Editing Eternity (Warhammer High) (section)

== Parentage ==

=== Vacation Time ===


Jake Seager, Lord and Bond Prince of Nocturne, crossed his legs on the manicured sands of Carshim and watched his son play in the surf.  N’bel, it seemed, was deciphering the myriad nuances of fluid dynamics, deliberately building a little sand castle at the top of the waves’ reach and intently studying the way it crumbled when the waves tore it down.

His wife, Crown Princess Venus, was sitting beside him, relaxing on the blanket.  The beach was nearly deserted at that moment, fortunately enough.  Then, it was the crack of dawn.  In a few hours, the place would be swamped with tourists.  Until then, they had a modicum of privacy.

N’bel giggled happily as the waters collapsed his creation again.  Venus glanced over at him and smiled to herself.  “Glad he’s having fun.”

“It was a good call.”  Jake yawned and stretched his arms, popping them behind his back.  “Me, I’m glad they rebuilt that weak gym here.  No pool or cyclic lifters here last time.”

“Mmm.”  She glanced up at him, curious.  “You okay?  You look tired.”

“Little bit,” Jake admitted.  “It was damn loud last night.”

“Eh.  Someone celebrating a wedding,” Venus said.

“Probably.”  Jake fell silent as N’bel rebuilt his little fort.  “Persistent, isn’t he?”

Venus chuckled.  “Takes after his grandfather.”

Jake rose to his feet and brushed off the sand.  “I think I’ll show him the correct means of skipping rocks,” he said.

Venus set her head back down and closed her eyes behind her sunglasses.  The sound of her husband’s voice and that of her son mingled with the sound of the gentle waves, and the distant rumble of passing boats.  Carshim’s massive in-land seas weren’t very saline, and were kept clean with almost obsessive vigilance by the world’s casino-boss owners.  It felt a bit manufactured to her, but N’bel was having the time of his six years of life, and that was good enough for her.

It had been thirty-four years since the end of the Great Crusade.  Jake and Venus had been married for thirteen years now.  Twelve years of rulership over Nocturne, ceded to them by Venus’ father Vulkan while he retook leadership of the Salamanders to lead them on the Solar Expansion.  It had been six years since she and Jake had brought little N’bel into the world, to the overwhelming support of the entire Royal Family and the populations of Terra and Nocturne alike.  He had been the first of the great grandchildren of the Emperor, and though his eyes matched his mother’s endless, radiant red, the rest of his physical appearance was so close to his father’s that Jake had joked it was only a matter of time before they were mistaken for each other over the vox.

He was growing up.  No latent psychic talent, Magnus had discreetly informed her, but he had a quick mind and strong, healthy physical development that nobody needed psychic power to see.  He was a voracious reader, and so far his favorite hobby was sitting in his father’s lap, listening spellbound as Jake paged through the colossal archive of holos he had taken of Terra before moving to Nocturne.

Venus smiled up into the cloudy sky.  She had been a bit hesitant to accept motherhood into her life, despite her words to the contrary to her own mother, Misja.  Since N’bel’s birth, however, she had been enjoying nearly every day of it.  It wasn’t a series of momentous occasions, like the holos had had her believe.  The little things – the joy on N’bel’s face when they took him out for a night of fun in Clymene, the pride she felt when he eagerly displayed his newest alchemic concoction – were nearly as memorable.

The sound of shuffling feet from up the shore caught her ear.  A pair of tourists were making their way down to the water.  Carshim graciously allowed the members of the Royal family unlimited stay in their luxurious hotels and casinos, thinking that the presence of such classy and important people would increase their draw more than any advertising campaign ever could.  They were probably right, too.

The tourists froze dead solid when they spotted Venus’ distinctive appearances.  She was idly wondering whether they were going to do something she’d have to make them regret when their hurried conversation reached her ears.

“It’s her!  Princess Venus herself!” a man whispered.  “I…I can’t, I don’t want to bother her,” he said.

“Just go ask!  The worst she can say is no,” the woman said back.

“The worst she can do is sic that Treasury sniper over there on me!” the man said back.

Venus rolled her eyes.  He just wanted an autograph.  Whatever.  If he got close enough to ask, she’d give him one, if not, his own fault for being spineless.  She’d certainly signed a ton of shit since she arrived.  She was toying with the idea of just flat-out refusing to sign things after a few more days, just to mess with the prices of autographed merchandise on the black market.

She sat up and rolled her shoulders as the two squabbling tourists moved farther down the beach and spread their own blanket.  The clouds were growing deeper, she noticed.  She didn’t smell rain, but it wasn’t out of the question, either.

Jake knelt at his son’s side and showed him the rock in his palm.  “Do you know why this is the best kind of rock for skipping?” he asked.

N’bel thought for a moment.  “Because it’s small?  So it’s easy to throw?”

“Good answer.”  Jake lifted the flat stone and pressed it into his son’s hands.  “Now…throw it juuuust above the water’s surface, nice and level.

N’bel chucked the stone.  It landed in the water with a *splash*.  Jake grinned at his son’s disappointment.  “Here.  This time,” he said, lifting another.  “Watch.”  N’bel stared as his father skipped the stone off the waves.

“How did you do that?” N’bel demanded.

Jake picked up a third rock.  “The way you throw.  Don’t toss it out…” he mimed his son’s throw.  “Skip it away.”  He drew his arm back and flexed it like he was cracking a whip sideways.  The stone skipped twice before slamming into a wave and sinking.

Jake reached down and hefted a spherical stone.  “How well do you think this one will skip?” he asked.

“Uh…it’s round, so it would probably skip…” N’bel said.  His glimmering red eyes widened as realization struck.  “But all of yours were flat!” he said.

“Smart kid,” Jake said fondly.  He drew his arm back and skipped the little pebble, and it sank on the first impact.  “See?  Flat is more important than small.”

“Let me try!” N’bel said, grabbing another flat rock and hurling it out.  It skipped once before falling into the waves.  “Aw.  Why didn’t it work?” N’bel asked.

“Practice!” Jake said.  “Here.”  Jake grabbed another little rock from the sand.  “Try this one.”

N’bel accepted it and threw it, aping his father’s movements.  The rock skipped once before an unlucky wave swallowed it whole.  N’bel turned a sad face to his father.  “It didn’t work!”

“The waves worked against you.  Just keep trying.  No rocks to skip on Terra!” Jake reminded him.  “I learned here.”

“You’ve been here before?” N’bel asked.

“Sure have.  Mom and I came here for our honeymoon,” Jake explained.

“What’s a honeymoon?” N’bel asked.

Jake smiled.  “It’s what people do after a wedding,” Jake said.  “They go have fun for a while before they go live together.  We waited a while, though, since I wanted to finish university.”

“I thought you lived with Mom before you got married!” N’bel said.

“I did.  But we weren’t Prince and Princess until after that,” Jake said.

N’bel turned back to the water.  “So you came here after you got married?”

“Yep.”

“Is that when I happened?” N’bel asked, all innocence.

Jake raised his eyebrows a bit.  His own brilliant red eyes didn’t glow anywhere near as much as his wife’s or son’s, but they were still utterly inhuman.  He had grown to like them, though he toyed with the idea of having them altered to look like they had before the surgery had made him more than he had been.  “No, N’bel, you happened many years later,” he said truthfully.  “But hey.  You hungry?  I’m hungry,” he said, dodging that verbal bullet.  “Let’s go see if your mom is up for a snack, huh?”

Venus heard the entire exchange and sighed, though she couldn’t suppress a smirk at her husband’s verbal redirection.  She sat up as her family approached.  “I could go for a snack, sure,” she said, knowing full well that the other two could hear them at that range.  N’bel scampered up to her and eagerly showed off the collection of beach glass he had found.

His mother looked down at him with a curious grin.  “What do you have there?”

“I found these on the shore!  Is it crystal?” N’bel demanded to know, the light from his eyes scattering on the glass.

“Nope.”  Venus cocked her head.  “Well, technically.  It’s just ordinary glass.  See how it’s all smooth?  That’s because it gets worn down against the rocks and sand.”

“Where’s it from?” N’bel asked.

“People throw garbage over the sides of their boats.  This was probably a drink bottle once,” Jake said, walking up behind his son.

“TOO COOL!” N’bel squealed, holding the little glass pieces up to his glowing eyes.  They scattered red over the sand.  “Can I keep them?”

“Sure, if you find a place for them back home,” Venus said.

“I will!” N’bel promised.

The trio rose to their feet and donned their sandals.  Jake packed up the towel and they headed off to the little concession stand at the far end of the sandy beach.  As they passed the pair of tourists, the man scrambled to his feet.

The uniformed guard at the end of the long strip of shady sand raised one finger, but a glance from Venus halted him.  The man hesitantly approached her as she waved the boys along.  “Let me hazard a guess,” Venus said as the tourist approached.

“Get asked to sign things a lot here, do you, your Highness?” the man sheepishly asked.  “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Eh.  You get used to it.”  Venus took the proffered pen and scribbled her name on the little paper stub the man offered her.  “Here you go.”

“Thanks so much, your Highness,” the man said.  He probably wasn’t even twenty five years old.  The ring on his finger said ‘engagement getaway’ to Venus.
“Having a pre-wedding getaway, pal?” she asked.

The man blinked.  “Er…yes!  How did you know?”

“Just a guess.  We had our honeymoon here ourselves,” Venus said idly, hiking up her bag.  “Right.  Goodbye.”

“Yes, goodbye, and thanks!” the man said, before scurrying back to his companion with the paper stub thrust forward like a trophy.

Venus caught up to the others.  “Autograph hunter?” Jake asked.

“Yep.”  Venus grabbed some coins from her bag to buy a cup of lemon ice for N’bel.


That evening, as N’bel fell asleep in his room, his parents retired to their own.  Jake started up the hot tub and climbed in.  “Is this the same suite we had before?” Jake asked.

“Sure is,” Venus said.  She pulled her bathing suit back on and clambered in with him.  She tugged her hair free of its simple tail and sank into the bubbly water up to her neck.  “Mmm…that’s nice,” she said contentedly.  Jake switched the water off and let the jets swirl the water about.

“So…day one!” Jake said, squeezing her knee under the water.  “N’bel’s having fun.”

Venus slid sideways until she was resting against her husband’s side.  “We should show him the islands, that was the best part of the honeymoon,” she pointed out.

He slung his arm behind her shoulder and she squeezed his hand.  “Maybe we should,” Jake said quietly.  Beyond Venus being only inches from his ear, N’bel’s hearing was nearly as sharp as his mother’s.  “Do you want to try tomorrow?”

“Well, I promised to make a quick appearance with Overlord Lysander tomorrow evening, but after that, sure, we’re here for four months.”  Venus closed her eyes and slid her hand over the one Jake was resting on her shoulder.  “I forgot how nice the beaches are here.”

Jake leaned his head on hers and closed his eyes two.  The Prince and Princess sat in the tub for a while, just letting the faint sound of the water jets fill the room.  At length, Venus let the light from her eyes flood the water with red again.  “So…what do you want to do with him tomorrow?” she asked.

“We can decide tomorrow,” Jake said softly.  Venus glanced to the side to see his lips curled in a faint grin.

Venus smiled back.  “Do you have something else in mind for tonight?” she asked innocently.

Jake opened his eyes and gestured broadly.  “You bet.”  He flicked the fingers on the hand he had draped over his wife’s back and her bikini top fell away.  She tilted her head to the side and accepted Jake’s hungry kiss, as his other hand slid up her leg to her crotch and pulled the rest of her suit away.  “Fuck, you feel good,” Jake growled, palming her warm, firm breasts.

Venus pulled his swim trunks away and ran an approving hand over his shaft.  “You know…somehow, I don’t think I ever really appreciated how hung you are as a girl,” she murmured.

Jake grinned proudly as he reached out of the tub to grab a condom from his pants pocket.  “Not like you had others to compare it to.”

“True, but a few minutes on the net proved illuminating,” Venus giggled.  She rose from her seat on the tub bottom as Jake let out a bit of water.  She took the rubber ring from his hands and slid it down over him.  “There…” she let her hands fall away and leaned up, biting her lip with a sultry grin.  “Ready for me?”


As his wave crested, he slumped back against the marble wall of the tub, smiling happily at her from millimeters away.  “…Outstanding, baby,” he murmured, pecking her on the lips.

She followed him back, resting her head on his shoulder.  She leaned her forehead on the stone side and whispered softly in his ear.  “Any time, Jake, trust me.”

After the glow faded, Jake awkwardly extracted himself, tossed the condom, and dried up a bit.  Venus, her clean-up simpler, was already curled up in bed when Jake wobbled out of the bathroom.  He flopped down next to her on the massive mattress and immediately started raining playful little kisses on her shoulder.

Venus giggled tiredly.  “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing.”  Jake lingered on her neck, tracing his tongue along her ear line.  “Just feeling great.”

“Mmm.”  Venus watched his dark brown hair bob over her head as he moved up her face to her lips, and planted a slow, satisfied kiss.  “Remember when we tried that technique first?” she asked with a faint laugh.

Jake groaned as the memory returned.  “Fuck, I nearly broke my arm on the stone.  You were laughing so hard we had to stop.”

“Well, I’m happy to report that you did much, much better this time,” she said happily, sliding a warm hand over his stomach.

He grinned and sank down on his side next to her.  “I didn’t feel you come.”

“I didn’t.  It’s always good when you’re really taking the initiative, though,” she said.  His hand moved down to the neat little arrow of black fuzz over her clit, but she paused him with a request.

“No, thanks, baby, I’m not there.  It’s okay…we have a while,” she reminded him coyly.  His eyes slipped shut as he leaned in for one last kiss.

“All right.  Night, baby.”  He settled down on the mattress.  “Remember when your body temperature was so high we couldn’t do this?” he asked, indicating the few inches between them with a wave of his hand.

Venus snorted.  “It still is high, you’re just warmer too.”

“True.”  Jake yawned.  “…Hope N’bel didn’t hear us.”

“He did, I’m sure, but with any luck he has no idea what we were doing,” Venus laughed.

“…He did ask if he ‘happened’ while we were here the first time…” Jake recalled with trepidation.

Venus’ eyebrows rose.  “Oh.  Right.”  She paused.  “Eh.  We’ll see.”

Jake rose from the bed and silently moved to N’bel’s door.  He pressed his ear to the wood panel and listened.

His son was sound asleep, his breaths slow and shallow, his heartbeat steady.

Jake sighed in relief and made the classic ‘sleeping like a baby’ gesture to his wife.  She nodded and closed her eyes as Jake padded back to the bed.  “All’s well,” he reported.

“Good.”  Venus said sleepily.  Jake slipped on next to her and closed his eyes, and she idly listened as his biorhythm slowed into the quiet of sleep.

The following morning, Jake was sitting on a small rise of sand overlooking the endless blue of the sea.  His son was down in the surf, continuing his hydrodynamics experiment.  Venus was out in the placid water, swimming back and forth between two rubber buoys the casino put out.  Jake himself was watching the little waves lap at the sand and rock, just enjoying the sun on his skin.

A faint shuffling noise behind him drew his ear, and he looked over to see a woman in her early thirties walking up to him with a bag in her hand.  The thick shirt she had stretched over her ample belly was decorated in a motif that said ‘hormonal purchase’ to Jake’s eyes.  A pregnancy shirt, perhaps?

Yelling from the beach drew his attention.  Venus was splashing up to the shore where N’bel was building his sandcastle, and N’bel was furiously blocking his mother’s waves, protecting his fortress with his body.  Venus crouched down behind him and menacingly filled a bucket with water, as N’bel watched with terrified eyes.  Odd how he had gotten so much better at reading emotions in those glowing red eyes after his had started to resemble them; it’s not like he could see his own face.

The pregnant woman, meanwhile, had spread out a blanket on the sands above them, and was gingerly sitting down.  She was well on her way, Jake realized, with probably only four months left on her timer.

He realized he was staring and looked away, to where Venus and N’bel had apparently agreed to a non-aggression pact, and were busily building a moat.  Venus was explaining how making the edges of the moat deeper than the middle helped with draining, which struck Jake as perhaps a bit advanced for the beginner’s course, but his son was loving it.

A shadow fell over the sands near him.  He looked around to see a man he didn’t recognize standing beside the pregnant woman, lowering a cup of something down to her.  She took it gratefully, sipping at it through a straw.  As the man turned, he made eye contact with Jake.  Most people, when they did that, recoiled at the alien sight.  Others watched for a moment, distracted or mesmerized by the hypnotic movement of light and darkness around the tiny retina.  Even more ignored them in favor of watching his wife’s or son’s utterly startling eyes instead.

This man, however, hesitated, and slowly removed his own sunglasses in surprise.  He took a few steps closer, as a few of the Treasury guards at the edge of the beach tensed up.  The man muttered something under his breath.  “No…fucking way.”

Jake’s memory kicked into motion, spurred on by the man’s voice.  The pregnant woman was looking back and forth between him and the man, not seeing what was going on.  As Jake looked up at the tourist, his mind finally placed the voice.

“Alex Carlin?  What are you doing here?” Jake asked, rising to his feet.

“It…Jake?  Is that you?” Alex asked, astonished.  The two men crossed the distance and stared at each other.  “You…you look like you fell asleep in a tanning bed set to ‘pulsar,’” Alex said, flabbergasted.

“Hah!  Alex!  It is you!” Jake said, drawing the slightly shorter, but much broader man into a hug.  “How the fuck are you?”

“Awesome, actually, yourself?” Alex asked, pulling free.  Jake stepped away and looked over his friend from arm’s length.

“I’m good, I’m good…you look like a million credits, compared to the wedding,” Jake said.

“Hah!  More, actually,” Alex said with blatant false modesty.  “Hell, it’s great to see you again.  You here on vacation?”

“Sure am!” Jake said.  He glanced over at the woman on the towel.

Alex shook himself.  “Right.  Vanessa, this is a high school friend of mine, Jacob Seager,” Alex said.  Jake walked a few steps closer and held his hand low for her to shake, rather than force her to climb up.

She took and it and shook, then gingerly levered onto her feet anyway.  “Nice to meet you,” she said.  “You said you went to Imperator?”

“I did,” Jake confirmed.  “My family is here on vacation.  We’re here for four months, then back home so my son can start grade school.  He just turned six.”

“Wow, he’s that old already?  Man, all I have is holos,” Alex said, shaking his head.

“Well, shit, if you want to say hi, they’re right over there,” Jake said, jerking a thumb over the rise of sand obscuring his sight of the others.

“Yeah?  Think I will.  Wonder if she even recognizes me,” Alex chuckled, walking over.

Jake sat down next to the blanket as Vanessa eased back to join him.  “So, Vanessa, where are you from?” Jake asked.

“I was born on Shardenus, but I grew up all over.  Traders, you know,” she said.  She fanned herself with a broad paper fan, adjusting her hat.  “Alex and I worked together on Cordeline’s Wake.”

“Cool.”  Jake nodded.  “My wife and I went to high school with Alex, together.”

“That’s cute.”  Vanessa looked over to where her husband was disappearing behind the sand drift, already cupping his hand around his mouth to holler down to Jake’s family.  “If you went to high school in the same class, you must have been in the same class as the Royal Daughters.”

“Yep.”  Jake felt the opportunity for a prank arising and quashed it.  If he was lucky, Venus had already thought of it.

“We ran into Lady Primarch Freya at a dinner last year on a void platform over Dorrmammu,” Vanessa said.  “That was quite a reunion.”

Jake chuckled.  “I imagine.  Did she do the thing where she picks you up?”

“What?  No…though she did hug me so hard I bruised,” Vanessa said.  “That was a shock.”

Jake laughed.  “She didn’t mean anything by it.”  He looked over at the sand rise, from behind which Venus’ delighted voice was echoing.  “Sounds like Alex found them.”


“Alex!  Hahah, come here!” Venus squealed, wrapping her arms tight around the taller man.

Alex did so, fondly hugging her back.  “Venus, you look fantastic.  How have you been?”

“I’m great…but what are you doing here?  Just taking a break?” Venus asked.

“Well…sort of,” Alex said.  “Business isn’t as good as it was back when we had low standards, but it’s tolerable.  Frankly, I found it hard to work while Vanessa’s expecting,” he said.  “I keep dropping what I’m doing to go check on her.”

“You’re married?  Wow, good for you!” Venus said.  “And you have a baby on the way?”

“Yep.  Well, my wife does,” Alex chuckled.  He looked down to where N’bel was trying not to be seen behind his mother’s leg.  “So…are you Prince N’bel?” he asked, smiling.

“Yes,” N’bel said, somewhat cautiously.

Alex squatted down next to him and stuck out a hand.  “My name’s Alex.  I went to school with both of your parents,” he said.

N’bel gamely took his hand and shook.  Alex grinned.  “Wow.  You know, I bet you don’t think so yet, but you are just gonna be identical to your dad in a few more years.”

“Everyone says that!” N’bel grumbled.  His radiant eyes painted Alex’s face red as the much older man smiled knowingly.

“Well, sorry, kid.  How old are you now?”

“Six Standard, four Nocturnean,” N’bel said proudly.

“Wow.  Time flies,” Alex said.  He stood up and gestured over his shoulder.  “Want to meet Vanessa?”

“Sure,” Venus said.  She paused to slip her sandals back on and followed him over the rise.

Vanessa was applying sunscreen to her arms when Alex came back with Venus and N’bel in tow.  Jake watched with a hidden grin as she slowed, a few puzzle pieces falling into place.  She looked over at him.

Jake shrugged.  “We’re just civilians here.  And N’bel and I both dislike formalities among friends.  Strongly.”  He winked.

She shook her head and set down the squeeze bottle.  “Alex sure has had interesting friends.”

“He’s lucky that way,” Jake said drily.  Venus walked right up to Vanessa and crouched down.

“Hello…Vanessa, yes?  Pleasure to meet you,” she said, casting a knowing glance at Vanessa’s stomach as she did.  “I’m Venus.”

“Hello, Princess…Venus.  Sorry.”  Vanessa shook the proffered hand, though she didn’t manage to conceal her flinch at the warmth of it.  “And…you must be N’bel,” she said, stumbling a bit on the very non-Gothic name.

“Yes, hi,” N’bel said.  He looked at the two Rogue Traders and cocked his head, but didn’t ask anything.

Venus sensed her son’s entirely reasonable desire.  “N’bel, if you want to go rebuilt the fort, do so,” she said in Nocturnean.

N’bel took off for his crumbling sandcastle, leaving Vanessa stunned at his speed.  With his genehanced muscle, he was easily as fast as a career track and field athlete, at six years old.  Alex nodded at the display.  “That takes me back.”

“I know, right?”  Jake clapped his friend on the back.  “How’s the business?”

“Eh.  We’re not robbing graves any longer, so that’s something, but our profit factor is…unenthusiastic now,” Alex said.  “I mean, shit, who am I to complain, but still.”  He sat down on the towel as the Nocturneans settled down on the sand beside it.  “Things are improving now that the new Solar worlds are calming down.  Lots of call for haulers.  We’ve taken to buying cheap freighters, hiring Navigators from the Rogue houses, and sending them to haul along the new colony routes for pennies.  Not making any money now, but give it ten years and we’re the only ones already working the new lines when they open for general trade,” Alex said.

“Crafty,” Venus said.

“Yep.  And it doesn’t smell like tombs.  The older Navigators hate that we’re willing to hire exiles, but screw ‘em.  They’re not the ones getting their hands dirty.”  Alex chuckled.  “How about you two?  What have you been up to?”

“Well, getting settled on Terra and Nocturne, of course, but I’ve been getting my way into the Nocturnean leadership roles I’m expected to fulfill, too,” Venus said.  “I didn’t realize just how much No’dan was actually doing.”

“Did he retire from active duty when you claimed your throne?” Alex asked.

Venus shook her head.  “No, he simply rejoined the Fire Drakes as a field commander.  We built a home in Themis.”

“Cool.”  Alex nodded.  “We technically have a home on Hernreith, but I don’t think we get back there more than once every other year.”

“We also have a house on Terra that we stay in when we’re home, but I think when N’bel is old enough to go to high school, we’ll send him to Imperator,” Jake said.  “Nothing against Nocturnean high schools, but it’s the best school in the galaxy for political families.”

“Yeah, it was pretty great.”  Alex leaned forward over crossed legs.  “So, N’bel, that’s a Nocturnean name.  Is it a family name?”

“My father’s adoptive father,” Venus supplied.  “A tribal blacksmith.”

“Hmm.  Think N’bel will want to learn smithing when he’s older?” Alex asked.

“‘When he’s older?’” Jake chuckled.

Alex blinked.  “He’s six.”

“He’s a Primarch’s blood.  He can already handle simple welding tools,” Venus said.  “He insisted.  I was so proud,” she said with a smile.

Vanessa shook her head.  “That sounds really dangerous.”

“It is.  But he’s careful, and smithing is the oldest and most sacred art on Nocturne,” Venus said.  “And I’m always in the room with him.”

Vanessa shrugged, unwilling to argue the point.  “If you say so, ma’am.”

Venus uncrossed her legs and lay down on her back, letting the sun soak into her night-black skin through her rust-colored swimsuit.  “Mmm…you two been here long?”

“Yesterday,” Alex supplied.  “We’re here for about a month and a half.”

“Nice, isn’t it?  You know, we went on our honeymoon out here,” Venus said.  “It’s a great place to unwind.”

“Is it?  Never been before,” Alex said.

“We’re here the next four months,” Jake said.  “Then we go home to send N’bel off to first level school.  Then I go back to getting the way at the Castle,” he grumbled.

“Oh, hush, you’re not that bad,” Venus scolded.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“I always feel like I’m getting in the way of the professionals when I’m in the Castle in Themis.  Like the PDF guys are worse off for my being there,” Jake said with a sigh.  “I mostly just stick in the Royal Quarters now.”

“Well, that’s silly.  Trust me, the military on Nocturne has no problem telling people when they’re in the way,” Venus said.

“I guess.”  Jake glanced over at the Rogue Traders.  “How do you two handle security on your ships and such?  Mercenaries?”

“Lifer mercs and crew offspring,” Vanessa said.  “Mostly.  Some ex-Navy, too.  The background screening on most group hires is pretty heavy, but we have to prevent problems from within.”

“So I imagine,” Venus said.  “The issue being attempted infiltrations?”

“Yeah.  It happens.  Gotta keep sharp,” Alex said.

“Who’s running your organization while you’re here?” Jake asked.

“We have a group of adjutants.  And they can always contact us by the Astropath on the ship if they need to,” Alex said.


N’bel knelt on the sand at the water’s edge and felt the water run through his fingers.  It felt like any other kind of water, except it was sort of grainy.  Was it the sand getting disturbed or the salt in the water?  He couldn’t tell.  He tasted the water on the tip of his finger and made a face.  “Ugh.  Too salty.”

The wind was dying down, and the tide was falling too.  He grabbed a small pebble from the sand and stuck it in the sand just above where the waves were washing up, and lay down in the sand next to it to watch.  The water licked up on the tiny stone, pulling a few grains of sand it has just pushed up back into the sea, and partially burying the stone…then another wave washed it clean.

He retrieved it and let it roll down his palm, though its asymmetric shape prevented it from rolling off completely.  He cradled the stone as he rose to his feet.  He glanced over the calming water and drew his hand back, hucking the rock as far as he could.

Some fifty meters away, the little stone splashed down.  N’bel smiled.  “Hah.  I can finally out-throw Dad.”

He turned back to where his parents were sitting.  Mom was lying next to the pregnant lady, while Dad was talking loudly with the man he didn’t know, Alex, about something to do with Navigators and pay scales.  He sighed.  That was so boring.  They were on a beach with real oceans!  Why did they just want to talk?
He wandered back up to where they had dropped their stuff and grabbed his sunglasses, turning them over in his hands.  With his eyes – Mom called them superhuman, but he didn’t feel like they gave him powers – he could see things normal people couldn’t.  At least, Dad said they could.  He said he, Dad, was born with normal eyes, but the Emperor had given him better ones, ones you usually had to pay the Mechanicum to get.

He slid the glasses on and put his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks, walking back down below the rise to the water.  He wasn’t supposed to go in the water when Mom or Dad weren’t there, just like the pool back home, and he could kinda understand why: it got pretty deep in a real ocean.

The water’s glimmer vanished behind his glasses, and he crouched at the water’s edge again, staring into the deep blue mass.  His eyes followed some tiny fish through the polarized lenses, and he felt a funny sense of longing.  The oceans back home were just too acidic for swimming.  The pool was great, but he sensed that this was something special, something he wouldn’t get to see too much.  He resolved to make the most of it.


Venus laughed as Alex finished his story.  “I can’t imagine operating a void platform for profit.  Overhead would just be so damn high…”

“It’s a bitch, yeah, but you gotta recognize a niche market.  When you control the market, you control the pricing on both ends.  Vertical control, and all that,” Alex said with a grin.  “I’m trying to be nice, though, I know pricing on atmo controls on the station was so low before I bought it because they basically cut corners in payroll and safety wherever they could.  I had to cut a thin margin out, trying not to let the whole station fall apart during the transfer.”

“Where’s N’bel?” Jake suddenly asked.  He rose to his feet and looked around.  “Oh…there he is.”  He held his hand over his eyes and watched as his son wandered down the beach, hands in his pockets, just kicking rocks into the water.  “What’s the region the guards have staked?” he asked his wife over his shoulder.

“Two hundred meters gold, four hundred green,” Venus said.  Gold being the area the guards had under total lockdown as far as any sniper setups would go, green being an area under near-total control but with no guarantees.

“All right, he’s fine,” Jake said.  “He’s just out for a stroll.”

Venus looked away from her husband over to Vanessa’s swelling tummy.  “So…little guy or little girl on the way?” she asked.

“Girl.  We haven’t picked a name,” Vanessa said.  She rubbed her stomach.  “I’ll take a year off when it happens, then stay at home long enough to get a sense of school options…but we’ll probably just hire some private tutors for the first several grades.”

“Might send her off to Imperator?” Jake asked as he returned.

“Doubtful.  It’s not a boarding school,” Alex pointed out.  He reverently caressed his wife’s hand over her belly and smiled happily.  “Either way…I’m looking forward to it.”

“It’s an adventure, certainly,” Jake said.  “The first nine months…seven if you’re lucky, they’re the hard ones.  After that though…there’s this process of re-constitution, where they stop being this hot lump of shit and start being an actual person,” he said.  “You never forget it.”

“‘Hot lump of shit?’” Alex asked, eyebrows raised.

“Human babies produce more shit per minute than an entire herd of grox.  True science fact,” Jake said solemnly.  Venus laughed.

N’bel ambled down the yellow sands to a little depression in the ground, heading down to the water.  He stared into it, his mind piecing things together.  The trench looked artificial, he realized, looking up towards the dry end.  He could see the faint marks of tools up there; shovels and hands.  It got blurrier as it went below the level where there wasn’t any beach debris scattered around, until it was just a smooth curve in the sand where the water started.  So…someone had dug a trench, left it there overnight, and it had eroded when the tide came in.  He nodded in satisfaction.  Mystery solved.

He glanced from side to side.  Nobody was on this stretch of beach.  He hopped down into the little trench and sat on the packed sand, planting his hands on the sides like armrests in a chair.

In an instant, he was sitting in the cockpit of a Lightning Harbinger.  He raced over the hills that the waves before him had become, glancing at a phantom ground-effect radar every few moments as he did.  The Hrud menace was lurking around somewhere, and he meant to find them.

Chatter came in from the invisible radio beside him.  He looked over and frowned.  The sand was blank, unfeatured.  He paused his mental simulation and scratched a few little buttons and knobs in the sand to represent radio controls.  Much better.

He returned to his flight, soaring over the barren glacial hills of the unnamed world below, following an orbital feed on his target.

N’bel blinked.  Wait.  Harbingers were for intercepting torpedoes.  Which Lightning model was ground attack?  He thought for a moment…was it the Lightning Strike?  Or the Lightning Storm?

He shrugged.  Whatever.  It still had two wing-mount lascannons.  He resumed, fingers tightening on invisible firing studs as the bendies came into range.  In an instant, he pulled up, missiles away.

The Strike!  That was it.  Two lascannons, six Hellfuries.  The Hellfuries raced down, their airburst warheads scattering phosphoric doom on the hapless Hrud.

“What are you doing down there?” a voice asked.

N’bel glanced over his shoulder.  A girl he didn’t recognize was standing over him in the trench, staring down at him.

“At the moment?  Vaporizing a Hrud pack,” N’bel joked.

The girl seemed unfazed.  “What’s Hrud?” she asked.  She looked about his age, but she had skin the color of that strange citrus candy Mom liked.

“Aliens.”  N’bel stood up in the trench.  “What’s your name?”

“Michalina,” the girl said.  She was staring at his skin.  N’bel, who was slowly growing used to that, stifled his impatience.  At least she wasn’t staring at his eyes.  “Who are you?”

“N’bel,” he offered.  He wondered how she would react if she knew who his great grandfather was, and resolved to keep that one in reserve for select trolling later if the need arose.

“Bell?” she asked.

“No, N’bel,” he corrected.  “Pronounce it like there’s a silent ‘a’ in there.”

“N…N’bel,” she managed.

“There you go.”  He crossed his arms over his chest.  She was shorter than his four foot one, but then he was tall for his age.  Apparently Dad had been too.  “Where are you from?” he asked.

“Kolscyky,” she said.  He knew the name, a massively underpopulated mining world in Obscurus somewhere.  Grandpa Vulkan had conquered it in the Crusade’s final century.

“That’s…uh, Obscurus, isn’t it?” he asked casually.  She nodded, surprised.  He beamed in delight at her acknowledgement.  “I’m from Nocturne,” he said.

“The Salamander homeworld?” Michalina asked.  “Cool.  Is it really a Death World?”

“If you’re not careful,” N’bel joked.  She didn’t seem to get it.

“What is it like, growing up on a Space Marine world?” she asked.

He shrugged.  “It’s interesting.  The Salamanders are pretty easy to talk to,” he said, not adding that that was the case because he was technically related to all of them.  “But it’s not a very safe world.  The volcanoes are everywhere.  Whole villages get wiped out every fifteen years.”

“What?  Why?” Michalina asked.

“Because our moon is so huge, it causes tidal earthquakes when it gets too close in its orbit,” N’bel explained.

The girl looked at him funny.  “The moon doesn’t cause tides.”

“Sure it does,” N’bel said.  “Its gravity is strong enough to pull water up to it.  That’s high tide.  Low tide is when it’s on the other side.  On Nocturne, the moon is so strong it can pull lava around too.”

N’bel was starting to really enjoy the look of awe on her face.  “How do you know all this stuff?” she asked.

He shrugged, awash with six-year-old modesty.  “You just kinda learn.”


Vanessa struggled to her feet with her husband’s help.  “I’ll be right back,” she said, wobbling over to the restroom at the top of the beach.

Alex watched her go with a wistful grin.  “Five months pregnant, and still the cutest little butt I ever saw,” he said.

Jake chuckled.  “What’s her story?”

“She was working for one of my dad’s less profitable branches a while back.  When I liquidated it, I had her team transferred to one of my other departments.  We met and, well…here we are,” Alex said.  “I love her to pieces.  And she took meeting Freya really well,” he added.

“Oh, she did, huh?  Well, I’m glad you could find someone, too, Alex,” Venus said, smiling up at him from the sand.

“Yeah.  I had a few flings after I got my shit straightened out, but Vanessa was the only girl who actually cared about me, and didn’t just want to hang off my dick or my wallet,” Alex sighed, in the voice of the long-suffering.

“Uh huh,” Jake said drily.

“Well, that, and she actually likes tagging along on my crazy acquisitions trips,” he said.  “I can see why the life of a piratical Rogue Trader appeals to so many people, but that’s not me.  I’m perfectly happy plying the well-travelled trade lanes and making twice what those glory-hounds make.”

“Probably for the best,” Venus said.  “Otherwise you couldn’t take a month off and go for a vacation.”

“Yeah.  Was Freya okay, by the way?  Her own childbirth?  She was only one month in, when I saw her last year,” Alex said.

“She’s fine.  The baby was a boy, Thangir named him after his own father, Olev.  Freya went along with it because she liked that it anagrams to ‘love,’ in Gothic,” Venus giggled.  “He’s a cutie.  His hair and eyes are a dead match for Uncle Leman.  Ever see a ten-foot tall killing machine turn to protoplasm?  Let Leman Russ hold a baby with his eyes.”


N’bel stomped the last of the grooves in the trench flat and placed the plastic sheet they had dragged from Michalina’s family’s dump site over it, pinning it down with rocks.  He stood at the top and nodded.  “All right, now for the water.”  Michalina dumped the bucket of mixed water and suntan lotion they had labored to create – when her parents weren’t looking, of course – over the sheet to create their very own water slide.

“Yay!  It’s ready!” Michalina said, clapping her hands together.

“Moment of truth,” N’bel said, and launched himself feet-first down the trench.  The air rushed by as he slid down the impromptu slide and skidded into the water in a tangle.

He surfaced, blowing water out of his nose and laughing his ass off.  “Success!” he shouted, waving at where the girl was standing at the top.

She gingerly sat at the top and pushed herself down, and he scrambled out of the way as she splashed into the water.  He doubled over laughing as she came up in the surf, wiping salt water out of her eyes.  “Excellent!” he said through peals of laughter.  “My best invention yet!”

He climbed back up to the top of the three meter slide and launched himself down, glad he had put his glasses on their strap before putting them on.  He cannoned into the water again, launching white spray high.


Venus observed the spectacle at a distance.  “What in the hell is he even doing?” she asked aloud.  She watched as he vanished into the sand rise and surfaced, soaking wet, several seconds later.

“Want me to go check it out?” Jake asked.

“Please,” she said.  Jake rose to his feet and walked over, though he was mindful of the fact that the snipers he had watching his son would have acted if there was a real threat to his life.

N’bel watched his father approach out of the corner of his eye, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach.  He wasn’t really ‘swimming,’ per se, but he may well have been violating the spirit of the law, if not the letter.

With the mental equivalent of a shrug, he turned back to his slide and propelled himself down again, splashing into the water.  His suit was riding up a bit, but other than that, it was the best time he’d had since arrival.

Michalina raced past him as he reached the top, where his father was standing with his hands on his hips.  N’bel paused in front of him, feeling like he was in for a lecture at best.

Jake looked down at the sandy deathtrap the boy and his friend had created.  He looked back at where the pair of Salamander Legionary auxiliary snipers were concealed, over to where his wife was chatting with Alex and the newly freshened Vanessa, and over at where a pair of middle-aged people he assumed were the little girl’s parents were sunbathing.

He looked back down at his son and sighed, all mock reluctance he knew his son could see right through.  “Carry on.”

“Hahahah!  Thanks, Dad, you’re the best,” N’bel proclaimed, then threw himself down the tunnel again.  Jake gave the A-OK signal to Venus and sat down to watch the display.

Michalina surfaced with a cough.  That last one had sent some saltwater down her throat.

N’bel paused before he went down, himself.  “You all right?” he asked.

“Ugh, yeah, I just swallowed some seawater,” she said.

He shrugged.  “Okay,” he said, and launched himself down again.

Michalina sank to her haunches and coughed up the water, wiping her mouth.  “Gross.”  She looked over at where Jake was observing his son splash about in the water, trying to get to his feet.  “Are you N’bel’s dad?” she asked.

“Yep.  Jake’s my name.”  Jake smiled at her behind his own shades.  “Do you think we look alike?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, you do look like him,” she said, just in time for N’bel to come within hearing range.

N’bel glared molten daggers at his father, who had to clamp a hand over his mouth to hold in his gleeful snigger.  He had felt the same way about being compared to his father at that age too.  N’bel stomped up to the others and grimaced angrily, before sliding back down again in silence.

He splashed into the water once more, and just as he was standing, he slipped on the sand, falling flat on his back.

“You okay, son?” Jake called from above.

N’bel blew his nose into the surf, blinking back the sunlight.  “Y-yeah, just slipped,” he said.  He felt something tap against his foot and looked down, to see his sunglasses floating in the water.  “Oops.”

He scooped them up and slid them back on as he turned to climb back up.  Above, Michalina’s eyes went wide.  As he reached them, she stopped his progress.  “Wait…N’bel, can you take those off again?” she asked.

He blinked, but pulled his glasses free.  She gaped at his completely inhuman eyes: solid orbs of burning, bright red light, with no iris, corneal coloration, or retina.  “W-wow…does that hurt?” she asked.

“Hurt?  What?  My eyes?  No, they’ve always been like that,” N’bel shrugged.

She stared into the featureless red spheres.  N’bel sighed under his breath, but didn’t look away.  “They’re really pretty,” Michalina said.

Jake hid a smile as N’bel flushed.  “Pretty?  Better than ugly, I’ve had people say that before they knew who I was,” he grumbled.

“Who you are?” she asked, suspicious.

He shook his head, chagrined.  “Never mind.”  He launched himself down the slide without another word, leaving his father to scoop up the glasses.

Michalina glanced sideways at Jake before turning away.  Jake smiled.  “It’s all right,” he said, pulling his glasses down the bridge of his nose.  She peeked over to see that his own eyes were quite different.  They were the same color, but they weren’t glowing at all, and the irises were swirling circles of patterned red, constantly shifting and changing, while the rest of his eyes were completely normal.  “Our family just looks this way.”

“Oh.”  She looked a moment longer before sliding down the waterslide again.

Jake allowed himself another smile.  N’bel, for all his disquiet around adult strangers, shared his paternal grandmother’s talent at instantly making friends.

Michalina climbed up to the top again, and noted in surprise that her mother was nearly running over to her.  She paused before she could get back in the slide, panting from exertion.

N’bel clambered back up behind her, staring at the delay.  “What’s up?” he asked, not even a little out of breath.

“Mom’s mad,” she said.  Her mother came to a halt right next to her.

“Michalina, we’re leaving,” she said angrily.

She wilted.  “But Mom, this is a lot of fun!”

“You can use the slide in the pool, but we’re not staying here!” the woman insisted.

Jake rose to his feet.  “Is there a reason you’re yelling in front of the kids, ma’am?” he asked.

“You be quiet!” the woman snapped.  She reached out for her daughter’s hand, and the girl hung her head, starting to trudge away from her newfound friend.

To Jake’s surprise, N’bel spoke up.  “You forgot your tarp,” he said, grabbing the plastic sheet with one hand and ripping it free with a single tug.  The woman recoiled from the display of strength, but shook it off and accepted the sheet with a look of disgust.  “Michalina, you wanted to know who I am, right?” he asked loudly.  The girl hesitated as her mother grabbed her hand.  “I’m Lord Vulkan’s grandson,” he said, glaring up at the woman pulling his new friend away.

Both of the paler females looked over at him.  Michalina’s face remained puzzled, while the other woman just stared, aghast.  Jake smiled proudly, standing back to let his son direct the show.  N’bel looked up at his father.  “Dad, do you have a pen on you?”

“A pen?  No,” Jake said.

“Mmm.”  N’bel walked up to Michalina and gave her a quick hug before marching straight back to where his mother was waiting for him.

“…Why was his skin so hot?” Michalina asked, clearly very confused by all of it.

“It’s how the Emperor made him,” Jake said, and he turned to follow his son.

Venus smiled at N’bel as he unceremoniously dropped down on the sand next to her.  “You made a friend.”

“Yeah, and her mom was mean to her,” N’bel grumbled.

“Well, some humans don’t like people who look like mutants,” Venus said.  “She’s just narrow-minded.”

N’bel sighed, sadness replacing anger.  “Why do people do that?  If they know who I am, they grovel or…or…what’s the word?”

“Patronize,” Jake said, crouching behind his son and passing him his glasses.

“Yeah, patronize.  And if they don’t, they treat me like a heretic,” N’bel sighed.

“Because some people replace common sense and the love of their fellow humans with two things called ‘vitriol’ and ‘haughtiness,’ things you don’t have,” Venus said.  She slid her own sunglasses off and stared into her son’s eyes with her own identical red gaze.  She smiled gently.  “You know we both love you very much, right?”

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” he grumbled awkwardly.

“I thought you were really brave, just walking up to that girl and hugging her,” Jake said slyly.

“Can we pretend I didn’t do that?” N’bel said, blushing again.

Alex and Jake both laughed as Venus smiled conspiratorially.  “I promise,” she said.

N’bel sighed again.  “All right.”  He struggled to his feet.  “I think I’m just gonna go back to the hotel and get dry,” he said.  “Can I go?”

“Sure, if Dad goes with you,” Venus said.  “You know the way?”

“Yeah, it’s just down the street,” he said.

“All right.”  N’bel waved awkwardly to Alex and Vanessa as Jake led him back up the sandy beach.

Vanessa propped herself up with an effort.  “Smart kid,” she said.

“He certainly is,” Venus said happily.  She sank back down on the sand and brushed her hair out of the way.  “Takes after his grandfathers.  Both of them.”


N’bel slid his sandals on at the top of the beach and walked up the road with his towel slung over his shoulder, staring at the concrete path.  He was lost in thought, turning over what had happened in his mind until his stomach grumbled in discontentment.  His father heard, but let him keep his silence.  The two of them reached the hotel and entered the spacious lobby, where N’bel ducked into a bathroom to slide his shirt on before ascending the elevator to the penthouse.

The beach-side lobby was a riot of activity, with many of the tourists just passing through on their way to the luxurious casinos and theaters, or porting baggage carts worth of clothes and suitcases up to counters for check-ins.  Jake noted Michalina and her parents near one of the lifts out of the corner of his eye.

As N’bel emerged, Jake diverted him.  “N’bel, what did you want a pen for, before?” he asked.

“I wanted to give Michalina my autograph, since she was nice enough not to ask for it,” he said.  He scoffed.  “It sounds stupid when I say it aloud.”

Jake nicked a note pad and a pen from the little refreshment station and map kiosk next to them.  He passed the pad to his son.  “Quick, write your name in Nocturnean,” he said.

N’bel stared, but did as he was told.  Jake ripped the note free and jogged over to where the girl and her parents were still waiting.  “Michalina,” he said as he approached.

The little brown-haired girl turned around and stared as her parents tensed up.  Jake quickly passed her the note.  “N’bel wanted you to have that, call it a souvenir,” he said.  “It’s his name in Nocturnean.”

“Uh, thanks, sir,” she said, accepting the note.  Jake didn’t linger, instead walking back to his son, who was watching, bemused.

“Why did you just do that?” he asked.

Jake grinned.  “It was a nice thing for you to do, that’s all.”

=== Life Goes On ===


Ela Whitefist leaned back against the shattered wall of thatch and stone behind him, feeling his life drain into the snow at his feet.  The battle was over.  His people had won.  And now, he was going to die.

It wasn’t a hard guess to make, mortality.  Life on Fenris was short and violent.  Rare were the souls that lived past forty.  Ela glanced down at the gaping hole in his stomach, through which his intestines were clearly visible, and noted that he wasn’t even going to make it to twenty.

Oh well.  He had tasted fine wine, bedded fine women, won a glorious battle against his clan’s enemies, and unless he was very much mistaken (he hoped he wasn’t), impressed the gods themselves.  Even at that moment, two were watching him.

Their fiery chariot had descended from above to observe the battle, between the Whitefists and the Dragonsons.  The battle had frozen at a halt when they had arrived, with combatants on each side making the sign of the All-Father in reverent awe.  The chariot had circled above them, leaking fire from massive engines.  Then, to the shock of all watching, two massive men with the heads of wolves, armor of metal, and talismaned weapons fell from the sky and landed in their midst.  The warriors of the Whitefists had frozen stock-still, gaping at them, while the attacking Dragonsons had faltered, staring in shock and glee.  The Choosers were with them, now.

The Dragonsons had fallen back to their boats to fetch more weapons, while the Whitefists had packed their daughters and wives off to the hills of the little island, to spare them from the carnage.  It wouldn’t make a difference, of course, the Dragonsons would just enslave them if they won even if they did have to find them first.  Still, the chance to earn a place in the halls of the Kings on Asaheim itself was worth a momentary distraction.

Ela had fought like a man possessed in the battle.  His spear was slick with blood, and other, darker fluids.  The elaborate tattoo on his arm was ripped clean off, along with some of the arm itself, taken by the axes of the Dragonsons’ chieftain.  Ela had let himself fall forward after the injury, and driven his spear up into the taller man’s stomach, pulling it out with his spearhead.  A worthy end, to be sure, but an end.

The bedraggled nineteen-year-old had fallen to his knees in a pool of his own blood.  The women and children were coming back, now, keeping reverent distances from the silent Choosers even as they wept over the broken bodies of sons and husbands.

A child – not his – ran up to him and squeezed his shoulder, pale and blanching.  “Ela!  What happened?”

“I died, child,” Ela managed, collapsing against the wall with a groan of agony.  “Go and get the others.”

The child scampered off, casting worried looks over his shoulder as he did.  The Chooser nearest Ela stepped aside to let him pass, staring at the carnage with dead eyes behind his helm.

Ela felt anger stir in what was left of his stomach as he looked on the massive man.  Was this not enough?  Was the death of the entire Dragonsons and half of the Whitefists not enough?  Had none been found worthy?

A stirring of cloth behind the giant Chooser caught his eyes as he sank back on the ground.  A figure in a cloak of pelt and fabric appeared from where the chariot had set down on the distant hill.  The figure moved over the ground with grace that bespoke incredible strength, like the Choosers, but also restraint.  As the figure walked up behind the Choosers, it paused, and seemed to be looking over the battlefield from within its hood.

One Chooser paused beside the body of a fallen warrior, too mangled to recognize.  With the press of a gauntleted finger to the body’s neck, the Chooser rose, then walked up to one of the Dragonsons that had died late in the fighting.  That one Ela DID know: one of their Clanguards, a warrior of great skill who had managed to take Ela’s brother down with him.

Ela’s teeth ground together as the possibility that that…BUTCHER would be given the honor of ascension!  The spearman tried to rise, but the unthinkable agony – and more worryingly, growing numbness – from his crippled stomach brought him back down with a muted scream of pain.

The eyes of the Choosers were on him in a moment.  The lithe figure in the cloak seemed to pause what it was doing, as well.  Slowly, the figure walked up to him, its eyes inscrutable in the darkness of the hood.  As it reached Ela, it knelt, hiking its cloak up to keep the pelt from dipping into the blood pools.

“Have you a name, fighter?” a soft voice from within asked.  A woman’s voice?

“Ela…Whitefist…son of…Kaer Whitefist…” he managed.

A hand in a delicate leather glove emerged from the folds of the cloak, and another tugged the glove free.  The hand freed from the doeskin was undeniably that of a woman, too, and a young one.  The hand travelled up to Ela’s shoulder, and gripped it with a strength that would have hurt like a bastard if he were in better shape to feel it.

“Hmm...how many Dragons did you kill today, Ela Whitefist?” the voice asked, contemplatively.

“…Seven…eight,” Ela replied, gasping for air.  His soul was slipping away into hell and he was being quizzed on killing by a woman with no face?  What was this?

“And so I observed,” the voice said, this time with a faint note of approval.  Had she expected some other answer?

“What…did you…think I’d…say?” he managed.

“More.  Men feel the strangest need to exaggerate their accomplishments in the face of death, as if they had anything left to prove,” the woman said.  “But death in honest battle is the highest honor, anyway.”  She slid the glove back on and sank to sit on her ankles.  “I know what awaits us after death in battle, Ela Whitefist.  Shall I tell you?  Or would you find out firsthand?” she asked, her voice soft and growing harsh.

“…I would…know…so I have…no fear…” he said after a moment.

The figure nodded, and this time there was open approval.  The woman reached back her hand to pull free her hood-

Ela felt the pain in his guts fade a little at the sight.  She was…without a doubt…the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life.  Magnificent rolls of clean, braided red hair spilled from around a youthful, healthy face, with glorious, wide eyes of an inhuman green set in in the middle like gemstones.  Her face was angelic, sculpted.  Was she a Valkyrie?  One of the spirits who ferried the greatest fallen warriors to a rousing, triumphal eternity?

The cloak was fastened below her collarbone, and her red hair flowed out over the soft fabric of her cloak to hang over the blood-drenched ground.  Her red lips were turned in a slight smile, behind which two small, pointed fangs were visible.  She was of their blood?  She was a Chooser as well, an immortal scion of King Russ?

“When one dies in battle, their soul falls from the body, into the roiling stuff of the Warp, from which all souls come,” the beautiful young woman said.  “This you know.  After all, it was across the seas of the Warp that Father Russ came to this world.  After a time, most souls fall into the formless darkness of space in rest, and return to the things from which the universe is made.  No pain, no fear, no lust, no love or hate.  Just a dreamless sleep.”  She smiled again, her fangs glinting in the blue light.  “Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“…I…suppose not…” Ela admitted.

The beautiful woman grabbed his spear, fallen from numbing hands.  “Swing this at me.”

He stared.  “What?”

The woman stood, crossing her arms.  “Swing it at me.  Now.”

Ela gripped the wooden haft, searching for a trap in her words, but finding none.  He swung the gory weapon at her legs, and she effortlessly leaped the clumsy arc.  “Hmph.  Not much to speak of,” she said dismissively.

Ela felt his anger and fear surge through him, even as his imminent death fought to pull feeling from his arms.  He swung the spear again, and again she jumped it.  He made to swing again when the darkness flooding in at the corners of his eyes overwhelmed him, and he collapsed backwards, unconscious.

Freya Russ watched the spearman fall, her mind working idly.  “Hmm.  Argun, what do you think?” she asked.

“He has fire, certainly,” the Wolf Priest said, staring at the body.  “Bit old.”

Freya nodded.  “Yep.  Think he deserves a shot?”

“I think so, yes.  He took on those men two at a time, and only went down when the fight was over,” the Wolf Priest replied, in Gothic.  Their words were not for the wounded.

“I like him.  He wanted to know more about death for the sake of facing it without fear,” Freya said.  “He’ll face his training head-on.”

