The Victrix Imperiata hung in geostationary orbit over the helium shrouded hyperice world known as The Watch. While it was not, in astronomic terms, actually far from the three other Hegemonic ships in orbit, it was far enough away to make the distinction clear. The three other ships -- the Tokyo, the Dresden and the Toyama -- were each painted a matte black. Against the red haze of the nebula that shrouded this cluster, they looked less like ships and more like absences.
On the bridge of the Victrix, Praetor Theodosius stood beside Drak, his hands clasped behind his back. "Superstitious void dogs," he muttered, his voice dark and pitched low. He looked at Drak. "I would give my eye teeth and my first creched to command one of those. Those are
true
worldkillers." He made a quiet clicking sound with his tongue. "Do you know where the convention came from, my lord?"
Behind the mask, Drak tried to not grind his teeth. Arriving on the Victrix with Adoran and Quah had provoked an immediate and showy response from the Praetor. A state banquet, a full broadside salute -- the effects of which still glowed cherry red on the silicate moon of The Watch -- and several dozen crew pressed into the function of servants in the shared quarters that Drak had once languished in alone. Because, of course, Adoran was human. And a
prince
. Not merely a useful mutant.
"The convention?" he asked.
"The names," Praetor Theodosius said. "Do they not sound foreign to your ears?"
Drak cocked his head. Now that he thought about it, the names did seem strange. But he didn't so much as shrug -- and Theodosius took his silence as license. "Only a properly blooded ship can be given a name from the Dawn Age. Each of those ships has has the honor -- the privilege of glassing a planet. Their names come from the only war that really mattered on Home. The war that provided the foundational groundwork for the Hegemony -- an ideology so rarefied and so perfectly attuned to the
nature
of humanity that even being ground under bomb and shell and even nuclear fire, it cannot be truly quashed." His eyes nearly glowed with delight at the concept. "That was the downfall of the liberal democracies, in the end. By the time the Climate Wars came, they had already been conquered by our forebears."
Drak looked at him. "The crew does not agree..." he said, not sure if he should pitch the statement like it was a question. Because he could see the nervous glances that several bridge officers sent those shadowy ships. Even at what was essentially point blank range from the perspective of the Victrix's guns, they were merely the smallest of slivers. But they could still be seen. He saw one woman making a small sign against evil.
"As I said. Superstition," Theodosius said, shaking his head.
"Hrm. When are we traveling up the Chain?" Drak asked.
"The Victrix is re-icing for the jump up," Theodosius said. "But it will take another few days."
"So long?" Drak asked, turning to look directly at Theodosius. "This is important. The Emperor himself gave the order..."
"Do you know
why
we are icing here?" Theodosius asked, shaking his head. "And why those ships are stationed here? That's a planetary body made of hyper-dense helium ice. Contained in a gravitational shield, it can survive nearly twenty times as long as normal cometary ice." He smirked. "We can be back in Eudaimonia by the end of the standard year, not midway through the next."
Drak inclined his head. "Very well. But Theodosius, if your delay results in 101g escaping our grasp..."
"It will not come to that. Sire." Theodosius frowned at him.
"See that it does not. If it does, you won't
live
to tell the Emperor of your failure."
Drak turned and swept away.
***
The interior of the rooms on the Victrix looked much as Thale had left them -- save that, after a few hours of settling in -- Adoran and Quah had both added their own personal flair to the chambers. Quah had immediately begun working on her programming routines for her threshold blade. She had some kind of idea about how to improve the weapon, and was delving into the deep architecture, and was using about two thirds of the walls as places to pin up programming diagrams and relationship schematics. In the deeper levels of programming languages, one could not simply alter what one wanted willy nilly. Everything was built on everything else, and the deeper you went, the faster a single change could completely crash your entire miracle.
And when said miracle was your threshold blade...well, Thale was glad to see Quah was being as careful as a woman who regularly carried around an antiproton grenade
could
be.
Adoran, meanwhile, was more focused on humanizing the area. He had fabricated simulation wood paneling, his favorite art pieces from his homeland of Elthas. He'd simmed a view of the crystal beaches of Elthas' sister world of Grey Hawk in the window, so that rather than looking at the red haze of The Watch's nebula and the somber blue of The Watch itself, they could instead look at the gentle gradients of Grey Hawk's seemingly infinite oceans and the shimmering gemstone of Elthas -- rising over the simulated horizon. Adoran had gone two steps further, by fabricating some scents and adding a few false breezes, so the room felt as if it was
on
that beach and one needed to only step outside.
This provoked some mild conflict.
"Can you shut the frigging breeze off!?" Quah shouted, running after a piece of paper that skittered along the ground, while Adoran knelt in the center of the room, his eyes closed, his expression twisted in that amusing 'I am trying to meditate here, can't you
see
that?' air that he normally had while trying to do anything around Quah.
"You could use technology that hasn't been obsolete for a few million years..." he muttered.
"Human history isn't that long!" Quah said, letting the paper go as she stood up, blinking. "I...think. How old is human history, Thale?"
Thale, who had been tugging off his gloves, shrugged. "Don't know. Don't...care. Really."
Quah nodded. "Ergo, I am right."
Adoran opened his eyes. "How does that-" he shook his head as Quah snapped out with one of her pony tails, catching the scrap of paper as it was blown upwards in a draft of breeze that smelled of salt and sand. She tugged it back to herself, then ran to the wall, placing it back into position with all the reverence and gentleness that Thale would have used on a precious gemstone. Thale walked over to Adoran and sat down beside him.
"There are three black ships out there," he said, his voice quiet. Adoran shook his head, his jaw tightening a bit.
"I hate those things," he said.
