The Amber Magpies -After the Siege of Ouran- The restoration of Ouran was progressing smoothly beneath the bold banners of the Raptor. Each passing minute, hour, and day saw fresh infrastructure pulled into existence from the slaughter of several weeks before. After the arrival of the Crimson Magpies, the docks saw a massive increase in work to accompany more of their ships for trading agreements. Colonel Markus Kaine oversaw the refit after a series of intense and befuddling negotiations with the Crimson Captain. The rest of the hive in comparison was beginning to appear like a city that was in compliance with the Imperium. Adepts of the Logisticae Adminastratus - men and women sworn to post-compliance bureaucracy - were beginning to flood in from Imperial borders. Their arrival had taken an immense load off of the Tenth Corps many, many responsibilities. Duty, however, was never done when working for the Imperium. He daydreamed of finishing his business in Ouran while travelling down the coastline of the Great Ocean. His Dracosan, the Siren’s Wolf, rumbled down the shattered asphalt-coral compound that made up the hiveway out of the city. Fifteen of his men were holed up in the vehicle with him, each in black-red trench coats and charcoal shakos with lasguns on their laps. Eerie goggle-eyed respirators with crimson lenses stared at one another as they spoke through their filters. Three other transports followed behind his own. They were all lively, finally free of parade and ceremony that had been forced on them. Markus smiled vividly remembering the call he’d gotten over the vox. It was a blissful call. Pacifican resistance had been noted further along the mega roads leading out of the city. They’d taken up residence on the coast, running parallel to Hongol. Unknown ships were detected on local auger in that relative area, but Markus had given a guess that they were Magpies. At that time, he’d beamed with delight, straightened his uniform, and congratulated Reginald by shafting his own responsibilities on his former Lieutenant’s shoulders. Markus rallied his veterans, set up in his personal command vehicle, and set off without a second thought. He feared what could’ve happened to him if he’d stayed longer with the Crimson Magpies in the bay. The Colonel shivered, reaching into his coat to touch the silver amulet for comfort. What he hadn’t expected was for a hero and his entourage to join him. Colonel Markus stared across the short cabin at the man that had won the siege of Sanctii. He’d only been a Captain at the time that word passed down from the northern theater. Markus hadn’t even realized that the Thirty-One-Third was even in Ouran. He felt an immense sense of awe for the men and women seated no further than fifteen feet away from him. They were legends. Across from the Colonel, there was a marked contrast in Imperial soldiery. John Stavin, hero of Sanctii, a title he was still getting used to, sat shoulder to shoulder with his command squad, four other men from the 31-3rd, all now uplifted from the ranks of penal servitude to proper soldiers of the Unification. That had come with benefits; namely proper uniforms, and the right to wear rank emblems and other accoutrement. That had been miserable. The 31-3rd’s remaining personnel had come from a motley mix of Urshic mercenaries, Imperial recidivists, and flat out killers whose only experience had come from extracurricular devotion. The negotiation of what their uniforms should look like ranged from full jet-black carapace armor to full on displays of military panoply, gold frogging, lace, ostrid feathers, the whole nine yards. Those debates had been worse than the siege. They had eventually settled on khaki fatigues and rockcrete-grey flak armor, proper hard plate, not the quilted, moth eaten jackets that had (barely) protected them in Sanctii. Stavin wore a pearl-white breastplate looted from the Sanctii militia who had swollen to fill his ranks after the siege, grateful to be liberated from the autocratic rule of the city-state’s thinking AI. He still, however, wore his tattered flap-eared cap, with his colonel’s insignia riveted to the front. Some things never changed. Next to him, in her austere leather coat, was Augusta Severina, the former discipline officer, now second in command, who of the lot of them, looked the closest to the standard Kaine’s men set. The other three men sat, arms crossed, fiddling, twitching as the Dracosan bumbled and trundled over terrain. “Glad you let us come along on your show, Markus.” Stavin said, forgoing rank because, well. They were the same rank! “Sorry to boot five of your guys out of this transport, but they’ll appreciate the light duty, right?” “They’ll be fine, sir,” Colonel Markus replied with a smile, waving a dismissive hand to the comment. He removed his service cap as he spoke with Stavin, revealing the gleaming augmentations beneath that criss crossed over his shaven head. The cap rested on his lap as he continued, “my Captain was just looking for some recreational work to do and those five were more than willing to help him out.” He stifled a chortle at the thought. Captain Reginald had been cursing after him in his motherland’s tongue as he left. Those five, brave soldiers that had been kicked out were now suffering the brunt of the Captain’s new responsibilities. Some traditions never changed, he thought. “I do have a question, though, if you’ll humor me. See, I know we’ve crossed paths in the command center, but this is likely the only chance I’ll get before we’re reassigned to the frontlines.” The man asked, leaning forward on his elbows and crossing his hands together in a comfortable steeple. “I heard that you fought in Sanctii. It must’ve been a brutal affair. We were wondering, what was it like when you met the Emperor’s Sword?” Markus asked unashamedly, beaming with delight to hear the stories of the Thunder Warriors. He’d already heard some of the stories about Sanctii from word of mouth, but Colonel Stavin was actually there! “Emperor’s sword…” Stavin said, clearly unfamiliar with the moniker. Her furrowed his eyebrows, and went quiet, thinking. Two whole minutes of dead air passed with only the rumbling of the Dracosan punctuating it. Finally, Severina spoke. “Primarch Rex, Colonel.” She said, “You know him.” “OH, shit. Right. Aeternus.” Stavin said, making her cringe. “Yea, yea, I knew him.” More silence passed. “What was the question again?” He asked. “What was he like when you met him.” Severina stated, her voice flat. “Oh! Big.” Stavin, said, nodding. “Big. I had to crane my neck up just to look him in the eyes.” From outside, a shriek was heard. At first the words in it could not be understood, but as the voice got closer it separated from the wind. It was a child’s voice. “Stop stop stop stop stop!!! Let me in!!!! They’re chasing me!