“Sure.”  Argun nodded, lifting the blood-slicked spear from the ground beside the fallen fighter.  “He will be taken to Kerrvik.  If he can survive it, we’ll go through training.”

“Good.”  Freya watched as the body levitated onto the small medical platform the Wolf Priest was operating.  “Anyone else?”

“This makes three.  The others are either useless or beyond us,” the Priest said flatly.

“All right.  Off we go,” Freya said, pulling her hood back up.

“NO!” a woman screamed from the village behind the battlefield on the icy beach.  Freya turned to look at her as the bodies floated into the back of the Thunderhawk for resuscitation.  “No, Ela, no, don’t go!” she cried.

Freya held up her arm to block the woman’s path.  “Sorry, lass, but your man is destined for a greater fate than ignominy,” she said softly, in Juvjk that time.

The woman tried to push past her into the hold of the Thunderhawk, but Freya was as strong as a Long Fang, and did not relent.  “Don’t take my husband,” she begged, tears pouring from her eyes.  “Please!  Don’t make his son grow up without him!”

Freya grimaced under her hood.  “Your husband is dead.  He goes now to Asaheim, that he may live forever with the blood of the Russ,” she said.  “Mourn him, and remember him well,” she added, turning to go.

“What possible use could you have for him above that of his family?” the hysterical woman demanded.

Freya’s shoulders rose as she sighed.  “More than you know.  With any luck at all, lass…more than you will EVER know.”

The sun broke over the walls of Camp Kerrvik.  The blinding light flooded the training grounds below, covered in fresh snows from the blizzard the previous night.  Atop one ragged wall of wood and stone, a Fenrisian boy sat with legs crossed.  His mess of ruddy blond hair was cropped below his ears, and he had to brush strands out of his shining blue eyes.  [[Image: Olev.png|thumb|Olev as a little boy.  Thanks, SirBriggz!]]


He was easily the youngest person in the camp.  He hated that.  The only people who even seemed to approach him in size were the new aspirants, and they were a dime a dozen.  Half-dead, some of them, and the others never lasted too long.  They either died here or went off to the Fang.  By that time, they were Wolves, Vlka of the Rout, and more like uncles than friends.

The crack of a ship breaking the sound barrier drew his superhuman eyes up.  The streak of fire and metal overhead dropped like a stone towards the camp.  The boy smiled happily.  At least Mom was coming home.

The Thunderhawk settled down on the ground inside the walls, and the ramp dropped into the snow.  A few scared-looking men with scars under their jumpsuits appeared, walking down the ramp into the streets of the tiny township.  “All right, you little bastards, you straighten the hell up!” a voice roared.  The lad recognized the voice as that of Sergeant Hasskald, a Grey Hunter from the Fang that he liked.  Hasskald was happy to take him out to see Fenris from the skies sometimes.  He said it was important.

“You whoresons THINK that you’re CHOSEN ONES!” Hasskald roared at the new guys.  “You AREN’T!  You’re dirt beneath my boots for the next four months!  You’re ghost men, unloved at home and unmourned here, and every single one of you is going to break like glass for the whole time!”  He glared at them all, brandishing the tiny silver talisman in his hands.  “By the end of this training, forty five to fifty five percent of you will be stone dead.  The rest?  The rest of you will graduate to REAL training.  You will fight one another, you will fight the elements, you will fight the Trolls and the Fiends, and you will learn what it is to kill with your bare hands!  And maybe when you’re done, you bone scraps will be VLKA!” he finished, his eyes burning.  “Now…I know that some of you came from clans at war with others.  That’s fine.  As of today, you forget it all.  You will forget your clans, your women, your children.  Today, the only sons you have are the next batch of aspirants, the only brothers you have are the men beside you, and the only father you have is High King Russ!”

The Grey Hunter slammed his ceramite gauntlets together, throwing sparks where metal it metal.  “You will become warriors capable of feats that could and will break lesser men if you live through this, aspirants.  You will walk through the bellies of daemons, and the arms of savages, and you will take the Wolf’s Spirit within yourselves.  I anticipate very few survivors, whether I want there to be or not,” he added.  “I came from a batch of ninety.  Only three remain.”

The aspirants shuffled their feet, some paling.  “You fear that?  Good!  Fear means you’re alive!” Hasskald declared.  “Some of you will become the Skjalds and Kaerls of the Fang, the hall of your father.  Some will become food for the others when winter comes,” he said darkly.

The boy on the walls rolled his eyes.  That never actually happened.  “Some others will actually come to be Vlka, and you will take your claws to the necks of the Emperor’s enemies by the truckload, and learn to love the smell of blood,” Hasskald finished.  “Now fall out, and go to the buildings you’re assigned.  You will be Claws soon enough.”

The men trooped into the buildings scattered over the training grounds, as the Wolf Priests handed them scraps of paper with names on them.  The boy scrambled down from the wall and ambled up to the Thunderhawk, his nine-year-old ears filtering out the sounds of the engines like a veteran deck crewer.

Hasskald looked down at him and smiled.  “Olev.  Lad, what are you doing up this early?”

“Listening to you bellow, apparently,” Olev sighed airily.

Hasskald snorted.  “Lad, when you’re old enough, you’re doing this training whether you plan to become a Marine or not.”

“I sure hope so,” Olev said idly.  “Mom’s sure pressing me not to.”

“Your mother is hopelessly in love with you, pup, and doesn’t want you to come to harm,” Hasskald said.  “Fear not.  There’s strength enough in you to live through my instruction.”

“Oh, there’s strength enough, I’m not worried about that,” Mom said, stepping from the hold, where she had been watching quietly.  She smiled happily down at her son.  “But I couldn’t live with myself if he got eaten up by trolls.”

Olev waved a hand dismissively.  “I’d smell them coming.”

“In your sleep?” she asked pointedly.

Olev shrugged.  His mother leaned over to wrap her arms around her son’s shoulders, hugging him close.  “You know you don’t have to stay here, Love,” she said softly.  “I know you want to see it, but…”

“Mom,” Olev grumbled.  “Come on.  Don’t call me that where the others can hear.”

Freya laughed and stepped back.  “Right, sure.”

The aspirants walked back out of their new homes, blinking at the unfamiliar environments of the mountain range in which they were staying.  One by one, they lined up in front of Hasskald, trying not to look afraid.

The Grey Hunter tapped the flat of his combat knife in his palm, watching them fall in.  “Now.  There are those of you who may think that even as Aspirants, you have nothing to prove.  Nothing to accomplish.  You made it this far, after all.  You were Chosen!  But let me show you how wrong you are,” he said.  He stepped back, and Freya shooed her son away.  “Before you stand I, boys, one man,” he said flatly.  He hefted his chainsword in one hand and his knife in the other.  “All of you who feel that you need to make up for something…all of you who aren’t smart enough to be afraid or nervous…get up here.”

Nobody moved.

“Smart lads, for once,” Hasskald said.  He dropped his chainsword in the snow and slid his knife into its sheathe.  “How about now?” he asked mildly.

Several of the Aspirants looked at each other and mumbled.  “That armor protects you,” one of them said hesitantly.  “Can we even hurt you?”

“Fair question,” Hasskald admitted.  “And if I were not armored?  Would you find the testicles to fight me then, little boys?”

“I just might,” another said angrily.  He stepped up to the front rank, fists clenched.

“Great.  What if I were not only unarmed, but unarmored, and a young woman to boot?” Hasskald asked, baring his fangs.

“Then I’d call it a complete waste of my time,” the warrior scoffed.

“I did SO hope he’d say that,” Olev said happily.

Freya took her cue.  She stepped up beside Hasskald and drew back her hood.  “If anyone in your little gang can beat me one-on-one,” she said by means of introduction, “he gets double rations tonight.”

The warrior blinked, taken aback by her appearance.  “You send a whore to fight in your stead, Sergeant Hasskald?” he asked.

Freya grinned.  “Now now…harsh words instead of fists?  Do you have no fight in you, child?”

“I came here to fight, not lie with a whore, woman,” the warrior blustered, as several other aspirants chuckled.

“Well, I suppose I did meet my husband here,” Freya admitted.  “Still, something tells me you’d lack any sort of appeal even if I were on the market,” she said idly.

The man snarled and lunged at her.  Freya’s wrist flickered.  She had caved in his nose and stepped aside.  His body tumbled, senseless, to the ground.

The other aspirants froze.  Less than a second had passed.  “Anyone else?” Freya snarled, flashing her fangs.  One or two men gasped as recognition set in, but nobody moved.  “Wise.  My name is Freya Russ, you worthless puppies, and until the day you die, I am your Queen, your elder sister, your personal daemon, and the last thing you see before you die,” she said coldly, her voice biting like the chill of the wind.  “My father will break you down, shatter your preconceptions, grind you into powder, and then sculpt you into REAL fighters, Astartes, Space Marines, Vlka Fenryka.  You will live for eternity, in the halls of the Fang, in the depths of its armory, or in the memories of its warriors, but only if you DAMN WELL DESERVE IT!” she roared, shocking them back a pace.  “This galaxy chews up and shits out the weak, and it took three thousand, seven hundred years of nonstop killing to make it even as habitable as it is!”  Her wolf eyes glimmered in the morning light, glinting off of her fangs like diamonds.  The men were spellbound.  “Does anyone else want to challenge their Queen?” she demanded.

Not a soul twitched.

“Good.  Haul his useless carcass off to a medic and start doing laps of the compound,” Hasskald said.  “The man who does the fewest has to do it again.”

Two men lifted their senseless comrade off to the medical center as Freya brushed a speck of blood off her bare hands before sliding her gloves back on.  Olev meandered over to where she was standing, the chill wind tugging at the sleeves of his jacket.  “Mom, why do you say that you’re the last thing you see before they die?  You don’t fight in the field,” he pointed out.

Freya shrugged as the other Aspirants started running.  “Because every so often, I jump into the training circles to beat some pride out of the ones who have a natural skill that they mistake for discipline.  See, Olev, it’s easy to think that you’re good at something if you were born able to do it well, but I don’t want naturals.  I want men who can fight because they have good training as well as lots of experience and natural talent.  And if they mess up in the ring, fighting me or their brothers, they die.  If they mess up because they’d rather do things their own way instead of the way we train them, that’s hardly my fault.”

“That doesn’t answer my question at all!” Olev protested.

“Olev, men die here.  Sometimes because their trainers killed them.  It happens.”  Freya looked down at him, sadness written on her face.  “That’s why I don’t like it when you’re here.”

“But everyone treats me like a baby on the Fang,” Olev grumbled.

Freya knelt before her son to bring his eyes level with hers.  She gently leaned forward and kissed his forehead.  “I prefer that to treating you like a killer.  For now.  Okay?”

Olev sighed.  “Okay.”

=== Julius Moves up in Life ===


Julius settled nervously into his seat in the little conference room in the core of the Palace.  Several other people were already gathered, chief among them his friend and former Best Man, Jake.  Also present were Michael Grecco, Nathaniel Romanvene, and one man he didn’t know in a loose tunic and green leather pants and vest.  The door closed behind him as he sat, and Mike took a moment to click the lights higher.  “Good to see you, Julius.  Bit closer than last time, too,” he chuckled.

“Ugh.”  Julius shook his head.  “The formal ceremony was absurd.  Aren’t weddings supposed to be private, intimate events?”

“Not when the participants are famous,” Nate said drily.  “But congrats anyway, Julius.”

“Thanks.”  Julius turned to look at the man he didn’t know.  He was the youngest man there by a fair deal, with a gruesome scar protruding out from under his left lapel.  His tousled blonde hair and light green eyes said a bit about his origins.  “Have we met, ser?” Julius asked him.

“Thangir Russ, and no, we haven’t,” the man said.  Julius nodded.  He had thought as much.  Freya’s wedding had been even more private than his real one.

“I only got here a week or so ago, myself,” Thangir said.  “It’s been…a shock.  You know?  Buildings this size…” he shook his head.  “I thought the Fang was huge.” He shrugged self-effacingly as he said it.  Julius was struck by how much younger than the others Thangir was.  Nate, by the look of him, was the eldest in the room by a few years at least.  “I’ve been on void platforms and such…but you never see those from the outside, if you’re lucky,” he finished.  The others chuckled.

“Quite.  Although the Palace doesn’t see many viewers from the outside unless you’re on the roof,” Julius said.  He cleared his throat as Nate sat back down beside him.  “So, gentlemen…why exactly are we here?”

“Well, you and Isis just tied the knot, eh?” Nate asked reasonably.

“Yes…what is this, some kind of fraternity initiation?” Julius asked.

The smiles vanished from every other man’s faces.  Nate’s eyes flashed blue for an instant.  “Who told you?” Mike asked darkly.

Julius blinked.  “W-what?”

The others held the silence for a moment longer, before, nearly as one, they laughed.  “We’re just fucking with you, Julius,” Mike said, waving his hand dismissively.  “Trust me, we put Thangir and Jake through the same song and dance.”

“I nearly fell for it, too,” Thangir said, shaking his shaggy blonde mane.

Julius sighed.  “So why am I really here?”

Mike reached into his pocket and extracted a piece of metal on a small chain.  “Do you have one of these?” he asked.

“Sure, I do,” Julius said.  “It’s an access token, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  For the garages, but also for the interior security system,” Nate put in.  “Have you tried it for the elevators yet?”

“What, the lift network in the Palace itself?” Julius asked, surprised.  “Er, no.”

The others stood.  “Then you have to see this,” Nate said.

Julius stood, bemused, and followed the others out of the room and into the corridors.  The hallway outside was bustling with workers, scuttling about and no doubt doing something important or other.  Nate pressed a button for a lift and the Royal husbandry piled in, closing it before the people outside could enter.

Mike held up his token and pressed the bottom to the button panel.  The panel was three-phased, with programmable buttons, so that lift cars could travel from different wings of the structure as well as different floors, and even a third set of buttons for controlling clearance levels.  The token didn’t react to being pressed against the panel, but the panel did.  The tiny LCD screens next to the buttons flashed clear.  Mike pressed a button at random, and the tiny screens started displaying the names of the various wings of the building, as they usually did.  Mike pressed the one for the northernmost wing, the one they were in at that moment.  The screens blanked and filled with block numbers.  One of them was a different color than the others, Julius noted, curiously examining the token again.  He hadn’t noticed that the bottom had a computer port in it.

Mike pressed the colored screen’s button, and now all of the options the buttons displayed were blue.  He pressed the button for the fifty-second floor, and the car was off.

“So I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, but the tokens are passcards for the Guest Wing,” Mike said.  “You can use them to get to the VIP area, the access-restricted one, with the push of a button.”

“Ah.”  Julius glanced over the buttons as they reset to their normal requests for input.  “And…why is this?” he asked.

“I’m sure you know that not all members of the Royal Family have homes on Terra,” Nate said with a shrug.  “Where better for them to stay?”

“The Imperial Fists-controlled starport to the south of the Palace?” Julius guessed.

“True enough, but sometimes they come here for formal duties,” Jake said.  It was the first time he’d spoken, Julius noted, and his friend’s face was a bit drawn.

“You all right, Jake?” Julius asked him.

“Some small trouble sleeping,” Jake said, shrugging.  Thangir’s eyebrow twitched at that, even if he was pretending not to be listening.  Was Jake lying, then?  Another time, Julius decided, as the floor dropped out from under them.

“Fffff, I hate that feeling,” Nate groused.  “Dropping into the core of the Palace in a metal coffin…”

Mike nodded ruefully.  “Yeah, I know.  How the Palace could even have any room to work in with the office blocks being broken up by the tubeways is beyond me.”

“Architecture in general is beyond me,” Thangir muttered, wincing as the car took a whiplash-inducing turn to the right.  “Bloody hell, why do you Terrans make your buildings so large?” he asked.

“To administrate an Imperium of many, many trillions,” Mike said.  “Trust me, you should see how hives look on worlds where they weren’t planned out in advance.  Absolute pigsties, every one.”

“Mine was no picnic,” Jake grunted, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.  “Anyway.  We’re here.”

The doors swung open as the car coasted to a halt.  The quintet emerged into a completely different atmosphere.  There were no people besides them that he could see.  Where before the air had been flat and recirculated, here it felt crisp, even fresh.  A neat trick, Julius thought, and the reason came clear moments later.  The entire corridor beyond the tube block was lined with small, flowering trees.  The hallway wended its way, curving around conversation nooks and small, decorated tables.  The walls themselves were free of ornamentation beyond a variety of large mechanical clocks, with the names of famous planets beneath them, each set to wildly differing times and hours.  It was a nice effect overall; at once a subtle reminder of the Imperium’s scope, and a boost to the morale of the people seeing it.  They were important enough to witness it, after all.

“So, do I get to know why we’re here?” Julius asked.  Mike pushed a door open and gestured in with a smile.

“Of course,” he said.  “Come on in.”

Julius walked in and glanced about.  There was a huge table in the middle of the room with a variety of mystifying electronics set into its surface, and a whole row of holoscreens and flatscreens along the walls…but the room was decorated like a sports bar, with homey lighting and comfortable chairs.  The table was piled up with buffet-style food, too, real food, not reprocessed protein.

“Okay, I give up,” Julius said.  “What’s going on?”

The others laughed, save Jake, who seemed to have vanished.  “My friend, we can’t let this occasion go unremarked!” Mike said.  He took a plate off of a small rack of them near the table, and began piling it up with food.

“Wait, so it really is some kind of initiation?” Julius asked.

“I guess you could say that,” Nate said.  “Grab a plate.”


An hour of conversation later, Mike brought out a small plastic cask.  “Here, gents,” he said, placing it on the table.

Julius craned his head forward.  “What is it?”

“Three thousand credits of scotch,” Mike said, putting a tiny plug in the bottom and pouring a cup.

Julius stared.  “Huh.”

Mike and Nate filled goblets and slid one down to Thangir.  The younger man grabbed it and tipped it in gratitude, as Jake waved one off.  “I’m done, thanks,” he said, indicating the empty glass in front of him.

“You guys did all this for me?” Julius asked.  “I’m flattered.”  He accepted a cup and swirled it in his hands.  It even smelled expensive.

“We’re brothers-in-law now, man,” Mike said.

=== Bread and Circuses ===


Lord Primarch Fulgrim steepled his fingers and looked over his desk at his two guests.  “Of course I could, my young friends…but why are you interested?”

Jake and Julius glanced at each other.  “Well, your Lordship, simply put, I had an epiphany,” Jake began.

“Do tell,” Fulgrim said mildly.  The intimidatingly tall white-haired warrior was unusually subdued in dress and demeanor today.  Jake found himself wondering if he had an entire wardrobe he could duck into between guest meetings.

“Your Lordship, I don’t know if you know much about our personal histories, but in case you didn’t, I’m a farmer and he’s a hiver,” Julius said with a faint grin.  “And yet…here we sit.”

“And my brothers and I range from slaves to mining world refugees to princes,” Fulgrim said, returning the joking smile.  “Fate plays strange hands.”

“True enough, Lord.  My point is that we are uniquely suited to understanding what problems the Imperium faces…not as a government, you understand, or as a military force, but as a group of like-minded and disparately-born humans,” Julius said.  “I imagine you, yourself, observed that firsthand.  That common need.  Rich or poor, Terran or out-worlder…we all have the same basic needs.”

“Indeed.”

Jake took over.  “Lord, before the Crusade even ended, you had set up the Foundation for the Advancement of Education and the Arts here on Terra.”

Fulgrim’s brows peaked as he divined the other two men’s goals.  “I did.  Am I to interpret that you wish to offer some assistance towards it?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Julius said.  The two men were switching the speaking role back and forth.  This was rehearsed, Fulgrim surmised.  “We would humbly request some advice, actually.”

“Regarding…what?” Fulgrim asked.

Jake leaned forward.  The lad had clearly undergone the same genetic treatment as most of the other Royal husbands, Fulgrim noted with hidden distaste.  As much as he understood its necessity in the Emperor’s eyes, he found it uncomfortably close to the Astartes creation process, and that was a mechanism that hardly needed to be spread about.

“My Lord, I entered into Venus’ life purely by accident,” Jake said quietly.  “Obviously a chance at romance is hardly the point of scholarships, but the message is there.  How many trillions of Terrans deserve better chances than they get?”  He shook his head.  “Every single one of my friends in my childhood – and I – dreamed of more.  Of finding or being given more.  How many kids think of earning more?”

“Too few,” Julius supplied.  “But some do.”

“So what exactly do you want from the Foundation?” Fulgrim asked, intrigued.

“We want to lend out own experience and influence to the Foundation’s goals, sir,” Jake said.  “Basically, I want to pass along what I’ve learned on my own.  Not in terms of my role in the Family, but in terms of applying the Nocturnean mindset to the Terran hives.”

Fulgrim was quiet for a moment as he thought through the uncomfortable implications of that statement.  “And…if I may ask, what would that be?  As I understand it, your tenure on Nocturne has been a largely invisible one.”

Jake shrugged.  “Well, politically, sure…but I’ve learned so much.”  He winced.  “Sorry, but there’s no way I can say this without sounding snobbish.”

Fulgrim blinked.  “How do you mean?”

“Sir, simply put, I’ve come to realize that a big portion of the Terran poverty problem stems from the fact that a lot of Terrans have decided that their lot in life is sealed shut,” Jake said.  “Nocturneans have a completely different outlook on life, sir, and frankly I think it’s a healthier one.”

“And you wish to lend your aid to the Foundation to support the influence of this Nocturnean outlook?” Fulgrim asked.

“I suppose I so, sir,” Jake said.

Fulgrim thought on this.  “And what do you want out of this, Lord Pius?”

Julius nodded.  “Sir, while my background differs greatly from Jake’s, I want to help out.  The people on Terra want for more than they should.  I’ve seen how much of this planet can barely even afford proper nourishment, let alone luxury.  Even on the Throneworld, things could be better.”  He shrugged.  “I mean, I don’t expect an easy solution, but I feel I could help.”

The Emperor’s Children Primarch leaned back in his seat, brooding.  “And you come to me for advice on how to improve things, or at least help those who are already working to improve things?”

“That’s the gist of it, your Lordship, yes,” Jake said.  “So, will you help us out?”

“No.”

The ticking of the mechanical clock in the room was the only sound for a few moments.  Finally, Jake broke the quiet.  “May I ask why?”

Fulgrim sighed.  “Gentlemen, while the desire to improve the lots of others is a worthy goal, it sounds more to me that you’re trying to force standards on people.”

“How is wanting people to have better access to food forcing standards on anyone?” Julius asked, surprised.

“Because you phrased it in the language of wanting Terrans to live to a higher standard,” Fulgrim pointed out.  “And you, Lord Seager, you said that you wanted people on Terra to learn from the Nocturnean standard.  But if all you wanted was for people to learn their ways, why coach it with charities?  Because then,” Fulgrim said, gesturing in Jake’s direction, “you would inevitably reward those who demonstrated those aspects of Nocturnean life that you admire.  That, by itself, is not entirely unreasonable, but it is not the work of the Foundation.  My Foundation works to ensure those whose lives were damaged by pure happenstance have a fair chance at recovery and improvement, and their children, too.  You want to, essentially, bribe people into adopting your foreign standards.”

Jake sat back in his own seat, thinking furiously.  After nearly a minute of mind-wracking, he looked away.  “…I can’t disagree, I think,” he said.  “This is disappointing.”

“I offer no offence, I hope,” Fulgrim said.  “But I want you to understand why I will not lend my own assistance in this endeavor.  If you wish to work on your own, very well, and I’m sure you will do so with the best of intentions.  But the people will not thank you for it.”

Julius looked sidelong at his friend, but Jake wasn’t upset.  Instead, the hiver-cum-Prince just stood and offered his hand to his uncle.  “Thank you for your time, then, your Lordship,” Jake said heavily.

“Certainly, Lord Seager.  And remember, if you really want to better the lot of your former friends and neighbors, money isn’t the way to do it,” Fulgrim cautioned, shaking the much smaller man’s hand.


Venus slid her night shirt on and glanced over her shoulder at the bed.  Jake was lying there, arms crossed behind his head, staring into space.  She walked up beside him and sat on the bedside.  “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“How did it go today?” she asked, running her fingers over his arm.

Jake sighed, freeing up one hand to squeeze hers.  “He said no.”

“Oh.”  Venus thought that over before leaning back to look at him better.  His face was placid and un-lined.  He didn’t seem to be taking it personally.  Her transhuman eyes lit upon his face and he managed a tiny smile.

“I’m not worried.  He took the time to explain why.  I found myself agreeing with him.”

“He’s pretty persuasive,” Venus chuckled.  “What did he say?”

Jake sighed, staring beyond her into the past day.  “Well, he basically said it would be like bribing people to accept a foreign standard of living.”

Venus pondered that as she slid into bed beside him.  “Huh.  That’s pretty cynical, but I don’t know that he’s wrong.”

“That’s more or less what I said,” Jake said heavily.  “I dunno, sweetheart.  How do I do this?  Fulgrim’s right, I can’t just take up Nocturnean self-reliance and drop it whole on Terra, but…damn it, I feel like I’m not doing enough here!”

Venus raised her eyebrows.  “Here…on Terra?”

“Well, yeah,” Jake said.  “I came from here.  I want to make things better.  And they could be better, baby, so much better.”

“They could,” Venus said.  She tapped her finger on the pillow as she thought.  “Have you tried asking directly?”

Jake looked up at her, confused.  “Who?”

“Terrans.”  Venus glanced down at him, a sly smile playing around her lips.

Jake stared for a moment, before he broke out in a smile too.  “…I love you, baby,” he said softly, running his hand over her nearer arm.

“I know, Jake, and it feels good,” Venus murmured, kissing the crown of his head before snuggling down beside him and flicking off the lights.


Dieter Hatham sank into his chair with a groan of released stress.  The day’s work at the factory had been grueling, like every single other, and all he had to look forward to that night was the weekly poker game he had been holding with his friends since he was eight years old.  As he wearily reached for his slate to get the final headcount, he noted an unusual message in his queue.  He pressed the Open button, and message popped up.


>TO: DHatham5780,

>FROM: TransplantG2R

>DATE: TODAY

>RE: Poker


>Hey, Dieter, it’s me.  Do you mind if I drop in on the game tonight?  I’ll bring my own food, of course.

Dieter blinked.  He didn’t recognize the handle.  He glanced it over and squinted, but the name remained elusive.  He opened his own mail system and typed up a quick response.

>Sure, I guess.  Who is this?  You’re not in my contacts list.

He set the tablet down and rose to prepare the food.  Even as he turned on the heating element in his single studio apartment, the slate beeped.  He looked over at the screen.

>Oh, man, you wound me.  It’s Jake!

Dieter stared at the slate, astonished.  Hadn’t Jake married some princess and moved to far-off wherever?  He typed out a response as the soylens started heating up.

>Are you entirely sure?

Within minutes, he had his response.

>Last I checked.  Can I come to the game tonight?  I assume there is one, I remember it was Fridays.

Dieter hesitated, long enough for his door to knock.  He peered through the eyehole and saw Will standing there, looking around him.  Dieter opened the door and let his friend in, distracted by the email.

“Hey.  You got the table all set up?” Will asked.  When Dieter didn’t answer, he looked over his shoulder.  Dieter was staring at the tablet.  “Someone bail?” Will prompted.

Dieter shook his head.  “No, it’s an unexpected RSVP.”

“Unexpected?” Will glanced over the tablet.  “…Jake’s coming?”

“I haven’t replied,” Dieter said.  He set the tablet down and ran his hands over his face.  “What do you think?”

“Why are you asking me?  We should have him!” Will said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dieter said.  He hesitated to lift the tablet, though.  “Didn’t he move, though?  What’s he doing here?”

Will sat down at the table and dropped his stake into the middle of the table.  “We can just ask.”

“I guess.”  Dieter typed his reply at last.

>Sure.  I’m in Tetra still, Cube 12, Hab 1, Deck 198, Room 198-085.  Stake is fifty credits upfront, buy-in of fifteen, bring your own food.

Within minutes, Jake’s reply lit the screen.

>Cool.  I’ll be there.


As the group assembled, Dieter idly flipped a few cards back and forth on the table, waiting for the last guests.  Counting the running game he had held in middle and high schools, he had been running this game anywhere from one to seven times a week for twenty years.  He would have pitched his skills against a professional if he could find the time to do so.  He wasn’t nervous because he thought he was going to lose.

In fact, why was he nervous at all, he asked himself.  Jake was an old friend, right?  And he wasn’t bringing any of those nobles – or even Ladies Primarch – from the party that one time with him, was he?  He realized he hadn’t asked.

The door rapped again.  He pulled it open to see his old friend standing there, dressed in what was probably supposed to be casual attire, with a large basket hanging off his arm.  His skin was several shades darker than anyone else’s in the room, but the biggest change was his eyes.  They were bright red.

“Dieter, man, good to see you!” Jake said, reaching out his free hand.  It took Dieter a moment to grasp it, though, he was so busy staring at his friend’s changed visage.

“…Uh, yeah, Jake, hi,” the black-haired factory line supervisor said.  “Good to see you too…what’s with the new look?” he asked.

Jake shrugged as he walked in.  “Surgery didn’t quite work out the way it was supposed to.  Long story.  How’s things?” he asked.

“Uh, pretty good, I guess…new factory hours are a bear,” Dieter said.  The other guests took notice of Jake’s arrival and made their way over in the three-room apartment.  The ones who knew Jake personally looked stunned at the changes in his appearance, while the others just shook hands or nodded politely, not seeing any differences.  After all, cosmetic surgery was cheap.  In the hives, some people decided to look like they lived above their station when they didn’t.  Nobody judged for that.

As they sat down, most of the guests chipped in to pay for an expanded ration chip for the evening, so they could eat in.  The chips were special tokens one could redeem in advance for a larger body of people for single meals, and it was common in the hives to have the host pay for once in advance, and then all participants simply pay a percentage when they arrived.  When Dieter put the bowl of soylens on the cooktop and started to add the flavor pouches, Jake got up from the table and brought over a the basket.  He discreetly cleared his throat.

“Would it trouble you greatly if I brought a second course?” Jake inquired.

Dieter looked back at him.  “You brought surface food?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jake said.  He put the basket down on the counter and opened the seal.  “My wife made a pie,” he said.  There was a circular pastry inside.

“Oh…alright,” Dieter said.  “Uh, after the main meal?  Is that when you serve those?”

“Yeah, it’s dessert,” Jake said.

“Okay.”  Dieter walked back over to the table and sat down, deftly pulling the cards from the pack.  “All right, folks, are we all ready?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” Will said, dropping a few of their faithful plastic chips into the pot.

As the players anted up, Jake shucked his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.  “Thanks for having me, man, I know I haven’t dropped by as much as I should have lately,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Abram said.  “I understand you got hitched since we saw you last.”

Jake held up his hands.  The Nocturnean rings glimmered on his fingers.  “I did."

“Good for you,” Abram said.  He picked up his cards and bet.  “I’m engaged, actually,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?  Congratulations,” Jake said.  “What’s his name?”

Will snorted water on his shirt as Abram glared at his friend.  “Her name is Cris,” Abram said coolly.  Will snorted again.  “Short for Crystal, damn it,” Abram said.

“Well, that’s awesome, dude, congratulations,” Jake said.  He grinned at his old friend and chucked in his cards.  “When are you getting married?”

“A few months, actually,” Abram said.

“Cool.”  Jake watched the rest of the hand in silence, judging the time not to be right for his proposal.

When the food was done, Dieter brought the bowl over and doled some out.  Jake took his portion and glanced over the plate as he did, since the game was paused.  “So, guys, how has everyone been?” he asked.

“It’s not easy,” Dieter said.  Jake raised an eyebrow at his friend’s tone, but kept his mouth shut.

Will shrugged.  “You remember what it’s like,” he said.  “Just existing.”

“Yeah, I do remember,” Jake said.  Then, even as a child he had been somewhat privileged, since his father had actually owned his business.  He was aware in hindsight how much condescension he had exuded in conversation back then.  If he had any chance of his proposal being well-received now, he had to stay polite.  “What are you up to?”

“Line supervisor at a factory in the next hab down,” Will said.

“What do you make?” Jake asked.

“Hair curlers, and some light plastics, mostly,” Will said.

“Oh,” Jake said.  “Custom design or something Martian?”

“STC relics, but that means we’ve got to keep standards up.”  Will spooned the last of his portion of the meat-flavored soylens onto his plate.  “If you let something that’s supposed to be STC-quality slip, wow.  They come down on you hard.”

“I bet,” Jake said.  “Does anyone else here work there?” he asked.

“I do, Dieter does, I think Alan does,” Will said, eyeing a few of the other men at the table.  The other man, Alan, nodded.

Jake finished his food and rose.  “All right.  Anyone not want dessert?” he asked.

“What’s dessert?” Will asked.

“Tonight, a starfruit pie my wife made,” Jake said.  “Anyone not want some?”  He hefted a knife and dug into the basket.

“The hell is a star fruit?  Some kind of space food or something?” Abram asked.

“No, it’s fruit that is literally shaped like a star,” Jake said.  “Fucking amazing.  It’s about the only Terran fruit that can grow on Nocturne without genemodding.”  He hefted a slice of the stuff from the top of the pie to demonstrate its unusual shape.

“So, you did move off-planet after getting married,” Dieter said.  “Why?”

“Because my wife wanted to go home, and I wanted to go with her,” Jake said.  “Venus had obligations there.”

“Really?  It must have been hard,” Will said.

“It was,” Jake said heavily.  “It is.  The weather on Nocturne is terrifying.  Acid storms and earthquakes, every week like clockwork.  Everything’s made of metal or stone because there’s no wood, and because the earthquakes will topple anything more fragile.  The food’s more diverse, but the ambient temperature and gravity are so high that it’s actually pretty hard to walk around outside unless you have special gear or were born there.  Or get genemodded, like I was,” Jake said.

Will stared at him.  “I thought you looked different.”

“Yeah.  I was bedridden for several days, the marrow infusion hurt so bad,” Jake said ruefully.  Was he coming off as immodest?  He couldn’t tell.  “Anyway.  Dig in, guys,” he said, putting plates of the pie in front of the others.  “If my wife were here, she’d say she didn’t make this with cooking, she made it with Applied Chemistry,” he chuckled.  “I burn water, so that works for me.”

“I gotta say, Jake, I’m surprised you’re even here,” Will said, finally broaching the topic.  “Didn’t you get married to a pretty high-tier noble?”

“Lord Vulkan’s daughter,” Jake supplied.

The others either looked stunned or stared at each other.  “Wow,” one of the men Jake didn’t know said.  “Where did you meet?”

“High school,” Jake said.  He sat back down and dug into the pie.  “We also went to the same college.  Actually,” he said, glancing over the others.  “It’s part of why I’m here.  Back on Terra, I mean.  My oldest son is probably going to be going to a Terran school when he’s old enough.  I came here from Nocturne like I do every seven months or so, because Venus and I have obligations to the Royal Family’s Estate, but I wanted to do something else while I was on-planet.”

Dieter and the others exchanged looks.  Jake continued.  “Remember when we were in middle school, we all used to talk about what we’d do for Terra if we made it?” he asked.  “Well…I did.  So when I came here last week, I dropped in on someone.  Do you guys know about the Foundation for the Advancement of Education and the Arts?”

“Sure,” Will said.  “We got some comp from them after an accident on the job meant my brother Drew had to miss six weeks of work.”

“Good,” Jake said.  Despite the name, the Foundation had smaller branches that covered charitable and compensatory funding of all types.  It was one of the reasons Jake had gone to Fulgrim in the first place.  “Well, I went to one of its founders to offer my assistance in exchange for some advice,” he said.

“What advice?” Will asked.

“I wanted to lend myself out for fundraisers and the like, and in exchange, the founder in question would either help me set up my own charity or work through the Foundation towards specific goals.”  Jake sighed.  “He said no.”

“Why?”

“Because he thought it sounded like I would basically be bribing people to adopt different standards of living,” Jake said.  “And he was right.  So I would like your opinions,” he said, taking in the room.  “How can I put my newfound influence to best use for the good of hivers?” he asked.

The room went quiet.  Some of the men looked at Jake uncomfortably, while a few grimaced.  “Man, you know how people around here look at charity,” Will said.  “I think you ought to just donate money to a charity that already exists if you feel like you should be doing more.”

Jake shook his head.  “I don’t mean money alone.  I mean attention-raising.”

“Oh, come on,” Dieter said grimly.  “We all know the drug trade around here is the real problem.  There’s so few Arbites and Praetors that can do anything about it, that nothing gets done at all.  The Enforcers are basically useless for fighting that kind of organized crime.”

“So more cops, or better cops?” Jake asked.

“Both.  Either,” Dieter said.  “Do you really not remember how bad it was?” he asked coldly.

Jake shrugged uncomfortably.  “I do, but things change.  When I left, most of the dealers around my apartment were small fish.”

“Well, things do change, all right,” Dieter said.  “But let’s be realistic here.  How much are you talking about donating to something, here?”

Jake cleared his throat self-consciously.  “Uh, not much actual money, truth be told.  We don’t exactly get paid.  I meant more like doing commercials and fundraisers.”

“What do you mean you don’t get paid?” Dieter asked.

“I mean that the position of Bond Prince of Nocturne doesn’t have a salary,” Jake said.  “We have a tiny stipend from the Royal Family, but we live off of investment dividends.”

"''Bond Prince''?” Dieter demanded.  “Are you serious?”

“That’s my title on Nocturne, yeah,” Jake said.  “On Terra, though, I’m just Jake.  No title here.  I’m still me.”  He coughed again.  “For what it’s worth.  Anyway, I came to you guys because I trust you, and because if I asked my parents, I doubt I’d get a straight answer.  I’m not on the best of terms with my father these days.”

“If you want my honest opinion, get the Emperor to re-instate the Penal Legions,” Abram said.  “I mean, they were a ready-made solution to the drug trade.  The Arbites could just pack up gangs of drug dealers wholesale and ship them off to die.  Perfect.”

Jake snorted.  “I agree.  Unfortunately, they were pretty much an ethical black mark, so he decided to stop creating them shortly after the Crusade ended.  I don’t have the sway to get him to change his mind.  I’ll bring it up next time I see him, though.”

“Wait, you really get to talk to him?” Abram asked.

“He’s my wife’s grandfather, I see him all the time when I’m here,” Jake said.  “Not in a formal context, you understand.  Just…you know, family get-togethers.”  He picked his empty plate up.  “All right, thanks for the advice.  I’ll think it over before I go back to my contact at the Foundation.”

“So who is this contact, anyway?” Will asked.  “You said he was one of the founders.”

“Yes, he is,” Jake said.  “I mean, we’re not exactly friends, but he’s one of Venus’ relatives, so we get along pretty well.”

“Well, man, I don’t know how you do it,” Will said.  “Rubbing shoulders with the Primarchs and whatever.”

Jake shrugged.  “If I’m being perfectly honest, some of them scare the shit out of me, even now,” he said.  “Curze and Mortarion and Angron terrify me.  And I know Fulgrim and Perturabo think the Royal daughters have no business getting married to mortal men, even if Fulgrim would never say it aloud.”

“No offense, man, but Vulkan is scary as hell, too,” Will said.  “Do his eyes really look like that?”

Jake nodded.  “Yeah.  So do Venus’.  And N’bel’s, and Carmine’s,” Jake said.  “N’bel and Carmine are my sons.  N’bel was Vulkan’s father’s name, Carmine was my father’s father’s name.”  He set the plates back in the basket and sat back down.  “Okay.  Thanks for the advice, guys.  Let’s play poker,” he said, picking the deck up.

“You have children?” Dieter asked.

“Yeah.  Two boys, twelve and a few days short of seven.”  Jake grinned wistfully as it struck him that his eldest was as old now as he had been when he met his wife.  “Time flies.”

“Wait, twelve?  Damn, you got off to a quick start,” Will observed.

“We got married before we finished college,” Jake said.  He dealt the cards out.  “All right.  Who’s in?”



Several hours later, the game broke up.  As Jake collected his things and prepared to go, his vox buzzed.  He pulled it loose and answered it.  “Hello?”

“My Prince, are you ready to head out?” Jake’s bodyguard asked.

“I am, but I think I want to take the trams, not the car,” Jake decided.

The line was silent.  “Are you certain, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“I am.  I used to live here.  I’m safe,” Jake said.  “And I want to drop in on my parents.”

“Very well,” the guard said, already thinking over the new security routes he would have to take.

Jake finished the call and slid the vox back into his pocket.  He picked up the basket and walked over to the door.  “Hey, Dieter, thanks for having me over, man,” he said.

Dieter nodded, feeling unexpectedly hesitant.  “Good to see you, too, Jake.  Sorry if I was being an ass, before.”

Jake blinked.  “I didn’t get that vibe.  I was more worried that I would sound like a spoiled asshole, actually.”

Dieter managed a tired laugh.  “We surprised each other, then, I guess.”

“Tell you what,” Jake said, hefting the basket.  “Next time I’m on Terra, you guys can play at my place.  I miss you guys a lot when I’m not on Terra.  I shouldn’t forget where I came from.”

“Really?  You think about us when you’re off in space or whatever?” Will asked from the table.

“Absolutely!  You guys were my best friends when I was in public around here,” Jake said.  “Nobody on Nocturne plays cards like you guys, either.  Buncha pussies when the chips hit the table,” he joked.  “You guys would make a mint on Carshim or any other casino planet.”

“You really think so?” Abram asked.

“Absolutely.”  Jake smiled and backed out.  “All right.  So long, guys.”

Outside, he slid his sunglasses on over his eyes and carried the basket over to the car.  The security codes on his keyfob told him nobody had approached the vehicle, so he opened the door and put the basket on the front seat.  He tapped the ‘Return’ key on the fob and it lifted to soar off to the house that he and Venus shared on Terra.  Jake himself turned and hiked up the collar of his jacket a bit, then slid his hands into its front pockets and walked towards the public trams.  The miniaturized digital needler in his pocket clinked against his fingernail as he did so, and he slid it on.  No point in being incautious.  He had considered bringing the tiny laspistol he had made for himself, too, but decided against it.

As he walked away from the apartments and entered the huge lift tubes that raised him to the first major public tram terminal, he thought over what his friends had said.  More policing of the drug trade.  Would that make enough of a difference?  There was little drug trade on Nocturne since the world was almost entirely deserts or acid oceans, and all chemical imports were controlled down to the ounce.  But Terra…Terra had a drug trade as old as the species.  What could he do about it?

He exited the lift and walked over to the nearest guidepost.  The trams were a brief walk from the lift, and Jake walked over, making sure not to pay too much attention to anyone else.

The streets of Nocturnean cities were much safer, he thought to himself, despite everything.  People weren’t afraid of eye contact on Nocturne.  The Astartes walked the streets and helped the people.  Still, this was where he was born.  If he didn’t take the lessons he’d learned on Nocturne to the streets of Terra, what right did he have to call himself Vulkan’s son-in-law?

He craned his head up to look at the armored and reinforced ceiling, high above.  The artificial lights had been carefully designed not to harm the eyes of the viewers, but they weren’t a real sun.  There was no cloud cover.  It didn’t feel natural, even after growing up under it.

Jake sighed to himself and walked on to the tram station, his mind turning over his thoughts as he went.


Aboard the tram, Jake leaned back in a corner seat, musing.  If he offered his support to the Arbites directly, it would be a waste of time.  After all, the Arbites weren’t the problem.  And the more he thought about it, the Enforcers couldn’t really do much more than they already were either.  The problem was the Praetors.  It was their job to enforce Cube and Spire-level law, where the Arbites enforced Imperial law and the Enforcers covered the normal Habitation and per-level rules.  The Praetors had to be able to track them better than the Enforcers could, and the Arbites didn’t much care about simple drug trafficking in most cases, since it was legal on some worlds and not others.  Terra, after all, had to be held to the same standards as any other Imperial world in the enforcement of the Book of Judgment.

He shook his head.  All he could do was put words in the right ears, really.  Beyond that, it was up to individual Terrans.

Speaking of individual Terrans, he thought.  The number of people on the car was increasing considerably.  Each stop added passengers.  Even as he looked, several dozen more people stepped onto the car.  As the tram car pulled away from the station, the various people found seats.  One young man, not a day older than ten, sat on the seat beside him, glancing enviously at Jake’s expensive clothes and rings.  Another boy, this one with a more furtive look about him, sat next to the other boy on the far side and glanced nervously around the car.  After they were underway, he leaned over to the first boy and whispered something.  Jake looked away at the lights flashing by the windows, but his enhanced hearing picked up every word.

“Dude, that’s totally him!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the first boy asked.

“The guy at the front!  He’s packing a Lawmaker!  It’s an Arbitrator!  We’re fucked!” the second boy whispered.  He was clearly on the verge of panic.

“Stay calm,” the first one said under his breath.  “We’ll just get off on the next stop.”

Jake grimaced.  Thieves.  Not even ten, and they were thieves.  Disgusting.  Even at his worst, he had never sunk that low.  Or was he passing judgment too quickly?  Were they just afraid of the police?  He remembered people like that when he lived here.

Whatever.  It wasn’t his business.  Jake turned back to see the car had filled almost completely by now.  He rose to feet to allow someone pushing a wheelchair to pass him, and as he did, his vox fell from his pocket.  Jake’s hand fell to the seat where it landed, muttering a curse.

The screen lit as his fingers brushed a button, though it didn’t unlock.  It popped up his contact list as it landed.  Jake, stuck upright until he could sit and grab the vox, noted the boy next to him staring at it.  How rude.  Didn’t he have a sense of privacy?

As the wheelchair passed, Jake sat down and snatched the errant electronics up, sliding the vox back into his pocket.  The boy glanced at him as he did, his fear melting away into suspicion.

“Excuse me,” the kid said. His voice was suddenly very young indeed.  “Are you a member of the Ordo Investigatorum?”

Jake stared.  “…What?” he asked.

“I mean…that’s an off-world vox, and you have a needler,” the boy said, his voice trailing off.

Jake glanced at his finger.  “How did you know this was a needler?” he asked, surprised that the boy even knew what it was.

“I’ve seen holos,” the kid said.  “Wow.  So you are?”

“First off, if I were, do you think I would tell you?” Jake asked, annoyed.  “Second, do you make a habit of talking to strangers on trams?”

“But we didn’t do anything!” the second boy spoke up.  His voice was reedy with fear.  “Please, you have to help us, sir!  The Arbites want to get us!”

“For asking questions, or because you actually broke the law?” Jake said.

“I…I-I don’t know!” the first kid lied, his face paling.

Jake sighed heavily.  “Don’t lie to me.”

The second kid bit back a sob.  That, at least, sounded real.  Jake looked over to see a series of tiny cuts along the child’s hands.  Not injection marks or calluses, though.  They reminded Jake of his wife’s hands after she spent a meditative session in the forges.  They were cuts from gripping tools too tightly, and skin drying quickly.  “Kid, what happened to your hand?” Jake asked, a horrible suspicion setting in.

“Nothing, sir,” the kid managed, fear and nerves undermining his voice.  Jake’s heart ached.  He was only a few years away from his own sons, damn it.

“Kid, please,” he said, trying to channel his father-in-law’s voice and presence.  “Your hands bear the marks of a powder cutter.”

The kid flinched and hid his hands.  “It’s just for now,” he said, perhaps realizing that confessing something like that to a member of the Ordo was potentially dangerous.

So the kids were members of a drug dealer’s gang, and were fleeing its downfall.  Jake gritted his teeth, but kept up his façade.  “All right, boys,” he said softly.  “Here’s what we’re going to do.  When the train stops, I’m going to call for a pickup by the Treasury.  I’m going to drop you off with them.  Once you’re with them, you’ll be safe.  Just tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  Do you understand?”

The boys exchanged frantic looks, but neither said anything.  As the car slowed, Jake lifted his vox and hit the Treasury page button.  In an instant, the speaker chirped.

“Lord?” his bodyguard’s voice asked.

“I have two children here in need of protective pickup at…station 175, deck 19, same Cube as before,” Jake said into the vox.  “They’re going to tell a bit of a tale.”

“Sir?” his bodyguard asked, confused.  “What do you mean?”

“Please just arrange a pickup,” Jake said.  “I’ll be off shortly.”

Jake hung up and pocketed the vox.  He rose and gestured for the door as the tram slid to a halt.  Both boys obligingly trooped out as Jake followed them, watching the station for any sign of the Treasury vehicles.  He held up a hand for stillness as a man who followed them off the tram walked up quickly behind them.

“Step away from the children immediately,” the man said curtly.  His hand was fingering a poorly-concealed pistol in his coat pocket as he said it.  Jake eyed him.  The boys’ assessments seemed accurate.  A plainclothes Arbitrator or Praetor, for sure.

“Very well, Judge, but I’ve already arranged for a pickup,” Jake said, keeping his hands still.  The boys looked frightened enough to bolt, but didn’t move.

“Keep your hands visible and don’t move,” the Judge said, gesturing at Jake’s ring.  “Take the needler off and place it on the floor, now.”

Jake sighed and did so.  The Judge took a step forward to collect it when a group of seven men in the distinctive beehive uniforms of the Treasury’s special protective service.  The Treasury agents marched straight up to where Jake was standing, taking in the strange tableau as the other passengers and pedestrians stared.  “Your Highness,” one of the black-masked Treasury operatives said without preamble.  “You ordered a pickup?”

“These kids here could use some help,” Jake said, gesturing at the two boys.  “Or do you have something to add, Judge?” he asked, glancing at the Judge over the rims of his sunglasses.

The Judge blinked, but apparently recognized the mark of the Salamanders in Jake’s eyes.  “Negative, sir.  I apologize,” he started.

“Oh hush, you didn’t do a damn thing wrong,” Jake said.  “Now.  Gentlemen, let’s went,” he said, scooping up his ring as he walked by it.


That evening, Jake was sitting in the tiny waiting room of the Arbites Courthouse nearest the site of the arrest when Venus stormed in.  She sighted her errant husband in the corner of the room, reading a magazine.  “Jake!  What the hell happened out there?” she demanded.

Jake stood.  “Hello.”

“The car comes back empty, Blake tells me you go off for a stroll, and then you get two small children ARRESTED?” she fumed.  “What the hell party did you attend, exactly?”

Jake fought back a laugh.  Venus’ eyes turned even brighter.  “Okay, long story short is that when I took the tram home, I realized that the two kids next to me had cuts on their hands from cutting powder in a drug lab,” Jake explained.  Venus stared, her ire fading to astonishment.  “I called a Treasury pickup, and here we are.”

“You called in the Treasury instead of the Arbites…why?” Venus asked, walking up to him.  The room was empty save them at this hour.

Jake sat back down.  “The children were afraid of the Arbites.  I thought they might be more talkative with the Treasury.  That, and I could page the Treasury faster.”

Venus groaned.  “Jake, baby, I love you but you’re denser than ceramite.  You could have gotten robbed or shot or something!”

“By those kids?  They were so scared they could barely move,” Jake said.  “I grew up down here, Venus, I can look after myself.”

Venus rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers and sat beside him.  “All right.  Sure.  Ugh.”  She glared at him, her eyes fading to their normal, healthy glow.  “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine, baby, don’t worry,” Jake said.  “Where are the larvae?”

“Back home, worried sick,” Venus said.

Jake sighed.  “I’ll apologize for spooking them when we get home.”

“No, you won’t, they’ll be in bed by then,” Venus said in exasperation.  “Let’s just get you home, all right?”


Jake sat at his son N’bel’s bedside later that night and tried not to look too tired.  “Hey, son, you should be asleep,” he said quietly.

“I was scared!” N’bel said indignantly, pique laced through his twelve-year-old voice.  “You were off getting arrested or something!”

The hiver grinned and sat back in his seat.  “Well, I wasn’t trying to scare you.  I just took a detour on my home from my friend’s place.”

“But you’re okay, right?” N’bel demanded.

“Right as rain, N’bel, fear not.”  Jake stood.  “Now.  I’m going to go tuck your brother in.  I’ll see you later, all right?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, all right,” N’bel grumbled.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad.”

“Good night.”  Jake hesitated before closing the door.  N’bel glanced at him from the bed.

“Dad?”

“Sorry.  Just…hang on,” Jake said.  He crossed the space to the bed and leaned over to give his son a quick hug.  “Don’t you ever get mixed up with those drug pushers, you hear me?” he murmured.  “I love you too much for that.”

“Dad, come on,” N’bel muttered.

Jake sighed into his son’s wavy black hair.  “Sorry.  You sleep tight.  We’re going over to Grandma Sandra’s place tomorrow, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” N’bel said.  Jake straightened back up.

“Good night,” he said, and this time he closed the door behind him.

Carmine was already fast asleep next door, so Jake contented himself with a peck on the boy’s cheek and a whispered ‘goodnight.’  Leaving the room, he walked up the steps to the building’s top floor, where he joined his wife on the balcony of their master suite.  Venus was already in her bathrobe, trusting in the building’s holoscreen to protect their privacy.  Jake walked up behind her and slid his arms on either side of her to rest over her own hands on the wrought iron railing.  “Hello,” he said softly.

“Hi there,” she said flatly.

Jake sighed into the downy fabric of her robe’s collar.  “I’m sorry if I worried you, love,” he said in Nocturnean.

“I was confused and damn it, why did you scare me like that?” Venus replied in the same tongue.  “My Prince, your life is too high a price to pay for adventuring!”

“Venus, I just wanted to time to think,” Jake said honestly.  He kissed the back of her head and breathed in the scent of her shampoo and perfume.  “I was distracted.  Upset.  I wanted to walk through streets I used to call mine.”

“I know, Jake, that’s not what worried me,” Venus sighed.  She pushed his arms away and turned around, looking up into his eyes.  Jake was taken aback at the sadness he saw.  “Please, tell me what happened!”

Jake nodded.  “Well, the party was pretty much what I expected,” he said in Gothic.  He wasn’t quite fluent in Nocturnean.  “I learned a lot, some of the guys had interesting ideas.”

