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Arrival on The Starfire Ascendant

Location: Docking Terminal 94-B, Orbital Gate Argento
Time: Day 1 - Midmorning

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The docking clamps disengaged with a gentle hiss, a sound almost drowned by the low, operatic hum of the vessel's active systems. A moment of stillness followed — that quiet pause before grandeur reveals itself — and then the airlock doors parted like theatre curtains at the start of a private performance.

Beyond the threshold, The Starfire Ascendant awaited. A scent drifted on the recycled air, jasmine, citrus, something metallic underneath.

A corridor of polished obsidian and translucent golds extended inward, its walls glowing with embedded starlight, veins of energy pulsing like a slow heartbeat beneath the surface. Gravity shifted with a graceful tug as passengers crossed the threshold, artificial yet flawlessly calibrated. The temperature was perfect. Somewhere, soft music played, indistinct but undeniably expensive.

Floating just ahead of the docking concourse, a projection flared to life: a sleek AI concierge rendered in shimmering filigree, her face obscured by an ornate mask shaped like a solar flare, her voice a purr of cultured welcome.

“Esteemed guests, welcome aboard The Starfire Ascendant, jewel of the Sovereign Line. You are now adrift among the stars, beyond borders, beyond eyes. Your month of curated experience begins now. No questions will be asked, and no names will be needed."

With a subtle sweep of her hand, glowing icons appear in the air — interactive menus that flicker temptingly but wait for your engagement. Nearby, a discreet side terminal pulses softly.

The docking corridor gave way to the Grand Atrium, a soaring chamber of glass, steel, and zero-g sculpture. Panoramic starfields glimmered overhead — not screens, but actual observation domes revealing the glittering nebulae and distant suns of Proxima’s outer edge. Glass elevators drifted between levels like soap bubbles. A trio of harpists played in midair on a gravity-neutral platform, their gowns rippling with each subtle movement. Guests had already begun to arrive: tailored suits, elegant gowns, sharp masks. A masquerade in motion.

Luggage bots hovered discreetly, offering to take bags. Champagne flutes floated past on magnetic trays. No one asked for tickets. Here, on The Starfire, presence alone was proof of power. An Escort Drone awaits, offering to guide you to your private suite. A soft chime sounds as it scans your biometric tag — no names, just identity hashes encoded in your invitation.

A Mask Dispensary Station sits just ahead, seemingly unattended. A variety of elaborate masquerade masks rest on silver stands: feathered, mechanical, crystalline, animalistic. A sign reads: 'Choose the face you wish to wear. It need not be your own.'

A silent steward in grey velvet watches from a corner. You’re not sure if they're crew, security, or something else entirely. Their mask is featureless, save for a single blue light at the temple. They incline their head slowly as if recognizing you — or someone like you.

There was no schedule to memorize, not yet anyway. Only the open invitation to explore, to watch, to be seen. Somewhere far above, the Garden Soirée biodome shimmered under twilight tones. Somewhere below, the restricted lounges whispered promises through gold-trimmed doors. A month aboard awaited. A month of secrets, seduction, and silent agendas.

The ship does not demand anything.
It only watches.
And waits.

Suggestion: You may follow the escort drone, inspect the masks, ask the concierge questions, view the holographic menu or simply wander upward into the atrium's starlit wonder.

As one might expect of the perfectly poised CEO of Covington Industries, Violet’s demeanor was one of stoic impassiveness as she stepped aboard The Starfire Ascendent. Her piercing gaze swept across the luxury liner’s elaborate interior, taking in every aspect of its opulent impracticality, while simultaneously reviewing the updates on CI’s partnership with Mishima Motors and acquisition of Cygnus Cybersystems as they scrolled across the HUD perceptible only to herself. Others might have been awed by, or at least appreciative of, the aesthetic beauty of the liner, its myriad sights, sounds, and scents, but, as usual, Violet showed no outward emotion at the sight, not even an approving smirk. This was a business trip, not a vacation. She hadn’t agreed to come here for rest and relaxation, but to personally secure an important business opportunity, and she would participate in the ongoing frivolities only as much as was absolutely necessary.