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The interior of the dracosan came to a sudden, roaring stop as treads grinded up asphalt compound beneath. Soldiers lurched in their seat restraints, saving them from colliding with their neighbors but gifting them fresh pain across their chests and armpits. They heard the other vehicles behind them suffer the same fate as treads screeched to a wailing halt. The auxilia groaned, their expectations dashed for a short and easy tour along the coast. Colonel Kaine’s service cap bounced across the cabin, ricocheting across a flat surface and sailing out of the vehicle at speeds previously thought unachievable for tailored fabric. Markus cursed loudly as he unbuckled the restraints, pain throbbing across his chest. A single look to his left saw five of his auxilia echo his movements, unbuckling themselves and pulling up their lasguns with practised swiftness. He would’ve asked the turret gunner about their situation, but they’d suffered egregious injuries to their skull at the pilot’s reckless halt. “What in the name of the Emperor happened!?” Markus growled, reaching a hand down to his saber and slamming his other against the portal into the cockpit. The medicae of their squad was pulling the turret gunner from his elevated seat. The aft ramp of the Siren’s Wolf dropped with a resounding thud, followed by the stomping of five pairs of boots against rain soaked road. “We’ve got a child out here, Colonel!” A response came through the voxhailer in the cabin. The pilot’s voice was uncertain of the situation, his tone was shaky and embarrassed. Markus reminded himself to reprimand the man later, especially since he’s now lost three hats in his time at Ouran. The Colonel sighed, raising a hand to his face and pulling the disappointment from his features. He turned to Colonel Stavin. “Duty calls, sir, will you be joining me?” Colonel Kaine asked as he stepped towards the aft ramp, waiting momentarily for Stavin’s response. His voice was clearly disappointed, no doubt he’d had several other questions to ask of the Hero of Sanctii. Aggravatingly, Stavin’s flap-eared, ragged hat had stayed firmly in place despite having no apparent method of fastening it to the head. “Sure. I got a feelin’ it’s related to why I’m here.” He said, not at all sure that was the case. Severina gave him a brief, but extremely apparent look that he might be insane, but it didn’t seem to register to the eccentric hero of the Unification. He checked his plasma pistol, winking the ignition coil on, then off, then nodded, walking towards the exit hatch with his hands crossed behind his back. He seemed more like an academia professor than a soldier, nodding genially to the far more professional soldiers he passed. They were greeted by a small orange shape perched atop the Siren’s Wolf. The girl was about 8 years old, wearing an orange dress, orange stockings, and orange shoes with little heels on them, and her wind-tangled hair (apparently normally a dark brown, from the look of the roots) had been bleached and dyed orange as well. Her little hands were calloused- presumably from climbing things, if her current position was a common one. “They’re chasing me,” she repeated, staring at them unblinkingly. “You can protect me, right?” Colonel Markus accompanied Colonel Stavin out of the Siren’s Wolf, scanning the scene with the trained eyes of a veteran auxilia. He quickly realized that the five soldiers that he’d sent out weren’t fanned out in a perimeter, but turned in his direction with their lasguns lowered and their visors on the girl occupying his beloved dracosan. Kaine narrowed his eyes in disbelief, rubbing them with his free hand to push reality from his view. There, between the two flags of his command vehicle, a little girl waited. Black Wolves to her left and Raptor Imperialis to her right. “Black Wolves! Get hunting!” Colonel Markus snapped to the soldiers behind him, watching as they properly scattered around the dracosan with their lasguns up against their shoulders. The other three dracosans behind his own followed their example, adjusting their turrets to scan and disembarking their infantry to form a perimeter. After ordering his retinue, Kaine offered a small smile to the girl atop his vehicle. “We won’t hurt you, little one,” the officer started to say, walking slowly towards the railing on the right side of the tank. He released his grip on the power sword, sheathed at his left side and put a fresh hand on the boarding ladder welded to the hull. Markus didn’t dare attempt to climb the dracosan in fear of alerting the child. Instead, he remained where he was and continued speaking, “but who is chasing you? Where did you come from?” The khaki and grey 31-3rd, the scant few of them at least, had fallen into the defensive perimeter with perfect professionalism. Only Stavin seemed to stand alone, apparently unconcerned with trivial matters like security, having walked down the exit ramp as if he were going on a stroll.. He nodded to the small, orange girl. “Go on, answer the nice man in the tank.” He said, “Who’s chasing you?” “The Pan-Pa[i]bitches,[/i]” the girl said, matter-of-factly. “I didn't make it back to the ship in time so my Family left without me, so I ran, but they followed me.” After a pause, she added, “I came from that way,” pointing in a direction. As she talked, she slid herself over to Kaine and reached down to poke his head curiously. “Who are you?” Ship. The word rang out in his mind like a bell. His eyes looked up at the child that was poking his shaved head, observing the single-hued clothing that she wore. Stress started to physically build on his forehead as he realized what exactly he was dealing with. An eccentric group of people and there were vastly more of them. He offered a hand up to carry her off as he started to speak. “Colonel Markus Kaine of the Tenth Imperial Army, Tenth Corps. Though, we prefer the Black Wolves more often than not. And you, little one, are a Magpie.” He responded with a strained smile. Markus didn’t know which Magpies they were, but he was fairly certain that she wasn’t a Crimson Magpie. He decided against guessing the color of her family based on her clothes. Kaine would’ve likely guessed orange. In the distance, the sound of lasfire echoed as auxilia engaged with something further off in the direction she had pointed. Markus turned slightly left as he listened to his voxbead, then turned to Colonel Stavin and gave a nod of affirmation. The Pacificans were there, true to the child’s words. He’d let his men handle it, though it killed him to not engage in the same action. Similarly, Ship rang in Stavin’s ears. He’d actually had no idea why he’d come out here - merely a hunch. He didn’t even really, properly, have clearance. Just a feeling. A hunch. It was like a burning hot core of metal in his stomach. He’d always followed them when he got them, and that same core burned within him now. Something here was important. Vitally important. But what? Very good question. “You’ll want to get into the dracosan - the big armored thing.” He said, absentmindedly, in the girl’s direction. “Safe in there, out here…” He made a wavy motion with his hand. “Maybe not so much.” Then, with purpose, he began to walk towards the sound of gunfire. Not run, walk. He was thinking, and the pounding of feet did too much to interrupt that. Severina looked at him like he was crazy, then looked at the troopers that had accompanied them as if they were also crazy. She had been doing that a lot in the last five minutes. “Don’t just -gawp-!” She said, indignantly. “After him! You know the trouble we’ll be in if he gets his stupid head shot off!?” With a nod, the troopers went after him. With a curse of frustration that brought startled looks from Kaine’s troopers nearby, she followed. The girl grinned at Kaine. “Yeah obviously I’m a Magpie. I’m the Amber Emissary. Heads up!” And with no further warning, the girl jumped off the Siren’s Wolf, aiming directly for Markus. The Colonel had been prepared to some extent for the eccentric natures of the Magpies. He’d had several weeks of dealing with the Crimson Captain to thank for; however, Markus did not expect a child to leap towards him. His eyes widened in surprise and he reacted with skills gifted to him from fifteen years of service. As if a grenade had been lobbed at him, he unexpectedly caught the girl mid-air and twirled her around into his arms. “Terra’s boiling seas, girl, has no one taught you not to jump at people!?” Markus said with a faux harrumph. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to catch her with some ease. Maybe there was some luck on his side today. Regardless, he carried her into the Siren’s Wolf as the last of the auxilia rushed off into the distance. She giggled at him. “I jump at everybody else all the time. I even gave you a warning! Hey also what’s a colonel and who was that other guy and- well I mean while I’m asking questions what are you guys doing here because I’ve never seen you before and I may only be eight and a half but I’ve seen pretty much the whole ocean to be honest.” She followed up her mess of questions with a deep breath in and out before looking at him expectantly. [i]If only people on Terra were as curious and innocent[/i], Markus thought as he lowered her down onto a seat. He calmly clicked the buckles of the restraint harness, adjusting it for her height and size. The Colonel looked over the seat to ensure nothing was amiss before standing up and taking a seat next to her. His eyes met with the medicae nearby and he gave her a gesture to rally up. “You are a curious little Magpie,” Markus finally responded, the soldier nearby getting to her feet and entering the cockpit of the dracosan. The ramp slowly closed behind them as he spoke with the Magpie child. His beloved vehicle began to rumble with renewed strength as it picked up speed from idle to slow. He continued with a proud smile, “but I don’t mind that. I’ve grown a bit accustomed to Magpies by this point. How about I tell you the story of how the Imperium showed up at Ouran? If you listen well, then I’ll tell you about all the other places I’ve been to across Terra.” “Well that’s only one of my questions you’ve said you’ll answer so far, and zero answered so how about you answer all my questions and then I’ll agree to trade one of my stories for every one extra of your stories you have to offer.” She beamed at him. “It's a great deal I have really good stories like about the time we snuck into a Pacific hive-city to sell stuff and about the time my brother nearly drowned and about the time we saw one of those Azure Magpies catch a massive sea monster.” “Alright, little lady, you’ve got a deal! So, a Colonel is...” Markus had started to respond, chuckling lightly at the sheer amount of stories the girl was ready to tell. The Siren’s Wolf started to pick up speed, the Colonel started to tell her all the questions she asked. Another soldier came from the cockpit, giving the two a friendly wave before stepping into the turret mounted atop the dracosan. The shutters slightly above their heads slanted close, locking their sight away from a skirmish that was promising to be most bloody. Malcador sat in a darkened room, his mind devoid of all thought and body entirely still. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his chest rose and fell exactly once. With a steady hand, he drew a card from the top of the deck before him, and flipped it over to come to rest alongside the other four. His eyes flashed open in the darkness. “Prepare an appropriate reception party. Another emissary is due to visit.” The weather beat against the black-red trench coats of the Tenth Excertus Imperialis, their forms hunkering against the ruins of a macrodock. Sand crunched beneath their boots as they sprinted from cover to cover, offering supporting fire from their lasguns as swift snaps and suppressive rain. Brilliant lances of red raced across the distance, piercing rockrete brick and oxidized steel. A thin, poisonous fog was beginning to waft in from the shore as lasfire perforated air around them. The Pacificans weren’t easily cowed by the auxilia. Their grey-blue fatigues cut them from the same professional cloth as the Imperials, but they were nowhere near as well-trained or rigorously devoted. Plasteel carapace and helmets protected their exhausted forms, yet their rebreathers had long since been discarded in the retreat from Ouran. Their own lasguns were brought to shoulder, wildly firing into the mob of auxilia as they approached. Their lasfire scored some hits amongst the opposing soldiers, but they already knew they were caught on the wrong foot. A warrior emerged from the ruins of the dock wielding a heavy weapon of some sort with multiple barrels and a large capacitor. An exosuit, haphazardly welded to their carapace, assisted the brute as they pressed into the middle of the skirmish. The barrels began to rapidly spin, unleashing a torrent of scarlet beams that melted brick and metal into slag. The auxilia desperately tried to dive away, throwing their bodies into the sand to avoid the overwhelming fire. The juggernaut cackled loudly beneath their helmet, modulated by the only respirator shared among their unit. Several concentrated shots from the converging squads tried to throw the Pacifican off-balance, yet it did little to halt the annihilation that awaited them. Invigorated by their leader, the soldiers nodded to each other and popped from their cover to waylay the incoming auxilia. A pair of Imperials, taking cover furthest away from the battle, leaned down into the rockrete. One carried a voxpack, while the other hefted a laspistol and a chainsword. Both of their faces were covered by goggles and respirators. “Damn them! Who made the call to not bring any grenade launchers or heavy ordnance to this engagement!?” The man said with a voice that could shatter a mirror in sheer sharpness. He leaned over, taking potshots with his laspistol before kneeling back into position as lasfire raked his position. Furthest to his left, one of his fellow soldiers was incinerated by the juggernaut’s armament. “Sergeant Javon, it was-” The woman was about to respond, dialing in on the voxpack before she was rudely interrupted by the sergeant. “It was rhetorical, Aemie, I know it was the Colonel. Hurry up and get those Dracosans on vox, we’re gonna need their armor and lascannons to deal with this. Or,” Javon responded with a snarl, revving his chainsword in grim anticipation. If their support wasn’t gonna arrive in the next thirty seconds, then he was willing to bet that his geneaugments were better than the Pacificans were. His scowl persisted into his next words, “we’ll jump the giant by ourselves and show ‘im what a Black Wolf really is.” Trooper Aemie looked up at the Sergeant. She was certain he couldn’t tell what expression she wore, but she frowned intensely at the leader of her squad nonetheless. Her fingers rapidly dialed in the connection to their voxnet and awaited the signal to transmit. Several seconds ticked by as more ruins were torn apart. She could hear both sides suffering casualties as lasfire filled the air. Lasfire and the exo-brute’s cavalcades formed an argument that seemed both one-sided, and firmly in the Pacifican’s favor. The more the Imperials fired, the louder the retort from the enemy seemed. Without the Dracosans, who were snarled in their own little traffic jam, death seemed inevitable. Then, the Imperial side of the argument got a little louder. An overcharged plasma bolt shrieked through the air, slamming into the exo-brute. It wasn’t a fatal blow; a pistol bolt didn’t possess the brute energy to shear off all that ablative armor in one shot. It did, however, create a spectacular show of sparks, flinging armor from the brute’s body this way and that and knocking the crudely genehanced soldier flat on their back. “Hold firm!” A voice shouted. “Hold damn you!” A tallish, gangly officer, not the squat, solid form of Colonel Kaine, but the other one, the interloper in khaki fatigues and grey flak-plate with his goofy flappy hat. He had been quiet, unassuming, even a little odd, but now… Now he strode upright, head held proud. Lasbolts seemed to miss him, flowing around him, annihilating the trees and cooking the air around him, but none striking true. John Stavin. Hero of the Unification. In this second, he looked every bit like the stories had propped him up as. “Black wolves!” He shouted, waving his pistol. “Black wolves! A firing line, please! Discipline and