“All right…how were they?” Venus asked, putting her patience to work.  Jake was obviously just marshaling his thoughts.  Her father acted the same way at times.

“Well…for where they live in the hive, pretty well, but…” Jake trailed off.  “Shit.  They deserve better.”  He sighed, thinking over the tiny apartment and reprocessed people and feces they had had for dinner.  “They liked the pie, though,” he added as an afterthought.

Venus snorted.  “Good.  What were their suggestions?”

Jake sat on the little bench in the corner of the porch and thought back.  Venus sat beside him, adjusting her robe as she did.  “Hmm.  The principle suggestion was that the Arbites crack down harder on day-to-day drug trading.  And…shit, what I saw on the tram, I think they’re right.”  Jake grimaced bitterly.  “Ten.  They were ten years old, and for pennies a day, they were cutting drugs in some lab.  I know those cuts.  Kids came to school with those cuts,” he said, remembering back to middle school.  “The kids with the shiny new voxes and bags under their eyes.”  He turned a pained glance on Venus.  “N’bel is only two years older than them, and they were so terrified of the Arbites that they preferred me turning them in.  They thought I was an Ordo spook.”

“Are you serious?” Venus asked in astonishment.

Jake held up his hand.  “They saw the needler.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Venus groaned.

“So you can see the confusion,” Jake continued with half a grin.  The balcony lit up a bit as a passing car’s headlights made it through the holoscreen, which Venus had set to two-way.  Venus ground her palms into her eyes.

“Okay, so, you turned them in, long story short, here we are?” she finished for him.

“Essentially.”  Jake nodded.  “Well.  The kids are at least safe now.”

“Kids.”  Venus shook her head.  “Unbelievable.  What kind of deplorable…ugh.”

“Mommy?”

Both adults looked over to the door of the porch.  Carmine was clinging blearily to the doorframe, wiping his eyes.  His soft pajama pants glowed in his mother’s stare.  “What are you doing out here?  Is Dad home?”

“I’m right here,” Jake said, standing up and walking over to his son.  He knelt and wrapped the little boy in a hug.  “Hey, sorry if I kept you up.  You were asleep when I got home!”

“I heard someone walking in the hall,” Carmine muttered tiredly.

“Well, let’s get you back in bed, alright?” Jake asked.  “I can tell you what happened in the morning.”

“M’kay,” Carmine said, allowing his father to turn him around and guide him down the hall to the stairwell.  Venus stayed behind, sitting on the bench where she had been, her mind wandering.  Did Jake have a point?  Was the incredibly low crime rate of Startseite blinding her to the problems of other Terrans?  She wasn’t going to pretend that the state of hivers was the fault of anyone other than hivers, but still…

Below, Jake watched as his son climbed into bed.  Carmine yawned and snuggled down under the covers.  “Can I ask you something before you go, Dad?” Carmine asked.  The incredibly bright lights of his eyes – the brightest Jake had ever seen save those of Vulkan himself – dimmed as the boy started to drift back to sleep.

“Sure, son, what’s up?” Jake asked, sitting at his son’s bedside.

“Why do you want N’bel and me to go to school here?” Carmine asked.

“I want N’bel to go to high school here, and I can hardly leave you behind,” Jake pointed out.  “And N’bel wants to go to school here too.  You don’t have to,” he said.

“I want to go home for school,” Carmine said.

“Well, you can.”  Jake stood.  “Tell you what.  Your new school starts in a few weeks.  Why don’t you try that out for a while?  I think you’ll be pretty popular.”

“Why?”

“Because you like new things,” Jake said.  “And you’re really smart.”

“I guess,” Carmine said tiredly.

Jake snorted.  “Good night, Carmine.  See you tomorrow morning.”

Upstairs, Venus lounged on the balcony bench, idly running her hands together.  The thick web of scars and wear marks on her hands were the product of thousands of hours in the forges, not fighting or drug use, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized what Jake must have seen, and why it had him so emotional.  She wondered what she would have done in his place.

“Sweetheart?  Carmine’s in bed now,” Jake said from the door.

Venus sat up, then rose, snugging her robe.  “Good.  Was he okay?”

“Just night sounds keeping him up,” Jake said.  He walked into the bedroom and started undressing.  “I really do apologize if I scared you,” he said around a mouthful of shirt.

“I’m just glad it all worked out,” Venus said.  She slid her robe off and hung it on the peg.  She paused before climbing into the bed.  “Have you figured out why you wanted to do all this?” she asked.

Jake pulled sleeping clothes on slowly, thinking the question over.  “I think I have, yeah.”

“And have you decided what you’re going to do?”

He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling as Venus doused the lights.  “I’m getting there.  Safer schools would help, but…I dunno.  I feel like…like I’m letting them down, you know?  My old family.”

“You’re seeing my parents and yours tomorrow,” Venus pointed out.  “Ask them.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I should,” Jake said.  He reached out his hand in the darkness and caressed Venus’ flat stomach, eliciting a giggle at the tickling feeling.  “Do you think we keep the boys safe?” Jake asked softly, the terror in the eyes of the boys on the tram coming back to him.  “I feel like I can barely even tell what they’re thinking sometimes.”

“You think I can?” Venus asked drily.  “They’re boys.  They feel like aliens to me half the time.”  She squeezed his hand.  “I think we’re doing okay so far.”

“Me too,” Jake said, and he let her warmth lull him to rest.


Venus squeezed Carmine’s shoulder as he exited the car outside the Seager family home.  “Don’t stare, Carmine,” she said softly.  Her son was eyeballing a few pedestrians, who were clearly taken aback by what probably looked, for all intents and purposes, like a mutant pack exiting a car with the Imperial Aquila on it.  Carmine shot them a parting glare and looked up at the small apartment that the Seagers shared, the same one Jake had purchased for them several years before.  The structure was decorated in fashionable low-key Gothic style, with no windows at all, but a large aircar pad right outside the door.  N’bel ran ahead of the others and eagerly knocked on the door.

His mother Sandra opened the door and beamed at her grandson.  N’bel, smartly clad in a neat Terran formal shirt, smiled up at her from the stoop.  “Grandma Sandra!” he exclaimed.

“Hello, N’bel,” Sandra said, hugging him as he entered.  “Goodness, you’re a foot taller than you were when I saw you last!”

“You think so?” N’bel asked.  Lights flashed across the front of the apartment as the neverending streams of traffic raced by on the elevated roadways and in the air.

“I do!” Sandra said.  She leaned over to hug Carmine as he raced up to her.  “Carmine!  How are you?” she asked.  George walked up behind them, grinning at his enthusiastic grandsons.

“I’m okay, Grandma,” Carmine said.  He hugged George in turn as N’bel made for the bathroom after the nearly hour-long flight to the apartment.  “I’m a little nervous about school starting.  I don’t people to make fun of my accent or anything here,” he said.

“Oh, honey, trust me, nobody will do that,” Sandra said.  “Nobody important anyway.”

Jake shook his father’s hand and hugged his mother as his sons found seats in the main room.  “Mom, Dad, good to see you again,” Jake said.  He hadn’t aged a day in fourteen years, where his parents most certainly had, but the better accommodations of the home he had bought for them had afforded them a higher standard of living, and both were still spritely.

“Hello, Jake,” George said.  “Venus, you look radiant,” he added, hugging his daughter-in-law.  His rumpled short-sleeve work shirt was kept fastidiously clean, and had the name ‘Seager Metalworking and Rapair’ emblazoned on the breast pocket.  “How was the flight?”

“Slow.  We got pulled over once, if you can believe that,” Venus said.

Sandra stared.  “Someone actually pulled over a vehicle with the Imperial flags on it?” she asked.

“No, not like a traffic stop or anything, just a snarl in the autopilot,” Venus said.  She looked around the apartment, searching for the time.  “Oh, it’s only noon.  Good.”

“Yes, it’s early.”  Sandra and George sat down, and Carmine immediately crawled into his grandfather’s lap.  “Oof.  Hey, kiddo,” George said, grinning at his grandson.  Carmine hurriedly slid his shades on to keep from blinding his grandfather.


After a while recounting the past year and a half of separation, the boys stayed in the main room to play games on the holo while the adults took to the little kitchenette.  The Seagers listened as Jake recounted his adventure with law enforcement the day before.  “So, apparently I’m an Ordo spook, too,” he finished.  “That was a new one.”

His mother stared at him, pained.  “Jake, sweetheart, I know you want to make a difference,” she began.  The brown-haired office worker had had her own problems with drug pushers working near their own home before Jake had moved them out entirely.  “But Dieter was right.  The problems are with the Arbites and simple human nature,” she said.  “You can’t fix that.”

Jake sighed heavily, massaging the bridge of his nose.  “I suppose.  I still feel that I could at least help the Arbites out a bit.”

“How?  Funding?  Training?” Sandra asked.  “If you only help out one hab, people will call favoritism.”

Her son nodded glumly.  “I guess you’re right.”

“Anyway, we’re just glad you’re okay,” George said.  His voice was momentarily drowned out by a whoop of pure pride from the other room as Carmine managed to run his brother over in an aptly-named Salamander in the game they were playing.  “Are you going to be staying in town while N'bel is at Imperator?” he asked, changing the subject.  “It’s a long drive from Cordoma.”

“Actually no,” Venus said.  “If you take the skylanes it’s only twenty minutes per trip.  The boys will just get the car.  I’ll drive them to school and then go to the Palace to work, rather than working from home.”

“And what will you be doing all day?” Misja asked Jake.  He shrugged.

“Well, I have work to do too.  I’ll either go with the boys or work from home,” he said.  He placed both hands on the table and looked closely at his parents.  Any revulsion they still felt towards his new appearance was more or less gone, by now.  “I want to make something clear, though, as long as we’re still here,” he said.  “Is it alright if the boys stop off here every so often if we can’t pick them up?”

“Absolutely!” Sandra said.  “Are you sure they wouldn’t want to stay at Vulkan’s and Misja’s house, though?  It’s much closer,” she noted.

“It is, but they want to see you two just as much,” Venus pointed out.

“Hey, Dad, can you help us with this?” N’bel called from the other room.  Jake wandered in to help the co-opping brothers through a particularly tough level as the Seagers and Venus continued their discussion.

“We’ve made it very clear to the boys that you’re as much a part of the family as my parents are, even given their…traits,” Venus said, waving at her eyes.  “Really.  And I promise they’ll thank you for having them.  They go years without seeing their grandparents when we’re on Nocturne.”

“Well, we always like it when they stop by,” Sandra said.  “They’re welcome any time.”

===Hard At Work===

[[Image:IlikecommasFinal.jpg|thumb|Cora and Afina in their younger years!]]

Business was good.

Corvus Cora sipped a cup of hot cocoa and stared at several dataslates on her desk, watching numbers scroll by at blinding speeds.  Her superhuman eyes followed their movements, absorbing the information as fast as it was presented, and she grinned behind the white ceramic of her cup.  Yes, business was good.

Less than ten years before, she had purchased the Terran Manufacturing Concern to add to her slowly-growing collection of private construction companies.  The macroconstruction industry was her battlefield, and she crossed it with skill.  The new colony on Maxeillus had been one of hers, constructed with a combination of human and servitor labor, with Mechanicum oversight.  It had nearly bankrupted the company to finance, but they had succeeded.  With that contract under their belts, there wasn’t a project in the galaxy that the Corvus Design and Engineering Conglomerate couldn’t handle.

With one small problem.  While the actual construction had gone smoothly, the supply chains had cost so much that Cora had had to take out multiple loans to keep the teams equipped.  The Mechanicum kept the manufacturing and supply sources of the Imperium under an iron grip, and not without reason, but it was bad for business.  The answer?

“Vertical control, Afina,” Cora said with satisfaction.

Her secretary poked her head into the cavernous office Cora had to herself.  “Sorry, my Lady?” the mousy young Terran asked.

“Nothing of import,” Cora said smugly, rising to her feet.  The Terran Manufacturing Concern controlled over four hundred small-scale manufactorae across the Sol system, and though only a few had made construction equipment when she had bought them out wholesale, that was swiftly rectified.  With the TMC facilities making the equipment and materials she needed at a fifth of the price the Mechanicum charged, she had been able to pay off every single loan the company had ever owed, in full.  Now, the data streaming across her slates had told her how much more she had brought in with one simple purchase.

“Afina, do I have anything scheduled for the next hour?” Cora asked as she walked out into the antechamber.

Her secretary – a frighteningly smart if timid young business PA that Cora had a lot of time for – fumbled through a small schedule book.  “Er, no, my Lady,” she said.  “But right at 1300, you have a tour of the plastics molding facility in hive 0004 on Terra.”

“Oh, right,” Cora said.  “Great.  We’ll have lunch in Startseite and go to the factory after that.”

“If you will it, my Lady,” Afina said.  Cora hid a smile.  Afina’s near-reverence for her station had been a bit wearying at first, but Cora was growing to like it.  It was clearly just Afina’s means of expressing respect.

“Didn’t you grow up in Startseite, if I may ask, my Lady?” Afina asked as she dug up her wallet and slid it into her pocket.

Cora nodded.  The sleek business suit she was wearing contrasted nicely with her snow-white skin and shimmering black hair.  By contrast, Afina’s brown tweedish shirt and green dress seemed nearly pedestrian.  “Yes, I did.  Where are you from?” she asked as she pulled on a jacket.

Afina nodded eagerly.  “I’m from Albiona, my Lady,” she said.  Her soft voice would have been hard for someone without Cora’s hypersensitive hearing to detect.  “I’d been to Startseite a few times before I came to work for you, though,” she added.

“Cool.”  Cora flipped a pair of sunglasses on and tapped the call button for her elevator.  “Let’s head out.”


Her office, in the heart of Cordoma’s business district, was a mere twenty minutes from Startseite by skycar.  The luxurious black limousine raced through the air towards the city, cutting through the sun-drenched Terran surface glare.  Nearly the entire planet was one giant hive, thanks to the Emperor’s construction order.  Cora didn’t give it much thought as a child, though she was starting to understand why some hivers resented surfacers so much for it now that she owned several hive-based factories.

The limo’s interior was padded with soundproofing material, and plenty of leather upholstery.  The small holo screen set into the island that ran down the middle flickered to life as Cora faced it.  “Lady Primarch, you have a call coming in from Derrel Parkman,” Afina reported.

Cora made a face.  “Put him on,” she said.  Parkman was one of the managers of the plastics factory she had purchased mere weeks before.  He was a competent enough man, but renovating his facility had taken far more money than he had estimated.

The image of an elderly man with thin grey hair appeared on the screen.  “Your Ladyship, hello,” Parkman said.  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Just a trip to lunch,” Cora said.  “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I was hoping we could move the tour of the factory from 1300 to 1330,” Parkman said apologetically.  “We’re having about fifty shipments of microbeads arrive at the same time as five pickles.  The whole facility will be in gridlock.”

“I want to see it as it, Derrel,” Cora said mildly.  “Half the reason we negotiated the buyout was that your facility could handle shipments that size without problems.”

“Well, that’s fine too,” the manager admitted.  “Very well.  I’ll see you then, your Ladyship.”

Cora bade him farewell and hung up.  Afina looked at her nervously.  “My Lady, you know, it’s funny,” she said.  “I know in my head that the word ‘pickle’ just means a sealed container of volatile liquids being moved to a processing facility, but…”

“But the mental image is fantastic,” Cora finished for her, grinning.  “I know.  How do people even come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t know, my Lady,” Afina admitted.

The car settled down outside the restaurant Cora had chosen for their lunch before taking off to the factory.  Cora and Afina exited and faced the structure, one Cora had frequented as a child.  “Wow, I missed this place,” Cora said happily.  “Montegreen’s.  Good times.”

“I’ve never been, my Lady,” Afina said, following her boss into the place.

The hostess noticed them as they entered, and her eyes widened as she recognized Cora.  To Cora’s relief, she didn’t act unusually, instead directing them to a table near the stage.  “It’s a great place; most of us visited at some point or another,” Cora said.  They sat at the little table and the hostess deposited some menus.  “Small town, you know.”

The stage was occupied for the lunch crowd, with some stand-up doing a routine.  Cora tuned him out – a tricky business with her hearing – and focused on her slate, which she propped against a napkin box.  The news trickling in over her screen was mostly financial information from her brokers and accountant, but routine in nature.  Afina discreetly cleared her throat when the waitress arrived.

Cora ordered without opening the menu.  “Malted brawn steak with a side of mesquite fried corn,” she said, not taking her eyes off the slate.  She looked up at the waitress with a sheepish smile when she heard the other woman chuckle.  “Some things never change, eh?”


As the meal approached its end, Cora rose from her hunched observation of the slate and cricked her back, looking around the main room of the restaurant.  A few kids in the corner booth remained, but the lunch crowd was vanishing as people went back to work.  “Much better,” Cora sighed.  “It’s quieter.”

“Does it hurt your ears when it’s louder than this, my Lady?” Afina asked over a bowl of ice cream.

“No, but it’s so distracting,” Cora said.  She dug into her own, melting bowl of ice cream with gusto.  “All right.  Five minutes, and we’re off.”

“Alright,” Afina said.  They ate in silence for a while as the rest of the customers vanished, one-by-one, and a few stragglers wandered in for a late snack.  “May I ask you something about this expedition, my Lady?” Afina asked after a minute or two.

Cora looked up at her and licked vanilla away.  “Sure.”

“Why did you choose a factory that didn’t manufacture the things we were needing to purchase, my Lady?” her secretary asked hesitantly.

Cora shook her head, scattering black strands over her shoulders.  “Because the Mechanicum hates competition.  If I had tried to muscle into the business by just buying a manufactorium that built construction materials, it would have cost more than buying a struggling factory that made something else entirely and repurposing it.”

Afina sighed.  “That’s silly.”

“No kidding,” Cora muttered.  She set her bowl down and stood as the waitress dropped her card off on the table.  “All right.  Let’s went, shall we?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Afina said.


In the car outside, Cora was just fastening into her seat when her arm invisibly twitched.  Cora stared at the implant in her forearm with surprise.  She had long ago restricted access to her personal communication implants to immediate family and friends.  Curious, she blinked three times and opened the data stream in her sunglasses.

Three words, a message from her cousin Morticia, floated in her sight.  “Tonight’s fine here.”

Cora beamed.  “Excellent,” she murmured.  Afina looked at her curiously, but said nothing.


Derrel Packman nervously adjusted his splash coat and awaited the Lady Primarch to whom he now owed his job.  The factory was a complete zoo at that moment.  No fewer than forty five trucks were still queued at the docks, and even if the offloading was going perfectly, it still looked like a demolition derby in the warehouse.

“Mister Packman, the volatiles delivery is sorted,” one of his managers murmured.

Packman sighed.  “Good.  Is the lab ready?”

“It should be, sir,” the lab manager said.  “When does the Lady Primarch arrive?”

“Any minute,” Packman murmured.  The lifelong bureaucrat was hesitant to show Cora the factory out of more than just self-consciousness.  Some of the upgrades had been messy.

The security door in front of them opened, and a Treasury officer in uniform emerged.  Lady Primarch Cora herself emerged behind the officer, and immediately angled towards Packman.  “Director Packman, good to see you again,” Cora said, extending a hand.

Packman bowed as he shook her hand, settling his nerves.  “Your Ladyship, welcome back,” he said.  “We’re eager to show you the changes we’ve made.”
Cora half-smiled at the obvious but necessary lie.  “I’m sure.  Shall we?  Where do we begin?” she asked.

Packman retrieved his hand and gestured at the traffic pattern of trucks and forklifts in the room.  “Well, we haven’t changed Receiving much, so let’s move straight to Airblowing,” he said.

“Great.”  Cora fell in step behind him with Afina tagging along behind her, who was surreptitiously recording everything on her slate.  “So, last time we discussed the possibility of gutting the old mechanic shop and replacing it with a more open area where all the mechanics and facility Techpriests can just hop on the equipment they need,” Cora noted.

“We tried to implement that idea, ma’am,” Packman said, turning down an aisle of massive boxes stacked four stories high.  “The techpriests don’t want to have to open their more advanced equipment to use by the general mechanics.”

“And why is that a problem?” Cora asked.  “Is it something the general mechanics will even need to use?”

“They may use it anyway,” Packman said.  He shrugged awkwardly as they proceeded through the cavernous room.  “Well, in fairness, no, the trained mechanics won’t, but the line workers have been known to try to use the gear the mechanics leave on the line for repairs or changeovers.”

“I see.”  Cora thought that over in silence as they reached the end of the aisle.  “I noticed you put those spherical mirrors in place,” she said, pointing at one of the little silvery orbs in the air.  They reflected light from odd angles, allowing people to see vehicles approaching from the cross-halls without having to actually step into them.

“We did, ma’am,” Packman said.  “Vehicle accidents were rare before, now they simply don’t happen.”

“Good,” Cora replied.  “Where to next?” she asked.

“Well, I was thinking that we would see the new plastics molding area on the way to the offices, ma’am,” Packman said.  “Unless you’d rather see something else?”

“Actually, I’d love to see the glasscutting area,” Cora said.  “From what I remember, it wasn’t even here last time I visited, before the buyout.”

Packman quickly shifted gears.  “Very well, Lady Corvus, we can visit that first.  This way,” he said, turning in the intersection.

Cora followed him down the hallways, her hyperactive senses absorbing information from around her.  While, indeed, the place did look better than the shape it had been when she had bought it, there were still problems around.  Portable tanks of casting liquids and coolants were stacked on top of each other, ancient plastic pallets frayed and cracked, and the floor was sticky enough that she actually had to avoid patches.

“And here we are,” Packman said, pausing at the entrance to the glass area.  Cora glanced into the massive room and rubbed her chin, taking in the sights.  The whole assembly floor was crisscrossed with lines and drains, and the bustle of workers and forklifts filled the empty spaces.  Pallets of glass sheets and piles of small boxes filled spraypainted squares on the ground.  Brilliant white lights hung from the ceilings, several of them showing signs of recent installation.  All that, Cora took in with a glance, and could have fit into any factory in the human species.  The rest, she took in with her transhuman eyes, on a level no other save her own relatives could hope to match.

She saw the thin lines of rust and paint chipping around areas where the floor had been corroded away and simply painted over.  She saw the way boxes and pallets had been stacked outside the designated area, and the way the workers were stopping to look at the clocks every few minutes.

Cora also noted the way the workers’ uniforms were ripped and ragged and stained, moreso than they could be after one day’s work.  Some of the uniform shirts she saw were ripped wide open, hanging by scraps.

“We’re quite proud of the improvements we’ve made so far,” Packman said.

“I bet,” Cora replied.


In the conference room above, Cora leaned back in the chair and watched the presentation Packman was giving her about how they had improved this and that, and dutifully recorded it with her flawless memory and the small tablet she had brought with her.  While she did, Afina quietly excused herself for the second portion of her responsibility to Cora: not being quite as visible.

The young Terran woman donned an anonymous ‘Visitor’ coat and hairnet and slipped into the factory, walking purposefully for the manufacturing floor.  The other people present walked right by her without a second glance, not even looking at her face under the net.

Afina looked over the manufacturing floor as she walked through the massive door, taking in the details.  The conversations around her died under the sound of the massive grinders, and she slid a pair of ear protectors on as she approached them.  The sound died down as she passed it and entered the sorting area, where teams of humans sorted the multicolored plastic and stone chips more effectively than a Mechanicum sorter robot ever could.

One of the line supervisors was talking as she neared his line.  “Juan, get the second bin from the cleaner, it’s done by now,” he said, gesturing at a metal box behind them.

“Yeah,” an oil-stained young man with a ragged beard muttered, walking over to the boxes.

“So…did you see her?” one of the other line workers asked.

“Who, the Princess?  No, she wasn’t there,” the line supervisor said.  “Bunch of the others were.”

“Eh.  Just another rich surfacer telling us how to work,” the worker beside him said.

“We’ll see.”

Afina frowned mightily at the slight to her mistress, but forced herself to walk on by.


Upstairs, Cora stood as Packman finished his speech.  “Thanks for taking the time to make that, Sieur Packman,” she said, as she took her place at the head of the room.

“Our pleasure, Lady Corvus,” Packman said, bowing back to his seat.

“All right, my friends,” Cora said, as she gripped the podium and looked over the small group.  “We’ll start with a brief recap.  When I purchased this company to add to the Conglomerate, I was hoping that the equipment here would cut down significantly on the costs of creating the materials we can’t field-fabricate for large-scale colony building,” she said.  Packman and the others nodded.  “So far, it has.  Upon my purchase four months ago, the refurbishing costs were pretty high, but have been offset by the decrease in expenditures from the rest of the Conglomerate nicely.”  Cora smiled as she recalled exactly how much money she was actually saving now that she didn’t have to go get her materials off the open market.  “The refurbishing costs have already been offset, in fact.”

“Oh, excellent,” Packman’s Treasurer said excitedly.  “That’s wonderful news.”

“Indeed it is,” Cora said happily.  “Now…of course there will have been some problems in the major equipment replacements.  The old plastic melters replaced entirely, the pelletizers gutted, the fabric section replaced entirely…anything I should know about?”

“Well, we had a few small problems with sorting the power grid and moving some rooms around, but not much beyond that, honestly, ma’am,” Packman’s Plant Manager said.  “We’ve increased our workforce to over eight hundred.  Our Human Resources staff had to increase accordingly, but the new employees are working out well, on the whole.”

“With the usual range of exceptions,” Cora said, sipping at the drink in her cup.  She made a face and pushed it aside.  “Anyway.  How are the new structural changes for the building?”

“Not a problem, ma’am, though they did take quite a while, as I’m sure you know,” Packman said.  “The only real problem is the security issue.”

“By which, I assume, you mean the fact that the factory has suffered some thefts of late,” Cora observed.  She slowly twirled a stylus around her finger as she spoke, watching Packman closely.  He was a bit nervous, but not worryingly so.

“It has, ma’am, though we have stepped up background searching on all applicants,” Packman assured her.

Cora looked down at her slate, and paged through to the section on factory hiring policy.  “Looks like most of your new hiring goes through headhunters, for anything short of executive positions…and you don’t pay any benefits to new hires for over a year.”

“That’s correct, ma’am,” Packman said.  He wasn’t apologizing.  The elderly executive gestured at the factory floor below.  “Our workers have a high turnover rate.  We’re not going to invest in retirements or medical insurance for them when they rarely stay on for more than a year.  We say so upfront in their contracts.”

Cora looked over the copy of the contract he had provided.  “So I see.”

“Are you saying you disapprove, ma’am?” Packman asked.

“Yes.”  Cora set the slate down and folded her hands over it.  “Treating your workers like expendable drones doesn’t build any sort of loyalty to the company.”

“I’m aware, ma’am, but what option do we have?  We expanded our workforce by hundreds, my Lady, you’ll recall,” Packman said awkwardly.  “Payroll went up enough as it is.”

Cora nodded slowly.  “All right.”  She rose.  “Is there a little girls’ room around here, sieur?” she asked.

“There is, my Lady, down the hall on your left,” Packman said.  “Shall we reconvene in five minutes?” he asked of the room.

A general chorus of affirmatives met his suggestion.  Cora walked out the door and made for the room, pawing in her pockets for a vox with a camera function.


Below, Afina was meandering through the production areas, trying hard to have the particular mix of casual and purposeful that she needed to have to get the job done in her appearance.  The secretary par none walked past a small breakroom and she slipped in, deftly un-doing her hairnet in mimicry of the people around her.
A group of workers by the coffee machine were arguing about something as she sat down.  She tuned in with half an ear.  “So I told the fuck, he isn’t allowed to give me that bullshit, not now or ever,” one fat mechanic was saying, with much waving of arms.

A young-looking technician in a tattered blue lab coat shrugged uncomfortably.  He had small foam buds in his ears to block out the loud noise of the omni-present pumps and grinders.  “I guess he had a point, though.  I mean, this isn’t exactly up to spec, you know?”

The mechanic waved his hand again, disgusted.  “It’s all a bunch of shit.  They’re like animals.  They should know not to shit where they live.”

The technician shrugged again.  “I know.”  He spotted Afina and wandered over.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” Afina said, pulling out her vox to check for messages from Cora.

“Uh, I don’t think we’re allowed to use those down here,” the tech said nervously.  “The old floor manager fired a guy for using one in the bathroom.”

“Supervisors are allowed to use them,” Afina said.  “And guests.”

“Are you a supervisor?” the kid asked, sitting down in a new chair.

“I work for the corporate office,” Afina said distractedly.  Cora wanted her report.  She packed the vox back up and stood.  “See you later.”


Cora finished photographing the walls in the bathroom and walked out into the hall.  Afina fell into place at her elbow with military precision, already transmitting her observations.  “My Lady,” Afina said demurely.

“Did you find anything of note?” Cora asked quietly.

“There are very, very few people here who like their jobs, my Lady, but I saw few things that truly worry me,” Afina reported.  “There were some rather disappointingly low standards of uniform repair.”
Cora nodded.  “All right.  Well done.”

Afina beamed at the compliment and followed her mistress into the conference room.  Cora moved to the head of the table as soon as she entered, and waited for the other people to return.

The black-haired young mogul cleared her throat or attention as the door closed.  “All right.  Before we move on, I’d like to address a few things we’ve observed so far.”  She tapped a button on her slate and the screen behind her blanked.  Up popped a flash of a screensaver – some craggy mountains overlooking a small inland ocean – before a blank list of bullet points appeared.  “Okay, first things first.  I know nobody here wants to be lectured, so I’ll keep this succinct.  You’ve made progress,” Cora said, earning a few nervous grins.  “Things still need to change.”  The grins vanished.  “The things in the warehouse that I saw need to be rectified.  Stacking non-modular containers on top of each other?  Someone’s going to be crushed.”  She entered a line on the list: Warehouse safety.

She continued.  “I also saw, down on the production floor, that a lot of lines and grinders had large painted squares next to them.  What goes in there?” she asked.

The floor manager spoke up.  “Those are the spots where the pallets are set.  We put the items that come off of the lines there.”

“Then why were so few of them empty, while pallets of material were strewn haphazard around the floor around them?” Cora asked pointedly.

“Because people don’t like following rules that inconvenience them, my Lady,” the manager said awkwardly.  “I mean, we will of course do better.  I’ll think of something.”

“Put posters up around the lines, showing pictures of people doing it wrong,” Cora suggested.  She wrote ‘Pallet Locations’ on the list.


As the meeting dragged on, the list grew longer and longer, until finally Cora stopped her recitation and took in the room.  Some of the executives were visibly angered by the procedure, though only her super-senses allowed her to see it clearly.  She sensed their patience wearing thinner and decided to lance the boil.  “All right, folks, I’ve been talking for a while.  Why don’t I surrender the podium for bit and see what ideas you all have to contribute,” she said, stepping back.  She took her seat next to the podium and waited.

Packman coughed.  “My Lady, the fact of the matter is that rather a lot of those solutions you proposed will require substantial increases in payroll.  We’re fully staffed as it is.”

Cora frowned.  “I don’t understand.”

“I mean, we have all of the shift rotations filled with employees,” Packman said.  “Short of overstaffing, this is pretty much a full house.”

“Then if I may ask, Sieur Packman, why have the improvements we’re seeing here seemed so small?” Cora asked politely.  “When I was here six months ago, I created much the same list.”

Packman sighed, but couldn’t immediately refute the argument.  “Lady Cora, the problem is that the factory itself had to be rebuilt, as I’m sure you know.  Our mechanics can’t be making all these little adjustments at the same time as a full-scale reconstruction.”

“Then you aren’t fully staffed,” Cora said.  “Look, I’m not trying to pick a fight, here, Sieur Packman, but don’t tell me in one breath that you’re fully staffed, and in the very next breath tell me that you have too few mechanics.”  She leaned back in her seat.  “You do your hiring through a headhunter.  Instruct them to start branching out and bringing more qualified mechanics on board.  Maintenance people too.  The amount of graffiti in your bathrooms and halls is unprofessional.  I hold my facilities to a high standard.”

Packman nodded.  “I see.  I will do that, but, ma’am, I do feel I should say…I do not have the payroll budget to support many more people.”

Cora sighed, rubbing her forehead.  “That’s a very familiar argument, Sieur Packman.”  She sat back in her chair.  “Okay.  So you’re hiring from the general hive population.  You don’t want to trust them with full employment, because that would necessitate the full benefits of employment, so you use a headhunter instead, who doesn’t give them shit for benefits.  However, the headhunter needs to make money too, so they charge you…what, five to two?  Five to three?”  She paged through the notes for the presentation.  “Five to three.  Okay.  So for every three credits your temps earn, you pay the headhunter five.  So given that you’re paying well above the industry standard per employee, but only have to have a small HR department and can fire absolutely any employee for absolutely no reason at any time, it balances in your favor.  Fine.  And since your income was previously determined by the market value for your products, you could only pay the headhunters so much.”

She flipped the stylus off of the table and caught it, twirling it in her hands as she spoke.  “Now, however, your income and budget are what I say they are.  Given what I’ve seen of the state of this place, what may have been a full house before isn’t good enough now.  That, or you do have enough people but they aren’t working efficiently enough.”  She leaned forward and glanced down the rows of people.  “My friends, this isn’t gonna hack it.  In two months, I leave for Copernicus, to construct the largest privately-funded oil refinery in human history.  I’ll be there for up to five years.  I need to know that factory output will be as high as you can make it that entire time, because…goodness, I certainly don’t want to have to worry about logistics out in the backwater.”  She flipped the stylus again and caught it, then stabbed it down on her tablet.  “If you need a bigger payroll or better training or whatever you decide you need, all you have to do is ask.”

“Well…we appreciate that, my Lady,” Packman said, a bit taken aback by her apparent generosity on the heels of the shopping list of problems.  “I do want to make sure, however…you do understand that part of the problem is turnover, right?”

“Turnover…of temp employees?” Cora asked.

“Yes, ma’am.  A lot of our employees are just kids working during school breaks or what have you.  We have relatively few long-term employees, and all of those are hired full-time, with benefits and internal TMC hiring,” Packman said.

“Yeah.  I know.”  Cora picked up her stylus and called up the local population and unemployment figures.  “Says here that unemployment for those looking for work is about four percent locally…and unemployment for everybody old enough or young enough to work but not doing so is around ten percent.  Four percent times the local population level equals around fifty million people.”  She set the stylus back down.  “Of course, you knew that.”

“Right.”  Packman sighed, feeling a little patronized.  “Ma’am, the problem isn’t line workers.  Those are abundant.  What we need are skilled workers.  Mechanics and technicians.  Those are far, far rarer and more expensive.”

“To fulfill my suggestions,” Cora said.

“Ma’am?”

“You need more techs and mechanics to fulfill my suggestions.  Right?” Cora asked.  “That’s what you meant.”

“Well, in general,” Packman said.

“And…you said you were fully staffed before,” Cora pointed out.

“I mean that they’re hard to replace,” Packman corrected himself.

Cora felt the ambient resentment in the room rising and felt she had seen enough.  “Alright.”  She stood, and the rest of the room rose too.  “I think my point is made.  I’d like to finish the tour now, if we could,” Cora said.  “Even when I was here a few months ago I hadn’t seen the QA and management areas.  Let’s see how they look.  And drop by the chapel, too.”

“The Mechanicum shrine?” one of the executives asked.  “I’ll go inform the Magos.”

“No, don’t bother,” Cora said.  “We’ll just arrive.  I prefer to see things when they haven’t been sanitized.”


Afina slipped out of the room as the others rose, and put her anonymous ‘visitor’ coat back on.  She walked straight over to the office block on the bottom floor of the cubic factory and lurked outside, her vox at the ready.

Within minutes, Cora and the rest of the executives passed by on their way to the QA labs, and Afina took advantage of the distraction to duck into the massive gravel storage tank farm beside the offices.  She wandered around, keeping half an ear out for anyone approaching her.

She noted with disappointment that the metal clamps that held the coolant pipes were simply dropped to the floor when not in use.  Several littered the ground under one of the massive plastic tanks.  Greasy fluids sluiced across the ground in puddles.  The drains into which they were supposed to flow were mounted at the highest points on the floor, so the liquids simply pooled under the tanks instead.  Footprints in the grease showed where mechanics simply walked right through them, oblivious.  The various tanks rumbled with the shifting weight of many, many thousands of kilograms of ground rock and plastic.

Afina heard someone approaching and made her exit, walking into the management offices like nothing was happening at all, and she had every right to be there.


In the labs, Cora donned a coat of her own and slid on the hairnet with some difficulty.  She followed the lab manager into the little rooms, and listened as the manager described various things Cora already knew from the briefing.  As she did so, her eyes traveled over the equipment in the room, watching it for any sign of defects.

A clattering of footfalls behind her made her start and spin around.  A technician was walking gingerly over the maze of hoses to read labels off of a steel drum behind her.  With him thus distracted, Afina slid away, trailing unobtrusively behind her mistress.  Cora sensed her assistant arriving and tuned back in.

“…Which is why the lab has increased in size of late,” the manager said.  “We’ve really been emphasizing the newly expanded plastics wing to make our own packaging, but the benefits have been significant.”

“I’m certain they have been,” Cora said.  “So, who’s on deck here?”

“Well, we have a small core of four technicians who are trained on every single station and are full, salaried employees,” the manager listed.  “Then we have a supervisor and a senior lab technician over them, and the six of them supervise ten more junior technicians.”

“Those junior techs are on some kind of temp contracts?” Cora asked.

“They are, your Ladyship,” the manager said.

One of the junior technicians, the one with the ragged lab coat, jerked as either Cora’s voice or the use of her name registered, but didn’t turn around.  Cora’s hypersensitive hearing alerted her to his sudden tension, and she sensed her presence becoming a hindrance to the workers.  “Okay, now for the chapel,” she said.  “How do I get there with this new layout?”

“Actually, we’d love to show you some things we’ve added here in the lab,” the manager said, gesturing to some new equipment.

Cora nodded.  “Very well, then.  What have you added?”

“Well, we started by scrapping the old HPLC, and bought two more, plus a gas chromatograph, a new NMR, and a pair of separatory analytics machines for processing results,” the manager said, pointing each out in turn.

Cora was silent for a moment as she remembered what the abbreviations were for.  “All for QA on the plastics?”

“And the dyes we use for the colored glass and packaging labels.”

“I see.”  Cora nodded approval.  “Well, that’s good.  Do you have the amount of full-time staff you need?”

The manager shrugged with some caution.  “We’re actually short by three.  We’ve had some retirements.”

“Ah.”  Cora rubbed her chin.  “Then…put out bulletins to the local colleges and see if you can’t hire some undergrads.  Do you hire them as temps, or professionals?” she asked.

“Temps,” the manager replied.

Cora tsked.  “Working with equipment like that, they should be treated like professionals.”

“I agree, but we use the temp positions as just that: temporary positions,” the manager said hastily.  “We hire on the ones worth keeping.  We pay a full package, including retirement.”

“That’s something,” Cora said.

=== A Learning Experience ===


The wall of the mansion loomed over the guest before it.  Dieter stared up at the wrought-metal railings around the huge porch and tried not to look out of his depth.  It was only his second time on the surface.

Jake’s suggestion that the guys congregate at his home for poker next time had been well-received, and Dieter was the first of the hiver guests to arrive.  He was several minutes early; he had departed the hive ahead of schedule so he wasn’t in danger of getting lost.  During the whole trip to the house, the factory worker had been trying to calm his nerves, telling himself that he was just visiting an old friend.

That seemed paltry in front of the casual display of wealth all around him.  Casting his eyes around for something familiar, he spotted some metalworking tools on the swing several meters to the left on the broad, covered porch.  He started to walk over to them to see if he could figure out what they were out for when the door swung open.

His gaze jumped to the side to spot a young man standing in the door.  The boy looked up at him with confusion on his face, but Dieter barely noticed his expression.  The kid’s eyes were solid, glowing red.

“Uh, hi,” the kid said.  His voice was surprisingly deep for his age.  “Are you here for Dad’s game?”

Dieter managed to find his voice.  “Yeah.  Er, yeah, I am,” he said.  “Am I here too early?”

“A bit, but he’s around,” the kid said, waving distractedly behind himself.  He walked out on the porch, ignoring Dieter’s stunned expression, and headed for the tools.  “Ah, crud, I left this out on the porch again…Mom’ll be pissed,” he muttered to himself.

“Uh, can you tell me where your Dad is?” Dieter asked.

The kid pointed into the house with one hand.  “First floor, back room.”

Dieter looked through the front door, awkwardness holding him back.  “Can you show me where it is?  I’ve never been here before,” he said.

The kid sighed under his breath and straightened up.  “Sure.”  Dieter followed him into the building, noting how much he looked like his father.  Aside from the freaky eyes, he looked almost exactly like Jake had when they were in middle school together.

The house was massive, but simply decorated.  Small metal and stone tokens hung on the walls, held up by invisible wires.  A few holos of people and Astartes dotted some tables and wall frames, but mostly the walls were bare white.  Here and there, flowers in vases added blotches of color to the home.  In one room they passed, there was a small statue of twisted metal bars that looked like it belonged in a museum.  A surprisingly large amount of weaponry decorated racks and cases in the halls, most of it highly ornate.

Finally, they reached the back room.  Jake was there, brushing off a low felt table.  He looked up when the boy and the hiver entered.  “Hey, N’bel…Dieter!  Good to see you,” he said.  He dropped the brush and crossed the room, shaking Dieter’s hand.  “Glad you could come.”

Dieter forced a smile past his nerves.  “Wouldn’t miss it.”  Jake turned back to the table and grabbed a placemat pile, so Dieter took his chance to examine his new surroundings.

This room was the polar opposite of the rest of the house.  The whole room was packed with crap, centered around a gargantuan holo on one wall.  There were a few cogitators around, including several gaming computers, along with stacks and stacks of board games and art supplies.

N’bel fidgeted at the door.  “Dad, can I go clean up the project I was working on?” he asked.

His father nodded from behind the table.  “Sure thing.  Thanks.  If anyone else gets here, call me on the intercom, if they don’t know where to go,” he said.

“Sure.”  N’bel closed the door behind him as he walked back to the porch.

Dieter cleared his throat.  “So…this is a hell of a place,” he said awkwardly.

“Thanks.”  Jake finished distributing placemats and reached for some plates.  “Venus and I designed it,” he said.  “We wanted to build fresh when we moved back.  Thirsty?”

His old friend nodded.  “Yeah, I could use a drink.”

Jake pointed at a small refrigerator in one corner.  “Help yourself.”

Dieter opened it up and stared at the bewildering array of drinks and food inside.  “Uh, what’s good?”

“The purple one is awesome, if sweet.  The boys love it,” Jake called over.  Dieter dutifully grabbed one and closed it.  “So how have you been?”

“Good,” Dieter replied, popping the bottle open.  “Busy.  I hear one of your sisters-in-law bought my factory,” he said.

“So it was yours?  Thought so,” Jake said.  “Yeah.  Cora.  She’s expanding her businesses like mad right now.”

The door swung open again.  Another boy, this one much smaller, wandered in, glancing around in irritation.  “Daddy, have you seen my bag?” he asked.

“Uh, the green one?  It’s on the table by the front door,” Jake said.  “What do you need?”

“I thought I put my glasses in it, but I found them on my table in my room,” the kid said.  “So I don’t know what’s in it.”

“A deadly situation,” Jake said, mock-seriously.  “Dieter, this is my second son, Carmine.  Carmine, this is my old friend from high school, Dieter.  He’s here for the game.”

“Hi,” Carmine said, looking over.  Dieter nodded politely.  The shorter boy – who also had incredibly bright eyes, Dieter saw – looked back to his father.  “Oh, Uncle Thangir is here, too,” he said.  “I saw his car from my room.”

“Cool, show him in when you grab the bag, would you please?” Jake asked.  “I need to finish setting up.”

“Okay.”  The boy walked down the hall, already waving to someone outside.

Dieter sat down, placing his drink on a coaster.  The stuff was sweet, all right, like a soda, only with a distinctly bitter aftertaste.  He didn’t much care for it.  He looked around for something to fill the air.  “So…N’bel and Carmine?” he asked.  “I think I remember those names from before.”

Jake smiled fondly.  “Yeah.  N’bel’s nearly fifteen, Carmine’s a hair over nine.”

“That’s cool,” Dieter said.  He fingered the tiny metal band around his own finger.  “I got engaged since I saw you last, myself,” he announced.

Jake looked over.  “Oh, yeah?  Hey, congratulations!” he said.  He rose from the table and walked around to shake the other man’s hand.  “What’s her name?”

“You may recall her from school, actually,” Dieter said, thinking back to middle school.  “Nicole Gethert.”

“Oh…yeah, that rings a bell,” Jake said.  “Tall, long black hair?”

“Yep.  We got engaged last month,” Dieter said.  The tiny ring was pretty standard Terran betrothal jewelry: a silver ring with an artificial diamond in the setting.  He ran his fingers over it, remembering how thrilled he had been to actually hold it for the first time.  Traditionally, only the person who received the proposal had one, but Nicole had been about to propose to him, too, as it had turned out, so they had simply traded rings once the irony had worn off.

“Well, that’s awesome, man, good for you,” Jake said.  “When’s the wedding?”

“Haven’t decided,” the pale hiver replied.  “Probably sometime this summer.”

The door swung open again.  This time, the person who walked in couldn’t have looked less like Jake.  He was a young-looking man, with mop of tousled blonde hair.  The loose shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned on the top two buttons, enough for Dieter to see a massive, ugly scar wending its way across his chest.  He tried not to stare.

When the newcomer spoke, his accent was thick enough that Dieter pegged him for an offworlder immediately.  “Jake, hello.”

Their host grinned.  “Thangir, what’s up with you?” he asked, reaching out to shake hands.

“Just waiting for Freya to get back from work, most of the time,” Thangir said ruefully.  “But integrating Olev into ‘high culture’ is always an adventure,” he added, curling his fingers in the air.

“You know what I do?” Jake asked, faux-seriously.  “I don’t bother.  Let him be himself and try not to laugh at the shocked nobles.”

Thangir threw his head back and laughed.  “Hah, that would work well with Freya’s approach to the upper crust!”

Dieter stood as the man approached him.  “Don’t know we’ve met, friend,” the younger man said cheerfully, eyeing Dieter up.  Dieter felt the most unsettling feeling in his spine as they made eye contact.  It was as if he was looking at a holo of a predator.  “Thangir Russ.”

The name sounded familiar, but no connection materialized in his mind.  “Dieter Hatham.  Nice to meet you,” Dieter said automatically.

The other man nodded with an equally clear lack of recognition and sat at the table.  “Jake, my friend, this is new,” he said, running his hand over the table.

“Well, ‘new,’” Jake said with a shrug.  “Since you were here last time.”

“Yes,” Thangir conceded.  “Who else is arriving tonight?”

Jake counted them off on his fingers.  “You, me, Dieter, Cora, two of my friends from school, a friend of theirs, and maybe Remilia if she can make it.  We’re not holding our breath.”

“I see.  Seven is a full house anyway,” Thangir said, rising to his feet again.  “Where’s Venus?”

“Downstairs, where she now spends every waking minute, perfecting some gadget.”  Jake shook his head with an equal measure of fondness and resignation.  “I think she’s trying to teach Carmine some trick.”

“I see.  Olev is taking to Terra well, all things considered, but he prefers it back home,” Thangir said, which at least confirmed Dieter’s suspicious about his off-world status.

Jake nodded in sympathy.  “I know, Carmine’s the same way.  I promised him I would let him go to school on Nocturne when he was old enough.”

Thangir made a non-committal sound and wandered about the room.  He glanced over one of the smaller decorative weapons on the wall and cocked his head.  “I should know this…a matchlock weapon?”

Jake glanced over to where his brother-in-law was standing.  “Yes.  One of N’bel’s first.”

Dieter blinked.  “Uh…you let your kids make guns?” he asked carefully.

His friend shrugged with some discomfort.  “I admit it’s dangerous, but I can hardly stop them.  It’s in their blood.”  He noticed Dieter’s blank expression.  “We’re very careful.  We don’t give them ammo.”

“Sure,” Dieter assured him.  “Do you do it too?”

Jake shrugged.  “Not well.  Not like Venus or the boys.  I’ve designed some things they built, though.”

The door swung open again, terminating the rising awkwardness.  A woman of about Jake’s height and short, light brown hair walked in.  Again, Dieter was struck by a sense of familiarity.  It clarified the moment she spoke.  “Jake, Thangir, how are you?” she asked.  Her voice was sharp and measured, like she had military experience.  Dieter blinked as a name floated into his head: Remilia Dorn.  His mouth went dry.  He looked from side to side as covertly as he could, trying to fathom how he should be acting, but the others were being unnervingly nonchalant.

Dorn was dressed in a loose button-up over a pleated shirt and cargo pants, so this clearly wasn’t supposed to be a formal occasion, at least.  Dieter forced himself to relax, remembering how they had handled the meeting after Jake got back from high school.  He cleared his throat, trying to hide his nerves.

“Er, hello,” he said.  Remilia glanced over at him.  “I doubt you’d remember me, ma’am, but I’m Dieter, we met at the get-together…after you and Jake came back from the trip…after high school,” he said, his voice losing strength as he plowed on.

Dorn tilted her head at him for a moment, then stuck out her hand, smiling brightly.  “Right, I remember.  How have you been?” she asked, as if it had only been days.

Dieter felt his cheeks burn a bit that she had actually remembered him.  It had only been for a few minutes, and decades ago.  “I’ve been well, ma’am, thank you,” he said.  “I’m flattered you’d remember me.”

Remilia smiled, with a self-effacing shrug.  “I’m good at faces.”

“Remilia!” Jake said, crossing the room to envelop her in a quick hug.  “Glad you could make it!  We thought you had a thing at the Registry!” he said.

His cousin hugged him back.  “Hi, Jake, glad I could be here too,” she said.  “I had a guy cancel at the Bureau, so I made time.”  She waved at Thangir, who was pawing through the fridge.  “Hey, Thangir.”

The younger man rose and nodded a greeting.  “Remilia, hello.  Are you ready to lose a fortune?” he asked mildly.

She scoffed and sat at the table.  “Never gonna happen,” she proclaimed.  Dieter shot a glance at Jake, who caught his eye and shook his head.

“Nobody’s losing a fortune, actually,” he said.  “Buy-in here’s a hundred credits.”

Remilia looked up at him.  “Oh.  Duh, sorry.  Yeah, this is a friendly,” she said, no doubt for Dieter’s benefit.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but what’s the usual buy-in?” Dieter asked.

Thangir dropped is drink on a coaster and slumped into a chair before answering.  “Twenty thousand,” he said.  He grinned at Dieter’s shake of the head.  “Bit steep?”

“I make maybe twice that in a year,” Dieter said disgustedly, dropping into another chair and trying once more to fight off the sense of displacement.

Over the next few minutes, the rest of the guests arrived, one by one.  The other hivers looked as out of their depths as Dieter had.  Will and Abram, at least, didn’t look as uncomfortable after a few minutes had gone by.  Alan was more occupied trying not to stare.  Jake did his best to make the others feel at home; he tuned the audio system in one corner to an ambient music station and broke out a few bottles of amasec for those so inclined.  Dieter and Thangir accepted a tumbler each of the deep brown liquor.  Dieter read the label, but didn’t recognize the name.  Off-world too, no doubt.

The door opened yet again, and a woman he didn’t recognize walked in.  This one was pale, incredibly so, more even than a hiver like him.  She had stomach-length black hair and was dressed for business, complete with a slate under her arm.  As the surfacers crowded around her, the name they used to address her froze Dieter’s blood.

“Cora, just in time,” Thangir said.  “We were about to start.”

“Ah, you couldn’t start without me, I’m bringing the food,” Cora scoffed.  She turned to the hivers still sitting at the table, a few of which looked stunned.  “Hi.”

“H-hi,” Alan managed.  “I, uh, I think I work for you.”

Cora laughed.  “Likely.  You work for TMC?”

“I, we do,” Alan said.  “Ma’am,” he added.

“Cool.”  Cora dropped into a seat.  “Well, these things are no-décor, so just have fun and let’s not talk about work, huh?” she asked cheerfully.

“Sorry, ma’am, but…no-décor?” Alan asked carefully.

“No Decorations.  We’re all friends here,” she explained.  She set her slate down and cricked her knuckles as a servitor pushed in a cart of food.  “All right.  Let’s get started.”

Jake sat down in one seat and pulled out the deck of cards from under the soft felt table.  “All right.  We have enough people that we can swing five or a hold’em.  Any preferences?”

“Classic Draw gets my vote,” Cora said.  There was a general nodding of heads, and Jake reached under the table to grab his box of chips.

“Excellent.  Just like old times, huh?” he asked his middle school friends with a grin.

“Some traditions must be maintained,” Abram said, grabbing his chips.

The game started slowly, as the players divvied up the chips and selected food and drinks.  The hivers dug into the surface fare with enthusiasm that made their host smile in recollection.  He had been nearly that zealous when he had first had a snack at Imperator.

As the game moved on, the conversation turned to Thangir’s family.  “My home on the Aett is changing, these days,” he said, flipping some chips into the pot.  “Raise you ten.”

“Changing how?” Remilia asked as she matched the bet.

“It’s less crowded, for one,” he said.  “So many of us are gone now, off in the wars.”

“I imagine.”  Remilia set her cards down, revealing an ace-high straight.  The others made sounds of disgust and chucked in their cards.  “When I was there, it was pretty empty, too, since several Great Companies were off stomping Orks on the Void Walks.”

“There are many still so dispatched,” Thangir said cryptically.

A light knock sounded on the door.  Jake rose and opened it.  Carmine was standing beyond, eyeing the group curiously.  “Dad, can I come grab some stuff out of the cabinets?” he asked.

Jake stepped back.  “Sure.”