As such, the heiress had consented to wear a deep purple gown, one that, while certainly refined, was far less ostentatious than the attire worn by most of the other passengers, its appearance that of no-nonsense practicality infused with subtle hints of elegant style. When the AI concierge greeted her, Violet’s only response was a small nod, her visage as dispassionate as ever. Indeed, even since before she had entered her teens, Violet had been seen as the stereotypical “cool beauty”, or “aloof dark-haired girl”, and it was an image she continued to flawlessly maintain.

The allure of a month-long voyage of anonymous revelry may have appealed to many, but Violet was not among their number. She intended for her stay aboard the liner to be a short one, the briefer the better, so there was no need to bring copious quantities of luggage, nor did she see any reason to investigate the various ostensibly enticing items on the holographic menu she had been presented with. Instead, Violet merely strode up to the escort drone and waited for it to begin guiding her to her quarters. As the pair passed by the mask station, the CEO procured a featureless, white mask, similar to the one worn by the nearby steward. Like theirs, it completely obscured the heiress’s cold countenance, while also being nondescript enough to hopefully avoid much commentary or attention from any of her fellow passengers. She may have had little desire to partake of the whimsical festivities the other passengers seemed to have fully embraced, but she had to concede that the anonymity it provided was rather welcome.

As was usually the case, Violet wished to interact with others only as needed. Socializing was almost always a waste of time, unless, of course, a lucrative deal of some sort was being discussed. She had no need of companions, and even less of friends. In fact, aside from her trusted pilot, she had arrived aboard the liner without even a single aid, fully convinced that she was more than capable of handling anything that might come her way, and that included the potential threat of violence. While her pilot was certainly a capable combatant, Violet had concluded that the somewhat unnerving woman would be better suited to guarding their ship against any potential saboteurs, rather than serving as a bodyguard for herself. After all, if someone did wish to cause her harm, well, they were more than welcome to try…

---

"Wow," Darya Evonovich said, taking in the splendor before them as she brushed a few errant strands of hair back into place, "This is better than the Scorpio."

She'd been on board the Zodiac line cruise ship for its maiden voyage, with orders and a ticket for her first duty station as it was cheaper than arranging transport on a courier ship. She wasn't sure what to make of the ingenue actress they had playing her for the mini-series, filmed aboard the ship as part of its shakedown cruise following its extensive repairs. She doubted anyone would recognize her, having been from before her accidental exposure.

She glanced at the nearest reflective surface, blinking her eyes. They'd once been a very bland gray.

Her ulster, a thin membrane clinging to her body that left only her head and hands exposed, was programmed in a professional matte black, concealing more than it exposed. Her polished black leather vest and flats gave watchers something to focus on, yet the vest concealed the revolver, currently loaded with sub-sonic ammunition approved for ship use. Her bodyguard and concealed carry license in her wrist IDENTchip must have been scanned on entry for her and Violet to get so far inside.

And Darya doubted she was the only one armed, even in this crowd.

Being a bodyguard wasn't what she was usually hired for - most of her travels was as a pilot on a tramp freighter who needed a qualified pilot. However, not knowing who was going to suddenly jump out at her with a wooden stake kept her constantly aware of what was going on around her. While it wouldn't kill her, stakes hurt.

Her three AI luggage cases were being picked up by the drones for room delivery. Only the first one held clothes and toiletries, the rest being her medical supplies and ammo. Darya sighs, glancing at the other patrons. She definitely needed to get herself an AnySuit™, the holographic bodysuit that could be programmed with hundreds of different outfits, perfect for travelers. However, glancing around the room, she doubted any of them would blink at the luggage fees.

She watched as Violet selected a mask, her right eyebrow arching.

"Is this required?" Darya demanded sourly, not liking anything that might interfere with her vision.

Arriving at the mask station at the same time as Violet and Darya was a tall slender woman with thick wavy auburn hair. Her modest curves testing the craftsmanship of the luxurious silken dark red dress she wore. Brilliant hues of gold and purple rippled through the fabric that revealed more skin than it concealed. Expensive golden jewellery adorned her exposed flesh, red gems to match her attire, so bulky and excessive its only purpose to flaunt her wealth.

With an ease of familiarity she placed three slender fingers down onto previously unnoticed panels. There was a faint hum and a small flash of light and as she lift her hand, on each soft finger tip was a near translucent flexible chip.

"Required. No, and with a face like that hun, I wouldn't hide it if I were you. That is of course unless you er planning to get up to a little mischief later on."

