once why 'Graceful Elegance' was chosen as her royal styling. Her porcelain skin looked like that of an angel, with her flowing red hair curled down to the base of her neck, hidden only by the crystalline tiara that adorned the crown of her head. The shade of her deep red lipstick was contrasted with the flowing white silk gown that she wore; it clung to her chest, revealing the slender curvature of her body as it snaked down towards the floor, covering the shoes on her feet. Yet even in that beauty, the navy blue plate that she wore over the right side of her face stood out. It was a special medical prosthetic designed by the Enrialist Imperium during the coup, when her face had been badly burned. A crystal-like edifice was in place where her right eye should have been, bright as an orange-tinted amber jewel inset there. Her left eye was as blue as the velvet of her throne, yet it was pooled and filled with a type of quiet, weary resolve that could only come with the weight of the world pressing down on her. Her majesty, her beauty... it was more than Tia'ryn had bargained for when he agreed to travel with the rest of the crew for the audience.

There was another woman on the podium with Calixte, seated behind her and to the left—the Vänæzriná's right—on a chair designed somewhat similarly to the main throne. She was dressed in a thin, veil-like white tunic that revealed significant swaths of exposed skin on her abdomen, and wore her hair as dark as Calixte's hair was red. Though he wasn't entirely sure, Tia'ryn surmised that the woman was probably the Vänæzriná's consort, Lady Dariea. She arose from her seat as the Vänæzriná stepped down towards the lip of the reflecting pool, holding a gold-plated scepter in her hand. A colorfully dressed sentry, bearing a very large and very intricate saber stepped down beneath the Vänæzriná on the platform, holding the sword high into the air.

"Children of Azura! Kneel before Her Graceful Elegance, the Most Dread Sovereign Vänæzriná Calixte, who is Marauder! By the Grace of Almighty God, Granditer Imperatrix of the Sovereign Covenant Priory, Righteous Defender of the Orders of Faith and Virtuous Queen of Your Birthright!"

In unison, the military audience erupted into a gruff, proud chorus: "Hail! Daughter of Tsyion! The Lord Be With You!"

"And with you, my friends," the Vänæzriná said warmly, holding her hand out towards the admiring crowd. She stepped down across a narrow footbridge that connected the marble pathway to the podium behind her, walking towards the four astronauts who were plastered to the floor in a kneel of respect. "Please, Sons of Azura, you would do my heart proud to stand as an equal with me."

Tia'ryn slowly rose after that, carefully allowing his comrades to rise in unison with him. The Queen was within physical reach of them now, standing dead center in the path and looking them all over directly. Dyn'ti reverently placed a closed fist over his heart, dropping his head in respect to his ruler. "Hail Vänæzriná! I present unto you the prime crew of Horizon VII, in honor of the Children of Azura and the Faith by which we gain our strength."

Calixte nodded proudly, placing her hand gently on his arm. "Lieutenant Dyn'ti Imque, the Service Module Pilot. A supreme fighter pilot in your own right, with twenty-four confirmed kills during the First Asavona Campaign. Your reputation precedes you, sir."

"M'lady," he gulped nervously. "It is an honor, ma'am."

Calixte politely nodded at him, smiling before turning to the man beside him. "Captain Ris'toth Temyn, Science Officer. The third Azuran onto the lunar surface. Another stalwart of the Asavona Campaign, if I recall correctly. A veteran of two earlier flights in the space program as well."

"Yes, m'lady." Was all that Ris'toth dared respond with. Tia'ryn nodded, then felt his heart speed up as the Vänæzriná's fixation turned to him. Her gaze, even with the prosthetic over her right eye was leering and penetrable; for a moment, it took his reserves of strength not to show his own nervousness.

"Captain Tia'ryn Voruel, of the CXXIst Imperial Legion—the Mighty Marauders of CordonWatch. You and I seem to share something in common, my friend!" Calixte beamed, holding out her hand to touch Tia'ryn's shoulder. He was walking on water, even standing still.

"It would be a dishonor to equate my lowly stature with the grandeur of Her Graceful Elegance."