Carmine walked up to the rack of storage cabinets on one wall and started rooting through them as Jake returned to his seat.  “Anyone still thirsty?” he asked.

“Nah, I’m good,” Remilia said.  She rose to her feet and stretched.  “Deal me out a few.”

Cora, the current dealer, nodded.  “All right.”

Remilia wandered over to where Carmine was digging through some games and watched him sort.  “Hey, Carmine, you have a second to talk?” she asked.

Carmine glanced curiously up at her.  “Uh, sure.”

“Cool.”  She squatted next to her nephew and marveled at how fast he was growing.  “What are you looking for?”

The boy squinted red light into the cabinet as he rooted around.  “A specific…thing…”  He was silent as he dug for a few more seconds.  “A pair of binoculars…”

“What for?” his once-removed first cousin asked.

“I like to look at airships out over the city, but…mmph.  Can’t find them,” he sighed.  He closed the cabinet and stood, looking around himself.  “Where can they be?” he muttered.

“Can I ask you about school?” Remilia asked.

Carmine shrugged and plopped down on the floor.  “Sure.”

“How are you fitting in here?  I know you were worried about it.”

He thought over the question for a moment.  “It’s not as bad as I was afraid it would be,” he admitted.  “The others think I look like a mutant, sometimes, but forget those guys.  I just hang out with the ones who don’t.”

Remilia smiled.  “Smart kid.  Do you have a best friend?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Carmine said.  “He’s Tohm, a merchant’s son.  He’s the same age as me, maybe a day or two older.  We both like the same shows and stuff.”

“That’s good.  Do you like your classes?”

“No,” he sighed.  “They’re all really easy.  I’m taking every advanced course I can, and I’m still bored out of my mind.”

Remilia nodded sagely, having been quite aware of the same phenomenon at Imperator.  Only college had truly challenged her.  “Yes, I’m sure.  Are the teachers nice, at least?  I know some teachers dislike teaching people from other planets.”

He looked up at her, surprised.  “I never see that.  Where does that happen?”

“Oh, some schools more than others.”  Remilia looked over at the door.  “Is your Mom around?”

“She’s in the forges,” Carmine said.

“All right.  Thanks,” she said, starting to rise again.  She leaned over to peck him on the cheek.  “You stay out of trouble, now, okay?” she asked fondly.

“Oh, we’ll see,” Carmine said evasively.  Remilia rolled her eyes.


N’bel shuffled his feet and glared at the floor in the basement below, trying not to look at his mother.  Venus had crossed her arms over her apron and was staring straight at him, trying not to lose her temper, in turn.  “So, where was the soldering gun when you found it?” she asked.

“On the porch,” N’bel mumbled.  Venus’s eyes narrowed.

“And why was it on the porch?” she pressed.

“Because I left it there,” N’bel said, still not looking at her.

“Is there something wrong with your eyes?  Are you having an allergic reaction?” Venus snapped.  “Look at me!”

N’bel’s red eyes met hers at last, and he flinched away.  “N’bel, I should never have to tell you where your tools go,” Venus said, cold now.  “And why did you take a solderer out of the basement anyway?” she demanded.

N’bel didn’t answer at first, then relented as his mother’s eyes narrowed again.  “Uh…to fix something that broke on the swings.”

“One of the chains that held it up get cracked?”

“Yeah.”

Venus sighed.  “Then why didn’t you dismount it and bring it down to fix?”

“I…didn’t think to.”  N’bel’s eyes were drifting away again.

“And why use a soldering iron, when the chains up there are tempered steel, and can’t be adequately repaired by anything short of a welding setup?” Venus asked.

“I…wanted to get it done fast,” her son said.

Venus’ fingers tightened on her bare arms.  “Fine.  Go clean up, dismount the swing, bring it down, and fix it here.  I’ll wait.”

N’bel sighed, but obeyed, putting his tools away.  The door to the forges opened at the top of the stairs as he did so, and Venus turned to face the new arrival.  Remilia appeared, hands in her pockets, and paused at the bottom of the stairs.  “May I?” she called across the room.

Venus sighed under her breath.  “Sure,” she called back.  Her cousin navigated over to her, carefully moving around the various metalworking stations.  “How’s the game going?”

“I’m just taking a break,” she said.  She leaned in close and lowered her voice.  “Am I interrupting?”

“Sort of,” Venus mouthed.  Louder, she continued.  “I have a second, though.  What’s up?”

“Just saying hello.”  Remilia glanced at the forge her cousin was working.  “What have you got going?”

“A project for the son of a friend of mine who’s joining the Auxilia back home,” Venus said.  She ran her hand over the lumps of unidentifiable metal.  “It’s eventually going to be a Stalker Bolter with an integrated polar optic and a recoil suppressor.  Not quite done, yet.”

“Very cool,” Remilia said.  “You want to drop by the game upstairs and say hi to everyone later?”

“I may,” Venus said.  “Cora bring food?”

“She did.”

“Did she cook it herself?” Venus asked with trepidation.

Remilia laughed.  “No.”

“Then absolutely,” Venus said drily.

N’bel listened in with half an ear as he stacked his tools in the proper places.  He tried not to let his annoyance at being called out get to him.  He had screwed up, and he knew it.  Remilia turned and headed back up.  Mom waited a moment longer, to make sure he was packing properly, before following.


The game upstairs was speeding up with the generous application of amasec.  To Jake’s relief, Will was coming out of his shell a bit, and actually trading stories with the other players.  At that moment, he was describing his adventure finding the place.  “Of course, I’d only been outside the airlock once in my life, so I could hardly navigate.”

“How’d you find it?” Cora asked.

Will cleared his throat past the cloying taste of the alien alcohol.  “I just followed the directions you gave me and looked for the house with the big porch.  I had to look up what a porch was, but hey.”

Jake shook his head.  “I didn’t know why Venus insisted on one before we had one.  On nice days, we rarely go inside.”

Alan dropped his cards and folded out.  “So how often do you go to space?”

“Oh, we’re back and forth between Earth and Nocturne all the time,” Jake said.  “At least once a year, round-trip.  For other purposes, a few times per year.”

“Do you get your own ship?” Alan asked.

“Heh.  I asked the same thing,” Jake said drily.

A voice from the far side of the room spoke up.  “We don’t get our own ships unless we pay for them and hire the Navigator ourselves,” it said.  Alan and the other hivers looked over at the source to see a woman with skin darker than shadow emerge from a side door, rubbing down her forehead with a towel.  She crossed the room, flipping the towel to hang over one shoulder, and revealing uniform, bright red eyes as she did so.  They glimmered in the dim room lights, casting eerie shadows over the furniture.

“As this little debutant so declares, we don’t get ships,” Remilia said dismissively, shooting the new woman a smile.  “Hi, Venus.”

Dieter blinked as the memory returned.  She had been the one with Jake at the party.  That explained the eyes.

“Hey, Remilia,” Venus said back.  She leaned over Jake’s head to whisper something, then shot a smile at the rest of the table.  “At the risk of sounding like a total scrub, how’s the game going?”

“I’m just about murdered,” Cora said sadly, nursing her last few chips.

Thangir swept up the latest pot with a smirk.  “A feat for which I will take all the credit,” he said.

“Hey, come on,” Will said, glaring at the Prince with visible hesitation.

Thangir good-naturedly shrugged.  “Oh, fine, you lads are doing just as well,” he said, gesturing at their chip stacks.  “You play quite well, by the way.  Where did you learn?” he asked.

“Right here on Terra, at middle school, sir,” Will said.  “We taught Jake.”

Jake snorted at the insult.  Abram picked up where Will left off.  “About eight and a half hours every week, for money, for three or four years.”

Thangir stared.  “What kind of school did you attend?”

Jake chuckled.  “A normal one.  We just found our own means of entertainment.”

“I can see.  Even my eyes can’t see your tells, half the time,” Thangir said.

“Or mine,” Cora said.  She stretched and pushed away her cards as they were dealt.  “I need a stretch.”

Venus vanished upstairs to clean up as Cora wandered over to the food tray.  “Who’s hungry?”

“I can’t get enough of whatever the little brown square things are,” Will said.  “What are those called?”

“Brownies,” Cora called.  “They’re chocolate, or these are.”  She grabbed a few and passed one to Will as she sat back down.  “Covert delivery system of choice for powder and leaf narcotics, too,” she added as he started to bite.

Will froze, staring at her.  Jake glared at his cousin.  “Hey, knock it off.  They’re not poisoned, Will, eat up,” he added.  He bit into one with gusto.  “They are also excellent,” he said through a mouth of chocolate.

Dieter sighed heavily and set his cards down.  “Jake, man, this is freaking me out,” he said.

Jake stared at him, as did most of the others at the table.  “What’s wrong?”

Dieter felt the sense that perhaps he should have asked for a more private venue to air his complaint, but soldiered on.  “This is…I mean, we’re playing cards with royalty.  I feel like I’m drowning, here.”

Jake started to say something, but Thangir abruptly cut him off.  “Why?” he demanded.

Dieter blinked at the unexpected interruption.  “I mean…I’m a hiver, and you all are…”

“I’m a fisherman,” Thangir said, glaring at the older man.  “My whole life was standing on the deck of a ship, stabbing razorfish.”

Jake tried to speak up again, but this time his words stopped on their own.  Thangir continued, oblivious.  “Look, Dieter, all of you,” he said, this time addressing the other men at the table as well, as Cora and Remilia traded uncomfortable looks.  “When Cora said no décor, she didn’t mean ‘ignore the fact that I am a Primarch,’ she meant ‘only pay attention to the fact that I’m playing cards.’  If you are intimidated, I can respect that, but suppress it.”

“Thangir, that’s not fair,” Remilia suddenly said.  “The man’s never even seen the sun before.”  She looked over at the hiver men.  “What can we do to make this less nerve-wracking?”

Alan piped up, hesitantly and quietly.  “I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, we could try just talking,” Dieter said, apparently past the ‘embarrassment’ stage.  “I mean, all we’ve done is play cards.”

Cora shrugged, putting her cards aside.  “Suits me.  What do you want to talk about?”

A knock at the door broke the mood.  Cora rose to open it, laughing as she did.  “We had this whole rapport going, too.”

Dieter chuckled feebly, feeling a sense of resignation bolster his courage.  He looked over at Jake as his old friend started packing up the cards.  “How did you do it, man?”

“I was twelve.  How much did I need to care about royalty back then?” Jake asked.  He paused as Remilia raised one eyebrow with a sardonic smile.  “Okay, fine, I was scared shitless.  But I also had a crush on Hana Khan, so I just forced myself to acclimate.”

Will laughed, despite himself.  “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Jake said ruefully, as the memories returned.  “She dumped my ass like a bag of rocks.”

“You were broken at the seams and joints, as I recall,” Remilia pointed out cheekily.

“Ah, it all worked out,” Jake said, taking his ribbing.  Venus brushed past Cora at the door and walked back in, freshly scrubbed and clad in civvies.

“Hey.  Mind if I snag lunch?” she asked Cora.

“Help yourself,” Cora said.  She sat back down and glanced over the hivers as Venus dug into the platter.  “So…what did you want to ask?”

Venus discreetly glanced over the table.  The chips were still out, but the cards were out, and all four hivers were looking a bit apprehensive.  She bit back a sigh.  As badly as Jake wanted to keep in touch with his old life, this probably hadn’t been the best way to do it.  Still, he was her husband, and if she could help here, she would.

Abram finally found his voice.  “I guess I just don’t know how to be acting,” he said.  “I mean, when we were kids, it was…you know, whatever, it was easy…but now?  It feels different.”

Remilia nodded slowly, though internally, she had to admit that interacting with common Imperial citizens wasn’t really her cup of tea.  Still, it was Jake’s gig.  “Well, I can’t speak to that,” she said.  “But…I think that you’re thinking of us as royalty when we’re not, as long as we’re here.”  She underscored her words with a gesture at the surrounding room.

Will snorted.  “What the hell.”  He flipped a chip in the air and caught it, and started rolling it between his fingers.  “I guess I’m just all fired up.  I dunno.”  He smiled weakly at the Royal daughters.  “Sorry if we’re cramping someone’s style.”

Dieter shifted at the implied admission of wrongdoing, but Jake cut him off.  “Forget it.  You’re not.  And maybe this was a bad idea, but you’re here, and we may as well enjoy it,” he said firmly.  The corners of his mouth tightened as he said it.  Thangir caught a flash of self-recrimination in his scent, too.  “What do you guys want to do instead?”

“I dunno, man, catch us up,” Will said.  “What have you even been doing lately?”

“Being a stay-at-home Dad,” Jake said, his tension easing a bit.  Venus quietly sat in the overstuffed couch in the corner where N’bel and Carmine would sit to play games on the holo.  “Learning how to work in the forges, picking my drawing back up, that sort of thing.  Before we had the boys, I used to work in the Palace more.”

“Work how?” Will asked.

“At the Estate.  I would review which files needed to be sent to Nocturne, that sort of thing,” Jake explained.

Over the next few minutes, Venus watched in silence as the eight players tried to break the ice a bit more, trading stories and anecdotes from their daily lives.  After about ten minutes went by, someone remembered that the chips needed to be cashed, and Jake passed out the buy-in money.  The hivers and Thangir had indeed cleaned house.  Still, the tension didn’t fade completely, and after another half an hour, Dieter finally stood.

“Well, man, I think we should be heading out,” he said, grabbing his money.  Jake sighed, letting his frustrations show for an instant, then rose as well, forcing a smile onto his face.

“It was good to see you again after all this time, guys,” he said.  “Let me walk you out to the cab stand.”

“Sure, thanks,” his old friend said.  He turned to the Royal family members with much greater hesitation.  “Well…thanks for having us,” he said.
Thangir inclined his head.  “Good to meet you,” he said.

“Thanks for coming,” Remilia said, as Cora nodded.  Venus rose from her chair and walked past them to the front door, pushing the food cart with her as she did.

“Remilia, Cora, Thangir,” Will said.  He chuckled to himself.  “Man, that’s weird.  Not adding a title in there.”  Remilia grinned.

“Thanks for coming, gents, the game’s better with eight,” she said.  “Hope you can make it to the next one.”

“We’ll try,” Will said, though Thangir wasn’t the only one who sensed his hesitation.

At the front door, Venus leaned back against the frame with the food in her arms.  As the others walked up, she passed it out.  “Can’t have leftovers.  You guys travel safe, all right?” she asked, smiling brightly.

Abram stared at the food like it was treasure.  “Wow.  Thanks,” he said.  “Nice to see you again, your…Venus.  Thank you for having us,” he added.  “It was memorable.”

Venus bowed back and let her husband walk the others out over the porch.  As soon as they were off, she closed the door and walked straight back to the game room, dropping heavily into a chair.

The others hadn’t moved.  “Well,” Cora said flatly.  “That was…awkward.”

“What did we forget?” Venus asked angrily.  “They were scared out of their minds.  Did ANYONE act like that at Imperator?  Am I not recalling something?”

Thangir stood, shaking his head with disgust.  “Call me a cynic, but that was a fool’s errand of Jake’s,” he said.  “I mean no disrespect, truly,” he added as Venus turned to look at him.  “It’s good to know where you are from.  But the man is not a mortal any more, and he is not a commoner any more.”

“And on Fenris, that’s irreversible,” Venus shot back.  “On Terra, it’s not.  It shouldn’t be.”

Thangir raised one hand, asking his next question in silence.  Venus relented.  “And yet…” she said quietly.  “Damn it.”

Cora slouched in her seat, staring at the ceiling.  “Do I scare Dieter and Will and Alan that badly when I go to the factory where they work?  Hell, I’ve actually seen two of them there.  No wonder Packman’s so tense when I’m around.”

“Who knows.”  Venus stared at the table for a while, then huffed a breath in impatience.  “Well.  Thanks for coming, Remilia, It was nice to catch up.  Stick around for dinner?  All of you.”

“We should be heading out, sorry,” Remilia answered for the group.

Outside, Jake waited at the taxi stop with the others.  “Well, guys, I’m sorry that was so awkward,” he said to the group as they sat in the little concrete box.  “I was hoping that doing it at home was going to help, but…hell.  Maybe I shouldn’t have asked the girls over,” he said.

Abram shrugged.  “I wanted to try it.  I wanted to see the surface, and I think it was worth it for that.”

Dieter was about to agree, when he saw Jake’s fists clench.  He looked up to see his old friend’s face tighten in helpless anger.  His lips moved in a silent ‘damn it.’  The former hiver, now a Prince, rose to his feet and stared off into the distance of the Cordoba skyline.  “Guys, was I wrong?  Am I supposed to cut ties now?” he asked.

Silence met his question.  Jake spun around, seeing them all look away.  “Damn it, we were like brothers once!” he said, his voice cracking.  “I don’t want to forget where I came from, and I don’t want to leave you guys behind!”

Dieter sighed.  “You married up.  We didn’t.  Doesn’t mean we have to never see each other again, but…fuck.”  He set his bag down and finally met his classmate’s eyes.  “We’re still friends.  Let’s just not cross-contaminate the social circles, know what I mean?”

“It was fun, I just don’t…you know, I don’t want to have to worry about my language or clothing or whatever,” Alan said.  “I mean, she says ‘no décor,’ but she’s still a Primarch’s daughter.”

Jake slumped back down in the seat.  “Yeah.”  He looked aside.  The wall of the shelter was covered in a weather-proofed plastic case with some ads for things his friends could never, ever afford.  He could have bought them and not missed the money.

The taxi, a servitor-piloted yellow skycar, pulled up at the stop, and the hiver men piled in.  Jake caught Dieter’s shoulder as he stooped to sit.  “Hey, man, got a minute?” he asked.

Dieter straightened back up.  “Yeah.  What’s up?”

Jake suddenly hugged the other man, startling him.  Even as he instinctively tried to pull away, Jake said something under his breath.  “Good luck with the wedding, man.  Can I come?”

Dieter relaxed, gingerly returning the gesture.  “Sure, man.  Of course.”

“Thanks,” Jake said.  They separated with a weary smile apiece.  “I miss you guys.  I really do miss you guys.  Please, drop by whenever you want.  I mean it.  Get a day off, come shoot the shit with me, take the local scrubs at cards, get in trouble, piss off the Praetors.”

Will spoke up from inside.  “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah.”  Dieter grabbed his food and sat in the car.  Jake slid a card through the window for the fare meter, then stepped back.  “So long, Jake.”

“So long, guys.”

The car rose and headed for the airlock.  Abram looked out the back window as Jake receded into the distance.  Jake watched them for a second or two, he saw, then drew back his fist and punched clean through the display case on the concrete wall.  Abram winced, but decided not to share it with the other men, who were busily sorting through their bags of goodies and exclaiming at the novelty.


Jake clenched his fist against the pain and glared at the specks of blood on the darkened skin of his hand.  “Damn…it.  DAMN IT!” he shouted, slapping his bare palm over the cracked plastic, cracking it more.  He spun off and stomped back to the house, fuming.

Venus watched from the top of the mansion, her hands over her mouth.  Her eyes were wide with shock.  Carmine, watching through his binoculars one floor below, dropped them and scrambled down to the front door to await his father.

N’bel, rising from the forge, brushed the dust and grime off of his hands with a rag.  He saw his brother shoot past him in the hall.  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he called.

“Dad!” Carmine yelled, fear cracking his young voice.  N’bel dropped the rag and ran after him.

Jake slammed the front door behind him and sank into a chair in the antechamber.  He buried his head in his hands and squeezed back bitter tears.  Recrimination and helpless fear raced through him, until he lost the battle, and hot tears slid down his face.  He felt his own blood speck on his cheeks and didn’t care enough to wipe it away.

Footsteps racing through the hallway brought his face up.  “Dad!  What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” Carmine demanded as he skidded to a halt in front of his father.

Jake stared at the blank red eyes in his son’s face.  Shame he hadn’t felt in years caught his breath in his throat.  “Carmine…” he said, his voice unsteady.  “Goodness, kid, I’m so sorry for myself right now.”

“What’s wrong?” Carmine pleaded, tears forming in his eyes, too.  He was an empathetic young man who didn’t like seeing his father hurt one bit.
N’bel arrived behind him and gasped when he saw the state of Jake’s hands.  “Dad, what the hell?  Did one of the guys you brought over attack you or something?”

The door to the game room at the end of the hall swung open too, as the others overheard the conversation, and suddenly Jake didn’t need more people in his life.  He shot to his feet and blew past the boys, heading for the stairs to the roof.  “I’ll be fine,” he said over his shoulder, teeth clenched.  “Just give me a minute.”

Remilia watched him go up the stairs, then looked down at the boys.  N’bel just looked mad, Carmine was barely holding back tears.  “Guys,” she said softly.  They both looked over at her as she spoke.  “Your Dad is just very scared of something.  Please give him a little time to think, okay?  He’ll want to see you both later, I promise.”

Carmine ran over to her and nearly threw himself into her arms.  She knelt and hugged him tight as Cora looked away.  Thangir sighed and walked back into the game room.  N’bel hovered nearby, before following Thangir into the game room, intent on answers.

Jake managed to get all the way up to the roof before the rage had replaced the shame completely.  He burst out onto the flat patio roof and slammed the door behind him.  He glared at himself in the reflection on the glass in the door.  His voice tore from his throat in a ragged shout.  He ground his words out in a pledge.  “I DIDN’T-”

“Didn’t what?”

Jake spun around, his proclamation dying on his lips.  Venus was sitting in a chair in the middle of the patio, staring at him.  Instantly, his anger vanished.  “Venus…I didn’t see you there,” he managed.

“What didn’t you do?” Venus asked softly.

Jake felt a drop of blood ooze down his hands to the tile patio below.  “I…I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t wait to see if…”

Venus stood and walked over to him, taking his uninjured hand.  She gently guided him without protest to the chair and sat him down.  She knelt before him and looked up into his eyes.  “What didn’t you do, Jake?  Why are you so angry?” she asked.

Jake stared down into the eyes of the person he trusted more than anyone else he had ever known, and felt the words escape his lips.  His voice was tortured, angry…and painfully ashamed.  “I didn’t…earn this.”

Venus was quiet.  “Earn…what?” she finally asked.  It was just to encourage him.  She knew what he meant.

Jake looked into her unthinkably beautiful eyes, trapped by their gaze.  She wasn’t being judgmental in the slightest, damn her.  How could he feel like this if she wasn’t blaming him for it?  “I didn’t earn a perfect life,” he whispered, and his head sank into his hands again.

Venus stared at her husband, her heart ripping in half.  She tried to find words that wouldn’t deepen the wound, and they didn’t come easily.  “Jake…”

“Venus, I’m so sorry,” Jake sobbed.  Tears and blood dripped from his hands in orange spots.  “I haven’t earned this gift at all,” he said, grinding his eyes into his palms.  He was referring to the surgery the Emperor had offered him, the one that had made him eternally youthful and able to get Venus pregnant.  “I’m…I’m richer and more powerful and more healthy than every single friend I’ve ever had, I’m…I’m going to outlive everyone I ever knew before I met you…and I haven’t earned that at all,” he sobbed.  “My…my friends from school, and Alan…they’re struggling every single day, in shit jobs for shit pay and…and then I ask them here, and they see you and your cousins…and my boys, and Thangir…and look at what they’ve done!” he cried.  He pulled his hands back so Venus could see his shame.  Blood and salt water caked his hair at odd angles.  “What did I do live this life?  What have I done to earn this?” he asked, his voice a thready whisper.  “I tried to start a charity, it never got off the ground…I tried to help in the drug war, it was a waste of time…I try to give my friends a good time, they’re scared shitless…”

Venus slowly rose and sat beside her husband, cradling his head on her shoulder.  She could feel him shuddering.  Sobs wracked his body.  She felt his tears stain her shirt as she weighed her words.  “Jake, you did earn it.  Why do you think the Emperor waited so long to extend the offer to you?  So much longer than Mike and Nate?”

“Because…because they’re psychics,” Jake managed.  “So is he.  He read their minds, saw their worth.  I’m not psychic.”  He choked a cough past his tears.

“No, baby,” Venus soothed.  “You’re looking at it wrong.”

“Huh?”

“The Emperor didn’t take longer to approve of you because he couldn’t read your mind,” Venus explained quietly.  “He took longer because he holds you to a higher standard.”

“What?”  Jake blinked back tears and stared at her from inches away.  “What do you mean?”

“Angela and Miranda, baby,” Venus whispered.  “They’re psykers.  They could read Nate and Mike’s souls.  The Emperor didn’t need to do it himself.  I’m not psychic.”  She looked Jake square in the eyes.  “I had to learn you inside and out the old-fashioned way.  The Emperor took his time because I took my time.  I had to be so sure, so absolutely and permanently confident in your right to an eternal life, that there would be no possibility of you ever dishonoring him by abusing the power.”

Jake stared at her.  “Oh.”  He looked down at his hands, the shame swelling up again.  “Then…why did he only need to meet Thangir once?”

“Because he had every single one of the Wolf Priests and Rune Priests in the Fang vouching for him, and they’re either psychic or genehanced to the point that they can’t be lied to,” she reminded him.  “Freya understood long-term relationships better than I did.  And Freya had already known loss.  I haven’t.”  She squeezed his hand.  “I never will.  You’re too good, too kind, too smart, too pure to ever lose.”  She buried his head in her shoulder and kissed the top of his head.  “I love you, Jake, I love you so much it thrills me.  I won’t have you ever thinking that’s not a good enough reason to live forever.”

Jake screwed his eyes shut against her soft cotton shirt, feeling her heat soak into him even as his tears soaked into the cloth.  “Venus…I love you too, and the boys…”

“The boys.”  Venus closed her eyes too and thought of their sons.  N’bel; proud, smart, charismatic.  Carmine, wise, strong, emotional.  Both were a joy to her life.  She knew Jake felt the same way.  “Do you think the boys would be proud to see their father in this state?”

“Of course not,” Jake mumbled.  “You’re right, I should go apologize for blowing them off-”

“Shhh.  Not yet,” she soothed.  She held him in place and scooted away a few inches.  He sank his head into her lap and rested her hand in his curly hair.  “Rest a minute.”

“Yeah.”  Jake closed his red eyes and lay there.

The wind picked up, fluttering the plants on the edge of the terrace.  The brilliant glare off of the hive skins dimmed behind clouds.  There they sat for minutes neither bothered to count.

After a long time, Venus spoke up again.  “Remember when we were on the observation deck of the Fang?  We were like this.”

“Yes.”  Jake sighed exhaustedly.  “You were down here that time.  You were explaining the Creed.”

“Yeah.”  She stroked his hair and leaned down to whisper.  “Remember when you said that you wanted to spend your life with me so badly, the only thing holding back your proposal of marriage was the age-of-consent laws?”

Jake chuckled as the memory returned.  “I did, didn’t I.”

“Did you change your mind?” Venus asked.

“Never.”

His wife caressed his cheek.  “Neither did I.  Stay with me?”

“I will.”  Jake lay there a moment longer before sitting up.  “I always will.”  He looked into her eyes and finally smiled.  It was anemic, bloody, and weighed down by decades of guilt, but it was a smile.  “I can’t disappoint you or Vulkan.”

“Something to keep in mind, baby,” Venus whispered.  “You earned your place at Imperator, too.”  She brushed stray hairs out of his eyes.  “Six people out of thousands.  There isn’t an accolade in your history you haven’t owned solid.”

Jake brushed his lips against hers in a feathery kiss.  She held him closer and drew it out, savoring it.  When she released him, his eyes stayed shut for a moment.  She could see the stress lines in his face vanish.  “What should I do if I ever feel I haven’t earned my life in the future?” he asked her quietly.

“Let your grandfather Eric kick some sense into you,” Venus advised playfully.  Jake smiled fondly at the thought of his ornery Crusade veteran grandfather.  “He’d be livid if you wasted the chance he fought for.”

“Good idea.”  Jake kissed his wife again and slowly rose to his feet.  “All right.  Let’s go see the others.”


Downstairs, Carmine was sitting in the overstuffed couch in front of the holo.  He was wringing his hands as the others looked about each other, trying to find a safe topic.  N’bel was hovering nearby, trying to be a good older brother and make things clearer, but he was as confused as everyone else.  He looked up at where Thangir was lethargically picking over a sandwich.  “Uncle Thangir, can I ask you something?”

Thangir looked up.  N’bel was looking understandably apprehensive.  “What?”

“What was…I mean, I don’t know,” N’bel said hesitantly.  “You’re the only one left here who knows.  What’s it like, being mortal?”

Cora slowly turned to look at the two of them.  N’bel was standing beside his brother, looking at Thangir with an inscrutable expression on his face.  Carmine was looking up too, clearly interested.

The Fenrisian cleared his throat, turning the question over in his mind as he did.  “Lads…that is a very difficult thing to say,” he hedged.  “What do you think it feels like, being immortal?”

“Well, I dunno.”  N’bel sat down and thought for a moment.  “I guess I don’t have anything to compare it to…”

“And I didn’t have anything to compare mortality to,” Thangir explained.  “Honestly, it is not all that different.  I just don’t age.”  He leaned back in his chair and studied both boys.  N’bel was in his normal weekend clothes; loose sports shirt over slacks, while Carmine was dressed for something fancier.  He had on a dress shirt instead.  Both boys were staring at him with identical looks in their red eyes.  “Does that concern you?”

N’bel looked away.  “I think it concerns Dad, some times.”

“Ah.”  Thangir felt something slide into place in his mind.  “The game today?”

“He was…” Carmine screwed up his face.  “I’ve never seen him so angry!” he exploded.  “He punched that bus stop so hard his hand was bleeding!”

“Oh, Jake,” Remilia said quietly, running her hand over her eyes.

“What’s he mad about, Thangir?” N’bel asked.

Thangir sighed and slowly stood.  “Lads, I am not of the mind to speak for others.”

Carmine’s voice was plaintive.  “Dad’s never mad like that…but being with his human friends was what got him upset, I know it!”

“Carmine, please calm down,” Remilia put in.  “I promise your dad will be alright.  He’s just very frustrated.”

“At what?” N’bel asked again.  His aunt looked away.

The door swung open.  Jake and Venus walked in.  Jake looked around the room as everyone in it straightened up and stared.  “Don’t have to guess what you all were talking about,” he said wearily.  He smiled faintly and sank onto the couch next to the boys.  “C’mere, guys,” he said, holding his arms out, and Carmine scrambled into his lap.  N’bel sat beside them and stared at his father, his fear melting into something between concern and frustration.

“Dad, what was-” he started.  Jake help up his hand.

“N’bel, I’ll explain, but give me a sec, okay?”  He wrapped his arms around Carmine and gave him a quick hug before sighing heavily.  “I’m sorry for that.  All of you,” he said, looking over at the others, still sitting at the table.  “I apologize.”

“Dad, what happened?” Carmine demanded.

His father sighed again.  “Oh, kid…I miss my old friends so much.  And sometimes, I don’t feel much like a noble.”

“Then you should do what I do, and be a noble savage instead,” Thangir said, nodding wisely.

Jake stared at his friend, not comprehending, for all of one second.  Then, Carmine fell from his lap as he pitched over giggling.  “Oh, to…to hell with you,” he said as the spate subsided.  “Ugh.”

“What just happened?” N’bel asked, baffled.  The Royal daughters exchanged a look.

“You know what, let’s not go there,” Cora said hastily.  She stood from her chair and started packing her detritus.  “Anyway.  Thanks for having us, Jake, Venus.”

“Our pleasure, drop by any time.”  Venus rose too, and started to help clean up.  “Boys, could you take the food cart out to the kitchen for us?”

“Okay.”  N’bel grabbed the cart and stared pushing it out.  Carmine lingered.

“Dad, are you okay?  Really?” he asked quietly.

Jake leaned over and gently hugged his son again.  “I am.  I’ll talk to you both later, okay?”

Carmine hesitated, then acquiesced.  “Okay.”  He followed his brother out of the room and closed the door.

The women and man at the table kept at the cleaning for another moment before Jake decided to get it over with.  “I’m sorry, guys.”  He draped his arms over the back of the couch and closed his eyes for a moment.  “I blew up out there.  Sorry if I spooked you.”

“What happened?” Remilia asked, maybe a bit curtly.

“I lost it.  I was so frustrated that I took it out on the damn taxi stand,” Jake said.  His voice was thick with self-acrimony.

Thangir looked up at him.  “And now what?” he asked.

Jake stood up from the couch and walked over to help the others clean up the mess.  “Now, I call the taxi company and offer to replace the sign, then I go work downstairs until the bad vibes are gone, then I call up the guys again and ask them if they’d be willing to come over some other time, just five or six of us.”  He looked across the table at his wife.  “I can’t fix Terra, I can’t fix Nocturne, I can’t fix people.  I can fix this.  I can make a difference for four or five old friends and that’s a start.”

Venus held his gaze for a moment.  She felt the confidence he usually had so close to heart return in him, and smiled back.  “It’s a start,” she echoed.  She looked down at the table and swept up the last crumbs and trash.  “So what comes after that?”

“More,” Jake said.

“Good answer.”  She dropped the trash into the bin and wiped her hands off on a napkin.  “For what it’s worth, I think you had a good idea.  This is just new.”

Thangir glanced over at them, remembering his own struggle to acclimate with immortality and political power.  “You want some free advice, brother?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Do not rush.  We have more than most men dream of,” he said, drawing a line between them in the air with one scarred hand.  “But what we have most of is time.  Time to do good.  Time to make a difference.  We will lose people, we will lose initiative…but we’ll keep going.”

“You have anchors to keep you stable,” Cora put in drily.  “You know, Jake, your boys asked Thangir what being mortal was like.  Maybe you should talk to them about it.”

“Yeah, I overheard that,” Jake said.  “I will.”

“Cool.”  She squeezed him across the shoulder and made for the door.  “See you around.”

“Thanks,” he said after her.  He accepted a longer hug from Remilia and a handshake from Thangir, and then he was alone with Venus.

She sat back down, looking up at him pensively.  “Feel better?”

“Much,” he said gratefully.  He sat down beside her and grabbed the cards.  He slowly flipped one card back and forth out of pure muscle memory as he though back to what he had said to her on the roof.  “I feel like I’ve been missing something, you know.”

“How do you figure?” she asked back.

An ace slid across his hand as he answered, gradually and carefully.  “I think I forgot something about when we were in school,” he said.  “Remember when I was trying to start up that charity thing with  Fulgrim, he said it was basically bribery?”

“Yes.”

“It was.  I had no idea what I was doing.  And then, when I tried to ask the guys what I could to do to attack the drug trade, they said I had no chance,” he said, remembering.  The cards halted in his hands as an idea coalesced.  “And…here I am, schmoozing with you and the others while my friends…look on…” his voice drifted off as the thought grew larger.

Venus’ eyes narrowed.  “You have a look about you.”

“I do…” Jake said softly.  He looked up at her.  “What do I do well?”

She blinked.  “Huh?”

“I mean…what am I good at?” he asked her.  “It’s not ruling, though I’m getting better.  It’s not helping people with grandiose schemes and patronizing parties, clearly,” he added with a snort.  “What have I always done well?”

“Well…I guess you’ve always been good at design and writing,” Venus said.

“Bingo.”  He slapped the cards into their box and slid it away under the table.  “What if…what if I offered to teach at some local school?  Help the people out, but not with some ill-advised patronage or whatever.”

“A teacher…” Venus said slowly.  She pondered the idea.  “I guess I could see the appeal…Faith does it already, and she loves it.”

“Yeah.”  Jake perked up as the idea took form.  “I mean, it’d be perfect.”

“It’s be nostalgic, certainly,” Venus said.  “Dad would approve.”  Jake looked at her curiously.  “Dad said that back before the rest of the Imperium encroached on Nocturnean culture, the Salamanders were mostly advisors, guardians, scholars, and artists when they interacted with the people.”  She leaned forward, feeling a bit better herself.  “They taught and sheltered the people as much as recruited from them.  They still do, to an extent.  I think teaching would be good for you; you’re great with the boys.  And you loved Kouthry.”

“I did,” Jake said excitedly.  “But I meant a high school or a middle school.”

“Oh.”  Venus hesitated a moment.  “That could work too.”

“Not necessarily Imperator, maybe my old school or one of the ones in the Spires,” he clarified.  “So, do you think I should do it?”

Venus shook her head.  “No.  Not yet anyway.”

Jake jerked his head back.  “What?  Why not?”

Venus smiled.  “Because you want to do something great, good, noble, and lasting.”

“And teaching isn’t any of those things?” Jake asked, surprised.

“Of course.  But sweetheart, you already have a responsibility like that,” Venus reminded him.  She gestured to the stuff Carmine had left behind when he went to push away the tray.

Jake sighed.  “The boys.” He glanced over at her.  “I think I can raise the boys and teach at the same time.”

“You could,” Venus confirmed.  “Let me ask you something, though.  Pretty soon, Dad is going to ask me to take over on Nocturne.  Sometimes for years at a time.  N’bel is old enough that he’ll handle it well.  Carmine?  Probably not.  You’ll be his only parent at some points.”  She squeezed his hand as the boys’ footsteps sounded in the hallway.  “Just something to think about.”

“Yeah.”  Jake looked away.  “I think…well.”  He looked over at her again as the door opened.  “I think I might still do it.”

Venus nodded.  “Your call.”

The boys walked in, both quiet.  Jake beckoned them both over.  “Guys, I’m sorry I scared you before,” he said.  He made sure to make eye contact with both.  “I promise it’s over.”

His older son shuffled his feet a bit.  “Why were you bleeding?”

Jake held up his hand.  It was already healing.  “Because I got mad and did something stupid.”  He shamefacedly shrugged.  “I’m alright now, guys.”

“Don’t scare us like that,” Carmine chided.

“Sorry,” Jake said.  “I just felt a little guilty.”

N’bel gaped.  “Guilty?  What for?”

“For having so much,” Jake said, gesturing to the huge house around them.  “I didn’t start with this much, and most of my friends will never have this much.”

Carmine looked back and forth between his parents.  “So what?  That’s not a good reason to feel guilty.  Not like leaving a soldering gun out on the porch,” he snarked.

“Hey!” N’bel snapped, glaring at his brother.

“Quiet, Carmine,” Venus said.  “Dad’s being serious.”

Jake stood, and let Carmine grab his healing hand.  “Okay, no more of this.  What do you guys want to do for the rest of the day?”

As the two started talking, Venus caught Jake’s eyes for a moment.  He was at ease now, talking with his sons.  Venus relaxed.  His guilt may not have faded entirely, but this was a good start.

=== Omegan Speaks ===


I listened to the twenty-year-old music and smiled.  It was reassuring in a way I hadn’t expected.  Nostalgia’s not one of my usual vices, after all.
My sister paused behind me, waiting for me to move on.  I blinked the distraction away and scooped a sandwich off the platter at the buffet and hurriedly moved on before I could hold up the line.  The sounds of people talking all around me faded as the guy behind the counter – why couldn’t I remember his name? – thumped his hand on the rickety old minifridge that had the beer in it.  “Omegan, good to see you,” he said.  He extracted a bottle and glared at the ancient machine.

I smiled as his name came back.  “Derek, right?  Nice to see you again too,” I said, accepting a bottle.  “How’s your twenty years been?”

“A bit rough,” he admitted, “but it’s been tolerable.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” I said.  The lights at the front of the room brightened as someone finally found the switch.  “What are you up to?” I asked, as I stepped aside to let Alpharia pass us.

“Working in the Palace as a file clerk, actually,” Derek said.  “In the Estate.”

“That’s good,” I said, though I wouldn’t wish that job on anyone.  “I’m working on one of the orbital plate stations as an administrator.”

Derek looked over at me, curious.  “Really?  Thought for sure you’d go into the intelligence business.”

“I’m happy working with people who aren’t just trying to impress me,” I said, earning a snort from my sister.  That was about as much as I was comfortable saying.  Alpharia’s connections with Imperial Intelligence aren’t publically known.

As I finished at the buffet, I let my eyes wander around the room.  I admit, I was surprised.  Where was the rest of the Family?  I only saw about seven or eight of my cousins there.  I had thought they’d all have made it.  Cora was there, joking with her fiancé, and Lyra was in the corner, talking in low tones with a man and woman I didn’t recognize.  Venus and Jake weren’t there, to my surprise, but Petra was, and I angled over to where she was sitting.

Petra looked up as I sat down.  “Hello, Omegan,” she said.  “How was your de-orbiting?”

“Every time I hear that, I hear ‘catastrophic, uncontrolled re-entry,’” I joked.  “Fine, though.  Surprised you came.  Were you in town?”

“Yeah.”  Petra sipped at her water and stared around the room.  “I had a meeting in the Palace.”  The two of us sat in silence and ate as the rest of the guests worked their way through the buffet line.  “Will you be Earthside long?” Petra suddenly asked.

“Probably a week or two,” I said.  I looked over at her to see her gazing contemplatively into her drink.  “How come?”

“Just…wondering, really,” she said.  “It’s been too long since we saw each other.”

“It has,” I affirmed.  Up on Gondavana, I don’t see the other Royal Daughters much.  Frankly, I like being on my own for now.  Still, it never hurts to see the others, and Petra especially doesn’t get out much.

I shook my head at that thought.  People used to say that about me.  Before I got through therapy, I was barely even ambulatory if I was on my own for too long.


=== Mike's Disappointment ===


The plastic floor of the jail cell was really cold, that day.  Colder than most were, even.  Larson, long-time resident of Hive Tetra and more recent (and intermittent) resident of the Startseite and Cordoma Praetor lockups, was feeling the chill.  He was shivering head to toe, even with his booze-soaked arms wrapped around his legs.

“H-hey…” he tried.  He cleared his throat past the cold and tried again.  “Hey!”

The guard glanced over at the noise.  “Can you…please turn up the heat?” he managed through chattering teeth.  “I’m really going into…thermal shock, here…”

The guard shrugged under his nice, snug jacket.  “Sure.”  He fiddled with the thermostat under his desk and in minutes, the air warmed up a bit.
Larson buried his face in his knees and fought down his shivers.  It was almost over.

The door swung open.  Another guard walked in and leaned over the one sitting behind the desk.  Larson watched as the seated guard listened to what the newcomer was saying.  His face turned from a mask of surprise to complete disgust as the other officer spoke.  “Are you serious?” he asked.  Resentment cut through his quiet voice.  “For this clown?”  The new Praetor nodded.

The first guard glared at the prisoner through the bars.  Larson grinned right back.  Finally, the guard relented.  He fished some keys out of his pocket and unlatched the drunk tank, his eyes burning into the criminal the whole time.  “All right, get out,” he grunted.

Larson stood and stretched.  He took his time getting his things out of the little plastic bin the second guard offered him.  “Any idea what’s going on?” he asked innocently, despite knowing full well.

The second guard glared at him, too.  “You have a guardian angel.”


Outside, Larson walked casually up to the black hovercar parked behind the station house.  He slid in as the door closed behind him automatically.  The interior was padded with luxurious brown leather, he noted.  Worth more than the car, probably.

He smiled at the one other occupant of the passenger compartment.  “Thanks, man.”

The other occupant didn’t reply.  He just tapped the back of the driver’s compartment with his knuckle, and the car lifted off.  Larson continued.  “That’s one I owe you.”

“You owe me several,” the other man said.  Larson shrugged awkwardly.

“Well, still.  I appreciate it.”

“Drunk and disorderly, drunk in public, and public vulgarity?” the other person coldly listed.  “What did you do, find a scrumball team that liked you?”

“Just a bottle of amasec who wanted to be friends,” Larson joked feebly.  His sense of humor was evaporating under the other man’s chilling stare.
The other guy was far better dressed.  Everything about their surroundings screamed ‘money.’  It was the exact opposite of the description anyone would use to label Larson Grecco.

His brother Michael Grecco glared at him from across the cabin.  “Promise me you’ll at least bathe before you see Angela?”


The limo slid into the garage at the manor.  Larson exited from the black vehicle, not even noticing the stench of fuel over the haze of alcohol that surrounded him.  The aircraft’s driver walked past him to hold the door for his employer, who thanked the other man by name.  Turning to his brother, Mike gestured expressively at the door to the manor.  Larson took the hint and walked in, belatedly pausing to shuck his ragged jacket.  He uncaringly dropped it on the floor behind him.  Mike didn’t see it, and stumbled.  He caught himself on the coatrack immediately next to the door and glared at his brother, who was now wandering into the antechamber beyond.

“Seriously?” he demanded.  Larson blinked and backtracked.  He scooped up the jacket and hung it on the rack.

“Sorry.”

Mike shouldered past him.  He stormed into the ornamented greeting room.  The bloodied wings of the Angels were present on more than a few banners around the outside of the room, but the majority of the furnishings were a mixture of white and black leather in a style that could be described by the uncultured as ‘ugly’ and the cultured as ‘vibrant.’

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Larson said self-consciously.

Mike spun on his heel.  “All right.  What the hell happened?” he asked.  Before his brother could speak up, however, he raised hand and ran the other over his brow.  He dropped his gaze to the floor as he did.  “Just…no.  Go shave, shower.  Use the razor in the guest room on the third floor.  Go.”  His voice was thick with exasperation.

Larson hesitated.  “Mike, you…you’re still…I mean, we…” he stumbled over his drunken tongue.

His brother glared over at him.  Larson found his words.  “You’re still…you still love me as a brother, right?”

Mike exploded.  “Of course I do, you idiot!  Why else would I bail your ass out for the SIXTH TIME?”  He pointed his arm up the stairs like a condemnation.  “Go clean up!  We’ll speak when you’re dry!”  Without another word, he turned back and stomped down the hall to his private library.

Larson stared at his brother’s disappearing back until he was out of sight, then tiredly walked up the stairs with a slump in his gait.


Mike slammed the door to his library.  He walked up to the woman sitting in the small study chair and dropped onto the couch behind her with a bone-weary sigh.  “Guess who’s here for the evening,” he said grimly.

The woman didn’t look up from her tome.  “Does his name rhyme with larceny?”

“How did you guess?” Mike asked.  His tone was as bitter as quinine.  “Damn him.  Some day, I’m going to lose my patience with that imbecile.”

“Why hasn’t it happened yet?” Angela inquired over one feathered shoulder.

Mike didn’t answer.  Instead, he stood and walked up behind his wife, and placed one hand on her shoulder above her wing.  Angela caught his hand and looked up at him, noting the grim lines on his face.  “He’s my brother,” Mike muttered.

Angela nodded.  “I understand.”  She patted his hand and returned her gaze to the book on the table.

Mike looked down at it.  “What are you reading?”

“A book of absolute nonsense called The Implacable Minds,” Angela replied.  “It’s a pre-psychic era book of human psychology.”

“Is it nonsense if, at the time, people had no way to contradict it?” Mike asked.

Angela scoffed.  “This is.  Even by contemporary standards, it was considered fringe.  It says that every single possible human thought derives from nutrition hunger.”

“That’s…pretty silly, yeah,” Mike said.  He stayed quiet a while longer before offering her another shoulder squeeze and dropping back into his chair.  “Well.  He’ll be down soon.”


Larson scraped off the layer of growth on his chin and stared at himself in the mirror of the guest suite.  The bathroom was appointed like a regal hotel, without any homey touches.  The fans slowly drained the steamy air from the room, replacing it with the scent of poutporri.

The faint sound of the water in the drain faded away, leaving him with his thoughts.  The thirty-five year old heir-on-paper to the Grecco throne ran his hand over his chin, trying to piece together the last few days.  It was mostly a blur.  He recalled leaving a hotel after a meeting…with whom?  No clue.  He went to the bar and started working his way through the scotch and amasec supplies until…when?

He clenched a fist around the handle of the razor.  When was it?  He realized he had no idea.  He looked around for a clock and couldn’t find one.  Was it even still Thursday?  The razor slapped against the marble countertop as he threw it down in disgust.

What the hell difference did it even make?  He was here, now.  He finished cleaning himself up, grumbling about how unfair it all was.  He walked out into the suite to find a servitor or maid had deposited some fresh clothes – in his size – on the bed.  He glanced them over, noting the tags with surprise that even cut through his mounting headache.  They cost more than his car.  Where was his car, anyway?  Had he left it at the second bar?  The Praetors didn’t have it, did they?

Whatever, he would find it later.  He slipped into the underwear and soft pants, noting the exquisite texture of the shirt and jacket as he picked them up.  He lowballed an estimate of eight hundred threadcount.  “Weren’t you always the one who didn’t give a shit about fashion, Mike?” he grunted.


Down below, Angela tilted her head at her husband, who was still busily brooding in the same seat.  “Mike?”

“Mmm?”

“He’s coming.”

Mike sighed.  “Yeah.”

“Does he know where you are?”

“Probably.  Let him look.  I’m not ready yet,” he said testily.  He slammed his hands down on the armrests and launched himself straight up.  “To hell with this!  We’re having it out this time!”

Angela looked up at him, pained.  He paced around the room, hands clasped at his back.  The elegance of his evening jacket was effective, even when he was fuming.  He looked every inch like the first grandson-in-law of the Emperor he was.  Despite his brush with the constabulary, his clothes and hair were immaculate.  His blue eyes closed tight as he reached the end of one circuit of the little room and started another.  “Blast him!  He’s my bloody BROTHER!  Can he not see how much he’s damaging himself and everyone else he knows with this?  He KNOWS he’s an alcoholic, and he STILL gets smashed every bloody month!  This is the sixth time this year!” he snarled.

His winged love looked away.  “Mike…he’s not weak-willed.  He’s an addict.  Addiction has only a cursory relationship with willpower,” she said.

He stopped his pacing to redirect his ire to his wife.  “Oh?  Then why?  He’s never had the impetus or desire to clean up?”

“I don’t understand it entirely,” Angela said.  “I’ve seen his mind, though, Mike, and he’s not stupid.”

“Oh no, nobody could call him stupid,” Mike said coldly.  “Goodness knows he’s got a two-year degree in accounting, a double-major five-year degree in business management and economics, and a doctorate in economic theory,” he listed off on his fingers.  “The man knows more about money than I do!  Just not when it is and when it isn’t alright to spend it on booze!” he nearly shouted.  He dropped into a different chair and crossed his arm over his chest, but immediately launched back up to resume his pacing.  “Where the bloody hell is he?”


Larson paused on the landing between the first and second floors.  His mind was racing.  How was he going to even talk to his brother now?  And why the hell would he?  What happened was none of his business!  Sure, he had bailed him out, but one mention of the Grecco name would have worked just as well.  The last thing he needed was help, right now.  Hadn’t he just tried to secure a sixty eight millions credit contract with House True?  He didn’t need his brother’s patronage.

He turned around on the landing and marched back up.  Screw Mike, he thought.  He was going to go to bed.


Mike ran his hands over his face.  “What’s taking him?” he grumbled.

“He’s scared and ashamed, love,” Angela said.  She fluttered her wings for balance as she stood.  “Maybe you should go talk to him, instead of making him come to you.”

He dismissed that idea with a gesture.  “And make the mountain move?  He’s the one who screwed up.  Let him take the knee.”

Angela digested that statement and the sentiment behind it.  “He’s a proud man, Mike,” she said quietly.

Mike nodded, recalling their family when they were all younger.  “He always belonged to Father, you know.  Liz and me, we were Mother’s kids, but not Larson.  The man’s nothing if not traditional.”

“Lord Grecco is certainly a stickler for the ways of the past,” Angela agreed.  “And he’s proud, too.”

Mike sighed, this time in regret.  “Should I call Father?”

“Would he want to know that one son was drunk and reckless, and the other used the family name to get the first from out beneath the gavel?” Angela asked.

Mike shook his head.  “No…no, he wouldn’t.”

“So call him anyway,” Angela suggested.  “Just…after Larson leaves.”

Her husband snorted a grim laugh.  “I should.  We’re still kids, to him, you know.”

“He wants grandchildren,” Angela said knowingly.

“Bloody right,” Mike grunted.  “He’ll be waiting a while.  Elizabeth’s married to the work, Larson’s not interested in women, and your genes are being uncooperative.”

Angela nodded again.  “Indeed.  So…Larson.”

“Oh, to the Warp with him,” Mike said, dropping back into a chair.  “Let him stew.”


Larson reached a floor in his climbing and paused.  The vestiges of amasec in his blood were making it hard to navigate.  Was the bathroom on the third floor or the fourth?  What floor was this?  He started down the hallway, trying to find a landmark.

The first door he passed was locked.  The one beside it opened with a push, and revealed a little study, complete with fancy gas fireplace.  The far wall was dominated by a tasteful stainless steel array of grates, covering a gas burner that stood beneath a narrow smokestack.

Larson sank into the chair beside it, then pushed experimentally with his slippered feet.  The chair slid over behind the wooden desk in the corner.  It was covered in papers and slates, none of which was written in Gothic.  Baalish, perhaps?  Who knew.

Little holopicts switched on as the seat slid into position.  They rose from concealed slots in the edge of the desk.  One, Larson recognized, was him, Mike, their sister Elizabeth, and their parents.  Another was Mike himself, arm around Angela’s shoulder, posing before a statue of a Marine in unmarked Iron armor, helmet under his arm, smiling triumphantly.  The third was a cluster of six men including Mike; none of the others were identifiable, though all were familiar in a distant way.

The fourth gave him pause.  It was Angela, clad in a breathtaking red dress that lent her regal profile a haunting beauty, arms crossed at her waist, kneeling before Sanguinius and receiving a tiara of rubies and silver.  The name of the occasion returned to Larson in a rush: the Crowning of Baal, in which Sanguinius had formally named his daughter the heiress and Lady Regent of the Baal system upon her marriage.  Mike was visible kneeling behind her, face soaked in tears.