Her voice was not as smooth or sweet as her appearance and held a tint of outer-world inflection. As she spoke she placed each soft chip around her head. The first her forehead, the second her temple and the third her throat.

She gave a cheeky wink and then suddenly a white mask materialised over her face, a hologram, a rabbit, complete with a button nose and tall ears. It concealed all but her green eyes and full red lips, just like a physical mask might. Except, as she gave Darya a playful smile, the ears responded by twitching along happily.

"If you, uh, get let off your leash any time. Well, just you follow the white rabbit."

-

Meanwhile, Violet's HUD was not giving her good news. The Mishima Motors partnership, what should have been a simple and easy deal previously settled, was now being further postponed, by a whole month. This setback was going to impact a string of time sensitive plans and projects causing a cascade of delays and costs.

But the HUD could only relay so much information, and soon, once the doors all closed, the ability to communicate off-ship would become limited and undoubtedly monitored. If Violet wanted to get to the bottom of this, she would have to act soon.

@Ponn@Expendable

Unacceptable… Violet noted, her hidden mouth forming a frown of annoyance as her eyes gazed upon the unpleasant tidings concerning the Mishima Motors partnership. I should never have entrusted such an important negotiation to a pair as incompetent as the Vanhorn siblings… Holding their positions only due to a favor owed to their prestigious parents, the Vanhorns were horrifically inept at nearly every task they were assigned. Yet, since the most important elements of the Mishima Motors partnership had already been finalized by an array of vastly more capable subordinates, Violet had hoped that even the megacorp’s least competent employees would be able to handle the deal’s simple denouement. Clearly, she had been mistaken, and the CEO knew she would have to move quickly if she was to salvage the debacle before the liner got fully underway and most of the outgoing communications links were severed.

Activating her HUD’s thought to text system, Violet opened a tight beam, highly encrypted communications link to her most trusted aid and de facto second in command. Amanda, she texted. The Mishima Motors deal has suffered a considerable complication. Please see to it that the problem is rectified as swiftly as possible and any potential damage to productivity is minimized to the greatest viable degree. Disciplinary action against the Vanhorns shall be left to your discretion. I will be out of communication for at least the next forty-eight hours, so I am placing any further developments in your capable stewardship. Upon confirming that the message had been received, Violet closed the link and redirected her attention to the woman conversing with her pilot.

“I trust that you will not permit yourself to be distracted from your primary task,” the heiress told Darya over their private link after the other woman had departed. “I am sure I do not need to remind you that we are not here to entertain flights of whimsy,” she added, before continuing on her way to her quarters. She didn’t know if the woman in the bunny mask was simply an innocuous passenger looking for some fun, or a distraction of a more sinister nature, but if the gregarious redhead was plotting something, Violet was confident said potential scheme would most assuredly not be coming to fruition.

@Ponn
Ever vigilant Amanda had a response and options at the ready and waiting, with immaculate detailed reports and costs.

As her most competent subordinate, Violet knew that Amanda would begin by conducting a standard investigation into the reasons for the delay, and how the Vanhorns had contributed to it, proceeding to a more detailed, and more expensive, Unrestricted Investigation only if absolutely necessary. As for the Vanhorns themselves, Violet trusted Amanda to employ standard protocols of discussion/reprimand and monitoring. However, she also knew Amanda would ensure that it would be quite clear to the siblings that they were receiving their final warning before more drastic steps would be taken. With this assurance, Violet saw no reason to waste resources on keeping communications open during the brief time she would be aboard the Starfire. Amanda could handle this relatively small matter. Of that she was certain.

"Of course not, boss," Darya smiled thinly as she replied over the private channel, wondering where she was going to get a medical-grade parasol, and why she'd hire a vampire who didn't like the sun on a ship to go see a supernova.

She glanced after the woman, trying to fix her form in her memory. They'd probably see her again, the Starfire Ascendant wasn't big enough to avoid that, but the masks were going to make it difficult. It was more of an introduction, really. Most would just wait for her to be drinking alone in one of the many bars this ship was sure to have, making it easier to extract information.

"Everything set for your meeting?" Darya inquired over the same secured channel. "Do we have time to check in?"

Automatic check-in would give the passengers exceptional freedom without wasting, but being checked in by an actual person was the height of luxury in known space.