Calixte frowned, shaking her head. "I'm just a woman, Captain. You, on the other hand? Your reputation precedes you as well—the youngest Naval aviator ever selected to the astronaut corps. Four months ago, you were flying combat missions over your capital city in defense of this nation. Now, you're the youngest Azuran to ever fly in space, and the second to ever set foot upon the Moon. It is a legacy to cherish, Tia'ryn."

The Captain bowed deeply, unable to muster the words. The Vänæzriná then came to the last man in line, Mission Commander Neust. "And the Colonel who started it all," she proudly offered, shaking Ard'an's hand. "The last remaining member of the astronaut corps from the heady days of Project Pegasus, and a veteran of the Peninsula Campaign. The very first Azuran to ever set foot upon the lunar surface; Commander, it is an honor and a privilege."

Neust bowed in respect. "Your Graceful Elegance, the honor is wholly mine. With respect to the crew of Horizon VII, we present ourselves before the Vänæzriná to your revue, ma'am. I pray we meet the expectations of m'lady."

Calixte grinned broadly. "Above and beyond the call, Commander. Come, let us enjoy the hour."

[New Azura]

A Disturbance in the Force
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
The Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Sunday, the 7th of September, 2012 — 11:45 AM

For all the pomp and circumstance of the formal revue, Calixte was struck by the seeming simplicity of the proceedings. The throne room had been made over into an art nouveau palace—vast ceramics lined the upper walls in concert with the vaulted window ceilings; potted palms and assorted bits of flora were placed everywhere. Even so, with all the gold-flecked marble and lavishly tinged décor, the meeting with the prime crew of the Horizon VII lunar mission was exceedingly down to earth. It was a bit refreshing, actually, being able to allow her guard to slip for a bit within a decidedly less-political forum than she was used to. Commander Neust and his crew would be leaving for the Moon in just one short week; before they left, it had been decided that the historic prime crew of the Horizon VII mission be granted an audience with the Vänæzriná at Praeclarus.

A formal presentation, an informal luncheon, and some feel-good vibes.

Calixte quietly walked through the back halls of the residential quarter, taking her time as she made her way back around towards the banquet hall for the state luncheon. The crew would have already been seated at this point; once the festivities began, she would make an inconspicuous entrance to try and alleviate some of the attention that was surrounding her. Truthfully, the pressure of leading a nation into an uncertain future was but a pittance compared to the pressure of having one's every move hounded by an 'adoring public' and the leering eyes of the press. She had reveled in the glory of victory for several weeks after taking the throne, yet the constant vigil held over her reign was quickly becoming a tiresome—albeit unavoidable—occurrence in her daily life. Like a blood-sucking parasite, they had latched onto her daily itinerary and had refused to shake loose.

Calixte stopped for a second, by a large, ornate bust of her father's predecessor, tracing her finger along the base plate. It had been four months since the coup attempts had been put down, and yet life had in no discernible manner returned to any sense of normalcy. The reconstruction of Tsyion had been a welcome diversion to the growing distrust of certain elements in her own assemblage—more than a dozen top military leaders had been imprisoned on the charges of conspiring with the various conspirators of the 'May Revolt', and a handful more had been quietly 'exiled' to parts unknown, so to speak. She could not from the start claim to be bloodless in guilt; she had done her tour through Hell as the other loyalists had in the fighting, and her face bore the evidence of as much. Yet her consent to the execution and imprisonment of the guilty through secretive means was a corner turned in the countenance of her character. She was not the 'innocent daughter' that most in the country believed her to be any longer. It was something that gnawed at her very core.

The reconstruction efforts in the capital city were progressing well enough, yet the tides of war had barely receded when the coalition of arrogant states led by Akimonad had launched a blockade of Gothic waters, triggering a worldwide recession that severely hampered the economic recovery of Azura. The newly christened Sacred Covenant had been nigh overwhelmed with the tremendous burden placed upon it by the economic turmoil abroad. Calixte lucked out in this regard, managing to produce enough oil domestically to help meet the needs in the interim without relying on the Imperial Overseas Strategic Reserve. Food production was diverted from the colonies to the Azurans, which had been a trifle bit unpleasant to deal with. No sooner had the blockade effectively collapsed than the Kraven Reich had begun beating the war drums yet again, this time to lead a punitive expedition into Tyrrhenia. As an effective gatekeeper in the east, such a maneuver immediately affected the Azurans, and Calixte had countered that particular crisis by sending a delegation to Fortress Norska to work with the budding Gothic Alliance.