The last picture, though...Larson’s face tightened.  He knew that one.  He had taken it.  It was Mike, clad in a Grecco Family uniform aboard their void platform in the Centauri cluster, looking grave and dignified, and surrounded by literally hundreds of Navigators.  That was the source of the family’s power, after all: there wasn’t anyone in the galaxy short of Horus, Leman Russ, and the Emperor himself with as much experience negotiating with the Houses of the Navis Nobilite as the Grecco family.  That was how they made their first million, their first billion, their first trillion, and the next two as well.  Now safely ensconced in the incalculable wealth of a diplomatic and trading empire worth more than several systems’ colonies and the stars they orbited, they had a manor on Terra, another on Macragge, and another two each on Goromis and Bekke.  They had ruling ownership in not one, but three major Imperial shipyards, and of course…the second son of the family was the first mortal to marry into the Royal Family.

“Naturally,” Larson whispered.  “Of course.”


Mike flipped his wrist implant open and stared at the number it displayed.  0004.  “Time’s up,” he declared, and he rose to his feet.

Angela looked up at him with sadness etched on her face.  “Mike…please don’t yell at him.  Believe me, he’s miserable enough as it is.”

“No, he isn’t,” Mike growled, and he shut the door behind him.

Angela stared at the door , tearing up.  Even with her vast psychic powers, she was unable to comprehend the rifts in the Grecco family.  Elizabeth and Mike got along perfectly, to the extent that they got to see each other.  The Grecco parents and their parents got along swimmingly with their youngest son and middle daughter.  But Larson?

She couldn’t think of a member of her generation of the Royal family that the others ostracized.  Kelly and Petra were loners, but the others loved them.  Six of them were married, three with children, and all of them still had their mortal mothers except Morticia.  The idea of losing a sibling, to her, seemed alien.

Angela ran her hands over her face, thinking.  At length, she reached for her vox and tapped in a number.  It rang three times before picking up.  “Hello?” a deep voice answered.

“Father,” Angela said, grateful she had caught him up.  “Do you have a moment to talk?”

Sanguinius looked down at the speakerphone on his desk.  “Of course, little one.  What troubles you?”


Mike stormed up the stairs to the third floor and blew into the guest suite, glaring at everything in sight.  After a moment’s searching, he discovered that Larson was indeed not in the suite.  “Where is that drunken fool?” he snarled under his breath.  He walked back out and looked side to side in the hall.  Every door he could see was closed.  He swore and made for the nearest set of stairs.


Larson cradled his head in his hands, staring into the picture of Mike in his little cluster of friends.  The six men were lined up in a room that looked like the guest wing of the Palace.  They were an eclectic bunch.  One was Mike himself, wearing the most expensive ‘casual’ shirt Larson had ever seen.  The man beside him was a tall, slender man with close cut brown hair and the clothing of a ''very'' senior member of the Astra Telepathica, including what looked like a Refraction Field Rosette encrusted with Star Gems around his neck.  The third had a brilliant red glare in his eyes, from the camera maybe, and tanned skin; he also had what looked like a ceremonial Army pin on his collar.  The fourth looked like a commoner, with a loose and rumpled outfit on that didn’t do a very good job of hiding his tattoos and scars, which crossed his arms and neck like a tic-tac-toe board.  The fifth was standing straight as an arrow, smiling politely, and wore a Power Sabre at his hip.  The sixth had a business suit on, complete with tailored coat, and a polished, crafty smile on his clean-shaven face.

The errant Grecco stared at the picture, trying to figure it out.  He knew the one with the Rosette was married to one of the other Royal Daughters, but the other four men were more enigmatic.  He thought he knew the last one’s name from somewhere; he was the chairman and founder of the Dynamic Stellar Frontiers corporation, and had made headlines several years before by discovering an STC artifact on one of his corporation’s construction sites.  The fifth man looked a bit like a news pict he had seen once.  The third and fourth, he had never seen in his life.

He gave up the mystery and slumped back into his chair, rubbing his forehead.  The alcohol cloud in his mind was vanishing after several cups of water from the cooler in the corner.  He still had the bruises from the fight on his arms and face; no drink of atomic-purity water could eliminate that.

The weariness of his day was dragging him down, he realized.  He stood and tried to focus on the surrounding study, but his vision swam.  Distantly, he wondered if he had had anything to eat besides breakfast pastries at meetings for the last day or two.  He suspected he hadn’t.

He made for the door and stumbled.  He caught himself on the edge of the desk and winced at the pain as his arm twisted.  Hunger, tiredness, anger, and shame twisted in his stomach until he couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Damn you,” he whispered of and to nobody.  He dropped back into the chair and slammed his hand on the corner of the desk.  The lights, perhaps reacting to the noise, turned off, and he started.  “Fucking…lights,” he muttered bitterly.  He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers over them, trying to focus.


Mike walked quickly down the halls of the second floor, looking for his brother.  Each room was empty, so far.  A few startled servants reported having seen nobody.  A slight worry was worming into Mike’s huffy anger, and it wasn’t doing his temper any good.  He moved up the stairs to the fourth floor and resumed his search.


Angela finished her summary of the situation over the vox to her father.  He sat silently, feeling many emotions pull at his mind.  To be sure, the situation was a complex one.  “Little one, before I continue, I will say that I and your mother have an inviolable and absolute trust in your ability to do what is best for the Grecco and Royal families, despite it all,” he began.  “Do you want my personal advice as a married man, or my paternal advice?”

“Both, piecemeal, starting with the latter,” Angela said.  “Small words.”

Her father smiled at her witticism.  “Larson’s a fool and deeply jealous of your husband, Mike’s worried sick about his older brother, the fact that neither can admit it despite the obvious need is wearing at their sanity, and you shouldn’t be up this late.”

Angela laughed, her tension easing a fraction.  “So sorry.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll be spending all night with boys and wearing skirts above the knee,” Robin, Angela’s mother, put in from the door of her husband’s study.

“Is that you, Mother?  Good to hear you,” Angela said, glad for the diversion.

“Maybe even driving,” Robin continued, crossing the room to stand beside the gigantic mahogany table.  “It’s unbecoming, a daughter of the Primarch driving herself.”

“Mother, as welcome as your voice is, your advice is a shade worse than useless right now,” Angela said wryly.

“Oh fine, see what my contributions get me,” Robin said with faux sadness.

“Mother…” Angela huffed.

“Angela, let the boys work it out on their own,” Robin counseled.  “Larson envies your relationship with Michael.  Your getting involved before they reach closure on their own could be problematic.”

“I agree,” Sanguinius said with a nod.  “Allow them to resolve this.  Urge it on, but don’t weigh in unless asked.”

Angela’s head and wings drooped.  “Collected passivity isn’t a strength of mine, Father.”

“No kidding,” Sanguinius said, his kingly voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper.

“Didn’t catch that,” Angela said darkly.

“Nothing,” Robin said innocently, winking at her beloved.  “Go to sleep and let Mike and Larson hammer this out.”

“Right.”  Angela fingered the vox, turning their advice over in her mind.  “You know that this is the sixth time this has happened in as many months?  What makes this one different for both?”

Sanguinius thought about that.  “That is a perfectly reasonable question that you should lay before Michael,” he said at last.  “My interpretation is that Larson is starting to confront the reasoning behind his irresponsible behavior in a way that frustrates Michael immensely.”

“And…my means of helping is confined to ‘ensure Mike has a shoulder to lean on?’” Angela asked incredulously.  “If he’s angry, why shouldn’t I help?”

“As I said, Angela,” Sanguinius reminded her.  “I think that whatever you decide to do will be the right thing.  I simply know what I would do were our positions reversed.”

“Mmm.”  His daughter sighed her assent.  “Thank you, Mother, Father.”

“Of course, Angela,” Robin said.  “You be safe out there.”

“Cordoma has the lowest crime rate of any habitable part of the Solar system, Mother,” Angela said.  “The Palace has a higher incidence of misdemeanor.”

“Doesn’t mean I can stop worrying,” Robin chided lightly.  “Good night.”


Mike blew through the door to the private study, still searching for his brother.  His eyes alighted on Larson’s sleeping form, sitting behind his desk, and his anger flared back up.  “Larson!  What the hell are you doing at my desk?” he demanded, crossing the room to his brother’s side.

His brother stirred in his sleep, but didn’t awake from his amasec-drenched slumber.  Mike groaned in exasperation and rounded the table to drag his brother from the chair…and paused.  The pictures behind the desk were up and displayed, as they were when anyone sat there, but one had been dismounted.  Larson had removed the picture of Mike, Nate, Jake, Thangir, Julius, and Armin from its slot, and judging by the fingerprints and tearstains on it, had been staring into it for quite a long time.

Mike’s rage faded in an instant.  Rather than the tempest it had been, it was now little more than a flickering grudge.  “How does he do that?” Mike asked under his breath.  He looped his arms under his brother’s robed armpits and lifted, heaving Larson’s sleeping body onto the small couch on the outer wall of the room.  He tugged his evening jacket off of his own shoulders and draped it over his brother’s body, then snapped his fingers once to turn the fire in the corner on to a low setting.  “That’s seven you owe me, you bastard,” he muttered under his breath as he walked out the door.


On the fifth and top floor of the mansion, Angela was already snuggled into the bed and lying, as she rather had to be, on her side, reading a holomag.  Mike walked in, and immediately made for the changing closet.  “Found the lunkhead,” he reported, unceremoniously tugging off his shirt and chucking it into the laundry hamper.

Angela looked up at him.  “Oh?”

Mike tugged a sleeping shirt on as he continued his conversation through the open door of the closet.  “The fool fell asleep at the desk in my study on the fourth floor.”

“What?”  Angela sat up, awkwardly folding her wings as she did.  “What was he doing in there?”

Mike sighed heavily.  “…Looking at family photos and crying.”

Angela closed her eyes.  “Mike…”

“Don’t say it,” her husband groused.  “Hang on.”

Angela duly waited until Mike had changed into sleeping clothes and climbed into the colossal bed beside her before asking the question.  “What are you going to do about him?” she asked.  Trepidation colored her voice.  Mike was rarely roused to anger.  His brother was one of the very few things that could do it.

He sank into the pillows and wearily rubbed his eyes.  “I don’t know any more.  What did Sanguinius suggest?”

“How did you know I called Father?” Angela asked in surprise.

Mike looked up at her.

Angela smiled faintly.  The two had shared souls with one another, in their foolish youth.  Predicting the other’s actions was hardly a challenge.  “Right.  I did call him, and he and Mother suggested that Larson is…well, jealous.”

“That, I figured out on my own,” Mike grunted.

“And…that you’re worried sick about him,” Angela continued.

Mike stared at the ceiling, trying to disprove her.  It didn’t work.  “I’m worried, I’ll grant them that,” he finally allowed.

His wife laid one hand on the headboard over his neatly-trimmed blonde hair.  “Mike, I think the two of you need to have a long and personal talk.”

His voice was small and bitter.  “I know.”

Angela sensed his anger turning to resentment.  She averted it completely.  “Well.  Time to sleep, then,” she decided.

Mike smiled despite it all.  “Angela, are you reading my mind?” he asked.  It wasn’t unprecedented.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  Her hair tickled his ears.  “I don’t need to,” she said coyly.  “I just do what I think will make this work out happily.”

“Then by all means, continue,” Mike said with a yawn of fading adrenaline.  He pulled up the covers and caressed his wife’s hand as she settled down, facing him from her side.  “Good night.”


Larson awoke slowly the next morning.  His head was bursting with a hangover migraine.  Moving quickly would have been too overwhelming.  He gradually cracked his eyes open to see that the study was lit solely by a disconnected holo on the desk, running on a battery, and by a flickering fire in the grated fireplace.

He struggled to sit up, pushing back the blanket over his chest – no.  It was a jacket.  Not his?

Larson rubbed sleep from his eyes with a wince of pain.  The jacket was crushed velvet, and monogrammed with mGs.  Mike’s jacket, then.  Hell.  He tossed it over the couch and gingerly stood, hesitating as the pain flared up in his head.  “Now if only I was married to a psyker, that wouldn’t even be a problem,” he muttered.

The pictures on the desk had retracted when he – or Mike – had moved him to the couch.  One of them was unplugged, sitting on the table, running on battery power.  Larson lifted it, trying to remember what they had been.  It was Mike and some of the senior members of the government, wasn’t it?  One of them was Princess Miranda’s boyfriend –

No.  They were the men who had married into the Royal family.  That was it.  Mike Grecco, Nathaniel Romanvene, J. Something, Something Russ, Julius Pius, and Armin Napier.  Larson let out a heavy breath.  That was why he hadn’t recognized them, some of them had been commoners.  Of course.  Well, wasn’t that peachy.

He nearly slammed the holo back down into its charging cradle, and it descended into the desk.  The slot closed with a quiet *click*, and he glared at it so hard he could have melted the plastic cover clean off.

Whatever.  Let Mike and Elizabeth and Dad and Mom and the Emperor himself pick their own ways, he thought to himself in a huff as he went looking for his shoes.  He had picked his own way, and he was sticking to it.  He patted down the pockets of his borrowed clothes, looking for his keys.  His fingers ticked against something hard on the left side pocket, and he reached in.  His fingers closed around a small metal chain, and he tugged, curious now.  He extracted a set of silver keys, looped on a twisted metal ring, and each was emblazoned with a room number.  He stared, wondering what it was, when it clicked.  They were the keys to the guest suite in which he was supposed to have been sleeping overnight.  Hadn’t the door been unlocked, though?

Suddenly weary beyond measure, he slumped down onto the couch before the flickering fire and cradled the keys in his hands.  They were so blasted fragile, he thought blearily, dropping them onto the floor between his legs.  Humans and keys alike.  And fireplaces, and cars, and self-esteem, and relationships, and love…

The door swung open.  Larson scrambled to his feet as his youngest sibling turned on the lights.  Mike stared at him.  “What were you doing on the floor?”

Larson stammered.  “I, uh, I dropped the keys to the guest suite,” he said, gesturing at them where they lay.

Mike shrugged.  “Mm.  Alright.  Get real clothes on, we’re going,” he said, turning away.

“You’re throwing me out already, huh?” Larson said feebly.

Mike glared over his shoulder.  “No, you imbecile, I’m buying you breakfast.”


Angela watched, half an hour later, as a small, compact silver car drove – on wheels – out of the garage and made for the Cordoma business district.  The little town was expanding so fast that half the skyline was construction cranes and Mechanicum auto-assembly scaffolds, and there was an abundance of busy, cheap places for the laborers and techpriests to find repast.  The blonde angel shook her head and turned away to find a maid.  She needed breakfast too, and she was booked solid with meetings that day.


Larson looked out the windows of the car as Mike drove them down the narrow streets.  “So this is Cordoma in the daylight, huh?” he asked.

“More used to it at night?” Mike asked, false levity dripping from his voice.

“Too bloody right,” Larson said dryly.  “Nice town.”

“Where do you live nowadays?” Mike asked.

“Oh, Startseite, but the aircars now can do the trip in twenty minutes.  I just booked a cab here, a few nights back, I think,” Larson recalled through the post-binge haze.

Mike drove them in silence for nearly thirty seconds.  “…You’ve been wandering around the city, drunk and lost, for a day and a half?” he asked quietly.

Larson looked back at Mike.  His brother’s jaw was clenched so tight his cheeks were white.  “…I guess I have,” Larson said.  “Not proud of it.”

Mike gripped the wheel and turned them down a side road, maybe a bit too fast.  “I’d have come get you before you wound up in the drunk tank if you called me, you know.”

Larson shook his head.  “I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I’d rather pick you up so you can sleep in a real bed than abuse my power to get you out of a misdemeanor charge,” Mike said curtly.  “And either way it would have given you a place to rest that night.”

“I know,” Larson said testily, then regretted it.  “Sorry.”

Mike stepped on the brakes, slowing them down so he could park.  “We’re here,” he announced.  Larson looked at the place they had stopped.  It was a featureless concrete wall.

“Uh…”

“It’s behind the wall, best kept secret in Cordoma,” Mike said.

“Ah.  I was gonna say, I’m hungry, but cement mix just goes right through me,” Larson said.  Mike snorted and unlocked the doors.

Behind the concrete blast wall was a small, even clandestine restaurant with an unlit sign over the door that said ‘Baker’s Bakers.’  Larson looked up at the sign as they walked under it.  “We’re eating at a place that is literally a pun.  Excellent.”

Mike held the door open for his brother.  Larson walked past him and took stock of the place.  It was utterly vacant.  No waitstaff or diners were visible anywhere.  “Uh, Mike, I don’t see anyone,” he said.

“I called ahead,” Mike said, dropping into the table next to the door.  “The owner owes me a favor.”

“What for?” Larson asked.

“Getting his land construction approval passed after he bollocks-ed the tax form up,” Mike said.  The kitchen door swung open and a portly man in his fifties emerged, rubbing his hands on a towel.

He spotted the Royal son and the disheveled man beside him and beamed a smile at them.  “Michael, my good man, so glad we can square things,” he announced in a booming voice overflowing with joi de vivre.  Larson liked him instantly.  “How can I serve you and your friend?”

“Brother, actually, and we’ll start with two Sewer Worker Emergency Plates,” Mike said with an easy grin of his own.

“Bit early in the day to be committing suicide, isn’t it?” the man, presumably Baker, asked with mock concern.

Mike waved a dismissive hand.  “I fear nothing,” he said with regal disdain.

“Indeed!  Two SWEPs, coming right up,” the man said, and back into the kitchen he went.

Larson stared.  “What in the hell is a Sewer Worker’s Emergency Plate?”

“The best food you’ve never tasted,” Mike said.  “Three blackberry pancakes over a pad of butter with imported tree sugar syrup, four links of mini-pork sausage and a slice of Butcher’s Bacon, two pieces of rye toast, and two cups of sugar-drenched quadruple-caffeine-rationed black coffee, served white hot.”

“Good Lord.”

Mike shrugged.  “I know, it’s risky business, but if you’ve dredged a Terran sewer, sometimes you need a few trillion volts of fat and stimulants in your system immediately,” he said.  “And like I said, I knew the place was closed.”

“How and why did he need your help with the tax forms?” Larson asked as he reached for a napkin.

“Because I’m dumber than the day is long and listed two dependents I didn’t have when I filed my taxes for the place,” the man called from inside the kitchen.  “Mike here is a dear old friend and he spoke to someone in the Administratum for me.  So he gets to eat whatever the blazes he wants, once per week until the Grand Opening…” he said as he exited the kitchen with the toast on a plate, “which I had to delay because of the bureaucrats.”  He set the toast down with some butter and jelly packets.  “Eat up, sir, you look famished.”

“Indeed,” Larson said.  “Thank you kindly.”  He set into the toast with a vengeance as Mike sipped a glass of ice water.  The cook or proprietor or whatever he was vanished into the kitchen again, and moments later the sounds and smells of frying fat wafted through the old-fashioned swing doors.

Larson looked over his bread at his brother.  Mike was staring into his ice water, watching the cubes melt.  “So…thanks for this,” he said.

Mike didn’t look up.  “Yes.”  He looked down at the unopened menus on the table.  “Found my personal pictures last night?”

“I did.”  Larson hesitated.  “Sorry.”

“I left the room unlocked.”  Mike sighed.  “The one you looked at…that was a few weeks ago.  At the Palace.  After Cora and Armin got married.”

“Yeah, I remembered the wedding,” Larson said.  “Was it nice?”

Mike looked over the rim of his cup with one raised brow.  “Well, it was…wealthy.  The most successful businesswoman on the planet and the most successful galactic explorer outside the Mechanicum can throw on quite a party when the mood takes them.”

Larson snorted.  “Oh, I bet.”  He sipped at his water too, to wash down the sticky jelly.  “What’s he like?”

“Dashing.  Very old-schooled, very elegant.  Fancies himself an action hero,” Mike said.  “No desire for home life.  Not like me.”

“Mmm.”  They ate in silence as the sounds of eggs whipping emerged from the far room.  Larson looked back at Mike with strain lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.  “Any plans on children, yet?  I know you wanted to wait…”

“We’re trying now,” Mike said.  “It’s hard to predict the timing on such things, but…it’s fun, anyway,” he said with the ghost of a grin.  “Angela wanted to wait until I felt comfortable around the Royal Family, and she wanted to get settled in at the Astra Telepathica before committing to motherhood.”

“Sensible.”  Larson downed his drink and reached for the pitcher.  “Good on you.”

“Thanks.”  Mike finished his own water and set it aside.  “So…are you ready to talk about last night?” he asked.

“Can we wait until I have actual nutrients in me?” Larson asked evasively.  Mike heaved a sigh.

“Very well.”

Larson inclined his head.  “Thank you, Mike.”

Mike’s vox beeped.  He swore under his breath and extracted it.  “Hell.  I need to take this,” he said, and flipped it open.  “What?”

“Lord Michael, this is Principe Fordin,” the voice on the other side said.  “I was asked to inform you when the Nimbus is ready.”

Mike sat up, listening intently.  “I see.”

“The vessel departs at your will, your Lordship,” the voice continued.

“Good!  That was bloody quick, pass along my thanks to the Lord Techmarine,” Mike said.  “Keep me informed.”

“Of course, your Lordship.  Thank you, sir,” the man said, and hung up.

Mike set the vox down and sighed again.  “We’re heading back to Baal in a few days,” he said for his brother’s benefit.  “We waited until the wedding was over.”

“You have your own ship?” Larson asked, avoiding his brother’s eyes again.

“Well, it’s the Royal yacht,” Mike said.  “Sanguinius, Robin, Angela, me…any of us can use it.”

“Hmm.”  Larson finished his toast.  “Why didn’t you take one of Fleet Grecco’s ships?”

“Inconvenience a Grecco ship because my wife wants to be home while she’s expecting?  I think not,” Mike said.  “The Nimbus was going back to Baal for upgrades anyway.  Bloody thing’s getting old.”

They waited in awkward silence as the rest of the food cooked.  When it was done, Baker emerged with two steaming plates of food and deposited them at the table with a fresh smile.  “Gentlemen, enjoy,” he said.

“Goodness, I’m glad I haven’t eaten in two days,” Larson said, staring at the mountain of calories.

“That’s what I’m here for.  Sirs,” Baker said, and backed away.

Mike tore into the food, as did his brother, and the room was quiet except for chewing and cleaning noises from the dining hall and kitchen in turn.  The pancakes and meat vanished under the concerted forces of hunger from the Grecco boys, and for a few brief minutes, they were eight and ten in their mother’s kitchen again.  Larson finished first, and sat back in his chair with a groan that was half fulfillment and half regret.

“Well.”

“Yeah, a Sewer Worker Emergency Plate will cure what ails you,” Mike said around a mouthful of bacon.

“If what ails you is anorexia,” Larson sighed.  He pushed his plate away.  “Thanks.”

“Yes.”  Mike hefted his coffee and sipped it.  “Army folk call this caffeine-enriched stuff recaf.  I think it’s a portmanteau of something.”

“Recycled Caffeine?” Larson guessed.

“Who knows.”  Mike stared at his brother through the steam.

Larson relented.  “Then…I guess…”

“What’s happening?” Mike asked bluntly.

Larson shuddered a sigh he had been holding in.  “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“Yes.  For what?” Mike pressed.

Larson looked away from him and drummed his fingers on the table.  “How does this happen?” he asked aloud.

“What?”

“I want to know how this sort of conversation goes, but I’m sort of stumbling,” Larson admitted.

“Does it ever go smoothly?” Mike rhetorically inquired.  Larson answered anyway.

“Probably not.  Well, I should say…hell, Mike, I know this is unfair of me.”

“No kidding,” Mike said coldly.  Larson’s return glare was half-hearted.

“Why do you bail me out?”

“You’re my brother.”

“I mean why you?  Why not Liz?  Why not Mother or Father?  Is it because you have some power over the Arbites?” Larson asked.

Mike shook his head.  “My power ends at the doorstep of the Arbites’ Precincts.  Thank goodness you’ve never been in one.  The Praetors, however…half of the Survivors’ Fund is bankrolled by me.”

“The what?”

“Orphans and widows.”  Mike sipped his drink.  “They owe me.  Which is a problem for you.”

“Indeed.”  Larson put his head in his hands and his elbows on the table, staring down at the cheery patterns on the table.

“Why do you do it, Larson?” Mike asked quietly.  “Do you just enjoy drinking that much?”

“It’s not…I mean, I don’t function properly,” Larson mumbled.  “I can’t understand…why people don’t want to feel that good all the time…”

Mike shook his head.  Larson continued.  “It’s…it’s not like I’m stupid, I don’t think it’s natural.”

“Nobody thinks you’re stupid,” Mike said.  “Or lack willpower.  But that doesn’t leave much else.”

“I’m an addict, Mike,” Larson said bitterly.  “It doesn’t have to make sense.”

The two men sat in silence as Baker collected their dishes and went to wash them.  He discreetly locked the kitchen door behind himself to grant the Grecco sons some privacy.  Mike sent silent thanks for his sense of decorum.

At length, Larson raised his head and looked over at his younger brother.  The bags under his eyes made him look ten years older.  “Mike, do you ever feel like life isn’t something you can control?”

“No.”  Mike downed the last of his recaf and set the mug on the table behind him.  “I don’t.”

“I do.  It’s not fun.”

“I imagine not.  Do something about it,” Mike said flatly.  “Six times in six months?  Sooner or later, nobody’s going to take your call.  I certainly won’t, not for the next ten months.  I won’t even be on Earth.”

Larson snorted.  “Think I’ve worn out the Grecco family welcome mat?”

“No.  The Royal family doesn’t care about you, particularly, and their public image isn’t going to be destroyed by one drunken relative, but brother, Mom and Dad and Liz are just as embarrassed of your behavior as you’d expect,” Mike said angrily.  “There’ll be a point when they force you to go to rehab, and you’ll thank them for it, even as you curse yourself for not doing it voluntarily.”

“Oh, like I could do that!” Larson snapped.  “Like I can find the time for that!”

Mike shrugged.  “I guess it would be hard to find an opportunity with your schedule.  I mean, you spent the last two weeks stumbling around a strange city, drinking heavily.  No time for rehab in there.”

Larson’s hands gripped the edge of the table like he was going to flip it over, when Mike’s hand snaked out and grabbed his brother’s wrist.  He twisted, exposing Larson’s palm to the lights of the room.  “Look at yourself!” Mike snapped.  “You can’t live like this, Larson!  We’re worried about you!”

Larson wrenched his hand away from his genehanced brother with some difficulty.  “You don’t…you don’t know what I’m going through!” he shouted.

“No!”  Mike shot back.  “But I’m sitting across from you in an abandoned restaurant, with no time commitments for the next few hours, Angela’s busy at work, you’ve got nowhere to be in more ways than one, and I just dragged your carcass out of a Praetor drunk tank!  Get to talking!”

Larson’s teeth clenched, even as he sank back down in his seat.  “You’re right,” he bit out.  “You’re always fucking right, aren’t you?”

“I am this time,” Mike said darkly.  “Get to talking.”

“It was always you,” Larson said bitterly.  “You married into the Royal Family, you got the accolades at Imperator, you’re the one the Navigators would rather work with…”

“So this is sibling rivalry gone horribly awry?” Mike demanded.  “How convenient that your addiction is now someone else’s fault.”

“No, you bastard!” Larson suddenly bellowed.  “Not like…not like that…”

The fire vanished from his tone and he deflated as if he had been pricked with a pin.  He sank down into his seat and cradled his head on his hands again.  “It’s…not…”

“Is it the fact that I married first that bothers you?  I know it bothered Liz, at first,” Mike said.

His brother shook his head as a tear leaked past his hand.  “Of course I’m jealous,” Larson whispered.  “But…”

Mike stared at him.  “Why Cordoma?” he asked.

Larson pulled his hands away from his eyes and blinked at Mike.  “Huh?”

“Why are you in Cordoma?” Mike asked him, trying to keep his voice level.  “Last I heard, you were in Startseite.”

“I was,” Larson said.  He looked back down.  “I had a business meeting.”

Mike leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “So how did you get from there to getting beaten up in a bar?”

“How does a celebration after a meeting ever turn out?” Larson asked with an attempt at a quip.  “I just…well, I don’t…ever reach the point where I think I need to stop.”

Mike sighed as he sensed the conversation turning in circles.  “What was the meeting?”

Larson hesitated.  “I was meeting with a representative from House True.”

“What for?”

“I, er…” Larson’s hesitation caught Mike’s attention, and he leaned forward to try to match his older brother’s eye.

Mike’s tone was harsh.  “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…” Larson fidgeted like a kid called before their teacher for breaking the chalk.

Mike sat up as a piece slid into place.  “Larson, you’ve known you had a drinking problem since you were twenty years old,” he said slowly.  “Why did I suddenly have to bail you out six times in half a year?”

“I’ve…I said already, I’m just jealous of your life sometimes,” Larson said angrily.

“Not after I’ve been married for twenty six years,” Mike said.  “What’s going on?”

Larson glared at his brother across the table for a moment longer, before Mike sat back in his chair and stared at him, crossing his arms over his chest.  He relented at last, slumping into his seat.

“…I’m in trouble, Mike,” he finally admitted.  His brother bade him continue with a wave.  “You know Vuaso Management?”

“Mutual fund brokerage,” Mike recalled.

“My company’s retirement funds are invested through them, and so are a bunch of my own personal accounts,” Larson said heavily.  He felt the hand of shame squeeze his heart.  “They’re in deep shit.”

“What’s going on?” Mike asked again, this time in concern.

Larson slowly leaned forward and lowered his voice, despite the room’s vacancy.  “They’re…about to get investigated by the Imperial Fraud Investigation and Prevention Panel.”

Mike’s jaw dropped.  “IFIPP is investigating your mutual fund brokerage?”

The older man nodded and bit back a frustrated groan at the thought.  “I have so much tied up in those guys…Mike, we have over seventy five thousand employees with accounts there.  And those are just the retirement plans.  If you count personal insurance plans and stock portfolios, it’s over ninety thousand.  If they’re really running a scheme…I’m destroyed.”

Mike was stunned.  The young Prince took a moment to think it over, running his hand across his jaw as he did.  “Well…wow.  What are you going to do?”

Larson glared at him again.  “Would I be drinking myself half to death if I had an answer?” he snapped.  “I came to Cordoma to meet with a rep from House True to see if we could secure a contract for some shipping work with them, scrounge up some trade money to buy me some time.”

“So did you go get blasted because it did work, or because it didn’t?” Mike asked pointedly.

Larson’s shoulders drooped.  “I fucked it up,” he mumbled.  “My price was a shade too high, and they got spooked.”

Mike sighed.  “Damn.  Well…huh.  I couldn’t help with the money, but…”

Larson’s head jerked back as if stung.  “Did I ask for your help with that?” he demanded.  “No, really, did I ask for money?”

“No.”

“Then…ah, hell.”  He dropped his hands to the seat and plaintively looked across the table.  “Mike, I’m scared.”

“Why didn’t you check them out?” Mike asked.

“I did!  I hired a PI to check out the firm’s history,” Larson wailed.  “They were clean!  They may have started after we opened the account with them, I don’t know.”

“Then did you commit any crimes?” Mike asked.

“No, no, I didn’t do anything,” Larson said, wounded.

“Then it’ll suck, you’ll lose a fortune, and your employees will be in hot water,” Mike summarized.  “It’s horrible, but it’s life.”

Larson gaped.  “Those are the retirement accounts of my entire staff you’re dismissing!”

“And there’s nothing you can do!” Mike said.  “Look, I sympathize, but what else is there?”

“Mike, what the hell do you mean?  I have to fight this!” Larson said.

“Brother, you can do NOTHING but co-operate with the government and hope for the best!” Mike said.  “If you really want to help your people, then go get some real work done!  How much is getting smashed on the streets of Cordoma helping your employees?”

His brother sighed and ground his hands into his eyes again.  “I feel guilty, Mike, like I let them down.”

“Your board will stand with you if you present a tough face and gut this out,” Mike assured him.  “Do you think they’ll back you if you’re disappearing days at a time into lockups and bars?  Get your ass back to Startseite and sit down with the Panel, and get your accounts squared.”

Larson closed his eyes.  “…I know.”

“But it’s easier not to, isn’t it,” Mike said heavily as the truth emerged at last.  “You don’t want to look your guys in the eye and say what happened.”

Larson didn’t answer.  Mike stood after another minute of silence.  “If you want my support, Larson, you have it,” he said.  His brother looked up at him in surprise.  “I can’t offer you money, not legally, but I can testify before the Panel.”

“Mike…”

“But not for another ten months or so,” Mike finished.  “I won’t interrupt our plans to start a family over this.”

“Would you do it if I asked you to?” Larson asked.

Mike froze, staring at his brother in shock.  “…What?”

“Would you wait a bit longer to have a child if I asked you to?”  Larson was sitting still, now, not fidgeting, and staring straight back at Mike with a steely look in his eyes.

The silence in the room was deafening.  Mike’s hands gripped the back of his chair.  “…I suppose I would.”

“Then I won’t,” Larson said, nodding as if in conformation of something.  “Go start a family.  I’ll pick up after myself.”

Mike narrowed his eyes.  “Why did you just ask me that?”

Larson grimaced as he stood.  “Because I needed to be sure.”

“If you get arrested again, I’m not helping you,” Mike said flatly.  “I won’t even be on Terra.”

“I know.”

“I mean it.  Ask Liz if it happens again,” Mike pressured him.

“I know.  Thanks,” Larson said.  “You’re a real son of a bitch, though, you know that?”

“We have the same parents,” Mike reminded him.

“This is true.”  Larson followed his brother out the door and back to the car without another word, and sat in the passenger’s seat.  Mike started up the car and they were on the way back to the house.

Partway back, Larson suddenly snorted in amusement.  “I feel as tired now as I did last night.”

“Despite all that recaf?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.  Soul-searching does that.”  Mike pulled them up in the manor’s driveway and secured the car in the garage.

Inside, Larson went to collect his things.  Mike sat down in a chair in the antechamber and tried to muddle through the last hour.  The room fell quiet as Larson went up to the guest suite and the study, and left Mike alone with his thoughts.  He let the news of his brother’s financial trouble tumble through his mind.  The instincts he felt as he did pulled him in at least two directions, unfortunately.

Still.  The food was eaten, the talk had been had, and now they had to act.  The onus was on Larson now.  If he decided not to reform his ways, that was on him; if he did, then Mike would be there for him, he decided.  And either way, they were still brothers.  The Greccos looked out for their own.

Larson returned in his own clothes, cleaned and pressed by the servants in his absence.  He tucked them under his arm and hesitated as he reached Mike.  “Well…thanks for breakfast, Mike,” he said.

Mike nodded and rose.  “Sure.  Drop by before we fly to Baal, please.”

“Listen…don’t tell Dad about all this, all right?  I don’t want to embarrass him,” Larson awkwardly said.

“I understand.”  Mike briefly hugged him before stepping back to hold him at arm’s length.  He gave Larson a hard stare.  “You understand why we’re concerned?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”  Juvenat treatments couldn’t hide the age in Larson’s eyes, but at least he wasn’t walking with a slump in his spine any more.  “All right.  Where’s my car?”

“It’s at the Praetor’s stationhouse, I asked them to tow it.  Here, use this if they give you crap about the bill,” Mike said, passing his brother a money card.

“Thanks.”  Larson pocketed it and shook Mike’s hand.  “I’ll…if you’re back from Baal, I’ll call you when you can testify before the Panel.”

“Do so.  Goodbye.”  Mike held the door as his brother exited with one last look, and stepped into the cab Mike had called on the drive home.  He clambered in and took off towards the town without another word.


Upstairs, one of the house servants was dusting the trophy room when Mike wandered in, hands in his pockets.  The servant sketched a quick bow, but Mike wasn’t even looking around.  He acknowledged the bow with a distracted wave, then turned to look at a picture on the wall.  The servant turned back to his cleaning.

Mike stared at the picture in silence.  The image was nearly as old as he was.  It was him, at the age of two, cradled in Elizabeth’s arms, and Larson standing behind them.  Angela, no older than him, was fast asleep in Robin’s lap where she sat next to his own mother.  He sighed under his breath and walked away, head hung low.

=== Jake Can Come Off As Strange ===


Lisa looked out the front door of her boyfriend’s house in dismay.  The darkness was total; even the lights of the city were invisible.  Driving sheets of rain were tearing across the sky, so strong that the branches of trees were whipping around.

She sighed to herself.  “I just had to walk over.  Three blocks…damn.”  She raised a hand to block the wind and stepped forward.

“Where are you going at three in the morning?” a voice asked from behind her.

She jerked around, her heart rate spiking.  Prince Jacob was leaning against the frame of the antechamber’s door, staring at her a bit blearily.  “In this weather, too,” he said.

Lisa stammered.  “J-just walking home, your Majesty.”

Jake shook his head.  “Don’t be absurd, that weather could kill you.  Terran rain can turn acidic from the water coming off the hive skins.  Just stay here tonight,” he said, straightening up.

The blonde teenager nervously shook her head.  “Thank you, your Majesty, but I couldn’t trouble you to set up a guest room at this time of night,” Lisa said.

“Who said anything about a guest bed?” Jake yawned.

Lisa’s jaw dropped.  She stared, shocked.  “W-what?”

Jake yawned again as he walked away.  “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Upstairs, N’bel, Jake’s older son, crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, completely at peace with life.  She had been a bit nervous, and he couldn’t blame her, but Lisa had returned his affections.  They had made love for the first time, and it had been everything he had hoped for.

Abruptly, his door swung open, shaking him out of his post-coital reverie.  Lisa staggered in, looking exhausted.  N’bel sat up.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked.  Hadn’t she been about to go home?

“Kill me now,” she groaned, sinking facefirst onto the mattress.  “Go get that ceremonial knife off the wall over there and ram it straight into my heart,” she said into the covers.

“What the hell are you on about?” N’bel asked.  “Are you all right?”

“Your dad stopped me from leaving and said I should just stay the night,” Lisa mumbled.  “Ffffffuuuuck…”

N’bel’s brilliantly glowing eyes widened.  “What?”

“And…when I said he shouldn’t bother to set up a guest bed, he said ‘I didn’t mention a guest bed,’” she finished, gripping her head.

N’bel sank back into the pillow, staring blankly.  “…Shit.”  His mind raced, trying to think of a way out of their predicament, and couldn’t find one.  “Well…I guess we’ll just have to see how this goes,” he said, pulling the sheets back for her.

The next morning, Lisa crept down the stairs of the house, wondering if she could get away clean.

Not to be, it seemed.  Jake poked his head out of the kitchen as she walked by on tiptoes.  “Good morning,” he said.  “Have you had breakfast?” he asked.

Lisa nearly jumped out of her skin.  “Uh, uh…your, uh…your Majesty, I’m fine, thanks,” she said, inching towards the door.

“Not what I asked,” Jake said mildly.  “Come on in.”

She couldn’t see a way out of her impending doom, no matter how hard she tried, so with the airs and dignity of a condemned prisoner, she trooped into the kitchen, where Jake was already making a few omelets.  Clearly he had been waiting for her to make her escape.

She sat at the counter, nervously glancing around.  “Is…is Princess Venus here too?” she asked, just to delay her demise.

“She had to leave early.  She says hi,” Jake said, flipping one sizzling circle of mixed egg.

Lisa looked down at her plate.  “…I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Jake looked up at her from the food.  “For what?”

“For…I mean…under your roof, and…” Lisa trailed off, flushing red.  “Sorry.”

Jake shook his head.  “You did nothing to be ashamed of.  Do you know what N’bel is like when you’re not around?” he asked.  He snorted.  “Stupid question.  Never mind.  I’ll help: distracted, at best.”  He smiled slyly as she looked up in surprise.  “I think he really loves you, Lisa.”  He raised his voice.  “And he’s really bad at staying quiet!”

N’bel appeared at the door, eyes drawn and dimmed.  “Uh, morning, Dad,” he said.  “You, uh…heard me come down the stairs, did you?”

“Clear as a rifle report,” Jake said.  “Sit down.  Eat.”

N’bel slid into the seat beside his girlfriend, looking up at his father behind the counter.  “So…you’re not gonna kill us, right?” he asked, to make sure.
Jake waved one hand.  “Why would I do that?  I remember being your age,” he said.

N’bel stared.  “…What?”

“What?  You’re both responsible kids,” Jake said, dropping a few slices of cheese into the cooking eggs.  “I’m glad you two are happy.”

Lisa flushed bright red.  “And…you’re not mad?  At all?”

“Lisa, I actually like you,” Jake said drily.  “My son’s in good hands.”

Lisa managed to blush even brighter, staring down at the empty plate in front of her.  “…Thanks, your Majesty.”

“That’s gonna have to stop, though,” Jake said.

“We won’t do it again,” she said sadly.

“What?  No, I mean calling me ‘your Majesty’ in my own house like that,” Jake said.  “Look at me, I’m in a bathrobe, cooking eggs.  Nothing Majestic here,” he said.  He pushed the eggs out of the pan and onto her plate.  “Here.”

“Uh, thanks,” she said.  “I’m sorry if we…you know, bothered you last night.”

Jake chuckled.  “You didn’t.  I just wish N’bel had thought to close his door,” he said with mock weariness.

N’bel’s eyes flickered in sudden nerves.  “Wait, you…oh fuck, you didn’t…”

“Yeah, I didn’t really want a play-by-play,” Jake said.

N’bel’s head sank into his hands.  “Ugh…” he mumbled.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Jake said, putting his hands up.  “Seriously.  I’m happy for you two.”

“Am I missing something?” N’bel said, looking up through his fingers.  “I expected you to flip a shit, here.”

“Why?” Jake asked reasonably, starting his own breakfast.  “You think I wouldn’t remember when I was sixteen?  Shit, I wish my dad had taken it as well,” he said.  “First thing I did when I came home the next morning was yell at me.”

N’bel stared.  “Grandpa George yelled at you?”

“Sure did.  And then, he did it after my first night with my second girlfriend too,” Jake said.  “He was just overprotective, though, I don’t blame him.”  He smiled at his son’s look of total astonishment.  “After you’re done, go do me a favor, though, huh?  I heard something land on the roof in the storm.  Go make sure whatever it was didn’t puncture the seal, all right?”

“Uh, yeah…sure,” N’bel said, digging into his eggs.

After he finished and made his escape, Lisa sat in her own seat, her food all but untouched.  Jake looked at her over the counter, gauging her nervousness.  “Lisa, are you all right?”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered.

Jake sighed.  “Lisa, come on.  Why are you so embarrassed?  Did he hurt you or something?”

Her head shot up.  “No!  No, he didn’t…I mean, I’m just…you’re his dad!” Lisa said.

“Yes, I am.”  Jake looked over at her, trying not to intimidate her with his eyes.  “Listen, sweetheart, you make my son very happy.  As far as I’m concerned, this is a good thing.  All right?  Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I just…I didn’t even ask to come over, he just said we should come over after the party, and then…” she mumbled.

“Is that it?  Lisa, my son’s never happier than he is when you’re around,” Jake said gently.  “What kind of father would I be if I didn’t want that?  My door is always open to you.”

She looked downward, flushing again.  “Great.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head.  “Frankly, I was wondering what took you two so long.  N’bel’s been proclaiming his undying love for you with a downright adorable level of eagerness for weeks,” he said drily.

Lisa glanced up, surprised.  “Really?”

“He’s such a romantic,” Jake laughed.  He looked into her eyes, all mock sternness.  “You don’t go breaking his heart, now, all right?”

“I won’t,” she promised.

“Good.”  He smiled.  “You want a ride home?” he asked.

“No, I should just walk,” Lisa said.  She looked down at her untouched food.  “Um, can I finish first?”

“Sure thing,” Jake said, sliding his own dishes into the dishwasher.  “And please, for his sake, don’t hold my weirdness against him, all right?  I’d never forgive myself.”

She bit her lip to hold back a giggle.  “Sure thing, sir.”

“Superb.  See you around,” he said, walking out of the kitchen.

N’bel was walking in the door as Jake reached it.  “There’s nothing on the roof at all,” he accused.

“Wow, you saw through my transparent attempt at causing a diversion,” Jake deadpanned.

“What did you talk about?” his son demanded.

Jake put his hands up.  “Easy, son, I don’t deserve that tone,” he said.

N’bel fumed.  Jake nearly laughed at his son’s simmering frustration.  “All right.  You kids have fun.  I need to descend into the cave to continue my labors,” he sighed, walking down to his office in the basement.

N’bel glared at his father’s back until he was out of sight.  “Asshole,” he muttered.

Lisa picked at her eggs as N’bel sat down beside her.  “I thought he was gonna be mad,” Lisa said, her nerves settling down.

N’bel sighed.  “Me too.”

“You think he was being an asshole?” Lisa asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

Lisa managed a smile as she ate.  “I think your Dad’s pretty cool, actually.  He was really nice.  Said I was always welcome here.”

“He did, didn’t he,” N’bel muttered.  He looked over at his girlfriend.  “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Lisa said.  “Well…I think my own parents are gonna be mad, though.”

“They’ll have to get over it,” N’bel said.  “That was way too much fun not to try again.”

Lisa smiled at him sidelong.  “It was.”

“Well, it’s a Saturday on a three-day weekend,” N’bel said casually.  “We have all day, if you want to go again.”

She giggled.  “Perhaps…but I need to be getting home.”

“All right.”  N’bel waited until she was done eating and stood up before rising as well.  “Hey…Lisa,” he said.  When she looked over to him, he slid his arms around her waist and chest, pulling her into a relaxed hug, and resting his head on her shoulder.  “Thanks, baby.  I love you,” he said softly.

“You too, N’bel,” she said, hugging him back.  “I’ll see you at school.”


After she had started off to her house, N’bel walked down to where is father was working in his corner of the basement studios.  “Hey, Dad, why did you do that?” he asked as soon as he was in range.

Jake looked over his shoulder.  “What?”

“Why did you confront her like that?” N’bel demanded.  “You scared the shit out of her.”

Jake glared.  “Watch it, N’bel.”

N’bel reined in his temper.  “I mean…you scared her, Dad.”

“I didn’t mean to, but I also talked to her last night, and I didn’t want her to come away with the impression that I disapproved of your relationship,” Jake said.  “I actually think she’s a nice girl.  And, you know, she was the one who brought it up.  All I did was ask if she wanted some breakfast.”

“Yeah, she is a nice girl, and can you kindly stay out of it when she’s over next?” N’bel asked coldly.

Jake rolled his eyes as he turned back around.  “Of course.  I just don’t think walking home through an acid storm is good for your health.”

“I mean…come on.  That was supposed to be her quiet escape,” N’bel said.

“Yeah, and I don’t want her feeling that she has to ‘escape,’” Jake said.  “She had no reason to hide what you did.  That’s all I was trying to say.  And again, all I did was offer her some food, she was the one who brought it up.  What did she say when I was walking away?”

“She said she thought you were being cool,” N’bel admitted.

“Yeah, I heard that part,” Jake said.  “Look,” he added over his shoulder.  “I can be your friend about this, or your father about this.  One wants to say he’s happy for you and hope you keep it up, and the other wants to know why you weren’t doing your homework instead, or whether she’s been tested.”

“She has, and can you not talk about this again?” N’bel asked.

“Absolutely.  I don’t intend to,” Jake promised.  “I would have been happy just making breakfast for her.  You do understand that she was the one who-”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.  I think she was just a little scared of you and Mom, all right?” N’bel asked.

“Well, I don’t want her to be.  And, hey, son,” Jake said.  He looked over to where his son was standing.  “She really is welcome here.”

“Thanks, Dad.”  N’bel snorted, his anger fading away.  “Does this mean you’ll start treating me like an adult now?” he asked jokingly.

“I don’t ever want to hear you say that, not once, for the rest of your life,” Jake said coolly.

N’bel blinked.  “What?”

“Only the most extreme of assholes equate sex with adulthood,” Jake said.  “Does getting molested as a child make that child an adult?  Does someone who goes off to join the Astartes before they’re old enough to have sex refer to themselves as a boy?  No, they don’t.  Manhood is something you get when you find yourself looking forward to a responsibility.  I don’t care what it is,” he said, cutting his son off.  “It’s something you earn.  Marriage, fatherhood, invention, political appointment, military service, I don’t care.  It’s when you find yourself with that responsibility and find yourself actually looking forward to it that you’ve become a real adult.  Trust me.  I knew guys in college who jumped from bed to bed like they were full of hot coals and graduated as irresponsible manchildren, and one of my best friends in high schools took an abstinence pledge as a child and lived a mature and responsible adult life from the minute he joined the Army.  Loyalty and responsibility make you a man, not sticking your dick in something pretty.”

N’bel digested that.  “So...you don’t think I’ve earned it?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter when I think you’ve earned it, because you find out for yourself,” Jake said.  “I have no input on it.  But I think you’re an intelligent and responsible sixteen year old, and I think you’ll acquit yourself well when the time comes, and it does me proud to see you in a loving relationship with a beautiful girl.”

N’bel nodded.  “Okay.”

“One thing I want to be clear on, as long as I have your attention,” Jake said.

“What?”

“If I ever even suspect that you and Lisa, or anyone else, are sexting, I’m going to cut your throat,” Jake said matter-of-factly.  “I mean it.  I even see a hint of the Royal Dong on the net, and you are a dead man.  And don’t go bragging to your younger brother, either.”

N’bel flinched.  “I wouldn’t.”

“You better not.”

“I wouldn’t!” he insisted.

“Good.”  Jake rose and walked over to where his son was standing.  “All right.  Are we cool?” he asked.

N’bel nodded.  “Yeah, now that I know you weren’t just being a cock-block,” he said.

Jake snorted.  “Try keeping up a relationship with a Primarch’s daughter in a hive hab block with half the Treasury breathing down your neck and then talk to me about cock-blocking,” he said.

N’bel shuddered.  “Can we not talk about that?  At all, ever?”

“Sure,” Jake said drily.  “Now…go do your damned homework,” he said, returning to his desk.


=== Olev's Training ===


Thangir lay back in his bed in the home they had built on Terra, musing over a slate.  Freya was changing in the bathroom for sleep.  The young Prince read over his slate for the fourth time.  He couldn’t focus; his mind was elsewhere.  The family was returning to Fenris in mere hours.  Olev was starting his training in the camps at Kerrvik.

His wife emerged from the bathroom, freshened.  She slid out of her robe and lay down beside him on the bed as Thangir forced himself to read the document on the slate.

“How was your day?” Freya asked him.

“Distracting,” Thangir replied.  “The cleanup after Olev’s party was…significant.  I didn’t know he even knew that many locals his age.”

“He’s his father’s son,” Freya observed.  “You knew that many locals your age back when you were as he is now.  He’s good at making friends.”

“He has good instincts,” Thangir came back.  “Strong ones.  And he has a better grasp of his abilities than I ever did.”

He glanced over the top of the slate to where he had stacked the birthday cards Olev had received for his fifteenth birthday.  His son was old enough.  It was time for the trials.  And yet…

Freya looked over at him.  “What are you reading?”

Thangir set down the slate with a grunt of annoyance.  “Some tripe about how the casualty rate in the camps isn’t decreasing even though they’ve got some new policies.  Pisses me off.”

“Oh?”

He glanced down at where she was snuggled against his side.  “Either he’s facing the true test of the Vlka, or he isn’t.  Either he’s going to make it through on his own merits, or he isn’t.  Do we want administrative nonsense disrupting his training, or not?”

“I don’t want him to go through the camps at all,” Freya reminded him.  “He’ll never receive gene-seed, so why bother?  We can train him ourselves.”

“But if he doesn’t at least attempt it, what sense of belonging will he have to the pack?” Thangir asked testily.

Freya’s eyes narrowed.  “I never went through it, Thangir.  Do I not belong to the pack?”

He scoffed.  “It was never for women anyway.”

Freya slowly uncurled from his side and sat up.  Thangir hastily corrected himself.  “I mean women can’t be gene-seeded, not that you lack the strength,” he said, starting to sit up too.

She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down with a pressure he couldn’t have resisted if he’d been in Power Armor.  His pulse picked up by about half at her utterly dismissive use of strength.  “Thangir,” she said softly.  His eyes darted up her arm to her face.  She was smiling tightly, her teeth were pressing against her lips.  “I knew what you meant.  Both your words, and your thought.”

“Freya, trust me,” Thangir said, gripping her wrist where she had him pinned.  “I don’t think you lack strength.  Physical or mental.”  He tensed up again as she shifted her legs to straddle him.  Her warm skin pressed against the thick fabric of his sleeping shorts.

She raised her free hand to switch the lights off.  Freya held the pose an instant longer before releasing the pressure on his chest.  Immediately, Thangir’s hands whipped up to her elbow and knocked her hands aside.  The pressure on his waist vanished as she rolled aside.  Thangir swiped a hand where she had been, but she was gone.

His lips pulled back in an anticipatory snarl.  Somehow, despite the complete reversal of his situation, from annoyance to life-threatening peril, he felt more at ease than he had for days.  He stretched his senses out for his wife, and caught a whisper of air as she disturbed some paper on the desk at the edge of the room.

Had he only received his new senses moments ago, he might have lurched towards them like a blinded dog.  Instead, he listened with all his might for the next sound, and a second later, he heard her move past the chair beside the desk.  He slid off the bed and placed himself between the chair and the way into the main, open space of the room.

The lights flicked on.  Freya was sitting on the edge of the bed behind him, arms crossed over her chest and an insolent smile on her face.  Thangir stared at her, before slowly letting his arms slump to his side.  “How?  Just…how do you do it?” he asked.

Freya smiled mysteriously.  “If I told you, where’s the fun in finding out firsthand?”

He sighed.  “Seems I haven’t quite mastered my instincts,” he noted.

“You’ve mastered them as well as you’ve ever needed to,” Freya encouraged him.  He shrugged uncomfortably and moved back towards her.

As he approached, she scooted backwards up the bed.  “Let me ask you.  Did you feel even the least bit threatened by what just happened?”

He shook his head.  “I suppose not.”

“If you weren’t at home with your abilities,” she asked coyly, “would having been plunged into darkness with an irritated post-human who can see and hear better than you frightened you?”

“It would,” he admitted.