Until they checked in, the ship crew would be waiting impatiently for them.

If you had made it aboard then you were already checked in. However, any of the many holographic interfaces -panels or AI concierges- offered the easy and readily available option for further services by human or machine depending on your preference.

The level of assistance also seemed adjustable, should you require a guide to show you around and check you into your room or merely wanted someone to carry your coat and follow silently at your heel. Any desire or need could be met aboard the luxurious cruiser. It was however, an unwritten rule amongst those in the know and the powers that be, that using the ships resources diminished the appearance of ones own power. Still, both could be seen moving around the place. Used by the unwary, uninitiated or simply the newer, lower echelons of high society.

But as the ship was for all kinds of people with all kinds of beliefs, certain sections of the ship prohibited the presence of either machines or nonessential servants. Be it for privacy or other reasons.
Normal expectations, behaviours and general social structures died upon the Starfire. Drowned out deep under the weight of excessive limitless wealth and lifestyles beholden to no planets law. All cultures and customs found their space on this vessel, it is what they paid for after all.

The only thing really guaranteed harmony and respect among the travellers, was the knowledge that one wrong move could expel them from the voyage. A wrong word to the wrong person could bring unimaginable ruin, financial and physical. There were people aboard this ship that could decided the fate of a planet with a simple signature. The type of people you didn't want to make an enemy of. People like Violet.

--

Amanda sent through a confirmation that she received and understood Violet's instructions. Nothing else was required.

The duo got a brief tour as they followed the bot to their designated rooms, travelators expediting any long hallway walks.
They passed entrances to casinos, shops, health and entertainment centres, and even an aquarium.
The simple to extravagant attire they had already seen continued throughout the ships decadent halls but they also glimpsed people integrated with tech that would be illegal on most other planets. Some simple enhancements, others ostentatious adaptions. People moved about solo, others in cliques. Some with an entourage, others a bodyguard. One person had a biologically enhanced canine following obediently at their side.

And for all the intriguing people and places that they had passed, they knew even more were hidden away.

The room is exactly as they expected or requested it be.

“That is correct,” Violet replied to Darya over their private link. “There will be no need of that,” she added when her pilot inquired about checking in. “Our quarters have already been prepared, although I would completely understand if you wished to instead make use of your personal quarters aboard our ship so as to better keep watch over it.”

That was, after all, one of the principle reasons Violet had brought Darya along in particular. She was aware of the woman’s peculiar… condition, and the strengths and weaknesses that came with it. Thus, the heiress had chosen a task for Darya that would maximize the former, while mitigating the latter. Although the upcoming cruise would indeed be passing by a supernova, as the guardian of their ship, her light-sensitive pilot would have no reason to be exposed to the starburst’s pyrotechnic fury.

As the escort drone led them to their quarters, Violet took note of each grandiose spectacle they passed by with silent disinterest. Upon reaching their reserved room, the stoic CEO looked over its various furnishings and amenities, before giving a curt nod of approval. With the drone’s departure, Violet sat herself down upon a couch that faced the panoramic outer window. Now she simply needed to wait for her business associate. She only hoped they would arrive in a timely manner.

The click of Cyrus' heels on the polished floor are all that is needed to signal his arrival. Sweeping into the atrium with all the grandiosity and opulence of an emperor and dressed to the nines in a velvet three-piece suit and cloak, Cyrus is the epitome of rich: priceless, powerful, untouchable. Dressed head to toe in black with intricate, swirling gold embroidery that mirrors the twist of smoke drifting from his cigar, the prince makes his entrance, flanked by three guards in matching black and gold. In the face of such luxury, one would never guess that he was entering his 26th year of exile.

And yet the House of Manus remains a sojourner among the solar systems. No home. Just continued indignity and smoldering hatred. He had only been born a few years after the exile, and yet he feels like he has lived it along with his grandfather, father, and the whole tribe. The stories of their faithful service, Luxor's betrayal, and, of course, the destined return. With his grandfather dead and his father not far behind, Cyrus is now the Head of the House of Manus, and he is determined to bring his people home -- and to crush the heads of those who dared betray them.