order! Volleys, damn you!” He waved at them with his pistol, the barrel still oozing smoke. “You’re the best of them! Heroes, all! Saviors in black armor!” He shouted, “So fucking act like it! I apologize Colonel Kaine couldn’t make it, but he’s got important business, so I’ll have to do!” As battle speeches went, it was a little lame, but his words were punctuated by two loud cracks. Lighting shot from either side of him, as loud as two gods clapping their mighty hands. The energy shot through the forest, striking Pacifican troopers, the killing light arcing from foe to foe to foe. Combat was a game of chance, and luck. It could hinge on a single moment, and in this moment, Colonel Stavin had swung the odds back in the Imperial’s favor. But it was a small thing. In order for this foothold to work, these soldiers, not his own, had to buy into the hype he was trying to create. So he stood, firing calmly, unconcerned with the enemy’s reprisal. Some bolts found their marks, but most were for effect. Now the Black Wolves just had to buy in. Luck was certainly one of the factors that played into Colonel Stavin’s gambit, but by the Emperor did it work well for him. A man striding alone into the fire of a genewarrior with a heavy weapon did wonders for morale. It did more than wonders. It gave them something akin to burning faith in a world lacking hope. Before Sergeant Javon even had a chance to call for the Colonel’s orders, his Black Wolves were already moving. He watched in amazement as the black-red trenchcoated soldiers moved in tandem, motivation in their breasts and morale in their lungs. There had been nearly twenty of them each to a dracosan, totalling skyward of eighty present at the skirmish. Now, seventy-five of the Black Wolves arranged in firing lines of five apiece in reinvigorated, cohesive squads. “Black Wolves!” Sergeant Javon roared out as more of his men surrounded him, using the precious time Colonel Stavin gave them for a swift regrouping. Capacitor cells were ejected, replaced firmly with new magazines, and honed for a significant first shot. The Black Wolves brought their lasguns to bear, as they awaited the final call from their relative sergeants. “On the Hunt!” Another sergeant called out further down the coast, swinging his chainsword down in an affirmation to the command. Seventy-five lines of brilliant red crossed the distance in record time, fresh capacitors and discipline carving Pacifican insurgents into charred corpses. The grey-blue uniforms of the Pacifican soldiers were cut aside, gunned down by precise fire and dazzling brilliance. The Imperials shot them through everything from layers of brick to semi-barricades of rusting steel. Only those closest to the genewarrior were saved from the onslaught, their advantage lost to a single man with a plasma pistol. One of them turned, hammering the brute with a free fist only to be flung out into the poisonous waters enraged. The juggernaut snarled aloud, to single down the lasrepeater and pulled out a menacing, two-handed chainaxe from behind. It lumbered forward towards Colonel Stavin in response to his plasma bolt. Stavin, of course, was no swordsman. He didn't even carry one, a fact that caused no small amount of consternation from his fellow officers in the Imperial Army mess. It was a skill you picked up from your station in life or from brute dedication, and he had neither. But what he did have was Augusta Severina. She bulldozed past him, ripping her power sword from its scabbard as she took his place to meet the juggernaut 's charge. “You moron!” She said over her shoulder, “This is why you carry a damn sword!” “It's better when you do it.” Stavin said, sounding petulant. “Shut your face!” She shouted, “Sir!” She dashed forwards, not wanting to give the juggernaut the initiative. The genebrute was a humongous man of meat and armor. Words couldn’t be heard from the slobbering mouth of the warrior. His chainaxe, however, made up for the lack of conversation. He swung it downwards towards Severina, missing the lithe veteran by a hare’s breath. His movements were sluggish, yet brutally efficient. Wherever the revving chainweapon attacked, it left holes in the macrodock pierworks. He never stopped attacking with simple slashes or strikes, refusing or unknowing of any other type of attack pattern. The battle around them raged on, disregarding the duel that took place before them. Colonel Stavin’s courage had mustered the men and women of the Black Wolves into action, volleying in perfect unison and reloading when they weren’t. Sergeants unloaded their volkite pistols, disintegrating the last handful of meaningful enemies before prismatic lances pierced plasteel carapace. Sergeant Javon pulled his chainsword clean of a Pacifican that had dared to charge the line, activating the engine and clearing it of a clog. A snapshot from his volkite pistol saw another disappear. He gritted his teeth as the final volleys snapped off into the distance. “Aemie, where are the damned dracosans?” Javon called out, more calm and more inspirational than he previously had been. His eyes lingered on the fight between a woman with a power sword and a genewarrior with a chainaxe. He lined up a shot with his pistol, yet couldn’t force himself to fire the trigger as she danced a bladestorm against the brute. “Arriving… now!” She called out as the first dracosan crested the top of a nearby dune. The twin flags of the Black Wolves and the Raptor Imperialis flew over the top of the transport. A pintle-mounted multi-laser opened up on fleeing Pacifican troopers. The prow-mounted lascannons awakened, blowing a hole through a particularly hefty barricade of metal and vaporizing the enemies behind it. The other three dracosans honked their horns to announce their arrival, yet one battle still raged on the macrodocks. The genebrute roared out in annoyance as Severina danced with him. His chainaxe slammed down, lashed out side to side, and broke more of the platform. None of these attacks landed against the veteran of Sanctii. Severina weaved and dodge, letting the wealth of her experience keep the genebrute from striking her. She preferred to keep the first few moments of a duel as a learning experience, analyzing the opponent’s reach, fighting style, probing them for weaknesses to exploit. In truth, there were few. The genehanced soldier was both taller, stronger, and faster than she was, and while he could easily kill her in one stroke, she could not. At first glance, it was hopeless. At first glance. She had one advantage. She hadn’t powered her blade on yet. She delicately stepped aside from an overhead swing that would’ve bisected her, waiting for the motorized weapon to chew into soft terra firma, then thumbed the activation rune of her sword. Power swords were powerful things, but the bright blue sheen of her blade was a dead giveaway as to the nature of the weapon. Had she entered the fight sword blazing, the genehanced warrior would’ve known the cutting power of her weapon, and wouldn’t have been so careless. She struck once, severing the handle of his chainblade. At once, his reach advantage was negated. From the expression of surprise on his face, her gambit had worked. Good. Two more strokes, and his arms followed the severed head of the weapon into the dirt. A fourth stroke, and his head, carrying the same dumb expression of surprise, tumbled to her feet as well. The big corpse straightened up, as if surprised, then toppled, knees cutting out as the last signals the brain had sent ran through his nerves. She thumbed her blade off, pushing her hair back from her scalp. “Good to see that trick still works.” She said, almost to herself. The journey back to Ouran had been quieter than the drive from, save for the Amber Emissary endlessly speaking with Colonel Markus