These damn Gothic Lords will be the death of me.

As Calixte pondered the tribulations that faced her countrymen in the weeks ahead, her mind was attuned to the fact that from somewhere behind her, footsteps were resonating. They were slow, and they were thoughtful, but they were footsteps nonetheless. The Vänæzriná turned slowly... and was unexpectedly greeted with a disturbing visage. Dariea was coming down the hallway behind her, slumped over with her hands pressed tightly against her temples. She staggered a few steps, then extended her arm out against the wall to steady herself. Calixte took off at a dead sprint, covering the fifty feet or so between them in a hurry. It took her about a split second to realize that something was wrong with her, and another half second to get her ass in gear and get towards her.

"Dariea! What's wrong? Talk to me!"

Dariea shook her head, showing no outward expression of pain per se. "I... I don't know. It was weird; I was just walking along, trying to catch up with you when this massive... I don't know, pressure started to fall on me. Then it cleared up, and yet it felt like someone was talking to me in thoughts. I was conversing with someone, almost. It was unintelligible for the most part, except for one thing."

Calixte shook her head, trying to make sense of the confusion rhetoric. Dariea didn't seem to be speaking out of her mind, but the whole episode was almost too incredulous to believe. "Wait, wait, slow down. What are you talking about, 'conversing' in your mind?"

Her lover looked up into her eyes, making direct contact. "I know it sounds crazy. It feels crazy, believe me. But I was conversing with someone in my mind, and it was definitely not my imagination. I couldn't understand who was speaking, or even what they were saying at first. But then I got a very clear picture in my mind of what they were trying to say."

She would have to humor her. "What was it, Dariea?"

The look in her eyes was genuine. "Tia'ryn Voreul. The voice kept repeating his name."

Calixte stared blankly at Dariea, trying to make sense of the nonsensical message. "Tia'ryn Voreul, the astronaut? What could he possibly represent, beyond his obvious role in the Horizon VII mission? I mean, did you get any sense that we should be worried about him?"

Dariea shook her head apologetically. "I don't know if we should be worried about him, or worried for him..."

[New Azura]

The Melody of Discontent
The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
The Capital District of the City of Tsyion, Azura
Sunday, the 7th of September, 2012 — 12:05 PM

The heraldry of the formal revue had given way to the obnoxiously snobbish, hoity-toity political function true money could buy. Captain Voreul had taken up a cautious position near the hors d’oeuvres, nervously eyeing the caviar and calamari seaweed wraps that were sat out over ice near the wine table. The most he could handle was a couple slices of Ozanrian cheese on saltine crackers, all things considered; everything else looked like it belonged in a pig’s trough. His pedestrian background amongst the lower middle class had taught him the difference between rich man’s food and real food, and this garbage was no real form of sustenance.

I hope we can get out of here soon. This place is making me anxious…

Tia’ryn wasn’t one for a lot of attention, and every politico in Tsyion had turned out to wish the crew of the Horizon VII mission well before their historic launch. Mission Commander Neust, who was much more comfortable in crowded settings, was busy schmoozing with the various state diplomats in attendance. Voreul envied him his courage amongst the policymakers, but was even more envious of those servants who were moving back and forth between the few tables that were occupied, serving drinks and food inconspicuously without so much as a glance given them otherwise. They were able to bleed through the vast throng of people standing in the open space, conversing without a care to their presence.

Lieutenant Imque was snaking his way through a group of robust looking old statesmen laughing over some undisclosed yarn, looking positively green. The young Service Module Pilot was no great shakes at political statesmanship either, and made no bones about hiding his social anxiety around large groups of people. When Tia’ryn caught sight of him, he waved the young astronaut down. “Dyn’ti, hey! Come over here, mate.”

Imque shook his head exhaustedly as he approached, painting a bewildered glance across his face. “Captain, this is outrageous! We’ve only been at this for like fifteen minutes, and I’m already trying to figure out a way to slit my wrists.”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Voreul said reassuringly, patting him on the shoulder as the young astronaut hung his head dejectedly. “When we get out of here, I’ll buy you a Toni Bar at the post confectionary. That’ll pick your spirits up, yeah?”