Cursed to wander the stars as he may be, Cyrus would never be caught dead without making a proper spectacle of himself, and today he is satisfied with his efforts. He has brought his own mask, a beautiful, gilded thing that curls around his cheekbones, leaving only just enough for people to see his sharp jawline and lips - just enough to let people wonder. Paired with his gloves and high collar, only his neck and bottom half of his face are exposed. Why let people see the splendor of Manus before its due time? At least, not for free.

Bringing his cigar to his lips, Cyrus indicates with a finger that his guards take his luggage to his room. He's well aware that he has appointments to attend to and guests to persuade, but why rush? The Starfire is a beautiful craft, far more streamlined and sterile than the vessels he's used to. The House of Manus does what it can to keep up appearances of wealth, but Cyrus is still more accustomed to the smells of grease and fuel than those of cologne and perfume. For all his love of expensive things, his outfit today is merely a tool used to assume the appearance of power, and there's a tiny part of him that cringes thinking about how much food and fuel could have been purchased with just one cufflink off his suitcoat. Even if Mother and Grandmother had insisted he commission a new outfit for the occasion.

If his business partners - and rivals - knew he carried such sentimental thoughts, he'd be defeated before he could say a word. Time to get down to business.

Walking slowly and calmly through the atrium, Cyrus admires the sights while keeping his eyes out for potential targets and interesting individuals. However, he can't stop himself from indulging in a few luxuries. Alcoholic spirits, otherworldly appetizers, the finest desserts, even drugs of varying legalities - the Starfire truly has it all. Making his way down the the private lounge with a cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other, Cyrus has to admit: he's enjoying this. Unlike some of the people on this craft, he is still capable of drawing enjoyment from things. Such is his burden to bear.

The CEO he's arranged to meet with has no doubt already been notified of his presence, and so it's with supreme confidence that Cyrus knocks on the door, ready for whatever conversation lies on the other side.

"The problem with that," Darya sends, "Is if there's an emergency, I have to run all the way from the hanger to the stateroom."

The room was incredible, richly appointed and with an opulent window that took center stage.

Wow, the pilot in her thought. Just what you want to see when you ride out the edge of an explosion of an entire star, a point of failure.

No doubt that the cruise line thoroughly tested that window and were assured that it would ride out the blast wave. Of course, if it doesn't, well, that's why there were insurance companies.

"If it's privacy you're after," she messaged, giving Violet an appraising eye, "All you need to do is let me know."

“True,” Violet conceded after Darya noted her concern. “But I am confident my own defensive measures shall be sufficient for dealing with any potential threats.” The pilot proceeded to mention that she would be pleased to acquiesce to any need of privacy on the CEO’s part, a need that presented itself a moment later, when someone knocked on the room’s door. Accessing the feed from the door’s security cam, Violet saw that it was her expected business associate. A prompt arrival, she noted approvingly as she removed her mask. “You may take your leave, now,” the heiress told Darya, before activating the door com and bidding her visitor, “Enter.”

Sitting upon the couch with back straight, legs crossed one over the other, and her folded hands resting atop them, Violet presented an image of refined composure, her stoic visage and piercing gaze providing ample evidence that she was someone who had no time for petty frivolities or playful banter, even if her guest had apparently decided to indulge in the extravagantly ostentatious attire worn by most of the other passengers. “Welcome, your highness,” she told the prince. “Please, take a seat,” she added, gesturing to the couch opposite the one she occupied. The heiress only hoped the whimsical nature of his outfit did not carry over to his personality.

The knock caught Darya by surprise. Why didn't they just press the doorbell?

Her eyebrow arched again when Violet told her to go, but she nodded.

"I'll be outside," she said, heading towards the door as it slid open to admit a man in a three-piece velvet suit and cloak, smoking of all things an actual cigar. Her face wrinkled but she strove from frowning. Apparently this ship didn't care about their passengers polluting the atmosphere for the other people aboard.

She gave him a polite nod as he swept in, then stepped past him into the corridor, taking a position to the left.

Eyeing the corridor, she wondered just what this ship had to offer someone like herself?

The hours dragged on and the negotiations drifted into less formal waters, as they so often did aboard the Starfire Ascendant. What began in Violet’s private suite—an expensively furnished chamber reserved for high-ranking guests—soon gave way to leisure.

The room itself was as much a stage as a sanctuary with a wide observation window framing the starfield beyond the ship. It was from here that the small gathering spilled outward, gravity pulling them inevitably toward the entertainment decks (despite anyone's effort for the contrary). Deals were rarely struck in ink alone, and conversations stretched more freely when drink and distraction were at hand.