Kaine. The Siren’s Wolf rumbled, jostling the other soldiers in their restraints as they sped back to the hive-city. There was little talk on the way back from the other Black Wolves as some of them had perished in the skirmish. Luckily, their bodies weren’t being transported in this dracosan. Only the Thirty-One-Third spoke amongst themselves about the conflict, outside of the Magpie and the Colonel. Ouran arose ahead of them on the hiveway, a gigantic city with broken spires and shattered docks ripe for repair. A repaired wall as tall as several superheavy tanks blocked their view of the hive city, metallic gates opening and closing to oncoming traffic. Even nearly a week later, the city still burned from thermonuclear detonation and cinders mingled with oncoming rain from the Great Ocean. Three other dracosans followed them in through the hive gates, their identification markers automatically allowing them entry to their base of operation. “Oh you [i]exploded[/i] it huh?” remarked the child, unconcerned. As they passed beneath the walls of Ouran, their escorts left for regions unknown. The Siren’s Wolf, however, continued down the main thoroughfare of the hiveway into the city proper. Unlike other hives on Terra, the Pacifican city wasn’t built for extreme depth or extreme height but originally as a great expansion out to the Great Ocean. It’s buildings were squat, reinforced with plascrete, and rigorously spread out for maximum disaster relief. The spires, in comparison to other cities, were enormous squat rectangles with oriental tips that overlooked the bay. Their destination towered over them as one of these grandiose structures. For lack of better words, it was a conquered manor of Imperial compliance. The banner of the Raptor wavered from every visible window, rapidly flapping in the Pacifican wind. Ouranese culture had been shaved away by the hands of liberated workers, some still remained nearby as they removed rubble. Several vehicles were parked nearby, each of Imperial make and marking. Squads of auxilia marched in a sharp perimeter around the spire, reinvigorated by the cadence given by their sergeants. Genewarriors stood statue still at the entrance into the structure, their bronze-black armor heavily decorated with dark fabric and dangling trinkets. The Siren’s Wolf parked into a vacant spot next to a tank of extraordinary size, then belched as the engines were deactivated from their idling rumble. Wordlessly, the two side doors in the middle of the dracosan hissed open and the Black Wolves began to shuffle out. The only group that remained within were Colonel Kaine, Colonel Stavin, the Thirty-One-Third and the young girl. Markus finished his story as he buckled his restraint. “... and that was how the hive-fortress of Abbaba fell to the Black Wolves, the Sirens of Terra, and the Bronze Scorpions. It was certainly one of the better campaigns I’ve been a part of. Actually, one of the best I’ve ever experienced in my career.” Markus said, moving out of his seat and unbuckling the Magpie’s own restraints before allowing her access to the rest of the cabin. Talking about the story of Abbaba left him in good spirits despite the loss of several good men. It was the place he’d met Pantea. “Now, Miss Emissary, what say we make it up to the command center and get a vox out to your family?” He asked with a smile, leaning down and offering a hand to guide her out of the dracosan. Colonel Kaine knew that Colonel Stavin would be coming with them as both worked in the same building. The question was whether he’d get the chance to thank him after this was all done, or if the legendary Thirty-One-Third would get reassigned. The Emissary hopped down, forgoing the guiding hand in favor of leaping forward without warning, calling over her shoulder, “My family doesn’t have any way of being contacted at the moment, we sold it for a HUGE amount of fresh water and also very valuable fabric.” She grinned. “Worth it.” “Really. Worth that much?” Stavin muttered. He thought about that as he descended the ramp. A vox set really wasn't that special. Even the most backwards brutes usually had at least micro beads, or even handheld portables. A backpack set might fetch a few days of food or water. But she said they’d sold theirs for fresh - not distilled, not purified, fresh - water and fabric. And not just a little. Practically a fortune's worth. He felt the hunch in his gut burning again. Something was going on here, but as of yet, proof still seemed so fleeting… At almost the very moment that Stavin and his party disembarked from the Dracosan, the immense main doors of the spire began to swing open, each pushed by a team of laborers one hundred strong. Emerging from the structure was a small procession of Sigilites and other functionaries of the burgeoning Imperial bureaucracy, dressed in their formal court robes. Such was not particularly exceptional, almost ordinary even, were it not for the fact that they were walking directly towards Markus. Colonel Markus’ eyes widened as he had started to lead the Amber Emissary into the great spire, witnessing the oncoming rush of bureaucracy. He thought he had accounted for arrival back from the mission at a low point, even assuring a clear schedule from Reginald. It wasn’t the sheer bulk of the men and women of the Imperium that scared him. It was the fact that they were heading towards him of all people. A man straight out of legend stood no further than fifteen paces away from Markus and they approached him? As if an automatic response from a younger time as a lowly captain, Markus came to a dead halt and popped a salute as stiff and slick as when he had exited the training grounds. He’d have to apologize afterwards for the lack of a service cap, no doubt it’d be relayed to the Lord-Commander for his lack of professional appearance. Markus cleared his throat as he dropped the salute and announced his presence. Stavin looked up, as if coming out of a daze. He blinked a few times, owlishly, then saluted as well. His was decidedly less good than Kaine’s. “Colonel Markus Kaine, Tenth Excertus Imperialis, Tenth Corps.” Markus vocalized to the oncoming Sigilites. He hadn’t spent much time amongst their kind, but Lord-Commander Crucias had once told him that they ranked higher than even himself in the Imperial hierarchy. At this moment, Markus couldn’t tell if that was a fact or a cruel joke. He was desperate to clutch his amulet for increased resolve. The Colonel gestured for the Amber Emissary to stand next to him, then put himself at attention for the bureaucratic arrival party. The Emissary, for her part, took one look at the oncoming officials and climbed back up to sit atop the dracosan. “Colonel Stavin.” He said after, “31-3rd. The rest, ahm… what Colonel Kaine said. I kinda forget where we fit in the Army structure.” The Scribe-Intendent leading the procession gave the two Colonels dismissive nods of her head, acknowledging their existence but nothing more, as she simply walked past them. Coming to a halt directly before the Dracosan, the scholar-bureaucrat gave an incredibly deep bow mirrored by those in her party. “The Amber Emissary is most welcome here.” The Amber Emissary, for her part, bowed just her head in return, a movement so smooth and practiced it should have come from a senior diplomat, not an eight-year-old sitting irreverently atop a vehicle. She then ruined the effect by speaking. “That’s good! It takes a lotta work to go where you’re not welcome, you know. Although…” She gestured at the city. “I guess you do know, even if you do it different.” Colonel Markus remained at attention until the Scribe-Intendent passed him, then switched to at ease for simplicity. He blinked in surprise. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed for thinking that he could be anything more than a cog in the machine known as Unity. Still, he didn’t let it show externally on his face and kept his military bearing. A small part of Kaine hoped he’d be in the briefing with the Amber Emissary and the Sigilites. “Indeed, Emissary,” the Scribe-Intendent replied. “The Sigilite has requested your presence, for Unity comes to Terra. Your escorts are most welcome to accompany you, should you wish it. My master is… intrigued as to how the good Colonels were able to rescue you.” She turned her head for a moment to regard Markus and Stavin a moment that stretched out into infinity as the woman’s eyes met Stavin’s, an awareness blossoming within him as a thought that was not his own formed with cold, clinical, perfection in his mind. [i]Malcador does not believe in coincidence. Neither do you, John.[/i] , before bowing once more to the Amber child. “But the decision, again, is yours.” The child nodded, then leapt- onto Stavin this time. “They will come! Let’s discuss.” Her smile, on any other child, would herald the arrival of presents, or perhaps large amounts of candy. Wordlessly, even effortlessly, Stavin caught the child, allowing her to sit in his arms like a stirrup, as if this was some sort of expected duty of any Imperial soldier, to be carried distantly, but professionally. But in truth, the words that had been put into his head still rang throughout his psyche. Nobody else had heard, because he’d been the only one to look at the Sigilute’s intendent as if she’d suddenly sprouted wings. Coincidence? No. There were rarely coincidences in matters of war or state. She had been utterly right. He’d never believed in such things. And fate, it seemed, had always deigned to prove him right. Peerless deductive skill? It's what he liked to think. Or was it the Wyrd? He shook those thoughts from his head, finally returning to the business of being Terra’s shabbiest dignitary. “Right. I imagine everyone wants to discuss Unity.” He eventually said, “Which is… ahm. Really great. I'm happy for that.” He scratched his head with his free hand while Severina bored two holes in his back with her glare. He couldn't see her, but somehow he knew that was precisely what was going on. “...But forgive me, I've never done that before. I imagine there's protocol and decorum for such thing.” He said, smiling at Kaine, and then the amber girl. “I’ll have to learn on the fly.” The Amber Emissary seemed perfectly content to be carried. “Don’t worry, not everybody can be as good at diplomacy as me,” she whispered. “You learn it, one way or another,” Markus replied to Stavin with a small smile. He’d never forget the rigorous training that the Lord-Commander of the Tenth had put him through. Politics and ceremony in a government that was everchanging was hellish at best and nightmarish at worst. He was a guttersnipe that had learned to become a Colonel. Kaine had no doubts that the leader of the Thirty-One-Third was the same as he was. He turned away from Stavin to the Scribe-Intendant, popping to attention as he did so. “As the Amber Emissary has requested our presence, so too are we prepared to debrief the Sigilite.” Colonel Kaine said with pride, ready to stand in the presence of the man that appeared kin to the Emperor himself. He’d never met the Sigilite outside of standing next to Commander Crucias or in the far back rows of an amphitheater for briefings. Markus had heard many things, but he was ready nonetheless. Stavin and Kaine were given a place of honor in the entourage, but more due to the fact that the Amber Emissary was currently being carried by the former than any particular regard for the two soldiers. The lead Scribe-Intendent walked level with the girl, treating her as any other respected dignitary, into the squat hive spire. The entire tower had been home to several thousand, a self-contained series of manufactorums and living spaces designed to seal away the inhabitants from the horrors of the world as it had descended into madness all those millennia ago. With the coming of the Imperium, its enviroseals had been allowed at long last to open, permitting fresh air into the space for the first time in centuries. While that was as much to let the stench of death and carbon scouring air out of the structure as any noble goal, and the seaside was still sealed tight, it was a sliver of change for those who had labored under one empire and now another with little hope of their wretched lot ever improving. Crowds of menials and garrison troops parted for the procession, along with trains of lesser scribes bowing in acknowledgement of one who carried their master’s will, and they swiftly crossed the vast concourse beyond the gates to find an elegant lift waiting for them. Up they rushed, a bizarrely slow trip for one used to Terra’s taller hives, the car having failed to even pierce the cloud layer as they arrived at the top of the vast structure and made for Malcador’s chambers. At the door, made of real wood and decorated by a true master’s hand, two members of the Imperial Army stood guard, notable for the fact that they were painfully mundane in every conceivable way. Saluting, they then opened the doors for the procession - only for the train of scribes to abandon the Colonels and the Emissary at the door as they were ushered in. Beyond was a room that had once served as a waiting area for supplicants to the Governor of Ouran, a space just slightly too large for one man to ever be comfortable in regardless of the luxuries at hand. Now, however, it had been transformed into the nerve center of Sigilite operations in the city, a bureaucratic mirror to the war councils and their map tables. In the center of the room, and one of the few original furnishings left in it, was a vast scale model of Ouran Hive itself. The Sigiliites had laid all manner of markers and tokens upon it, denoting damage and various logistics streams, and the scribes poured over it like particularly punctilious insects when they weren’t attending hastily installed cogitator banks. To the side, surveying his subordinates, sat Malcador, enthroned as a conquering general upon a simple folding camp chair. Upon the Emissary’s entry, he rose, inclining his head towards the girl. “And so the Elder Child arrives. Along with her saviors,” the Sigilite said, eyeing the two men for a moment as servants swiftly brought in a plush armchair for the Amber Emissary to sit in. None was offered to the Colonels. “I trust that they have performed admirably, Emissary.” She nodded rapidly. “Mhm! You should teach that one to be better at storytelling, though, he’s got good stories but he doesn’t tell them the fun way.” She didn’t sit in the offered chair, glancing between it and Malcador’s own. Instead she chose to sit on the floor before him, pointing at Markus Kaine to clarify who she was talking about. “You can sit in the nice chair, if you want. My grandfather says little girls shouldn’t ever sit in a more comfortable chair than somebody older than them.” Colonel Markus bristled with frustration at the comment. He had been standing at attention to her left with his eyes glued to the wall. Kaine had considered his stories to be extraordinarily good, even Reginald found them appealing. Even one of the Emperor’s finest had found them admirable and joyful. It was something he shoved further down into his being as he retained his military bearing. Teeth of Terra girl, please don’t get me in trouble, he thought with an internal whimper. “They were fine stories.” Stavin said idly, as if he wasn’t in elevated company. “It was… mostly a genre problem. Markus, he tells stories for soldiers, not little girls. I greatly enjoyed them.” He was lying, of course. Colonel Kaine had many redeeming features, but his storytelling was quite wooden and dry. Very… ‘just the facts’. In