“Then shut up,” she said, catching his hands as he moved to lie beside her.  “Olev will blow the roofs off the place, no matter how many reservations I have, or you have.  Sure, he’s going to be singled out for unfair pressure no matter what I say, and sure, the trials aren’t the same as when you took them.  He’s still our son.  And whatever reservations you have about your abilities,” she said, squeezing his hands, “remember that he was born with them.  They’re as much a part of him as they are a part of me.”

He nodded, accepting her wisdom.  “Yes.”

She smiled up at him.  “Here.  Lie down.” she said, guiding him back to the mattress.  He lay facedown on the sheets and sighed as his wife’s hands worked over his neck.  “You’re worried about him, in more ways than one,” she stated.

He sighed into the pillow.  “Of course I am, Freya.”

“You’re afraid like me, like he’ll break or get hurt because he’ll be held to an unfair standard by the training Sergeant,” she guessed.

Thangir stayed silent for a moment.  “Not…break, but feel less for himself,” he said.

“And you’re afraid that all he’ll be interested in after he gets out is joining the military…when the entire point of spending two years on Terra was to show him he can do whatever he’s smart and ambitious enough to do,” Freya continued.  Her hands slid down to his scarred shoulders, and she gently massaged the bunched muscle there.

He gripped the sheets in one hand.  “…Not as much, but…”

“And more than anything else…you’re afraid of what will happen if what happened to you happens to him, and he mistakes his abilities for invincibility,” Freya concluded.  After Thangir had received his upgrades, his first act after healing had been to challenge one of his most despised rivals in the Huskaerls to a fight.  He had won so easily that he had swept the man’s friends into the battle as well, and had been pummeled so badly he had nearly wound up back in the hospital.

“Naturally,” Thangir sighed.  “I was a bloody idiot, Freya,” he admitted.  “What if…”

“Did we raise an idiot?” Freya asked.

“No.”

“Then he’ll get his ass beat once and never again,” Freya informed him.  “When it comes to life in the Rout, the only way to learn to do something right is to do it wrong once and take it on the chin.  You think I never abused my strength when I was an athlete at Imperator?”  Her hands slid over his shoulders and she lay back down atop him, pressing her lips against the nape of his neck.  “Our son will be fine.  He’s ready.”

Thangir closed his eyes and listened to the steady pace of her breath, felt her even pulse.  She was as confident as she could be.  “…Yes.  He will.”  He reached aside and gripped her hands on either side of him.  “We’re both worried, though, are we not?”

“Naturally, we’re parents.”  Freya kissed the back of his neck again, then scooted back to let him roll over.  As she did, she let one gene-hanced arm drape across his collarbone and keep him still, just long enough for him to feel it.  He accepted her gentle display of dominance with grace, holding one arm out for her lay beside as she moved away.

“Why we you do that?” he asked as she settled down.  “Do you ever ask?”

“Hmm?”

“The…” words escaped him.  He waved his hand at the room.  “I don’t know that I would have felt all that comfortable with you pushing down on me like that before, either.”

“I dunno.”  She shrugged.  “Does it feel bad?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Thangir blinked.  “I…guess there isn’t one.”

“All right then,” Freya giggled.  “Good night.”

On the roof, Olev stood at the very edge of the structure, one foot on the lip of the gutters.  He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the rows of houses and mansions across the street, eyes narrowed.  His heart was pounding.  He was going home.  Away from this nonsense planet of cities and uncivil warfare, away from the vapid socialite girls and leering, swaggering boys.  He was done with the Arbites and their lack of pride as much as he was done with the nobles and their parasitic lifestyles.

The wind was dank with the smell of burned fuel and cut grass, two things he wouldn’t smell back home much.  It never snowed here, that was going to change too.

He let go the grin he had been hiding for nearly half an hour.  “I’m going home!” he whispered.  His fists clenched in triumph.  “It’s about time!”

Footsteps on the roof turned his head.  One of the neighbor kids, a girl maybe seven years younger than him, was scrambling on the surface.  Olev waved her over.  “Valerie, what are you doing up this late?” he called.

The young girl was huffing from the effort of climbing the ladder from the deck to the roof.  “I saw you up here and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said breathlessly.  She and other neighborhood kids would sometimes hang out up there where they imagined parents wouldn’t find them, and Olev had been happy to oblige them.  It was nice to have a private place to go.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Olev declared happily.  “I’m going back to Fenris!”

Valerie’s eyes went wide.  “Are you going to be okay?”

Olev flashed his fangs in a confident smile.  “I’ll be fine, trust me.  I’m a native son, and all the time I’ve spent in this gilded cage didn’t soften me any!”

“Wow.”  Valerie looked at his attire.  He had already donned a Fenrisian sailor’s outfit; all leathers and pelts and rough fabric.  “What are you wearing?”

“Just something Mom brought here from our last trip home,” Olev said, admiring his appearance.  He flexed one arm and ran his other hand over the dagger at his belt.  “This does feel good.  No offense, Valerie, but this world’s not for me.”

“I know,” she said.  She sighed unhappily at the prospect of losing a friend.  “Well…you be safe out there, okay?” she asked sadly.

Olev started to toss her comment aside when he smelled her mood turn morose.  He immediately stopped his braggadocio and stepped up beside her to rest a hand on her back.  “I’ll be safe as I can be,” he promised.

She looked up at him.  “When will you be back?”

He hesitated.  “It will be years.”

“Years?  Really?  What are you doing?” she asked.

“Training for my role in life,” he said solemnly.  “Don’t you fear.  I’ll come back eventually.”

“Okay,” she said.  “Can I have your address, so I can send you letters and stuff?”

“Fenris doesn’t exactly have a postal system,” Olev chuckled.  He patted her on the back.  “Just send messages on the ships to Fenris, and I’ll get them.”

She squinted at him in the darkness.  “Promise?”

“I do,” Olev confirmed.

“Okay.”  She wrapped her arms around his waist, and Olev returned the hug.  “’Bye.”

“Farewell,” Olev said.  She turned and climbed down the ladder.  A few seconds later, her frock of blonde hair appeared on the lawn below as she made her way back to her own home.

Olev watched her until she vanished back into her house, then looked up.  The sky was a dead, grey mass here.  In his mind, he could already see the constellations of Fenris.

He smiled wistfully as he thought of the friends he would be leaving behind.  Valerie wasn’t the only Terran he liked.  Now, at least, he’d be among brothers.


=== Boys With Toys ===


Carmine, second son of the Nocturnean Royal family, idly twirled a pair of metal shears around his fingers.  The dark, hot room he was in smelled like scorching metal, and was filled with a very faint, but audible, buzzing sound.

The seventeen-year-old set the tool down on a rack and adjusted the apron he was wearing over his forging pants.  He stared at the weapon coming together before him, his superhuman senses taking in every flaw and angle.

“It’s the barrel, I suspect, not the rails,” a voice behind him said.

“I know, Dad,” Carmine mumbled, focusing on his work.

The voice sighed.  “Man…I thought I was done being mistaken for Dad.”

Carmine glanced over his shoulder.  His older brother, N’bel, was leaning against a cold forge behind him, arms crossed.

“N’bel!  When did you get back to Themis?” Carmine demanded, wiping his arms off with a rag.

“A few hours ago.  I’ve just been shooting the shit with Dad,” N’bel said.  Carmine pulled his apron backwards and awkwardly embraced his brother.  “Fuck, you got tall,” N’bel remarked.  His brother was nearly as tall as him, now.

“Psssh, you’re just tiny,” Carmine said.  “How long you staying?”

“Eh, a few weeks at least.  The situation on Terra’s getting static,” N’bel said.  “How about yourself?  How’s school?”

“Done in four weeks, and not a day too soon,” Carmine said.  “This is so boring.  Was Imperator boring?”

“Fuck no, the last few days were the hardest,” N’bel remembered.  “They had us do a graduation project.”

“None of that, here on a civilized planet, rather than barbarian Terra,” Carmine said cheerfully.  He righted his apron and returned to his labors.

“The hell you need a bolt pistol for?” N’bel asked.

The ebony-skinned young man shrugged.  “Who said I needed it for anything?  I just wanted to make it,” Carmine replied.

N’bel looked down at the metal chunks his brother was laboriously shaping.  “You’re getting good, man,” he said.

“Thanks,” Carmine said proudly.  “Think I’m as good as you yet?”

“No.  Give it another few years, and you’ll match me,” N’bel said honestly.  He clapped his brother on the shoulder.  “Still thinking about enlisting?”

“No,” Carmine sighed.  “Mom said it was a horrible idea.  I kind of agree, frankly.  Might go for officer’s school instead, if only for the PDF.”

“Mmm.”  N’bel modestly shook his head.  “Well…I couldn’t do it.”

“Sure you could,” Carmine said.

“Yeah, I could,” the twenty four-year-old said.  “But I’d hate it.”

Carmine rolled his eyes.  “You want to help?”

“You got it under control,” N’bel said, turning to go.  “See you at dinner.”

“Yep.  Welcome home, brother,” Carmine said, turning back to his creation.



=== Time of Trial ===
''Author's note: First person-segments here are from Venus' Perspective''


The sky was aflame.

I watched from the balcony of the Royal Quarters in Themis as clouds of black soot enveloped the sun.  The diffuse red haze of Deathfire and its smaller sisters, off in the far distance, bled through the cloud, casting a hellish pallor over the world.  I looked up at the void shields overhead and saw a field of purple spikes – lightning, skating off of the projected bubble.  The streets below were thronged with people, thousands of them, trying to find a place to rest.  Something to put between them and the daemons at the gate.

Not the literal kind, of course.  Nor was our attacker the ancient specter of the Duskwraiths, which Father banished an era ago.  The thing assaulting me and mine today was our planet, and tempestuous hostess, Nocturne itself.  The Time of Trial had begun.

I slid a vox from my pocket and connected it to my slate, which I had left on the balustrade of the castle.  The machines exchanged their beeps and bits, and a picture of the city appeared.  A color filter was superimposed over it, with each color representing a population center that had been overrun with refugees and could accept no more.  There were a few red spots of critical overcrowding, but most of the map was the yellow of acceptable population.  Only some spots were the blue of undercrowding.  Three spots were white: military zones, off-limits.  The Astartes lodgings in the outer wall near the north end of the city, a small Librarium center and its associated comm relays, and of course the Castle’s residential quarter, where the City Governor and the associated PDF and Auxilia – Ibu’Than – commanders lived and worked.

I frowned.  The light from my eyes was filtered by my contacts, so I couldn’t see the red glare from my screens, but the small coterie of advisors that seem to pollute the air near me when I actually need to decide things must have noticed, because they stopped murmuring.

“Why is the Castle’s garage closed off to refugee traffic?” I asked nobody.

Obviously, someone answered.  “Problem with the docks for the Trainee vehicles, ma’am,” a voice – I think it was Perlma, one of the Ibu’Than officers – said.  “The entire Legion’s Initiate batch was here.  They filled the garage with Land Speeders and Bikes to corral the Initiates on patrol and training in the deserts.”

“Why now, of all times?  Can they not read a calendar?” I asked coldly.

“I’m sure they thought they would have time to get them out of here,” Perlma said confidently.  “If it becomes an acute problem, we can use a Stormbird to move the vehicles up to the ships in orbit.”

“Then start doing so, immediately, before things get any worse,” I said.  “The miners and nomads from the desert are coming.  Tens of thousands of them.  We’ll need every square inch of clean floor for beds.”

“At once,” Perlma said, snatching a hand-held vox from his belt and walking away.

I nodded as he left.  One tiny problem solved.  Fifty million more left to go.

A hand appeared on the balustrade next to mine.  As much as it looked like Jake’s, I knew it wasn’t.  No wedding rings, for starters.  My eldest son, N’bel, stepped up next to me, looking about four hundred years older than his actual age of twenty nine.  He nodded a greeting to the various Nocturnean officials around me, but ignored them completely beyond that.  That was unusual in itself.  He was usually much more polite.  “Mother, the situation at the gates is getting completely out of hand,” he said quietly.  “We can’t be turning people away.”

I turned to face him, noting the lines on his face with concern.  His eternal self had manifested the year before, so he would never age again, but the look on his face was that of an old man in a hospital.  “What are we doing at the gates?”

“Some people are being turned away, or so I hear,” my son asserted.  “I think we should see to this.”

“Oh, I agree,” I said, turning to leave.  I could feel my anger rising, and as much as I wanted to vent it on some obstructive gate guard, my son, ever the peacemaker, grabbed my shoulder.

“Let me,” he said.  “You’re needed here.”

I scoffed, but he was right.  “Oh, very well.  Where’s your father?  And Carmine?”

“Carmine, I have no idea.  Dad’s down on the streets somewhere, he’s on the comms.”

I turned back to look over the streets below.  “What’s he doing?”

N’bel half-smiled.  “Helping as best he can.”  Of course.

I lifted my slate again, already on to the next problem.  “Then we should get to it.  Go see what’s going on.”


N’bel’s aircar slid as high under the void shield as he dared to take it.  He couldn’t fly lower, for fear of clipping an evacuation vehicle.  As it was, he had the best view in the city of the tempest overhead.  Occasionally, a cloud would part and drop a bomb on the void shields, where it would spatter and flicker, and then vanish into mist, like everything that hit the Mechanicum’s mighty barrier.

Needless to say, N’bel found his knuckles white on the controls.  He had never actually been home during a Time of Trial before.  He hadn’t been born when the one thirty years ago had occurred, and he had been on Terra for school when the last one struck.  This was a learning experience.  Spotting the gates, he aimed his vehicle down to the tiny parking area behind the colossal stone and metal construct and landed.

A guard at the door turned to interrupt him as he approached, but backed off immediately when he spotted the tell-tale glow.  “Lord N’bel, sir,” he said instead, falling into step behind his prince.

“What’s the trouble?” N’bel asked.  The dappled stone of the gate’s ornate frame was cast with shifting shadows as an anemic sun poked through the clouds.  “I hear people are being turned away.”

“Not turned away, sir, just redirected,” the guard hastened to assure him.  “We’re not refusing entry.  It’s just that there are several small groups of people who are outright refusing to discard their personal belongings, so we’re setting those people aside until the more cooperative people are safely inside.  King Vulkan’s orders.”

That caught N’bel up short.  He spun to stare at the guard.  He was old, N’bel noted.  Probably in his seventies.  “King Vulkan ordered that people who refuse to lose everything they have are set aside like bags of sand until everyone else is in?” he asked incredulously.

“Specifically, sir.  This is how it’s been since before the Mechanicus built the shields,” the guard said gravely.  He tilted his head.  “First time home for it, sir?”

“Yes,” N’bel mumbled.  “How many for you?”

“Six, sir, counting one I’m too young to remember.”  The guard set his hand on N’bel’s shoulder, gently steering him away from the streams of farmers, drovers, travelers, and even a few Salamanders who were pushing through the gate under the watch of several Tarantula turrets and local Enforcers.  “Sir, if you want, you can review the cases of which people get to bring in what personally, to help us.  We’re very shorthanded, sir.”

“Mmm.”  N’bel considered that, then grabbed his vox.  “One moment.”  He lifted the vox and walked into the shadow of a pillared storefront to speak in private.  His expensive Terran clothes stood out against the drab and practical dress of the locals, who tended towards stocky, burlesque, and red-haired.  His own black hair and darkly tanned skin weren’t so uncommon, but the blazing, magma-colored lights in his eyes were all the visual evidence anyone ever needed of his Royal lineage.

He spoke into the vox, trying to keep his voice low, and speaking in High Gothic in case of eavesdropping by the panicked civilians.  It was one of the five languages he had learned since his birth, and became the language of privacy in his household.  At least when they weren’t on Nocturne itself.  “Mother, N’bel speaking.  The whispers are untrue, and the people here are simply very afraid and stubborn.  The evacuation convoys are overladen, that is all.”


From within the halls of the Castle, I raised my own vox to my lips.  “Then direct them as best you can, my son,” I said.  “I am heading to the floors to assist, myself.”

“Understood,” my son said, and he cut the channel.  I slid the vox back into a pocket on my practical work clothes and slipped into the crowds of people on the first few floors of my home.  The bottom layers of the Castle had been unsealed for foot traffic during the rush of people.  The Governor had understood the need; with Nocturne’s population higher than it had ever been, it wasn’t hard to see where the room would go.  The flocks of people from outside the shields weren’t letting up.

I paused at the entry to one large room, where a group of my Battle-brothers in full Iron armor were lifting pallets of water-purifying equipment off of the floor where they had been and stacking them higher, to make more room for people to spread their make-shift beds.  As desperate as we were, it did my heart good to see them helping out.  I walked right up to them and stood unobtrusively behind one.

He sensed me and turned.  I recognized the plates he was wearing.  124th Fire-born, Wall-takers.  “Princess, can I assist you?” he asked.

“I mean to ask the same, Brother,” I said, holding out my hands.  “My logistics officer tells me this is the most under-manned part of the Castle right now.  I will help.”

“You will not,” he said gently.  “Princess, your hands would be best served on the controls of the city, I think.  There are plenty of people around to help us.”  He laid one massive gauntlet on my shoulder and turned me to see the stream of Enforcers and local volunteers wading through the crowd with garbage bags and bags of protein bars.  “Your willingness to help is admirable, but…”

“Brother, please,” I interrupted.  “I wouldn’t have come down if I didn’t think I had done all I could up top.  The Governor is back from Prometheus, he brought my Father’s entire Logistical Corps from the fleet station, and Father himself will land in Hesiod in an hour to supervise the entire planet in person.  No’dan has the reins in the rest of the system, and I’m superfluous.”  I turned back to look up at him.  “I raised my boys, telling them every day that the Nocturnean people forget things like rank, pay, name, origins, and station in the Time of Trial.  What kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn’t help out here, now?”

The Marine hesitated.  “Very…very well, Princess.  If you insist, we could, I suppose, use some more help in the queues outside the food distribution center on the terrace levels of the city.”

“Thank you, Brother,” I said.  As I diverted to leave, however, a thought struck me.  I still had no idea where Carmine was.  Perhaps he wasn’t even here?  I turned to the lifts and picked my way through the throngs to find one.  As I did, I tapped the button for the Legionary forge in the basement.  If he wasn’t in there, he’d be in the one in the Residence, I was sure.

As the lift opened, the familiar stink of carbon scorch, incense, melting metal, ozone, and sulfur greeted me.  My genehanced senses filtered it out as best they could.  I walked down the short hall to the forge room itself, passing several small side chambers.  They included a few ritual chambers, I knew, and a bathing room, plus a servitor station.  The forge itself was a cavernous chamber that easily reached half a mile in length, crowded with pipes dangling from the ceiling and forging stations arising from the floor.  Welding stations stuck out of every wall, with soldering tables for more precise work.  A few smaller workplaces existed for the Artificers, though they usually worked in other areas of the planet, or on Prometheus.

In the distance, on nearly the farthest forge, I saw someone hard at work from the elevated entryway.  As I approached, I squinted.  It looked like my father.  Was he here already?

No, I realized as I drew close.  It was my younger son, Carmine.  The illusion of size was a trick of the room.  Aside from stature, obviously, and hair, they looked shockingly alike.  As I drew nearer, I saw what he was working on.  He had a bar of enriched steel in a vice and clamp, and was gradually twisting it around its base.  Tiny chips of metal fell off as he did so, landing on the scratched floor.  He was wearing a leather forging apron over heavy canvas shorts and armored boots, and a pair of goggles obscured his eyes.  A pair of black stone pieces on the table behind him, along with some metal screws and a pair of large red garnets, waited their turn to be added to the creation.

I stopped behind him, knowing full well he could hear me.  “Carmine?”

“Mother.”

“What are you doing down here?” I asked.  The heat from the room wasn’t something he could feel, of course.  The rivers of sweat down his back were from exertion and exhaustion alike, I wagered.

“Working on…a gift,” he said under his breath.  “Hard to imagine I started with ten pounds of steel to make this.”

“What is it?” I asked, though the shape of the stone bits clued me in.  They were pieces of a handle for something.  Probably a mid-length knife.

“A seax,” he said, confirming what I had thought.  The handle was distinctive.  “I’m trying to spiral the metal before I beat it down.”

“Okay.”  I sat in a seat at the next workstation and watched.  “Are you all right?”

He turned to look at me.  “I’m fine.  Why do you ask?”

“You’re down here working when the people upstairs are running around like mad,” I pointed out.

“They’re helping.  What could I do that they aren’t?” he asked, maybe a bit shortly.

I sighed under my breath.  “Was that an appropriate thing to say to someone who wanted to make sure you were all right?” I asked.

“Of course not, I apologize.”  He examined the metal as it cooled.  “That should be enough.  I need that station,” he said, lifting the metal from the clamp with tongs.  I stood back as he did.

“Well.  When you’re done down here, son, we can always use more help upstairs.  Come find me at the food queues when you can,” I said.  “I don’t know why you’re down here, but the rest of the planet needs you right now.”

He sighed, but nodded assent.  As he turned back to his work, I shook my head.  Sometimes, my sons are polar opposites.  Where N’bel is the empath, the one who always needs to be seen doing whatever he’s doing, and the one with some starry-eyed girl hanging off his arm half the time, Carmine has all of his maternal grandfather’s strength and craftsmanship, but none of his brother’s social skills.  He wore his heart on his sleeve because he didn’t care not to, not because he was a socialite.  Still, Carmine’s unbreakable bond with the Salamanders and his endless crafting skill were as much a gift as N’bel’s charm and intelligence.


N’bel paced the area behind the gate, examining a slate someone had handed him.  The lists of personal belongings weren’t matched to names, which he appreciated.  This was hard enough as it was.

Carts full of food and other useful supplies were allowed.  So were animals, limited to livestock and pull creatures, or one pet.  People were allowed weapons and bags of intimate personal items, and clothes.  Computer and cogitator parts were less common among the plains-dwellers, of course, but permissible if they were declared in advance of arrival.  Everything else, from larger personal vehicles to wardrobes’ worth of clothing to furniture, had to be left outside until all people were in.  If there was room for storage once all living persons had entered the city, then some things would be allowed in.

He paged down the list, looking for any obvious infractions.  One family had brought over fifty domestic animals.  He put them on the permitted list, so long as they could vouch for the animals’ presence and paid for all food themselves.  One family wanted to keep two groundcars AND a trailer of food.  He rejected the cars and allowed the trailer of food, assigning a truck to haul it in through the cargo gate.

The young prince paused his perusal at the sound of someone bawling.  He raised his eyes, safely protected from scrutiny and glare alike behind custom sunglasses, to see a young woman sitting beside the road in, clutching a crooked leg, and weeping.  Several passers-by were standing around, unsure of what to do.  That surprised him.  Didn’t the plainsfolk generally know how to treat such things?  No hospitals on the plains.

He walked up beside her and crouched.  “Hey, sweetheart, what happened?” he asked softly.  He scanned the injury – two visible breaks.  Ouch.

“I-I fell off the cart,” the girl whimpered.  “My parents…didn’t see, I think!  I hit my head, and when…when I woke up…” she bit back a scream as she tried to touch the break.  “I think someone ran over my leg with a cart wheel,” she managed.

N’bel’s heart ached.  “Poor thing,” he murmured.  “Listen.  I’ll call a medicae over, all right?  Just don’t touch it.”  He waited to see her nod before raising his voice and calling over a harried-looking Ibu’Than medic.  “Doc!  We have a multi-fracture here, no break, possible concussion!”

The medic arrived and knelt beside him.  “Yep, road injury,” she said grimly.  “All right, child, I’m going to lift you up into a grav-sled, all right?  Just don’t clench your muscles, or it will hurt worse.”  The girl gamely nodded and slid her arms around the burly woman’s neck.  “Okay.  I’ll lift on five, okay?  Relax as much as you can,” the medic instructed.  “One…two…” she abruptly lifted, before the girl could tense up at hearing ‘five.’  The girl screamed.

“Sorry, you’d have clenched if I actually counted to five,” the medic apologized, depositing the girl on the sled and guiding her over to a field medic’s station.  N’bel watched the crying girl go, feeling weary.

“Poor thing,” he repeated heavily.


I sat down behind the table in the food distribution center – a paint manufactorum’s warehouse annex in calmer times – and stared at my instructions, passed along by an overseer.  I was to divvy up the prepackaged food into specific ratios and stuff it into an insulated bag, then get the next bit and do the same to that, in a human assembly line.  Seemed simple enough.  I started in on the first batch, cutting plastic and sliding bags into place.

“Wow.”

I turned to my left to see the man to my right staring at me.  “Princess Venus?” he asked.

“Guilty as charged,” I confirmed.

“Wow.  Uh…what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Helping out, of course,” I said.  I pointed at the pile of food in front of him.  “Are you finished?”

“Uh, sorry.”  He hastily resumed packing.  “I meant…you know, aren’t you supposed to be in the Castle where it’s safe?  And helping direct stuff?”

“I was,” I confirmed.  “Not any longer.”

“Wow.”

I rolled my eyes behind my contacts.  Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.


Carmine emerged from the showers, toweling off the last of the water.  The clothes he had laid out before were still there, as was his vox.  He felt a pang of guilt as his mother’s quiet reprimand returned to him.  He was hiding from himself down here.  He dressed in silence, pondering what he could do topside.

A faint cough from the door caught his ear. He glanced up to see one of the Castle serfs, a girl a few years younger than him, waiting for him.

“Karin?  What are you doing down here?” Carmine asked, strapping his vox and weapon belts on.  “And why are you in the men’s shower?”

“There’s only one shower on this level,” Karin reminded him.  “And I came down here because you weren’t in the Residence forge.”

Carmine snorted to himself.  Apparently his poor conduct had been fairly predictable.  “You wanted to talk to me?”

Karin, the only girl who had ever even approached girlfriend status for him since moving back from Terra, nodded.  They were strictly friends, and platonic ones at that, but he trusted her, and she was one of his few mortal confidants.  “Are you going to go help?” 

“I am now.  I was working before.”  Carmine finished his dressing and slid his hand-built slug pistol into the holster.  He wasn’t anticipating needing it, of course, but you never knew.  Carrying openly was about as common as wearing a hat, in Themis.  “Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure, I’m fine, but I just want you to stay safe, all right?” she asked.  “And when you get the chance, can you go check on my brother?  He’s an officer in the Ibu’Than.  He’s keeping an eye out for dactylids trying to attack the convoys.  He’s out on the plains.”

Carmine looked up sharply.  “Really.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.  I see what you’re worried about.”  Carmine finished his dressing and walked past her into the forge chamber again.  She paused at the threshold.  Mortals, as a general rule, weren’t allowed in unless they were artificers.  She watched as he wended his way through to one of the back forges and grabbed some dark objects off of the counters and tables.  He returned laden with plastic boxes, each of which bore a small drakes-head icon.  She stepped back and watched as he opened them one at a time, and withdrew an Accatran-style, but locally-built bolt carbine and rather a lot of ammunition.  “Might need this if I’m going out on the plains,” he said.

“Oh, Carmine, I don’t…” Karin said nervously.  “I mean, there’s entire Chapters of Salamanders out there.”

“Not for long.  Once the people get inside the city, the Fire-born start going up into orbit, save those few thousand who stay planetside to help keep order,” Carmine explained.  “Some are already leaving.  Didn’t want to take up space in the hangars and garages.”  He chambered a bolt and slid in a fresh magazine, sliding several more into his belt.  He was easily the strongest of the Emperor’s great-grandchildren, so it wasn’t a burden.  He slung the bolt carbine across his back as he did.  It was designed for stormtrooper veteran sergeants; on his muscular frame, he accommodated it without issue.  He smiled at Karin’s obvious concern.  “I’ll go make sure he’s all right.  His name is Zal’die, right?”

“It is,” she confirmed.  He offered her a quick hug as he passed her going the other way.

“I’ll find him.  Don’t worry.”


I rose from the table, my pile of food sorted.  The next truck of food wasn’t due for another hour, so we had all decided, more or less as one, to take a break.  I made a bee-line for the door outside, looking to place a call to my father before he landed.

I didn’t make it halfway.  My vox beeped the tone I had reserved for him.  I snatched it up and answered.  “Father?"

“Venus, where are you?” my father’s voice replied.

“Themis, a paint manufactorum they’ve repurposed as a food distributor,” I said, looking up at the hellish sky.  Where was he?

“Good.  I am back in the Sanctum in Hesiod.  I will be here for a time, to help oversee the evacuation of the Ignean nomads.  Those who chose to come, anyway.  Are you and your boys all right?”

I reassured him as best I could.  “Oh, we’re fine.  Jake’s off helping the refugees in the Castle, Carmine is getting ready to head out and help him, N’bel is at the gates.”

I could almost hear him smile across the airwaves.  “You make me proud, my daughter,” he said.

I grinned.  “Thanks, Dad.  We’ll hold down this city; you and No’dan help out in the others, all right?”

“Of course.  Be safe.”


N’bel sat atop a Tauros’ turret in the parking area next to the gate and watched the people come to shelter.  The stream of people had been largely compliant, with a few small exceptions.  There had been some nomads who had tried to carry more than their fair share with them, a tourist of all people who hadn’t read his travel advisory and had been nearly burned alive by the ash storms, one woman who had arrived stone drunk and had picked a fight with a Marine guarding the gate – never a wise move.  The majority, though, had been as quiet as you could want, and aside from the constant glances at the crumbling earth outside the void shield, had even stayed remarkably patient with it all.

He tilted his head back and watched in silent awe.  Up above him, invisible behind the bruised sky, the moon Prometheus was tearing at the crust of his homeworld.  The tidal forces of the moon were so strong that they literally dragged the magma under the crust of the world around, and shifted entire oceans in hours.  It displaced people, too.  Entire communities had to abandon their homes and flee to the Sanctuaries every fifteen years.  Those that tarried died.  Those that hurried made shelter, and were welcomed unreservedly by the people of the Sanctuaries.  Even for all its modernization, the world of Nocturne never forgot its roots.  Vulkan wouldn’t allow it.

He leapt down from the turret and passed the slate off to a guard that had followed the latest group in through the gates.  N’bel snugged his shades to his face and joined the crowd, wandering amongst the people.  The smell of the unwashed people and animals didn’t bother him much, given how long he had spent in the forges of the Legion.  It was the sounds that caught him.  The people around him spoke Nocturnean more and Gothic less than any other population he had ever encountered.  The nomads especially seemed to favor it.  Weapons were everywhere, on slings and in sheaths, but none were drawn.  Clearly, none felt the need to present them.

A young couple, even as he watched, dragged a wheeled cart of meat behind them.  Plastic had been stretched over it, and it had been flooded with salt water to keep the freshness.  The method of preservation was as old as brining, and it seemed it wasn’t the only practice they embraced.  A pair of small animals – domestic poultry of a sort – followed at their heels, and the mother had a baby in a sling across her chest.  The father had a huge shotgun on a strap across his chest; N’bel saw the red cartridges of Dragon rounds.  This family lived near a small nest of Ghouls, it seemed.

He left the stream of people and found himself near a small fruit stand.  The stand was owned by a local, and was doing a brisk trade.  The nomads had brought their own food, but the miners largely hadn’t, and both they and local Enforcers needed sustenance as much as the next guys.  N’bel paused to watch as a Salamander scout walked up and bought a snack of his own, and stood beside the other diners as they ate in silence.  He chuckled as he thought about how few worlds had that privilege: Marines who acted as commoners.  Certainly no noble-born Ultramarine or barbaric Wolf acted as such.


I hefted a box of plastic-wrapped food and dropped it on the back of a truck, then thumped the frame.  The truck took off, and I stepped back to watch it go.  The crowd in the manufactorum dispersed as the shift ended, but I lingered.  I stuck my vox into a wall charger on the table in the corner, presumably where the supervisor usually sat, and leaned back in the chair.  I felt the ache of several days without sleep starting to build up in my muscles, but I fought it off.  The last few days had been utter chaos, every minute.  Ordered chaos, the only kind I could tolerate.  From the mass arrival of the refugees to the inevitable strain on the city’s power supply to the headaches of powering up the places’ massive void shield generators, even coordinating the militia.  It had all been a huge strain.  I hadn’t slept; I had gone days without seeing Jake or one of the boys.  Still, I felt like I had done more good than I had in years.  I was helping, of that I was sure.  How much?

Well.  Father had always said that it was times such as these that made you realize just how insignificant we all really are.  I guess he was right.  At least Jake and the boys had the right idea.

Come to think of it, where the hell was my husband?  I opened the vox and dialed his number.  It took four rings for him to respond.  “Hello?”  He sounded worse than me.

“Jake, it’s me,” I said.  He must have been pretty far gone if he couldn’t even recognize my ringtone.

“Venus,” he said, relieved.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.  Father’s reached Hesiod.  The boys are off helping at the Gate, I think.  Where are you?”

“In the Castle, helping the injured refugees,” he said.  I could hear a lot of crying and yelling in the background.  “Where’s Carmine?  Is he still in the Forges, or is he helping now?”

“He should be out here somewhere,” I said.

I heard Jake sigh.  “You know he’s angry as hell right now, right?”

“He is.  I don’t quite get why,” I confessed.

Jake’s reply was a scoff.  “He’s just angry that this isn’t an enemy he can shoot.  He feels useless because his skillset doesn’t cover this verbatim.  His military side is getting in the way.  He should go help one of the Fire Drake units that’s patrolling the city.  Then he can see how the military mindset can help at a time like this.”

I nodded to myself.  Jake’s words bore wisdom.  “I can call him.”

“Nah.  Let him find his own way this time,” Jake advised.  “This’ll go on for weeks more.  He can figure it out.  If not, let him be the one to ask.  He’s always been self-reliant like that.”

“Yeah.”  I thought that one over.  “Well.  I’ll be in touch.”

“Get some sleep,” Jake ordered.

“You first, baby, and then I’ll do it too,” I laughed.


Carmine’s Auxilia truck slipped through the void shields and drifted over the column of refugees that snaked its way through the wastelands.  He soared over the people and animals, looking for the glint of Salamander armor or the vehicles of the Ibu’Than.  Finding some of the former, he maneuvered his own truck down over the ash and parked it aside a jetbike someone had left idling at the roadside.

The Salamander he had spotted was directing traffic like an Enforcer, complete with laser pointer and a mace, which he used as a sign.  Carmine walked up beside him where he stood perched on a rock and smirked.  “Valk’or, did you get demoted?”

“Little brother, if you speak another word, your beating will be swift and unremorseful,” the Marine said back.

“I find that unlikely.”

“Fine, swift.  I shall shed a single, salty tear.”  The Marine jumped down from the rock and drew the smaller man into a crushing hug.  “Carmine, you’re looking well!”

Carmine grinned happily at his friend.  The other man had been two years ahead of him in school here, and had joined the Marines upon graduation.  He had been accepted and survived training, and now served the Fourth Grand Company’s Second Chapter as a squad demo trooper.  Instead of the usual combi bolt/plasma pistol he usually used in conjunction with his massive pouch of plastic explosives, he had only his power mace, a laser pointer, and an Arbites flashlight.  The laser he had attached to his helmet, and apparently controlled it like a target designator with his helmet’s sensors.  The light and mace he used to direct the foot traffic.

“I am well, old friend,” Carmine said.  “Tell me, how badly are the Ibu’Than slowing you down?”

“Not at all!  They’re actually quite helpful,” Valk’or corrected him.  His eyes were nearly as bright as Carmine’s.  “Their vehicle vox-packs are helping us coordinate.”

Carmine cleared his throat.  “You wouldn’t happen to know where Zal’die is, would you?” he asked.  “The Ibu’Than officer?”

“I would!”  Valk’or gestured at a distant vehicle.  “He’s driving that.”

“Oh, excellent.”  Carmine shook his old friend’s hand.  “Thank you, brother.  Don’t let me keep you.”

“Oh, I’d never do that.”  Valk’or leapt back up to the rock and resumed his traffic role.  Carmine jumped back in his truck and took off, mindful of the jagged terrain.  Volcanic rocks had torn out the undercarriage of many vehicles on this planet.  He goosed the airtruck’s jets up a bit to compensate.

As he approached the other vehicle, he stuck his hand out to wave.  The driver waved back, and Carmine parked his truck beside it.  “You Zal’die?”

The driver nodded.  “Yeah, that’s me.  Who are you?”

“Carmine, Ibu’Than Royal Guard.”  The prince saw the other man’s eyes go wide.  “I’m here on behalf of Karin.  She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“She did?  Well, thank her, but it’s not bad yet.  We’re in for it, tonight, though,” Zal’die said.  “The periapsis is six hours out.  Ever see a planet self-destruct, sir?  You will.”

“I will,” Carmine said.  “You guys need a hand out here?”

“Maybe,” Zal’die admitted.  “The dactylids are getting very close.”

Carmine looked, and saw several large shadows soaring around the column.  So far, the noisy engines of the ground vehicles and the presence of the air vehicles had kept them at bay, but they had to be in a frenzy over all the morsels below.
Sure enough, one wheeled down from its high vantage and dove on the column, moments later.  Carmine was dismounting his truck and reaching for his bolter when a flash of light from the column erupted to impale the creature.  It shrieked and died, landing heavily in a cloud of ashes half a klick away.  Carmine looked over to see a soldier in the livery of the Ibu’Than heavy weapons troopers lower his shoulder-mount missile tube with a smirk.  For now, it seemed, things were under control.

Zal’die shook his head.  “Damn things won’t go away,” he said.  “Can’t blame ‘em, of course, they’re just hungry, but still.”

Carmine hefted his ash-plain camouflaged bolter and nodded.  “I know.  Need help?”

Zal’die glanced over and blinked at the massive weapon.  The stormtrooper-grade weapon was supposed to be fired from the hip, while braced, with both hands.  Carmine had it gripped casually in one hand, and was extending a bullpup stock with the other.  “…Sure.  Thanks, Meja.”


Out of the corner of his eye, beside the fruit stand, N’bel spotted a refugee.  She was staring, despondent and aghast, at a public pict-screen on the wall behind the stand.  Usually, it displayed pictures of local attractions, but now, it showed rotating images of the convoys approaching and passing through the gates and dispersing amongst the buildings.  N’bel wandered up behind the girl and looked at the picture.

At that moment, it was showing an aerial image of the south gate, where he had just been.  The crowd was reacting to something, he saw.  Specifically, it looked like a cart had tipped over, crushing someone beneath it.  N’bel tsked at the waste of life and material, then looked at the young refugee again.  She was clutching her face with shaking hands.  Her tattered cloak and dirty jumper beneath told a tale about the length of her journey.

N’bel spoke up.  “Someone you knew, ma’am?”

The girl sobbed.  “My…he was…my neighbor from the…we grew up together…”

N’bel sighed.  “I’m sorry.”

The girl buried her face in her hands.  “Why do we live here?” she demanded of the world, tears seeping out from her hands.  “It’s…we live in hell…and…every cycle, this happens…”

The prince slid his hands around the girl’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug.  He closed his eyes and rested his lips against her hair.  “Hush…it’s all right.”

“I don’t want this,” she whimpered into his shirtfront.  “Every time…this is…how many people…they die because of luck!  Timing, fortune!  They don’t deserve this!”  She squeezed his shirt with bloodied hands.  She must have had to climb up a cliff face to reach the city.  A miner?  “If I…if I had been here five minutes later, that would have…would have…I would have…” she broke down again, letting her fear escape her screwed-up eyes.

N’bel grabbed a tissue from his pocket and passed it to her as she pulled away, sniffling.  “All we can do is rebuild,” he said quietly.  “We always will.  Every time, we’re stronger.”

“Is it worth it?” the girl asked through her tissue.

N’bel wiped her tears off of his shirt.  “Depends, sweetheart.”  The teenaged laborer looked up at him, incensed at his circular answer.  “Look around you.  The Marines of this world love and care for us as kin.  We never run out of things to sell to the Mechanicum, we never let our technology replace our will to survive,” he listed.  “It’s horrible sometimes, yeah…but we’re made of steel and leather,” he concluded.

“Didn’t help poor Sraiid out any,” the girl said sadly, gesturing at where the medicae were now carting the body away.  The stream of people resumed, gradually filling in the gap the accident had left in the route.

“No.  No, it didn’t.”  N’bel took his glasses off to clean them on the dry hem of his shirt.  The girl stared.

“P-prince Jacob?”

N’bel closed his eyes in silent recrimination.  He could practically hear his father giggling.  “No.  He’s my father.”

“Oh…” the girl looked over his face again.  “Prince N’bel?”

“Yep.”

The girl bowed her head for a moment, then winced.  “Sorry I ruined your shirt.”

N’bel waved it off.  “Nothing a trip to the dry cleaner’s won’t fix.”  He squeezed her shoulder again and steered her away from the bloody picture on the pict-screen.  “So.  Are you set up for the night, ma’am?  Where are your parents?”

The girl slumped.  “Killed in an earthquake, last Trial.”

Now it was N’bel’s turn to wince.  “Sorry.  You all set up?”

“No,” the girl admitted.  “I was hoping I’d find a place here.  I had to leave everything behind when the ash storm destroyed my hab.”

N’bel couldn’t quite resist the urge to hug her again.  He did so, and quickly stepped back.  She was staring at him again, astonished and confused.  “I think I know a place,” he said.


I arrived at the gates of the Castle.  The place was crawling with people, lining up for a place to sleep.  The crowds were getting restless, but not violent.  I was pleased, needless to say.  The last thing anyone needed was more unrest.  The Enforcers were helping the people as best they could, with the occasional Salamander lending personal aid.  I walked up to one group of resting medics and glanced over their charges.  Lots of radiation burns, of course, and some sand and ash burns.  Dehydration, but that was a fact of life outside the city.
The medics ignored me, which was probably best for all involved, and I went in the garage of the structure.  Normally, a fence extended across the entrance, and it was guarded by a platoon of house troops, but the emergency led to opened doors.  I walked in without even speaking to a guard, and gazed over my hundreds of houseguests.

They were a motley bunch, my fellow Nocturneans.  Some were clad in ragged desert robes, others in the guise of shepherds and the like.  Some were whalers, who had been trapped here on leave or while delivering food.  Others wore the greasy uniforms of oil rig mechanics.  I even saw a few techpriest robes, no doubt the chief enginseers of the oil rigs.  A Salamander in full Tartaros armor was keeping vigil from the corner, his weapons aimed at the ceiling.  A servitor, dragging pallets of fresh water in plastic jugs, ambled past me.

I don’t know what I was feeling as I watched them.  Not entirely.  I know I was a bit sad, that all these people were suffering, and I was a bit proud that they were overcoming it.  I knew, first-hand, that most were as much resigned to discomfort as they were afraid.  The older ones had lived through three, four Trials before.  I admit, this was only my second.  I had been twenty seven years old for my first, and it had been Jake’s first as well.  It had happened while I was expecting, so I wasn’t able to get out and help much.  Funny how those only a few years older than my fifty seven Standard years had been present for as many as four.

I suppose what I was feeling more than anything else was exhaustion.  Sympathetic exhaustion, from watching their struggling, and personal exhaustion, from my weariness.  Dad’s gifts make me capable of going a week without sleep without serious medical trouble, but this was going on ten days.  I had barely slept for the twenty days before it.  Jake had been forced to rest fairly often, he wasn’t up to my level of genetic enhancement.  The boys, perhaps six days a piece.  We were all tired.  So very tired.

I listened to the sounds in the room turn more fearful.  I looked about, trying to find the reason.  Then the lights died for a moment.  Not the lights on the ceiling of the massive, well-armored castle garage, but the light from outside.  I walked back out and stared upward.  Despite being ready for the sight, my jaw was agape.

The sky had been a dark and ugly grey for weeks now, the result of the constant volcanic storms that wracked the globe.  The fiery wrath of Deathfire and her smaller cousins had scorched the sky, and flooded it with pyroclastic lightning.  Suddenly, however, it had ended.  For a few brief minutes, there was nothing above, as Nocturne and Prometheus entered periapsis.  The mutual gravitational attraction between both worlds was strong enough that the clouds boiled away beneath it.  They yielded to unthinkable alignments of gravity and thinned to nothing, for just few short moments.

I stared up at it, looking for Prometheus station, and found it, clinging to the moon’s equator like a parasite.  Its silvery domes and towers were invisible to a mortal viewer, but I could see it clearly.  I stared, one hand over my mouth, overcome by the moment.

Something warm slid into my free hand.  I started and looked over to see my husband Jake standing beside me.  His clothing was smeared and dirty, his face was smudged, and despite it, he was holding himself high.

I noticed how frail he looked, especially his shoulders.  He was never a devoted smith, like me and the boys, so he was never as solid around the shoulders as they were or I would be if I wasn’t female, but he still kept at it sometimes, and I made a point of instructing him in the basics.  He would sometimes join me in the forges, and work on smaller things while I aimed higher.  While I made Stalker bolters and ten-foot sculptures, he would be making watches or pendants.  From the look of him now, his body was a size too small for his clothes.

I admit that when he moved to Nocturne with me, I had feared for him.  I knew even then that he had a core of strength that could carry him through it all, but I worried that he would find the constant battle against the environment overwhelming.  Instead, he had thrown himself into it.  When the gravity proved to be much more than he had realized as a youth, he had taken to lifting weights.  When the food proved untenable for his Terran stomach microbes, he had taken flora supplements.  When the heat had become too much, he ordered special thermal protection clothes.

Now, when his world was crumbling, and he knew I and the boys would have been overworked, he had gone to the first floor and joined in the relief effort, helping those who had nothing.  I leaned into his shoulder and he smiled as best he could under several days’ worth of sweat, sleep deprivation, and dust.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I will be,” I said.  It was true.

I straightened up from the lean and looked up at the sky again, though I didn’t let go of his hand.  I wasn’t quite ready for that yet.  I heard a pop and snap sound behind me.  I had the sneaking suspicion that the two of us would be tomorrow’s headline picture.  Somehow, I didn’t mind.

We stood there until the minutes of periapsis ended.  As the clouds roiled back into place, I looked back down over the city.  Jake squeezed my hand and turned to go.

“Wait.”

He looked back at me.

“What about you?  Are you all right?” I asked.

He nodded, though I could see the weariness seeping through him.  “I’ll be fine.”  He tilted his head as he said it.  “Will you actually be able to sleep tonight?”

“I sure hope so,” I said heavily.  “The next few hours are the hardest parts of the entire Trial.”

Jake’s face hardened.  “Yeah.  The gates close tonight.”

I nodded back.  The week or so after the periapsis ends are by far the hardest to survive out on the plains.  Entire communities vanish under sheets of lava that can erupt from anywhere, regardless of the proximity of fault lines.  Islands liquefy, oceans boil, volcanoes erupt, chasms open and valleys close.  In the times before the earth shamans found the safe lands on the surface of the world, whole clans had gone extinct.  When the dragons still ruled, that was when they all took to the skies to eat the drakes that had to abandon the underground caverns.

The cataclysm didn’t stop there, though.  The next eight months would be a horrific, punishing ice storm that wracked the whole planet.  Ice shards as big as bicycles would soar through the air on gusts of wind up to tornado speed, if not inside literal tornadoes of ash and snow.  The tectonic plates would harden and form new faults, and soon the volcanoes would awaken again.  In the meantime, the gates of the cities would seal shut, and the void shields strengthened as much as possible, including the ones underground.  The whole city would lock up tight.  I would be Queen of a snowglobe, the whole time, and take on the responsibility of feeding three or four times Themis’ usual population.

I knew it would be hard.  Governor Lanneire would do his best.  It warmed my heart to know Jake and the boys would be there to help.


Carmine sighted down his bolter and squeezed the trigger.  The gun bucked, and sent a mass-reactive shell into a dactylid’s wing at the shoulder joint.  The animal shrieked and plummeted into the ground beside the convoy, jerking spasmodically.  The youthful Prince casually drew his autopistol and shot it neatly through the brainstem.  It twitched again and went still.

“Nice shot, Meja,” Zal’die said, awed.  The dactylid had been several hundred meters up when Carmine had fired.  He couldn’t have made the shot with a hotshot long-las.

“Thanks,” Carmine said, “but don’t call me that out of uniform, please.  I’m just Carmine out here.  A Nocturnean.”  He looked up at the now-visible tail end of the column of refugees.  “One of many.  Here to help.”

“Well, I appreciate it, sir, but please.  I’m Dactylid.  The Auxiliary, Ibu’Than kind, like you.  Not the reptile, obviously.  Technically, I’m your bonded servant,” Zal’die reminded him.  “So…even if you choose to eschew formality, please respect that it’s not so easy for me.”

“We’re of equivalent rank in the Auxilia anyway,” Carmine reminded him.  The scream of another dactylid, mad with hunger, drew his fiery eyes upward.  “Oh, come on…”

“Well, I suppose, but you’re still my prince,” Zal’die said, raising his voice to be heard over the report of Carmine’s bolt rifle.  Another creature loudly died above them.  This one had taken the shot square in the chest, and blew apart, showering the ash sand in blood.  “So.  Sir, should we head back?”

Carmine looked over the convoy.  They were scrambling towards the city gates.  On the horizon, the entire world was turning blacker than old night.  A pyrestorm, particles of black volcanic dust and gravel superheated by the constant volcanic eruptions on the world’s innumerable fault lines, was racing towards them.

“Absolutely,” Carmine said.  He switched to full auto and opened up on the pack of dactylids in the far distance, shredding a few.  The others wheeled about and soared off to find new prey.

Zal’die hefted his lasrifle and set it on the seat of his truck.  Carmine slung his bolt rifle and walked up to the dactylid he had shot earlier.  “Hey, help me with this.”

“You want the corpse?” Zal’die asked, staring at the monster’s flesh.

“City’s gotta eat something,” Carmine pointed out.  He lifted it effortlessly.  “Turn your truck around, I’ll put it in the bed.”

“You’re mad, sir.”  Zal’die backed his truck up as he was ordered.  Carmine deposited the mess of bloody leather in the back with ease.

“No, just pragmatic.  Head out.  I’ll tail the convoy.”  Carmine saluted the other man as he lifted off in his truck.  He jogged back to his own and gunned the engine, moving to follow the rear of the refugee group.


N’bel waited for the girl – he had learned her name was Eldie – to finish in the bathroom.  The little guest suite in the Royal residence was hardly as opulent as his own quarters, but it was far more luxurious than the garage floor.

Eldie emerged, the blood gone from her hands.  She shuffled her feet as N’bel dragged his thoughts away from the catastrophe outside.  “Are you feeling better?” N’bel asked with a kindly smile.

“Yes, my lord,” Eldie said.  “Thank you.  This is…I appreciate it.”

N’bel set a hand on her back and tried not to scare her with his eyes.  “You needn’t lose everything,” he said.  “You’ll always have kin.”

She smiled at last.  “Thank you, sir.  How can I repay this?”

“By extending the same courtesy to those who need it themselves, someday,” N’bel said.  He let go of her back and directed her to the bedchamber.  “So.  Get comfy.  Eight month long blizzard coming,” he said drily.  “I’ll probably not even leave the castle much.”

Hey jaw dropped.  “I’m staying here…for the entire Time of Trial?”

“You have somewhere else to be?” he asked mildly.  “You’ve suffered enough.”

Eldie ran her hand over her eyes as she started tearing up again.  “…You’re so kind, sir,” she managed.  “Thank you…”

N’bel felt his heart swell.  “You’re most welcome.  I’d encourage you to go and mingle with the rest of the people in the city while you’re here."

“I will,” she promised.  She smiled again, shaky but relieved.


Carmine followed the last of the refugees into the city and turned to scan the world behind him out of the back of the truck.  The black line on the horizon had spread into a cloud.  The tempestuous storms that had blanketed the whole world were melting into it as the volcanoes vented their rage.  The glowing-hot clouds pushed back the weather until everything beneath them burned.

He shook his head.  How had anyone survived that before shields had been invented?

The console beeped.  The gate was closing.  He slid the truck under the arch and set it down in a reserved parking spot.  Off in the distance, he saw Zal’die unloading the dactylid from the other truck.  The Dactylid officer hauled the dactylid corpse off to be sliced up for rations.  The irony was not lost on him.

A pair of Salamander Marines in heavy support gear kept their massive plasma guns trained on the gate until it sealed shut completely.  Carmine kept a respectful distance until they relaxed and powered their guns down.  As they turned, they spotted him.  “Little brother Carmine, good to see you,” one said.  His armor was marked with the insignia of the Thirty-sixth Fire-Born, a Crusade-era infantry formation.

Carmine shook his head.  “I have to ask.  How do you all of you know it’s me?  N’bel and I don’t look so dissimilar.”

The helmetless Marine smiled.  The helmeted one probably did too.  “Little brother, how many other people under six feet in height have our eyes?”

“Oh, sure, mock my height,” Carmine grumped.  He hated being the shortest of the family.  Even Misja was taller.  “How is the evacuation going?”

The farther Marine, in the helmet, sighed unhappily.  “The number of people in the city is higher than it’s ever been.  Space is limited.  A lot of people had to leave vehicles or what have you outside.  Within the void shield, but outside the walls.”

“I can imagine,” Carmine said grimly.  “Will you be heading into orbit?”

“We will, but about a thousand of us will stay behind,” the helmeted Marine assured him.  “To keep the people calm.”

“Good.”  Carmine slung his bolter and walked past the two Marines to where a group of Ibu’Than were maneuvering vehicles to take up the minimum of space.  “Looks like you have things under control so far.”

“Inasmuch as they can be.”  The second Marine clapped Carmine on the shoulder with an affectionate smile.  “I saw you taking down those dactylids out there.”

“Did you?”

“Your aim is impressive with a weapon that heavy,” the Marine gregariously added.

Carmine smiled at the compliment.  “Thank you, Brother.”


I sat at the edge of the small conference room in the Castle’s Logistics Center, watching a holo of my father speak from Hesiod.  His resonant voice was robbed of a fraction of its audible power by the static-laced holo transmission.  The raw violence brewing in the atmosphere was ruining all inbound comms.  I can only imagine what it looked like from orbit.