“An early ride to the Moon would be nice,” Imque said with hesitancy dripping from his voice. “When I volunteered for the astronaut program, I thought that I would get lost in the shuffle with the more experienced candidates. I had no idea they would even select me for a mission, let alone Horizon VII. I don’t think I’m cut out for this, Captain.”

“Dyn’ti, you’re the best Service Module Pilot in the corps, and I wouldn’t trust my life or anyone else’s more thoroughly than I do you. Going to the Moon and getting back is the easy part; once that’s taken care of, all of the press coverage and media attention will be a piece of cake.”

The Lieutenant was less than convinced. “Ah, I guess. If you say so, sir; I just want to go home, frankly. These sleepless nights, these twenty hour days… they’re starting to wear me out.”

“Yeah, well…” The Captain started, catching sight of Captain Temyn out of the corner of his eye. “Look at it this way; your life will never be boring again. And you could always take a page out of Ris’toth’s playbook.”

At the mention of his name, Lieutenant Imque turned to scan the crowd behind him, finding the Science Officer flirting with a trio of women in formalwear. From the looks of things, ‘Big Ris’ was trying to seduce them out of their clothes right there on the spot. “The Captain is a player, sir. Quite a lady’s man, isn’t he?”

“I guess,” Voreul mused. “As long as he thinks with his head and not his dick while we’re on the Moon, he can bed whoever he wants to,” Tia’ryn laughed. He threw up his hands in exasperation, stifling his amusement. “I must say though, I could use a page or two out of his playbook. I—”

“Captain Tia’ryn Voreul?” A voice startled him from behind. The Captain turned anxiously, looking face to face with a short, rotund little man in a servant’s outfit. “Would you please follow me, sir? A fair lady requested the honor of speaking with you in private.”

Voreul studied the man carefully, feeling a sense of nervous dread flow into his veins. “A ‘fair lady’, sir? Could we not just talk right here? I’m not overly comfortable with people I have never met before.”

“Trust me, sire,” the steward said with a wink. “You will want to meet this fine young woman; she awaits you out there on the balcony overlooking the south portico.”

Captain Voreul sighed, picking up his cap from the ice table behind him while looking over his shoulder towards Dyn’ti. “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, recruit the Captain for a rescue mission. I’m about to get accosted by a fifty year old cougar with a thing for banging famous people.”

“Aye, sir,” Dyn’ti shouted with a salute to boot as Tia’ryn made his way behind the steward towards the glass wall along the south wall of the banquet hall. The chubby little fellow was a kooky sort of man; he didn’t bear the standard appearance of the other servants in the Hall; he was far less flattering than they were, moving to and fro. Yet there was a distinct purpose in his near-trot towards the wall, as if he were purposefully trying to get out from the throng without drawing attention to them.

“Through this door here, sire,” the steward said politely, opening the innocuous door on the tinted window wall. “Please take care, sir. When you are ready to come back inside, I will open the door for you.”

“Um, okay?” The Captain asked confusedly as he was ushered through the door by the steward. When the sun started to beat down on the top of his head, the door quickly shut behind them. Scowling, Tia’ryn put his cover back on, shading his eyes from the brightness of the sun as he did so. “Ah, damn it all…”

“Not many use vulgarities in my presence these days,” a gentle voice spoke out loud to his left. He turned quickly, feeling that sense of dread in his stomach fall through to his feet. Ahead and to his left stood a tall woman, wearing a dress startlingly similar to the one that the Vänæzriná had on during the revue. Her hair was dressed in the same fashion, although the woman herself was turned away from him.

Take care, my ass…

"Your Graceful Elegance, my sincerest apologies!" The Captain sputtered, taking his cover off immediately. "I wasn't aware that you had requested my presence here, or else I would have—"

"Call me Calixte," the Vänæzriná said bluntly, keeping her back turned towards him. "It would make me feel better."

"I don't know that I could do that, m'lady. It would be improper coming from someone as lowly as I am."