truth, he was jealous of the girl’s honesty - he unfortunately had to back the eagle in this extremely specific case. Unusually, Severina piped up from behind. “Oh, they were excellent!” She said enthusiastically, “I thought they were so very good. None of those bothersome flourishes less secure storytellers add. Just pure, unadulterated detail.” Unlike Stavin, she actually seemed to mean it. Those who knew the Sigilite well, that ancient soul, burdened by millennia of life and loss, who had seen paradise fall and willingly damned billions to reclaim it, would recognize that the slightest twitch in his cheek was an indication of great, almost uncontrollable, mirth. “It is well, Colonel, that you are the secure sort. The Magpies can be most disarming,” he said, his focus upon the little girl sitting on the floor. “As they continue to show.” “Let us set any talk of chairs aside, for at the present moment I do indeed wish to be told a story, Colonel Kaine. Just pure, unadulterated detail. How is it that your rescue of the esteemed Emissary came about?” Markus felt put on the spot by the sudden request. His hand instinctively grasped at the silver amulet inside of his coat. The action brought him fresh resolve for interacting with the Sigilite - the one man that was second only to the Emperor himself. He breathed in, then snapped to attention and offered a salute. “Of course, Lord Malcador!” Colonel Markus dropped his salute and returned to his at ease stance. He firmly clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat with a short cough. “We’d received word of a Pacifican incursion in Sector Helios-Alpha of the Ouranese outskirts. Three squads, myself, and Colonel Stavin reacted to the news swiftly. Four dracosans were appropriated for the task, thus we set out onto the macroway to deal with the threat. Myself and the Hero of Sanctii had barely begun to recount the tales of the God-Slayers before we found the Amber Emissary out in the midst of the road. We immediately came to a halt, prepared to deal with oncoming Pacificans with the engagement tempo known of the Black Wolves. Their standard issue lasguns were ready to mete out justice, yet we were rewarded for our diligence with the arrival of the Emissary.” “The Black Wolves fanned out into the local area, advancing towards the outskirt ruins as we engaged with the Magpie in question. Introductions were made and friendship was established! We offered the safety of the Imperium, safe return to their fleet, and a long ride filled with stories; however, the rest of my unit was engaged with the Pacifican menace previously mentioned. An after action report confirmed the events as I retell them!” The Colonel drew in a breath as he continued on, conjuring an internal image of the fighting nearest to the macrodock. “The Black Wolves had engaged twenty-five Pacifican conscripts and a single genewarrior leader that had routed from the Ouran siege. My men had pinned them down with solitary fire, ensuring a quick combing of their group before their genebrute unleashed a cavalcade of lasfire into my men. It was the swift actions of Colonel Stavin and Lady Severina that saw the men rally and win the fight. A quick shot from the exemplary plasma pistol of the Hero of Sanctii and a flourish of a powersword from the Lady of the Thirty-One-Third saw the enemy defeated. No sooner had they finished the Pacifican menace did our dracosans arrive to congratulate the victors and mourn those that were lost. Thus did we return with myriad news, Lord Malcador, that the stranglers had been defeated and the Emissary had been delivered.” Colonel Kaine gave a short salute to detail the end of his story. He was aware that most of his tellings sounded more like debriefs, but Markus always found that telling the truth of such stories was more important than their embellishments. His tone had remained matter-of-fact the entire time, both of his eyes swapping between all of the listeners to ensure his voice was heard. The Emissary stared mournfully at Malcador as the story finished. Her eyes sent a clear message: ‘Can you see what I have put up with?’ Malcador locked eyes with the child for a brief moment, before he raised his hand up towards Markus, dismissing him to return to at ease. “A very thorough tale, but it leaves out the one detail I am most interested in. Why were two Colonels traveling in the same Dracosan at all?” “Two colonels, the second in command of my entire regiment, and my command squad consisting of three of my most veteran troopers with incalculable practical experience, yes sir.” Stavin said, acknowledging and even worsening the tactical faux pas. He didn't really know what to say to excuse or even mitigate this, so he reckoned on honesty. When in doubt, play dumb. “I had a feeling that was the one I’d be needed in that one, sir.” He said, “The same feeling I had when I was messing around with that auspex at Sanctii.” Malcador had not been there personally for that, of course, but Stavin had little doubt he knew exactly what he was referring to. That fiddling had secured an exclusive security cipher that had delivered Aeternus and his host into the deepest depths of Sanctii, to strike a blow that contributed greatly to win the citadel. “I felt that, since the troopers were just normal lasgun tercios, they'd need my arc rifles if we were attacked, so I rode in the transport most likely to be attacked. Saves walking, right.” Severina elbowed him. “Ah, I mean, right, sir.” He said. Colonel Markus had taken the order, falling back to ease with both of his arms comfortably behind his back. The question posed after simply stupefied him. No matter how he worded the response, Kaine felt as if it would further dig him into a hole. A nagging feeling pulled at his temple. He realized that, without a doubt, Reginald had ratted him out to the Sigilite himself. The Black Wolf prepared an answer as he drew himself back up with confidence. “That would be my fault, Lord Sigilite,” Markus said, firmly but apologetically. He stepped forward again, crisply planting his feet together and offering a strict stance of attention to Malcador. Instead of the regular salute, Kaine brought his fist up to his chest in mimic to the genewarriors of the Imperium. In truth, it was to touch his silver amulet as he threw himself under the proverbial bus. “I had delegated the duty of command to my lower and accepted the invitation of Colonel Stavin without true tactical insight. I felt his insight would help me rise to my newly promoted station, so I eagerly agreed to a joint venture between the Tenth and the Thirty-One-Third, sir.” He knew that it would come down to a censure of some kind, or perhaps a creative non-judicial punishment formed in the elaborate mind of the Sigilite. Markus shuddered to think of what the man could possibly do to him, yet Kaine couldn’t allow the Hero of Sanctii to take the fall for this. The whole venture was his idea, after all. Sweat began to form on his forehead as he prepared to accept his punishment. Stavin frowned in amusement at the expression on Kaine’s face. Lord help him, but the man was too much of a hero. What could the Sigilite even do to him that hadn’t been done already? Stavin had gone his whole life breaking rules. And when you did that, you got punished. All you had to do was make sure the results outweighed the risks. “Your nobility is noted, Colonel Kaine, but unnecessary,” Malcador said in a dry voice that made no secret of the fact that the Sigilite had seen through the man as if he were glass. He paused, turning towards the Amber Emissary for a moment. “I suppose he shall need a reward, no?” he muttered towards the child, not waiting for her reply before once again addressing Markus. “I have decided, Colonel, that in response to these actions, your regiment