[b]Year 4402, eighteen years before first contact[/b]

Ungodly bright, the sun beats down on the industrial wasteland, cutting through the smog, reflecting off the towering skyscrapers and smokestacks. No signs of nature here--not even weeds in the sidewalks. Riemann walks among the crowds, men and women wearing masks and carrying umbrellas, forming a canopy of suffocating vinyl. The ozone layer here is thin, in the heart of the Corporate Badlands; the only clouds spawned from factories, offering little protection from the sun's lethal rays.

He reaches his destination--a vast structure of glass and steel, reaching high into the sky like some biblical Babylonian taunt. The receptionist is a man with a prosthetic jaw who recognizes Riemann and waves him through.
The elevator takes him half a kilometer up, to a meeting room with darkened windows overlooking the launch site. At the table sits an energetic middle aged man, staring out at the rocket below--perhaps a decade younger than Riemann himself. Behind him stand two other men, both highly conspicuous. One of them wears VR goggles and a bulky coat: probably a gargoyle. The other is dressed as a modern knight, but his sword replaced with a wicked-looking firearm.

Riemann sets his briefcase on the table a meter or so away from the Sanctans, its black leather still blisteringly hot. "Afternoon Mr. Telarius."