With a sudden swiftness that caught him off-guard, the Vänæzriná spun on her heels in a fluid motion, drawing forth a revolver from the granite railing behind her. In the blink of an eye, she had it trained on his shocked green eyes; without a hint of remorse, it was clear that she would not hesitate to use it if she felt it were necessary. "I do not appreciate the candor, Captain. Nor do I appreciate the sentiments behind your arrival."

"M-m'lady?" Voreul stuttered, throwing his hands up into the air. "I d-don't understand, I—"

"Nemesis," Calixte said intently. "Did he send you here? Has he planted you in ISAC?"

"Nemesis?"

The Vänæzriná cocked the hammer on her antique revolver, keeping her demeanor low and cool. "Don't play dumb with me, rocket man. Who is your contact inside the space program? Who convinced you to 'volunteer' Captain?"

The look of consternation that flooded Tia'ryn's face was so overwhelming that he nearly evacuated his bowels. "M'lady, please! I didn't volunteer for the astronaut program—I was ordered to report for duty!"

Calixte shook her head, denying Tia'ryn's words. "That's not possible, Captain. Only volunteers are taken for the astronaut program. On my very orders, no one can be forced to go against their will."

The Captain shook his head profusely. "Ma'am, I thought it was common knowledge that I had been ordered to report to Vandengaarde on assignment. The orders were supposed to have come down from the top, ma'am."

"What 'top'," Calixte asked intently, keeping her pistol trained on him.

"The very top," Tia'ryn replied earnestly.

Calixte studied the young man for a moment, taking in his words as if to weigh their validity. He seemed genuine, but there was no chance in Hell that she would completely let her guard down without knowing for sure if he could be trusted. She slowly pulled the hammer back on her pistol, lowering it slowly as she eyed him warily. "Captain, I need to know who ordered you to report for training."

"M'lady, you could have just asked."

"Stow it," Calixte said forcefully, retaining her poised demeanor. "Your name has come up in a very important dossier, the likes of which could shake this country to its very foundation. I need to know the name of the officer who sent you to Vandengaarde."

Captain Voreul looked at her blankly, feeling the nervousness ebb into a rising tide of anger at having had a gun pointed at him. "It was Lieutenant General Vita'san Moran, Calixte. He ordered me to report to Vandengaarde for training several months ago; it wasn't until they put me in the damned suit that I even realized what was going on."

Calixte's countenance perked up at the mention of General Moran, one of Viktor Valeria's underlings. "Lieutenant General Moran ordered you to Vandengaarde? And he didn't tell you why you were being sent there?"

"No, ma'am," Tia'ryn spoke carefully, nervously eying the pistol that Calixte still held by her side.

"Damn it all," Calixte said bitterly, sliding the gun into a hitherto unseen holster strapped to her back. "Captain Voreul, I must apologize for our rather... unpleasant introduction this afternoon."

"Unpleasant?" Tia'ryn exclaimed in outrage. "You held a gun on me!"

"I know," Calixte sighed quietly. She held out her hands as she approached, looking like the weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders. "Please accept my sincerest apologies. It's just... things are going on behind the scenes that most of the country doesn't know about. There are a great number of people who wish me—and my dream for Azura—dead, Captain. Your name came up unexpectedly this morning, and I had to be sure which side of the fence you were on."

"Which side of the fence?" The Captain asked confusedly. "Isn't it obvious by what I'm training for, m'lady?"

"You would be surprised, Tia'ryn," Calixte said passionately, "how well my enemies can camouflage their true intentions. I'm still not totally convinced that I can trust you... but I'm wary enough of hopeless fear to extend a bit of faith your way for the moment."

"M'lady," Tia'ryn said with genuine sorrow in his voice, "I wasn't aware of your predicament. If I had known, I would have—"

"I know," she said quietly, "I know. I wish we had met under better circumstances. For now though, I need you to do me a very important favor. I feel as though our two fates are more intertwined than most might like to believe."

Tia'ryn shook his head. "M'lady?"

Calixte put her hand on his shoulder, looking at him with intense secrecy. "Watch yourself, Captain. I cannot guarantee you that the days ahead wont be rough ones on you. I need you to pull through, until I can figure out why your name popped up today."

"I will do my best," the Captain said agreeably.

The Vänæzriná nodded. "I'm not so sure you don't have a part to play in this story yet."