The destination became one of the ship’s upper-class bars: The Celestial Parlor. Its walls were an ever-shifting panorama of nebulae and starlines, a programmed illusion that gave the impression of drinking in open space. A chandelier of floating light-orbs cast a soft aurora over lacquered tables. Music drifted from a synth-string quartet in the corner, soft enough not to drown conversation, but insistent enough to remind everyone they were in a place of refinement.

It was here that Violet’s attention found Elkon Mishima. Unlike so many executives who veiled themselves behind bodyguards, false names, and discretion, Mishima thrived on visibility. His arrival was theatrical—coat of woven nano-silk flashing with shifting patterns, a drink in one hand and a cigar-like stim in the other. His laughter carried across the room, deliberate, his voice a performance meant to claim territory. The projection band on his wrist spelled his family crest in burning kanji, bright enough to reflect in the polished glass of the bar. People noticed him because he demanded to be noticed.

Elsewhere, the press of the crowd revealed something more unsettling. Between reflections in the mirrored columns and the play of holographic light, Darya caught sight of them: the smooth, featureless face of a rabbit mask. Not once, but twice. Identical to the one worn by the enigmatic woman from earlier in the evening. Each glimpse was fleeting—a shape lingering at the edge of the crowd, gone the moment the eye focused. The figures never stood long enough to be studied. No voice, no stance, no height that matched the woman before. Just the repeating image of the mask, as if the ship itself were reflecting her presence back at them in fragments.

When the evening finally wound down, the return to their quarters was a quieter affair. The Starfire Ascendant’s guest corridors were far from the bright lights of its social decks. Carpeting muffled each footstep. The walls hummed faintly with the pulse of the ship’s reactors. Every so often, the ceiling lights dimmed to simulate a shipboard “night cycle,” leaving the passages tinted in pale indigo.

It was only when they reached Violet’s suite again that something seemed… wrong. The door was not sealed. Instead, it hung just slightly ajar. Not wide—no more than the width of a finger—but enough that a thin seam of shadow leaked through the gap onto the corridor’s carpet.

No sound came from within. No movement. Just the faint, expectant silence of a space that should have been secure.

After concluding her negotiations with Prince Cyrus, Violet accepted his offer to join him in one of the liner’s upper-class lounges. Although at first glance a highly out-of-character decision for the no-nonsense CEO, it soon became clear that she had ulterior motives for visiting the luxurious bar aside from mere leisure. While some of the high-profile guests might have preferred to make a boisterous spectacle of themselves, while sampling as many of the various high-end spirits as possible, Violet herself refrained from consuming anything stronger than pure spring water, and thus kept her acute senses on high alert for any potentially lucrative information the other patrons’ loose tongues might let slip. Patrons like Elkon Mishima.

It was upon catching sight of his flamboyant presence that Violet was most thankful for the anonymity provided by her nondescript mask. Indeed, the last thing she wanted was to be drawn into some ridiculous social drama. Yet, for all his bombast, Violet couldn’t help but notice that the Mishima Motors CEO only seemed to discuss the most superficial and irrelevant topics, never once revealing anything that might be sized upon by his rivals. It was almost as if his entire persona was an act, a performance to disarm his opponents in this arena of ostensibly innocuous small talk, causing them to drop their own defenses and reveal things that would otherwise have gone unsaid. As she continued to observe Elkon go about his boisterous banter, Violet couldn’t help but be impressed by the ease with which he assumed such a persona. I shall have to keep that in mind for future interactions, the heiress reflected.

When she had sufficiently indulged her curiosity, Violet returned to her quarters, rejoining Darya on the way. It was upon reaching her suite that the CEO immediately saw that something was amiss. The door, which should have been sealed and locked, was ever-so-slightly ajar. Someone had either entered and left, or was still inside. While there was nothing in the suite that Violet considered to be of a particularly sensitive or important nature, it was not lost on the heiress that she, herself, might very well be the unknown intruder’s target. In any event, it cast the liner’s security systems in a distinctly unfavorable light…

“It would appear we’ve had an uninvited guest,” Violet remarked before turning to Darya. “Would you kindly check to see if they are still present?” she inquired.