“The void shield was raised on time, thankfully,” I said.

Father nodded.  “Good.  I saw the storm moving your way.”

“We managed to close the gates without issue, though there were some small injuries and one fatality in the queue before that,” I added in regret.

Father sighed.  Static cracked the sound.  “I see.  How are the local Enforcers handling it?”

“Well.  Some have seen four Trials.”  I lifted one empty hand.  “Everyone’s exhausted, but unless the shields falter, we’ll be all right.”

The holo didn’t relay Father’s eyes very well.  They looked like blank grey spots on his face in the failing holo.  “Remember, the transports can’t travel from intra-atmospheric targets at anywhere near urgent speed,” he said, this time addressing the group.  “It will be easier to medevac to Prometheus as long as it is so close.”

“How ironic,” one of my officers said.


Carmine patrolled the small stoneworks that ran like a lane divider down the center of the Themis marketplace.  Every stall was open for business, of course.  The hawkers and merchants were trying to separate those freshly arrived from the money they had spent the last fifteen years earning.  In any other context, it would have felt distasteful.  As it stood, it was just a part of life.  There were few attempts at chicanery with Salamanders moving about the market too.

The youngest Prince raised a hand from the stock of his bolter as a passing Marine nodded at him.  Growing up on Terra, he had never felt compelled to treat the Fists and Custodes as brothers.  Upon arrival on Nocturne, and especially after joining the Ibu’Than officers’ corps, he had discovered that bond developing between him and the Salamanders, and had found it intriguing.  At first, he had thought it was simple friendship, but soon enough, he realized its true definition.  They were glad that civilian life hadn’t turned the Primarchs away from attention to their Legions, and nearly as glad that the children they had raised understood the importance of maintaining that connection.  They didn’t disrespect N’bel for eschewing it, of course.  They just approved of Carmine exemplifying it.

As if summoned by Carmine’s musing, N’bel appeared at the base of the stone structure.  The taller N’bel moved to clamber up beside his brother, but Carmine jumped down instead.  He landed easily beside N’bel, careful to keep his bolter pointed skyward.  “Brother!  How did it go out on the plains?” N’bel asked.

Carmine shook his head.  “A few dactylids got too close.  No real issues.”

“Good.  Are you going to call Karin?”

Carmine’s eyes widened at the sudden shock of memory.  “Oh, crap, I was supposed to.”  He dug out a personal vox and passed it to his brother.  “Dial her, would you?  I can’t use a personal vox on the watch.”

“Sure.”  N’bel punched in a few keys and worked through a message system for the Castle until he had her.  “Karin?”

The voice on the other end was muffled.  Karin was speaking quietly, with a lot of conversation in the background.  “Yes?  Who is this?”

N’bel decided not to pull on his own name twice in one day.  Clearing his throat, he settled on a safer route.  “Ma’am, I’m calling on behalf of Meja Carmine.  He wanted you to know that he and your brother are fine, and back in the city.”

Karin let out a relieved sigh.  “Oh, thank goodness.  Pass along my gratitude, would you, sir?”

“I certainly will.  Stay safe.”  N’bel clicked the vox off and handed it back.  “Aren’t you going to ask how I knew about her?”

Carmine blinked.  “Oh, hey, yeah.  How did you know?”

“I saw her at the Castle, when I was helping a refugee girl find a bed.”  Carmine’s head whipped around to glare at his brother.  N’bel caught his own words and tried again.  “Uh, I mean I was helping her get settled in.  I didn’t sleep with her or anything.”

Carmine shook his head, still a bit disgusted.  “Brother…”

“I know, I know, I’m a huge slut,” N’bel chuckled.  “Still.  The poor thing lost her parents, her neighbor, her home, her possessions, everything.  Including her money.  I just wanted her to have something.  Anything.  I settled on a clean bed.”

The red lights of the brothers’ eyes met, and Carmine relented.  “Right.  Well, all right, that’s not so bad.”  He shouldered his bolter.  “So.  Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Back at the Castle.”  N’bel leaned back against the carved stone wall and watched his subjects go by.  “I think…I think Dad’s feeling a little overwhelmed.  He’s doing a great job not showing it.”

“He’s doing a fantastic job,” Carmine grunted, flicking the cap off a bottle of water he snagged from a passing vendor.  He slid some coin into the vendor’s hands and drank deep.  “He went six days without sleep at one point.  Even with his upgrades, that’s a hell of a thing.”

Now it was N’bel’s turn to shake his head.  “He tries so hard not to appear weak in front of us, you know?  Like he has something to prove.”

“Biologically, he’s younger than you are, man,” Carmine reminded him.  “He DOES have something to prove.”

“He’s my father, and he did a good job en route.  What else is there?” N’bel waved off Carmine’s water bottle.  “I’m good, thanks.”

Carmine slid the cap back on and put it on the ground at their feet.  He nodded respectfully at a passing Salamander heavy trooper, who had slung his plasma cannon for a huge sack of car batteries, which he passed out to vendors who were taking their carts off the grid to save power.  “Dad’s scared that you won’t respect him for being younger, physically weaker, and mentally less capable than you are,” Carmine said bluntly.

The weight of his brother’s statement weighed down N’bel’s shoulders.  “I know,” he said softly.

“It’s not unreasonable.”

“I know.”

“It’s not natural to be younger than your children.  The Salamanders favor me, the nobility favors you.  He feels superfluous.”  Carmine looked sidelong at his brother when he heard no response.  N’bel’s gaze was turned down.  He looked more sad than pensive.  “It bothers you.”

“Deeply,” his older brother admitted.  “Because…hell.  I still feel the same way now that I did when I was off at college.  Like I need to impress him, to live up to him.  Like every son does.”

Carmine nodded slowly.  “It would be disrespectful if you didn’t.”

N’bel’s eyes turned to the sky, where the raging lightning storm was hammering the void shields.  His words were punctuated with staccato bursts of light and sound from the devastating display.  “Mom told me that he used to feel like he didn’t deserve this life, you know.”

Carmine stared.  “What?”

“He felt like he didn’t belong in the Royal family.  He loved Mom, of course, and he loves us, but he never felt like that was something that entitled him to immortality and power.”  N’bel closed his eyes and let the shifting breeze from the air circulators under the shield stir his neat, curly black hair.  “He stopped with that nonsense, of course.  Now he just goes through these bursts of trying too hard to be helpful.”

He turned to face Carmine again.  “Do you agree?”

“I do, but I don’t think it’s trying too hard to be helpful,” Carmine hedged.  “I think he just wants to ensure that people around him are glad he’s there.  It’s not always overt.  When was the last time he said ‘no’ when one of us asked him to do something?”

N’bel nodded.  “Fair point.”

An Ibu’Than soldier jogged up to the Royal boys and saluted.  “Meja, sir, thanks for covering for me.”

Carmine straightened up and returned it.  “Not a problem,” he replied.  “Take the watch.”

“Aye aye.”  The soldier unslung a shotgun and took Carmine’s place.  Carmine took off for the Castle on foot, with his brother in tow.  N’bel cocked an eyebrow at the activity.

“I’m off shift until tomorrow afternoon,” Carmine said once they were out of earshot.  “I just got asked to cover for someone.  It’s why I’m out of uniform.”

“Ah.”  The boys wandered through the crowd, watching the people in silence.

The Nocturneans were unloading.  The Time of Trial had become a time of commerce as well, in the era since the void shields.  The whalers dragged in their carcasses, the miners sold their ores at bottom-floor prices, the artists sold to those who wanted to decorate when they returned home, and the restaurateurs simply did a roaring trade.  The boys rejected hundreds of offers for merchandise on their way home, and paused to write autographs where asked.  N’bel’s was very much a Terran artifact: all flat lines for speed.  Carmine took his time, signing his name with the blunt, thick lines his forge work often resembled.

When at last they emerged from the marketplace, it was local night, as determined by the clocks, since nobody could see the sky.  Carmine’s military truck and N’bel’s Castle car sat in their lots, for a Legion serf or Ibu’Than trooper to use; they felt no need for expediency or protection in their own city.

As they breached the low rise that emerged from the center of the city, and upon which the first structures of the city had been built over four thousand years prior, both men paused.  The ground was shaking.  Even through the void shields, they could feel Nocturne’s rage.

N’bel looked nervously about.  “I know what to expect, but still.  That’s scary.”

Carmine’s eyes narrowed a bit.  He knelt and spread a hand on the patch of dirt with decorative rocks next to which they had stopped.  A sign hung overhead, commemorating the site of the city’s founding.  “We’re not in danger, brother,” he said evenly.

“Well, yeah,” N’bel said defensively.  “I just don’t like it.”

As the tremors stopped, both men resumed their walk towards the Castle.  The crowd changed as they moved.  Where before it had been the merchants and nomads and laborers, now it was the artisans and craftsmen.  The stores changed from places of retail and travel to places of work and creation.  Blacksmiter’s shops and jewelers’ stores lined the roads.  An aircar dealership stood shuttered and guarded for the duration of the chaos on one side of the street.  Across from it, a small family-owned watchmaker shop emptied into the streets as the staff went home for the evening.

N’bel smiled as a pair of children, perhaps eight years old, scampered after their mother as she left a bakery for the night.  They looked up at the sky with eyes full of fear, and she stopped to comfort them.  She squeezed one’s shoulder and pointed down at the ground, then up at the moon, invisible though it was behind the shield and the twisting storm.  The other listened intently, then slowly relaxed.  They were twins, N’bel realized, a boy and a girl.

“That’s cute,” he remarked.  Carmine looked over.

“Oh. Young enough for their first, hmm?”  He laughed.  “It’s my first, too, technically.”

“Yeah.  Can you imagine surviving this when the shield wasn’t there?” N’bel asked rhetorically.  “Horrifying.”

“Grandfather Vulkan was right to install them,” Carmine agreed.  He shifted his bolter’s strap to the other shoulder.  “I know he disliked introducing new technology and the element of debt to the Mechanicum, but I wouldn’t want to raise a family here without a shield over and under my home.”

“The nomads and Igneans manage it,” N’bel pointed out.  “I bet it’s pretty horrific, though.”

Carmine nodded glumly.  “I heard a report on the vox while I was out in the desert.  One of the caves in Ignea collapsed.  Eighty four dead.  Over a hundred MIA.”

N’bel’s shoulders slumped.  “No…”

“They dig them back out and explore new ones, of course,” Carmine continued.  “Still.  It’s bad out there.”

N’bel just nodded, slow and regretful.

The two men resumed their walking, until at last they came to the noble quarter.  Its name was a poor choice.  It was a tiny fraction of the total size of the martial, industrial city, but what it lacked in grandeur it made up in wealth.  The houses here were spacious and decorated.  Every driveway had an aircar or two, or a fancy groundcar.  A few small shuttles were even visible, for those who had ships docked at the edge of the system.  The structures themselves all possessed visible signs of moneyed ownership, too.  Wrought bars of black iron twisted into expensive railings, porches made of stone and imported wood beckoned travelers to stare at the supposed gregariousness of the resident.

Still, for all the signs of ostentation, it was Nocturne.  Every door was open.  The brothers spotted a few porches and guest structures with signs of inhabitation, and recent signs at that.  Carmine stopped to watch a truck pull into one driveway and a group of people pile out.  The front door burst open, and a woman in noble clothes rushed over to embrace one of the refugees as the others clustered up.

N’bel caught Carmine’s eye and jerked his head for the gargantuan Castle ahead of them.  Carmine realized he was staring and quickly caught up.

The Castle itself loomed over them, as foreboding as a Titan and several times as huge.  The structure was built right into the walls of the city, and housed several of its void shield projectors.  The hangars on the upper floors were wide open, as a stream of air vehicles slipped in and out on errands of coordination for the on-going evacuation efforts.  The ground hangar was usually closed for fear of infiltration, but now it was wide open too, and several dozen Salamanders guarded it with autocannons slung at ease.  Servo-skulls with sensorium packages swooped about, looking for anyone out of place.

The inside was a zoo.  The refugees here were the injured ones, the ones with no money to buy nicer lodging, or the regional military and law enforcement, who were supposed to quarter with the military anyway.  Large metal claws lifted vehicles into storage racks on the walls and ceilings, and lifts lowered them into underground garages.  Several searchlights in the room’s highest corners shone, dimmed, on the crowd.  An ultraviolet light emitter in the corner sat idle, waiting to activate and sweep the room clean of bacteria and lice.  It was too early for that, of course.

Small tables on one side of the room allowed dining.  Coolers with bags of ice and meat in them were arrayed across the floors behind them, and small cookers hummed, bringing some of the food up to temperature.  It was after dinner, but the late crowds of refugees were still hungry, and the Castle serfs obliged those in need of emergency sustenance.

N’bel shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered away from the crowd as Carmine waded in, bolter aimed reassuringly away from anyone.  N’bel’s eyes drifted across the crowd, and he smiled automatically as a few people recognized him.  His path wasn’t random, though.  He was making his way over to the small shrine in the very back of the room.


The shrine was a distinctly Salamander addition to the structure.  Nearly all major military installations were filled with small Mechanicum posts, of course, and they usually had shrines, but this had nothing to do with the Mechanicum.  This was a small monument to the founding and guiding influences of the Legion.  His own name was on the little anvil-shaped plinth, but of course it referred to Vulkan’s father.

The metal statue of an anvil with crossed hammers at rest on its surface was as old as the castle, and had been dedicated by the surviving Imperial Rams after Vulkan had finished his training by the Emperor in preparation of leading the Legion in person.  N’bel stared at the little divots of thousands of years of passers-by and worshippers on its surface and let his mind wander back across the ages.
Carmine walked slowly through the crowds, trying to project confidence.  The refugees were scared, resigned, and very uncomfortable.  That was to be expected, but it didn’t make it easier to watch.  A few minor scuffles had broken out before, but the Salamanders watching over the people had swooped in and separated the combatants before anyone had been hurt.

Now, the air was less sullen and more exhausted.  Several days of refugee traffic had filled the space with footsore travelers.  The smell of the unwashed was growing, and Carmine wondered to himself where all these people would meet their hygiene needs.


I rose from the conference room as my father’s image faded away.  The cadres of military advisors were oozing relief, to be sure.  Their part in all this was essentially over.  Everyone who was going to live was inside the shield, everyone who was going to die already had, barring something catastrophic.  It was our turn now, the civilians’ turn.

Well, in theory, anyway.  As it was, I was so tired, I could barely even stand.  Several of my aides stood back to let me pass on the way to the door.  I appreciated it.  I was actually having trouble finding it for a moment.

As I entered the hallway, I turned to the lifts and walked into one, feeling pure exhaustion wash through me.  My hands and feet were feeling weak, my vision was swimming, and I swear I was actually sweating.  That doesn’t happen to me unless I’ve either been forging for hours or I’m exploring the volcanic vents.

I rubbed my eyes as the lift rose through the halls of the Castle for the Royal residence.  We built it near the very top, as much to show silent dominance over the Governor as anything.  Not that I find myself overruling him much, of course.  I concerned myself with affairs of statecraft more than direct rulership, most of the time.

As the doors opened, I stepped out into the wrong hall.  I blinked back distraction, trying to see what had happened.  I stepped back into the lift, glancing at the button I had pressed.  It was one button below the button I had meant to press.  I sighed.  I really was exhausted.

“Crown Princess?”

I turned back to see a girl in ragged – but oddly clean – clothes, staring at me.  Her mouth was agape behind her hands.  She looked freshly showered, and more rested than the refugees below.

“Hmm?  Yes?” I asked.  I was on one of the guest floors; was this a friend of the Governor’s?  I had no idea.

“Er, ma’am, I’m a refugee,” she clarified.

She looked it.  Her clothes looked like the sort of thing I’d wear if I were going to be working around obsidian underground.  The simple work clothes I was wearing were stained with the work I had done in the factory, so at least out appearances matched.  I looked for something to say to break the awkwardness.  “Someone cleared you to this suite?” I asked, then kicked my mental self.  Of course the girl was cleared, how else could she have gotten in?

She swallowed nervousness.  “I have, my Princess.  I’m Eldie, if I may,” she said, bowing a bit.

I tried not to scare her further.  “I see.  So sorry to disturb you, but I think I hit the wrong floor button,” I said, gesturing back at the elevator.  “I’m so tired I got lost in my own home,” I joked.

Eldie managed to smile.  “I…yes, your Highness.”  She turned her eyes down in respect.  “I feel I should thank you, your Highness, for your family’s generosity in allowing me to stay here.  Prince N’bel was most kind.”

I admit to some surprise at hearing that statement.  “N’bel cleared you for the suite?” I asked.

She blinked.  “Should he not have, your Highness?”  She realized the impropriety of her words as they left her mouth, but I saw it happen, and I waved it off.

“No, no, it’s fine.  So long as you’re not the latest in his never-ending stream of life-long romances,” I chuckled.  In my defense, I hadn’t slept in ten days.  I would never have been so rude had I not been feeling the sleep madness encroaching.

Eldie blushed furiously.  “I’m just someone he saw fit to help, your Highness.”

I smiled too, hoping it would take the sting off my accidental slight to my son.  “I was kidding, Eldie.  You’re welcome here.”

She bowed her head again.  “Thank you, your Highness.”

I walked past her down the hall, back towards the small staircase at the far end.  It leads from the guest suite to the Royal quarters, in case one of us wants to visit a guest without using the lifts.  As I passed her, however, Eldie spoke up again.  “Your Highness?” she suddenly asked.  “Where shall I put the books?”

I turned back to face her, puzzled.  “Books?”

“Yes, your Highness, the books,” Eldie said, somewhat hesitantly.  “There was a pile of books on the bed in my room when I arrived.  They looked personal, I didn’t touch them.”

I frowned.  We never used the guest room for storage.  “Show me.”

Eldie scurried back into her suite as I tried to figure out what she meant.  I never visited down here, so it couldn’t have been something I had left there.

As I entered the room, however, it clicked.  The books on the bed were no mass-circulation novels or reference tomes.  They were a pile of children’s books I had read to the boys when they were small.  I stared at the dirtied and well-loved books, memories flooding back.  I felt a tear gather in my eye as I stood there.  All I could see was Carmine curled up in my lap, listening as I read Moon Over the Sun, or him sitting and mouthing the words to New Tales from the Old Mothers as N’bel sat in the corner, pretending he wasn’t on a trip down Nostalgia Lane.

One image jumped into my mind, as vivid as life.  N’bel, sound asleep in my lap, barely ten months, as I rocked him, reciting Starlight in Our Eyes.  That had been the song of his childhood, and Carmine’s, just like it had been mine.  My own mother had sang it to me when I was tiny, and had quoted its lyrics when I had come home from school in tears when someone had made fun of my eyes, yet again.  I could hear it, in my voice and hers, so clearly it staggered me.

''
	''We looked so hard, to find

	''The starlights in the sky

	''Only to recognize

	''The starlights in our eyes

	''From the world in which we wake

	''To the land of dreams at night

	''Your starry eyes are all I see

	''And you show us all your light

	''So don’t cry, we’re alive

	''Tonight, we burn like stars that never die''


I realized I was crying when Eldie turned back to see me and gasped.  I quickly dried my face and cleared my throat.  “Sorry, sorry, I, uh…I just took a trip into the past,” I said.

She looked at the books, back at me.  Back at the books again.  Realization dawned.  “Are…they yours, ma’am?” she asked.

I nodded, choking up a bit.  “I…I used to make the boys sleep down here when they were being extra naughty, or something like that…I kept the books in the closet of this room because this was the last place they’d slept before we went to Terra for several months.”  I squeezed my eyes shut, helpless against the memories in my state of total sleeplessness.  “Wow.  They left at…what?  Six and twelve?  And now…”

Eldie watched with a strange sadness etched on her face.  “…Time flies?” she asked quietly.

I was quiet for another moment as I forced the memory back.  “Yes, it really does,” I eventually said.

“I know what you mean, your Highness,” Eldie said under her breath.  Perhaps it was because she attached the honorific, but I thought she had meant it for my ears.

“Are you a mother too, then, Eldie?” I asked.

She jerked her head up, surprised.  Apparently, I hadn’t been meant to overhear her comment.  “N-no, your Highness.  I was just…remembering the last Trial.”

I nodded.  “I see.  I was on Terra.”

“I…lost both my parents,” she admitted.  “The walls came down.  My neighbor, Sraiid…he saved me.”  She closed her eyes, too.  “He…died a few hours ago.  He made it to the city, but a cart collapsed on him.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said.  The fact that N’bel had quartered a girl he had just met was making more and more sense.  He’s definitely the most compassionate of us.

She slumped a bit.  “It just doesn’t seem right, sometimes,” she muttered.  She looked back up at me, as if wondering if I would take offense.  “I mean, I know it gets easier every cycle, but…it truly feels relative, doesn’t it, your Highness?”

“Indeed.”  I caught her eye.  “Do you think we should leave?”

She stared.  After a time, she slowly shook her head.  “I…don’t.”

I nodded and turned back to go.  We were done.


Upstairs, I sank into a chair in the kitchen and groaned aloud as blood rushed back into my feet.  I had been standing or walking so long, without rest, that I was actually a bit shaky.  The last week – more – was weighing on my body as much as my mind.  All I could think to do was lean forward, rest my head in my hands, and try to focus.  The shimmering patterns of light outside the windows, a specter of the storm overhead visible through the shield, scattered ugly patterns over the counter in front of me, and I watched as they pulsed across the granite countertop.


Jake walked back up through the levels of the Royal Quarters.  The day’s work was nearly over.  All that was left was making sure that the rest of the family had food to come home to, if they needed it.

Upon arriving in the kitchen, he spotted his wife at the counter, head in hands.  He sighed, walking up behind her.  He reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder, then paused.  Her head was unmoving.  She was totally still.  He slowly circled the granite island, wondering.  She couldn’t actually be…

She was.  Venus was fast asleep.  Her lips were sealed tight, her eyes shut, and her neck cricked up.  He gently tapped the table beside her, trying to wake her smoothly.

She blinked red light on the table.  “Mmmgh…Jake?” she asked, spotting his hand.  She stretched her neck and awkwardly sat up from her slouch.  “Wow, I was out cold.”

Jake stared at her.  “What time was it when you sat down?”

She glanced at the clock over the oven.  “…Uh.”

“What time was it?” Jake repeated, worried now.

“…Four hours ago, give or take five minutes,” Venus admitted.  Jake sighed.

“Sweetheart, go to bed.”

Venus weakly chuckled.  “Would it make you mad if I said that I actually feel a lot better now?”

“I know that the Progenitors only need four hours of sleep under normal circumstances,” Jake scolded, “but you’ve been up for over ten days.”  He rested his hand on her back.  “Rest.  The Ibu’Than have us covered.”

“Yeah.”  Venus straightened up and rose from the stool.  She wrung her wrists and neck, working out the kinks.  “Well.  Actually, there is one thing I need to do before I go get some real sleep.”

“How long will it take?” Jake asked.

“An hour, two at the most.  Then…hell, baby, I’ll sleep for days,” she chuckled.


Downstairs, I walked out into the Residence’s small, private forge, clad in my usual apron and work pants.  I had thick gloves on this time, when I usually eschewed them.  Despite my earlier words, I was still quite sleepy.

As I wended my way through the metalworking complex, I heard voices and tools.  They resolved as I got closer: the boys.  As if anyone else would be here.

“I don’t think it was unfair,” Carmine was saying as I approached and started sorting through some crap material.

“No, and I said I didn’t think it was unfair, I just don’t like how it was your first assumption,” N’bel shot back.

“Discussing your guest?” I asked as I stepped into view.  The boys both started and looked over at me, before the hot metal they were working on called their attention back.  “We spoke, briefly.”

“Yeah, sorry, Mom, I brought her without asking,” N’bel admitted.  His work clothes were immaculate, of course.  I suspect he projects a field that actively repels all uncleanliness unless he actually desires it.  “Poor thing just needed a place to sleep.  I know there’s the garages downstairs, but…”

“I spoke to her,” I repeated.  I grabbed a handful of tiny gold pellets from a bin.  “She’s suffered enough.”

N’bel nodded, glad to hear it.  “Thank you, Mom.”

Carmine shook his head and returned his attention to his own work without a word.  He was working on the same seax knife he had been working on that morning.  He was just adding the finishing touches now.  Rather, the boys were.  N’bel was working gold as well, only unlike the pellets I was heating up, he was cooling some down in the shape of a ring.  He was making accents for the handle-grip.  It touched me to see them working together like that.

In fact, I seemed to be interrupting a moment.  I started melting down the gold as they returned to their conversation.

“It doesn’t feel fair, man,” N’bel said.

“Fine.  I’ll try not to make those sorts of assumptions in the future,” Carmine said flatly.  “Will she be here until the end of the Trials?”

“Of course!  What alternative is there?  Sending her out to die in the blizzards?” N’bel shot back.

“Putting her in one of the buildings out in the city proper once the refugees are all sorted and the roadways open back up,” Carmine pointed out.  He slid the seax blade onto a chilled sheet of tungsten carbide/titanium alloy that we kept on a table nearby for cooling things without water.  The glowing blade cooled off immediately, even as he watched.

I turned my own eyes to my work.  I had melted the gold, and now I was pouring it into two little circular slots.  The settings were nominally for making the trigger mechanism plates for bolter shells, but they would work for this.  They were a bit more than a centimeter in width, and very shallow.  Just shallow enough to give me some space to work with when they cooled.

“I guess we could,” N’bel grumbled.  “Should we, though?  I promised her she could stay for the whole eight months.”

Carmine’s head tilted to stare at his brother, and I have to admit that I did too.  “Did you get approval for that?  From Mom and Dad or from the Governor?”

“It’s the Royal guest suite, the Governor doesn’t get to say anything,” N’bel said half-heartedly, but he had faulted here, and he was suddenly aware of it.

To the surprise of both of my sons, however, I waved it off.  “She’s welcome, N’bel, so long as you understand that she’s not to be dining at our table unless I approve it,” I said.  “I’d never throw her out.”

“Thank you, Mom,” N’bel said for the second time in half an hour.

“I respect your judgment,” I added.  “If she’s no threat, she stays.  That said, I hope you understand that she’s been essentially confined to the building by your decision.”

N’bel shrugged.  “No more or less than any other refugee.  Of course she can go any time she wants.  And it’s not like she can’t go explore the city or work in one of the temporary centers like the other fifty thousand people in the city who come in out of the storms.”

“Fair enough.”  And with that, it was over.  N’bel was finishing up the accents for the handle of the blade, while Carmine started work on the edging and sharpening of the now-cooled weapon.

“Who’s this for, again?” N’bel asked.

“A friend in the Ibu’Than Auxilia who wanted a hand-made personal defense blade for when he had to attend to ceremonial duties on Terra,” Carmine replied.  “He didn’t ask for it, but I owe him one, so.  You know.  I felt like it.”

“As good a reason as any,” N’bel said.  “Garnet or Quartz?”

“Garnet.  Red, if we have it,” Carmine said.  N’bel grabbed a small chunk of red garnet from a bin on the wall and ran his hands over it, feeling for cracks.

“Here you go.”  N’bel sat it down on a table and got to work carving it.

I was nearly done with my own project.  Despite my words to Jake, I felt exhaustion returning.  Just because we can survive on a few hours of sleep doesn’t mean it’s good for us.  Still, this was a pretty simple project.  I left the gold to cool and sat down at a small heat-shielded cogitator in the corner of the room.  The system was networked with a small metal fabricator in the center of the room, capable of assembling near atomic-scale impressions and embossing in metal plates.

“How about you?” Carmine asked as I nearly finished the first little gold disk.  “What are you working on over there?”

“A commemorative medallion,” I said.  I finished the metal press’ shape with a click and sat back in the chair.  The gold disks slid into the press slot and the machine went to work.  The micro-lathe spun and beeped as it transferred my pattern to the metal.  “After all, this is your first time,” I continued over the din.

“First…wait, you didn’t,” N’bel said, his eyes lighting up.

“Didn’t what?” Carmine asked from where he was threading the gold loops over the handle.

“She made commemorative tokens for us,” N’bel groaned.

“What?”

I smirked at N’bel’s manifest embarrassment.  “Oh, they’re not for you,” I said.

“Then…who are they for?” N’bel asked.

“They’re for me.  Keepsakes.  Just as a way to mark the time.”  I watched as a small pattern emerged on the surface of one coin.  “I did this last time, too.”

“You make new ones for each Trial you survive?” Carmine asked.  “Not a bad idea.”

“You’re both welcome to make them too,” I said.  The machine beeped as the first token finished.  “One for me…one for Jake.”

Carmine watched as I collected the warm disk from the machine.  “Where do you keep them?”

“Trophy room.”  We had a rather spacious room where I kept the most valued public possessions and creations the two of us had, including my Crown of office and some of Jake’s scholastic achievement awards.  The tokens from our first Trial together were still there.

N’bel peered at me as the machine whirred into action on the second token.  “Mom, are you all right?  You look terrible.”

“I’ve slept four hours in…eleven days,” I said, glancing at the wall calendar in the entryway to the forge.

The boys exchanged looks.  “Mother…I know you’re built to a pretty high standard, but even you have limits,” Carmine said slowly.  “A full Astartes can’t keep going with that level of rest.”

“And luckily enough, I don’t have a six hundred pound slab of muscle for a body.  I also don’t require a mountain of food to stay operational.”  I watched the second medallion appear.  Sure enough, it was coming along well.  The gold I used was exceptional.  “How far along is your knife?” I asked.  I hoped the boys wouldn’t see how my hand twitched a bit as I reached for the coin as the machine spat it out.

“An hour, less, then I’m done.”  Carmine turned back to his labor as N’bel cut the garnets, and I managed to hide a bit of a swoon as I rose to switch off the lathe.


Jake read over the last few lines of his slate’s display.  The casualty count was in.  The Trial’s first phase was over, and now it was going to start cooling off the planet.

A quiet tap on the ground behind him announced Venus’ arrival.  Jake turned to see her in a tousled bathrobe, drying wet black hair.  Her temperature, of course, was high enough that she never stayed wet after a shower for very long, but there was no need to drag out the process.  She had a little box in one hand, a cheap and pre-made cardboard thing.  They used them in the forge to transport small objects.

Jake stood immediately.  “Sweetheart, what did you make?” he asked.  He was trying to keep recrimination out of his voice.  She looked dead on her feet again.

Venus beamed.  “The tokens.”

“Right!” Jake said, remembering.  She had promised to make tokens for each Time of Trial they were there to witness and place them in the trophy room, for as long as she was able to.  At the time, Jake had thought it touching.  Now he was worried for her health.

Or sanity.  She was still beaming, like they had been some prize she had snatched from a defeated foe.  “Well.  I can go hang them now, anyway,” she said, and turned to go.

Jake noted the slight stoop in her back and had had quite enough.  He walked up behind her and slid one arm around her waist.  “No.”

She turned in his grasp to stare at him.  “No?”

He didn’t have her raw power, but his genehanced muscle was enough.  He slid the hand on her lower back down to her knees as he crouched, and wrapped the other around her shoulders.  She gasped as she fell into his arms.  Without another word, he walked her right back into the stairwell.

“Jake, what-”

“Nope,” he said flatly.  “You’ve spent enough time awake.”

She giggled, high on life and sleep deprivation.  “Jake, put me down.”

“We’re not there yet,” he replied.  At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hall to their quarters and sidled in.  He lowered her onto the massive bed and gingerly extracted her bathrobe.  She was giggling wildly as the moment overcame her, but she was clearly still willing to play along.  He grabbed the sheets and draped them over her as he tossed the bathrobe over a chair back at her desk.

“Now,” he said flatly.  “Go to sleep.”

“Jake, I could hardly…I mean…” she broke down giggling as he snapped the lights off and started shucking his own clothes.  “This…”

“Hush.”  He slid into bed beside her and tapped one finger against her lips.  “Sleep.”

She snorted in a mixture of good humor and delirium.  “Jake, this is silly.”

Jake slid an arm across her chest and leaned in to plant a kiss on her cheek.  “Good night.”

In moments, sure to his request, she was out like a light.  Jake shook his head in the darkness.  “Silly indeed,” he murmured.


Below, N’bel emerged from his own shower, and found Carmine waiting outside, turning the seax over in his hands.  “I think he’ll love it,” Carmine said absently.

“I think so.”  N’bel tugged his fresh shirt on and tossed his forging and older civvie clothes into the hamper.  “So…you think Mom’s alright?”

“I suspect Mother’s fine,” Carmine said.  He slid the seax into a small, padded box and placed it on a table by the door.  “Well.”

“Yeah.”  Both men glanced out the window at the roiling hellstorm outside the shield.  “How soon before the snowfall starts?”

Carmine thought back to his own Ibu’Than briefing.  “A few days.  Then the earthquakes stop, at least for a while.”

“Good.”  N’bel wandered off to the stairs up to the kitchen.  “Hungry?”

“Famished.”  Carmine flicked water off of his tight black curls and grabbed the box back up.  “Let me just drop this off with my friend in the Auxilia first.”


The organized madness of the garages was starting to calm a bit as the flow of refugees from outside stopped, and the gate guards dispersed into the city to help protect the civilians there.  The Salamanders were tagging out, in essence, getting into their ships and flying up to the station on Prometheus for the duration of the storm, save those few thousand who would stay behind and help.  Carmine stepped out of the guarded lifts in his civilian clothes and let his incredible eyes wander the room.  Sure enough, he found the man he was looking for.  He set out across the chaotic space passing by groups of Salamanders disengaging themselves from the crowd, Ibu’than troops and Nocturne PDF passing out supplies and helping the injured, and civilians looking for a spot to lie down.

Before he even made it halfway across the room, he spotted Karin and Zal’die standing together near a parked Army truck.  He wended his way over, hoping to have the chance to speak to Karin himself.  Nobody in the Ibu’Than was going anywhere, the knife could wait.

“Carmine!” Karin said, noticing his distinctive gaze from a distance.  “Sir, thank you so much for helping out there.”  The honorific, of course, was just for show, they felt no need to share titles off-duty.

Carmine waved off the gratitude.  “It was no trouble, I was happy to help.”

Zal’die paused to shake his hand.  “We got them in, sir,” he proudly announced.

“We did.”  Carmine took stock of the crowds of people and supplies.  “What a mess.”

“It’s bad, but it could have been so much worse, you know,” Zal’die said grimly.  “Did the rest of the Sanctuaries get their shields up in time?”

“Sounds like they did,” Carmine said.  Out of uniform, he lost none of his presence.  His eyes drew confused or excited whispers from several refugees who were unused to his presence in the city.  “Well.  I just wanted to check in.  I’ll see you both later.”

The others nodded farewells as he resumed his course across the room, blade in box.  As he worked back through the chamber, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.  They had indeed gotten as many in as they could.  A little crowding was hardly a high price to pay.


I awoke.  The room was utterly dark, with every blind drawn, every light extinguished.  The door to the bathroom, with its nightlight, was closed.  So was the door to the hall, and to our closets.  I blinked and the room filled with dim red light.

My arms were cramping.  I wasn’t lying on them, I was just stiff from sleeping too long.  I felt my stomach gurgle as I stirred awake.  I was utterly ravenous, and my bladder ached.  How long had I been out?

I turned my head and stared at the clock at the bedside.  I felt astonishment when I saw the number.  I had been out cold for fully twelve and a half hours.  That was three times longer than I usually slept.  It was the equivalent of a mortal sleeping an entire day.

Jake wasn’t there any more.  I had the room to myself.  I rose and gingerly walked to the bathroom, to meet the needs of an entire half a day of rest.  It felt odd to bathe after just having bathed before sleep, but I felt grimy all over.

After cleaning and dressing, I left the Royal bedchamber and walked over to the stairs, meaning to head down to the kitchen to find some food.  Instead, I paused, as voices from the level above me – the top level of the Royal Quarters, and in fact the entire Palace – caught my ear.

“It’s terrifying,” I heard someone – N’bel or Jake – say.  “The whole sky looks like it’s trying to break.”

“I know,” Carmine – his voice was quite distinctive – replied.

The other of the two men in my life who sound identical spoke up.  “The clouds will stay for a bit longer, then start to condense and fall across the shields.  That’s when they really take the strain.  The Mechanicum will shut down all nonessential systems and divert the power to the upper void dome.”  That had to be Jake.  He was the only one there who had been through this before.

I climbed up the stairs and beheld a sight.  Down the hall from the stairs, it opened up into a rooftop lounge.  The boys and their father were sitting in chairs on the weather-proofed surface, staring up at the sky and sipping at what smelled to my enhanced senses like Septiim vodka.

I walked up to the door and cleared my throat.  “Guys?”

All three turned back to look at me.  Carmine’s and N’bel’s faces wore identical looks of relief, while Jake just nodded knowingly.  “Better?” he asked.

“Much.  I don’t feel dizzy, at least.”  I sat beside them and Jake passed me a tumbler of vodka.  “What’s the occasion?”

“All four of us survived the end of the world,” N’bel said, nodding at his wisdom.  “That deserves a stiff drink.”

I chuckled as I accepted the booze.  “Hah.  Fine, I’ll drink to that.”

We all looked up at the shield over our heads, and watched as the toxic rain, lightning bolts, gyrating wind cells, and rubble of a thousand volcanoes slammed into it.  Distant Deathfire roared angrily and spat bolts of rock and fire into the sky, visible even at this distance.  The twisting clouds spat angrily at the city below, but the Mechanicum’s gifts held, and the shield didn’t break.

Carmine stood from his chair and hefted his glass to the rest of us.  We all lifted out own.

“To fifteen more years,” he said solemnly.  We all stretched out and clinked our glasses with his.

“Fifteen more years.”

=== Nate's Travails ===


The robes of a Senior Counselor to the Master of the Astra Telepathica are more than mere fabric.  They include a variety of psy-dampening or psy-enhancing materials, depending on the stability of the wearer, and are frequently customized with personal accoutrements.  Often, the wearer will also bear a Rosette or Rosarius shaped like the Scholastica Eye, in the form of a pendant.  One set in particular was sky blue, trimmed in black, and the belt was laced with a huge variety of technological trinkets.  The Rosette was built with a compact Refractor, and encrusted with Star Gems.  The Refractor field could divert attacks of all sorts, even plasma, and was designed to prevent the wearer’s death from the attack their psychic senses didn’t see coming.

At the moment, however, nobody was wearing them.  The Rosette and robe were stuffed into a locker in the City of Sight’s sparring hall, and the owner was fighting desperately in the next room.

The sparring chamber was tucked into the base of the Whispering Tower, near the Novitiate chambers of the Scholastica Psykana.  Over the millennia of the Crusade, the restrictions on psy-power from the Edict of Nikaea had been loosened as mountains of data on the use of psychics and the temptations psykers suffered had been uncovered by the Emperor’s servants.  Primarchs and Astropaths of every stripe had begged the Emperor to allow psychics to serve in the Imperium as more than living telephones once more, and eventually, he had agreed.  The City of Sight returned to its admittedly subdued bustle of activity shortly thereafter, as the Sisterhood and Scholastica had returned to the harvesting and training of young psychic minds, and as the Black Sentinels went back to their normal jobs.

Among the roles filled by Adepts of the Scholastica was that of the teacher, specifically the teacher of Imperial Army officers in how best to deploy Primaris Psykers and War Psychics in battle.  That, of course, required that psychics of the Scholastica be trained in how to actually fight, and so the sparring halls of the Astra Telepathica were once more opened to their intended use, that being: beating the shit out of each other.

Nathaniel Romanvene, Prince of Prospero and husband of Miranda, danced back from the young War Psychic he was fighting.  Her armor was scratched and scarred from generations of use, but it was well-fitted and tough, and she was far more youthful than he.

Nate threw himself backwards as fast as he could, just barely dodging a blow that he hadn’t foreseen.  Luckily, his opponent wasn’t a very skilled fighter.  Unfortunately, she was also a much stronger psychic.

The Prince had to duck to dodge a stream of shimmering silver fire, which splattered against the energy field at the edge of the practice ring.  He lunged forward, trusting in two decades of footwork practice to carry him around her counter.

It worked.  The younger psychic lashed out once, twice, thrice, four times at him, but he slid past her brutal blows, deflecting her training staff with his armored gauntlets, their serrated finger-guards the only visible weapons he was carrying.

She stepped back to let him approach her with her guard up, then lashed out again, launching a slender beam of violet light that coiled and spun like a hyperactive snake.  Undeterred, Nate clenched one fist and threw himself sideways again, letting the phantom blow right over him.  He straightened up and tossed the contents of his fist into her face.

The woman gasped and jerked back as frighteningly bright grey sparks blasted into her face.  It was a parlor trick and nothing more, but the message was clear: he could have melted her face right off.  She snarled and swung her staff low, this time feeding psychic energy into it to push through an extra sting.

Nate didn’t bother dodging.  Before it could even connect, he had gripped the insides of both of her thighs and twisted them upwards.  She gasped again, this time in pain, and fell right on her ass.  Little witch-fires burned on her training pants where he had grabbed her, though they weren’t hot at all.  It was just another reminder of how much more experienced he truly was.

“Enough!” Nate barked as she squealed and slapped at the illusory flame.  They vanished as he dropped the charade, and he crossed his arms over his chest with a stern glare.  “Get up, student!”

The student scrambled to her feet, panting and ruddy-faced.  “What the HELL was that?” Nate demanded.  “I killed you four times in twelve seconds!”

The student stiffened.  “With respect, sir, it was two.”

“Bullshit!  You were dead before I even closed,” Nate said hotly.  “Look down.”

The student glanced down, to see a thin slick of blood coating the tops of her shoes.  She sucked in a breath as she noticed two shallow cuts on her shins, just below her leg armor.  “If I had aimed that two centimeters lower and held the slash,” Nate said, pointing at a seemingly random spot on the far side of the ring, “you’d have had your feet cut clean off.  Did you even notice?”  She squinted and spotted two bloodied coins sitting at the rim of the arena.  He’d launched them from the pockets of his pants while they had been approaching each other at the start of the bout.

“Sir, no, I did not, sir,” the student admitted.

“Then, when you tried a Warp Scorch, I ducked it like a beach ball!  Why throw so slowly?  I’m not going to catch it!  I’m supposed to AVOID catching it!” Nate continued.  “Believe me, there are Weirdboyz out there who WILL catch it, and they will throw it right back at your ass twice as fast!  And, of course, the face and the legs,” Nate finished up.  He marched up to the student and stared down into her hazel eyes.  “Nothing wrong with ambition, student,” he said quietly, his demeanor changing entirely.  “But…never, EVER mistake a lack of power for lack of refinement.  If you ever fight an Eldar in CQC, you will die and never know how.  And,” he said, turning away and adding the stinger over his shoulder, “go tell MacMillan that’s three lunches.  He knows what I mean.”

The student blinked back harsh tears.  “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed,” Nate called, and vanished into his locker room.

The student wiped her forehead with a bloody hand and nearly threw her staff into the corner.  She ripped her towel off of the bench and wiped it over her soaked face, muttering bitterly under her breath.

“Student?” a new voice asked.

The girl whipped around, ready to work out her frustration on some new target, and dropped the towel.  Instead of venting anger, she turned shock white, and slid into a ramrod-straight attention.  “Ma’am!  Primaris Candidate Eight Able Mike Four, Ma’am, Terran WPTS, Ma’am!” she sounded off.

Miranda, the Crown Princess and Sceptre-Bearer of Prospero, and Nate’s wife, was standing where Nate had been.  Unlike her husband, she was wearing no war panoply.  Instead, she had a positively restrained Psykana robe dress on; her only visible icon of office was a solid Star Gem pendant in the shape of a glowing orange eye.  The light locked inside it roiled like a living thing.  It was every bit as unnerving as her real third eye, which she never bothered to cover in the City.

She smiled.  “I didn’t ask your billet, officer code, or rank, student.”

“Force of habit, ma’am, I apologize!” the student said quickly.

“Very well, no harm done.  Where is Prince Nathaniel?”

“In the locker room, ma’am,” the student said, and for reasons she would not figure out for the rest of her life, continued with “wiping off my blood!”

Her jaw clenched at the completely disrespectful addendum, and the reptilian survival instincts at the back of her mind wondered if taking a knee would help her overcome Miranda’s rarely-seen but nigh unsurvivable displeasure.

It seemed Miranda was in a good mood, however, because all she did was laugh.  “He’s faster than a mongoose when he’s angry, isn’t he?”

“I…confess to not knowing what a mongoose is, ma’am, but he’s faster than any non-cyborg I have ever witnessed, ma’am,” the student said, her cheeks burning.

“Yeah, being taught close-quarters anti-psychic fighting tactics by Atok himself tends to impart some lessons,” Miranda agreed.  “Though, technically, he is a cyborg.  I dunno, though, you think I could take him?” she asked playfully.

The student hesitated.  “I…would assume so, ma’am, your power vastly eclipses his and mine combined.”

“Very true, and well said,” Miranda said with mock seriousness.  She walked past the student with a wink a murmur.  “Buck up, kid, you’re not even twenty.  You’ll get the hang of restraint soon enough.”

The student looked away.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Miranda waited outside the locker room as the student walked off to the showers.  At length, Nate emerged with his armor in a bag, clad in his robe.  Without even stopping to look if anyone was watching, he slung an arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her into a breath-taking kiss.  Miranda returned the gesture, gripping his shoulders with both hands and leaning into it.  Several seconds later, they parted, both grinning, and walked off together.

“Good bout?” Miranda asked.

He scoffed.  “Not at all.  I don’t know what the trainers are doing down in the College if that’s the best they can send up.”

“I hate to break it to you, there, Champion, but the really good ones know their limits and don’t challenge their Lord,” Miranda pointed out.  “The next batch of Senioris Primaris, the Legionary War Directors, are the best I’ve seen in thirty years.”

“Yeah?  And that’s the best name they could come up with?” Nate mused.  He flicked shower water from his close-cropped black hair as they walked into the grey afternoon light together, arm in arm.  “‘Primaris Senioris?’”

“I don’t create the pay grades,” Miranda said.

“Oh, I know, it’s the fault of someone else,” Nate replied.

Miranda nodded gravely.  “Well, yeah.  Everything is someone else’s fault.  Still, she was in tears.  Were you hard on her?”

“I was quite hard on her,” Nate said unapologetically.  “She’s a fourth my age, and she had the gall to claim that I had no business directing psykers of Epsilon talent when I’m an Iota on a good day.”

Miranda sighed.  “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, she had it coming.  Iota, Gamma, Alpha plus, who gives a damn?  If you can’t block a pair of coins with your mind or smell your own blood, you’re useless in a fight,” Nate said.  He looked down at his wife and smiled.  “But you didn’t come down from the Oneirocritica to tell me that I’m being mean to the young people.”

“No, no, I can do that over the intercom,” Miranda said, nodding regally.  “I came down to float an idea.”

“Do tell.”

“I want to have a few people over to the manor for dinner tonight, if that’s quite alright with you,” she explained, waving to a bowing Acolyte they passed.

“And whom shall we be cannibalizing?” Nate asked in an eagerly curious voice.

“Oh, nobody of importance,” Miranda said, continuing the joke.  “A few Lords General, my father, a representative from the Black Army, you know.  Nobody that anyone will miss.”

“Right.  So who did you have in mind, really?” Nate asked.

Miranda counted off on her hand.  “Petra, us two, Garret, and Hebe.”

Nate stopped dead.  Miranda stumbled and let go of his arm.  She looked back at him to see him ram his hands into his pockets and look away.  “Hebe.”

“Yes, Nate, she was in town and she called,” Miranda said.  She didn’t need her incomprehensibly vast psychic power to see the sudden flare of irritation in him.  “Nate.  It’s been forty seven years.  She just wants to have dinner.  You can’t still be angry at her for what your mother did.”

Nate resumed walking towards the Archway.  He kept his fists in his pockets the whole way.  Miranda hurried to catch up with her taller husband’s stride.  “At least consider it?” she asked.  She settled for the gruff ‘fine’ she received, and decided to change the subject.  “So…who is this MacMillan?”

“Trainer in the Primaris office who likes to send unprepared students up against senior instructors with lower Assignment ratings.  We bet lunches over it sometimes,” Nate explained, his temper easing.  The two discussed work until reaching the gateway to the more welcoming parts of the Palace, where they parted ways; her back to the Tower and Nate to the garage.

As soon as his wife was out of earshot, Nate’s mind drifted.  Away from the green-walled City, away from the gilded Palace to the north, away from the kind words and unfathomable complexity of his wife.  His mind went to Europa, a lovely childhood cut short, and a pair of bitter, cynical, cruel nobles.


Miranda sat at the very peak of the Whispering Tower, listening to the vague sounds from the walls.  The Whispering Tower – aptly named – was the core of the psychic antenna that was the Telepathic Temple of Earth, and there was nothing else like it outside the Craftworlds.  It was so large that there was room for four separate libraries through its huge structure.  One of them was hers and her father’s, and it was a tiny speck compared to the huge Chamber of Thoughts, the Great Dream Library, or the Code Room.

Still, it was home away from home for her.  As she had gained refinement and control over her abilities, she had come to enjoy her time there.  The little room was filled with mismatched furniture, of wildly varying sizes and themes.  Some were for Magnus’ size, others were for her petite 5’10” frame, and others were sturdier, so that armored Custodes and Marines could sit comfortably.

At the moment, she was curled up in a bean bag chair she had stashed in one corner, sipping a cream tea, and trying not to think about her husband’s abusive family.  She let her mind walk through the pathways of the psy-reactive structure, casually eavesdropping on various telepath messages.  Here was a picture of a starmap someone wanted sent to the Navy outpost at Cyprya.  Here was a joyous message of a successful breach birth sent to an anxious father, far away on tour.  Here was a classified file – she ignored that.  Here was a sad tale of an overzealous Enforcer who had blundered into a drug deal and gotten lynched for his trouble.

All the words of the messages from that day filtered through the walls around her and pressed against her thoughts.  She had found it frightening when Magnus had brought her here first, but now it helped her focus.

So she said, anyway.  At that moment, absolute silence couldn’t have helped her focus.  She sighed and picked up a slate, trying to force her way through it.  The Sisters of Silence were practically begging for an expansion of the Blackships’ escorts through Cahrdammzog.  Well, obviously.  What would happen if an Ork Warboss managed to capture and enslave a ship with thousands of psychic human children in it?  She granted the request and sent the form to the Palace for Roboute’s signature; that region of space was his jurisdiction.

She set the slate down and wormed her way into the bean bag chair, a fond relic of her college dorm, and the one addition to the furniture she had made.  Magnus had bought the rest of his own volition.  She sipped at her tea and allowed herself to address the elephant in the room: Nate’s family.

He had been born on Europa, the eldest child of the Romanvene noble family.  They ruled one of the floating cities that drifted across the odorous seas of that moon, and as far as the rest of the planet knew, they were gregarious but unremarkable nobles.  They were also, as a far more select group knew, cruel and insular, prejudicial, and bitterly racist.  This, of course, was not the face they showed the public.  Nate knew it all too well.  After all, the family had voluntarily disowned him before the Black Ships had come to harvest him with rest of the Sol System’s psykers.

Miranda sighed into her teacup as she remembered when Nate had finally opened up to her about his past.  They had met in college, where Nate had been laboriously working through a two-year degree in psychology, and she had been breezing through a four-year degree in the same.  The two psychics had fallen quickly, thanks to the insights into each other’s minds that their powers allowed.  They had married almost immediately, to Miranda’s parents’ concern, but it had been a wise move.  The Emperor had grown to like the boy, and accepted him into the small, elite circle of the immortal grandsons straightaway.

Nate’s outlook on life was a product of the upbringing he had lost.  Scorned by his family for his psychic talent, equipped with mere psybernetic implants rather than Sanctioned due to the (then) paucity of his raw power, and essentially kicked to the curb by the Astra Telepathica because he was no threat to anyone, it would have been reasonable to assume that he’d have a long pessimistic streak.  In reality, he had embraced his lot in life, taking to working during the day and studying at night, applying for every scrap of scholarship money he could find.  His outlook had been positive despite everything, which had gone a long way in drawing Miranda to him.  She had sensed the trained psychic walk into the bar she had been patronizing and spun in her seat to see him staring straight back at her with eyes wide.

The moneyed life into which he had married was familiar enough that the only obstacle had been her bizarre family.  Magnus’ surprise and disappointment at the haste with which she had married had faded as Nate took the time to get to know him personally, though.  His own family, however…

She stood, slowly walking up to the window of her library.  The rising sun shone from the distant hive structures beneath the Himalayas, but the windows polarized to compensate.  Miranda looked into her own reflection, trying to find an answer to Nate’s problems.  Unsurprisingly, none emerged.  Her own family adored her.  Nate’s reviled him.

The vox built into her table beeped.  She answered without looking, pressing the switch with a thought.  “Miranda.”

“Miranda, it’s Garret,” her best friend outside the Family said.  She turned at that point.

“Garret!  How’s things?”

“I was calling to RSVP for tonight, if we’re on,” Garret said.  The much older man was one of the serfs who served Magnus’ office on Prospero and had transferred to Terra after the Crusade.  He had taken something of a mentorship to Miranda in her youth, and was one of Nate’s confidants.

“We are,” Miranda confirmed.  “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Of course, Miranda, I look forward to seeing you.  What’s on the menu?”

“Home-made pierogies and sausage, actually,” Miranda said.

“Exquisite.  See you then.  Goodbye.”

“Bye.”  Miranda cut the channel and turned back to her musing, but answers were as unforthcoming as they had been before.


Nate sat down at the little table in his own study in the home he and Miranda had built in the peaceful retirement quarter of Cordoma.  The idea behind building a home for a young couple in the retirement quarter was as much derived from the peace and quiet they would enjoy as it was the perceived increase in security.  There are few geriatric homebreakers.