shall augment their standard with the image of an open book,” he declared with a wave of his hand, a junior scribe dutifully recording the award in a ledger. “As for you, Colonel Stavin, you will remain with me when the Amber Emissary and I have finished our conversation, I am certain Colonel Kaine can see to her on his own. Your second-in-command shall see to your men until I see fit to return you to them. I trust that is satisfactory.” “As you will it, Lord Sigilite!” Markus responded with a crisp salute and a beaming smile, not having expected to not only be rewarded but decorated for his actions. He’d certainly use that as ammo when engaging with Wolfgang next. After a few seconds passed, his gloved hand shot back down and he took a step backwards. The action saw him exiting the chamber, leaving the three to discuss matters that far outpaced his hierarchical level. Nonetheless, Colonel Kaine remained dutiful outside of the Sigilite’s room with an arm behind his back and another clasping the silver amulet in victory. He knew without a doubt that Pantea’s lock of hair had brought him immeasurable triumph. Stavin nodded. Yep. See me after class. That was a line he’d heard his entire life. Different phrasing, different contexts, but the same talk all the same. He nodded to Severina, who bowed, saluted, and about faced more precisely in three seconds than he’d done in thirty years, already on her way to carry out such illustrious orders. Once again, he didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “Emissary, my apologies for dealing with internal matters in your presence. I believe it is time that we turn to the topic of Unity.” The Amber Emissary folded her legs neatly, sat up taller, and grinned. “Okey dokey! So what exactly do you mean by Unity?” “Why child, the Great Sea is surely not so broad that you have not heard,” the old man said in a soft voice. “For far too long has mankind been divided among itself, fighting pointless wars to be kings of ashes, spilling blood and spoiling water, pulling us all down into misery and death. The Emperor would see an end put to such, and for humanity to be as one yet again. That is what I mean by Unity.” The Emissary nodded, thinking, then said. “I thought you might say something like that. That sounds pretty good!” She beamed. “But I mean, who wouldn’t think less death is good? Except for idiots, obviously. So when you want us to turn to the topic of Unity, do you want to philosophize about it or do you wanna negotiate how it would work for real?” Her eyes lit up as she mentioned negotiating. “There shall be a place for every one of us in the world that we shall build, Emissary. Our mission is to determine what is meet for you and your people.” The Emissary considered, briefly, how to address a man so much older than her with respect. She didn’t really know the titles these strange folk used. But, she figured, she probably couldn’t go wrong using the titles she was used to. This old man seemed smart enough to pick up her meaning. “Grandfather, I have never met anybody who uses words like you do. I really don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to use the word ‘meet’ - but I think I’m following what you mean! But…” she hesitated. She didn’t want to end this bartering before it began. “But you know, Magpies aren’t really fighters. We can’t help you like that.” “Warriors, no, but wayfarers and wanderers…” Malcador replied. “Clannish and communal, useful traits in hazardous environments, honed for generations upon a sea that could kill with a rogue wave. Yes, I believe there may be great use for you. Don’t you agree, Colonel Stavin?” the Sigilite said, Don’t you agree, Colonel Stavin? Colonel Stavin? “Colonel Stavin?” the Sigilite said, his eyes locked with the other man’s. “I had asked you a question.” Stavin had spaced out. He’d always been a bit of a daydreamer, a trait that had been only worsened by what was undoubtedly undiagnosed combat trauma. His mind wandered, drifted, flitting from feverish vision to feverish vision. He had imagined… …great spaceships, the size of moons… …huge cannon, lasers firing…. …one world, the gatehouse of a great hole in space… …and then snapped back to reality, eyelids fluttering. The conversation Malcador and the amber girl had had played through his mind, as if in fast forward, like his brain had dutifully recorded it while his soul was somewhere outside of his body. His nose trickled blood. He wiped it, sniffling. “Ship crews.” He said, apropo of nothing. “Ship crews. For space, right? They’d be ideal for that. That’s why we came here. You want crews.” He’d rubbed his forehead, blinking. “I thought initially, maybe it was… was an old ship you wanted, some rusted out old hulk, but, no - you want the people. The culture.” He looked up, looking from the amber girl, to Malcador’s impassive gaze. “I’m right, aren’t I?” “Unity is almost upon us,” Malcador said softly, gazing at the model of Ouran Hive. “Bit by bit and piece by piece the sundered sons of man have been brought back together, but we do not end with Terra. Beyond the rad-ash sky Sol millions still labor beneath the lashes of oppression and superstition, and beyond even that, past the bow shock of the solar wind, countless worlds, countless souls, await liberation.” “Colonel Stavin is correct,” the Sigilite said, the ancient man slumping to his knees to stare the child in the eyes. “The Emperor requires crews for this endeavor. Men and women willing to brave that farthest sea, to chart the pitch-black void and return home safe again, united by bonds strong enough to endure the harshest of voyages. I ask you, Emissary. Shall you join me upon our great crusade?” The girl’s eyes widened as Lord Malcador described to her the task he wished to place upon her Family. “Wait. You can [i]sail[/i] in the SKY???” She trembled with awe, then slid closer to take one of Malcador’s hands in her own and say, with innocent delight, “We will need. A contract.” A deep sadness filled his eyes at her wonder, the Sigilite staying silent as he gripped her hand with the peculiarly weak sort of strength common to the old and infirm. “Yes, child, one might sail in the sky. The stars are humanity’s inheritance - [i]your[/i] inheritance. The stars our destination,” he replied, almost reverently, before he regained his composure and nodded. “Yes. Quite right,” he said, the usual timber returning to his voice. “A contract is appropriate.” “Oh boy, my brothers are going to EXPLODE when I tell them this.” Then she paused, looking very closely at the old man, to see if he would answer her next question honestly. “What would you have said if my answer was no?” A laugh was ripped from Malcador, the man seeming surprised at himself as his throat did its best to form the clearly unfamiliar and seldom made sound. Shaking his head slowly, the sorrow that had filled his eyes had vanished in a twinkling, which vanished in turn as he regarded her with a most solemn expression. “I must confess arrogance, Emissary. I had not considered the possibility.” She frowned at him. “If you want the Magpies to join you, Grandfather, you will have to go one Family at a time. Some of them [i]will[/i] say no, at least at first. What will you tell them?” Her serious face was adorably out of place, as practiced as it seemed. The Sigilite paused for a moment, before giving a firm nod. “You are a most cunning negotiator indeed, already placing me in your debt. I shall leverage it to the hilt,” Malcador said, treating her now as a peer and not a child. “I will inform them that the Amber Magpies have already said yes.” “That will convince some of them,” she agreed, “But not all. But you seem smart, Grandfather, I’m sure you’ll figure them out. My big brothers could NEVER.” “High praise, Emissary. But now, the contract.”