The Prince paged through the book on the table before him, thinking about his youth.  The book was full of the few mementos he had salvaged of that part of his life; press clippings and holopicts that included him, a few report cards from his tutors.  The last entry in the book was the positive psy-active test result from his doctor.  He had smuggled the original off of Europa with the Sister of Silence that had come for him, minutes after leaving a copy behind with the Arbites.  Why he had been driven to such an act was no mystery: he had come to loathe his parents very quickly.  In the span of a few days, they had gone from regarding him as a prodigy and lucky star of the family to an abhuman – subhuman? – mutant, unfit to live.  He had been just old enough to recognize the inherent unfairness of such a claim.  He retorted to his enraged parents that Malcador himself was a psychic, as were at least two Primarchs, the Emperor himself, and fully every one of the Navigators in the family’s service.

That argument had gained little tread in his parents’ embittered hearts, and they had unceremoniously thrown him from the building, barely pausing to give him some clothing to wear and a ration stick to eat.  Weeping and destitute, he had marched straight to the nearest Arbites Precinct and explained the entire story to an astonished Judge Arbitrator.  Starting with the unusually high luck he had displayed at card games and guessing games from the age of six to twelve, continuing with the discovery of his psychic talents, and culminating with his brutal disowning, he relayed the whole tale.

He fully expected the Judge to kill him for his ‘crime,’ but instead the lawman had summoned a Black Ship from nearby Terra, and had the boy hustled off to begin a new life.  Such as it was.

Upon reaching the age of thirteen, he was judged to be a weak Iota psyker, too frail of power to be a threat to anyone, and given stabilization psybernetics.  Even this wasn’t enough to make him worth the attention of the senior psychics of the Scholastica, and he was honorably discharged at the age of sixteen, sent off to a civilian job with a warning never to use his powers and a paltry bit of money to start afresh.

He had met Miranda some time later, and the two fell deeply in love.  “The rest, as they say, is history,” Nate muttered under his breath as he closed the scrapbook.

His younger sister Hebe had never sided with her parents.  Nor, for that matter, against them.  She had only been four years old at the time of his disowning, after all.  She had never attempted to reconcile with him, any more than his parents had.  Even when he married into the Royal Family, she had sent only a cursory message of congratulations.

In recent years, however, something seemed to have changed.  She had appeared in a documentary on the subject of children taken by the Blackships without their parents’ consent, and even though she had sided with the Sisterhood’s authority to do so, it had been a shocking move for someone from the Romanvenes to do so at all.  Later, she had included him, perhaps even by accident, on a list of recipients for a message to several hundred family members around the system, though its contents had been irrelevant to him.

Finally, less than two years before, she had been spotted in public attendance of a lecture given at a Terran theater on the subject of civilian use of Sanctioned psychic power.  While a younger, more privately cynical Nate might have suspected that she was up to something, the older and more satisfied Nate was just plain curious.

He had to arrive at that conclusion, he told himself as he filed the book away in the small house’s library.  As much as he resented his family, the jump from ‘appearing publicly interested in psychics’ to ‘asking to drop in for dinner’ was a huge one.  What did his sister want from him?

Reconciliation, perhaps?  Unlikely.  If she hadn’t felt such a desire to rejoin him to the family when he married the Emperor’s granddaughter, it wouldn’t come now.  Not when they were in their late fifties.


Miranda’s car slid to a halt outside the house.  The Princess emerged and walked in, looking around for Nate straightaway.  She found him in the kitchen, supervising the servitors making the food.  He was hands-deep in a salad himself.  “Program five, guests for tonight,” Nate was saying as he chopped up some cabbage.

“Acknowledged,” the servitor replied in its flat monotone.  Miranda stood across the island from Nate and waited for him to turn around.

“Hello,” he said over his shoulder.  “Thought I’d get some cooking done.”

“So I see.”  Miranda glanced over at where the plates were stacked.  “Only four settings.”

“Yes.”  Nate kept working the vegetables.  “Hebe’s not coming.”

Miranda sighed under her breath.  “You turned her down?”

“I haven’t.  Could you do it?  How did she contact us?” Nate asked.  “Come to think of it, how did her name appear on a list of cleared persons without my seeing…a note…” his voice trailed off.  He wiped his hands on the towel at the side of the table and slowly turned around.  “She couldn’t.  All household residents have to be informed when a name is added to the cleared access list,” he said, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“Unless I ask them not to notify you,” Miranda said, steeling herself.

Nate stared at her, his face suddenly blank as paper.  “You…told them not to notify me,” he said flatly.

“I did.”

He whipped back around, his hands tightening into fists.  “You knew I would refuse.”

“I did.”

“And…then you told me…in public, no less…the day she gets here…so I would have minimum chance to refuse,” he finished.  His teeth clenched.  “Wow.”

Miranda’s shoulders slumped.  “It was callous.  I apologize for that.  Nate…you shouldn’t hate her.  She was four when-”

“When my parents THREW ME out on the STREETS!” Nate suddenly barked.

“And look where it got you!” Miranda shot back, annoyed herself now.  “If you don’t want to have her over for food, fine, but at least reach out to her!  What could she possibly have to say?  Why would she contact you and ask for a seat at the table?”

“I don’t know,” Nate said coldly.

“Do you think she’d come to you if all she has is recrimination for you?” Miranda pressed, not shouting now, but still upset.  “Come on.  At least talk to her!”

“All right!” Nate snapped.  “Fine.  After work tomorrow, I’ll call her.”

“Why wait?  You want me to call and let her know she’s not invited, right?” Miranda pushed.

Nate glared daggers at his wife and threw the towel back on the peg.  “You just don’t know when you’re not helping, do you?” he muttered bitterly.  He snatched up the vox and stomped out before she could get in the last word.


His study was a small affair, stuffed with bookshelves.  The wood panels were some of the most expensive things in the house; he had had them imported from Prospero itself.  One of them concealed an audio dampener, which he engaged when he wanted privacy as he did now.  He sank into a chair at the desk and looked at the vox’s little screen.  Sure enough, an incoming call from one H.T. Romanvene was listed as having come the previous day.  He stared at it, steeling himself for the task, and pressed the ‘call back’ button.

He immediately hung up, before the call could even go out.  Nate’s fingers gripped the vox until he could bear it no more, and dropped it into the chair.  He rose to his feet and stared at the trophies on the walls between the bookshelves.  Knickknacks of worlds he had visited with his wife, an image of himself with the other Royal grandsons, and other collections of his younger years stared back at him.  Faint psychic whispers of his past echoed from them.  He wondered with an ironic half-smile if thinking about the past so much was healthy, given how his life had started.

Eventually, he sighed and picked the vox back up.  He punched in the number quickly so he couldn’t stop himself, then switched on the speakerphone and set it down on the desk.

It rang twice before someone answered.  “Hello?” a male voice asked.

“Hello,” Nate said, someone put off his anger by the unexpected voice.  “Is Hebe there?”

The tone of the reply was pure boredom.  “What is your business with mistress Romanvene?”

Nate glared at the vox.  “She knows this number.”

A few moments of scuffling sounds followed that.  Nate heard the sounds of people and music in the background.  A shopping complex?

“Hello?  This is Lady Hebe,” a new, female voice asked.

Nate squared his shoulders.  This was it.  “Hebe.  It’s Nathaniel.  Nate.

The sounds of footsteps on the far side died down.  “Oh…yes.  Hello,” Hebe said.  Her voice lost a fraction of its aristocratic edge.  “I…hello, yes.”

“Hard to say hello after forty seven years, isn’t it?” Nate asked.

“Yes, it is.”  The sounds of activity beyond faded further.  She must have sat down somewhere secluded.

“I…understand you spoke with my wife, sometime last night,” Nate said, searching for a thread.

“Yes, I wanted her to know that I was here, and…I guess…” she trailed off.  “I don’t know.”

“And Miranda extended an invitation to dine with us tonight,” Nate supplied.

“She did.”  Hebe paused before continuing.  “I…think I sent a congratulations when you married into the Royal Family,” she said.

“You did, we got it.”  Nate tapped his chin, remembering the surprise he had felt.  “What did Mother and Father think of that?”

“All they really knew was what they read in the news, you understand,” his sister replied.  “They thought it was someone else, at first.  They thought you were on Terra, still.”

Nate blinked.  They had kept track of him?  “Why?  Did they have me watched, or something?

“No, they just thought that was where you were.”  Hebe coughed lightly, probably to buy time to think.  “So…may I assume that this call isn’t purely social?”

“I suppose, in an absolute sense, it is,” Nate said.  “We won’t be having you over tonight.”

Silence greeted his words.  “I understand.”

“I will be meeting you,” Nate said abruptly.  “Pick a spot.  Or ask me to, it’s not a trouble.  I know the city.”

“Nathaniel?”

“It’s been forty seven years, and you were four,” Nate said briskly.  “We should talk.  But not in front of my wife and her friends.  Somewhere private.  Neutral.”

“I…very well,” Hebe said, feeling a bit whiplashed.  “Er, I’m in a city called New Arks.”

“I’m in a city called Cordoma,” Nate said.  “By gravity shuttle it’s half an hour.  There’s a city called Azor between us.  There’s a restaurant there, Calie’s.  We’ll meet there at…say nineteen thirty local.”

“Very well, I’ll…I’ll find it.  See you there, then.”

“Yes, goodbye.”  Nate thumbed off the vox and dropped it into his pocket, feeling much older.


Outside, Miranda was finishing up his salad when he returned.  He dropped the vox into the cradle and sat down at the kitchen table without a word.

Miranda looked up at him.  Her third eye – the metaphorical one – could see exhaustion in him.  From the fight earlier, from the conversation now, and all that had happened between.  She could also, however, see an ember of resentment from her behavior.

She looked back down at the food and tucked one lock of red behind her ear.  “Do you know how hard it was to keep it quiet all night?” she joked.  Sleeping with a mind reader has its drawbacks.

His glare informed her that that had been the wrong thing to say.  “It was childish, Miranda.”

Miranda hesitated, then conceded.  “It was.  I’m sorry.  I stand by the outcome.”

“That she’d be meeting me in neutral ground?” Nate asked.

She nodded.  “How did you know?” Nate asked, then held up a hand.  “Alpha plus.  Right.”

“Well, forgive me my intrusion,” Miranda said contritely.  “I’ll set three tonight.”

“Yeah.”  Nate looked up at the clock.  He had about sixteen minutes before he had to leave.  “Well.  I should get dressed.”



Hebe stared at the restaurant her brother had chosen.  It was a dive.  “Why in the world would a member of either the Romanvene or Imperial families come here?” she asked aloud.

Her manservant Serge looked around.  “Perhaps this isn’t the right place?  Shall I check the map again?”

“Please do,” Hebe said, nervously glancing at the mobs of tourists and commoners around her.


Several blocks away, Nate’s car slid into a private garage he had called.  For a member of the Royal family, getting a place there was no trouble.  He slid his sunglasses over his face, damped his psybernetics with a thought, and emerged from the garage into the little street beyond.  Walking towards the restaurant at a quick pace, he kept his eyes open.  His guards were nearby; he could sense five Beehives within two hundred paces at least.  Beyond that, his senses were no shaper than anyone else’s.  He could, however, also sense two Treasury shadows around too.  Nate belatedly recalled that his guard shift was training some new guys.  At least they wouldn’t follow him into the restaurant.

Ahead, he spotted a woman in aristocratic clothes and a well-dressed man beside her.  The woman was in her forties, while the man looked barely older than twenty and was built like a volleyball player.  That had to be Hebe and her sidekick.  Nate diverted to the other side of the street and walked up behind them in silence.

“I mean, why would he pick this place of all restaurants?  Nothing classier on Terra than this?  He’s royalty now, we could have gone to the Palace!” the woman complained.

Nate spoke up.  “And be seen in Royal company?”

Both others turned to see him standing there.  He had chosen up-style clothes for the occasion, in the sort of understated dress a modern noble of the Sol System might wear if they grew weary of ostentation.  His sister looked a thousand years old, to his surprise.  She had clearly decided to eschew juvenats.  Grey lined her hair, and wisdom cracks gathered at the corners of her eyes as well.  Her associate’s belt was covered in all manner of gadgetry; no doubt it was assigned to her scheduling.

“Oh…er, hello, Nathaniel,” Hebe said.  “It’s…been too long.”

“It has.”  Nate glanced at her companion.

Hebe took the hint.  “This is Serge, my secretary.”

Nate extended a hand in the routine of greeting that had been burned into his mind since the age of three.  “Nathaniel Romanvene.”

The man bowed over his hand before taking it.  “Prince Nathaniel, a pleasure.  Serge Antonius.  I am your cousin.”

Nathaniel started.  He squinted, looking for a resemblance.

“Well, first cousin once removed would be more appropriate,” Hebe corrected.  “I’m giving the lad a taste of life in the main branch of the family.”

“Ah.  So your great grandparent is my grandparent,” Nate said.

“Indeed, sir.  Specifically, Lord Apollo of the Io branch,” the young man said.

“Mm.”  Nate fished around in his pocket for a money card and found one for a few hundred credits.  “Do me a favor, Serge.  Go find yourself a place to dine and keep the change.  Call it delayed birthday presents.”  He passed the boy the money and jerked his head at the restaurant.  “My sister and I need to catch up.”

The boy stared, but slowly took the money.  “Er…very well, sir.”

Nate walked towards the dingy building with his surprised sister in tow, leaving the younger scion of the family staring.  “Ever been to Terra before?” he asked Hebe.

“Well, a few times when I was much younger,” Hebe said, puffing in his wake.  He pushed the door opened and smiled at the familiar surroundings.

“I guarantee you’ve never been here,” he said.  “Miranda and I met in this place, nearly…wow.  Thirty four years, it’s been.”

“You met at such a young age?” Hebe asked, wrinkling her nose at the strange décor.  The room was filled with random-seeming little collections of tables and hanging lights, a few small island bars with rings of stools around them, and booths on the walls with privacy screens.  “And…in this place?”  It was no Imperial Restaurant, that was for sure.

“Yes.  The college we attended was quite near, after all, and I felt like debauchery,” Nate said, enjoying the burst of nostalgia.  The pure, unprecedented rush of joy when he had first seen Miranda…  “Anyway.”  He approached a hostess.  “One shielded booth, please.”

“Absolutely, sir,” the hostess said, and lead them to a booth with a flickering holoscreen over the seats.  From the outside, it looked empty.  As she pressed a button on the back of one of the chairs, a light overhead turned red.  “I’ll be by in a moment with your orders.”

“Thanks,” Nate said.  He shucked his coat and hung it on the peg behind the seat.  As he sat, he scanned the crowd.  Nobody he knew, no reporters, no visible security.  Good.

“Dare I ask why someone in college would want to dine invisibly?” Hebe asked, looking at the surface of the table askance.  She gingerly touched it, and found it clean.

“Privacy.  Nothing else,” Nate said.  He pushed them menu aside without opening it.  “I took the liberty of calling ahead and ordering for us.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”  The waitress walked up to the table and waited for him to lower the holo.  “Thought you’d approve.”

The waitress deposited two plates of steaming Europan gene-crabs.  “Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” Nate said for them both.  He turned the holo back on as she walked away and cracked a crab open.  “Home sweet home, eh?”

His sister started on her side salad.  “Hmm.  Do you really think of Europa as home?”

“Not once since they did it.”  Nate spooned butter onto his crustacean.  “So.  What did you want to talk about?”

Hebe stared into her food.  “Well.  I guess…we probably both have questions for each other,” she started.  “I…well.  You know about our brother?”

Nate choked on his food.  He swallowed the half-chewed crab in his mouth with a major effort and stared across the booth.  “I…what the hell?”

Hebe shook her head.  “Mother and Father had a third child after you left, Nate.  Mother was pregnant when you were being sent away.  A boy.  His name is Zander.”

A sense of disconnection and overwhelming surprise slammed into Nate like the waves at the edge of the massive floating hive he had once been in line to rule.  He slumped back in his seat, passing a hand over his eyes as he struggled to take it in.  “I…I have a brother.”

His sister – middle sibling! – nodded.  “He’s the new heir to the Romanvene family, in fact.”

“They bypassed you?” Nate asked automatically.

Hebe’s aristocratic air didn’t allow a shrug, so she gave an eloquent roll of the eyes instead.  “He’s so smart and charismatic, though, it was an easy decision for them to make,” she said.

Nate stared at her for several long seconds before gingerly resuming his eating.  “I don’t know what to say.  Why didn’t he accompany you?”

“He’s so busy with the family that he couldn’t find time,” Hebe said.

“Perhaps I should drop in on him,” Nate joked darkly.  “Wonder if he even knows I exist.”

“Oh, he does,” Hebe said.  “We all do.  You married a Princess.  A Lady Primarch, no less.”

“For love, despite everything,” Nate said.  “That may surprise you.”

“Why would love surprise me?”

“I know Mother and Father would have thought I’d marry high for station, try to get back what they stole from me,” he said bitterly.

Hebe glared.  “How would you know what they thought?”

Nate looked up to return the glare.  “I knew them for twelve years, Hebe.  That was enough for them, by all accounts.”  He set down a crab shell and leaned back in his seat.  “What did they tell you?  When they disowned me?  That it was all my fault?”

Hebe fidgeted.  “Not in so many words, but…yes.”

Nate scoffed in disgust.  “Arrogant swine.  Like I can help that I was born with a mutation?  It’s a random thing.”

“It’s not,” Hebe insisted.  “You know how it works?”

“What?  Being a mutant?”

“No.  Genetics,” Hebe said.  “I looked it up.  You get your genes from your parents.  Mother was a latent carrier of the psy-gene.”

Nate nodded.  “I know.  I had myself tested at the Scholastica.  The psychic allele – it’s not just one gene – was partially activated by a hormone from the X chromosome.  I got it from Mother.”

“She was terrified that Zander would be psychic too,” Hebe recalled.  “Me, as well.  We’re not.”

“Well, all right then.  I suppose it’s good that they didn’t make you suffer too,” Nate said blankly.

Hebe tried again to glare at him.  This time, it slid off his indifference like oil over steel.  “Nathaniel, they were afraid.”

“But not justifiably!” Nate snapped.  “I was twelve!  I would have gone willingly if they had just given me the chance!  But oh, no, that would have deprived them of the chance to enjoy disinheriting me in person!”

“They didn’t enjoy it!”

“Didn’t seem to be hesitating, either,” Nate retorted.

Hebe impaled a crab leg like it was a recalcitrant underling.  “Look, I won’t say it wasn’t cruel, but what if you had been a channel for psychic devastation, like had happened so many times before?”

“There was a Black Ship IN ORBIT!” Nate exploded.  “They couldn’t place a call?  They couldn’t ask the Sisterhood for a moment of their time?”

Hebe looked away.  “They’re very insular and traditionalist people, Nathaniel.”

Nate’s face was ice.  “And horrible parents.”

“Nathaniel!  I don’t…” Hebe trailed off as Nate tore into his crab.  “I didn’t track you down after all this time solely to talk to you about the tiny parts of our lives that overlap,” she finally said.

Nate paused his voracious eating for a moment to consider that.  He was struck by the accuracy of the point.  “That’s…”  He set down the crab leg.  “That’s entirely fair.”  He slowly resumed eating as she did the same.  “So…what else is new?” he asked blandly.

She scoffed.  “Well, there’s quite a bit of upset back home right now anyway.”

“Oh?”

“The old social houses are jockeying for position.  Lots of arranged marriages, it’s quite distasteful.  I never married, myself,” Hebe said airily.

Nate nodded.  “Miranda and I decided not to have kids, at least not for a long time.”

His sister raised an eyebrow.  “Did you?”

He sighed into his crab, feeling the fires of anger fade a bit.  “I think we’d do well, but…  Anyway.  We have several wonderful nieces and nephews to care for and be with, and I have my students, and Miranda has her students, and we’re all right.”  He dripped some crab in imported Totnis garlic butter and chewed.  “The others who have kids let them over as often as possible.”

The waitress stopped to pick up empty plates, and Hebe took the opportunity to change the subject.  “My own status in the family is declining as well, truth be told.”

“Because you appeared in that documentary?” Nate asked pointedly.

Hebe scoffed again.  “Oh, nobody cares about that.  I mean that the political negotiation between branches of the family for heir status over the cities is tumultuous.  Uncouth.”

The vaguest thread of an idea was forming in Nate’s mind as he heard that.  It didn’t coalesce from his intuition immediately, but he could feel it.  Perhaps he was just tired.  The whiplash of the revelatory and emotional meal was draining.  “Unfortunate.  Who’s coming out on top?”

“Our brother, Zander,” she said in a patient tone he found vaguely annoying.  How was he to have known?  He worked on a higher scale of politics now.  “He has Father’s support.  Mother keeps her own counsel.”

He grimaced as memories of the aristocratic life filtered back to him.  He had buried that in a dark place.


Hebe looked over at her older brother from behind an aristocratic mask.  So far, he had been a curious mix of things she had expected and things that had surprised her utterly.  He hadn’t lost even a scrap of his noble bearing, even as he dug into a plate of crab meat, surrounded by commoners.  He was also dressed like a mere merchant lord instead of a member of the Emperor’s family, and filled with loathing she had hoped he would have forgotten.

The only thing she had been worried about before had been the man’s psychic abilities.  As of yet, he hadn’t shown them.  Perhaps that was what the little silver lines on his right cheek were?  Psychic implants, or something?  Who knew.  As long as she was careful, it wouldn’t be a problem.  Decades of negotiating inner family turmoil had made her a skilled dissembler.


Nate felt the faintest sense of recall again as they turned to their personal lives.  He wasn’t done with his parents’ misbehavior, of course, but it could wait.  He was immortal, and they weren’t.

“I work in the City of Sight,” he explained.  “Technically I’m a liaison between the Skitarii and the Astra Telepathica.  They take care of themselves out there, though, so I spend much of my time with the younger students.  Teaching them how not to make asses of themselves.”

“That must be challenging,” Hebe said.

“Not as much as you’d think.”  He stirred his drink in his hands as he thought.  “Really, my favorite part of that job is working with the techpriests to coordinate the dispatch of Astropaths to the Mars temples.  They need them, too, but they’re always haggling, always negotiating.  It’s interesting.”

“I imagine.”  The crowd outside the booth started to disperse as the hour grew late.  Hebe sensed the time to make her ploy approaching.  “Nathaniel, do you ever think of returning to the Family of your own accord?  Not asking for forgiveness, just coming back and stating your case?”

The glass in Nate’s hand cracked.  Hebe’s head jerked around at the sound.  Very slowly, Nate raised his head.  Hebe caught his stare and flinched.  Where he had been icy before, now his eyes were like two cauldrons of seething plasma.

“Did…you say…forgiveness?” he hissed.  He set the glass down.  Very carefully.  “Did you say forgiveness?”

“I don’t think you need it!” Hebe said hastily.  “Just that Father would!  And Mother would!  They don’t understand!”

“Then why would I approach them at ALL?” Nate barked.  “They’ve had FORTY years to get it right!  If they’re too stupid and proud to speak to their firstborn after forty years, then what POSSIBLE reason would I have to approach them now?!”

“Because they won’t!” Hebe said with no small amount of real desperation.  If this didn’t work…  “Because they are proud!  Because they are arrogant and elitist!  And because you can be better!”

“I don’t need to see them firsthand to know that I’m better than them,” Nate growled.  “Look at me!  They were handed their power on a silver plate, and I earned mine through wisdom, perseverance, and will!  And I, by the way, don’t find psychic power repugnant!”

“But did you?  When you were small, and you were raised like I was and like they were?  Did you think it was repugnant until you saw it firsthand?” Hebe pressed.

Nate caught himself.  Self-recognition gripped his throat.  “…Yes.”

“Then show them what you showed me!” Hebe insisted, trying to suppress her triumph.  This could actually work out better than she had planned.  “Go back to Europa and show them!  See them!”

The immortal psychic slumped in his chair, fuming.  Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him to extend the olive branch.  The darkest part of his married life had been overcoming the urge to use his power to toy with his parents, it was true.  But reconciliation wasn’t worth his time, was it?  What did he stand to gain?


Hebe held her breath, realized she was doing it, and let it out.  She decided to press while she had the initiative.  “Look, Nathaniel, I can’t tell you what to do.  But…as far as Mother and Father are concerned, they only have one son.  Would it really be so bad to remind them that they have two?”

He looked away from her.  She was gambling on this, she knew, her support in the family could wane even further if he was seen as overly influenced by the Emperor or Magnus, but if he backed her…


Nate closed his eyes in the chair and let his mind churn.  This had to happen.  He knew that.  What had he expected?  Open arms?  He ground his hands over his eyes and winced as one finger snagged on his psybernetic implant on his cheek.  It was supposed to be level with his skin.  He would have to have it adjusted soon.

That thought kicked off a new train of logic.  Didn’t he only have his sister’s word that the family would be open to him?  In fact, had she said any such thing?

He opened his eyes again and slowly leaned forward.  He crossed his arms over the table in front of him and stared at Hebe.  “What would I gain?”

“Gain?”

“If I went to talk to them?” he pressed.  “I have a loving family now.  A far higher station.  A job I love.  What would I gain?”

Hebe hesitated.  “Closure, I suppose.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Would they even see me?  They locked the door behind me, I recall.”

“If a member of the Imperial family drops in on someone, they get noticed,” Hebe reminded him.  “Especially if it’s public.”

Nate snorted.  “They threw me out in public.  Would a public return work as well?”


Hebe’s heart leaped.  He was actually going to do it?  After one meeting?  She had expected weeks of cajoling!  “I think it might,” she said, pretending to give the matter some thought.

His narrowed eyes widened.  “What do you mean?” he asked, apparently surprised.

“Well, if you return in public, given how long you’ve been away, it wouldn’t be seen as supporting one side or the other in the family’s power struggle,” Hebe lied.  She would make sure the right people knew it was her idea.

Nathaniel’s hands squeezed his elbows.  “And you?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think I should do?” he asked.

“Well, I think you should do it, if only to put it behind you,” she said.  “It needn’t be a millstone around your neck.”  She was going to say more, but then she saw a peculiar gleam in his eye, and this was a real one, not a trick of his mood like before.  His mouth suddenly clenched into a curved line, and he shot to his feet, nearly dislodging the table as he stood.  He dropped a small-denomination money card on the table.

“Don’t leave Terra,” he growled, and then he was out the door before she could react.

She stared at the door, as did everyone else in the room.  What had just happened?  What had she said?


Outside, Serge was fidgeting.  He had eaten, very quickly, and now he was waiting.  Commoners flowed around him like leaves on the surface of a river flowing around a pillar, and still no sign of – 

WHAM.  The doors to the restaurant flew open, and Prince Nathaniel stormed out.  He marched straight up to the shorter man with flames in his eyes.  “Serge,” he ground out, drawing the eyes of everyone around him.

Serge took a step back.  “Y-yes, sir?”

“What’s your training?” Nate bit off.

“My…”

“Your schooling, boy, your education!” Nate snapped.

“Er, I am a graduate of Clementine Academy,” Serge managed, naming a prestigious Europa liberal arts college.  “Business and history.”

“Then leave the family while you still can and find HONEST work,” Nate rumbled.  His fists were clenched.  “They have no future, no soul, and no place in the Imperium.”  He nearly slammed a small piece of paper into the boy’s hands and stomped down the street.

Serge watched him go, bewildered.  Hebe slowly emerged from the restaurant, looking haunted.  She started off to where he had parked her car without any explanation.  Serge struggled along behind her and caught up.  “Ma’am, what happened?” he asked, breathless.

“I have no idea,” she said quietly.


Nate didn’t get hot when he was mad, not for long.  He wasn’t like Thangir, who got territorial when angered, or Mike, who grew imperious, or Jake, who grew self-loathing, or Armin, who got wrathful.  When Nate got mad, he went cold.

He slid into the seat of his car and started it up, employing his rarely-used Royal Family codes to prioritize his vehicle in the local traffic grid.  It lifted, and moments later his escort arrived too.  He clicked on the autopilot and sat back in the seat, crossing his arms again.  He thought back to those last few moments, and his lips curled in another bitter frown.  He hadn’t been mistaken.  He knew what he had felt.

His damnably intermittent psychic senses had taken a while to clue him in.  The stirrings of memory he had been feeling were his psy-senses trying to tell him something.  Locked in the clarity of dichotomy – did he go back, or not – they had crystalized.  Hebe’s surface thoughts vanished.  Beneath had been one, single purpose: revenge.  It had surprised him, at first.  What had he done to her?  She had been four when they parted ways.

Then it had hit him.  The patronizing tone in her voice when she discussed the new sibling in the family, the way she had poached some idealistic younger family member to keep him out of the way, the condescending note after the wedding, the sighting at the lecture…and of course her emphasis that his return to Europa wouldn’t be a big deal when it obviously would.

She wasn’t after vengeance towards HIM.  She was using him to get a leg up over Zander in the race to claim the Romanvene throne.  Something that should have belonged to her after he, Nate, had left…but no longer did, because she had been seen as supporting reconciliation by appearing in that stupid documentary.

His confusion had vanished.  A misleading couple of questions later, and her soul was laid bare.  Her little plot, just as he had speculated.

Now, the boy, Serge, was probably on his way to something better, his sister was stymied, and the only thing left to do was find a bit of vengeance of his own.


Miranda waved goodbye as Petra’s car vanished into the night sky.  She glanced up and smiled as the faint psychic beacon of her husband appeared at a distance.  She settled against the frame of the door and watched his flame approach.

As it did, however, her smile faded.  His mind was a cloud of anger.  That had been her worst-case prediction.  As he landed, she steeled herself for whatever emerged.

Nate unfolded his long legs from the luxurious car and walked up to her.  Stopping to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek, he walked past her into the house.  “Hey.”

She turned to watch him, feeling mightily apprehensive.  “Hello.”

“So my sister’s an evil monster, it seems,” Nate said conversationally, reaching into the refrigerator for a popsicle.  “She wanted me to go back to Europa to back her for Lady Governor.”

Miranda jerked her head back in pure shock.  “W…what?  That’s insane!”

“Welcome aboard the Royal Imperial Navy vessel Crazy, destination Romanvene gene pool,” Nate said bitterly.  “My entire family’s either so bigoted the world takes on different colors in their eyes, or so selfish that they’d fly to other planets just to annoy me.”

Miranda hung her head.  “I’m sorry, Nate.”

“For trying to get us back together?” Nate asked, in a studiously level tone.

Her voice was small and tired when next she spoke.  “For not trusting you.”  He glanced back to see her staring at the floor.  “You said that they were completely insane, and I thought you were exaggerating.”  She looked up again, downcast.  “Sorry.”

Nate, as a general rule, found it nearly impossible to stay angry at Miranda for any meaningful length of time.  This time was no exception.  Still, even as his anger lessened, a nugget of resentment remained.  “Well, you had only the best of intentions,” he said tiredly.  “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I promise.”  Miranda hugged Nate from behind, all contrition.  “Will you be alright?”

“Much better than she’s going to be,” Nate said darkly.  Miranda frowned and stepped back.

“Nate, you’re well within your rights to be angry, but don’t go looking for a fight.”

He glared at her over his shoulder as his resentment flared.  “Miranda, I haven’t spoken to her in forty-plus years.  She came looking for me!”

“Be the better man and let her go, Nate,” Miranda counseled.  “She’s not worth it.”

“Worth…I’m sorry, Miranda, worth what?” Nate asked levelly.

“Worth your attention.  She’s beneath you,” Miranda said quietly.  She was sad, deeply, at the thought.  She couldn’t imagine hating her cousins any more now than she could two days before.

Nate closed his eyes and forced his fingers’ death grip on the popsicle – his one vice – to relax.  The idea of allowing his family to get away with trying to toy with him was repugnant.  How could he allow it?  Could he allow it at all?

“Look, I know you’ll have no trouble believing this, but I know what you’re thinking,” Miranda said, which at least drew a silent chuckle.  “But just like she had no business dragging you into Romanvene family politics, you have no business dragging me in either.  And I will be, if you pull a string to inconvenience her.”  She looked away.  “I’ll always be there if you need me, Nate, but I won’t be an accomplice.”

And there it was.  Nate’s revenge, if exacted through the Family, would hurt Miranda’s reputation and public image.  Was punishing Hebe worth that?

He dropped the stick in the trash and sank into a chair in the kitchen, staring bitterly at the table.  What the hell was he supposed to do now?


Hebe paced in her cabin.  The little family shuttle was about all she had left, now that her status in the Romanvene hierarchy was eroding.  Serge was in his own cabin, trying to figure out whether they had clearance to leave.  Her brother’s warning not to leave Terra was something she could scoff at, surely, except that if it had been given under the authority of the Royal Family, she could get the vessel impounded.  Had it been?  Things had been so casual until that happened.  What was he up to?  Come to think of it, what had made him storm off like that?  What had she said?  Not a piece of this made sense.

The cabin door slipped open.  Serge stuck his head in.  “Ma’am, we’ve received clearance to depart.”  The youth shuffled his feet.  “Do you think…”

“Go,” Hebe snapped.  “We’re leaving now, before something changes.”


Nate glanced over his slate, head hung low.  The bright lights of the kitchen glared off of the screen, damn it.  He needed a matte screen.

Sure enough, his sister’s ship was leaving.  She sure hadn’t waited.  At least that confirmed her objective didn’t involve his well-being.

He dropped the slate on the table and stormed off.  Miranda looked away as she felt him walk out of the house.  Her senses as a psychic and wife alike said how much he needed alone time.  Or at least, needed a new perspective.  She suspected that he was on his way to gain just that.


In his car, Nate tapped a few keys on the panel beside the air controls.  A few moments of introspective grumpiness later, a screen lit, and a list of names appeared in glittering silver letters on his dash.  He selected two and spoke.  “Julius, my friend, are you free tonight?”

The little vox was silent for a moment, before a voice on the other side responded.  “Of course, Nate, what’s happening?” asked a clipped voice.

The lights of the cityscape beneath cast shadows over Nate’s face.  “I just had one of the worst days of my entire life, and I need to become more drunk and less morose, quickly,” he ground out.  “And grab Thangir if he’s on-planet.”

“He’s not, but I can meet you somewhere,” Julius said.  “You have a preference?”

“Someplace we won’t be recognized.”


Julius craned his head back and stared at the façade of the bar he had picked.  The Toledan Publican.  At least it rhymed.

Nate appeared behind him, hands shoved in his pockets.  He was still in his noble clothes, which wouldn’t lend themselves to hiding his identity…though, they were in a rich district.

“Thanks for coming,” Nate muttered.  “I needed someone to talk to.”

“Of course.”  Julius held the door open for his friend, who shouldered past him into the bustling pub.  Julius’ eyes narrowed at the unintentional snub.  His friend’s mind was dark.  “So what happened?”

“Get me smashed first,” Nate grumbled.  Julius nodded.

As the two men walked into the riotously loud pub, Nate angled straight for the bar, pawing at his pocket.  He slapped some money on the counter when the barkeep caught his eye.  “Four Iblis Triggers and a screwdriver.  I have my own lighter.”

“How courageous,” the barkeep said, chuckling as he produced the ingredients.  “You want a tab?”

“Sure.  Open it for…Zander,” Nate said.  At least his mysterious brother would be good for something.

“You got it, pal.”  The bartender started pouring the drinks while Julius grabbed a booth for the two of them.  This place didn’t have a holoscreen to use, but it was dark in the corners, and most attention was directed around the billiards and pool tables.  It would do.

Julius scanned the crowd, an instinct that military life had left firmly ingrained in him.  There was nothing more dangerous here than a group of revelers.  Then, he’d seen those turn deadly.

He forced himself to return his attention to the night.  His friend needed him.  From the look on Nate’s face, he’d recently fought a battle too.

The taller man slid into a seat, arms full of drinks.  Julius stared.  “Okay, the screwdriver’s for me.  Four Iblis Triggers?”

“One at a time,” Nate muttered.  He slid his lighter into the first cup and ignited the near-toxic mix of energy drink and alcohol.  With a tip of the cup at his bemused friend, he slammed the whole thing, fire and all, in a single gulp.

Julius gripped his own drink and cupped it in his hands, looking into the orange depths.  How best to approach this?  Ask for clarity?  Or just wait?

“So.”  Nate set his drink down and pocketed his lighter.  “This evening.”

Julius snorted.  No waiting, then.  “Yes?”

“The crazy thing…how much do you know of my family?” Nate asked.

His friend shrugged.  “Well, I know you’re the eldest son of the family, but I really don’t know…”

“Not my family life,” Nate cut him off.  “My actual family.  The Romanvenes.”

“Well…”  Julius paused to collect his thoughts.  “Your great-grandfather, one of them, he was one of the Emperor’s counselors.  He was appointed the leader of one of the major hive cities of Europa…after that, your family has always had a presence in the politics of the system.”

“At one point, a Romanvene was in charge of at least one major economic hub city on Io, Europa, and Ganymede,” Nate supplied.  He flicked a drop of hot sugar off of one finger.  “We’ve come a long way since then.  Discovered exciting new lows.”

Julius snorted.  “Oh dear, you only control one body in the Sol system now?”

“Oh yeah, man, we’re downright paupers these days,” Nate chuckled.  “I mean, look at us.  The family heir was disowned by his parents and shoved off to the Black Ships for being born with a psychic mutation.  It’s hard to bounce back from that.”

Julius started to laugh at the jest.  A single shiver of intuition cut the sound off before he could finish it.  As he snapped his head up to stare at Nate, he saw a mixture of sadness, morbid humor, and regret that made him think of trench warfare.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You?”

“The very same.”

Julius sat back, stunned.  “And, tonight…”

“My sister came out of the woodwork to ask me to back her for the throne.  Fifty years, and that’s what I get.”  Nate lit the second cup of pure upper and downer and slammed that one too.  “Welcome to my life.”

Julius felt his jaw tighten as Nate spoke.  “That’s…oh, Nate, my friend.”

“Good thing my car has autopilot,” Nate said quietly.  He coughed on the flames of his second drink and set down the cup.  “Help me.”


Miranda set down her book and closed her three eyes.  When she had been younger, she had hated her appearance.  Her willowy, near-androgynous body and visible mutation had put her through a lot of grief.  Unlike most bullying victims, however, she didn’t need to hear a taunt to feel it.
She was hardly the only Daughter to be mutated, of course.  Angela had her wings.  Venus had her eyes and skin.  Morticia had her illness.  And the Twins, of course, though that was arguably a beneficial mutation.  The difference was that Morticia was never around, in school at least.  Venus’ eyes and skin made her alluring as well as different, or so Miranda had felt, and clearly so had her husband.  And Angela, of course…well.  She had assets to offset her wings.  Miranda remembered boys who had temporarily lost the ability to speak when Angela smiled at them.

Miranda hadn’t had any of those things.  She had, however, had a father who utterly adored her, the most patient mother one could ever want, and a coterie of dear, close, loving sisters.  By her family’s standards, she had been somewhat alone.  On the whole, she had nothing to complain about.

She slid her book away on the table and drew her knees to her chest, scooting back on the couch.  She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared glumly across the cozy library.  This was her room, opposed to Nate’s across the hall.  Where his was all about stately wood paneling, hers was a mess of books, mismatched furniture, and holos.  Some were connected to her personal computer, some were for more general use, but all were controlled by a little remote control at her side.  They were all off.  She could never understand people who watched holos while they read.

A quiet chime from her desk announced the hour.  2200.  The boys wouldn’t be back for a while longer yet, she was sure.

Was that okay?  She was worried about her husband.  Who wouldn’t be?  But Julius was with him, and Julius was steady as a rock.


Julius finished his own drink and watched as Nate ignited his third.  “Easy on that stuff.”

Nate glared, but acquiesced.  “Yeah.”  He doused the drink with an ice cube from Julius’ empty glass and set it back on the table.  “So.  What do you think I should do?”

“Well, frankly, I think you’re right to be pissed,” Julius hedged.  “I will say, though, you had really ought to stifle that vengeful impulse-”

“I did,” Nate cut him off with a snort.

“-until you can act upon it more creatively,” Julius finished.

Nate slowly raised his head.  His eyes were as wide as teacups.  “…It’s possible that I’m very drunk, but…what did you just say?”

“Don’t act on vengeful impulses yet,” Julius repeated.  “Listen, it would be possible for you to play the better man, here, and say that you had no interest in meeting in your sister, and all that nonsense…but doesn’t your sister’s behavior imply some real political turmoil on Europa?” he asked.

“Massive,” Nate said, bewildered.  Was his disciplined, selfless brother-in-law actually proposing revenge as a viable item of diplomacy?

“So does that benefit the Royal Family?” Julius asked reasonably.  “If the leadership of a moon is in serious jeopardy, the Royal Family can step in and restore order.  The military does it with worlds that fall into unrest all the time.”

Nate winced in discomfort.  “Those are worlds embroiled in actual civil war, though.”

“Well, then, man, I don’t know,” Julius shrugged.  “The options available to you are pretty slim.  But then, that’s why you came to me, right?  And not Armin, Mike, or Jake?”

“Because I was looking for someone who could give me some experience in ruining people?” Nate said drily.  “Political subterfuge wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked for you.”

“For me, and for Thangir.”  Julius sniffed one Iblis Trigger and winced.  “How can you drink this?”

“With valorous determination.”  Nate sighed into an empty glass as his gaze drifted back down.  “Man, I was just…I don’t know.  Can I confide something in you?”

“Moreso than you have already?  Of course,” Julius replied.

Nate set the drink down and steeled himself.  “I asked you and Thangir because…I wanted to know how you two dealt with your own family shit.”

The Pius family, lacking a mother since the early days and a father for some time now, was hardly a perfect parallel for Nate’s dysfunction, of course, any more than Thangir’s having to watch as his entire family was murdered.  Still, the sentiment was clear.

Nate’s face fell as he realized, from the look of restrained displeasure on his brother-in-law’s face, that perhaps this had been as much an act of foolishness as he had been afraid.  “Nate…I’m not really comfortable discussing that,” Julius said.

The disowned Romanvene slumped in his seat.  “Then…consider it dropped.”

Julius nodded again.  “Very well.  What else did you want to talk about?”

“I suppose I’d like your opinion on what I should do from here on out, still,” Nate said, a vague slur appearing in his voice.  “I mean…this can’t go unanswered.  I know, I know, like you said, I could be the bigger man, but this…this was an act of brazen blackmail.”

The slightly younger man shrugged.  “My friend, if you didn’t represent the Royal Family with each act, I would agree.  But…you need to remember that whatever you do, Miranda will be seen to do.”

“Miranda…” Nate’s voice drifted off.  “Damn it.  She knew I would run into a roadblock here,” he muttered.  He ran one hand over his eyes.  “This…I can’t act in public, or she’ll look petulant, then?”

“Yes.  I’m sorry.”

“Ugh.”

“My friend, you need to get this solved in silence, or not at all,” Julius said, driving the point home.

“I suppose I do.”  Nate set his head in his hands and stared at the table, wracking his brain.  “Well…I can’t let this stand, either way,” he said at length.  “I mean, I can’t allow this.  They were trying to drag the Royal Family, however indirectly, into their little slapfight.  It would set a poor precedent if this were allowed to continue.”

“Well, that I will concur,” Julius allowed.  “Perhaps Magnus should weigh in.”

“You think I should tell him?” Nate inquired.

“You haven’t yet?” Julius asked, surprised.  Miranda and Magnus spoke nearly every night they were both on-planet concurrently.

“It was four hours ago, rounding up,” Nate shot back.

“All right, all right.  Absolutely tell him.  He needs to know what someone from Europa just tried to do to his family,” Julius supplied.

Nate ignited his third drink and slammed it.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  I should…well, he’s in town tomorrow.  I’ll go and meet him after his whatever.”

“What is he up to here?  I thought he was working on some project in the Prospero system.”

“He is.  He’s meeting with a few members of the Emperor’s advisors on some economic whatever to ask if he can piggyback his project on the establishment of some…trade station somewhere, hell if I know,” Nate muttered.  “When I said ‘in town,’ I mean he was on Earth.  You know.”

“The things we take for granted, eh?” Julius chuckled.  He slid his empty glass back and forth on the table and glanced at his brother-in-law.  “You really need four of those?”

Nate looked at the fourth, un-burned Iblis Trigger on the table before him.  “Fuck it,” he grunted, pushing it at Julius.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not drinking that, I just think you’ve damaged yourself enough tonight.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No.  And you may thank God for it.”

Nate stared at his friend, shocked.  After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, his head slowly sank back into his hands.  His back heaved, and Julius felt a sudden burst of guilt.  “Ah, shit, Nate, I wasn’t trying to-”

His friend waved him off, tilting his head back as he did.  His mouth was a compressed line, holding back a desperate laugh.  A tear of pure hysteria gathered in the corner of his eye as he sagged back in the seat.

Julius relaxed a fraction as Nate collapsed.  “It wasn’t that funny,” he said flatly.


Miranda glanced up at the sky through her window as she sensed her husband approaching.  His soul was still a shimmering mess of emotions, but at least the black streak of anger in him was fading.  Julius’ presence was absent, meaning that at least her husband was sober enough to remember where the autopilot controls on his car actually were.  He didn’t drink often, but when he did…

She leaned on the open frame of the door in her evening dress, trying to look more welcoming than judgmental.  As he stumbled out of his car and made his way to the door, aided by what little psychic power he could muster in his inebriated state, Miranda spoke up.

“So, do you need to jump in the shower, or the washing machine?”

“That’s funny!  It’s amusing,” Nate called back, walking up closer.  The weave in his step wasn’t particularly pronounced, luckily enough.

“I try.  Who did you meet?”

“Julius,” Nate replied.  He halted at the door as he realized Miranda wasn’t stepping aside.  “Hi.”

“Hi.”  His wife leaned forward and inspected his clothing.  Not too rumpled, not too odorous.  “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks,” Nate said, fully aware that he was under inspection.  “Do I smell too bad to use the bed tonight?” he asked flatly.

“No.  Go clean up.”  Miranda, ever the stickler for hygiene, had sent her husband from her bed precisely once: when he had been so drunk that she had foreseen him ruining the quilt in a midnight vomiting spell.  It had been an accurate prediction, though it turned out to be a section of carpet instead.

“Thanks,” he said, and she stepped aside to let him pass.

“So what did you decide regarding an appropriate reaction?” Miranda asked as her husband climbed the stairs.

“I want to let Magnus know first,” Nate said.

“Know…that you’re planning something?” she asked apprehensively.

His voice floated down the wood-paneled stairs.  “No, that someone tried to drag his family into internecine warfare on Europa, and thought we wouldn’t notice.”

“Ah, vengeance by proxy?  Dad will approve of that particular use of the Royal name,” Miranda said as she followed him up.

His footsteps paused.  “What?  No, I won’t ask him to do anything.”

“I mean, that’s what you’ll tell Dad.  That your sister was looking for vengeance by proxy,” Miranda explained.

“Ah, yeah.  The most effective of all lies: the truth,” Nate proclaimed.


As the sun rose on the endless cities and armored hive skin of Terra, Primarch Magnus set a slate down on the table before him as a group of economic advisors filtered out, arguing over facts and figures.  He filed away the information from the day’s meetings and dearly wished he were elsewhere as he did.  Some of his brothers may have been able to find such trivia interesting, but he was not they.  The relative impacts of economic expansion in the newly-conquered systems as a proportion of the post-Crusade tithe income?  Why did that need a Primarch’s signature?
He stood to go as the door closed behind the last of the bureaucrats.  The glaring light through the high windows of the conference room dimmed as the screen polarized.  It was further softened by the neatly-kept gardens outside, on the lower roofs of the Palace.  As Magnus came to his feet, a Custodian in glittering gold armor entered.

“Lord Primarch Magnus, if I may?” the warrior asked.

“Speak.”

“A guest awaits you, Lord.”

Magnus looked into the hall, and spotted the dim, steady shimmer of his son-in-law standing beyond.  “Ah, see him in.”

The Custodian bowed at, gesturing Nate in as he did.  Nate entered his wife’s father’s presence and immediately inclined his head.

“Lord Magnus.”

“Nathaniel, rise,” Magnus said, spreading his hands.  “And you needn’t bow to me.”

“Thanks, sir, but we’re in the Palace.  I wasn’t sure if we were on the record,” Nate chuckled.

“Assume we are, but that’s just Palace propaganda speaking,” Magnus rumbled.  His bass voice rattled unsecured pens on the table.  “So what do you need, son?”

Nate sank into a chair and weighed his words.  The decorative stone tabletop was hewed from stone unearthed when the Palace had been built; it was a symmetry that Rogal Dorn and the Emperor had found amusing.  The light from beyond the polarized windows suffused the stone with a faint silver glimmer.

“Well…you should know that the collection of genetic stains that call themselves the Romanvene family have reached out to me,” Nate began.  He could have made an attempt to conceal his utter contempt towards his family, but felt no need.  Concealing things from Magnus was generally fruitless.  “My sister, Hebe, visited Terra and called Miranda.”

Magnus’ psychic aura shifted colors a bit at the implications in Nate’s words.  “And what happened?”

“Miranda invited her over for a reconciliatory dinner.  Needless to say, I shot her down,” Nate sighed.  “I meant no offense to her, and none was taken, but I wasn’t ready.  I met her, alone, instead.”

His father-in-law narrowed his eye and stared.  “May I assume that things went poorly?”

Nate snorted.  “Oh, yes.  Turns out, she just wanted me to come to Europa to back her for ascendency to the throne of the hive city they rule.  They thought the Royal signature on her claim would lend it legitimacy.”

Magnus leaned forward and rested his lips against his steepled fingers.  “I see.”

“So I told her not to leave Terra and stormed off, though I rescinded that order and let her take off.  She’s halfway to Europa now,” Nate finished.  “I was all set for vengeance, but Julius talked me out of it.”

“That was wise of him,” Magnus noted.

“You’re taking this well.”

Magnus half-smiled.  “Oh, I’m angry.  I just see no way I can act.”

Nate looked back up at him.  “…But there’s some way we can?  Miranda and me?”

“No.  I do think that their assumption that the Royal Family can be so easily deceived should be countered, but realistically, how can that be done?  Make a showy, open visit to the world under false pretenses?  Chastise them publically?  Sabotage?”

Nate sighed.  “I suppose you’re right.”

“I assure you that I do not take attempts by outsiders to abuse the ties of the Royal Family passively,” Magnus reminded him.  “However…I think any overt action on your part would be precipitous.  Consider also that your sister has waited rather a long time to do this.  Might this not suggest that your parents are suffering health problems of their own?  They strike me as the sort that would eschew juvenats.”

“Oh, they are.  Purists, all the way,” Nate grumbled.  He heaved a sigh.  “Well.  Alright.  I suppose I just wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate it, Nathaniel.”  Magnus rose to his feet again and gestured to the door.  “Give my love to Miranda.”

“Of course, sir.  Thanks for helping.”


As the day drew to its end, Nate sat down in his cozy study, working on the paperwork from the Scholastica.  His teaching duties were mostly dealing with the martial and philosophical aspects of psychic power, and only rarely did he have to deal with children.  As most of his students were adults, the majority of the problematic students derived their issues from the mental instability that accompanies psychic power with such depressing frequency.

As bizarre as it was, working on such issues was a good distraction from his own troubles with his family.  If nothing else, it allowed him to help the development of Imperial psychic stability in his own way, which he had always found rewarding.

It also helped him concentrate.  By nature, he was a very focused man, who found a piece of good, challenging work welcome.  It was what had delivered him to the college he had attended, especially since he had already had a thirty-hour job on top of it.  When a group of hive scavvies had beaten him senseless on the way back from work one day, just for having been born psychic, he had dragged himself to his apartment and nearly blacked out from the pain.  All it took was the knowledge of what he had stood to lose if he hadn’t gone back to work the next day, and he was back on his feet.  When he had met Miranda, it had been that determination, she had informed him once in a private moment, that had helped draw her to him.  Surrounded by drunken kids and life-weary serving staff, the cool, icy blue of his mind had been like a gas burner in a candle store.

His determination was helping him keep his disappointment at Magnus’ words at bay, too.  That his family could escape unpunished was annoying him profoundly.

He set his stylus down and closed the last envelope on the stack.  He had finished the last grading task of the week, and had a bit of time to himself.  Nate decided that he was done thinking about the horrible parts of his family, he decided.  It was time to spend a while with the part he loved.


Miranda was leaning back in a lounge chair on the top balcony of their house, reading a slate with her bandana off, when she felt her husband’s mind approaching.  She kept an idle gaze on him as he approached, then smiled to herself when it turned playful.  He emerged on the balcony, hands in his pockets, and looked down at the slice of red hair peeking over the top of the furniture.  “Hey, what’s this?  Miranda’s home and I’m done with work,” he said, all surprise.

His wife smiled again, but didn’t take her eyes off the screen.  “Hey, how about that?”

Nate leaned forward over the back of the couch, ‘carelessly’ letting his fingers drape over the terrycloth shoulder of her robe.  She let the very, very faintest wisp of disapproval appear in her mind, and he infinitesimally nodded, message received.  He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.  “So…Miranda.”  He let his head rest against hers for a moment longer, marshalling his thoughts.  “I’ve been sort of obsessing over this thing with my family lately.  I guess I should say I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.  You’re justified.”  Miranda locked her slate and set it down on the armrest.  Nate slid over the back of the long chair and sat down beside her, and she cuddled up to his flank.  “So Dad advised restraint?”

“Not just restraint, total inaction,” Nate said dolefully.  “Hell.  Maybe he’s right.  Maybe we can’t return fire on people who take cheap shots at us.  But I feel like I’ve sort of been short-changed.”

Miranda nodded.  “Are you still?”

“Nope.”  He slid his arm around her shoulders, and her mind glowed a fuzzy, contented pink.  “Not at all.”

There was so much more to be said.  So many things they could have done.  Instead, they sat there, two eternally youthful people in love, and let time slip by for a while.

[[Eternity: Beyond]]

[[Category:Warhammer High]][[Category:Stories]]